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ladylokilaufeyson5 · 8 months

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I Will Always Find You

I WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU | Azriel x Fem!Illyrian!Reader

REQUEST(S): hello! could i request and azriel fic? where reader gets badly injured and azriel saves her? thank u so much! – (anon) hi! i saw you asking for azriel requests where reader gets kidnappped? lot of angst and fluff please! 💕💕 – (anon)

SUMMARY: Five times Azriel wanted to tell Y/n he loves her, and the one time he finally did

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood and injury, unrequited love (it’s not, Az & Y/n are just stupid), swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking alcohol, kidnapping, one brief thought of sexy times, kind of angst but not really, and a bit of fluff

WORDS: 4.6K (oops)

NOTE: I am literally in love with the 5+1 trope so I hope this works for you both 🙂 Also I did not proof read so enjoy<3

Laughter filled the living room of the River House on the night of the Winter Solstice, and it flitted through the air, such a stark contrast to the pain and suffering they had all felt only two years prior. It sounded strange to Azriel — the joy and happiness of his friends and family. He hadn’t been sure that they were going to survive the war against Hybern, but he thanked the Mother every day that they did. He thanked the Mother that she had mercy, that she kept you alive.

Your laughter was the most contagious of the group, and Azriel couldn’t help but allow a small chuckle to leave his lips as you laughed at the gift Cassian had gotten you — a rubber practice sword, so that Cassian wouldn’t get as many bruises and scrapes while sparring with you. You smiled widely at Cassian and gave him a big hug, kissing him on the cheek in thanks. Azriel watched as you sat back down on the couch beside him, the grin still etched on your face.

“I’m thinking more drinks,” Cassian suggested, standing up and clapping his hands.

“Count me in,” Mor grinned, rising and rushing down the hall to the kitchen.

Cassian swore and chased after her, and Feyre and Rhys stood up, chasing the other two. Elain and Nesta left next, arms linked, and Amren sighed before following the group, leaving you and Azriel alone together.

Azriel cherished the moments he had alone with you. With only the two of you, it felt like all of your attention was on him, which was all he’d wanted for the past three hundred years. He wanted you, wanted every part of you. Wanted to hold you close at night and wake up with you in the morning, wanted to know what your bare skin felt like, what your lips tasted like.

But he’d never told you that, for a varying amount of reasons. The first was you deserved better – you deserved someone better than him, someone worthy of your love. You deserved someone who could offer you the love and affection you were entitled to, someone who you would want love from. Because why would you want to be loved by Azriel? He was practically invisible – as the silent shadowsinger, people rarely paid attention to him; some barely even knew he was present.

But not you. You always seemed to know when he was around – your gaze would find him in a crowded room, and you always asked for his opinion on things. But just because you cared what he was thinking, it didn’t mean that his love was requited.

“You’re not getting another drink?” you asked, taking a sip of your own.

Azriel simply shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll bring the whole bottle. Or maybe more.”

You laughed lightly, the sound filling Azriel with no small amount of warmth. He loved that he was the one who coerced that sound out of your lips, that he was the one who made your face brighter. He wanted to tell you that, but… how could he?

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, and you rested your head on his shoulder. Azriel’s mind screamed at him. Tell her that you love her! Tell her now, tell her now, tell her now! But it was just a friendly gesture – he was sure of it.

Maybe I could work up the courage…

But it didn’t matter, because laughter rang down the hall, and then Cassian was running through the living room with a bottle in hand, the others following close behind. The moment passed and you laughed at your friends’ antics, leaving Azriel to sigh internally. He wasn’t sure whether it was from disappointment or relief.

~ * ~

It was cold. That was the first thing Azriel registered as he looked around the nightmare. It was a stark contrast to the flames and burning of his own. The snow glistened in the moonlight, the only solace in the darkness of the freezing forest.

The dream faded in and out, as if there was a door opening and closing between himself and the dreamscape. But he felt cold as he curled up in the snow, his wings bleeding and shredded, his wrist sprained and thigh screaming in pain. As he raised his head, he glimpsed a flash of light reflecting off of a blade. Illyrian warriors came into view, and with a jolt, Azriel realised where he was.

Or rather, where you were. Because this nightmare… this nightmare was yours. Azriel remembered these males, remembered how he cut them down for hunting a female Illyrian for sport. He didn’t know you then — it was the first time he’d seen you. Bloody and shaking, your wings torn and broken, bone jutting out of your thigh… it was instinct that had him killing the males within seconds. Instinct that caused the roar in his head, instinct that made him need to protect you. Instinct that made him go over to you and pick you up gently, cradling you close to his body.

But in your dream, Azriel didn’t arrive. The males came closer and closer, laughing and taunting you, until they were close enough to grab your wing and snap–

Azriel awoke with a fight thrumming through his veins, the need to hurt and maim and kill screaming at him — but he was alone in his room in the House of Wind. His thundering heart slowed as he took deep breaths…

A muffled sob had his head turning sharply to the door. It was barely audible, but…

There it was again. A frantic sob, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. He was out of bed in an instant, walking out of his room and into the hallway beyond. There was another sob from your room, and a cry of anguish. Azriel knocked, but there was no response. There was another cry of pain, and consequences be damned, Azriel opened the door.

You were twisting and turning, your scarred wings tense and tear tracks on your cheeks. You were still asleep, still stuck in that dreamscape… Azriel was at your side in a second, hesitating for only a moment before gently grabbing your shoulder.

“Y/n?” he murmured.

Another whimper. He shook your shoulder with a bit more force and you shook out of his grasp. He grabbed you again, cupping your face with one hand.

“Y/n, it’s just a dream,” he assured.

But you still did not wake up. Azriel usually wasn’t one to panic, but seeing you in this state… It made him frantic. So he mustered as much authority as he could, and ordered, “Y/n, wake up!”

Your eyes opened and you shot out of your bed, flipping him and landing on top, a dagger pressed against his throat. Had he not been worried about you, you would be on the floor, knife discarded across the room. But he stayed still as your wings flared behind you, and as your knee pressed into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he breathed, watching you carefully. “It was a dream, Y/n.”

As if saying your name had snapped you out of a trance, you stumbled back, removing the weapon from his throat and trembling slightly. Azriel rose from the bed, surveying you carefully. Your hand still clutched your dagger, the knuckles of your hands bone white.

“I – I’m sorry,” you whispered, horror in your eyes as you glimpsed the trickle of blood running down his throat. He hadn’t even realised you’d drawn blood, and he resisted the urge to wipe it away.

“It’s okay,” he assured.

You shook your head, pressing your palms into your eyes, your breathing coming in short bursts. Once again, it was instinct that had him walking over to you and bringing you into his embrace. You readily accepted it, your arms wrapping around his middle as sobs racked through your entire body. Azriel whispered assurances into your hair, pressing feather-light kisses there as he consoled you.

He wanted to chase away every nightmare, to hold you close and tell you how much he loved you — by the Cauldron, the words were on the tip of his tongue… but you had started to pull away. When you pulled away, he felt the loss of your warmth like a slap to the face. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trembling. The words died on his tongue – you didn’t need a love confession right now.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked, and then mentally hit himself. Of course you weren’t okay – you’d just re-lived one of the most traumatising moments of your life. The fact that he’d seen your dream… he didn’t let himself think about what that meant. Perhaps his shadows had been too curious.

“I will be,” you mumbled. You hesitated, and then added, “Thank you, for waking me up.”

Azriel understood the dismissal in your tone and dipped his head in a nod before heading to the door. Your breathing hitched as he walked away, and he paused in the doorway, his mind and heart and soul screaming at him to tell you – to tell you how he wanted to hold you through the night, how he wanted to learn every inch of you, to know all of your secrets and darkest desires…

But would you want to know his? Would you want him if you knew every despicable thing he’d done, every way he’d torn people apart? He doubted it, so he left the room, just as you wanted him to.

~ * ~

The fire crackled in Azriel’s office as he tapped his pen against his desk. He hated writing reports – it was his least favourite part of his job by far. The only thing that made it bearable was your presence. You sat in one of the plush armchairs, legs draped over the armrest and a book in your hand.

Azriel found himself getting distracted by you, as he usually did. He just knew he could stare at you for hours on end, even if you were doing something as simple as reading. He would watch you finish the book and then start another, if only to watch the way your lips curved up as you read something humorous, or the way your eyes sparkled when the love interest finally confessed their love for the main character.

Azriel wished he could build up the courage to confess his love to you. It had only been last night that he had seen into your nightmare, and though his soul screamed a single word over and over in his mind, he chalked it up to his shadows being more invasive than they should have.

Because the word his soul cried out, the word that could change everything… it couldn’t be true. In fact, it was too good to be true. Because there was no way the Mother had promised him to you, and you him. Because Illyrian males made you jumpy and uncomfortable, always putting you on edge. How could you love a male of the race that had hunted you down for sport, intending on violating and hurting you in unforgivable ways?

Even so, you weren’t jumpy around him. Granted, he had saved you, had offered you a home in Velaris, had trained you so that you could defend yourself against even the most fearsome of warriors, but…

But nothing, he realised. You didn’t fear him, didn’t run away when you could. You’d had centuries to leave if you wanted to, but you had chosen to stay. Stay with him. He looked up at your lounging form, watching as you turned a page. You seemed at peace here with him, as if you’d never needed to look further.

I love you, I love you, I love you. He wanted to say the words aloud, wanted to say them between breathless kisses, wanted to say them as you writhed beneath him, pleasure filling every pore of both your bodies.

“Azriel.”

Azriel was brought back to reality as you spoke his name, and he realised he’d been staring at you. He refused to blush, refused to let you see how much you affected him – but you weren’t looking at him. Your book was closed, and you were looking at the ground, almost shamefully. He cocked his head in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired.

You still refused to look at him, instead fiddling with a loose thread on the armchair. You stood up and began to pace, wringing your fingers. It took a few moments, but you finally opened your mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised. “For last night.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he murmured.

You shook your head, tears forming in your eyes. “Azriel, I hurt you–”

Azriel was walking to you in an instant, standing by your side. He took your hand in his and squeezed lightly, in an attempt to offer you assurance. “Y/n, it was a natural reaction. I’m sure I would have done the same thing, had the roles been reversed.”

You looked up at him with silver lining your eyes, and before he could overthink it, he pulled you into his arms. You fit perfectly in his arms, as if the two of you had been carved to hold each other. You melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him, and holding him as if he was a lifeline. The way you fit just had the words at the tip of his tongue; I love you… But you didn’t need that right now. You needed comfort — you needed a friend. And so Azriel held you, withholding the words that were begging to be spoken.

~ * ~

Starfall had not yet begun, but the celebrations had. Azriel stood by the balcony, overlooking the sea of people who awaited Starfall. Azriel loved Starfall; he loved that everyone came together for it, no matter how far or long they had to travel. It was another one of the few nights that the inner circle could spend time together, letting loose and celebrating.

Not that Azriel tended to let loose. Sure, he’d have a few drinks, but he never got as wild as Cassian or Mor. They drank enough for him, and then some.

“Hey.”

Azriel turned at the sound of your voice, opening his mouth to offer his own greeting — but nothing came out as he took in the image of you. You wore a cream coloured dress that sparkled like the stars in the sky, hugging your curves and showing off your gorgeous figure. The dress pooled at your feet, and Azriel couldn’t help but stare. Words couldn’t describe how you looked — words such as ethereal, divine, and enchanting came close, but Azriel doubted that there was a single word that could capture the extent of your beauty.

“I — hi,” Azriel got out, quickly averting his gaze, lest he never look away from you again.

You walked up beside him and rested against the railing with him. Azriel liked that you didn’t feel the need to fill the silence — he liked that you could sit with him without speaking, just taking in each other’s company.

There was just so much about you that Azriel loved, and he didn’t want to keep it a secret. He wanted to tell you, wanted you to know. Azriel hid so many parts of his life from everyone, but he wanted to share it with you, share it all with you. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, only to see you already looking at him.

I love you, I love you, I love you! Just say it, you idiot!

“Y/n,” Azriel began, turning his body to face yours.

You responded instantly, your actions mirroring his, so that the two of you were facing each other. This close to you, the sounds of the party disappeared, turning into a muted lull. All he could see, hear, or think about was you.

“Y/n, I’m–”

The sounds of cheers erupted and Azriel turned his head, spying the first star hurtling across the sky, turning and twisting in its glory. It shone bright as it crossed the vast expanse of the night sky, and hundreds more followed. Azriel turned back to you, only to find you captivated by the stars. He smiled slightly at the sight, at the pure joy in your eyes.

Maybe there would never be a good time to tell you. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to tell you. So Azriel took a deep breath, and let it go.

~ * ~

“Oh, come on, Y/n…”

Azriel watched as you sighed through your nose and shook your head. “I have to be up early tomorrow, Mor. You know I’d go if that wasn’t the case.”

Mor looked to Azriel hopefully. “Az?”

Azriel shook his head, and Mor rolled her eyes. “At least you’ve got everyone else.”

Mor sighed dramatically and threw her arms around you, squeezing tight. After a moment she let go, linking her arms with Cassian and Feyre, dragging them to Rita’s for another night of drinking, dancing, and revelling.

Azriel watched as you sighed after them wistfully, no doubt wanting to lose yourself in the music and rhythm of the pleasure hall. But it was true – you had a mission the very next day, and you had to be gone by dawn.

“You can go with them, you know,” you say, looking at Azriel.

He turned to face you, cocking his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not going because I can’t,” you said, causing him to shake his head, but you persisted, “You never go when I can’t. You always walk me home, or stay with me.”

Azriel gulped slightly, wondering if this was it. If this was the night he would finally tell you — tell you that he never went out if you weren’t going because he didn’t want to be parted from you. If this was the night he was to tell you that he actually enjoyed it when you couldn’t go out, because it meant that the two of you could spend more time together.

“I just don’t like going out all that much,” Azriel replied, adding a slight shrug. “Besides, it’s… nicer with just you.”

Azriel refused to blush, refused to let you know how nervous just saying those simple words made him. But you looked up at him with a small smile, not knowing at all what was going on through his mind.

“Yeah, I like being with just you, too,” you admitted, looking up at him with bright eyes.

Once again, Azriel’s heart was screaming at him, screaming to tell you how much he loved you, how much he craved you and needed you, but… he couldn’t. Because although his heart was screaming at him that it must be love, that you must be his mate, his head told him that it wasn’t true. He didn’t deserve you, didn’t deserve someone as wonderful and strong as you.

So he just smiled in response, and walked you home.

~ * ~

Azriel paced around his office, spinning Truth Teller in his hands. You hadn’t come back from your mission yet, and Azriel was… well, he was panicking. He knew you’d be able to take care of yourself, but what if you’d been hurt? What if you were in the middle of nowhere, bleeding out? Thoughts and scenarios played out in Azriel’s mind, and he knew he was overthinking, knew that there had probably been some sort of hold up…

But what if it wasn’t? Azriel had no idea what to do, no idea how to find you and help you if you were dying somewhere. How would he even know if you were?

The door to his office opened to reveal Rhys. Azriel searched his High Lord’s face, praying to the Mother that you had returned safely, but Rhys’s eyes held a hint of despair.

“She’s not back?” Azriel inquired, to which Rhys shook his head.

“Can you find her?” Rhys asked.

Azriel nodded, and winnowed to the area where your mission was supposed to occur, but he could not find a single trace of you. He was unsure if you were hiding from him, or if you were simply not there. His shadows scoured the entire place, but nothing.

Azriel took a deep breath to calm his erratically beating heart. He just needed to find you, to ensure that you were safe. He peered into himself, into his heart and soul, and felt for the bond. Even if he still wouldn’t admit it fully to himself, he knew the two of you shared a connection, a connection that transcended every other relationship Azriel shared. The bond was almost like a string of pure light, and Azriel tugged on it. He tugged softly at first, testing the waters, before pulling it blindly and sharply. After a moment, he felt a pull in return, albeit smaller and weaker than his own. But he knew where he had to go, and he allowed his shadows to winnow him to you.

He arrived and his senses were immediately filled with the scent of blood, the copperry tang causing his nose to wrinkle. He stood outside a cave in the Illyrian Mountains, a cave not too far from where he first met you on that night three-hundred and forty-seven years ago. And suddenly, Azriel knew what had happened. He smelled the tang of pain and fear in the air — your pain and fear.

With his Siphons glowing and a rage that ran deeper than the pits of Hell, Azriel entered the cave with his blades drawn. The Illyrian male beside the entrance to the cave didn’t even have time to draw his weapon before his head was tumbling from his shoulders. The other males turned at the sound of Azriel’s blade slicing through flesh, tendon, and bone, and as one, the colour drained from their faces. With his shadows swirling behind him like a sea of darkness, blood splattered across his face and chest, and eyes full of a glittering, icy rage, Azriel knew he looked like Death incarnate.

The males barely had a chance to scream before he was upon them, slicing and stabbing. Azriel only wanted to incapacitate them, wanted to take his time peeling them apart for what they had done to you, but the killing rage took over, and before he knew it, five males lay dead at his feet.

A small sob brought him back to his senses, and his head jerked up to where you were chained to the wall, bloodied and broken. He took a step forward before pausing, unsure of how to proceed. Azriel swallowed and lowered his wings in an attempt to make him appear less threatening.

“Y/n?” he tried, stepping closer.

“Azriel,” you got out.

He heard the hope in your voice and immediately stepped closer, his eyes on the chains that trapped you. He touched it and his shadows recoiled — the chains had been imbued with some sort of spell that suppressed magic. It only took his shadows a few seconds to find the keys, and he freed you from the grasp of the spelled metal.

With nothing to hold you up, you collapsed into Azriel’s arms. After a quick lookover, he judged your injuries much worse than he’d feared, and panic started to creep in.

“Hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. “You’ll be okay.”

He slipped an arm under your legs and behind your back, picking you up and holding you close to him. He could feel your heart beating faintly, as if it was his own. Your eyes had fluttered closed, and he held you tight and winnowed back to Velaris, right into Madja’s office. The older healer jumped slightly, a pen nearly falling from her fingers, but she quickly jumped into action.

“Lay her down here, Shadowsinger,” Madja commanded, gesturing to a cot.

Azriel did so, although he never physically parted with you. His hand gripped your own, and Madja knelt down, her hands glowing as she held them over your body, healing broken bones and the other various injuries you had sustained. A cup of a lavender potion was held above your mouth.

“Drink, Y/n,” Azriel ordered.

As if you would never dream of disobeying him, you did as he asked, despite your half-conscious state. Your eyes fluttered closed again.

“Talk to her,” Madja demanded as she worked. “She’s fading in and out. You need to keep her here.”

“Please, Y/n,” Azriel begged. His icy demeanour was gone, and all one could see was the warmth and love he harboured for you. “Please, Y/n. I… I need you here, darling. Don’t leave me…” Azriel took a deep breath. “I love you, Y/n, and if you stay, if you survive, I swear I’ll tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for centuries, but… it never felt like the right time. Please, Y/n…”

“Azriel,” you muttered, your hand squeezing his weakly.

“Yes, Y/n, my love,” Azriel murmured, squeezing back. “Just stay with me.”

Azriel reached inwards again, reached into his heart and soul, and tugged on the string that bound the two of you. You jerked slightly at the sensation, your eyes fluttering open. Despite how exhausted you were, despite the pain and injuries wearing you down, your eyes found Azriel’s. He saw the word in your eyes, saw the word he’d been denying to himself over and over again.

As Madja healed you, as your injuries stitched themselves back together with her magic, your eyes became clearer, more alert. They never left Azriel, and his never left you. Neither of you spoke — there were no words that could be said in that moment. When Madja finally finished, she ducked out of the room, sensing the tension between you two.

“I survived,” you said finally, your eyes searching his.

Azriel let out a small huff of laughter. “I suppose you did.” He took a deep breath. “Y/n, I love you. I love your smile, I love your determination, I love your laugh… I love everything about you. I have loved you for centuries, and I will love you for the centuries to come, if you let me.”

Silver lined your eyes as you smiled up at him. “You’ve loved me for centuries?”

Azriel nodded, “From the moment I met you.”

You took in a shuddering breath, emotions overwhelming you. Azriel felt something in his chest, felt a small tug, and he looked at you in surprise as he felt the bond. You stared at him, almost in surprise.

“This is how you found me,” you whispered.

Azriel nodded. “I will always find you.”

He couldn’t form words to describe it, anyway — had no idea how he knew it would work. There was just a feeling that he had, a need to keep you safe, just like he had when he had first found you in the snowy forest, broken and bleeding. He now knew it was the bond that had sent him over the edge, the bond that had his blood boiling and rage and death running through his veins.

“I’ve loved you for so long, Az,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face lightly.

Azriel leaned into the touch, relishing in the contact between your bodies. He let out a shaky breath, knowing that this was it. This was the moment he had waited centuries for, the moment that he had dreamt of for so long.

“You’re my mate,” you whispered.

“And you’re mate,” Azriel echoed.

You smiled slightly, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheek. Azriel’s hand reached up and cupped yours, and the warmth in your eyes nearly made him melt.

“I love you, Y/n,” Azriel murmured.

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, Azriel. And I will always find you, too.”

azriel taglist: @ruleroftides @officiallyjaehyuns (let me know if you'd like to be added to my azriel tag list!)

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ellievickstar · 2 months

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Galentines, Valentines, Now he's mine <3

A/N: Am I supposed to be doing work? Yes. Am I doing said work? No. Due tomorrow, Do tomorrow. Don't do what I'm doing if you have work due go do it before it piles up and overwhelms you.

