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roselensedeyes · 9 months

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Of tea and dreams

Hello everyone!

I hope August has been treating you well :) I'm sharing with you another elriel fic, this time we meet a special character...

You can find it on AO3 here.

CW: explicit language, NSFW

Word count: 5k

Enjoy!

Elain Archeron took a sip of her tea, frowning when she found it still too hot to drink. She placed it down on its plate. She again admired how finely it was made, the white porcelain delicately decorated with vines and irises. She wondered how much it must have cost, to afford such a marvelous tea set.

Her memories of her childhood, when her mother had still been alive and her family bathed in her father’s riches, were blurry. She had flashes of certain events, balls thrown in her or her sisters’ honor. What she could recall distinctly, however, was how she felt in those moments. She could remember feeling happy when she tended to her garden, her beautiful flowers could have passed for a painting her younger sister Feyre painted. She recalled attending balls with her sisters and their mother, watching her older sister Nesta dance with such mastery that made it seem easy. She could remember giggling with her friends when the guy she liked noticed her and told her she was pretty.

And then their wealth was taken away with vanished ships and her father’s broken leg.

Even though she wasn’t living in poverty anymore, Elain couldn’t shake off the memories of those years, the hunger and the cold. After Feyre had welcomed her and Nesta in her and her mate, the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand’s manor, she had begun to learn how to grow vegetables and fruit, as well as to bake and even a little cooking. She was terrified of waking up and realizing it had all been a dream, and she was still living in that freezing cottage, with little food and even less money.

Elain was reflecting on that as she was sipping her tea with Bethane, the elder Fae whose garden she tended to. Bethane had fast become her friend in the months since she first started helping her, despite their differences. The first being their age.

Yet that had not mattered, not at all, when they had much more things in common, like their passion for flowers, sweets, and tea. That they were both seers had helped them become even closer.

After being thrown into the Cauldron, it was revealed that Elain was a seer, had the ability to see the present as well as the future. Initially, she’d refused to acknowledge the truth, but soon realized that her power was needed for the ongoing war. So she’d sucked it up, and did as she was asked. After the war was over, though, she’d ignored the brief and confusing visions she’d at times get, and tried to live the normal life she always dreamed of having.

“You’re quiet today, Elain,” Bethane observed, her dark eyebrows slightly raised. Bethane was supposedly an elderly citizen, yet you couldn’t tell from her appearance. Her honeyed-colored skin was smooth, no wrinkles in sight, while her chestnut brown hair barely had any gray in it.

“I’m only tired. I couldn’t fall asleep last night,” Elain admitted.

“Did someone keep you company?” Bethane subtly asked, her eyes turning inquisitive.

Elain blushed deeply. Even after two years of living among the Fae, she still hadn’t gotten used to some of their customs, or quirks. Like their nonchalance regarding sex. Elain was no virgin, yet still she found she couldn’t discuss sex as freely as the Fae and her sisters did. She knew everyone thought her a prude, but she could still remember the teachings her mother and grandmother had instilled in her, and she couldn’t ignore them. For so long she had believed her discipline would ensure she’d find a good man who would protect her and make sure she’d live a happy life. Now, although she knew it wasn’t the truth, she found herself unable to break free from those teachings.

“Ah, well… No.” She paused, trying to find the right words. “I was thinking about someone, though.”

Bethane threw her a curious look. “Do tell.”

Elain felt her cheeks get even warmer. “Well, I’m afraid it’s not a story you will like. He broke my heart,” she said, quietly.

A protective look shone on Bethane’s face. “What fool would dare do that to you?” She asked, before adding, “Apart from your human man. Are you still thinking about him?” She sounded offended.

Elain gave a small chuckle. “No, I’m not. Someone else, a Fae male, did. Pathetic, isn’t it,” She admitted with a self-deprecating laugh.

Bethane shook her head fiercely. “You’re not, stop that. He’s a fool, he has no idea who he let go.” She reached forward and grabbed her hand. “Don’t wallow in self-pity, dear. You’re beautiful, but more than that you’re smart, and you’re kind. If a male can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Elain’s heart squeezed at her kind words. She’d always been called beautiful, since she was a child. She’d never been told her other qualities were more important than that, though.

She smiled gratefully at Bethane, inclining her head.

“Anyway, if you want a good male then you should go out with my son,” Bethane continued. Elain huffed out a laugh. The older female had been trying to set the two up since their first meeting. Too bad Elain had set her eyes on a hazel-eyed male, who, apparently, did not share her feelings.

It had been five months since that almost kiss with Azriel, the Illyrian Fae who had stolen her heart and crushed it with just a few words. She’d never told Bethane that she had fallen for Rhysand’s Spymaster. He was renowned, not only in the Night Court, but in the rest of Prythian, too. She knew Bethane had heard of him at least, so she’d never revealed her infatuation. Hadn’t told her about that fateful Winter Solstice night, either.

“He’s quiet, like you, a bit aloof perhaps, but he will tr–” She was cut off by a loud whoosh, as heavy feet landed near the table.

Elain yelped, yet Bethane didn’t do anything but roll her eyes in an affectionate way. She raised from her chair and approached whoever had crushed their afternoon tea.

“You could have told me you were coming! You interrupted my tea and scared my guest,” Bethane scolded, even as she wrapped her arms around the much bigger figure.

The figure let out a masculine chuckle, and something about it sounded familiar to Elain. She inclined her head, confused, just as Bethane turned around, allowing Elain to get a clear view of the male.

“Elain, let me introduce you to my son, Azriel,” she said excitedly.

Elain sat frozen, her eyes wide as they took in Azriel. As her brain tried to make sense of the words. My son, Azriel. The woman she’d come to think of as her confidante, her friend, was Azriel’s mother. They murmured hellos, still too shocked to say anything more.

“We were just talking about you, Az,” Bethane went on, not noticing the tension between her son and Elain.

Elain mustered a shaky smile when the older woman turned toward her. Azriel, on his part, stood ramrod still, his eyes fixed on Elain. She wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.

His mother– his mother— tugged on his hand. “Come sit down with us.”

Elain slid her chair backward. “Oh, no, I can just leave. I don’t want to intrude on your time.” She made to leave, but Bethane waved a hand and signaled she should sit down.

“Nonsense. You were already here, you’re not the intruder.”

She glanced at Azriel, even as she sat back down and smiled at his mother.

Bethane waved a hand in the air, a calling, and sure enough a servant appeared. She asked him to pour a cup of tea for Azriel, ignoring his weak protests.

The older woman watched him until he took the smallest sip of his tea, to which she nodded, satisfied.

“I’m so happy you two finally met. You’re my two favorite people in all of Prythian,” Bethane exclaimed, elation clear in her voice.

Elain glanced at Azriel again, and found him already looking at her. He quickly looked away, setting his eyes on his mother. “I’m happy to see you again. I’m sorry I haven’t been around recently, I’ve been busy.”

“No one is ever too busy for their mother,” Bethane said in lieu of a reply. “But let’s not change the topic. Az, have I ever told you about the nice young woman who gives me a hand with my garden?”

Azriel’s scarred hand tightened on the teacup. “I think you mentioned it once or twice,” he said, eyes still fixed on his mother.

“Right, I think I did. Elain is the young woman. She’s incredible at what she does!” Bethane exclaimed.

“I know,” Azriel nodded, then seemed to think about what he said because he added, “From what you’ve told me and what I can see.” He threw her a quick glance, before refocusing on Bethane.

“She was just telling me about how a male rejected her. What a fool,” the older woman said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Azriel choked on his next sip. Then he started coughing. The dark-haired female reached over and gently patted him on the back, a concerned look on her face.

“Are you alright, dear?”

He nodded, his head moving so fast Elain feared he might break his neck. “It just went down the wrong pipe,” he explained, still coughing. He’d brought his hand against his mouth, unconsciously flexing his muscled arm. Elain stared at it appreciatively.

“Oh, thank god. Anyway, the guy is a real jerk, Elain. You will find better, I’m sure of it,” Bethane turned toward, nodding along with what she was saying.

Elain felt a blush make its way up her neck. This time she was the one who refused to look at him, though she could feel Azriel burning a hole through her. She needed a change of topic, immediately.

She glanced at the window. “Oh Mother. I’ve been here for a long time already. I promised my sister I would watch her baby tonight, so she and her husband can go on a much-needed date.”

Not a lie, not entirely. She had promised to babysit Nyx for a few hours, tomorrow night. The identity of her family, of who her sisters actually were, was another thing she’d kept from Bethane. Every time she’d introduce herself as Elain Archeron, people would make the connection to Feyre and Nesta and start treating her differently, almost like she was a famous singer or writer. She’d try to explain she didn’t need any special treatment, that she was just Elain, but they wouldn’t hear a word about it. Someone had even dared to bow to Elain’s greatest horror. So she hadn’t uttered a word about it to Bethane, only introducing herself as Elain the gardener, Elain the seer. She’d felt ashamed about lying to the elder female like that, but it was the price for her friendship. She’d paid it without a second thought.

Bethane’s eyes lit up at the mention of Nyx, even though she obviously didn’t know that was her sister’s baby’s name. No, Bethane thought he was called Matthew.

“Then you should go. Hopefully one day I will get to meet him,” said the elderly female. A strange light danced in her eyes, something that made Elain’s arms break out in goosebumps. It didn’t sound like a wish, but… more like a promise.

Elain gracefully got up from her chair, and nodded at Bethane. “Thank you again for the tea. I’ll come by in two weeks to assess the lilies, and we’ll decide what to do with it.” The other female replied affirmatively, and Elain headed toward the door. Bethane’s voice stopped her.

“Let Azriel fly you, dear. The sun is about to set, I don’t want you walking alone in the dark.”

Elain scrambled for something to say. “But–But he’s just arrived, don’t you want to spend time with your son?”

Bethane waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about that. He’ll come by tomorrow, isn’t that right, Az?” Her question was more of a statement, one Azriel couldn’t escape from.

He seemed to realize that, too, as he nodded slowly, glaring at his mother, who glared right back. Elain observed the silent exchange between mother and son, and yearned for that connection. Her mother had never liked her, that she knew, but she still wished for that kind of relationship. She turned her head to the side, to hide from the pain the sight gave her.

Until someone brushed her finger. She looked up, startled, and found Azriel staring at her, gently yet grimly. She wondered if he knew he was the male who had broken her heart and then stomped on it, or if he’d even forgotten the whole exchange.

He’d started coming to the family dinners again, always sitting as far away from her as possible. She knew it was intentional at first— she avoided him like the plague, too— yet now she wondered if throughout the months it had become an instinct. Her heart squeezed painfully again.

“Can I?” He asked softly, gesturing toward the sky.

Elain nodded, not trusting her voice. He attempted a smile, and took her in his arms. Within seconds, they were up in the air.

The view was spectacular, the hues of the sky so beautiful they seemed like they were painted. She could hear children laugh in the distance, the music sounding from pubs that opened early. Yet as Elain’s arms circled Azriel’s neck, all her mind could focus on was that she was in his arms again, for the first time in what felt like years. She could hear his heart beating, fast, which she attributed to the flight. She didn’t have wings, couldn’t shapeshift like her younger sister Feyre, but she reckoned it must take some strength and concentration. She wondered if he could hear her own heart beating fast, wondered if he knew why it was beating as though it was poised to explode.

They landed at the town house, where Elain currently lived. She spent most of her time at the river house with Feyre and Rhysand, to help them with baby Nyx when they were too exhausted, or help with the food, but Rhysand had generously given her the town house when she’d told them she was looking for her own place. She had moved in six weeks after Nyx was born, and it was slowly becoming her home.

Azriel placed her delicately on the foyer, and took a step back. He cleared his throat, making Elain look up at him. “Thank you.”

Elain’s face must have shown her confusion because he hurried to clarify, “For my mother. For helping her.”

“Oh, there’s no need to thank me,” Elain waved a hand in the air. “You know I like gardening.”

“I’m not– you’ve been doing a lot more than that. In the past few months, I’ve seen my mother happier than ever. Now I know it’s thanks to you.” A strange light shone in his beautiful hazel eyes.

“I’m— I didn’t do anything special. It’s— just tea,” she said, softly.

Azriel shook his head. “No, it’s not. Thank you,” he repeated.

Elain smiled slightly. Silence fell between them, and just when Elain thought he was leaving, he spoke again. “I’m sorry.” It was nothing more than a whisper. She wouldn’t have heard him if it wasn’t for her Fae hearing.

“What for?”

He took a step closer, so close she could feel his body heat. Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “For what happened on Solstice.”

A buzzing sound ringed in her ears. She froze, and he took the opportunity to slide even closer. His scarred hand landed on her waist. Azriel’s eyes locked on her own.

“I never should have lied to you.” Elain could feel her heart breaking again at his words. Why was he doing this to her?