Summary: In which your girlfriends plan how they will finally get you and Azriel to confess to each other after weeks of getting they're ears talked off by the both of you pining over each other and agonizing over asking the other out for valentine's day. And what better day to do it than on the day itself?

Request: Nope.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: This might make you feel even more single to begin with.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

"No," You said flatly, shaking your head to emphasise the word you had just uttered.

The three women around you seemed to visibly deflate like balloons over your words. All whom had been trying desperately to convince you to confess to your crush of...two hundred years. One would think you would have gotten over him by now, but apparently not, you were still knee deep into the crush that had started your endless pining and gushing over the shadow singer since you had first joined the court through Morrigan when she rescued you from your family.

She had seen value in your ability to manipulate the stars just like how her cousin manipulated night. While swirls of shadows surrounded him, the stars sang to you and told you the dreams of those around you, their worst and best deeds, their greatest successes and their worst fears.

And when the stars sang, you listened.

"And what do the stars tell you about valentine's day?" Mor prompted you gently. Sighing, you reminded her of the limitations of your powers, "You know that I choose not to listen to my own future, it makes me live in anxiety about the next thing that is going to happen, sometimes knowing everything is not great. I'd rather live in the mystery than the anxiety of knowing."

Nodding, she glanced at Nesta and Feyre, the two females shrugging. They were at a lost for words, they could not say anything to tell you about Azriel's feelings without sacrificing the privacy of the shadow singer. Truth to be told they only knew about it because Rhysand never kept anything from Feyre, while Cassian of course could not hold back his excitement that his friend finally liked a female that was not completely unavailable and babbled to Nesta. However, telling your mate is one thing, completely exposing the shadow singer's secret to the one person he definitely wanted to keep the secret from was another.

Before you had arrived for the weekly tea party that you all hosted, excluding Elain who often preferred to stay in with her mate and be updated on any tea later by watching for herself instead of actively being involved, you all welcomed her even if she was not a common sight at these get togethers. "Perhaps, you should consider that maybe being rejected by Azriel will finally allow you to move on, you have been pining for two centuries, maybe it's about time?" Feyre tried.

Shaking your head once more, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, groaning at the prospect of ruining the close friendship you had forged with the shadow singer by confessing to him on valentine's day of all days. Maybe you were overthinking it, but you would rather live in your crush and suffer than ruin the good and close friendship you had.

The idea of finally getting together with the shadow singer baffled you but it was a dream come true. Truth to be told, you had had dreams about it before, and even begun to crave the comfort Azriel provided you in your darkest moments in the roughest nights. In times you wondered whether you should cut to the chase but you were scared of the repercussions.

"Come on, girl, you have to bite the bullet, be brave. You have to be confident enough to get rejected. And eventually you'll move and you can be friends with Azriel after he rejects you. Agonizing over this for so long is not worth it," Nesta reasoned. Considering her words, you sighed, "Fine." The females around you brightened. "But, I will only do it through a letter, and he has to confess to me also if he actually accepts. If he rejects it promise me you'll take me to the cabin to mope." They all eagerly nodded, and just like that, they began to set their plan in motion.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Dearest Dear Azriel,

I am writing this letter. Hi. How are you? Today is valentine's day and you must be wondering why you are receiving this letter from me. I confess that I was coerced into doing this by Nesta, Feyre and Morrigan, but do not doubt that my words are not sincere. I love like you. I have liked you for a while and will continue to do so even if you reject my feelings until the day I can find the strength in me to truly move on. For two centuries I have found myself drawn to your quiet demeanor and I have found myself craving the quiet nights we spend together when we seek the other's comfort. I do hope that you will accept my feelings, but if you feel as though you cannot reciprocate, do not worry, I will do my best to move on from this and we can continue to remain just friends.

Yours Sincerely,

Y/N

Finishing off with your name, you looked down at the letter that you wrote, going over it two more times before finally folding it. Just as the letter disappeared from your hands, probably reappearing in front of the shadow singer, another letter appeared in front of you that you recognised the paper was only one Azriel used, the scent of paper and ink still clung to it along with the musky scent of steel and the night sky that could only be described as Azriel.

Opening thee letter gently, you read.

My lovely star,

I should have written this so much sooner, but it was my brothers who finally gave me the courage to speak out the feelings I feared. I adore you. Every inch of you I crave, in every night you seek my comfort I want nothing more than to take your pain and make it mine. Every time I see you smile I curse under my breath when the reason for your smile is not me. I find joy in your laughter, it's melody often playing on repeat at the back of my mind. Even when I'm away I feel close to you because I spend every waking moment wondering what you and doing and every dream seems to chase away the nightmares when I dream of you. If you will allow me, I wish to be your forever. I love you with all my heart and my soul.

Yours, now and forever,

Azriel A.K.A Asshole, Brute, Bat, Illyrian prick

(P.S. I think my shadows like you more than me, because everytime you're near they seem to stray away from me to lay at your feet. You are breath taking, my star)

Holding in your breath, you felt as if you were dreaming, and as Azriel's scent seemed to suddenly flood your senses, you turned to the doors just as a knock came, slowly approaching it, behind was Azriel holding the letter you wrote, his grin wide and his eyes bright.

"Do you mean it, Sweetheart?" He asked, "Will you be mind?" Even as you nodded his eyes held a silent command to hear your voice, to hear the words he had craved for for so long. "I want to be your Azriel, I want you to be mine, I have loved you for so long," And as he swept you off your feet, the door closing behind the both of you as his lips crashed into yours, he pulled apart to only say, "I've been yours for longer than you could ever imagine, little star, even when I have faded from this world, even when we join our ancestors in the sky, even when we become the stars that sing, I will always be yours."

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

"Guess I'll have to cancel galentines," You whispered softly to Azriel, peaking at his face that stretched into a soft grin, his arms snaking around your waist even as you lay quite literally on top of him, your elbows leaning onto his chest.

"Didn't the rest of the inner circle always have their own Valentine's while you went shopping, me tailing behind you?" You laughed, replying, "Well I did like this one male, he was super sweet and was always there for me but I never dared ask him to be my Valentine," His eye brows quirked at your words, his smile becoming wider as he asked, "And what happened to the male?" you considered for a moment before grinning mischievously.

"Well, now he's mine."

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

A/N: No way, she wrote something with no angst for once??? A full fic that didn't have angst???? crazy. She must have been brain washed or something, that's insane. Don't worry my loves, angst is coming I just wanted to be nice for once during valentines <33 For all us single girls let's have a happy galentine's day and enjoy our girl dinners, AKA whichever fictional man/men we decide to simp for. Happy Valentine's day, see you all next time. MWAH.

Taglist: Please tell me if you want to be tagged in future Azriel's fics!!

#acotar #acotar fandom #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel acomaf #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #shadow singer

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parkerslatte · 4 months

Text

Deals With Our Devils || Chapter Three

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: slight injury. blood.

Part Summary: Y/N has dinner with Cassian and Nesta while Azriel tells her how he felt when she disappeared.

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Y/N sat on her bed, the feeling of it familiar. It had been two centuries since she had sat on this bed and yet, it only felt like months. Her bags remained unpacked beside her bed as she looked around her old room. Her old clothes were still hung up in the wardrobe, all still immaculately cleaned as if someone had made sure they were kept pristine in the years she had been away. The belongings she had left behind were still in her drawers, as were the various weapons she had hidden in her room. Everything felt so familiar yet so distant at the same time.

It was a matter of hours before Y/N heard more movement in the house– specifically from the bedroom above hers, the one belonging to the shadowsinger himself. A wash of nostalgia flooded Y/N as she laid down on her bed. As she heard Azriel walk around upstairs, she remembered the nights when she would march up to his bedroom to scold him for walking too loud when she was trying to sleep. Of course it only ended in her sleeping in his room after a long night of talking and laughing with one another.

She remembered the nights Azriel would come to her after a particularly hard mission or something had gone wrong. Y/N would sit with her arms around him for hours. Sometimes in complete silence, other times filled with Y/N’s voice simply talking to him to distract him. Y/N smiled at the bittersweet memory.

As she laid on her bed, he mind shifted back to Vassuryn. She already missed Floris more than she thought she would. In the past two hundred years, there hadn’t been a time longer than a couple of months where they had been apart. Despite her being his guard, Floris was her best friend.

There was a knock at Y/N’s door only moments later. She wasn’t expecting any knocks, in fact, Y/N wasn’t expecting any interaction at all. She stood from her bed and shuffled to the door, only realising until this moment how tired and drained she was from the journey. Once her hand touched the door handle, Y/N froze and her heart rate increased. What if it’s Azriel? She thought to herself. This thought was immediately disproved when she heard his footsteps from the room above.

“Y/N.” Cassian’s voice was muffled through the door. “It’s me. Um, Nesta and I are having dinner if you want to join us.”

Y/N’s hand remained on the door handle, though she made no move to open it. The hesitance in Cassian’s voice made the guilt rise in her body.

In the past two-hundred years, Y/N had become quite content with her life. She had a good job, good friends and lived in a beautiful kingdom. But she always felt that particular feeling weighing her down whenever she found herself smiling with her friends or enjoying her day. She had now come to the realisation that that feeling was guilt.

“You don’t need to join us if you don’t want to,” Cassian said. “But you are welcome.”

Y/N still didn’t open the door and listened as Cassian’s footsteps faded away. She let out a sigh once she was sure he was gone. While she had still been living in the Night Court, long before she left, Y/N had always thought of Cassian as a brother. Whenever she was having a bad day, she would sometimes seek him out for comfort. When she would train, he was always her sparring partner. And when she just wanted to get away from anything, he was there for her and would fly her anywhere in Velaris. It wasn’t until she had heard his voice, she realised how much she missed him.

With a final deep sigh, Y/N opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hall.

***

Azriel was angry. He was sure he had never been so angry in his life. Y/N had shown up after two centuries and she didn’t even seem to care how much it had affected them all. Through her whole explanation he could feel that anger beginning to bubble over the surface, yet some still slipped through the cracks.

Though he was angry for two reasons.

The anger for the second reason wasn’t directed toward her– it was directed toward himself. Despite the way he felt about her return, Azriel fought the urge to pull her into his arms and bury his head into her neck and hold her for as long as she would allow. He hated that he felt that way. She had abandoned everyone, she had abandoned him.

When Azriel left Y/N in the dining room, he left for the streets of Velaris. He couldn’t stand the thought of staying in his own room whilst Y/N was just in the room below. For years that room had stood empty, seeming locked in time. No one ever moved her things or changed the decoration. That room was off limits for everyone but Azriel, Cassian, Rhys, Mor and Amren. Azriel remembered how he once snapped at Elain for opening the door to her room years before. He apologised for it for days following.

Azriel swore he didn’t miss her. He swore he didn’t think about her. And in complete honesty he hadn’t for the past century, he had mostly moved on and accepted that she wasn’t going to come back. Yet in the past century he still found himself sitting in her room sometimes, just to think. It was the one place he knew he could be truly alone.

Azriel groaned as he let his mind slip to Y/N once again. I don’t care about her. He told himself that over and over again, he wanted to believe it but there was something stopping him. He could hear her movements in the room below. The room he was so accustomed to being silent. It was a strange adjustment.

After Azriel heard her open yet another drawer, he finally stood to his feet and swiftly left his bedroom to go down to dinner, hoping that he could avoid Y/N for the duration of her trip.

***

As Y/N stepped into the dining room, conversation ceased. Cassian and the female from before– Nesta, Cassian called her– sat at the dining table, eyes now on her.

“You came,” Cassian said, a look of genuine surprise on his face.

“I was feeling peckish,” Y/N admitted. “My journey here was long and there weren't many catering options available.”

Y/N took a seat at the table opposite both Cassian and Nesta. She tried to slow her heart beat but failed every single time. Cassian watched her movements carefully. Y/N tried to not let it affect her but she could see a sense of distrust in his eyes but another emotion was mixed with it. Nesta– who Y/N presumed was Cassian’s mate just by the way Y/N had interpreted their interactions– just watched her curiously.

Food appeared in front of Y/N and she picked at it before lifting the fork to her mouth. It was just as delicious as she remembered. Even after all these years, the house still remembered her favourite meal.

“Your name is Y/N?” Nesta spoke up, her fingers locked as she rested her head upon them, not eating the food in front of her.

“Yes,” Y/N answered, lifting her gaze to meet Nesta’s. “Don’t wear it out.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed and Y/N could see the power and authority she held within them. “The Y/N. The one who left in the middle of the night with no note or word.”

Y/N swallowed the carrot she had been eating and flicked her gaze between Nesta and Cassian. “Is this an interrogation or something? If it is, you would need many more sharp objects to get me to talk.”

Leaning back in her chair, Y/N rested her hand on her stomach. She still wore her travelling clothes and she itched to get into clean and fresh clothing.

“If the only reason you invited me to dinner was to interrogate me, then I will happily leave,” Y/N said, lifting her glass of wine to her lips.

“We don’t want to interrogate you, Y/N,” Cassian said, looking at Nesta.

“Well your little mate clearly wants to,” Y/N said, her gaze coming to rest on Nesta, who gripped her dinner knife in her hand tightly.

Before Y/N could place her glass back on the table, Nesta threw the knife and it sore through the air, its target– Y/N. Cassian watched wide-eyed, unable to process the situation.

However the knife never hit its target. Y/N simply held up her hand and the knife stopped mid-air, inches from her temple. “Are you trying to kill me, Nesta?”

“No,” Nesta replied, amusement shining in her eyes.

Y/N twisted her hand and the knife slowly rotated in the air and pointed to Nesta. Cassian growled as Y/N allowed the knife to inch toward Nesta until the tip rested centimetres from her temple. “You have guts to throw a knife at me. Back in Vassuryn, this knife would already be embedded in your skull.”

Y/N studied Nesta’s expression. She didn’t look scared at all, if anything she looked intrigued. Y/N smiled. “I like that.”

The knife clattered to the table and Nesta smiled. “I think I like you, Y/N.”

“It goes both ways, Nesta,” Y/N said.

Cassian let out a sigh. “What was that?”

“From the stories you have told me about Y/N, I wanted to see what she would do,” Nesta said. “I was curious.”

“She could have killed you!” Cassian explained.

“I trusted her not to,” Nesta said, smirking at Y/N.

Cassian rubbed his brow and leaned back in his chair. “What a way to break the ice, Nes.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh and placed the glass of wine back on the table. Cassian looked at Y/N and their eyes met. Even though Cassian did not physically look older, Y/N could see the age in his eyes. Two hundred years since she had seen him and in those two centuries there were thousands of stories that Y/N was unaware of. Guilt swirled within the depths of Y/N’s stomach.

Cassian cleared his throat. “It’s really good to see you, Y/N. I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier.”

“No, it was justified,” Y/N said. “I left all of you and you all thought I was dead. I was expecting much worse.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Cassian said. “Even if it is just for a short time.”

“I’m glad to be back,” Y/N admitted. “Even though it is only for a short while.”

The door to the dining room was opened and the shadowsinger walked in, his face like thunder. Y/N fell silent. Azriel’s eyes scanned the room and landed on Y/N, he narrowed his eyes. From across her, Y/N could see Cassian and Nesta look between her and Azriel. She didn’t know what to say as Azriel walked further into the room, taking the seat a few down from Y/N.

“What is she doing here?” Azriel asked, his voice flat.

“I invited her to dinner,” Cassian stated. Azriel didn’t respond as he silently began to eat.

Y/N broke her gaze away from Azriel. If he was just going to sit there silently, she could easily ignore him– even though she was fully aware that he was sitting only two chairs down from her. Once Y/N made eye contact with Cassian and Nesta again, she relaxed the smallest amount.

“So, Nesta,” Y/N began, “you mentioned that Cassian had told you stories about me?”

Nesta seemed to light up while Cassian simply looked embarrassed. “He did,” Nesta answered. “He insisted that you were the best fighter he had ever known. Even better than him.”

“I didn’t say that–”

“You did,” Nesta dismissed. “He mentioned you during a training session years ago.”

Y/N hummed in amusement. “The best fighter you have ever known?”

“Nesta is twisting my words,” Cassian said, playfully glaring at her.

As Y/N opened her mouth to speak, Azriel cut her off, speaking to Cassian and Nesta as if she was not even there. “Are you training with the Valkyries tomorrow?”

Nesta shook her head. “Not tomorrow. Gwyn, Emerie and I are planning to read a new book that just came out. We’ve been excited about it for a while. Training can wait one day.”

Y/N lit up. “You read?”

“Yes!” Nesta said, perking up. “Gwyn, Emerie and I have our own little boom club of sorts.”

“What type of books do you read?” Y/N asked.

Cassian laughed. “Nothing that you would be interested in. They don’t read about battle strategies.”

Y/N frowned. “I think you are mistaking me for yourself, Cassian. I absolutely hated those books when you made me read them.”

Cassian gaped. “You said you enjoyed them!”

“I didn’t want to offend you!” Y/N defended.

Nesta watched the exchange with amusement. “You are welcome to join us.”

Y/N’s smile faltered. “I would love to, but I don’t think I will have the time. I’m supposed to be here on business.”

“So you’ve said,” Azriel muttered under his breath.

Y/N ignored him as she focused on Nesta. “But if I have the time, I’ll join you.”

“If you have the time, you are training with me,” Cassian butt in. “I want to see if that palace has been training you right. And none of that magic nonsense. This will be strictly hand to hand combat.”

Y/N smirked. “I hope you like being knocked on your arse, Cassian.”

“Really?” Azriel piped up, his voice full of barely controlled anger.

The smile on Y/N’s face vanished instantly as she turned to Azriel. “What?”

“You are just slotting yourself back in when you have been gone for two centuries,” Azriel said.

Across the table, Cassian and Nesta fell silent, watching the exchange between the two former friends.

“What am I supposed to say, Azriel?” Y/N asked.

Azriel shook his head and looked back down at his food that he had barely touched. Y/N scoffed. “Is that all then? You just provoke me and then ignore me?”

“I told you yesterday not to speak to me,” Azriel muttered.

“Yet you initiated the conversation!” Y/N exclaimed. “I genuinely don’t know what you want me to do Azriel.”

Y/N didn’t even process Azriel standing to his feet before he was walking out of the room. She knew that she should leave him but something within her made her race out of the room after him.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, Azriel,” Y/N snapped.

“Leave, Y/N,” Azriel responded and continued to walk down the corridor.

I won’t,” Y/N said, racing to catch up to his long strides.

As she caught up to him, she reached out and gripped his wrist tightly. The feeling of his skin on hers was familiar yet so foreign. Azriel’s ripped his arm out of her grip and spun around. Y/N was sure she had never seen such anger in his eyes. Before she knew it, Azriel had pushed her against the wall, knocking the breath out of her. His shadows pinner her arms down by her sides, preventing her from moving.

Y/N looked up to meet Azriel’s eyes. They were blazing with anger and frustration. The tip of a blade touched her neck and Y/N stilled. “You would really kill me, Azriel?” Y/N asked.

The situation was nothing like the one with Nesta. With Nesta there had been a certain playfulness to it. This situation was far from it. It was fuelled by rage and frustration, not curiosity. Truthteller dug into Y/N’s skin the smallest amount and Y/N could feel a small drop of blood trickle down her neck and under her clothes. Y/N could feel her powers bubbling within her but she refused to let them show.

Still, Y/N didn’t break eye contact with Azriel. The anger in his eyes was clear but Y/N could spot the emotion behind that fire. It was full of sadness and pain.

“If you are going to kill me, Azriel, then do it,” Y/N said, her voice shaking.

When Y/N had left two hundred years ago, she never would have imagined that two centuries later, Azriel would be holding her at knife point.

“Why would you leave me, Y/N?” Azriel asked, his hand holding truthteller shook, causing another drop of blood to trickle down her neck.

Y/N looked into his eyes. That raging fire within them dimmed and the pain and sadness was all that remained.

“Those weeks after you left,” Azriel began, lowering the blade from her neck, “I expected you to show up at my door while I was recovering. Every single time Rhys, Cassian or Mor walked in, I was disappointed. I never let any of them help and change my bandages because you were always the one to do that. You wounded me, Y/N.”

Y/N stiffened under his firm hold. For a brief moment she broke eye contact. She had never thought her disappearance would have affected Azriel this much.

“You left a wound on my heart when you left without a word. I mourned you. I believed you to be dead,” Azriel said. Even his voice now held that pain and sadness he had carefully hidden behind that barrier of rage and fury.

Azriel pushed back from the wall and looked at Y/N, his eyes glancing down at the blood on her neck, he showed no emotion at it. “The sooner you arrange matters with Rhys, the sooner you can go back to your kingdom. I will remain civil with you until then for the sake of everyone around us. But just so you know, if Vassuryn ever needs help in the future, believe me when I tell you that I will not go to help. Once you leave here, Y/N, I never want to see you again. I have already mourned you, I will not do it again.”

With that, Azriel turned his back and walked down the corridor and out of sight. Y/N remained against the wall, she had made no effort to move. His words had cut her deeper than any blade ever would. Y/N’s breath came out in ragged pants and she tried to process everything that had just happened. With a shaky hand, she pressed it against where truthteller had been held against her skin. Her fingers came away bloody.

“Y/N,” Cassian said softly.

Y/N looked up from her hand and her gaze rested on Cassian and Nesta, both with sympathetic expressions on their faces.

“Are you okay?” Nesta asked.

Y/N only glanced down the corridor where Azriel had disappeared and back to her hand.