“It’s fine,” she said, attempting to break free of his hold. His hand tightened on her waist, not enough to hurt her, but tight enough that she wouldn’t be able to leave.

“It’s not fine. I made you believe I had no feelings for you, told you kissing you was a mistake. But it’s not. It could never be,” Azriel said, pronouncing the words clearly, not allowing her to misunderstand what he was saying.

Elain was sure her heart had stopped beating. She couldn’t breathe properly, her hands shaking so bad she had to clench them in a fist.

“I should have never said those things to you, I should have never listened to— Elain, please,” he begged, as his hand went up to her cheek, never lifting his touch. “Believe me when I say how ashamed I am. How sorry I am. It was all lies.”

Elain shook her head, and made to take a step back. This time, he let her go. “I– I’m– I don’t know what to say,” she murmured. She looked him in the eyes again, and although she could read honesty in them, she was still unsure.

Taking a deep breath, Elain said, “I don’t know what to believe. Five months ago you broke my heart, and now you’re saying it was a lie? Why? Why would you do that to me? Why would you tell me now?”

Elain Archeron was known for being quiet, kind, mellow, a people pleaser. Yet in that moment, all she could feel was hot fury sizzling in her veins. How dare he? Azriel’s eyes widened.

“Was it a joke to you? Was I a joke to you? What even is the truth?” She was almost yelling, yet unshed tears blurred her sight. She refused to let them out, refused to let him see how badly he still hurt her.

Yet Azriel didn’t back down like she thought he would, didn’t retreat. No, he moved toward her again, slowly backing her against the wall. Until she could do nothing but look him in the eye, the ire in hers complementing the determination in his.

“The truth is I’m irrevocably in love with you. For almost my entire life I thought I knew what that word meant, but it turns out I had no idea. At night I find myself having to restrain myself from coming here, from kissing you like I should have five months ago. At the family dinners, I have to sit as far from you as possible because I don’t trust that I won’t take you in my arms and fly us to a faraway place, where no one can find us.

“The truth is, I find myself yearning to spend my days with you. I want to listen to you talk about your garden, your visions, I want to know all about you. I want to help Nuala and Cerridwen train you. But most importantly, I want to give all of myself, all that I am to you.

“When my mother said I broke your heart… I know I did, and at the time I thought staying away from you was the better choice for you, but hearing it— it almost felt like someone stabbed me.” Azriel’s voice broke, and his eyes were veiled with tears. “Elain, please believe me when I say you showed me what being in love truly feels like. Even if you can’t find it in yourself to forgive me, I want to thank you for this gift.”

Elain was crying, freely, unashamedly. Growing up, she’d been courted by many men, many times. They would read poetry to her, bring her flowers, some would even sing. No one had poured their heart out like Azriel just had.

Azriel raised his hand and carefully wiped the tears from her eyes, her cheeks. She closed her eyelids. The feeling of his touch sent shivers down her spine, a gasp escaping her mouth. Azriel’s glance immediately fell to her lips, his eyes darkening. She shivered again.

Elain leaned forward. “I don’t want to talk now. But you owe me a kiss.” And with that, she sealed her lips over his.

Azriel let out a deep moan. It was the push she needed to open her mouth, her tongue meeting his. He groaned, one of his hands slid to the back of her head, the other fell to the small of her back. She pressed her front against his, and the friction between his broad, muscled chest and her breasts made her moan. He took that as an invitation, his hand sliding down to her leg. He lifted her up, carried her to the bedroom, laid her down on the bed.

Elain looked up at Azriel, the heat in his eyes matching her own. She took him in, her gaze following his big arms, his toned legs, the thick hardness that was visible through his shorts. She instinctively squeezed her legs shut. His eyes flashed at the sight.

Yet he didn’t come on the bed. “Are you sure?” He asked her, his voice rough, deep.

“Yes, please,” she begged him. “We will talk. Later,” she promised. Azriel seemed to study her, but eventually nodded and followed her on the bed. She smiled against her lips, which quickly turned into another moan.

He brought his mouth down to her breasts, while his hand found her wetness. He groaned, the vibrations sending her another wave of pleasure. She gripped his hair until he raised his head. His dilated pupils made it impossible to see the color of his eyes. He was flushed, pleasure and desire clear on his face. She kissed him again as he pushed a finger inside her. They both moaned at the feeling, and he broke the kiss. Azriel left peppermint kisses on her neck, her chest, her stomach, until he reached that sweet spot between her thighs.

Elain leaned back into the sheets as he kissed her, again and again, until she was writhing in pleasure. Until she screamed his name and collapsed in the bed. He was immediately there, kissing her softly on the mouth. She barely managed to kiss him back, her legs shaking. “I need you inside me,” she whispered against his lips. He sucked in a breath. She smiled.

She got up to her knees and gently pulled him down. Azriel’s eyes flared, understanding what she meant to do. She climbed over him, her hand reaching behind her to grab his hardness. Elain placed it near her entrance and, staring him straight in the eyes, slid down on it.

It was pure ecstasy. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back as she started moving slowly, Azriel’s hands on her waist guiding her. The room was filled by their moans and short breaths, the sound of their bodies joined together, Elain’s whispered pleas for more, more, more.

She collapsed on top of him just as he came, inside her, filling her.

Azriel took her in his arms and laid them down on the bed. He stroked her hair as he kissed every inch of her face, murmuring sweet nothings. She smiled in pure bliss, nuzzling his hands, the feeling of being in his strong arms lulling her to sleep.

Elain awoke a couple of minutes later to a warm, wet cloth cleaning her. She caught Azriel’s eyes and they both smiled at the other.

“Go back to sleep, love. I’ll be back soon,” he said quietly. Elain did as he said.

Hours later, as they cuddled in bed, Azriel began speaking.

He told her of his childhood, of the torture he was subjected to at the hands of his half-brothers.

They both cried at that, Azriel pressing his face against her breasts as Elain cradled him like she did with Nyx. Then it was her turn, she told him of growing up believing she was nothing more than a pretty face to be sold to the highest bidder. She told him how Graysen was the first choice she’d made for herself, and how she’d believed for months after he humiliated her, that maybe her mother and Nesta were right, that she couldn’t make her own choices. Nuala and Cerridwen had made her see the truth.

They talked some more, until finally he told her about his mother.

“Mine wasn’t a lucky guess,” Azriel admitted. “The more you talked about your visions, the more I realized what you were. I recognized the look on your face you’d get when a vision came to you– it was the same one I’d see on my mother’s face. I went to talk to her, told her about you, and she confirmed my guess.”

Elain listened as he recounted his boyhood with Bethane– when he was allowed to see her– and how they’d caught up on the lost moments after he’d escaped his father’s house.

Azriel confessed what had stopped him from kissing her on Solstice. She’d felt anger toward Rhysand, but she couldn’t fault him, not entirely. For Azriel and their future children, should they have them, she would do anything. No, she couldn’t blame him at all.

They talked until the night sky turned into early dawn, when they fell asleep, hugging each other as though they might disappear, as though this was all a dream.

Two weeks later, Elain was again at Bethane’s manor. Rosehall, she found out it was called.

She’d spent two hours in the garden trying to find out why the lilies were dying, and then trying to fix it when she detected the issue. Bethane, Azriel’s mother, had not been home when she’d arrived, but left instructions to proceed with the work.

She’d come home an hour later, leaving Elain to her work. Elain was anxious to talk to her friend, but she was not about to do a sloppy job.

Now they were seated in the tearoom that oversaw the blooming garden, in the same positions as last time. This time, Bethane wore a different look on her face. Her features were sharper, controlled.

Elain opened her mouth, wanting to ask her how her weeks had gone, if she’d gotten more visitors, yet what came out was, “You knew.” It wasn’t an accusation, it was a fact. A truth she only realized now, sitting in front of the older female.

Bethane took a sip of her tea, even though Elain knew it was too hot. Azriel’s mother leaned back in her chair. “You have to be more specific, dear. What do you think I knew?”

Elain narrowed her brown eyes. “You knew who I was. You knew who my sister is, you knew I knew your son, and you knew he was the guy who rejected me. What I don’t know is when you figured it out. Was it when I told you I’m a seer, and you remembered Azriel coming to you about a once-human-now-Fae female, with a power similar to yours?” She challenged.

Bethane’s features remained the same, not at all concerned by the words. “It wasn’t hard to guess. There’s not many once-human-now-Fae females around. Actually, I think there’s only three. And I’d heard from other villagers that one of those three, who happened to be the sister of our High Lady, was a gardener. Imagine my surprise when you appeared on my front porch.”

Elain ignored that other piece of truth. “But why? Why did you not tell me you knew who I was? Was it… Was it a joke?” There was pain in her voice, just as a wounded look glinted in her deer-like eyes.

“No, dear. It wasn’t like that. When you showed up at my door, you had this expectant look on your face… It was clear to me you feared I’d treat you differently, that I wouldn’t allow you to do any work. You needed to escape from reality, and that’s what I chose to be for you.” She leaned forward and grabbed Elain’s hands, drawing invisible circles with her fingers. “I had a vision, months before your first visit. I saw my son, Azriel, smiling in pure contentment. He was standing near a bed, his arm encircling someone’s petite shoulders. You were half-sitting on the bed, a tired yet elated look on your face. You were holding a small, bundled cloth— a baby. Yours and Azriel’s baby. I didn’t know you back then, but from that frame alone I could see, I could feel how happy you made him. I only helped you come closer.” Bethane explained, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Elain sat frozen, her hand to her mouth. She knew her own eyes mirrored the older female’s, her sight blurry. Her mind kept replaying the words pronounced by Bethane. She didn’t know when the vision would take place, or if it would even prove true– there had been cases, Bethane had explained to her one afternoon, where the visions had proven a missed possibility, a what-if scenario only known to seers— yet something told her it would. In a few years, yes… but it would.

“You can’t blame an old female for wanting to ensure she gets grandchildren, can you?” Elain laughed at Bethane’s attempt to make the room lighter, a few tears escaping. Happy tears. “No, I really can’t.” She shook her head. “Well, then I guess you will be happy to hear that Azriel and I have been spending more time together.”

The older female’s features now split open in a huge smile. “Did he apologize?” Elain blushed. “He did, he sure did.” Flashes of the creative ways he’d come up with to apologize to her danced in her mind, but she quickly waved them away. It was not the time.

“Thank you, Bethane. For everything you did, for me, your son, us. Being your friend has been an honor, my saving grace in these dark months.”

Bethane blinked rapidly. “Thank you, for everything,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

They drank their tea in silence, enjoying the warm weather. At some point, Azriel joined them. He took a quick look at their tear-stricken faces and watery eyes and went still. “Is everything alright?” He asked them, worried.

The two females looked at each other and smiled. “Yes, it couldn’t be better.”

#elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic #elain archeron #azriel #feyre archeron #rhysand #nyx #azriel's mom #rosehall #acotar #i forgot about lucien #sorry

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

Text

The Fae Equality Initiative (Ch. 5) 🌊

Summary: Tarquin, High Lord of the Summer Court, has sent ripples of shock throughout Prythian with his plans to eliminate discrimination against Lesser Fae. When the Night Court is invited to send a delegation to Summer Court, Elain Archeron can’t wait to show everybody what she’s capable of on her first official Inner Circle assignment. Little does she know that Tarquin has also recruited Lucien Vanserra’s assistance…

Read: Ch. 4 | AO3

“Lucien, I’m so, so, sorry,” Tarquin repeated again and again. It unnerved Lucien to have the High Lord of Summer apologizing so profusely in his room after dinner.

“Tarquin, it’s fine. Truly,” Lucien sighed for the umpteenth time, “I’m here to support you. This…arrangement simply slipped through the cracks! And as perfect as I am, I cannot expect your life to revolve around me.” Lucien’s mouth twitched with humor.

Tarquin’s turquoise eyes flared at Lucien. “How can you joke at a time like this?” he cried. “This is a diplomatic disaster!”

“Tarquin. Do you seriously think I would let a mate—” Lucien tried to keep his voice light at the last two words “—severely affect my dedication to this? I’m not abandoning you just because she showed up. She and I don’t even talk to each other!”

“That is precisely the problem!” Tarquin protested. “This conference is all about collaboration and communication. When was the last time you and Elain spoke to each other?”

Lucien chose to ignore Tarquin’s question, instead patting the High Lord’s shoulder assuringly. “Don’t worry, Tarquin. I’ve been an emissary longer than you’ve been alive, navigating many uncomfortable situations with a fair amount of composure. Besides, I highly doubt our paths will intercept much.”

“Longer than I’ve been alive? Your old age is showing, Lucien.” Tarquin rolled his eyes. “Don’t get too boastful, because Elain might be the one to disarm your composure. She is planning to stay the whole duration of the conference,” he pointed out. “Just like you.”