“Did you see what happened?” Y/N asked, her voice quiet.

Cassian shook his head. “Did Az do that?”

Y/N wiped the blood on her fingers onto her jacket. “Yes, but it's fine. I probably deserved it.”

As Cassian went to open his mouth, Y/N rushed past him. “I’m going to get an early night before my meeting with Rhys tomorrow. I will see you both later.”

Y/N continued on her way down the corridor and up the stairs until she made it to her bedroom. When she stepped inside, she didn’t feel the nostalgia she did when she stepped in it earlier. Instead she only felt dread. The quicker she sorted things out with Rhys, the quicker she could leave– and hopefully that was soon.

***

The moment Azriel was out of sight, he let out a breath and slouched against the wall. The rage within him was not directed at Y/N anymore– it was directed at himself. Azriel could see the small amount of fear that presented itself in Y/N’s eyes when he held truthteller up to her neck. Azriel was not even sure what came over him, he was just so angry and frustrated at that moment.

What made him hate himself even more was the wound he had inflicted upon her. In his whole life, Azriel had never inflicted a purposeful wound upon his friends. Yet he had on Y/N.

Azriel shook his head and continued down the hallway. Y/N is not my friend. He thought.

Yet he still felt the weight of the guilt upon his shoulders. That blood that trickled down her neck was caused by him. Before he would have burnt villages down if he even saw so much of a scratch upon her skin. This time, he was the cause.

Azriel was not even sure where he was going. As soon as he left Y/N in the corridor, he had walked away, any second longer and he would be falling at her feet, begging for forgiveness. Azriel scoffed. He had nothing to be sorry for. Y/N is the one who should be sorry. She had abandoned him and her family only to find a new one in Vassuryn. They were apparently replaceable.

The route Azriel walked was familiar to him, he had walked it hundreds of times before, even without meaning to. His feet led him down the corridor with now one occupant. Azriel slowed as he walked down it. Light shone from under Y/N’s door. Azriel came to a stop.

For two centuries he was used to the room being vacant but now he knew that she resided inside once again, it made his heart skip a beat. Azriel silently listened. Y/N’s heartbeat was slow and steady, a clear indication that she was asleep. That was one thing that hadn’t changed about her. Before when Azriel fell asleep beside her, he would be eased into a sleep void of nightmares just from listening to her heartbeat.

Despite himself, a ghost of a smile appeared on Azriel’s face.

He was not sure what had overcome him when Azriel reached out and touched the door handle. Before he could stop himself he quietly pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The candles were burning on the dresser and Azriel stepped forward to blow them out. He tried not to look in Y/N’s direction but failed as he spared a quick glance.

In her sleep Y/N looked relaxed and it made Azriel’s chest tighten. Now he saw how much stress and worry she carried on her face. He assumes that some of that was caused by him. She was wearing a simple nightshirt and the blankets were bunched up at her waist, though Azriel could see the goosebumps littering her skin.

His feet carried him closer to the bed and he reached out to touch the soft blanket bunched at her waist. Azriel recognised it as the gift Mor had given her for Solstice one year. It had been so long ago that Azriel had forgotten. He pulled it up until it rested below her chin. Y/N seemed to hum quietly at the added warmth to her body as she snuggled into the blanket. As she shifted, Azriel now had a clear view of the wound he had inflicted on her. It was healing but it was still an angry red. The blood had been washed away but Azriel could still see it in his mind. Like the blood, he wished he could wash it himself.

Azriel stepped back and back away to where the candles were, the only reason why he had entered her room. He blew them out one by one until the room was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the small gap in the curtains, shining directly onto Y/N’s face.

Azriel lingered by the door for a moment longer. A singular shadow sneaking away to join Y/N at her bedside. Azriel hastily summoned it back and stepped out into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind him. He took off down the hallways and up to his bedroom.

Once he was inside, Azriel sighed. He didn’t know why he did that. He didn’t care.

I don’t care about Y/N. It was the mantra that Azriel said to himself. It was true. He wanted it to be true. He shouldn’t care about someone who abandoned him– her family.

Azriel huffed and lowered himself to his bed. He didn’t care about Y/N. The sooner she left the better. But as he tried to fall asleep, the only thing on his mind was Y/N and that scared look in her eyes as he pointed his blade to her neck.

Azriel’s night was restless.

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#azriel angst #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfic #azriel fic

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delulustateofmind · 17 days

Text

Title: Between Worlds Part II (Azriel POV)

This is Azriel's point of view leading up until the morning. Let me know if you have any thoughts or if you want more!

Summary: Reader wakes up in ACOTAR a year after the war with Hybern. A bunch of events happen that leads to them waking up in a one night stand with Azriel

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Coming soon!

Trigger Warnings: Alcohol

Azriel's POV

Mor had dragged most of the Inner Circle to Rita's tonight. It was one of her favorite spots—a pleasure hall where judgment held no ground. Here, rank and gender were inconsequential. Despite my initial reluctance, Rhysand had practically coerced me to join, insisting it was "family bonding time." Cassian had tried to persuade Nesta to come along, but she had brushed him off.

We found ourselves at our usual table. While Mor and Cassian mingled with the crowd, I sat alone, nursing a beer, eavesdropping on conversations around me. Today, my shadows were unusually restless, tugging at me as if sensing an impending threat. Their whispers guided me toward a particular scent that seemed to beckon them.

The scent led me to a table where a group was concocting something they called a 'sake bomb.' One of the men, engrossed in flirting with a dark-haired woman, noticed me and shifted over. But it was the gaze of a beautiful woman that captured my attention, pulling at my heartstrings.

Accustomed to people trembling in my presence due to my position in the court, I was taken aback when she playfully told me to wait my turn, even though I hadn’t approached her. As her friend whispered something to her, her expression shifted from surprise to recognition. My shadows grew even more insistent, one even escaping my grasp to caress her wrist.

The woman looked at the shadow in wonder, then back at me. "Is this normal?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement and curiosity.

Smiling softly, I replied, "Not for them to approach strangers, no." My shadows seemed inexplicably drawn to her.

As her friends left to dance with other men, I moved closer to her, intrigued. Leaning in, I whispered, "May I ask your name?"

"Y/n... you must be Azriel," she murmured, her voice angelic, captivating me instantly. A smirk played on my lips as I noticed her blush.

"What gave it away?" I teased.

"The shadows... I never expected them to be so... soft," she said, her eyes darting between me and the dancing shadows. I was surprised to find that she seemed more intrigued by my shadows than fearful.

"They've never behaved like this with anyone else. They seem to like you," I admitted, smiling as I watched my shadows swirl around her hands. In return she gave me the most beautiful drunken smile that I could have ever imagined. That's when I felt it.

As the bond between us snapped, I hid my shock behind a controlled expression. My shadows seemed even more eager to be near her. I couldn’t leave her, not after waiting five hundred years to find my mate. Wanting to draw the attention from my impending panic. I decided to change the topic.

"Shall we dance?" I asked, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation.

After some hesitation, she nodded. Guiding her to the dance floor, I reassured her, "Don’t worry, love, I'll guide you."

Despite her lack of dancing skills, I cherished every moment, lost in her mesmerizing eyes. Hours seemed to pass as we danced, oblivious to the world around us. When we returned to our table, her friends had left, and Cassian and Mor were beyond intoxicated.

"Shall we get out of here?" I whispered, making her blush even more.

"I live with my parents," she stammered, sheepishly.

"We can go to one of mine. I don’t think anyone's at our townhouse. I can winnow us there if you can handle it," I suggested.

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. As we winnowed to the townhouse, I reassured her, promising her safety.

Once inside, I helped her to my bedroom. She stumbled like a fawn learning to walk for the first time. After fetching her some water and a change of clothes, I found her sprawled in bed, already half-asleep. As I turned to leave, she grabbed my hand.

"Please stay. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd meet you? I worry I'll wake up..." she murmured. What does that even mean? Did the bond already snap for her? Thank the mother above that I have some sort of self control, otherwise I would be asking questions.

After a moment of contemplation, I decided to stay. Wrapping my arms around her, I found comfort in her warmth, and for the first time in ages, I drifted into a peaceful sleep.

#acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you

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goddess-in-heaven-and-hell · 1 month

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Reginald who? (ER) - A Gwynriel One-Shot for Gwynrielweeks2024

thread: Gwyn finds a way for Azriel to let go of his gentle bedside manner by comparing him to her favorite male book character – slightly drunk Azriel cannot let that slide and a challenge ensures.

Post for the NSFW day ;) @gwynrielweeksofficial

word count: 5.1k

warnings: swearing, crude language, oral (f receiving), cum play, anal play, p in v sex

Reginald growled with pleasure as he beheld the stunning beauty that was Jasmine. He itched to explore every inch of her, his hands already reaching out to skim over her abdomen and her breasts.

After what felt like three hundred years, the book finally got to the good part. Gwyn giggled to herself, sinking deeper into the cushions and preparing for what was about to come. Or rather, who was about to come.

He laid her down with reverence, observing how her chest heaved with excitement. There was only one place he wanted to be right now, and that was between her supple thighs.

Gwyn read on with wide eyes, wishing for Azriel to be near with each line passing. The male main character was so smooth, so absolutely devoted to his Jasmine it was swoon worthy. And the priestess would lie if she said his words and actions didn’t have another effect on her. She shifted in her seat, trying to get some of the pressure off as she continued devouring page after page. If this author did one thing right, it was her attention to detail.

Reginald wasn’t done with her just yet, bending his head another time to gently lap at her, cleaning her arousal with his tongue and moaning like he tasted liquid ambrosia.

Her daydream was rudely and suddenly interrupted by a loud bang, and Gwyn’s well-deserved one-on-one time with Reginald came to a stuttering end.

She jumped out of bed, more than ready to fight or run, whatever seemed like the smartest thing to do, but as she was halfway across the room, the banging was accompanied by shouting – and with a breathy laugh, Gwyn relaxed.

“Ehhhhh”, that seemed to be Cassian’s rough voice echoing off the hall, “Ladies, we’re hoooooome!”

Another bang sounded suspiciously like the vase next to the staircase shattered into a million pieces, followed by colorful swearing. This time from another voice. Were they drunk?

“Really subtle, Cass. I think they heard us anyways.”, Azriel deadpanned. He sounded pretty normal, enunciating his words carefully. Maybe a bit too carefully.

Cassian laughed, a booming sound that might have woken up the priestesses in the library too. “True. And if they went to Rita’s with US, like we ASKED them to, they could be in on the FUN now.”

He then began singing.

Yes, definitely drunk.

Honestly, it wasn’t completely off tune and had a kind of charm to it. Azriel’s laughter told another story though, and Gwyn could only guess Cassian’s performance got enhanced through some dance moves.

“Boys!”

And that would be Nesta. Gwyn snickered to herself, letting her book come to rest on the bed again before finding the bathroom. Let Nesta deal with them. When the boys did something stupid, Gwyn would usually cave as soon as they gave her the puppy eyes. That strategy was lost with her best friend, though, and as Gwyn closed the bathroom door, she could already make out Nesta ripping into them.

The priestess the proceeded to complete her evening routine, using the toilet, washing her face, teeth and applying a generous amount of moisturizer. Training every morning in the crisp, cold autumn air left her skin dry as a desert, so she took extra care of it at night. Her river nymph heritage didn’t help the situation either as it demanded constant maintenance.

Once she was all done, skin gleaming with product, she returned to the bedroom.

“So that’s what you get up to when I’m not at home to supervise.”

Sprawled on her bed, with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, was her beloved. Only that he was not so beloved anymore as he skimmed through her book and snickered to himself.

“Azriel!”, she gasped, lunging forward in order to snatch the book away from him. But the bastard was quicker, sitting up and putting the bed between them. His eyes never strayed from the lines as he read and read.

“What kind of name is Reginald? And how many pages can this person fill with just giving head?”, he murmured, even his shadows peeking over his shoulder to get a good look.

Gwyn’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment at his crass words. Why were romance novels completely acceptable when you read them alone, yet as soon as another person asked you about it they became a criminal offence?

She rounded the bed, trying again to grab the book, but he simply lifted it over his head. The priestess was seething.

“Azriel Shadowsinger, you give me back my book this instant!”, with her hands put on her hips, she craned her neck to look up at him, trying her best to be intimidating. ‘Looking down her nose at someone’ just like the main character of the last book she read, however that was possible. But she gave it her best shot nonetheless.

Azriel cupped her cheek with his unoccupied hand, his face now relaxed. “Gwyneth, stop it. You are too cute.”

She wanted to wipe that indulgent smile off his face desperately.

So, with her best acting, she made her eyes focus on the candle behind Az, gasping in horror and pointing. It might not have worked on him most days but his slightly delayed reaction spoke volumes about how much he really had to drink. He whipped around to the invisible threat, and as soon as his hand was within reach, Gwyn snagged the book with a triumphant laugh.

She quickly leaped away from him, pressing the book against her chest protectively.

Azriel just chuckled to himself. “Please don’t tell Cassian about that. Or anyone, really.” His eyes found hers through the dim light, slowly trailing over her face, hair and exposed legs. “You got me, Berdara.”

With only a few measured steps, he stood before her. Gwyn tightened her grip on the book just in case, but Azriel seemed to have lost interest in that. Instead, his fingers gently traced her jawline and lips.

“I’ve missed you.”, he murmured, his other hand coming to squeeze her waist. Gwyn’s breath hitched as she beheld the hunger in his gaze, the slow smile he showed her. He looked so handsome tonight with his midnight black tunic that he rolled up at the sleeves, putting his tattoos on show.

Gwyn should have been jealous that the whole of Velaris got to see him like this tonight. That he likely had to turn down a lot of invitations to peoples’ beds. But the way he looked at her made her think he didn’t care about that at all. Like he only really needed on female by his side.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go out with you.”, she said softly, swallowing down the guilt at not yet being able to cope with the masses of people a night club usually held, “But I take it you had a good time nonetheless?”

Azriel snorted, his hand now slowly exploring her neck and collarbones. “It was good, yes. You’d have enjoyed the music, I think. But it got quite crammed towards the end.”

He placed a soft kiss to her neck, pulling her even closer so she had to let go of the book and throw it on the armchair. Azriel didn’t really seem to care for their conversation right now, his lips not deviating from their mission to make Gwyn squirm.

She was already so riled up from that damned book, it didn’t take long for Azriel’s ministrations to elicit a soft moan. The Shadowsinger soaked up the noise, letting his lips finally find hers. The kiss was gentle, yet it promised something more. Gwyn could taste the bourbon on his tongue as it caressed hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

Azriel’s muscular frame began to crowd her, forcing her to walk back a few steps, until her back met the wall. His kiss changed as soon as he had her caged in, completely at his mercy. It got more demanding, deeper, his hands now both running up and down her sides and disheveling her pajamas until he found a piece of bare skin he could claim for himself.

This was different than before. Usually Azriel was slower, more gentle as they made love, and Gwyn had argued with herself for some time now how to best ask him to… well, just fuck her. Because Cauldron boil her, that’s what she wanted.

And apparently, that’s what she was getting tonight. She could feel herself getting wet for him as he pressed his own arousal to her hip, showing her exactly what this situation did to him too.

“Az”, she whispered in a plea as he let go of her mouth, instead pushing up her top and bending down to welcome every inch of skin revealed with open-mouthed kisses. She’d never get used to it, being naked in front of him and feeling his lips on usually hidden areas. It made her spine tingle with excitement.

“Mh?”, he looked up for a second, his eyes wild with barely reigned-in arousal. “Sorry, should I slow down?”

Gwyn let out a stuttering breath, her hands finding his inky black hair to run through. “No, this is perfect. This is what I want.” A little pull on his roots drove the point home, hopefully.

The Shadowsinger growled – actually growled – and continued his assault on her stomach and waist, squeezing her tighter. She’d never seen him so lost in the moment, not constantly fighting for control over himself. And it made her own heart beat faster in her chest at the thrill of experiencing this side of him tonight.

Azriel huffed out a frustrated breath though at his awkward position. “Change of scenery.”

He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up the armory instead in one quick movement, his face now level with her neck. “Better.”

Was it normal to be excited about how easily he did that, how simple it must be for him to bend her to his will?

It didn’t take long for her top to be discarded on the floor after that, her own hands helping just as much as his shadows, allowing Azriel’s hands and mouth to hone in all their attention on her breasts. He kissed, suckled and licked every bit of her, paying special tribute to her nipples and the underside of her chest. Gwyn was reduced to a moaning mess, withering beneath the heat of his mouth and trying to press her center against his stomach.

“Don’t be so fucking impatient.”, he chuckled, pinning her hips to a frustrating stop, “Jasmine took everything in stride. Not once did I read about her trying to take control.”

Gwyn glowered at him. “That’s because Reginald actually saw to her needs the minute they arose.”

The Shadowsinger stilled at her words, slowly looking up at her. “Are you saying I don’t see to your needs, priestess?”

“I’m saying that you shouldn’t assume you know everything about me and my body and what I need.” The moment the words left her, she found herself regretting them. Because really, it was unfair. Azriel did know her body like his own, and did bring her the most mind-shattering orgasms. But a little voice inside her urged her on, hoping to rile him enough to completely relinquish his gentle manners. Plus, it was fun. “Because you clearly don’t.”

Azriel smiled at her accusation in a way that did absolutely nothing to calm her down. In fact, it promised retribution.

“I don’t?”

Gwyn tried to summon some bravado. “You don’t. You’re okay, you know the basics, sure. One would hope you do after 500 years of living.”

Azriel’s eyebrows rose with every lie uttered, a manic gleam in his eyes. Oh, she was going to be in so much trouble. Her center throbbed with the certainty of that. Mother, she wanted him so badly.

But her Shadowsinger stepped back and made to grab her discarded book, leaving Gwyn shivering on the armory and covering her breasts with her arms. “How about a challenge, then?”

Gwyn stared at him with doe eyes, unsure where he’d take this.

“Looks like dear Reginald managed to make her cum”, he paused, skimming the pages again, “twice with his mouth, and once more on his cock. I’d say he knows how to please her, wouldn’t you?”

Gwyn nodded, taking in the force of nature that was Azriel. He exuded confidence as he stood there in the center of the room, his eyes drilling into hers like he might die if he can’t look at her.

“So all I need to do for you to take your uncalled for and plainly false words back is”, he stepped towards her again, his mouth whispering the challenge – the promise it held – into her ear, “prove I’m better.”

Gwyn was unwell. And it clearly showed, because Azriel already held himself like he’d won. Like he’d made her cum with just his words alone. But she also knew on thing: it wasn’t easy for her to finish. Especially not with just penetration.

“I accept the challenge. And I look forward to proving you wrong.”, she whispered back.

Azriel’s hands rose to grab hers, gently pulling them away from her chest and making them meet at the small of her back where he held them hostage. “I want to add two conditions to this. First, you can’t hold yourself back. When you feel like you need to cum, you will cum. If my shadows detect you didn’t adhere to this rule, I’ll make you pay.”

Gwyn swallowed, her mouth dry with need. She’d never heard him talk like this. But she nodded to accept his first condition. Never would she deprive herself of an orgasm just to spite him. Especially right now.

“Secondly, you will not touch me unless I explicitly allow it. I’ll need to concentrate, and I can’t very well do that with your little hand wrapped around my cock.”, Azriel gave her a stern look that had her melting and nodding her head in acceptance again.

“You can’t use your Shadows either.”, the priestess was proud she found the clarity of mind to demand this little ad-on, “Reginald didn’t have them. Only his very own skill.”

Azriel puffed out his chest. “Of course not. I’ll win this fair and square.”

Silence expanded between them and the dark room as their stared at each other in defiance. And a whole lot of infatuation. Because there was never a moment Gwyn felt more desire towards this male.

“It’s on?”, Azriel asked, looking ready to pounce.

“It’s on.”, she replied.

The word barely left her mouth before his own claimed it with a roughness that took Gwyn’s breath away. He pressed her back to the wall, spreading her legs even further to accommodate his hips and wings.

Something told her she was about to experience what it was like to be at the mercy of an unleashed Shadowsinger. And that something was his hand, finding her throat in a grip firm enough for her to moan out her approval.

“Still”, he ground out. The space between them widened again as he stepped back to pull her shorts off her body.

When they were discarded, he took his sweet-ass time to run his eyes over her nude form. Gwyn tired her best to adhere to his command of staying put, but having the undivided attention of Azriel on her made that quite hard. Especially when his gaze snagged on her exposed center and lingered. Like he planned all the things he was about to do to her to the smallest detail.

His own hands travelled up his body and began unbuttoning his tunic, revealing inch after inch of first tattooed, then bronze skin. Gwyn strained, her whole body on overdrive. She wanted nothing more than to lunge forward, feel all of him pressed against her. But she also wanted to win.

Azriel carelessly discarded his tunic, his mirthful eyes telling her he knew exactly what his little strip show did to her. “Are you wet for me already, love?”

Hearing the low timbre of his voice felt like almost like touch in itself. Gwyn arched her back slightly. “Yes.”

“Good.”, he sank to his knees before her, his head now perfectly in line with her throbbing center, “because I’m fucking starving for you.”

Gwyn gasped as she felt the first lick of his tongue against her. Her eyes closed against her will in nothing but self-preservation. Seeing him lick her would be the death of her, she knew. And she was about to relish in his attention for as long as possible.

Azriel knew he was good with his tongue and it showed. It danced along her slit with perfect pressure, honing in on her clit and circling the tiny bud of nerves in a maddening rhythm.

“Fuck”, he growled out, pressing a harsh kiss to her opening, “I’m addicted to this. I thought about it the whole night, about you underneath me.”

The priestess gasped and moaned as his tongue once again thought of better things to do than drive her crazy with his words. She liked the idea of Azriel pining for her, his thoughts thoroughly occupied so none other could take them up. Feelings of power and love flooded her veins and joined the pleasure he was already giving her.

Gwyn was wet beyond measure now, her juices coating her inner thighs and running down on the armory. She was certainly losing the challenge abysmally if he continued like that, but was it really losing if it made her feel like this?

Azriel’s fingers moved to join his tongue, rubbing up and down her wetness to then plunge into her. Gwyn moaned at the feel of them, the roughness of his scars providing ample friction as he pumped them in and out of her while his tongue remained firmly on her clit.

Despite her best efforts to draw this out, she felt her orgasm build ferociously.

“Watch.”, Azriel ground out so close against her still that she felt the warmth of his breath, “watch yourself cum on my tongue.”

And Gwyn did. With her eyes trained on his face, she watched as he doubled his efforts. And the sight of this powerful, gorgeous male before her, that was so thoroughly hers he was engrained into her very heart, made her shatter.

The priestess came with a shout and a plethora of flexed muscles. Azriel did his best to draw it out, continuing his fingering and licking at a more relaxed pace until Gwyn collapsed in on herself.

When she regained her senses, her eyes fell on the Shadowsinger now standing at full height again. He leaned forward, his arms propped up on either side of her thighs, a smug smile on his wet face. “Why don’t you count for us, sweetness? We can’t lose sight of the challenge now, can we?”

Gwyn nodded, her lust dampened to a manageable level again. She conceded this point way too quickly, even though it was worth it. “One.”

She silently made a pact with herself. The male needed to work for it, otherwise his ego might expand to the heavens. In fact, Azriel already looked about ready to burst with arrogance.

He stepped forward to give her a lingering kiss, his tongue caressing hers and sharing her essence with her. Gwyn itched to touch him, if only his shoulders or chest or hair or anything. But he didn’t allow it yet, and begging was so beneath her.

Azriel scooped her up carefully, walking towards the bed and laying her down on the covers. But instead of widening her thighs, her grabbed hold of her ankles and lifted them in the air, leaving her center and ass in full view again.

“Hold that for me, love.”, he said as he knelt on the bed as well. Gwyn grabbed the inside of her knees and pulled them towards her chest, mentally preparing to not come within five minutes.

“Like that. Good girl.”, he murmured almost absentmindedly, focusing on her center yet again while Gwyn’s resolve took it’s first hit. Why was he so talkative all of a sudden and why did she want to cum just to hear him call her ‘good’ again?

A kiss to her thigh quickly shut down her inner monologue. By the third kiss, her mind was putty again. The fifth landed just an inch short of where she wanted it. Then, the bastard repeated the teasing process on the other side once more. Her breathing quickened again.

“Do you know what tastes even better than your arousal?”, he asked, suspended right above her clit. His lips grazed it with every word, and Gwyn jumped in anticipation. She didn’t even register him asking a question until he pinched her butt impatiently.

“No, I don’t.”, she breathed out. She couldn’t think even if she wanted to.

“Guess.”

That bloody bastard.

“Cupcakes?”, she tried weakly. It was simply the only thing she could come up with.

Gwyn felt his laugh hit her center, but nothing else followed. “No, that’s not it. In fact, cupcakes are further down the list. Guess again.”

“Azriel, please.”

Apparently, she was not above begging. And it paid off. His finger began circling her clit tightly, hitting it with just the lowest of pressures but almost continually. A slow kind of torture as he still waited for her to take another guess.

“I don’t know. Ice cream.”, the priestess panted, absolutely over this game.

“Wrong again.”, Azriel said in a conversational tone, almost like he wasn’t face to face with her dripping pussy and keeping her clit hostage underneath his finger. “But I realize now you’re at a disadvantage. I don’t think you’ve ever tasted it before.”

And with that, two of his fingers sank deeply into her with the most delicious friction and a borderline embarrassing squelch of wetness. He crawled up her body then and held out his fingers to her lips.

Gwyn stared at him wide-eyed, very much unsure of what to do. She read about this once, and honestly thought it too kinky to be real. But as she took in her Shadowsinger who watched her with the expression of a man possessed, she realized it wasn’t weird at all. At least not if it pleased him.

Tentatively, still waiting for him to stop her if that wasn’t what he meant, she raised her head and took his fingers in-between her lips. He didn’t stop her. If it was possible, his eyes turned even more mad as they darted between her eyes and mouth. “That’s it, love.”

Gwyn closed her lips around his fingers and began to suck lightly while drawing back. A tangy-sweet taste filled her mouth and she didn’t know who released a more strained moan between them. Her tongue darted out to tease the slit his fingers formed, lapping up even more of herself and Azriel ground his erection against her in a movement that seemed almost involuntary.

She honestly didn’t care for the taste, but it was better than she anticipated and seemed to drive him out of his mind. So, she took the opportunity. A distracted Azriel was a sloppy Azriel.

The priestess barely contained her smirk as she went to town on his fingers, moving up and down like she would on his cock and using her tongue to gently caress the ridges of his skin. Azriel didn’t stop her. In fact, he looked like he was put under a spell, only his hips moving against her center and finally giving her a bit more friction.

Suddenly, Az yanked his fingers back, narrowing his eyes at her. She could feel his reprimand coming, but beat him to it. “Don’t you dare. You allowed it. If not to say ‘demanded’.”

He stared at her a while longer, before conceding the point. “Fine. But then I’m not to blame for this.”

Gwyn was about to ask what ‘this’ meant, but Azriel slid down her body again, disappearing from view behind her legs. Her lower lips were spread, her overstimulated and puffy center back in view, and Azriel dove right in.

This time, nothing about his movements felt calculated. He simply lapped up every ounce of liquid that dripped out of her, wanting to be in multiple spots at once. Azriel moaned in abandon, almost as wildly as Gwyn herself, plunging his tongue into her and drinking directly from the source. His nose and stubble grazed her simultaneously as he licked her walls like he owned them.

“Azriel”, the priestess moaned out his name, fighting hard to not move her hips in time with his licks. She felt like she was floating on pleasure.

The Shadowsinger let up from her entrance, his fingers taking up a slow and torturous caress up and down her slit. Gwyn was about to wonder why he didn’t use his tongue anymore when she felt it again – lower.

Every thought of shame or panic left her though, as his tongue circled her puckered hole tentatively first, then with more rigor when she didn’t object.

They had talked about this before at some point as the topic came up in one of her novels as well. And she expressed her general interest in it, not really sure how it would feel. She’d have asked him to do this earlier if she’d known.

Her muscles twitched with all their might. The pleasure he wrung from her clit was somehow amplified by the delicate skin around her bottom and Azriel’s mouth licking and kissing around it, focusing on the thin piece of skin that separated her pussy from it once in a while.

If the feeling of it didn’t drive her insane enough, the fact that Azriel seemed to take so much pleasure in it too took her over the edge. He never even raised his head for air, never stilled his fingers and reacted to every twitch of her, adjusting his ministrations accordingly.

He played her like his favorite instrument, and she ate her previous words with each slide of his fingers and tongue. The male knew what he was doing, and she was so fucking lucky.

After a few minutes of this blissful torture, she couldn’t hold back anymore and came again with an intense wave of release. Goosebumps littered her skin and she shouted Azriel’s name into the abyss in testament of his devotion.

She let her legs fall open to each side, not caring for her compromising position as she tried to catch her breath. And her sanity.

Azriel perched between her legs, gently caressing her calves as he grinned at her.

“Well done, love. How many?”

Gwyn released a shaky breath. “Two and a half.”

His grin widened ever more. “And a half, huh?”

The priestess nodded. Usually, they called it a day after one or both of them came twice. She didn’t even know if it was possible for him to drag another orgasm out of her. But as Gwyn looked at Azriel again, at how he made to unlace his trousers and setting himself free, she had the feeling she’d give him another half a point for simply seeing him in all his naked glory. Or maybe a thousand.

She scootched higher up the bed, boldly watching him strip completely. The Shadowsinger finally discarded his trousers, shoes and underwear, and Gwyn had to fight to not let her own hand slip between her legs at the sight. How was it possible she was already aroused again?

“Since you were so good this whole time, I’ll let you decide how I take you.”, Azriel said in a low voice, his hand coming up to his cock and pumping languidly. She itched to crawl forward and lick off the beads of precum that glistened on the tip.

“Can I ride you?”, she breathed, already sitting up without waiting for an answer.

The Shadowsinger chuckled at her eagerness, but his eyes betrayed his nonchalant façade. He was quick to take up her previous place on the bed, dragging her on top of him instantly and with so much force she nearly fell on his face.

Gwyn wasted absolutely no time. She slid onto him like he was molded just for her, engulfing him in her wetness until he was sheathed completely. Both moaned at the feeling of finally being united like this, and the priestess rocked back and forth just slightly to get used to him again.

Azriel watched her from below, his hands resting on her hips. His own breathing sounded a bit labored too, Gwyn thought with satisfaction, and he held her still with straining muscles.

“Cauldron, Gwyn.”, he ground out, his head falling back against the pillow in surrender. Or what Gwyn interpreted as such. Because just a few seconds after-

“Oh, Gods!”, Gwyn gasped as he drove himself up and into her, leveraging himself against the bed and taking control from her entirely. He set a punishing pace, thrusting into her again and again with no resistance. The priestess fell onto his chest from the force of him, moaning with abandon.

He felt so good inside of her, so perfect, hitting all the right spots.

Azriel gazed up at her, his features set in barely restrained ferocity. He looked so beautiful, sweating and panting, his ruffled hair sticking to his forehead, neck and chest flexed.

Gwyn relished in the feel of him, moving in tandem with his thrusts to force him even deeper.

“Fuck, I’m close.”, the Shadowsinger growled.

But Gwyn wasn’t quite there yet. “I need more.”

Azriel’s sharp gaze focused on her, and he immediately relinquished his thrusting to let her take over again. Which was just what she needed. With a heavy, unrestrained moan, Gwyn began to ride him at a slower pace, angling her hips so that her clit brushed against his pelvis every time.

And gods, did that feel good.

Her orgasm built again, different this time with the additional weight of his length inside of her. And judging by Azriel’s face, he was with her.

With a shout that surely informed the rest of the house what they were up to, Azriel raised himself up, flinging his arms around Gwyn and came hard. The priestess was quick to follow, pressing him closer against her. Her walls fluttered around him, making sure he spilled every drop of himself.

Both panted, still cradled in each other’s arms until their breathing returned to normal.

Azriel pulled back first, finding her eyes as usual. “All good?”

“Perfect.”, she sighed, pressing an innocent kiss to his lips.

“What’s the score, Berdara?”, he asked, trying to summon some bravado as he prepared to receive a stellar review.

Gwyn released a laugh. “I’ve lost count.”

“So, am I officially a better lover than Reginald?”, Azriel brushed his nose against her cheek before nuzzling into her neck in a playful manner.

Gwyn smiled to herself, finally free in caressing his neck and shoulders to her heart’s content. Which, she decided, she was going to do for the foreseeable future.

“Reginald who?”

#gwyneth berdara #gwynriel #pro gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwynrielweeks2024 #azriel #acotar

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ae-neon · 5 months

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If you're still taking drabbles I'd love to see Eris x Nesta <3

🍁

Pride and Prejudice inspired

(Fanon context: Amarantha ruled Prythian for 500 years between the war and now. No Hybern stuff. Archeron family is high Fae)

Eris had, of course, heard of her.

Among the noble houses permitted to attend court in the autumn capital for the first time in 500 years was the house of silver flame, the Archerons of White Harbour.

Though, even before this, their name was known to him. Lord Archeron had been a merchant and during the war, served in the navy, he'd won a crucial battle but sustained a crippling injury and was allowed to retire to a quiet life when he married a hundred years later.

In the time since, the names of his three daughters had floated around, whispers of beauty and talent abound. The rumours had been proven correct a year ago when the three had attended court with their parents.

But, in a court as cutthroat as this, with all their shine had come a dark undercurrent. And none so embodied this as Nesta Archeron.

She had been called a prodigious dancer and proven it with mastery of everything from a carefully choreographed cotillion to a fiery folk dance that coupled fire dueling with graceful traditional dance. Nesta had made such a spectacle that many said it was a shame Amarantha’s death had not come sooner, so Autumn might have witnessed Nesta’s debut night when she came of age 150 years ago.

Soon after, a different sort of tone had begun to accompany her name. She’d been seen walking with the High Lord, called to attend private meetings in his study and even been named a junior advisor less than a year later.

Eris, who’d been forced to spend that year rearranging the army, had heard most of it second hand – in bits and pieces of letters from his brothers, conspiratorial gossip from wary senior councilmen and exaggerated tales from the lesser nobles who made their way to his side, eager to lay the stepping stones for their own rise.

He hadn’t been sure what to make of it. As beautiful as he’d heard the woman was, it was unlike his father to find himself so publicly led about.

And why offer her a council seat rather than lavish gifts? It was this question, along with news that Lady Archeron had been in close attendance with his mother and the mention of Elain Archeron in Lucien’s latest letter, that had compelled Eris to return home.

In the weeks since his return he’d kept a deliberate distance, dodging conversation and declining invites. He’d also noted Nesta’s presence at his father’s side, witnessed Lady Archeron faun over his mother with sharply artificial sweetness and stumbled across Elain conveniently lost, supposedly in search of wildflowers, during his and his brother’s hunt.

He wasn’t surprised, it was only natural, clever even, that an old house in decline like Archeron sought to allign themselves with a more powerful family. Their silver flame was pretty, and lethal enough, but it was nothing like the roaring currents that ran through the blood of the great houses of Autumn.

What concerned him was that their audacity seemed to be paying off. Nesta would have to be endured at his father’s behest but now his mother was putting up a courtly show, attending more and more parties with Lady Archeron and Lucien’s gaze held onto Elain whenever he saw her.

Eris, however, would not allow the house of Vanserra to be undermined, not when they were finally at peace and certainly not when he was so close to inheriting the crown.

And while Eris did not consider himself any more vain than he ought to be, it concerned him further that Nesta Archeron seemed to have forgone attempting to seduce him. Instead taking the risk of being caught in a scheme by someone as notoriously shrewd and ruthless as his father.

It had to mean she was at least confident she could hold his attention. And, knowing his father, it would take more than physical pleasure to do so. And yet she had. For a year now, Nesta Archeron had proven there was far more to her than just a pretty face and a skilled body.

Which was why Eris had to send Lucien away, had used this latest meeting to convince his father to assign Lucien emissary to Summer for a time.

And why Eris had his guard up the minute Nesta followed him from that meeting rather than stay with his father the way she always did, the High Lord's dismissal - apparently - not apply to her.

“Your Grace,” she called as Eris made his way down the inner walkway that ran parallel to the waterfall the palace was built beside. A walkway that was exclusive to the royal household and it’s staff. She seemed to think of herself somewhere between the two groups. How clever.

He turned to watch her approach, noting her mixed gait - perhaps because of her proficiency in fire dueling - half soldier, half courtier. Perfectly set to conquer the Autumn Court.

“Lady Nesta.” He greeted with a small bow, forcing her to stop and curtsey, a small victory in reminding her of her place.

She lifted herself and Eris Vanserra finally came face to face with Nesta Archeron.

She was dressed as she often was outside of court balls; simple and unadorned. It didn’t detract from her beauty, perhaps even brought attention to it. He wondered if it was this false modesty that beguiled his father, though Elain Archeron’s no doubt equally as false innocence suited her better.

The only one he might call true was Feyre – who he’d met on his secret trips to Night – rumours of her carefree persona was matched by every reckless, half-baked action he’d seen so far.

They shared similar features, varyingly soft faces and eyes like autumn skies in the case of the mother, eldest and youngest daughters while Elain shared her father’s chestnut eyes.

Nesta didn’t have freckles like Feyre and her golden brown hair was too often hidden away in a braid or bun to be a point of charm. For her it was the eyes; cloudy skies shot through with lightning, true silver like the blood of her ancestors had pooled and concentrated in her veins. Like she was the Archeron itself.

The thin misting spray of the waterfall anchored him, helping him evade the trap of those eyes.

Though, Eris wondered if there might be something to that. If her abilities might be underestimated... if that was what had caught his father’s eye. A child born with the lethality of silver fire and Vanserra power could…

“Apologies,” she said though her unapproachable aura could not be hidden even behind impeccable manners, “we have remained, unfortunately, unacquainted.”

“A tragedy indeed,” Eris agreed dryly behind a courtly smile, “when so much of your family seems so intimate with mine.”

“The very subject which I had hoped to address, how intuitive.”

Maybe it was something as simple as wit that had won the old man. “Very well, let us skip the formalities at least.”

“Then, might I speak plainly, Your Grace?”

Eris waved a hand, gestured for her to continue.

“I would ask you to reign in your attention.”

“Oh?”

“It is inappropriate and, since you have permitted me to speak frankly, unwelcome.”

Eris almost laughed, “Inappropriate? You say that as if we’re family, though the last time I checked no Archeron of White Harbour had managed to climb quite so high.”

There was a small, lethal pause before Nesta added “...yet.”

“’Yet’?” Fire rushed through his veins, the little wench couldn’t possibly think she’d be able to replace his mother, “My Lady I have measured you and your family’s ambitions to be higher than your station but I must admit I have underestimated your audacity.”

Something in her face tightened, evident of her effort to remain civil, “Perhaps you have confused us then, allow me to make it clear: we don’t share the capital’s culture, your Grace, whatever bonds might form between your house and mine they are sincere. And not the product of one-sided ambition.”

He didn’t know whether to roll his eyes or strangle her, “No doubt, sincere in the hope of escaping the inferiority of your circumstances. However foolish you may believe me to be, surely you did not think I would not be able to ascertain the truth of your family’s financial situation?”

Her eyes blazed, “Your implications, sir-”

“When I invited you to speak plainly, my Lady, I meant it. Trust that I extend the courtesy to myself as well.” He straightened and slid his hands into his pockets. Nesta was tall but Eris loomed over most people, “This game you and your family are playing is finished. I am home now and will not allow some upstart harlot to bed her way into power. You have forgotten your place, Archeron, and I will remind you of it.”

Her brows knitted, anger finally breaking the surface, “I understand, better than you know, that not even a High Lord’s command may compel one person to favour another but... Are you so ruled by pride that you would break your own brother’s heart?”

If she thought being the High Lord’s mistress put her in any sort of favourable light with his children, she was stupider than he had dared to hope. Maybe it was her mother pulling the strings after all.

“Lucien is young and easily led astray. Your own youngest sister was plagued by rumours of a scandalous entanglement before her rather sudden marriage to the Lord of Night.” Eris smirked, “As a matter of fact, I hear she’s already expecting. So soon, and given how unlucky Rhysand has been in that department, as well as his bastard brother’s tendencies... Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if more rumours followed.”

He’d laid the trap, set her up to jab at his failed engagement with Morrigan, something easily countered with years of practice. But Nesta didn’t take the bait.

She moved, smooth and cold as steel, a step closer – eyes burning and voice loaded with the threat of something terrible. “For all I had heard about you, and my own disappointment at finding a coward who couldn’t bear it to face me, I had come to expect nothing from you. But now I see that you are dedicated to making yourself the last man in Prythian I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

Her rage turned icy, her eyes cooling into steel, the fine spray of water adorning her with shining moisture “And not even the gods themselves could compel me to endure the presence of a man who has shattered my sister’s dreams. You can tell your father yourself; our engagement is off.”

Miscommunication trope. In case I wrote it so bad no one understands. (Would that be ironic?)

“I would ask you to reign in your attention.”

Nesta is politely asking for Eris to not interfere in Lucien and Elain courting.

He thinks she’s telling him to stop snooping on her and her family.

All in all its probably Beron and LoA’s fault for not telling Eris they are arranging a marriage between him and Nesta.

Anyways thank you for the ask!!

#neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #acotar drabble #my writing

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 7 months

Text

How the Light Attaches to a Change of Heart (ao3)

It’s been three years since Rhys demanded Nesta move to the House of Wind or be exiled to the human lands. That day, she walked away and never looked back, choosing a new life for herself on the continent. But something’s not right, and when she returns to Velaris for Elain’s birthday, she figures out what she was missing all along. (For @nessianweek day 5! Title taken from the Marianas Trench song The Death of Me)

There were times when Nesta Archeron thought she had it all.

When she returned each night to the apartment she had by the river, for example, feet sinking into plush carpets as the sun set beyond wide glass windows offering a vista of a city she’d never once thought to see when she was human. When she was paid handsomely each month, two hundred gold coins heavy in her palm, or when she rifled through the papers on her desk and found the deeds to her apartment, her own name penned in ink at the bottom. Times when she found herself in a fancy wine bar, sipping expensive vintage at a marble counter— so vastly different from the dive bars with the sticky floors and low light she’d once drank herself to oblivion in.

A distant memory, now.

So much had changed since then— since she’d last stumbled down a darkened alleyway in Velaris.

She’d gained so much since then.

Hadn’t she?

Ever since that day at the River House, when Feyre had sat shedding silent tears as Rhysand delivered his ultimatum, when he told her to move the House of Wind or be exiled to the human lands.

He hadn’t given her a third option.