Lucien’s heart quickened at the possibility of seeing Elain more frequently in the next few weeks. The last few years he’d only seen her a handful of times in Velaris. He steeled his expression as he shoved the feeling down. Just the mating bond speaking, he believed. It’s an unrealistic hope, a fool’s dream that she would even be receptive towards me but…

He gave the High Lord of Summer a tart smile and waved his hand dismissively. “Again, I’m sure there are plenty of assignments to do, sights to see in Adriata that will keep us apart. I shall remain, and deal any Elain-related issues privately.”

A strange look came over Tarquin’s face, like he had experienced deja vu. “What?” Lucien asked.

Tarquin shook his head. “Nothing…I have to finish up some work. Feel free to enjoy your free day tomorrow, but don’t forget about the subcommittee meeting.” He yawned and rolled his shoulders.

“Sweet dreams,” Lucien replied to his friend. Once Tarquin was gone, Lucien brushed his teeth, stripped off his clothes, and sank into the bathtub. The near-boiling hot water relaxed him after a long, long day.

Lucien swirled his fingers in the water, recalling how Elain Archeron and the Night Court delegation had hoofed it out of Tarquin’s Great Hall once dinner was over. Lucien knew his mate had been looking at him several times throughout the meal, for his skin prickled every time she curiously turned her big brown eyes on him. He had been working up the nerve to talk to her throughout the meal as he chatted with Luke and Ellias, but she left early. It’s not like I ever came up with anything to say, Lucien thought ruefully.

Lucien settled in the bed, the sheets cool against his naked skin. Silver starlight twinkled outside his window. He spent a few minutes appreciating their beauty, picking out the constellations as he did in his youth. With Jesminda. Jesminda, he sent out into the void. It’s finally happening. Tarquin…he’s doing what I’ve always wanted to do for you. Jesminda…so many of the other courts are here. If only you could see this. They’re more open-minded towards the Lesser Fae than ever and I—I just wonder what could have been, you know? If we were born in a different time. A time when they didn’t care about what kind of Fae you were.

Silence. Lucien sighed, averting his eyes from the stars and towards the dark corners of the room. He hadn’t expected the years and decades to dull the pain and the love he’d experienced for Jesminda. Sure, he no longer felt like crying whenever he recalled her last moments and he’d stopped comparing sex with what making love with Jesminda felt like long ago. But he also couldn’t remember the exact texture of her gossamer wings. Or the placement of blemishes on her jade green skin. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Because despite the years Jesminda and I had with each other, and my memories are being lost to the sands of time. Meanwhile, I barely spent any time with Elain and yet…Lucien could remember everything. From the way her hair curled over her shoulder in the sunlight to the short, square nails on her slender fingers. The two small creases between her brows whenever she was thinking hard about something. Her solid, drenched body that had clung to him when she tumbled out of the Cauldron.

Perhaps this is why Jesminda and I were never meant to be. But did she have to DIE for me to realize that? Lucien shook his head. And still the Mother gave me a mating bond that would never come to fruition…Elain, Elain, Elain, his mate instincts urged him.

Lucien clenched his fists and shut his eyes, willing the mate instincts to shut up. All Elain will do the next few weeks is avoid me, then stare at me, then avoid me some more. He waited for his heart to stop racing, the fire in his veins to stop their nonsensical yearning. Tarquin had a point: this would be the first time the two would be in unsupervised close proximity for a prolonged period of time. Perhaps the next few weeks will be more interesting than I anticipated.

***

The sun was high in the sky when Lucien finally got out of bed. He’d woken up earlier, but allowed himself to fall back asleep. I need a vacation, he’d justified it to himself blearily. The last few months have been non-stop work: negotiations, emissary reports, mediating Jurian and Vassa’s bickering…

Lucien donned a white button up shirt and olive pants that would cool him down in Summer’s heat. After meticulously combing his slightly tangled locks, his fingers deftly arranged his flaming red hair into a braid. My friends—Viviane, Luke, Tamlin—are busy breaking ground with their own delegation, so another day in Adriata to myself would be perfect.

But before I leave…

Lucien’s gaze drifted towards the window, his metal eye whirring. Spindly like cobwebs, the spells and wards glimmered in mid-air. The tendrils of magic were of varying thickness and colors; some were green and blue, others were purple and red.

He’d lied, when he told Feyre and Rhysand that his metal eye allowed him to see spells and wards. He had been seeing them ever since he was a young child. And even if he lost his other eye—the Mother forbid—Lucien surmised that he could still sense the spells and wards present.

Growing up in the cutthroat Autumn Court, Lucien learned very quickly to keep any advantages he had under wraps. Yet his horrendous brothers and Beron Vanserra could sense that the seventh son of the High family was different. Was it a blessing that they automatically assumed I was MORE powerful, instead of realizing I had DIFFERENT powers? Not that it matters…they were horrible to me regardless.

Lucien winced, remembering one time he revealed his hand: when he broke free of the King of Hybern’s spelled cuffs to reach Elain. It was foolish, utterly foolish to reveal himself as a spellmaster in front of such a foe, but Lucien was motivated to do something when he saw Elain’s pitiful, limp form. His regret worsened when he remembered how he kept his power on a tight leash that fateful day Jesminda died. He should have never spent so long calculating how the different scenarios would play out, should have incinerated his brothers to ashes and stabbed his father in the chest instead. Lucien thought he’d foolishly risked everything for a human stranger at Hybern. But it turned out she was his Cauldron-ordained mate.

Lucien narrowed his eyes in concentration, summoning the thrumming power of golden light within him that was so different from the heat of his flame. Undoing the spells in place was like unraveling a ball of yarn: every piece led to another, and parsing out the different knots required patience. That’s the easy part. The hard part is replicating the spells and making sure the creator of the spells doesn’t realize they’ve been broken.

He’d done it several times before, most notably when he undid Koschei’s cursed spell right under the death lord’s nose. The trick is to create a glamour so strong, so uncanny in its resemblance to the original spell that no one will know. Except me. Understanding the nuances of each spell was like understanding other people. And Lucien felt he was pretty good at understanding people (except for Elain). No two spells were the same, and they each had their own twists and turns.

Lucien discreetly slid his own copy of the wards through the air while gently slicing the original bindings. He paused, tilting his head to feel for any disturbance in the space, to listen for any alarms sounding through the air. Nothing. I guess I’m not as rusty as I thought. His chest puffed slightly with renewed confidence. Before he left, Lucien threw up some of his own wards, since the glamours weren’t actually effective at keeping real threats away.

***

Adriata glimmered in the midday sun. Despite the heat, the trees and light breeze kept Lucien cool as he hiked up the slopes. Terracotta roofs adorned the white buildings in the city’s bustling squares. Curious-looking, vibrant flowers of magenta, red, yellow, and green swayed in hanging planters and draped over the walls. Elain would probably know what flowers these are.

Lucien shoved the thought of Elain out of his mind as he continued wandering the streets. A cerulean blue-skinned faerie with long black hair and small velvet wings was hawking a food stall. Lucien purchased several white round buns for lunch, savoring the sweetness of the pork stuffing as he walked.

There was a miniature city park that was a nice place to stop and rest. The tiny square had a grove of trees, several iron and wood benches, and an ornate babbling fountain. Two Fae younglings, both with cerulean blue skin and black velvet wings, played in the far corner of the park as their mother watched them. Lucien inspected the details of the fountain, appreciating the carvings of varied tropical fishes and speckled coral. There were also several coins glimmering under the rippling water.

Lucien fished out a bronze coin of his own, turning it in his hand as he pondered a wish. Too many things need fixing in this world, too big for a humble fountain wish. Lesser Fae equality. Dignity and protection for the humans. A sense of belonging. For Elain to smile at me again…

He was interrupted by a commotion behind him. A Fae male, with brassy brown hair and pointed ears, was standing in front of the Fae family. “—are not welcome here!” his voice boomed. “This is a private park.” The Fae younglings had moved behind their mother, looking like they were about to cry.

The mother stood defiantly, her lithe and tall stature bringing her to equal height with the Fae male. He was nobility, from the looks of his fancy clothing and obnoxious swagger. “Sir, this is a public park,” she replied. “My children are simply playing on this fine afternoon.”

The Fae noble scoffed, somehow managing to look down on the family with his green eyes. “Public park it may be, but the likes of your kind are not welcome in this district.” He took a step closer, intimidating her with his brawn.

She flinched. “Our High Lord Tarquin has decreed that public and private spaces are for all Fae to enjoy equally,” she responded, but her once-clear voice was now quiet.

The male sneered derisively. “That decree has not yet taken effect. Or are you illiterate, too?”

This isn’t right, Lucien thought as he began moving swiftly to the family. Red hot anger coursed through him at the mistreatment. The poor children just wanted a place to play, and now they’re being harassed by this disgusting male who has nothing better to do. And this IS a public park; I didn’t see any signage or enclosures that indicated otherwise.

Lucien placed himself between the male and the family. “They’re with me,” he said coolly, staring the male down. “I suggest you stop harassing them this instant.” The Fae noble blinked, bewildered at Lucien’s sudden appearance.

He then snorted. “Do you think I’m so stupid that I would ever think this is truly your family?” Lucien clenched his fists, willing his face to remain impassive. Beron had said the same thing once. He’d mocked the idea of Jesminda and I ever having a family together. “The Lesser Fae are sullying our neighborhoods and parks with their presence.” The noble managed to emphasize the forbidden phrase with added venom.

“The only things sullying these neighborhoods and parks are your own disgusting beliefs,” Lucien retorted. “Like I said. Leave. Them. Alone.” Lucien allowed the barest hint of flame to sizzle in his eye. The other male’s green eyes widened in fear at the display of dominance, before turning around and walking briskly away.

Once the aggressor was gone, Lucien heard the mother sigh with relief. “I’m very sorry that happened to you,” he said, turning around to make sure the family was unharmed.

The mother took one look at Lucien’s handsome face and blushed, her blue cheeks darkening. “Thank you for helping us,” she replied, bowing quickly. Her children, one boy and one girl, peeked out from behind her dress. “Usually my husband comes to the parks with us, because no one dares to bother us when he’s wearing his Summer Court Guard uniform. He got called on an extra shift today, but you didn’t have to go through the trouble, my lord.”

Lucien shook his head. “It was just the right thing to do. And I’m not a lord…my name is Lucien.” He held out his hand for the mother to shake.

“Lucien. It is very nice to meet you.”

Resources linked here!

Read: Ch 6

#psa that lucien sleeps naked #before anybody gets ahead of themselves there are NO romantic tones between lucien and the mom #navigating jesminda and lucien is so hard ngl #elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #tarquin acotar #summer court #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain x lucien #lucien x elain

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westrangecollectionkoalaposts · 1 year

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Nesta has the vibes of someone who finds funny when children curses, of course she would be like, "no, you can't say that, it is not polite.", and her kid like, "buy mom, you are laughing.", and nesta:

"No, I am not."

#imagine a modern family like scene #nesta is at elain and lucien wedding and she is like:#my sister and my one of my best friends are marry i am so happy for them 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲#and her two little ginger kids are like #oh no mom is crying. wait we know how to make her happy. mom?#and nesta: yes?#her kids: f*ck #nesta: nooo 🤭🤭🤭🤭#nesta archeron #neris

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thehighladywrites · 6 months

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masterlist.

a court of thornes and roses

rhysand

ᜊ Beneath their smiles - your friends turn out to be using you, comfort and hurt

ᜊ Texting Rhysand - smau

ᜊ Sugar daddy Rhysand - big dick daddy rhysand spends cash on you and falls in love, breaking your agreement

ᜊ “Just one more, I know you can do it” - rhys has a massive breeding kink

ᜊ “This isn’t goodbye, this is simply see you later” - ex husband/baby daddy rhysand

ᜊ “I got you, darling…” - Rhys takes care of you on your period

azriel

ᜊ Texting Azriel - smau

ᜊ Texting Azriel pt. 2 - smau

ᜊ Need you so bad baby, please… - ovulation week hits you hard, you need your mate

ᜊ Azzie, I think your mom is super hot… - you meet azriels mother and develop a little crush on her

ᜊ I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater… - angst, just plain angst with a somewhat bittersweet ending

ᜊ “Tell me you’re mine” , “ i’m yours” - you dream that azriel was cheating on you and now you can’t look at him without being annoyed. It’s not really his fault, but still… azriel reassures you, promising that you’re the only one for him.

ᜊ “You can even call me daddy, give you someone to look up to” - sugar daddy azriel spoils you

ᜊ “If it’s so wrong, why does it feel so good?” - azriel is a stalker and pervy guy

ᜊ The sessions masterlist - nerdy azriel x bimbo reader

ᜊ “You were flirting with me?” - you doubt Azriel even likes you since all he does is stare into your soul. Azriel thinks he is very clear when he stares, why do you not understand that he is flirting?

cassian

ᜊ That’s your mother but she’s my wife first… - your kids loose their tempers, cassian reminds them who you are, nsfw, light angst, hurt & comfort

ᜊ The Airhead Chronicles: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 - cassian is mates to a ditzy reader, and he loves her more than anything. How do they function together? - FINISHED

ᜊ “make her squirt on my balmain shirt” - cassian finds out you can squirt

eris vanserra

ᜊ Professor Eris x reader: part 1, part 2, part 2,5, part 3 part 4 part 5 - you hook up with this delicious older man for one fun night to forget your scummy ex, what do you do when the same man turns out to be your new professor? What do you do when that same professor had a dark secret? - ONGOING

ᜊ Vanserra brothers NSFW Alphabet - nsfw, crack, a sprinkle of angst

feyre archeron

ᜊ “let’s settle this catfight in the ring, let’s settle this in bed” - enemies to lovers, smut, angst, jealousy

elain archeron

soon

lucien vanserra

ᜊ Vanserra brothers NSFW Alphabet - nsfw, crack, a sprinkle of angst

acotar men x reader

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, sneaking out to a bar while you’re drunk - smau, multi men, tiny bit nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, using doe eyes on them - nsfw, multi men, headcanons

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, putting bows on their things - headcanons, multi men, cute asf

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, you being asexual - smau, multi men, headcanons

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, sassy man apocalypse - smau, multi men, crack

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, being their sneaky link - multi men, nsfw, headcanons

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, banning them from intimacy - multi men, nsfw, headcanons

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, meeting your parents - multi men, headcanons, crack, fluff

ᜊ ACOTAR men x reader, your child catches you in the act - multi men, headcanons, crack, nsfw

multi characters

ᜊ Breaking up with the acotar characters as a prank - smau, multi

ᜊ Texting “ She’s busy “ as a prank with the acotar characters - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, ” I had a really fun time yesterday. Oops wrong person ” - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, creepy man hitting on drunk reader - smau, multi, tiny bit nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, we need to talk - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, sending them nudes/lingerie pics - smau, multi, nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, asking them for hand pics - smau, multi, tiny bit nsfw

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, “can i get x’s number?” - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, doing elf on the shelf for your kids - smau, multi

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, random texts - smau, nsfw, multi

ᜊ nsfw visual links for them - multi, smut, nsfw,

ᜊ ACOTAR characters x reader, “where’s my treat?” - multi, nsfw-ish

ᜊ ACOTAR characters using twitter; pt 1 | pt 2 - nsfw, swearing

throne of glass

multi:

ᜊ TOG characters x reader, sending them lingerie pics - smau, multi, suggestiveness

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elainemg97 · 2 months

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🦇Archerons and their Bat Boy BFFs🦇

~Elain and Rhysand~

✨3/3✨

“Then Rhys shook his head and said to Elain, “I’ll fly you home.”

Elain didn’t object when Rhys scooped her up and launched into the red-and-pink-stained sky.

When they were a speck of black and purple over the rooftops, Rhys sweeping along the gilded river as if giving Elain a scenic tour…”

~ACOSF, Ch 17~

*Thoughts: Although this duo hasn’t had too many interactions in the past, the Archeron-Bat Boy duos have been a pattern thus far, and I’m sure Elain and Rhys will work together in the future. Rhysand already sees more of Elain than others do, and Elain is not scared of Rhys. She, in fact, nonchalantly ignored his command when he asked her what happened with Nesta.

~Theory 1: Elain reminds him of his mom and sister, and that’s why he has a soft spot for her.

~Theory 2: Since Nesta and Az were so easily defeated by a certain redhead, Rhys will want to train Elain and her powers to have an extra backup.

~Theory 3: After they become close, Rhys’s command to Azriel will come to light, and the betrayal will hit hard. Rhys will have to grovel for forgiveness. It’s gonna be good angst.👌🏼

~Theory 4: Rhys will gift Elain the townhouse.

#acowar #acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #art #fanart #pro elain #elain archeron #rhysand #pro elain archeron #elain art #acosf

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stargirlie25 · 1 month

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saw @acourtofthought mention something pretty interesting about book 1 and elucien.

It is the fact that Sarah wrote Elain and Nesta in acotar to simply be the evil sisters in Feyre's story. That Sarah had not anticipated to write stories about them until later.

Although Lucien in book 1, is a fleshed out character way more than the two sisters.

We figure out about his unresolved relationships with his brothers and mom.

We figure out what happened to him by Amarantha.

We figure out that his lover died.

This all alone has the backup for a main character.

While Sarah talks about Elucien she goes on to say ''I always thought he would be with Nesta" and considering Sarah said in 2015 that there is someone special for Lucien, it seems like she planned that either of the Archeron sisters would play a part in Luciens story.

Obviously a lot of that has changed including the fact that we have gathered even more unresolved plots for Lucien in the future books. (spring court,Friendship w tamlin,Role as HL,Helions son"

Its just the fact that from the get-go SJM assumed that Lucien vanserra was always meant to be with a Archeron.

While answering the question about all 3 couples (feysand,nessian,elucien) Sarah states that Nesta would worsen the deep unhealed wounds within Lucien and vice versa. Although Elucien has healing tension and growth and she makes sure we understand they go through it together.

As if right now, Lucien and Elain both have potential to be the main characters of the same book. Dealing with the biggest plot (koschei) and growing together with the side plots. (seer role, HL role)

To me its obvious Lucien will be with Elain.

One of the first personal things we find out about Lucien Is his lost love interest. Which alone screams a happy ending coming (AHEM dorian & Rowan)

Although SJM made Luciens love interest murdered.

She debated pairing him up with Nesta but did not because they would tear each other apart.

Then she made Lucien go through a rejected mating bond after stating its even worse for the males?....

Even though she states that he has deep unhealed wounds? Nah.

Sarah would not make Lucien suffer so much only to have him lose his mate then possibly end up with a human who will die long before him.

#pro elucien #elucien #elucien supremacy

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separatist-apologist · 2 months

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The Sweetest Con

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.

She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

Read on AO3

Five years earlier:

She wasn’t used to Georgia’s humidity.

Nesta never wanted to get used to it. Standing just outside the little white house that now belonged to her, Nesta wiped sweat from the back of her neck. The town was small—no more than a couple thousand people, if that. No big buildings, no major downtown, and worst of all, no Chinese food. Not unless she wanted to creep closer to Atlanta and given that Nesta’s car was a piece of rusting junk built a full decade before she was born, she doubted she’d make it.

So much for being a hot shot lawyer.

Nesta dumped her bag just inside the white picket fence, ignoring the peeling paint and splintering wood. It was the kind of place Elain would have thrived in. With a sigh, Nesta turned her back entirely on the overgrown yard and began walking along the only road in the town to the center—aptly named Main Street.

There was practically no one out. A few older woman walked with looped arms down the sidewalks while a harried mother pushing a stroller made her way toward the only grocery store. Nesta made her way toward the marble carved library, taking the steps one at a time despite the unrelenting sun overhead.

The air inside was ice cold and empty save of two women who were quietly talking to each other. One of them—the red head—clearly worked there given she was behind the desk. The other sat perched on the counter, a book in her lap. They had been clearly talking with some animation though now that Nesta had intruded, the pair stared with wary suspicion.

Nesta hadn’t come to make friends. Lifting her chin with all the haughtiness her mother had instilled in her, Nesta marched toward the shelves lined with fantasy and romance and began reading the jackets.

She needed a distraction. All she could think about lately was what would happen if Rhysand ever found them. Surely he was irate…he’d be out for blood. They’d flat out lied, pointing the finger straight at the notorious mafioso and the feds, in their eagerness to put him away, had overlooked all the evidence suggesting otherwise.

But Rhysand would know.

And Nesta wanted to forget him. Mobsters lived short lives, besides—in a year, he might be dead and the whole thing over. She could keep herself busy for that long. So long as the library kept books on the shelves, Nesta could find something to do.

She brought them to the front desk where the red head and the dark haired woman waited. “Library card?” The woman’s name tag read Gwyn.

“No,” Nesta said, fishing out her new drivers license. Agnes Smith. Sure. That sounded real. “Here.”

Gwyn eyed it for a moment. “You don’t look like an Agnes.”

“Tell that to my mom.”

Gwyn began typing on her computer, glancing at Nesta’s ID. “Emerie,” the dark skinned, dark haired woman said with a friendlier smile. “I think you look like an Agnes.” Gwyn rolled her eyes.

“You should come by the general store,” Emerie added, glancing at the ID for Nesta’s address. “You moved into the old Brandon house.”

“Grizzly murder happened there,” Gwyn said seriously.

“Did not. He died of all old age,” Emerie said quickly. “It’s been run down for a while. I’d be happy to help you out.”

“Do you like women?” Gwyn asked suddenly and bluntly.

Taken aback, Nesta said, “Um…not really—romantically, anyway.”

Emerie sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

Nesta almost blurted out that she’d still take friends before she thought better of it. No need to be defensive or obsessive. “Where is everyone today?”

“It’s ten am,” Gwyn said.

“They’re at church,” Emerie replied when it was clear Nesta didn’t understand.

“But not you?” Nesta questioned.

Gwyn handed her ID back, along with a white library card bearing her pretend name. “We aren’t welcome.”

“Why?”

Emerie grimaced while Gwyn scanned Nesta’s book. “They think I’m a homewrecker…and Emerie likes women. Openly.”

“Fuck them,” Nesta said without thinking. It was the first smile she’d seen from Gwyn—a small, half formed thing, but a smile all the same. “We should start our own religion.”

“That sounds like blasphemy,” Emerie teased.

“It sounds like witchcraft,” Gwyn added, pushing Nesta’s stack of books toward her. “I’m in.”

Which was how Nesta found herself hosting brunch that Sunday with two strangers in a house that didn’t belong to her.

PRESENT:

“Who is that?” Emerie asked, sitting on Nesta’s front porch holding a sweating glass of iced tea.

“He’s not local at all,” Gwyn agreed, lowering her sunglasses to take a look at the tall, muscular man making his way toward Nesta’s gate. Wearing mirrored shades and a suit that was bursting at the seams, he looked like he was playing dress up as a cop.

His dark, wavy hair half pulled in a bun didn’t seem regulation, for one. But something about him seemed off somehow.

“He one of yours?” Gwyn questioned. Nesta had long since betrayed the secrecy she’d been sworn to, telling her friends everything but the most critical piece of truth in order to protect Feyre.

Nesta scratched her ear. No, this man was definitely not one of hers.

“Want us to stay?” Gwyn asked, likely thinking about the shotgun mounted in the back of her pick-up truck.

“I can handle him,” Nesta assured them. Gwyn and Emerie stood, leaving behind their cups to slip from the yard. Gwyn nodded at the man once, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. That left Nesta standing at the top of her porch steps wearing a butter yellow sundress, arms crossed over her chest.

“Ma’am,” he the man began as he approached, his expression unreadable. She waited, watching as he took off his sunglasses only for recognition to slam into her. Oh. She knew this man from pictures. “My name is Cassian.”

Rhysands right hand man. Nesta didn’t move, unwilling to betray she knew who he was. “What can I do for you, Cassian?”

Not even a fake name? Was he that confident she’d never done one google search? He had a mugshot, had appeared in the papers just enough times for Nesta to recognize him. They called him The Lord of Bloodshed thanks to his rumored job of handling the things Rhysand didn’t want staining his hands or his conscience.

And that man was standing at the bottom of her steps, armed just beneath his suit jacket.

“I’m here on behalf of your case,” he said like a pretty liar.

“Oh? Has something happened?”

“An indictment is coming. I’m to escort you back home once Rhysand has been charged.”

Liar.

Still, there was no reason to call him out on it. If Rhysand had found her, he must be still looking for her sisters. She didn’t believe for a minute he’d found Feyre—his bruiser would have pointed his gun at her by way of greeting had he. No, they were monitoring her.

And Nesta could watch them right back.

So she smiled, hoping she seemed innocent and sweet. “What a relief,” she lied, stepping to the side so he could come up. “I was starting to think I’d be trapped here forever.”

“Can I come inside?” Cassian asked, looking around her immaculate yard with interest. “It’s hot out here.”

“Better get used to that,” Nesta said, pulling open the screen door so Cassian could get the lay of the land. “Are you staying here?”

“If you don’t mind. The hotel is…”

Roach filled, she knew. People still went, content to carry out their clandestine affairs in filth so long as no one ever found out.

“I have a spare room,” Nesta told him. Cassian turned back for his own car—a brand new jeep that was laughably out of place in her little neighborhood. He returned with two bags slung over his broad shoulders, eyes hidden behind his glasses. The sun hit the golden brown of his skin, making it seem as if he glowed and tragically, Nesta thought he was a good looking man.