So Nesta had found one. Had made one for herself when she boarded the next ship for the Continent carrying nothing but a half-empty suitcase and a letter of introduction provided by - of all people - Lucien Vanserra. Within days she’d found herself accepting a job as advisor to the continental monarchs— an ambassador between the continent and the Night Court, Lucien’s counterpart across the sea.

And her life was… elegant, now.

The kind of life she’d imagined herself living, once. Back when she dreamed of foreign skies and unfamiliar coastlines, a land beneath her feet that hadn’t damned her or ruined her or broken her— where there was salt in the air and the scent of wildflowers on the wind. Vallahan had given her all of that and more, a thousand opportunities and a hundred different paths, and it was enough, she told herself each morning as the sun filtered through the clouds and gilded the mist that hung on the river.

It was enough.

Wasn’t it?

It wasn’t home, not quite, but it was enough.

She certainly had more now than she’d ever had in the Night Court, where her grief had kept her in a chokehold so tight she could barely breathe. It was easier now, the weight no longer so crushing, and she’d even gotten herself a cat— long-haired and white, named Tristan after a white knight in some legend she’d grown up with.

It was enough.

And it didn’t matter that it felt hollow, that her victory felt short-lived. It didn’t matter that there was a burn in her chest, a creeping kind of loneliness that dimmed the brightest edges of her fledgling happiness. Something was missing, something lacking, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

She had enough.

She hadn’t been back to Velaris since.

Three years had passed, and her only contact with her sisters had been letters. She wrote monthly to Feyre— ambassadorial business only at first, but the distance made things easier between them, let old wounds heal, and before long Feyre was asking how Nesta fared on the Continent, and Nesta was answering in earnest. Their letters contained post-scripts now, a few brief lines each month that had no bearing on politics or business at all, just two sisters trying to mend a couple of broken bridges, attempting to salvage whatever relationship they had left.

Nesta never asked about him— the one she’d left that day at the docks, his eyes burning with tears he didn’t shed and a face lined with a grief so complete it told her everything he’d never quite managed to say out loud—

No.

She shook the memory away, pushing it down, down— all the way back to the furthest reaches of that void inside her, where there was no hope of it clawing its way back up again. And with a deep, trembling breath Nesta looked instead at the letter sitting idle on her glass coffee table— the one that she had opened, read, and promptly cast aside. It had lain there for a week now as she tried to figure out what to do with it, the deep purple seal haunting her every time it caught her eye.

On the wide sofa opposite, Tristan’s fluffy tail flicked as he too looked at that little square of ivory parchment, green eyes narrowed and head tilted as if he could sense, somehow, that that letter was about to take Nesta away.

Because it was Elain’s birthday soon.

Her twenty-fifth birthday. A significant milestone, even if she was no longer human, and even though for the past few years Nesta had only ever sent Elain a birthday card and a gift, this was different. Feyre had planned a party, and the letter on the table was an invitation— a tentative one, in which Feyre asked cautiously if Nesta thought she might find it in her to attend.

Nesta’s first instinct had been to answer with a resounding, definitive no.

But then she’d looked around at her empty apartment, at Tristan curled up on her velvet sofa, and felt that old pang in her chest, the one that said something was still missing, even if her heart was far more mended now than it had been when she’d left.

There was something hollow inside, right where her heart should be, and if Nesta thought about it for long enough she knew that the reason she was so empty boiled down to messy dark hair and hazel eyes and an argument on the dock before a departing ship, but—

It didn’t matter.

Tristan made a small noise of discontent as Nesta sunk into the cushions beside him, and as she stroked her fingers across his ears, down his neck and over his spine, she figured that she could go back— accept Feyre’s invitation and spend a weekend in Velaris. Just a weekend, just for Elain. She could put on a smile, smooth and serene, and wish Elain a happy birthday in person for the first time in three years.

And at the end of it all… well, would it really matter if the smile she hid behind didn’t quite reach her eyes?

Would they even notice?

***

The ship had been a bad idea.

Feyre had offered to winnow her to Velaris, but Nesta - stubborn Nesta - had refused, preferring to make her own way to the city, and oh, she regretted it now.

The docks had been an assault.

Each step she took over the creaking wooden boards had reminded her of the way they had shook as he had rushed after her, quaking beneath his leather boots as he reached for her hand. The call of the birds overhead reminded her of how they had cried that day, circling above as she spiralled below, and—

Her heart tightened, something in her chest breaking, cracking, all over again. Just like it had three years ago.

Like she hadn’t been away at all.

The city beyond the port hadn’t changed either, she realised as she made her way to her sister’s sprawling estate by the river. It was all the same— the same shops still lined the riverfront, the same lemon verbena scent hung in the air, and working her way through the winding streets from the edge of the city to its heart, she found herself retracing old steps, passing the corner where her apartment used to be and walking the same path she’d taken that cold Solstice night, when the snow had fallen in drifts and he had walked her home.

Her breath hitched.

No, Velaris hadn’t changed— but she had, and idly she wondered if she would find herself still absent from Feyre’s walls when she stepped over her sister’s threshold. If she would walk through that hallway for the first time in three years and find herself still erased, no space left for a portrait of her to fill.

She turned the corner, the River House sitting straight ahead, and wryly she shook her head. What would it matter if she did, she wondered? If the paintings that lined Feyre’s staircase hadn’t expanded to include her? Nesta had been the one to walk away, after all. She’d left, moved on, and refused to come back even though for the first year Feyre had sent invitations to come back for Solstice and Starfall both.

Nesta had ignored them all.

And by the time she’d made her way up that stretching driveway and reached that painted door with the shining bronze knocker, she’d begun to wonder whether she ought to have ignored this one too— if it had been a good idea after all, accepting this invitation. The walk between the docks and the house had done nothing but tie her stomach in knots, familiar grief rising up to meet her like an old, unwelcome friend, and all she could think of was how broken she had been the last time she had stepped foot in this city, how desolate and desperate. Standing on that wide marble step at the foot of her sister’s front door, suddenly Nesta paused. Hesitated.

There was laughter drifting from an open window, the gentle buzz of conversation, and all she could think was…

Did she knock?

The rest of Rhysand’s Inner Circle tended to let themselves in, as though this were their home as much as Rhys and Feyre’s, but it was different with Nesta. It had always been different with Nesta, like she had always been some kind of stranger to them, never so much at ease as the rest.

But she was here for Elain.

Nesta allowed that thought to steel her, even though her throat closed as her fingers stretched towards that knocker. Finally she made herself lift it, letting it fall back against the brass plate with a loud, dull thud.

The laughter beyond that painted door quieted.

Not only had Feyre organised Elain’s party, she’d also organised a dinner the night before— a small, intimate gathering before the bigger party tomorrow. Nesta knew with certainty that she’d find all of Rhysand’s closest inside, all of those who had judged her harshest, and as she waited on that elaborate front step, she could only imagine why the room beyond the door had turned still.

It was like Solstice Eve all over again, when they hadn’t wanted her there, not really, and she’d stepped into a room so thick with tension it had been almost unbearable. And what if Feyre hadn’t really expected her to accept this invitation? What if she’d only asked as a courtesy, and now that she was here and couldn’t turn back, what if Nesta walked into that room and was met with falling smiles and downturned eyes, just as she had last time? What if this was the wrong decision, and she wasn’t ready to be back in Velaris at all? What if the home she’d been searching for all these years was just a myth, a dream she’d never be able to hold in her own hands?

She had just about convinced herself to turn back around when the lock clicked open.

The door was pulled open, and suddenly Feyre was standing there, colour in her cheeks and a glint in her eyes, her parted lips splitting to reveal a wide, bright smile that was a world away from the welcome Nesta had received that fateful Solstice night.

She had expected an awkward and stilted hello, but instead…

Instead Feyre lurched forwards, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her into a fierce hug as she said, almost breathless, “I’m so glad you came.”

There was some kind of silent apology contained within that hug, some semblance of regret and understanding, and it took Nesta a moment - one where she did nothing but blink in surprise - but eventually she gathered herself enough to cross an arm across Feyre’s back, returning the embrace she hadn’t expected.

“I…” Feyre pulled back, her smile turning soft as she glanced over her shoulder to the hallway behind her and the sitting room beyond. “I didn’t tell anybody you were coming just in case you changed your mind, but…” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she repeated.

Nesta offered her a weak smile, and didn’t look up to the stairs, to the portraits lining the walls. She didn’t want to know yet— didn’t want to see if her sister had missed her at all.

Instead she followed silently as Feyre ushered her inside, letting her sister take her suitcase and place it at the foot of the stairs. It wasn’t lost on Nesta that everything seemed to still the moment that Feyre led her through the sitting room door— that the conversation died, a hush settling over the room that was broken only by a glass being placed down on a table a little too hard.

She almost winced, and for an agonising moment time seemed to slow, but then Elain was rushing her, a high-pitched gasp slipping from her painted-pink lips as she hurtled forwards in a whisper of silk and rose-scented perfume. She grabbed hold of both of Nesta’s hands and pulled away just enough to take her sister in, holding her at arms length to study her from head to toe. When she spoke, her words were hurried, her tongue tripping over itself as her eyes danced.

“Nesta— I didn’t know you were coming, nobody said anything and— oh, I can’t believe you’re here! You look well— are you well? Truly? You said you were in your letters, and Lucien said you seemed it, but still—”

“Let her breathe, Elain.”

Her sister stopped to take a breath as Lucien placed a hand on her shoulder, a gentle smile curving his lips as Elain lifted a hand to cover her mouth, fingers curling against her lips. Nesta smiled— at the casual intimacy, the affection, the way Lucien’s russet eye sparked as his hand lingered over the fabric of Elain’s dress.

In his other hand, he held a cut-crystal wine glass, refracting the light and making it dance across his bronzed skin. With a single raised brow, he held it out and pressed it into Nesta’s waiting fingers.

“It’s not as good as that bar downtown,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But we’ll take what we can get.”

He winked, his golden eye shining in the late afternoon sun, the honeyed light that spilled in through the wide windows. Nesta gave him a small smile. Sometimes she ran into him in a small wine bar in downtown Vallahan, when he was in her city on business. Sometimes, they shared a drink together.

Sometimes they shared several.

He pressed a kiss to Elain’s hair now, bringing a flush to her sister’s cheeks as she swatted at the hand he still had resting on her shoulder. Nesta’s heart twisted. At least Elain was happy, she mused as she sipped her wine, tasting the richness on her tongue, the smoothness of the vintage, and willing it to serve as some kind of distraction. And would anybody have guessed, she thought dryly, that it would be Elain and Lucien to work things out first? To find happiness in one another against all odds, whilst Nesta and Cassian were…

Well.

There was no Nesta and Cassian.

Not anymore.

With Elain and Lucien at her side, Azriel was the next to offer her a soft hello, Nesta. His scarred hand patted her once on the shoulder, and though his face was expressionless, those shadows of his twined about his neck, and the look he gave her said he recognised the falsity of her facade and saw through it as easily as anything. But he said nothing, merely slipped past her as Rhys gave her brisk nod and a tight smile, as if he was at least trying to be civil. Feyre’s doing, Nesta suspected. And perhaps the distance had done them all some good, she thought wryly, because soon Amren was approaching her with a glint in her eye, slender fingers toying with a sapphire as large as duck egg hanging from a chain at her neck. Her raven-dark hair shone as she tilted her head, and when she said, it’s good to have you back, Nesta half thought her words were genuine. Even Mor made some degree of effort, her bracelets clinking as she too rose to greet her.

But he was the last.

Cassian.

She hadn’t let herself so much as think his name for the past three years, hadn’t let her mind stray so far, and there was no escaping it now, no escaping him, or the way her chest suddenly felt unbearably tight, like it was bursting with all the things she did and did not want to say, all of the things she’d regretted in the time they’d been apart. She had needed to leave— for her own good, she had needed to walk away three years ago. But gods, it had broken her— had taken her away from something that could have been beautiful.

She blinked as he rose from his chair, pretending not to notice the way her sisters suddenly found somewhere else to be— Elain tugging on Lucien’s hand and whispering something about fetching another bottle of wine from the kitchen, and Feyre clearing her throat and saying she’d better take Nesta’s things upstairs to her room. All of it faded into insignificance as she felt the press of his gaze on her skin, his lips parting in something like surprise— something like agony.

She’d had the entire journey across the sea to think of what she was going to say when she saw him again, and still she came up empty. The words in her throat dried up, slipped through her fingers like mist, and standing there entirely alone as he approached…

It was a harsher kind of torture than anything even Azriel could inflict.

And gods— he hadn’t changed. He was still Cassian, with hair a mess of waves falling to his shoulders, his left ear still pierced with a single garnet. His hazel eyes were still that depthless swell of gold and green and brown, and when he stepped closer, his familiar scent engulfed her, soothing in a way it had no right to be.

Her mouth went dry, and this— this was the reason her life on the continent always felt just a shade shy of complete. It didn’t matter who she took to bed or how many fine things she owned. Nothing mattered, because nobody else had ever looked at her the way he had.

Unbidden her mind went right back to that battlefield. She hadn’t thought of it in years - actively tried hard to avoid thinking of it most days - but there she was, dragged right back again as those eyes widened, dark eyelashes framing a hazel that was fraught with the same kind of pain they’d held when he lay dying beneath her, her hands trying to staunch his bleeding as he promised to find her in the next life. Her heart lurched and something like regret swarmed thick in her gut. Not regret for leaving but rather… regret for what could have been. A grief for the love Nesta had almost touched, the devotion she’d brushed with her fingertips just before it had slipped from her hands.

Cassian cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair, making his messy strands even messier. Nesta’s heart thumped once in her chest, and even though she cursed the damn thing, she didn’t move away, didn’t turn from him.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he began at last, his voice hoarse.

Nesta shrugged. Swallowed. “I’m here for Elain.”

His eyes shuttered. “Of course you are.”

Because she couldn’t be here for him. She wouldn’t go down that road again. Couldn’t.

Stay, he’d asked, as the salt-air breeze carried off the sea shifted his dark hair across his forehead, as that same garnet earring winked in the sunlight. He’d held out a hand, then. Fingers outstretched, a silent plea.

I can’t, she’d answered, and the guilt had almost destroyed her, had broken her heart so thoroughly there could never be any hope of making it whole again. She had wanted to stay— more than anything she had wanted to stay, but there had been no place for her here back then, and nothing but grief and sorrow waiting for her.

“Well then,” Cassian said briskly now, drawing back an inch. It was over— the conversation, whatever had lingered between them. It was over, dead and buried and beyond repair, and though Nesta hadn’t expected him to welcome her warmly… something inside her wilted, withered, when he refused to meet her eyes. “I suppose it’s nice to see you again, Nesta.”

Nesta.

His voice was flat— detached, like he couldn’t wait for this to be over, and gods— he’d never called her Nesta. It was always Nes, or sweetheart, or princess. It hurt. More than it should and more than she expected, and the cracks in her heart she’d papered over suddenly felt like deathless chasms, too wide to bridge and too deep to fill.

And maybe she should have opened her mouth— maybe she should have begged him to understand. Maybe she should have raged, screamed, asked him why he thought she’d left in the first place. But her mind was blank, and before she could so much as ask how he’d been, Elain was reappearing, bottle in hand and smile on her face.

Cassian took another step back, his face as empty and as cold as the space in Nesta’s chest, and she could do nothing but let herself be dragged over to the sofa by the windows, so far away from the warrior who turned and clung to the shadows now, as if hoping they might hide him, might save him. Azriel handed Cassian another drink, one he knocked back as his fingers gripped the glass so tight his knuckles were white, and still Nesta said nothing, forcing herself to focus on Elain’s excited chatter as she lowered herself to the cushions. When Lucien joined them, she spoke at length about her life on the continent, about her apartment and her work, infusing her voice with a joviality she didn’t feel, an optimism that escaped her, and a lack of regret that was so false it made her throat feel tight.

And all the while she ignored the pulling in her chest that begged her to turn around, that pleaded with her to find the warrior on the other side of the room.

Because if the look on his face had made anything clear as they spoke, it was that Cassian did not want Nesta to find him. Not now— not ever again.

***

She managed to ignore him throughout dinner.

Feyre had placed her at the other end of the expansive mahogany table, between her and Elain, like it might shield her somehow. Or shield him, she wasn’t sure. Either way, Lucien sat across from her, and over a candlelit meal of roasted chicken, Nesta kept her attention far from that other end, never daring to so much as turn her head more than an inch to the side. And it might have worked, might have helped her forget just a little bit of the anguish still swarming in her gut, had it not been all too easy— had there been anything but silence from the seat he’d taken.

He was quiet, subdued, and even though Nesta had spent the entire journey across the sea dreading the sound of his booming laugh, she found its absence to be a pain all of its own.

Because she was the reason he didn’t laugh— the reason he’d switched to whiskey from wine and drank deeply from his glass, like mixing his spirits might help, somehow.

And when dinner was over and they returned once more to the large sitting room at the front of the house, Rhys pulled out another expensive bottle of wine and uncorked it. But with so many people inside the air grew quickly stuffy, and she wanted nothing more than fresh air. So she made her excuses and got to her feet, murmuring a quick I’ll be right back to Elain as she slipped through the doorway and headed for the back door in the kitchen.

But stepping outside, Nesta found Cassian already standing half in darkness, right beside her sister’s wrought-iron patio set, as though he was too restless, too agitated to sit. There was a fresh glass in his hand as he looked out towards the river, and his face was lined with something like grief, the moonlight drifting across his thinly pressed lips, and he didn’t turn to look at her. Like he couldn’t bear it.

Nesta stilled, the silence growing thick, awkward.

“I’ll leave you—” she began, at the same time as he said,

“I’ll go—”

The words died, leaving behind a thick silence, stretching between them uncomfortable and unwieldy. Never before had she been speechless around him, but now…

What was there to say?

She lingered for a moment before turning on her heel. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said again, finishing her sentence this time. She cleared her throat, taking a deep breath of the cool night air, biting her lip as she faced the house, the windows glowing with the warm, golden faelight from inside.

She heard the sigh Cassian let loose, felt in it every piece of his agony. He didn’t answer, didn’t say a word, and yet even though Nesta turned back to the house, her steps were slow— like some part of her was wondering if he would stop her.

Her hand had just closed around the door handle when he spoke.

“Did you—” He started, running a hand through his hair. “Did you find someone?”

His voice was strained, almost cracking, and even in the darkness Nesta could see that he gripped his glass so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t break beneath his fingers. He didn’t look at her, kept his eyes forward, out to where the moon gilded the river silver.

After a minute Nesta shook her head. “No.”

The silence stretched, and she found herself stepping forward, taking in the cut of his jaw, the way it was clenched tight, as if he’d been hoping her answer would mean something.

“Did you?” she asked.

Cassian let out a bitter laugh.

“No, sweetheart.”

The old nickname fell from his lips easily, but it wasn’t the same as before. Years ago, it had been said with a kind of teasing, a kind of flirting that always accompanied a glint in his hazel eyes, but this…

This was almost mournful.

“Not after you,” he added a moment later. He looked at her, and maybe it was the wine she’d had, or the whiskey he was drinking, but he swallowed and Nesta could swear that she saw him steel himself. “How could there ever be anybody after you?”

“We weren’t anything,” Nesta said, but her heart thumped against her ribcage and she knew that her words were false.

Cassian only shrugged. “We never got a chance.”

She might have asked him whose fault he thought that was— demanded of him why he thought she’d left in the first place. After all, he’d pulled away from her long before she boarded that boat. He’d been the one to wrench his wrist from her grip during the war, the one to gift another woman lingerie at Solstice. But in three years she’d never quite managed to silence that small, small voice in the back of her mind, the one that whispered, quiet in the dark, what if?

What if she had stayed? What if he had taken her hand that day during the war, what if he’d stayed by her side on Solstice?

What if?

Nesta looked down at her hands now and somehow found the strength to ask, almost hesitantly, “And if we did?”

“If we did what?”

“Got a chance?”

Cassian shook his head ruefully. “Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve, Nes. What’s the point in going over all this again?”

His voice was low, pained. Grief shone in those hazel eyes, heartbreak written all over that beautiful face. Nesta had forced herself to forget, over the past three years, the way he’d looked when she boarded that ship for the continent. She’d refused to remember the way he’d begged her to stay.

Is training with me such a terrible option? he’d asked, his hand fisting over his heart as his eyes widened, begging her to reconsider. Is it so awful that you’d walk away from me— from us?

There is no us, she’d said, and her voice had been cold because it had needed to be. Her back had been straight and her shoulders back because she’d needed to get on that ship, needed to spend some time away.

It had never been that training with Cassian was the problem with the options Rhysand had given her. It was that he’d dared to give her options at all, to think he had a right to interfere.

And— her heart had broken because how could Cassian not see it? He’d chosen Rhys over her the moment he’d expected her to bend to Rhys’ demands, the moment he’d stayed his tongue and let Rhys lecture her like she was some kind of… delinquent. Cassian had fetched her from her apartment to the River House, knowing all along the ultimatum she was to receive, and as Rhys had laid out her options - as if the choice was anything more than illusory - her heart had cracked because Cassian hadn’t said a word in her defence.

She’d been angry— heartbroken and angry, and that day at the docks…

There is no us.

No lie haunted her like that one.

Cassian sighed now, tipping his head back. He drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass down on the table, eyes sliding to her slowly, as if he were afraid to look at her for too long, afraid she’d melt away into the darkness, like she’d never been here at all.

“I don’t know,” Nesta whispered at last, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I even…”

“What?” Cassian said sharply. “Why you came back? Or why you came out here?”

Weary, she sighed. “What do you want from me, Cassian?”

“Nothing,” he countered, but she didn’t think she imagined the bitterness in his voice. “I never wanted anything from you, Nes.”

I have no regrets in my life but this— that we did not have time.

Her words tuned to ash in her mouth, and Nesta felt her heart breaking all over again, the wound she’d thought years healed suddenly rupturing, tearing back open with the kind of brutal force that once had her seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle.

“I couldn’t stay,” she whispered. “You know I couldn’t stay.”

She expected him to argue, to fight back, but Cassian…

He dipped his head, lips tugging downwards. Sorrow limned his face, the same kind of heartbreak that ravaged her own chest playing out on every beautiful plane of him, every line of him she’d tried so hard to forget these past three years.

“Tell me you’re happy,” he murmured. “Give me that, at least.”

“Does it matter?” she countered, because despite how much she so desperately wanted to tell him that yes, yes, she was happy… she couldn’t make herself speak the words, couldn’t lie to him now, because as much as she liked her life on the continent, there was too much missing for her to truly feel… happy.

He turned to face her fully now, his eyes seeming to burn beneath the starlight. “Of course it matters. It’s all that I ever—“ He hissed, cutting himself off. He shook his head, and found the strength to finish, “It’s all that I ever wanted.”

Nesta looked out to the river. Thought of her apartment, overlooking a different river, in a different city.

“I have a fancy apartment now,” she said softly. “Right over the river in Vallahan. You’d…” She faltered, but when she looked at his face, the eyes that hadn’t yet left hers, she continued, “I think you’d like it. It’s better than my last one.”

He huffed a sardonic sort of laugh, blinking slowly.

“I have a cat too,” she added.

“A cat?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

“Mhm.” She smiled a little. “I called him Tristan.” She swallowed again. “Maybe you could…”

She fell into silence, and Cassian’s brows furrowed.

“Maybe I could what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nesta said, shaking her head. Stupid— stupid to think it, to even suggest it—

Cassian stepped closer, raw emotion on his face that Nesta didn’t dare name. It looked… it looked like hope, and damn if that didn’t break her heart all over again. He shook his head again.

“No,” he whispered. “Tell me. Maybe I could what?”

“Maybe you could come visit sometime,” Nesta said, in a voice so low she could barely hear it herself. She didn’t miss the hiss of breath that slipped through Cassian’s teeth though. Didn’t miss the way he stilled.

“I’m surprised you’d want me to,” he countered.

“I always wanted you to,” Nesta said, letting her eyes drift closed for just a moment. “I always… wanted you.”

Maybe it was the time away. Maybe it was the distance she’d had for so long. She didn’t know what it was, but it was easier, somehow, to speak honestly to him now. Maybe it was the space she’d needed to deal with her pain, the time she’d needed to grieve and to heal. It felt easier now, to tell him what she wanted. Far easier than it had been that day on the docks three years ago.

Slowly, Cassian lifted a hand. He brushed his knuckles across the back of her cheek, a slow, fragile smile curving the corners of his lips. It was the first time he’d touched her in three years and— oh fucking gods, how she had missed that gentle brush of his hand across her cheekbone.

“I’d drop everything to come see you,” he said gently. Quietly. “Just tell me when.”

Nesta turned her face into his palm, her lips brushing the top of his wrist. Her eyes had snapped to his this moment he’d reached for her, their gazes locked, and she was unable to look away now, to see anything but him.

“I’d like that.”

Her eyes searched his— looking for something, some answer she’d been seeking all this time, and though neither of them moved, neither said a word, volumes were spoken with the way neither took a step back. Cassian’s beautiful face looked like he’d shatter if she so much as turned her face away, and Nesta felt her heart steady in her chest as that hollow place inside her suddenly began to warm, to feel less like a void and more like a place where comfort might be harboured.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling dry, and Cassian tracked the movement, his gaze breaking, dipping to her throat as it bobbed.

“I’m so sorry, Nes,” he said, so softly it was like he was afraid his voice would break. His hand fell away from her face, and Nesta suddenly felt cold. “For all of it. The moment you got on that godsdamned ship I knew that I should have done more— that I should never have let Rhys order you about like that and—“

She stopped him with a palm of her own against his cheek. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she murmured.

His eyes slid closed, and she might have whispered his name, or he might have whispered hers, but without thinking her thumb brushed across his cheekbone, her palm lying flat on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he turned his face into her palm the way she had just done with his.

“I missed you,” he whispered, like it was a confession— like something he’d kept inside for so long that it hurt, now, to let it out. “More than anything, I missed you. So much I—”

He cut himself off, lowering his brow until it was barely an inch from hers, but Nesta shook her head, dared to raise his face to hers. “What?”

His eyes opened, burning. “So much I almost went to the continent myself to beg you to come back— to come back to me.”

She didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That there had been nights where she’d dreamed of him doing just that? That every morning she woke and hoped she’d find him waiting at her door? That even now, every time she walked by the docks in Vallahan she scanned the boats coming into port, just in case he’d be stepping off the deck of one of them? She couldn’t find the words, and as his breath whispered across the skin at her wrist, she shivered. Every single nerve in her body felt alive then, more than it had in three entire years.

“I missed you too,” she confessed.

Cassian dared to lower his chin, to press a kiss to the soft skin of her palm— then another to her wrist, his hand rising until it covered hers, his warmth sinking into her bones as he kept her touch pressed to his cheek, like he couldn’t bear the thought of her pulling away just yet. As his fingers slipped through the gaps between her knuckles, he let out a rueful laugh.

“Why are we doing this, princess?”

“Doing what?” she asked, trying not to think of how his lips brushed the heel of her hand when he spoke.

“Dancing around it,” he said, letting her hand drop and pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes. She mourned the loss of that touch, but not for long— his hand slid to her waist, his palm settling at the curve of her ribs. “Ignoring the fact that the past three years have been hell for the both of us.”

“I didn’t say it had been hell,” Nesta muttered tartly, and Cassian let out a bitter huff of a laugh as his hand rounded her waist, falling to the small of her back as he pulled her that last inch closer.

No, it hadn’t been hell. Not for the most part. And yet…

With his other hand Cassian traced her jaw, moving over her cheekbone and up to the curve of her ear, where he tucked back an errant piece of hair that had escaped her braid. His touch was soft— slow and reverential, but his hand fisted in her dress at her back. She braced her palm on his chest and he dipped his head, bringing his brow to rest, at last, against hers.

“I’m not letting you go this time,” he murmured. “Not without a fight.”

Her heart skipped— stumbled, and it suddenly felt like there was no air in this entire city, like she couldn’t breathe at all. It was all she’d ever wanted, she supposed. For him to fight for her the way he’d promised he would on that battlefield.

She smiled as his nose nudged against her cheek, her palm sliding across his chest, feeling the muscles covered by that thin shirt that did nothing to hide the definition beneath. Gods, how had she walked away from this— from him? How had she survived without this, the feel of him beneath her hands, of his warmth encompassing her as he held her so close to his chest that she wasn’t sure where she began and he ended?

Wandering, her fingers traced a path over his collarbone until her arm wrapped around his neck, her fingertips just barely brushing the edges of his wings. He hissed, both hands resting on her waist now, gripping her tight.

And there was nothing left to say - she couldn’t make her mind form sentences anyway - so Nesta tilted her head back, and when Cassian opened his eyes…

She was left stunned, for a minute, by the raw emotion in the hazel, the way he looked at her like he saw every part and piece of her and wanted it all. He looked like he was holding himself back and Nesta…

Nesta didn’t want that at all.

So she rose onto her tiptoes and hauled his face to hers, crashing into him like a wave breaking against the shore. His lips met hers, rose to the silent challenge she issued, and gods, his kiss wasn’t soft or gentle— it was three whole years of longing and missed opportunity. It was everything she’d ever lost, every piece of him she’d given up, contained in the swell of his lips against hers— every time she’d stopped herself before she could remember the sound of his laugh or the way he called her sweetheart, every time she woke from dreaming with his name dancing on her tongue, like she wanted nothing more than to speak it aloud. Every ounce of anguish and every kernel of heartache was healed by that kiss, by the way he claimed her so thoroughly she wondered if his name had been scarred across her heart all this time.

He moved against her, so perfectly in sync it was like he was made for her. His hands stroked her waist, brushed her ribs, and as her hands delved into his hair, she felt every inch of him flush against every inch of her, and oh gods— the taste of him eclipsed anything and everything she’d ever known.

She’d had lovers over the past three years but none of them— none of them compared to this, to him, to the way his hands skated across her middle, down to her hips to bring her closer, eliminating any remaining space between them as his thigh pressed against hers, as his hands roamed, as she tasted him on her tongue, all lips and teeth and heat, precious, precious heat, warming that hollow space inside she’d felt for so long.

She might have moaned into him, might have let herself lean into his touch and melt in his arms— he might have moaned her name too, whispered it as he crashed against her, but she could barely hear, barely think, barely knew anything beyond what he was doing to her.

Only when her chest grew tight from the lack of air did she pull away, and even then— she twisted her head to the side, her cheek pressed against his lips as she drew air into her lungs, her chest heaving.

He’d stolen everything, every breath she’d had, and she clawed them back now, trying desperately to bring herself back from the edge of the brink—

But she looked at him, and those hazel eyes had her falling all over again, reaching back and framing his face with her hands, pressing her palms into his cheeks as she brought him back to her for another soul-searing kiss.

Gods— there was nothing sweeter than this, than him, than the way he breathed her name as he backed her up against the wall.

With a thumb beneath her chin he tilted her head back, deepening the kiss until Nesta wasn’t sure which way was up. Distantly she was aware of her hands falling from his face and landing on his shoulders, scrabbling at the fabric of his shirt as she all but clawed at him, so desperate for every last inch of him, like she’d been starving for three whole years.

Cassian was a warm weight against her, moving a hand to the small of her back to keep her from pressing uncomfortably into the brickwork, and just that - that small, simple gesture - had her heart squeezing in her chest to the point of pain because…

She loved him.

Oh gods, she loved him.

It was what she’d been running from ever since that day on the docks, what she’d known the moment she’d left, and all the time she’d been away hadn’t changed a thing. Hadn’t dulled the spark he’d ignited, the one that couldn’t be extinguished, no matter how hard she tried.

Three years— and it hadn’t changed a thing.

He was still the only one that made her feel like her head was over her heels.

He was home— she knew that, felt it when he took her into his arms at last. He was everything she’d been missing, everything she’d been chasing. It was right here, all along, and no wonder she’d never found it on the Continent, no wonder there had always been an empty space in her chest, right where her heart should be. He’d held it all along, all this time.

Still, Cassian wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her as though he was afraid that if he let her go, she’d leave again.

But Nesta wasn’t going anywhere— not this time. She’d figure things out— find a way to keep her apartment on the Continent, to keep the parts of her life that had healed those deep, deep wounds she’d been dealt by the Cauldron and the war and everything else that had sent her running from these shores three years ago.

She’d do whatever it took, because she didn’t think she could go back to being without him— without this.

Breathing hard, she tangled her fingers in Cassian’s shirt, pushing closer and rising on her tiptoes so the crown of her head nudged his chin. Oh, he reminded her of magic— of all the stories she’d wanted to be true when she was a girl. Of knights and princesses and wondrous, marvellous beauty. Of a love so great the world turned vapid in its wake, one that redefined the heavens and stars above and made life itself worth living. She’d forgotten what it felt like when he held her, forgotten what his touch did to her, but beneath that Night Court sky, suddenly she remembered. And…

Home.

In his arms, she found home at last.

So as the moon shone silver on the river and laughter echoed from inside the house, Nesta let Cassian kiss her again, let herself be lost in every inch of him. And when he tilted her chin up towards the sky, Nesta looked into those hazel eyes and let him remind her what it was to be loved, to be held, to be cherished—

To be home.

#nessianweek2023 #nessian

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sareeen · 1 year

Text

And we meet again

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N, daughter of Nesta and Cassian, ventured into the Autumn Court again. But her old lover, to whom she had a tender bond, reappears and the overwhelming feelings that once broke them come back to the surface.

A/N: And here I am again. Months ago I promised you a story about Eris. Well, after a long time I managed to finish the chapter I started writing last year. I've been enjoying immensely writing it, especially the ending (badass ;) ) and relaxing a bit because I have an important exam on Tuesday.

I hope you guys will like it too, I'd love to read what you think about it.

English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistake. :)

...Eris, baby, let the game begin.

Y/N knew she shouldn't be here.

The Autumn Court had always been off limits to her, her family had told her throughout her childhood that she should never set foot in this area without someone with her.

However, she was a curious nature, so she did. With a smile on her face and her best friend by her side.

But now, five years later, she wasn't happy at all to be here.

The club her best friend had dragged her to was distinctly modern, the kind she had only seen on the Isle of Pearls, from which she had returned two months ago.

The loud, sensual music coming from the walls made Y/N dizzy. The lights were dimmed, creating an erotic atmosphere for the high-ceilinged room where hundreds of fairies were now crowded. The alcohol flowed, the laughter was loud and hands strayed to inappropriate places.

She moved further into the shadows of the corner, trying to attract as little attention as possible. She prayed for only one thing. That she would not meet him.

But as if the Great Mother was playing a mischievous joke on her, the mesmerizing amber eyes were now fixed on her, just as they had been when they first met years ago. Surprise flashed in them, and Eris made his way through the crowd. He didn't need to. The fairies themselves stood aside before the tall, imposing man, who was now heading straight for her.

"Y/N"

The name sounded so strange, yet all too familiar when it slipped out of the man's mouth, just as it had a thousand times before. Like the first time he'd kissed her and whispered her name. Or the time before he'd penetrated her and watched her with heavy, lust-filled eyes. Or after she'd left him and broken his heart.

Y/N had broken him in every way. When she stepped out the door and left him behind, he could almost hear Eris' heart shattering into tiny pieces, something she'd long thought didn't exist. But it did exist and he trusted her enough to give her the one thing that was truly his.

Y/N had to leave him, but it destroyed her perhaps more than Eris himself.

"Eris" Y/N felt numb, as if she were outside her body. The fact that he was so close to her, that she could smell his scent and his astonishing eyes on her, was driving her insane. Their relationship had been forbidden, perhaps even more so now after her family had found out three years ago and had done everything they could to end it.

Eris was saying something, but the loud music made it inaudible, so he leaned over to her ear. Y/N's body stiffened as she felt his breath on her ear and his hoarse voice.

"What are you doing here?"

Y/N looked at him, trying to make out the man's expression, but she couldn't see it clearly in the darkness.

"Balara dragged me away" she replied, but that didn't cover the whole truth. Deep in her heart she wanted to see him, just for a glimpse, to see if he was alright and move on. But Eris's look told the opposite story and he still looked at her as he had when they first met.

It was at a ball. She had heard of him as a child as a cruel and cunning man and had ignored him until they somehow drifted into each other's arms during a waltz. From there, there was no stopping them, their lives spinning just as they did on the dance floor. Correspondence turned into personal conversations, secret meetings even if they only saw each other for moments. Y/N was caught in a windmill that eventually became a hurricane. It was sweeping, devastating.

Eris held his hand as if unable to resist touching it. When their skins touched again, Y/N's heart surged, like a teenager touching a man for the first time. A wry smile tugged at her lips at the thought, for after all, Eris was the first man other than her family members to touch her.

Eris pulled Y/N behind him, who followed. As she always did.

Y/N caught a glimpse of her friend, who was not far away from her in the middle of a men's wreath. Balara nodded at her, which made Y/N's stomach churn. There was another reason they were here now. She was about to do something that every cell in her body was against and she felt dirty. As she thought about it she felt her palms begin to sweat, which Eris sensed and turned back to her. He smoothed back his red hair, now cut into short locks, with the hand he wasn't holding Y/N with. Y/N's palm itched to poke it and adjust it herself.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly, so that Y/N could barely make it out in the noise. The next word she read his lips rather than heard. "Please."

Y/N's throat constricted, unable to get the words out, so she just shook her head. She wasn't afraid of him, Great Mother, she was terrified of herself, afraid that she would collapse on the floor in a moment.

Eris dragged her down a dimly lit corridor and then abruptly dragged her through a door into a dark room. Y/N shrieked in shock, but what happened next chilled her.

He bent down to take her lips. Y/N had a familiar feeling she had always felt around him. Her limbs felt weak, as if her legs didn't want to support her weight, her heart jumped out of her chest and she almost shook with excitement. The way he kissed her was...it was like coming home again. It was soft, warm. Welcoming. Y/N lifted her hand and placed it on Eris's lightly stubbled face, which told her that he probably hadn't shaved this morning. This little thing, knowing him so well, brought tears to her eyes. She missed him.

"Eris," Y/N whispered as they parted. "We can't..."

Eris cut her off.

"To the Cauldron" he breathed and brushed his breath gently over her cheek as if he feared she would disappear at any moment. "I missed you so terribly."

Y/N's felt like a dagger stabbed into her heart at those words. She too suffered terribly from his absence. So much so that she was unable to think of anyone else, to move on. She was as much his prisoner as he was hers. But they could never have each other, and they had to accept that. Y/N tore away from him, groping at the wall, trying to find the door, but Eris clung to her from behind and wouldn't let her. His tall, muscular body trapped Y/N, who finally gave up and snuggled up to him.

"Why are you here?" he asked seriously after minutes of silence. His voice filled the pitch-black, silent room. Y/N swallowed hard, her stomach twisted.

"I told you. We're here to party."

Eris squeezed her gently and drew her even closer. He was almost pulling her into him.

"Don't lie to me, Y/N" he whispered ominously. His magic pulsed, his body heated with the destructive fire inside him, capable of turning the whole damn building into a blazing heap of rubble in an instant. "I know you. I know every twitch, every breath, every muscle in your body. I want to know what you want."

Y/N closed her eyes in agony. To hell with the man for knowing her so well.

"I want you, Eris," she hissed, then placed her hand on his steel-hard forearm and squeezed. "Only you."

He hummed and kissed her hair, then inhaled her scent.

"Whatever you say, my love," he murmured, which made every hair on Y/N's body stand on fire. "But I'm going to find out what you intend to do by coming to me again."

"Eris" Y/N was about to protest but he shut her mouth.

"Just so you know" he leaned in close enough to whisper the words into her skin. "This time I'll break you and not the other way round."

And so their game began again. Neither of them knew which of their shattered hearts would end up even more destroyed.

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #autumn court #acotar

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velidewrites · 2 months

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Don’t Look Back

Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year. When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.

Chapter 4/15 || Read on AO3 || Go to Chapter 1 || beta'd by @ablogofsapphicpanic

Chapter 4: The Runaway

As much as she hated to agree with anything that came out of Lucien Vanserra’s mouth, Elain was angry. The rage burning in her cheeks felt hotter than the fire flickering at Eris’s fingertips, ready to reduce the tent and everyone inside it to ash as she seethed, “He is no betrothed of mine.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you,” Graysen—Lucien, she had to correct herself—told her.

“So let me go, then.”

Lucien didn’t even meet her gaze. “Ah,” he said, studying his nails—long and sharp now, Elain realised, so unlike the hands that held her at the ball last night. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Elain gritted her teeth. “Explain.”

“We’re many days from New Prythian, Lady Archeron,” Eris’s voice reached her. She’d nearly forgotten he was in the tent—him and Azriel, who now stood guarding the entrance, hazel eyes not leaving the scene for one second. “We’ve reached Braemar this morning, There’s no turning back.”

She peeled her gaze off of Lucien’s hand, his stupid, handsome face, and made herself look at Eris. “You seem like a man who loves to hear himself talk,” she said to him. “So talk.”

Lucien snorted.

Eris’s amber gaze cut to him instantly. “Something funny, little brother?”

Elain blinked. “Brother?”

Her question was ignored entirely. “There’s just something wonderfully satisfying about watching a human put you in your place,” Lucien crooned, a familiar smile returning onto his full lips.

If I may return the compliment…Your eyes are the most beautiful I have ever seen.

He’d spoken these words to her with that smile. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Whatever she had felt—whatever she thought she had felt before when she looked at Lucien was long gone now.

He was a liar—he was such a liar, and Elain had been nothing but a fool.

Clearly unaware of the turmoil whirring through her mind, Eris said, “One more word, and you’ll be leaving this camp on foot.” He turned to Elain. “Do you ride, Lady Archeron?”

Elain narrowed her eyes on him. “I am not going anywhere with you,” she spat. Then, like a flicker of light sparking in her head, she added, “You’re the Fae rebels the Huntsman has been after, aren’t you?”

They had to be—there were so very few of them left. And if Braemar was indeed where they’d taken her, the three males standing before her like predators circling their prey must’ve been the ones who had made Father give Nesta away to Hybern—and Elain to Rask.

As great as that went.

“Would you look at that, Eris,” Lucien purred, “Our reputation precedes us.”

“All the way to New Prythian, it seems,” Eris agreed, his expression sour. “Wretched place. I never enjoyed coming back here.” He grimaced. “Especially when it was known under another name.”

“You’ve been to our lands before,” Elain told him, the words not entirely a question.

Eris nodded. “I’ve had the displeasure,” he said. “Spring Court. Nothing but nasty beasts roaming everywhere. Terrible leadership.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Some things never change.”

Elain ignored the jab. “And you?” she asked, turning to Lucien.

“First time,” he shrugged, the hard muscles of his arms shifting with the movement. Damn him. “And while I certainly wish it could be my last, Princess, I’m afraid we’ve got some more work to do in New Prythian.”