He’d kill her if she wasn’t careful…but attractive, all the same.

Nesta showed him to the smaller room she kept made up just in case Gwyn or Emerie wanted to stay the night, thinking the full sized bed didn’t seem big enough for this man. He had to duck beneath the doorway, putting him well over six foot three—maybe six six? He made Nesta, who stood tall at five nine, feel dainty by comparison.

“Should I call you Cassian, or…?”

“Cassian is fine,” he replied, sunglasses resting atop his head. “This is perfect, by the way. I promise you’ll barely know I exist.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nesta said in a flirty voice as she eyed him. “I think it would be hard not to notice you.” He grinned, unaware that a real agent would have shut her down in seconds. “Well, Miss Agnes, I’ll do my best to keep out of your hair.”

Nesta offered him another smile, mind racing. If she survived tonight she assumed she’d survive as long as he wanted her to—and as long as she didn’t admit she knew what he was. That meant keeping it from Gwyn and Emerie, who wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from treating him like a criminal.

He thought she was prey, but Nesta Archeron was a survivor. A predator, just like this man. And she had lived in Georgia for five years—she had guns hidden all over the house. He didn’t need to know any of that, though. Nesta waited while he unpacked some of his things and peeked around her little house, mostly quiet as he cased her. Sitting on her sofa beneath a ceiling fan moving at top speed, Nesta heard him push open the back door and walk through the yard where she assumed he was testing the gate.

He messed with windows when he returned, pushing back curtains to peer out into the street. “You’re wide open out here,” he finally said with a frown on his pretty face. And he was pretty—sculpted and rough in a way that was hard to ignore. Nesta found herself noticing the green in his hazel eyes and the way stubble clung to his strong jaw. A slit cut through his eyebrow while faint scars littered his jaw and hands, betraying a man who knew his way around a fight.

He was fooling no one but himself.

“This is where you put me,” she reminded him, wondering if he understood what she was really saying.

“Maybe we’ll keep the curtains closed,” Cassian said, as if Nesta didn’t do that anyway. The sun was unforgiving and the only way to survive swampy summers was to try and keep things shady and cool.

“Do you want to take off your jacket?”

“I want to take everything off,” he admitted, shrugging out of what she had to assume was stolen. “Even my own skin.”

“That’s how I felt when I first got here,” she told him. He’d look back on all this and remember—he’d realize she knew the moment he stepped onto her lawn. “You get used to it.”

She was going to kill him, she realized. The knowledge slammed into Nesta’s chest violently, paralyzing her for a moment. She’d never killed anyone…but at some point she’d have to kill this man before he killed her. Cassian, for his part, was unaware of the slant of her thoughts. He must have already known when he came down that he planned to kill her just as soon as he was given the order. She doubted he intended to take her home…and if he did, it would be under duress.

That was future Nesta’s problem, though. For now, all she had to do was stay one step ahead of him. And that meant pretending like she believed every word coming out of his mouth and ignored all the obvious signs that he was a liar.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“Starving,” Cassian agreed. He vanished into the room she’d given him, leaving Nesta enough time to try and steady her nervous hands. By the time Cassian returned, Nesta was slicing up meat for the grill outside. There was absolutely no way she was turning on her oven.

“Can I help you with that?”

Instinct demanded she say no. She didn’t want Cassian anywhere near lighter fluid, for one. He looked so earnest and she was pretending, so Nesta nodded. “I haven’t seasoned it yet.”

“Leave it to me,” Cassian said with an easy smile. And she did, watching him from the corner of her eye while he seasoned her meat and vegetables. He vanished out the back door and when he returned, sweat glistened over his face. Nesta found herself standing there for a moment, staring as he pulled the rest of his hair off his face, biceps straining against the cuff of his t-shirts.

Cassian was heavily tattooed with black ink that crawled over his arms and up his neck, broken only by the sweaty shirt he wore.

“Why do people live like this?” Cassian asked, wiping his brow on his sleeve. “It’s horrible.”

“I keep saying it,” she replied honestly. “I would have preferred a colder climate.”

“Next time,” Cassian grumbled. “What are you doing now?”

“Cutting up fruit. Want some?”

Cassian picked a blueberry out of the bowl and popped it into his mouth. “How do you spend your time, anyway?”

“I’m the town lawyer,” Nesta informed him. “I work in a little office down on Main Street.”

“And when you’re not working?”

She shrugged. “I have friends…but I mostly read.”

He glanced toward her shelves of books in the living room, visible from the hall connecting the two. “Anything interesting?”

“Take a look,” was all Nesta could think to respond. Cassian didn’t take her up on her offer, turning instead to go check on the grilling meat. Had she not known who he was, Nesta might have thought the awkward environment was just because a stranger had invaded her space.

It felt almost normal.

Almost.

Because Nesta couldn’t forget a killer was sitting across from her, his hands soaked in blood. She kept coming back to it as they ate in relative silence. Why had Rhysand sent him here? What did he want with her? Nesta needed to figure it out.

And figure it out fast.

CASSIAN:

Nesta Archeron was beautiful.

Cassian hadn’t expected it. He’d seen a picture of Feyre only once and had kind of imposed her face on all three Archerons. Walking up to her house had been a surreal experience. For one, all Cassian could see was her tits pressed against the neckline of that sundress she wore. Holy fucking Christ, but Nesta’s body was something out of his most depraved fantasies.

But her eyes were something else. Icy blue and calculated, it was no surprise Nesta had survived five years out mostly on her own. Did she even know her sisters were guarded by federal agents while she was left to fend for herself?

It irked Cassian. Sure, he was grateful he’d been able to gain access to her life so easily, but surely someone was keeping their eyes on this woman? So the likes of him couldn’t just stroll into her home and do whatever he liked with her?

But after two days living with Nesta, Cassian learned that no one seemed to care if she lived or died. Which was just as well—because he was starting to care. Just a little, he told himself that second night as he laid in bed staring up at the ceiling fan.

His only job was to get her back to Rhysand in one piece once he’d tracked down Feyre and married her. Nesta wouldn’t even know until it was all too late and the feds would lose their pathetic case.

And then Cassian could go back to his regular life in a place that wasn’t drenched in humidity. How did anyone sleep? Even with Nesta’s air conditioner going at full blast, Cassian found himself shucking off his shirt and kicking the sheets to the floor in a desperate attempt at sleep.

Thinking the living room might be cooler, Cassian dragged his blanket with him to the couch where he found Nesta, half hidden in the dark with a piece of toast in her hand.

Her little night dress was enough to empty out his mind. Why was she so hot? Cassian could see every curve of her perfect body beneath the silken blue fabric and her hair was loose around her shoulders rather than braided in a crown atop her head.

He wanted to lick the salt off her skin.

He wanted to lick a lot of things, actually.

Cassian was fairly certain federal agents weren’t supposed to have sex with their charges—even if Rhysand was certain Vanserra had something going on with the middle Archeron. Cassian wasn’t anything close to a cop and fucking was his favorite thing to do.

“I ah..” Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyper aware that all he wore was a pair of loose shorts. Nesta was looking only at his face with a grim determination—as if she found it very difficult to do so.

You can look at any part of me you like.

Having sex with her would certainly pass the time.

“It’s hot,” Nesta said, flipping on a lamp on the side table. “I keep meaning to get someone out here to look at my AC, but…”

“I’ll look at it,” Cassian promised. “Before the sun comes up.”

“You’re handy?”

He was, actually. “I grew up with a single mom,” he said, flashing her a smile before making his way to the sofa. “We didn’t have a lot of money, so I learned how to do repairs.” Nesta tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Unwilling to give her a reason to banish him, Cassian made a show of fluffing the couch cushions before stretching himself out.

“My shower doesn’t have hot water,” she finally told him.

Cassian grinned in the dark. “I can take a look at that, too.”

“I would appreciate it,” Nesta replied.

“Why don’t you make me a list? I’ve got nothing else to do all day and I feel like a freeloader sitting on your couch.”

That was true. Cassian was used to staying busy and suddenly he had nothing but downtime. It was tempting to go to the library and find his own books to read and treat the entire thing like a vacation. This would help build trust between them, he rationalized.

And Cassian liked having something to do. He liked being useful to people.

“I could do that,” Nesta said, still standing in his line of sight. Even in the dark, Cassian could see her nipples pointed through the fabric. He wanted to touch them.

“I’m here to help,” Cassian reminded her.

“Of course,” she said, her tone unreadable to him.

He nearly asked if she wanted to join him. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Nesta beat him to speaking, adding, “Well. Sleep well, Cassian.”

“You too,” he said, disappointment ribboning through him. It was absurd to think a woman like Nesta Archeron was going to crawl in his dirtbag lap.

Still, Cassian could dream. And he did, waking with a throbbing erection he had to discreetly handle in the freezing cold shower. Cassian hadn’t noticed it wasn’t hot given the air was miserable and he didn’t want to take a boiling shower for once. He could hear Nesta in her room listening to music, up with dawn just like he was.

He found tools out in her garden shed, unused and rusty. They’d likely belonged to the previous tenant, whoever they’d been. Still, they worked well enough for Cassian’s purposes. What she needed was an entirely new unit. Cassian guessed the old one was over a decade long and judging from the rattling, it was on its final legs.

He had money. A lot of money. Would she believe him if he told her the agency had decided to replace it? Nesta didn’t strike him as particularly stupid—if they’d never helped her before, she might not believe they’d help her now. He couldn’t live the way they had been, though, which was how Cassian found himself on the phone with the local repairman giving out his credit card details over the phone.

Nesta was gone by the time Cassian came back into the house, drenched in sweat and slightly sunburned on the tops of his arms. It was a relief to get into the basement and work on the water heater, and by the time Cassian finished, the service guys were there to replace Nesta’s air conditioner. It required them to turn the air off which was actual hell, though once it was back up, Cassian felt instant relief.

Nesta returned with a scowl on her face, dressed in a pencil skirt that made Cassian’s mouth dry out. How had Archeron managed to create her? Cassian had met him—he was nothing special. An unremarkable man in every way imaginable, including his appearance.

Nesta could have modeled. Could have had her face on billboards, her body in magazines. Had he met her back home, he knew he’d have dogged her steps hoping for just a look in his direction.

“Any news?” Nesta asked, sliding her keys and purse onto a side table. Cassian watched her kick off her heels and turn her face upwards toward the vents blowing cold air.

“Nope,” he said. What would Rhys do if he kept her here for a year? Kick his ass, likely. “Rough day?”

Holding up a cloth shopping bag, Nesta nodded her head while Cassian rose to take it from her. Inside he found an assortment of peppers, onions, and a rather nice steak he assumed she wanted to grill. Cassian had never grilled before he met her and found that he rather liked it. In fact, he liked the whole little game he was playing. Pretending to be the sort of man who had a house and a wife and a barbeque suited him.

In another life, Cassian would have thrived.

“I’m working on another divorce and her soon to be ex stopped by to tell me what he thought about me.”

“I hope it was to tell you you’re beautiful,” Cassian replied without thinking as he peeled stickers from the vegetables.

“No it wasn’t,” Nesta replied, her tone uncertain. “It was to tell me what a bitch I am.”

Cassian arched a brow. “Did you tell him to get fucked?”

Nesta chuckled. “Not this time…but I wanted to. He thinks if he digs his heels in, he can avoid this divorce but it’s happening either way.”

“This is why I’m not married,” Cassian said, reaching for a knife.

“Oh?” Nesta asked, an amused smile on her perfect face. “Is that the only reason?”

Cassian couldn’t help his grin. “I’m off-putting to women, of course.”

“There it is,” she said with a pretty laugh. “Want any help?”

“Get out of my kitchen, Nes,” Cassian replied, swatting her away. “Water’s fixed, by the way.”

The whole thing was warm and domestic. Nesta thanked him before sauntering off, hips swaying with each step. The only thing to temper Cassian’s hot blood was the hotter grill outside and a reminder that Nesta was off limits to him.

He was merely a guard meant to get her back home before the feds scooped her and her sisters back up again. Collateral, he supposed, for the game Rhys was playing with Feyre. Cassian was grateful for that, at least—if Rhys called him and told him to kill her, he wasn’t certain he could do it.

Cassian returned to find Nesta in a pair of tiny little shorts and a pink tank top. He wished she’d pull her hair down, still left in its braided crown, though in truth he could have stood at the backdoor and stared at her for an embarrassing length of time.

“What did I say about the kitchen?” he teased, setting his tray of meat and vegetables on the counter beside her.

“I wanted to make a little salad,” Nesta told him, showing him the bowl. “Do you even eat vegetables?”

“On occasion,” Cassian said with an easy grin. “I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me, though. I’m not picky.”