“I hope by more work you mean returning me to the Manor, because I am not going a step further with the likes of you,” Elain seethed.

The corner of Lucien’s mouth quirked upwards. “The likes of us,” he hummed. “What could you possibly mean by that, little fawn?”

The bastard saw through her again.

So Elain finally asked, “Are you the Fae who killed my mother?”

It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together. These Fae had broken into Elain’s house like it was nothing—like they had been there before. And, since they were the only rebels who had dared to cross onto New Prythian, into her father’s territory…

Eris looked directly into her eyes as he said, “Yes.”

It was strange how one simple word had managed to knock her breath out of her chest—how it replaced all the air with that angry, sizzling fire, begging to be let out like a caged animal.

Elain choked through the feeling. “You did this?” She looked at Lucien. “Did you?” He said he hadn’t been to her lands before, but, in the less than twenty-four hours Elain had known him, he had not been truthful with her once. Why should she believe him?

Lucien met her stare calmly. “Would it change anything if I did?” he asked.

Elain would kill him, she decided right there and then. She didn’t care when, she didn’t care how—hell, she didn’t even care if it really was him who had done it. One way or another, Lucien Vanserra would pay for it—for all of it.

Perhaps she would hire a mercenary—or send an entire guard after him, if she ever managed to return home. Perhaps she would find the worst magical object in her father’s prized collection and use it to do it herself. An enchanted dagger, perhaps, shoved right through his neck.

So Elain told him, forcing that resolve into her trembling tone, “I want to know if the male who ruined my future is the same one who ruined my past.”

Lucien’s brows rose.

“It was me,” Eris said then, once again reminding Elain that perhaps Lucien was not the only male she had to swear to kill.

Her head whipped towards him. “How?” she questioned, jaw tensing as she made herself add, “There wasn’t any blood on her sheets when she was found.”

She had to know. Whatever they’d done to her, she’d repay it tenfold.

A rare thought crossed her mind that Nesta would have enjoyed the newfound bloodlust in Elain. Her sister had always harboured more vindictiveness inside her than Elain, which apparently was something Lucien Vanserra had a talent of bringing out of her. Perhaps she needed to get to Hybern, first—to alert Nesta and her allies, however terrifying they were, of the rebels who dared to kill their family.

If the promise was written on her face, Eris seemed to care for none of it. “Your mother died a lot quicker than she deserved,” he simply said, fixing the cuffs of his immaculate bronze jacket.

“Monsters,” Elain seethed. “You’re such monsters.”

A warning flame flickered in Lucien’s russet eyes. Beautiful, Elain had called them. She cursed herself for a fool once more.

“My brother is many things, Princess,” Lucien said slowly. “But a monster is not one of them.”

Eris’s gaze shot over to Lucien’s.

“And my sister?” Elain asked, dread building in her chest in anticipation of the answer. “What did you do to her?”

Eris’s attention returned to her. “We did not kill Feyre Archeron,” he told her. “Your mother was trouble enough.”

Her throat burned. “I hate you.”

Eris sighed. “I’m sure you do,” he nodded, as though she was nothing but a mere child and he was the one forced to pacify it. “That doesn’t change the fact that we need your help, Lady Archeron, and we will not release you until you give it to us.”

Elain shook her head. “You’re insane,” she told them both. “Insane. Why would I help the monsters,” she repeated, secretly enjoying the way Lucien’s nostrils flared at the word, “who had spent centuries trying to kill every last one of my kind? My own family?”

Lucien bristled, “Liars. Humans have always been such liars.”

Elain’s features were crafted of stone as she faced him again. “You have been lying to me from the moment we met,” she told Lucien. “I don’t ever want to speak to you again.”

A muscle jutted in Lucien’s jaw.

“If you don’t listen to my brother,” Eris interrupted, watching her closely, “Perhaps you could be convinced by an old friend.”

Elain did not have time to question any of them as the flaps of the tent opened, the pale sunlight pouring in through the gap. As a new figure appeared in the entrance and brushed past Azriel, her hair shining like red-hot, molten metal.

That face—Elain knew that face. Had remembered how it lit up in a smile the very last time she had seen it, six years ago before the messengers alerted the Manor of her death.

The Huntsman’s daughter, her death the very first time Elain understood just how cruel the Fae truly were, stopped right before Elain and smiled.

Alive.

Elain swallowed in disbelief. “Vassa?”

***

The camp had been packed up before Elain even got the chance to see it. She had simply been placed in a rather unimpressive, open wooden carriage when a black-haired female appeared in her tent and announced they were ready to depart.

You can save your heartfelt reunion for the journey, Eris had told her then. We need to keep moving.

“I don’t understand,” Elain now told Vassa, trying not to scowl through the pain in her rear as they made their way through the bumpy road. She had ignored Lucien, who was quickly proving a rather unfortunate company, and the smirk still playing on his lips from the first time she’d yelped out in surprise when the carriage went over a rock. “I thought you were dead.”

Vassa smiled lightly, “My father certainly likes to spread that story around,” she told her. “It helps his cause, if nothing else. Truth is, he’s never liked me very much.”

“Does he know you’re alive?” Elain asked.

“He’s heard rumours, I’m sure,” Vassa nodded. “It brings me comfort to know they keep him up at night,” she added, a smirk of her own now curling her mouth.

Elain’s brows knotted. “Your father is a good person, Vassa.” She didn’t the Huntsman all that well, yes, but he was the one who had been keeping the Fae like Lucien away from New Prythian for all those centuries. Mostly successfully.

Vassa gave her a look. “Come now, Elain,” she almost scolded. “We haven’t spent much time together in the past, but I’ve always thought you were smarter than this.” She looked out to the path ahead as she added, “They all want us to think of them as our saviours, but those of us who have broken free of their lies…we know the truth.”

Elain angled her head. “Which is?”

“You’ll find out soon,” was Vassa’s cryptic reply.

“Where is it you’re taking me, exactly?”

Lucien shifted in his seat, reminding her of his rather unwelcome presence. “That is none of your concern,” he said, crossing his arms over his muddy, white shirt. He’d gotten rid of the jacket he’d worn at the ball, his sleeves now rolled up to his elbows, exposing arms so well-built she had to wonder just how many ex-fiancés he had to kill to look that ridiculous.

“I was not speaking to you,” she rudely told him. Then, upon further consideration, “I hope you know this engagement is over,” she added.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “My poor, broken heart,” he mocked, then rested an arm on the wooden rim and returned to brooding in silence.

Good. Elain was quickly finding out she was less aggravated the longer he kept his mouth closed.

“And they tell us to be afraid of the Fae,” she told Vassa. “Are they all such idiots?”

She could have sworn she heard a quiet scoff coming somewhere from the front.

Vassa grinned, clearly hearing it, too. “Oh, yes.”

“I am still here, Vassa,” Lucien grumbled.

Fine. If he so badly wanted to be part of the conversation, she would indulge him. As vexing as Lucien Vanserra was, she could at the very least get some answers out of him. And at best…he could be more useful to her than she'd originally thought.

So she asked, “How did you kill him?” She clarified, in case he really did spend all his free time killing mortal men, “Greysen?”

Vassa turned to Lucien. “I don’t think she wants to hear—”

“I ripped his heart out,” Lucien told her as if he was describing no more than his breakfast. Then, “It was over before he even really felt it.”

Elain looked at Vassa. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Vassa’s eyes widened. “Should we stop the carriage?”

Elain nodded. “Plea—”

“We are not stopping the carriage,” Lucien cut in. “The Princess has heard of worse things in her life, Vassa,” he added, his gaze drifting back to Elain. “But that was a clever move, I’ll give you that. Too bad it didn’t work,” he shrugged, that shit-eating smirk returning onto his face.

“I hate you,” Elain told him truthfully, silently cursing all the gods for letting him ruin all her plans again. The open carriage would have been a lot harder to slip out of if it weren’t for his interrupting.

His smile only grew as he pointed out, “You didn’t seem to hate me at the ball.”

“And you didn’t seem to be such a—”

“Alright,” Vassa said, her voice rising over the rather unladylike nickname Elain had opted for. “Let’s all calm down, shall we? There really is no need to ruin a perfectly good carriage, especially when we’re going to need it for later.” A look at Elain. “I would appreciate it, though, if you didn’t try any more tricks on us, Elain. As difficult as this one is making it for me to prove, we do mean well.”

“Don’t forget who her father is,” Lucien added, his tone betraying nothing but mockery. “She may not understand the meaning of the word.”

“You didn’t even know him,” Elain spat.

“I didn’t have to,” Lucien said. “The fact that he married someone like your mother, of all the monsters on this earth, is telling enough.”

“Oh, you mean the woman you murdered?”

Vassa sighed deeply. “There are many things you don’t know, Elain,” she told her. “Everything will be explained once we reach the—” Lucien cleared his throat, and Vassa rolled her eyes once more. “Once we reach our destination,” she said instead, and Elain cursed them both for yet another lie they were feeding her.

“Why should I believe anything he says?” she asked. “Anything you all say? You kidnapped me from my own home, killed my fiancé, and are now taking me Gods know where in hopes of…what? That I’ll help you?” She almost laughed. “Give me one good reason, Vassa,” she told her. “Give me one reason why I should listen.”

“You don’t exactly have any other choice,” Lucien muttered from the front of the carriage.

“Shut up, Lucien,” Vassa told him. “Look. I know this is…difficult to understand,” she started, and the pity in her eyes was enough to make Elain seethe all over again.

“Don’t patronise me,” she accused.

“I’m not,” Vassa pressed. “I was you, once. Did you know why my father sent me to the Wildlands all those years ago?” She scoffed, more to herself now than Elain as she added, “I was getting out of control. His control, of course, and he was not happy with it. He didn’t like seeing my power grow—didn’t like seeing how his court rallied around me, how every hunt I returned from was more successful than the last. His hold over Braemar was slipping right into my hand.” Something like sadness took hold of her freckled features, and the air around them seemed to thicken. Even Lucien’s attention drifted back towards them as Vassa said, “But, at that time, my hand was his own. I was his daughter. Everything I did—all of it—had been to gain his favour. I killed and slaughtered because I thought that, with enough bloodshed spilled in his name, he would eventually claim me as his heir. Hell, claiming me as his child would have probably been enough for me.” Cerulean eyes met Elain’s own. “But all my father saw was a threat. So I became exactly that.”

Vassa continued, “When he sent me to the North under some pathetic excuse of protection from the Fae rebels marching on Braemar, I knew it was to get rid of me. I begged and I pleaded for him to let me stay—to let me fight by his side, to avenge our ancestors and kill the masters threatening our family again. All this time, I had no idea it was us, the humans, living in their ancestral home. That it was my family who had taken that home from the ones who had once been our allies.”

“But my father didn’t let me stay—he forced me onto my horse and, with a legion of twelve sentries who I knew were really my executioners, sent me to the border. The fact that he thought twelve men could hold me down…” A sly smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Then again, my father had always underestimated me.”

Elain swallowed.

“They attacked the moment we stepped into the Guardian’s lands,” Vassa went on, “But the border was empty. He was likely in on it, too. No one in their right mind ever wants to get on the Harvester’s bad side. So when the first of the sentries swung his sword at my neck, there wasn’t a single soul in those woods to help me.”

“Please,” Lucien said, a smile of his own now tugging at his lips. “It’s not like you needed any help.”

Vassa offered him a grin—then turned to Elain, her next words preventing her from analysing how in the hell the Huntsman’s own daughter befriended someone like Lucien Vanserra as she added, “When Eris found me, my hair was sticky with blood and my fingers half-frozen from the snow.” Elain shuddered. “But I survived. The fire he’d cast brought me back from the cold death I was succumbing too. I knew who he was right away—I recognised the magic still haunting the halls of the home I was exiled from.” She shook her head, her curls grazing her collarbone slightly. “He knew who I was, too, and what my family had done to his own. I was dying, defenceless and his enemy. But Eris did not kill me,” she said, “He helped me up.”

“He told me the truth—about everything. Had proven it, too, because as much as I hated my father, I still believed the lies he’d been telling me my entire life. You all showed me another way,” she said to Lucien, a small smile lighting up her face before she turned back to Elain. “I’ve been by their side ever since.”

“And we owe you a lifetime’s debt for it,” Lucien said.

Vassa tilted her head slightly. “There are no debts among friends, Lucien.”

“All this to say,” she said to Elain, “I know why you hate them—why you probably hate me right now, too. But I’ve seen true monsters, Elain, and they don’t look like the males who have stolen you from New Prythian.” That sadness returned to her stare as she told her, “They look like the man whose eyes you see in the mirror every morning.”

Elain studied her face. “And I suppose Eris will show me the truth,” she said slowly—then turned to Lucien. “He is your brother,” she added, remembering the familial term Eris had called him back in the tent.

“He is,” Lucien agreed.

“Older?”

Vassa snorted.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “You wound me, little fawn.”

“Stop calling me that,” Elain told him.

“As you wish, Princess.”

“Gods, I don’t know which is worse,” Elain grimaced. She continued, though, curiosity getting the better of her, “Eris called you the seventh son of the Autumn Court—the old Braemar,” she clarified. “Would that not make him…” she hesitated, not entirely sure whether the words she’d learned from her old history books were truly a spell of some sorts—a spell that would bring them back to life.

Lucien hummed. “Are you afraid, Elain?”

If she admitted it, he would probably call her something infuriating like little fawn again. So she told him, “No.”

Lucien smiled knowingly. “Then ask me the question.”

Elain pushed through the words. “Is Eris the High Lord of the Autumn Court?”

“Yes,” Lucien simply told her. “He is.”

Elain’s shoulders tensed.

“If it helps, it was a shock to me, too,” Vassa chimed in.

“I thought the High Lords were all dead,” Elain said, hating the quiet hollowness invading her tone.

“He is the last one, as far as we’re aware,” Lucien explained matter-of-factly. “But he doesn’t wish to be addressed as such—not while the humans are still living in our home.” He added, “Our father was killed shortly after the War, and the rest of our brothers followed shortly after. The ancient magic became Eris’s, and he became the High Lord.” A shadow passed through his handsome features. “A High Lord without land, without subjects, without family. As the humans took over, our magic dwindled, too. The things we were once able to do are now all but a distinct memory. Eris will not call himself High Lord until that magic—until everything—is returned to us.”

He looked at Elain. “That is why you’re here, little fawn,” he crooned. “You’re going to help us get it back.”

The carriage halted with the words—and Elain realised the rocky path had finally ended. They had somehow ended up in the middle of a forest, so golden and bright she had to squint before she took it all in—before she noticed the leaves, gleaming with health and all the shades of auburn and red, the wooden pillars forming a circle around the clearing stretching right before them.

A dozen balls of fire cackled to life atop the pillars, prompted by a magic so ancient Elain could practically taste it on her tongue.

“Welcome,” Lucien’s voice sounded behind her, rich and deep, as if brought to life by this strange place, too. “To the Vanserra Hold.”

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

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gwynrielgalore · 1 month

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A Court of Shadows and Sunlight - Chapter One

Oh hey there. I'm still not sure how long this fic will be, and I haven't written since high school. Anyway I can't stop thinking about Gwynriel. Enjoy?

Ao3 link

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel stood across the training ring, watching as the red-headed priestess faced the ribbon she had hung weeks before. At this point, he almost felt sympathy for Gwyn and the other Valkyries in training. The night after she presented the ribbons, Azriel had gone back up to the ring in the dark and attempted the challenge himself. Even after hundreds of years as a warrior, he wasn’t able to cut the ribbon on his first try. He doubted the three females would cut their own any time soon. They were all still so green.

Being a warrior means our Valkyrie may see battle his shadows whispered in his ear We don’t want her in harm’s way

He shook his head, clearing the bothersome whisps as he refocused on the sight before him. Gwyn stared a hole in the white fabric of her ribbon as she readjusted her hold on the grip of her sword. Slowly, she lifted the weapon into the air. As she brought the blade down in a graceful arc, Azriel could have sworn time slowed to a trickle. Like a minnow flashing through water, the silver blade of Gwyn’s sword swept through the air. Yet to Azriel, it seemed as though it took a lifetime before the glinting blade met white. And then, in an instant, half of the ribbon was fluttering to the ground.

Valkyrie a shadow whispered in his ear

Azriel couldn’t help his elated smile as Gwyn and the others celebrated her new status. She was a true Valkyrie now. Had been becoming one for a while now. Gone was the quiet, reserved priestess who had walked into Azriel’s ring months before. Gone was the female who could barely meet his gaze. Now, Gwyn met his challenges with ones of her own. She looked him in the eye and pushed at him with taunts and friendly teasing. And cauldron damn him if Azriel didn’t like it.

You love it, an unhelpful shadow murmured.

As he mused on their progress and watched Nesta and Emerie beat their own ribbons, his thoughts kept returning to Gwyn. Her laugh. The way the sun caught in her turquoise eyes like water in a pool. The way her leathers clung to her like a second skin. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that Azriel had no awareness of the soft, golden thing that was forming in his chest. Was blind to it and the way it seemed to sprawl out in the air between him and the priestess, reaching for her but not quite connecting the two. He was oblivious, until that golden chord went taught. Until it snapped.

Surprise forced a huff of air out of his lips.

Mate! Mate! Mate! His shadows cried, whipping themselves into a frenzy around him until he could barely see what was before his own eyes.

For a moment, Azriel was overcome with deep, abounding joy. Finally, after hundreds of years it was his turn. The cauldron had deemed it fit to bless him with what he craved the most. Then, that joy curdled in his gut. This couldn't be happening. Someone like her couldn’t be tied to someone like him. Where she was all soft freckles and sunlight, Azriel was quite literally scars and shadow. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, put this on her. Wouldn’t shackle the priestess who had come so far, been through so much, to someone like him. Someone who knew more about how to hurt than he did to heal.

“Az, you good?” Cassian called from his side of the ring, no doubt seeing the commotion his shadows were still creating. Without a word in response, Azriel stepped into a pocket of darkness and disappeared.

When he could see again, he stood in a forest clearing somewhere just outside of Velaris. Birds nestled in the trees, their songs forgotten when they felt the turmoil that had just landed in their midst. Azriel paced, thoughts racing so quickly he could barely decipher them as he ran his hands through his raven hair. His shadows still would not settle, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was so royally fucked. He was so caught up in his own misery that he didn’t notice Cassian's approach until crackling leaves announced the general’s landing.

“Az, what’s wrong” he said as his wings tucked themselves in behind his back.

“Nothing,” Azriel replied, allowing an air of practiced neutrality to take over his demeanor. He bottled that thing tightly in his chest, refusing to allow it to burst free.

“Bullshit,” Cassian answered, “they finally cut those damn things, and instead of congratulating them, you just, what disappear?”

“No,” Azriel replied, too riled to respond further. He was worried that if he tried to craft a response, his frayed nerves would force him to let out the truth. Already, some deep, primal part of him wanted to shout it from the rooftops. She was his. His mate. He burned with the need to claim, to take what was his.

Mate! Mate! Mate! His shadows still whispered, even as the more loyal ones had slipped off to keep tabs on Cass.

“Az,” Cassian started, placing a hand on his shoulder. At the touch, something broke inside of Azriel. He couldn’t contain enough of this new thing, this new need, within himself. He whirled, landing a punch square to the general’s jaw.

“What the fu-“ he was cut off by another jab, this time square to the gut. Azriel stepped back, fists raised as he gave Cassian a moment to get into a stance of his own. He had to work off this energy. Had to blow off some steam before he was able to go back up to the house of wind. He damn well couldn’t go back there like this. Couldn’t face Gwyn when he still felt more beast than male.

With a challenging grin, Cassian struck out. Azriel knew the blow was coming for his jaw. Had plenty of time to block, but he let the hit land. Let it rock though him. Let it distract him from her. From the way he longed to step into that library and take what his instincts said was his.

Once his blurred vision steadied, he struck out, aiming for Cassian but missing by a mile. Cassian swung again, landing a solid fist in his gut. Azriel, usually the better fighter of the pair, was getting his ass handed to him.

While Azriel tried to catch his suddenly lost breath, Cassian seized the moment, taking the fight to the ground. The two warriors struggled among the twigs and leaves, each fighting for dominance before Cassian finally won out.

“I’ll say it again,” Cassian ground out, spitting blood, “What. The. Fuck”. Azriel shifted his gaze, unable to meet Cassian's glare. A calloused hand gripped his jaw, wrenching his face back to look at the lord of bloodshed. Csssian waited, staring down at him in a way that said he would stay here all day, pinning Azriel into the forest floor until he told him the truth. Knowing Cassian, the stubborn ass probably would hold him there until he spoke true. There was no choice but to tell him.

Azriel took a deep breath, overcome by the sudden appearance of a lump in his throat. There, held to the ground by his brother, he felt as though his very soul had been ripped out of his chest for the other Illyrian to see. Blinking furiously, he forced himself to look Cassian in the eye as he quietly, almost inaudibly gasped out.

“She’s my mate”

#acotar #gwynriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #gwyneth berdara #gwyn acosf #gwyn x azriel #mating bond #azriel is a self sabotaging nightmare #they'll figure it out though i promise #if this is shit you don't need to tell me #just keep scrolling

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theladyofbloodshed · 10 months

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The conversation in ACOSF about Rhys being the best option for High King (k!ll me pls) is so strange, because how are Cassian, Amren and Azriel not aware of how much everyone hates the Night Court? They’ve literally spent hundreds of years acting like pieces of shit yet they think the High Lords will just hand over the reigns (after 50 years under Amarantha, no less) and all the Fae in the courts will be oh so happy.