“Tell me about yourself, Cassian,” Nesta ordered once they were seated at her little wooden table.

“There’s nothing interesting to tell,” he replied. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’ll bet you’re a lot more interesting than I am.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Nesta murmured.

“C’mon,” Cassian cajoled. Nesta sighed, eyes narrowed with that suspicious look he was growing so fond of. Was there such a thing as love at first sight, he wondered? Cassian was starting to suspect he was under its spell. Under hers, anyway. Nesta relented, telling him little stories he figured were probably half true.

Cassian knew the right questions to ask, at any rate. Careful not to mention her family, Cassian asked her about everything else. Nesta spoke about going to law school and living in Georgia, mentioning two friends she’d made—Gwyn the librarian and Emerie the grocer. He’d seen them on his porch when he first arrived.

He needed to do a little digging on them, but he figured they were likely fine.

“What about you?” Nesta asked, their meal long concluded. Cassian began gathering up dishes.

“What about me?”

“Are you from Georgia?” she questioned.

Cassian chuckled. “No, I’m not from Georgia. Just got unlucky in my assignment, I guess.”

“Why did you want to do this work?”

Cassian considered that. “I’m good at it,” he replied, drumming his fingers along the edge of the sink. “I kind of fell into it, actually. I guess I succumb easily to peer pressure because when one of my friends suggested I apply, I did it without hesitation.”

That wasn’t entirely true. There had been no application process—he and Rhys had become friends as boys and Rhys’s mother had been like a second mother to Cassian. He’d always wanted to repay them for their kindness and when Rhys asked him to join him as his right hand man, the answer had been obvious.

He couldn’t tell Nesta that, though. She didn’t poke, either, seemingly satisfied with his answer. While Cassian cleaned up, Nesta made her way to the living room, picked up a book, and curled up on the couch. Cassian watched her pull a blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it over her tanned knees.

“Cold, huh?” he joked.

“You fixed—”

A gunshot silenced both of them. Nesta jumped clean out of her skin, book falling from her trembling hands. Cassian frowned, his own heart racing with excitement. Finally, something interesting was happening.

His own gun was in his hand before Nesta ever stood. “Don’t move,” he whispered, motioning for her to get away from the window.

“Send the bitch outside!” a man’s voice yelled, filling Cassian with cold rage. He was at the door in a moment, flinging it open so it was his large body filling the space. On the lawn, a man stumbled forward, gun pointed at the sky. He pulled the trigger again, clearly trying to intimidate Cassian.

Cassian had been tied up before, a gun pressed against his lips while his cock was threatened with a knife. Some fucking rural drunk with a gun didn’t scare him. In truth, very little scared Cassian. He’d cheated death more times than he could count and he knew, as he stepped onto the lawn in the fading daylight, that he wasn’t going to die today.

This man, on the other hand…well. Cassian supposed it would depend on what he did next.

“Lower your weapon!” Cassian barked, his voice rough and menacing. The man jerked to look at him, eyes wide and watery. “Put your gun down or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Send out your bitch—”

Cassian didn’t shoot him, but he did hit him in the face. Hard. Maybe too hard given the way the man crumpled at his feet as blood poured from his nose. Only the alcohol kept him from passing out which was lucky for Cassian.

Crouching in the grass, Cassian grabbed the man by his thinning hair and forced his head into an unnatural angle. “What did you say?”

“I called her a bitch,” the man spluttered through the blood.

Cassian cocked his gun with his free hand and pressed it to the man's cheek. “Try again,” he whispered, fully intending on killing this man on the front lawn. Cassian’s finger pressed against the trigger just as Nesta barked, “Cassian!”

He twisted to look at her, arms crossed over her chest. She was fury incarnate right then, marching toward the pair of them without a care in the world.

“Get out of her, Brent,” Nesta ordered, pointing her finger toward the gate. “This is embarrassing, even for you.”

“You ruined my life—”

“You ruined your own life by cheating on your wife!” Nesta spat without remorse. “And you’re ruining it by assaulting a federal officer.”

Cassian nearly choked. Did he look like a cop right then?

“He assaulted me,” Brent protested, shoving out of Cassian’s grip.

“If I see you near her again, you’ll find yourself six feet under before you can utter one fucking word. Do we understand each other?” Cassian asked, rising to his full height. Brent glanced from the gun in Cassian’s hand to Cassian himself before offering a sullen nod.

“Whatever,” he muttered, clearly trying to save face. Cassian watched him stumble off, forcing himself not to pull the trigger anyway at the man’s retreating back. Nesta came to stand beside Cassian, resting her soft, small hand on his forearm.

“That’s the guy getting the divorce,” she told him, as if Cassian cared who he was. Letting someone who threatened him walk away unscathed felt wrong and Cassian longed to rectify it. Where did he live, he wondered?

“I can see why,” Cassian muttered, turning back for the house. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“He’s not coming back—”

“He pointed a gun at you,” Cassian growled, the memory filling him with rage.

Nesta only shrugged, proving that she was still part of the life whether she wanted to be or not. Did she know what a liar her younger sister was, he wondered? Did Nesta know it had been Feyre who killed her father? Looking at her in the warm light of the house, Cassian decided that a woman like Nesta wouldn’t allow herself to live this way if she hadn’t known. If she wasn’t protecting someone.

Who was protecting her?

“I’m fine,” Nesta reminded him. But Cassian knew all too well how differently things could have gone if he hadn’t been there. Cassian knew how quickly a bullet could end things.

“I’ll feel better out here,” he said, setting his gun on the glass coffee table. “You won’t change my mind, Nes.”

She hesitated, eyes moving from him to the window. “Fine.”

Cassian had no intention of sleeping, though. He waited until he knew Nesta was asleep, slipping into her bedroom just to check. She was so lovely even in sleep and Cassian had to resist the urge to touch her face. Not tonight. Another night, perhaps—but not this night.

The thing about small towns he found himself appreciating was how easy it was to find people. Slipping into a local bar, Cassian mentioned what had happened to the bartender, who helpfully told him where Brent lived.

He didn’t bother to slip in quietly. If he wanted to be unnoticed, he would have called up Azriel. Cassian liked when his marks were scared, for whatever that said about him. Flexing his fingers, Cassian picked through the dirty, mostly empty house. He supposed Nesta was helping to clean him out.

Good for her.

Brent was waiting in a fraying brown chair, a bottle of Jack Daniels held loosely in one hand. “Knew you weren’t no cop,” he muttered. “You got the look of a felon.”

“Have you been talking to my third grade teacher?” Cassian asked, his tone light. “She used to say the same thing.”

“You ain’t foolin’ no one but that girl of yours,” Brent told him, eyeing the gun in Cassian’s hand.

“She’s the only one I need to fool,” Cassain agreed, coming closer. “I swore an oath to protect her.”

“I didn’t hurt her.”

“But you scared her,” Cassian said in that same friendly tone. “You came to her house and threatened her and I can’t stand for that.”

“Well, I don’t really care if I scared her. Sometimes women ought to be a little afraid.”

Cassian clenched his fingers. “Is that so?”

“Make your threats and get the fuck out,” Brent ordered, taking another swig of whiskey. Cassian saw his gun on a chipped side table.

“You don’t have much going for you, do you Brent? Wife left you, took all your money…is about to take your house. You’ve got no job, no friends…anyone would lose it.”

“Yeah,” Brent mumbled, eyes glassy. “You get it.”

“If I were you, I’d probably kill myself too,” Cassian added, holding Brent’s gun in his hand. Brent’s eyes found him, big and wide with shock.

“What did you say?”

Cassian shrugged, making his way closer to the inebriated man. “I don’t think anyone will be surprised when they find you. I’ll bet it takes them days before someone comes checking.”

“Look, you don’t have to do this. I can…I can pay you—”

“No you can’t,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “And even if you could, I wouldn’t take your money. This is about honor, of which you have none because an honorable man wouldn’t try and threaten a woman for doing her job.”

“She fucked me over—”

“You fucked yourself,” Cassian interrupted, reaching for Brent’s hair a second time. “And you made a mistake coming after her.”

“I’m sorry—”

Cassian pressed the barrel of the gun beneath Brent’s jaw.

“I know you are,” he said, holding the man’s gaze. “It’s not enough.”

And then he pulled the trigger. The relief he felt was instantaneous, his blood lust slaked. It took another few seconds to arrange the gun in Brent’s hand, letting both his arm and the weapon fall lifelessly into his lap. The bottle of Jack hit the floor with a thud, spilling over stained wood floors.

The scene was practically a work of art. Textbook suicide—no one would look twice at him or Nesta. That didn’t stop him from wiping his prints on the way out, just in case. He found himself back on the couch, face washed of blood, before two am.

Cassian had been right about one thing: it took them three days to find Brent.

“Suicide,” Nesta said crisply when she learned, eyes focused on Cassian’s face.

He only smiled.

#nessian #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian

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kopfkino-o · 1 month

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My mom is a super casual reader. As in, if she can’t pronounce or remember a character’s name, she just gives them a new one. She just finished the ACOTAR series and I’m literally dying. Here’s what she calls the characters:

Tamlin = Timothy

Lucien = Luis

Feyre = Farrah. Like Farrah Fawcett

Nesta = Nestle

Elain = Melody

Azriel = Alex the police guy

Rhysand = Rice? Ryan?

Cassian = Cassian aka her favorite

Mor = Maddison. The girl who likes red.

Eris = ???? Erik

The Suriel = The hungry person???

Gwyn = ? Librarian girl ??

Emerie = ?????

Amren: ???????

Nyx: ???? Maybe the baby???

Jurian = Eyeball

Vassa = ????

Papa Archeron = Oh the shitbag

Amarantha = Amanda

#acotar #penny reads acotar.#I myself am the hungry person #aka the Suriel

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the-lonelybarricade · 4 months

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if you ever think you got it wrong - Feysand Oneshot

Summary: Feyre returns to her home town and is forced to confront a drunken night that's gone unaddressed for four years.

@shallyne ho, ho, hello there!

I'm not the secret santa you were originally assigned for the @acotargiftexchange, but I did go back and check your previous asks to see what you might be interested in! I saw you mention you like the friends to lovers trope and that you'd happy with a slight touch of angst and maybe some Feyre/Cassian/Mor friendship moments? I tried my best to add a pinch of all that goodness in this modern AU oneshot and I really hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Illyria hadn’t changed since the last time Feyre left it.

Four years made a lot of difference on a person, but not so much an isolated mountain town, so reserved that if its residents needed something outside of the one dedicated grocery store and smattering of local mom-and-pop businesses, they would need to drive two hours through the mountain pass to find the nearest outlet shopping center.

She never minded the quiet, but there was something unnerving about returning to a place that hadn’t changed. Those four years away had weathered her edges, and now she was a rounded shape being pushed through a square hole. She fit, but not the way that she used to.

Mountain air was fresher—thinner. And it was no wonder that she always felt out of breath, always caught off guard as she ran into old classmates and teachers and people who she recognized, but whose lives were now foreign to her. She’d forgotten that in Illyria, you couldn’t step outside the house without running into a familiar face.

The inability to run to the store without being caught ill-composed for being perceived by the public was excruciating enough. For Feyre, it was worsened by the constant, exaggerated surprise that she hadn’t disappeared off the face of the Earth, despite what her radio-silent social media might have conveyed. And that always meant questions—unbearable, irritating questions.

“How’s your husband?”

Feyre stared pathetically at her carton of oat milk, wondering if averting any stomach issues from using her father’s whole milk was worth explaining to her freshman English teacher that she was now a divorcee.

With no other tool of escape in her arsenal, she forced a bland smile and opted out of the conversation as quickly as possible by offering a flat, “He’s great!”

Because did it really matter? She was only here for a short time, and she could let the town speculate in her absence. Maybe that absence would last another four years. Maybe she would never come back.

“Are you enjoying city life?”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, shifting weight from one foot to the other as she glanced at the single cashier working the registers and the full conveyor belt he was working through. “Everything you need is at your doorstep.”

Including a grocery store with a self-checkout aisle. Things were always excruciatingly slow to change here. Across the street was a 50s-themed diner that had actually been built in the 50s and had resisted change long enough for its interior to become nostalgic.

“I’m sure you miss the mountains, though,” her old teacher said, pressing a hand to her chest in heartfelt emotion. “I know your father misses you girls.”

Sure he did. They had been the ones to take care of him growing up, meanwhile parenting themselves and each other. Her sisters, Nesta and Elain, decided not to come this Christmas, and Feyre certainly couldn’t blame them. They had families now, and the only reason she’d decided to come was because Tamin—

It was better than staying in her empty apartment.

“Well, it was great catching up with you, Feyre,” her teacher said pleasantly, gathering bags of groceries into her arms.