They stole from Tarquin and Feyre’s boss babe destruction of the Spring Court left the door open to Summer, Kallias and Beron openly hate Rhysand, Helion is friendly and will be until he realizes that his pals at the NC think so little of him, Thesan won’t do it either because the Dawn court is said to be neutral in conflicts (war means people die). Tamlin will probably off himself before he kneels and if Lucien is temporarily in charge, I doubt he’ll do it either. If Eris is High Lord by then, he’s definitely NOT kneeling. Man’s been waiting too long to be in charge.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!!!!

They're all so oblivious and righteous in their beliefs at the same time.

Azriel: “Kallias, Tarquin, and Helion might be willing to kneel. Thesan will kneel if the others do.”

Why would the three non-white high lords be willing to kneel?! Tarquin and Helion didn't expect to be high lord but Tarquin is doing a damn good job of trying to improve the lives of his court. Why would any of them give up their court's ruling to a near-enough stranger? Cassian nodded. Rhys as High King: he could think of no other male he’d trust more. No other male who would be a fairer ruler than Rhys. And with Feyre as High Queen … Prythian would be blessed to have such leaders.

Respectfully, what the fuck are you smoking Cassian? Feyre's rule so far a) gone to war b) had a baby. We've never seen her involved with politics except when she started a fight at the high lord meeting and burnt the lady of the autumn court. Blessed?????? Tell that to the Spring Court who got annihilated thanks to her. Tell that to the Summer Court who got annihilated because she opened the doors to Hybern.

So Cassian said, “Tamlin would probably fight, and lose. Beron would be the only one standing in your way.”

Tamlin is a high lord who is the same size as Cassian and fought in war bands. Like why do they act like he's not powerful???

Beron please I am rooting for you, make their lives difficult as hell

“I will not be High King. I will not consider it, not today and not in a century.”

Literally the only sexy thing Rhys has ever said.

How would it even work except for retconning the scant world building? High lords have their specific powers. You can't just make somebody high king surely, what happens to their powers?

I do think it will happen though. Rhys will change his mind and realise it's for the best if he becomes high king because amren said nesta's swords should be his.

Listen, just make Nesta high queen and be done with this.

#anon asks

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acourtofthought · 4 months

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I was wondering if you know about the Elain is a healer theory and what evidence people use to support this theory? I've always thought of Elain as a character kind of like Yrene so I'm low-key interested in this theory. Imagine Elain being a seer AND a healer; it would be so badass. It would also make sense considering how little Madja knows compared to TOG healers.

I am a big fan of this theory and have done a few posts on it (I'm going to attach a link to one below). I've never thought being a Seer was enough of a storyline for Elain ESPECIALLY if she's not meant to be a warrior. First, a character can only have so many visions before it starts to ruin the plot. If she's sitting there having vision after vision, telling everyone all the important need to know information then.....what's the point? There's no suspense, no intrigue, no surprise. Also, Elain's Seer powers are more beneficial to others than it being something that she can do much with personally. Elain has a vision, then ...... ? It's not like she won't be involved in some of the action but it doesn't seem like she's being set up to become a fighter so I feel like most of her visions would need to be shared with someone else so they can use the information to their benefit. It just seems that her power would be there to constantly serve another (just like Az said, "WE'RE the ones who need.....") while she just sits there, having her visions. That's really kind of depressing to me.

But Elain having the ability to heal others is her doing something that would have meaning, especially to someone like her, when we know cruelty bothers her and she's constantly trying to avoid violence or shows concern for others being harmed. There's already a few open-ended, possible plots in the series that would fit in nicely if she were. In ACOWAR, Ianthe mentions there are spots in the woods where things had died and are not coming back and how on Tamlin's manor, nothing is growing at all (Elain possibly healing the lands of Spring?). In ACOSF, we have Cassian note how the Pegasus numbers might be dwindling because whatever food source had once sustained them on the island of the Prison is no longer there. There was also the mention of how no offspring had been produced in three hundred years, that the last foal hadn't made it out of weaning before he'd succumbed to an illness no healer could remedy. (I find it difficult to believe SJM plans on leaving that storyline unresolved and it's one that would be perfect for Elain). Also, when you consider that Nesta's power was death, Elain as "life" is a perfect counterbalance to that.

As for any possible hints to Elain actually being a healer, here's a link to the post I was talking about above:

#pro elain archeron #elain archeron #acotar theory #sarah j mass

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paasrin · 4 months

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SANTA TELL ME [pt. 1]

@ofduskanddreams I was so excited when I knew that I was gonna write for you, like really excited. I'm sorry I got a bit late but I hope you really, really like it.

This is the first part of a multi chapter fanfic and I hope that you really enjoyed it.

Warnings: English is not my native language so I'm sorry for any possible spelling mistakes.

Azriel didn't expected his life to be like this when he was a child.

Well, maybe it did, but definitely did not expect to be a courtier in his work just to make alliances. He, as a matter of fact, was a better courtier than his brother was, he loved Cassian, but he was an asshole and sucked in all the aspects of the work it has to be done.

He was okay with being a spy, with interrogating and murdering people, well, not okay with it, but he learned that it was for the better for the Court and did know his job was relevant and it had to be done. Sometimes he thinks of it and doesn't know what to do with his life if it wasn't for the job he has been doing for the past five hundred years.

But having to work even in the holidays. He was maybe not a big fan of the rumbling and the stupidity of all the things he had to endure during solstice, but was one of the only holidays he had, and maybe was a little angry with Rhys for accepting in his name to go a week into the Winter Court to see the holidays there and make a treaty between the Winter and Night Court, but it did pissed him off.

He was expected to accept it since Mor was back from the fucking Continent and Amren wouldn't go, and his brothers and his mates were obviously out of question being the first solstice as a pair for Cassian and Nesta and being the first solstice of Nyx, so he was the better option. Well, the only option available, cause Elain was out of question again.

Between the three of the brothers he was the most patient one, since his life consisted in waiting and waiting for his job to be done, but he was done waiting and wanted to scream to Rhys for the fuck he happened to be the solstice.

That he could join them for the night after solstice for the annual snowball fight, and definitely he would make them pay for this, cause Cassian agreed it was a good idea to make it happen.

But tonight he did not have any patient, so when he throws the glass he has on his hand to the wall it shatters in many pieces, oh how he wanted it to be one of his brothers, he was fuming.

And nobody could do anything about it, not now that the answer had been sent to the Winter Court.

He needed something to calm down, or it will be a very long week. Seven days, he had to survive in the Winter Court for seven days before he could wipe that attitude off Rhys's and Cassian's face with the floor.

Oh how he hated them in this fucking moment.

He hated not being in control, he was a fucking control freak, how could he not when all his choices where out of his hands for all his childhood and early adulthood, even now he hand not all the control in his fucking life. He adored his family, he really did, but not now, not when they make decisions for him without even noticing until the night before he had to go.

Oh he would not go unnoticed. He had a clear idea of what to do hen he arrived, but definitely he would destroy Cassian and Rhys in the annual snowball fight, he had won many before and would won many after this one. He outnumbered the other two of them, not even adding up his victories did they compare to Azriel's.

He didn't tried to sleep, it was useless, he knew he couldn't sleep in this fucking situation. So he started thinking of anything he could've forgotten, even though he knew he hadn't forgot anything.

When he had calmed down he picked a book of the library he had in his plain room, he had read it at least a dozen times, but he hadn't get any knew book that caught up his attention a simple bare minimum, so he kept re-reading the books he already read.

He spent all the night reading till the sun was up, then he had put down the book and took his bag full of clothes, plans, and information he had not memorised. If he was being honest, he remembered quiet well, but being an asshole knowing almost everything normally made people feel uncomfortable, so he pretended most of the times he didn't knew, other times he was extremely cocky about it, reaching the top level of being an asshole.

Cassian was already up when he came out of his room, but choose to ignore him, he really did not wanted to talk to someone so early, he would shout at him if pushed far enough, and he would push, even though he knew it was not good for any of them.

He was gonna go out for several days and eve though it was all bullshit it was better than having to see all happiness around him revolve while he was unsure about everything.

The bag on his shoulder didn't felt like any weigh was there. A remember of all the little things he needed to be set up in another place. A feeling of discomfort waved from his chest. His life was a scattering mess again and again and again, and he couldn't pull from the waves that were pushing and pushing him far below from the surface.

He loved Nesta and Feyre like her sisters, he really did, but before them he was taken care by Rhysand and Cassian even though he did in fact not tell anyone he was hurting, and here they were, far apart from each other, maybe it was unintentional but he did not wanted to go to the Winter Court. It was freezing there, and when it was really winter in all the other courts it was almost unspeakable how his hands really hurt with all the extra freezing.

Not any gloves could fix that shit.

So he started flying, snowflakes in Velaris were merely starting to fall, and when he was out of reach of the city he had called home for centuries now, he winnowed far away. Just when he reached the border of Nearon, the capital of the Winter Court, he started to feel his hands begin to frozen up.

How he hated winter and how he loved it at the same time.

He hated how it make him shiver every time he saw something like a cave or a hole on the ground full of snow, he remembered very well how it was back in his fathers house, the cell full of worms and snow in winter. He hated how his hands ache all this time after the incident with his step brothers, he hated the memories of all of that. He mostly hated winter.

But he loved it when it was not freezing but chill outside, late winter reaching spring, with the chill and the sun bathing all his body without being feeling hot. The snowball fight was the only time he loved snow.

He looked his surroundings, while his shadows explored all the zone. In less than ten seconds there were two white heads that caught his attention. Kallias and Viviane, High Lord and the Lady of the Winter Court.

"Shadowsinger, a pleasure to see you" said Viviane with a wide smile.

"Pleasure is mine" he said with a nod.

It didn't take him long to have it his own way while both of them started speaking of something about the holidays. Azriel was unsure why but his shadows were starting to wander far, far away from him.

"This week we wanted that our visitors meet our traditions so that they could maybe catch some for their Courts, and maybe start a new trade way." Kallias didn't say anything else.

He didn't comment, but was in fact curious of who else would be visiting in this holiday another Court for work and allies purposes.

It wasn't till he saw the palace from far far away that he smelled a smoky scent. Burnt wood, cinnamon and leather, that what it smelled like, and he knew quite well who that scent belonged to. If the holidays weren't terrible enough they might just get worse.

Eris Vanserra was grinning in their direction. Azriel couldn't be more pissed of.

#azriel and eris #azris #azriel acotar #gift exchange #eris vanserra #acotar #acotar fanfiction #christmas gift

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thegloweringcastle · 11 months

Text

First off, I want to give the BIGGEST thank you to @azrielshadowssing for organizing this lovely event! Truly, I cannot thank her enough for her patience and kindness. This is my first time participating and I have so thoroughly enjoyed it!

This is also my first time writing nessian, so I apologize in advance if they are somewhat out of character. If you see any typos, no you didn't.

Summary: After agreeing to do a favor for her youngest sister, Nesta and Cassian reconnect after three years of no contact. Will this roadtrip be enough to salvage the ragged threads of their history, or will they return to be being complete strangers when all is said and done?

Warnings: None

Part 2 | Part 3

~2.2k words

...

The road ahead was gilded in sunlight, rays filtered down through the towering trees. The air was hot but the view was magnificent. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, and Nesta had never been more miserable.

If Cassian spat one more sunflower seed shell out the window, Nesta was going to pull her car over and make him walk the next few hundred miles. Her car, a Cadillac CTS Sport Wagon in Opulent Metallic Blue with a custom expanded panorama sunroof, was her pride and joy and Nesta would be damned if the unsophisticated ass got spit and other crap all over it.

She said as much.

“Aww, c’mon Nes. Your car is fine, I’m not spitting inside, am I? Sunflower seeds are a staple snack; we can’t have our epic summer road trip without them.”

She took a deep, cleansing breath. “We are hurtling down the freeway at eighty miles an hour. Every time you open and close that window my ears pop and the air conditioning escapes, and it’s too damn hot out for that.” The steering wheel creaked under her iron grip. “I am doing Feyre a very, very generous favor in driving you, but I will not hesitate to kick you out. I don’t give a rat's ass about an ‘epic summer road trip’.”

“Ouch. Those are some harsh words, Nesta.” He slumped back in his seat, resealing the plastic baggie of snacks. “If you kick me out and make me hitch-hike, it will be your fault when I get snatched.”

“It will be my fault either way,” she grumbled. “At least I know how to hide evidence.”

He grinned. “What was that, Nes?”

It was all she could do to reign in her snarl. “My car, my rules. Tread carefully, you brute. I didn’t even want to drive you in the first place.”

If things between her and Feyre hadn’t been going so well, Nesta really wouldn’t have gone along with the plan. He was the one who ruined his bike, he was the one that could suffer the consequences; he could get his own sorry ass down south to Feyre & Rhys’s wedding, or, better yet, not attend at all.

“It’s good to see you too, Nes.” He winked at her, before slipping on a pair of headphones and finally leaving Nesta to her precious, blissful silence.

***

“Wake up,” Nesta slammed her car door shut behind her, but Cassian didn’t even budge. She went around to open the passenger door, pulling the headphones from his ears and startling him awake. “Wake up, we’re here.” Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if he had been sleeping to the sound of people shouting and smashing guitars against the ground.

He swiped one hand down his face, clambering out and jogging to catch up with Nesta even as sleep still pulled at his eyes.

“Hey Nes, tomorrow–”

“Nesta.” She said, not even looking over at him. “It’s Nesta, not Nes.”

“You never minded when we were together-”

She sighed, turning and placing her hands on her hips. “Well we’re not together now, are we?”

“I mean…” He trailed off, looked between them, looked back at her. “We are, technically, currently together.”

She huffed and kept walking towards the motel. “If you don’t want me to leave you behind tomorrow morning then I recommend you not be a smartass.” Nesta reached for the handle to the front office, pausing and looking over her shoulder to Cassian. “I’ll get the room keys, you take care of the luggage. I will see you at five in the morning. If you’re even one minute late, you’re stuck here.” And with that, she stepped out of the heat and into the cool front office, leaving Cassian to haul their baggage to the rooms.

The next morning he was thirty minutes early, greeting Nesta with a shit-eating grin as she emerged from her motel room a quarter past five.

***

Nesta was meticulous in unfolding and refolding the map. Always careful to not tear the creases, always careful to make the folds line up, always careful to not crinkle the paper. If Cassian drove how she navigated, she would not be so worried about her precious Cadillac. As it was, Nesta was preparing to hold a memorial service for her beloved car by the time they made it to the venue, if they ever did.

She gestured with one perfectly manicured hand to the roaring motorway ahead of them. “To get onto the next highway you’ll want to turn at this intersection right up here.”

He tugged his headphones - again with the stupid headphones - to hang around his neck. “Huh?” They whizzed past the turn.

“Hey, whoa, where are you going? Pull a u-turn, that’s where we needed to be.” He put the pedal to the metal; the pitstop town was fading in the distance, fast. “If you hadn’t had your music blasting your brains out you would have heard me the first time.”

He shrugged, mouth twitching. “Mmmm… I know a detour. There’s less traffic and it’s much prettier. It’s the one we took when we came here a few summers ago, and it was just fine then.”

Nesta was sorely regretting her decision to trade places with Cassian after their pitstop for coffee and breakfast, but her leg was too cramped and her foot was too numb for her to officially be the safer option.

She shut her eyes, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Cassian, we’re practically in the middle of nowhere. It would be easier to just go back and turn there - don’t you remember how twisty this road is? It goes all along the coast.”

“That’s exactly the point.” He stared straight ahead, stoic and unmoving. When

She sighed, crinkling the map as her hands turned to fists. ”Oh please, you could at least try to not be an obnoxious bastard for the whole trip-”

He cut her off, his voice rising. “See, but that’s the thing, Nesta, you’re the one being difficult. We’ve been on the road for three days now and so far I would say I’ve tried pretty damn hard to not get on your nerves. Yeah, I know I have annoying habits, and yeah, I know it’s been a while and we’re not used to each other anymore.” Now he was really shouting. “But by the Mother, you could work on having some human decency too.”

He braked hard and turned into a ‘scenic overlook’, which was really just a parking lot at the edge of a rocky beach. Silence hung between them thick like fog, the soft click of the turn indicator echoing through it. Cassian backed into a spot, diligently checking the mirrors. He still refused to use the backup camera.

“Come sit with me. Please.” He got out without a second glance, opening the hatch and rearranging the junk they stowed in the back.

Nesta stood, the muggy morning causing her clothes to cling to her skin. The tide may have been far out, but thick clouds of fog lingered close to the mainland, shrouding their view of the horizon. Cassian handed her a blanket and waited for her to get comfortable in the trunk before taking his place beside her. The car dipped under his weight, and for a moment Nesta missed feeling that sturdiness. She eyed his muscled shoulders and broad hands, let her eyes creep to his torso, then lower… She snapped her gaze to the ocean where waves crashed into rocks and birds circled above and fog began to dissipate. They were totally and utterly alone, which made it all the more jarring when Cassian began to speak.

“For two and a half years, Nesta, I had no idea where you were. Things were going so well, and then all of a sudden, ‘things’ were completely nonexistent. And I couldn’t reach you.” He looked at her then, and Nesta saw the hollow loneliness in his hazel eyes.

That just wasn’t fair. “I gave you warning, Cassian.” Her voice was strong, but it lacked her usual edges and angles. “I told you I had to help my sister. Feyre was so… It was so bad, Cass. You wouldn’t have even recognized her as the girl you knew in high school.” Her voice, now soft, quickly returned to hard ice and sharp steel. “I needed to take care of her; I told you as much. I have no idea why you were so shocked.”

He engaged the rocky shore in a staring contest, mulling over her words. “I understood she needed you. But I didn’t understand why you had fallen off the face of the earth. I couldn’t contact you at the law firm you worked at, you disappeared from all social media, your phone number was disabled.” He smacked his palm to his forehead, eyes going wide as he stared at the ground. “Hell, I even wrote letters that were returned to me within the week I mailed them.” Cassian heaved a sigh, the blanket he had draped around his shoulder slipping off. Nesta fought hard to not readjust it.

It was just the guilt. She was just tired from driving for so long. She didn’t actually care. So what if she was unreachable? It was her choice. It didn’t matter anymore. It was so long ago.

“And so I’m sure you can imagine my surprise,” He continued. “When I heard from Morrigan - Morrigan, Rhys’s cousin, the one you despise - that Feyre and Rhys had just begun dating, and that you had started your own wildly successful law firm.”

Now he looked back at Nesta and caught her staring. She couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“I went for another year after that hoping to find you, Nesta. I hoped to every deity that I don’t even believe in for you to come back into my life. I didn’t think it would even be that unlikely, what with your sister dating my best friend. But it took them getting married, and your sister forcing your hand, for me to see you again. And even still, I don’t have an explanation. I don’t know if I did something wrong or if… I don’t even know.” He huffed a laugh, weak and humorless. “But in all honesty, Nes, I thought we were worth more than that.” And then, quietly, “I kind of hoped I was worth more than that.”

He leaned back, keeping his gaze locked with hers and gripping the blanket edge in two fists. “Now it’s your turn. I’m not leaving until you say something, anything, about what happened or why or how or whatever.”

“You can’t do that, Cassian. We have a schedule to stick to. We can talk about this later.”

He shook his head. “No can do, Nes. I’ve been waiting three and a half years –”

“Exactly,” She stood, refolding her blanket and tossing it back into the trunk. “You’ve waited that long, another few hours won’t kill you.” She put her hand out, palm up, and made a grabbing motion. “Now give me the keys. I’ll drive the rest of today.”

He stood, rising to his full height. “No, Nesta. I do not want to go anywhere with you until I have something, even just an inkling of an understanding.” Because you hurt me.

He didn’t need to say it, Nesta saw it in his expression. She pretended she didn’t.

“You can’t keep me here against my will,” She swiped for the fob, missing when he brought it up above her head.

“I will swallow the key if I need to. Do not test me, Nesta.”

“You disgusting brute, just give me the key-”

He opened his mouth wide.

“You will choke yourself! You’re absolutely insane! By the mother,” Nesta gripped her hair, clawing at it as if she wanted to rip it out. “This is why I left! This is why I don't want to have anything to do with you! Because you’re a mess! You’re a child! You are literally a man child.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Ah, see? Now we’re getting somewhere.” He resumed his seat in the trunk, keeping the car fob in a tight fist. “Please, continue, Nesta.”

She could feel her cheeks growing red, she knew there would be crescent indents on her palm from clenching her fists. Honestly, it was amazing her jaw didn’t snap under pressure. If she could tackle him - which wouldn’t be difficult, what with her body fueled by coffee, anger, and adrenaline - she could steal back the key and ditch his sorry ass.

She made a show of giving in; hanging her head, unfolding and shaking out the blanket, and grumbling under her breath. And just when Cassian fell for it, Nesta lunged.

Everything happened so fast that she barely saw it. Cassian leapt from the trunk, Nesta pulled him to the ground, they wrestled in the sand, rocks and driftwood, and the key went flying, lost to the void of damp, gray rocks.

Nesta stared with wide eyes where she had last seen it before slowly looking back to Cassian, who now was frozen beneath her. In any other situation Nesta would be thrilled by the fear in his eyes, but rage clouded her mind; she wanted to shake him until his head rolled off. Her voice was feral as the next words tore free from her throat.

“You. Idiot.”

#nessian #acotar #my fic #nesta archeron #cassian #acotarwritingcircle #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses #nesta x cassian #acotar fic

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