Feyre thought she was sincere, though she doubted that there’d be rumors any time soon that Feyre Archeron was back as an excellent conversationalist. Then again, the goal was that she appeared so dull there was no cause for rumor at all.

“Likewise,” Feyre said, handing the teenage cashier her single carton of oat milk.

Then she was shuffling out the front doors, grimacing against the whipping sting of winter that the insulated skyscrapers of the Hewn City kept largely at bay. Once, she’d been hardened to the winter and the endless heaps of snow that dominated six months of the year at this altitude. Now, she shoved the carton into her elbow and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, willing warmth back into her fingertips.

She’d forgotten so many things—like the importance of wearing shoes with traction. And how to spot black ice. Her foot slipped under her, and the next thing she knew, she was facing the crystal blue sky. A pair of steady hands grasped her beneath the shoulders before she could slam into the unforgiving concrete.

They were strong hands, warm and broad.

“Careful,” warned a deep, sensual male voice that shivered awake every hair on her arms. He raised her upright and added with a soft laugh, “I never thought I’d see the day Feyre Archeron fell for me.”

“Rhys.” She turned, and there he was. The thin air made her breathless again. “I didn’t…” she blinked. “I thought you’d be in Velaris.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and her chest ached at the familiar gesture. In four years, he hadn’t changed much. His violet stare was just as piercing as it’d been the last time she’d seen it, when she’d hugged him goodbye and offered a lingering kiss on his cheek. She’d been engaged to Tamlin then. And she thought Rhys might have begged her not to go, but he hadn’t said anything.

The following summer, she’d gotten married. Rhys had been invited, though he hadn’t responded to her invitation or spoken to her since.

“I always come here for Christmas,” he said. “To be with my family.”

Right—Mor, Cassian, and Azriel. She thought they would have all gone to Velaris now that he’d announced his engagement to a pretty redheaded woman who looked like she’d never seen a suburb in her life. Besides, Rhys didn’t have the same roots here that she did. His parents owned a vacation home in Illyria, a pretty log cabin where his family had stayed during every winter holiday growing up. Not quite a local, not quite a rich tourist, but something in between.

An old wound was tugging loose. Feyre crossed her arms like that would do anything to stop the bleeding. “It’s nice,” she said. “That you all still do that.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here, though,” Rhys said, shoulders straightening more than was casual. “I thought your fiance didn’t enjoy winter. What was his name again—Tarquin?”

“Tamlin,” she said, a little too sharp.

He smirked, the insufferable prick. “Ah, that was it.”

“I’m here to spend Christmas with my dad.”

Rhysand’s expression softened a bit. “How is he?”

“Fine.”

“I missed our one-worded conversations,” he said with a mocking purr that made Feyre want to hurl the carton of oat milk at his head. “Why don’t you come by the cabin? It’d be great to catch up with you—I’m sure Mor would be pleased to know you’re still alive.”

She weighed the implications on her heart. It would be nice to see Mor. It would be earth-shattering to spend an evening with Rhys’s family. Each new story would be a splinter in her heart, four years of moments she’d missed, tales of how Rhys had met the mystery red-haired woman from the Instagram she’d tried, and failed, not to stalk. God, his fiance would probably be there, integrated into his family like a piece they’d never known was missing.

Rhys knew her too well, could see she was hesitating. He said, voice strained, “You can bring Tamlin along.”

All he’d done was add another layer of embarrassment to the would-be evening. Explaining to him, to all of them, that her relationship with Tamlin had collapsed sounded almost as painful as meeting Rhysand’s fiancé.

“I should spend time with my dad,” she said. “Have a good Christmas, Rhys.”

“Wait.” Rhys drew a hand from his pocket to reach into the space between them.

Feyre stared at that hand, recalling how it had held her hair back four winters ago when she’d been hunched over a toilet, hurling her guts out. He’d stayed with her for hours, curled together on the bathroom floor, practically in his lap while he raked her fingers across her scalp and down her spine, insisting he stay no matter how many times she told him he should go. Cassian found them the next morning, still clinging to each other.

And then she’d left on a plane and never saw him again.

“I’m sorry for forgetting his name,” he said, as if either of them believed it was an accident. “I still think you should come. Mor’s making her famous eggnog.”

Feyre didn’t think she’d be able to stomach that eggnog ever again after she’d spent a night puking it up. Rhys would know that as a witness to that disastrous evening, but maybe… maybe he was deliberately trying to remind her of that night and all the unsaid things they’d left in its wake.

She sucked in a short breath, the air sharp against her teeth and tongue. Even just being in this town was suffocating her.

Rhysand’s hand dropped. So did his shoulders, already sensing her answer but keeping any emotion from showing on his face as she said, “I’ll think about it, Rhys.”

Thinking about it became much more difficult when Mor and Cassian arrived at her father’s house the following evening.

“I’d hug you, but I’m afraid those bones are going to stab me,” Cassian said.

Mor, of course, had no reservations in hurling herself at Feyre, who nearly tumbled backward through the doorway as she gripped her friend in turn.

“Oh, I missed you!” Mor retreated just enough for her ringed-adorned fingers to dig into Feyre’s shoulders. “Ignore Cassian, you look amazing.”

Cassian was right, though. Feyre knew she’d lost weight, and from the frown on Mor’s red lips as she studied Feyre’s face, she knew her friend was thinking the same, even if she was too polite to say so.

Yes, she was a little more frail, was still healing in ways more than physical, but it didn’t leave her fragile.

She raised her brows at Cassian. “From all those knives you like to play with, I didn’t think you’d be so scared of a sharp elbow.”

“Scared of crushing you, more like,” Cassian said. He opened his arms all the same, and Mor stepped aside so he could sweep Feyre into a hug that was indeed bone-crushing. Feyre wheezed, but was grateful that he didn’t hold back.

“Rhys told us we’re to abduct you for the night,” Mor said, arching onto her toes to meet Feyre’s eyes over Cassian’s hulking shoulder.

Of course Rhys had sent them, the meddling prick.

Feyre said lightly, “I’m pretty sure that’s a felony.”

She could feel the words rumble through Cassian’s chest before he said, “That’s never stopped the bastard before. Now, should I set you down so you can grab your things and come with us, or do I actually need to carry you into the car?”

Feyre knew there was no getting out of this without hurting Mor and Cassian’s feelings, so she heaved a sigh that was defeated enough for Cassian to set her back down, a triumphant grin spreading over his face.

A few minutes later, she sat in the backseat of a familiar jeep, staring out at the serene winter forest as their vehicle climbed higher and higher into the mountains.

“It’s freezing,” she complained, watching her breath cloud in front of her face. “Could you put the heat on?”

“You and Rhys are the same,” Cassian said, reaching for the dashboard to adjust the temperature. “Living at sea level has changed you.”

“I take it you’re still living as a ski bum, then,” Feyre teased.

Mor angled herself so that she was facing Feyre from the passenger seat. “You wouldn’t believe it, but Rhys actually managed to coax Cassian out of the Illyrian Mountains. He has to wear a tie to work now.”

“A tie?” Feyre repeated, feigning scandal. In the years she’d known Cassian, she rarely saw him outside of a jacket and snowboard boots. She met his hazel eyes in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t think you knew what that was. Does Rhysie have to tie it for you in the mornings?”

“Of course not,” Cassian said with a scoff. “Azriel is way better at tying them than Rhys.”

She grinned at the mental image of stoic Azriel devotedly adjusting his best friend’s tie every morning, likely with the same methodical precision he exacted on all things. Soon that grin split into a laugh, and Cassian’s eyes creased with a warmth she could feel spreading into her chest.

Cresting on that feeling, Feyre joked, “I find I’m much better at untying them, myself.”

There was a stagnant beat in which Cassian and Mor glanced at each other, and Feyre wondered if she’d said something wrong.

Then Mor said, gaze flicking to Feyre’s hand. “I’m sure Tamlin is delighted by that skillset.”

Oh. At the current altitude, there wasn’t enough air to replenish the breath that rushed out of her. Feyre followed Mor’s stare, dread cracking through her like compromised glass, moments from shattering, as she confronted the faint pale line on her ring finger. The only evidence that a ring had ever sat there.

“I didn’t see him at your dad’s house,” Cassian said, keeping his voice a little too casual. “Did he stay in the Hewn City?”

Feyre didn’t see any reason to prolong the truth. Might as well rip the bandage off as quickly as possible. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. Swallowed. “We’re not together anymore.”

Every second that stretched over the resulting silence tempted Feyre to pry open the car door and risk tumbling down the mountainside.

“I’m sorry,” Mor said. “We didn’t… we had no idea.”

“It’s okay.” But a dark, aching pit was yawning open in Feyre’s chest. She began uselessly chucking words into it, desperate to bridge herself back to the Feyre from a moment ago, who’d laughed without needing to force it. “We separated at the beginning of the year, and it all became official last month. He—it was a mistake to begin with.”

He’s wrong for you, Mor had said four years ago, a hard crease forming between her brows as she’d stared absently into her eggnog, thinking far more than she was saying—even drunk.

Is there even such a thing as someone who’s ‘right’? I don’t think there’s anyone who’s ever going to be perfect for me.

That was where things always got a little more blurry in Feyre’s memory, but she thought that Mor might have glanced over their shoulders on the sofa, to where the boys were playing a festive game of reinbeer pong, and said quietly, I think someone like that does exist for you.

If Mor recalled the same thing, there was no I-told-you-so’s—no triumph. There was genuine sadness in her eyes as she reached behind to squeeze Feyre on the knee. “We wanted it to work out for you.”

Feyre considered touching Mor’s hand, squeezing it back. But they might have been trembling, and it was easier to shrug her shoulders than make up a pathetic excuse about the cold. “Maybe it still could,” she said, grasping at a cheer that wasn’t yet tangible. But they’d all pretend it was, for her sake. “My story isn’t over, and this might just be the right step towards something better.”

Cassian put the car in park and turned to beam at her. “Exactly!”

He wasn’t making any effort to sound upset at her divorce, and she couldn’t say she blamed him.

“Come on,” Mor said. “I think a bottle of wine is in order.”

“One of the nice ones,” Cass added with a savage grin towards Feyre.

They used to sneak into the cellar and grab as many of the old bottles as they could get away with, to Rhysand’s chagrin.

Speaking of—

“Oh, good,” Rhys crooned from where he leaned in the doorway of the log cabin. He was dressed casually, in a cable sweater and a familiar knit scarf—one that stopped Feyre dead in their tracks. “I was worried they wouldn’t be able to convince you to come.”

“There might have been some threats of physical force,” Feyre said, resisting the urge to wrap her arms protectively around herself as Rhys assessed her, again and again. “That can be fairly persuasive.”

“I was a perfect gentleman,” Cassian protested.

“You poor thing,” Rhys said to Feyre, clicking his tongue. “The last time Cassian said that, he was banned from the entire city of Adriata.”

Cassian sidled up to Feyre and offered his elbow. “Would you like me to escort you past the prick?”

Rhys raised his brows, and Feyre wasted no time looping her elbow through Cassian’s, purring, “That would be very kind of you.”

The aforementioned prick didn’t bother to move out of the way as Feyre and Cassian squeezed past, forcing Feyre to endure the brush of Rhysand’s chest against her shoulder. An ordinary person felt butterflies from that sort of grazing touch, but Feyre had never felt that way touching Rhys. It was something far more brutal, more demanding, like a swarm of wasps digging their stingers beneath her skin. She clenched her teeth not to hiss. It was always mortifying how viscerally her body reacted to him—worse that he held her stare the entire time, watching her grow flustered until she whipped her head and practically begged Cassian to take her into the cellar.

Usually Rhys would protest, but he didn’t say a word as they made a b-line towards the stairs. There was no sign of Azriel or Rhysand’s fiance, and she hoped the cellar would give her time to prepare for that mortal blow.

“Rhys,” Mor called, running to catch up after locking the jeep. Whatever she needed to share with her cousin was lost to the shutting door and the creaking stairs.

Cold, stagnant air coiled over her ankles as Feyre and Cassian sunk into the old stone cellar. Cassian, more diplomatic than she gave him credit for, didn’t comment on her red cheeks or how she wrapped her arms around her body to ward off more than the chill. He took his time assessing each bottle, paying their labels far more attention than she knew he ordinarily would have.

He was giving her time to reign herself in. She didn’t know how to thank him for that kindness besides making the most of it. Feyre took a deep breath. Another.

Then she steeled her nerves just enough to broach the topic. “Is she nice?”

Cassian didn’t look up from the bottle of red vintage he was holding. “Who?”

Feyre shut her eyes. That way, she could pretend Cassian was still reading the wine label, disinterested and oblivious, even as her voice wavered. “Rhys’s fiancé.”

She had no right to say it that way, like she hated the taste of those words. Not when she had walked away first, gotten married, left this town and their friendship behind.

A sharp noise rang through the too-small space, glass rapping against metal, and she opened her eyes while the sound reverberated through the hollow void in her chest. Cassian had set the wine down a touch too forcefully. She had never known him to be careless with his strength.

His head was bent—a necessity if he didn’t want to smack his head against the low ceiling—and his face was angled toward her, brows drawn tight. Like her words held some hidden meaning he was trying to puzzle together.

Feyre couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, always a touch too-perceptive. He had a gift for disarming people. A few sharp grins and light-hearted jokes and those clever eyes could dress someone down right to their bones. Her body tensed beneath his assessment, unprepared for what he might uncover. Feyre took a step back unintentionally. Started opening her mouth to blurt something stupid, and Cassian was already shaking his head, realizing he’d stumbled over something too raw—

“I hope you two aren’t stealing all my best wine.”

They both snapped their heads to Rhys standing on the top step. He also needed to duck his head, and there was something so endearing about the way a piece of his hair spilled onto his forehead that she thought she might very well try her chances at hurling down the mountain.

Feyre knew she must have looked like a caged animal, her eyes too wide, cheeks too flushed. So much for taking a moment to reign herself in.

“All okay?” Rhys said, weighing her expression before he flicked his eyes to Cassian—narrowed, like he thought his friend might be responsible for making her uncomfortable.

“We’re fine.” She grabbed blindly at a bottle of wine, producing it with more enthusiasm than she could muster in her smile. “Let’s go drink—I’m excited to find out if Azriel is still the prettiest of you three.”

Rhys clutched his chest in mock hurt as he led them out of the cellar. “I hate to disappoint you, Feyre darling, but I think this might be one such occasion.”

She was relieved that much hadn’t changed about him—his refusal to pressure her, humoring the deflection though she knew her performance was less than convincing. Rhys placed a hand at her back to guide her towards the kitchen. A casual touch to him, but to Feyre, every inch of contact felt scalding. She swore that when she took off her sweater later, she’d find a red handprint branded into her skin.

“Don’t worry,” she said to him as they stepped into the kitchen, where they found Mor, wine glass limply in hand, perched on the counter beside Azriel. “I haven’t been disappointed in the least.”

Azriel looked up from the large, steaming pot he was stirring and offered a reserved smile in greeting. Feyre offered one back, bold and just suggestive enough for Rhys to nudge her with his elbow.

“You wound me,” he whispered.

“Oh good! You brought more wine!” In a deft motion, Mor lept from the counter and breezed up to Feyre, easing the bottle from her hands. “A great choice, too. You always did have good taste.”

It was a bald lie, one that the group might have contested four years ago when they used to make a game of volleying good-natured teasing back and forth. Maybe they were more careful with her now, not quite sure where she fit in after all this time. After hurting Rhys.

Though, out of everyone, he seemed the most comfortable having her here again. He dropped his hand from her back in pursuit of fetching more wine glasses, and once he was finished, he carried a full glass to Feyre with a carefree smile. As if no time separated them at all.

Feyre wished she could summon some of that ease. Everything felt mechanic, from curling her fingers over the chilled glass, to raising the rim to her lips and taking a controlled sip. All she’d been doing in the last year was wading through the wreckage of her life, struggling to piece together what she had left while making sense of where it had all gone so horribly wrong.

The pieces always led her back to this cabin. Silver-rimmed violet eyes and tingling lips. That night he’d told her, I think you could be happy here. With me. For years, she wondered how differently her life would have turned out if she’d been brave enough to leave it all behind and see if he was right.

All this time, she’d assumed the silence between them was angry, or at least a little bit wounded, that she’d left him behind and went through with her engagement. Now, it occurred to her that it might have been something infinitely worse—apathy. That Rhys had simply moved on, and she was the only one still stuck on that moment she’d kissed him goodbye.

It was better than resentment, she told herself. That didn’t stop her from finishing her wine glass too quickly.

“Careful,” Rhys chided when she set it down, empty. “As much as I love tradition, it’d be a shame for you to spend the night curled over a toilet.”

She glared at him, but Cassian added, “Don’t forget it goes to your head faster at this altitude.”

“Only because of Mor’s generous pour,” Feyre deflected, sending a wink towards Mor, who snagged Feyre’s glass with a conspiratorial smirk.

“Oh, lighten up, you two!” Mor smacked Rhysand’s chest with the empty glass. “If Feyre gets sick again, then I promise to be the one looking after her this time.”

Then, with that, Mor sashayed back to the wine bottle to refill Feyre’s glass. The alcohol must have loosened some of her restraint because Feyre let her gaze drift back to Rhys. Who’s to say what he was remembering when their eyes met, but Feyre… she remembered how, between bouts of hurling her guts out, he’d pulled her into his lap and laid her head against his chest, claiming that his heartbeat soothed her. Somehow, she doubted Mor’s heartbeat would have the same effect.

Mor snapped Feyre away from the memory by handing her another full glass. Feyre promised herself that she’d take her time on the second drink, only because she didn’t think she’d be able to survive another earth-shattering night like that one.

“Tell us how you’ve been,” Mor said. “What’s life like in the infamous Hewn City?”

“It’s…”

Lonely. Crowded. Expensive.

“It’s great.” Feyre forced herself to nod like she meant it. “But I’d much rather hear about how you have been—all of you.”

“Well,” Mor intoned in a way that suggested she was about to unveil drama. “Wouldn’t you believe it, but Rhysand has found himself centered in quite the business scandal.”

Cassian groaned. “Not this again.”

“Mor.” Rhys sent his cousin a warning glance.

She only grinned, continuing, “He recently backed out of a conglomerate merger with Hybern and caused quite the uproar when he publicly accused them of fraud.”

He raised his brows. “Accused implies it wasn’t later proven when Amarantha—”

“Amarantha?” Feyre repeated, blinking as she realized she recognized that name. “Your fiance?”

Cassian sputtered his wine across the counter. Azriel turned away from the stove to slap him firmly on the back as he coughed. Feyre wasn’t certain if Mor’s laugh was at her expense or Cassian’s, but either way, she deserted the conversation to grab a roll of paper towels and begin cleaning up the spilled wine.

“No,” Rhys said, ignoring the chaos at his back. His face was tight. “Definitely not my fiance.”

Feyre shook her head. She was certain Amarantha was the name of the girl she’d been stalking for… an embarrassingly long time. From the moment Rhys announced their proposal.

“She was a prospective business partner,” Rhys clarified, studying her with a discomfiting level of scrutiny. “Never—” he actually looked a little disgusted. “Never anything romantic.”

She said slowly, “You’re not engaged.”

Rhysand’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No.”

Oh my god. Her hands began to tremble, and she set down the wine glass so he wouldn’t hear the sploshing liquid. “You had an Instagram post,” she said, mortified. “It said something about announcing a proposal. That there was going to be a marriage—”

“Between our business firms,” he said. “Before I backed out.”

“Oh my god.” She didn’t mean to say it out loud. Feyre knew this wasn’t a normal reaction. This was just a small misunderstanding—totally minor, if not a little humorous. “I need to… I just need a moment.”

Then she rushed for the bathroom, locking the door as if that would do anything to keep out the embarrassment flooding over her wave after impenetrable wave. Feyre cringed when she glimpsed her reflection. Red blotches were blooming over her chest and up her throat. She was shaking so violently she barely had the necessary motor skills to turn the tap. Once it was running, she let the cold water pool in her cupped hands before she splashed it against her heated skin.

“Feyre,” called a velvet voice at the door, followed by a soft knock.

“I just need a moment, Rhys.”

Silence. She knew better than to think he returned to the kitchen, but he was at least giving her that moment. She counted to ten, forwards and backwards and forwards again, trying to remember her grounding lessons.

Find something green—the plastic toothbrush sitting upright in its ceramic holder.

Find something blue—the towels, lovingly folded and hanging elegantly over the heated drying rack.

Find something red—her eyes drifted toward the mirror. No. Not her cheeks, not her skin. It had to be something external from this meltdown. Feyre turned, searching the small space until she found a glint of red hidden in the folds of the white shower curtain.

She froze.

Something to remember me by, she’d slurred to him four years ago, after proudly removing her ruby earring and piercing it into the curtain.

Rhys had laughed. I could never forget you, Feyre. Not until my dying breath.

I want you to remember me every time you come in here. Even while you’re taking a shit.

Not exactly romantic. But four years later, it was still there. That stupid piece of plastic costume jewelry, which she’d worn only in a half-hearted attempt to be festive. She knew that curtain had to have been cleaned in the years since, and wondered if that silly earring had been removed and repinned each time. Why hadn’t he thrown it away?

“Feyre,” Rhys called again through the door. Softer now.

She unlocked it.

A moment later, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“Hi,” she said, knowing there were tears in her eyes and that, from his perspective, she must have looked hysterical.

He was searching her face. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice cracked a little. “Everything.”

“Tell me.”

Feyre raised her hands to cover her face as she started somewhere inane. “You’re wearing the scarf I knitted for you.”

Even concerned, his voice possessed a dry humor as he asked, “Do you not want me to wear it?”

“I don’t understand why you’re wearing it.”

“It’s winter,” he said plainly. “This scarf is warm. And soft.”

A sob was working its way up her throat. He gently wrapped his fingers over her wrists and lowered her hands from her face.

His voice dropped lower, a secret shared between them: “Most importantly, it reminds me of you.”

“I thought you hated me,” she croaked, flinching inwardly at how pathetic it sounded.

With no barrier to deter him, Rhys pressed his palm to her cheek and chased away one of her tears. “I could never hate you, Feyre.”

“We haven’t talked to each other in years,” she said. “You’ve ignored all of my calls and messages.”

“Because I blocked your number.” Feyre flinched. She suspected as much when her calls started going immediately to voicemail. But now there was no mask on Rhysand’s face, nothing to hide the hurt in his expression as he swallowed thickly and added, “Like you asked me to.”

“I—” Feyre felt like she was in a high-speed vehicle that had suddenly slammed on its brakes. “What? I didn’t ask you to…”

Oh no.

A fresh wave of tears stung the backs of her eyes. Feyre blinked them away as she begged, “Tell me what happened.”

“You left.” The words creaked out of him like shifting weight on an old wooden floorboard. She felt the accusation groan through her chest. “You were going to get married to him, and I knew I couldn’t let you without at least telling you how I felt. You know what happened from there.”

“Tell me anyway,” she said, barely holding back her horror.

Rhys took a deep breath. “I got rip-roaring drunk with Cassian, and I sent you a stupid, poorly thought-out message. And you told me off, as I deserved.”

“What did your message say?” She asked a tad too sharply.

Now, it was his turn to flinch. “I begged you not to marry him. I offered to pay for everything to help you leave your life with him behind. I told you…” Rhys looked away, staring at the shower curtain as he said, “I told you that I love you.”

The world slipped out from beneath her feet. Feyre’s lips wobbled, and she pressed them together in an attempt to contain her sob, but it burst out of her along with a warbled, “You loved me?”

He shut his eyes. “I love you,” he corrected.

Her delight was eclipsed by the pain on his face and her realization of what must have happened, at what she’d inadvertently put him through over the last four years. Her voice shook as she rasped, barely more than a whisper, “What did I say back?”

Rhys opened his eyes, and she could see tears shimmering over the violet as he said, “You told me to block your number and never speak to you again.”

Of all the times Tamlin had been cruel to her, this was undoubtedly the worst of his deeds.

“That wasn’t me.” Feyre grabbed for his collar, uncertain how to untangle years of misunderstanding. “Rhys, please believe me. I didn’t write that—I didn’t know. I would have…”

And here it was, the most brutal part. She felt like she was swallowing knives as she admitted, “I would have left him if I’d seen that message.”

Feyre wasn’t sure which of them crumpled first. They might have fallen together, neither of their bodies quite ready to hold the weight of lost time. The bathroom tiles leached cold through her clothes, but Rhys was there, pulling her against him, fighting back the chill with his inherent warmth.

There they were again, curled together on the bathroom floor.

Maybe they could start here and pretend the last four years hadn’t existed.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I left him. I was a coward back then, but I’m ready now. To leave it all behind.”

His fingers lifted her chin, drawing her eyes back to that beautiful, heartbreaking face.

“I love you, too,” she said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

Rhys leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “Don’t be. Four years is nothing. I would have waited a thousand years for you.”

“Four was enough for me,” she said lightly.

Four was far too much, actually. And because she couldn’t stand wasting any second longer, Feyre slid her fingers into his hair. Rhys went still as she leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss. One she used to cleanse the years of heartache and longing, until there was only that bright, shimmering love that had always been quietly there, beneath it all.

And for the first time since coming back to Illyria, Feyre felt like she was home.

#Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #acotar gift exchange

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