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hrizantemy · 6 months ago

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Her name was Taryn.

Nesta had learned that much, though she hadn’t bothered to ask at first. It had just come to her one night, somewhere between the second drink and the steady hum of the music in the background. Taryn had introduced herself easily, but that was about all she gave. There were no stories, no explanations, just a quiet presence that seemed to stretch out into the space around them.

And Nesta hadn’t pressed. Not for details, not for more than what was offered. She wasn’t one to pry, especially into someone who had mastered the art of silence the way Taryn had. They didn’t need words to fill the gaps. The tavern’s music spoke enough for both of them, and in the stillness between their conversations, Nesta found an unspoken understanding.

Taryn didn’t talk much about herself either, and in that silence, Nesta had come to appreciate it. They both had their walls, their secrets. Neither of them seemed inclined to tear them down. Sometimes, when Nesta would glance over at Taryn, she would catch that glint of something behind her eyes—something old and knowing. But Taryn didn’t press either. She had her own past, a quiet one that Nesta had no interest in unraveling.

It was an odd sort of companionship, the two of them sharing the space without the need for constant conversation. Neither of them asked questions they weren’t prepared to answer, and in that, there was a strange comfort. They shared the same unspoken understanding: there were things you didn’t need to explain, not when you were already carrying so much.

So, they sat in silence often, watching the night unfold with the music as the only conversation between them. Neither of them bothered to ask why the other was there. Neither of them needed to.

Nesta had long since assumed that Taryn came to the tavern for one of two reasons: to drink or to go home with someone. It was what most people did, after all. The tavern was full of people seeking fleeting comfort, whether it came in the form of a drink or a companion for the night. Yet, Taryn didn’t fit into either of those molds.

She barely drank, always nursing her glass instead of downing it, a contrast to the usual faces that crowded the bar. Her movements were measured, calm, as though she had no real need to escape or forget, unlike many of the others who came to drown their troubles. Taryn’s consumption was almost ritualistic—an occasional sip, a slow swirl of the liquid in her glass, but never enough to abandon control. She was deliberate, thoughtful, as though she had no desire to lose herself in the haze that so many others craved.

And when the night ended, when the music faded and the crowd began to thin, Taryn always left alone. Nesta had watched this countless times—the quiet exit, her back straight and her steps sure, as if she was already on her way to something far more important than whatever was happening inside the tavern.

It was strange to Nesta, the way Taryn moved through the world with such purpose, yet seemed so… untethered. She had expected to see her approach someone, to watch her flirt with a stranger or get lost in a conversation that led to a bed. But it never happened. Taryn didn’t leave with anyone. She just went home by herself, night after night, no strings attached, no attempts at distraction.

Nesta didn’t quite understand it, not at first. It felt unnatural—everyone came to places like this for some kind of escape, didn’t they?

Nesta had long since figured out that Taryn preferred the company of women. It wasn’t something that had come to her immediately—it wasn’t like Taryn wore it on her sleeve—but as time passed, certain things became clear. The way her gaze lingered on women more than on men, the subtle shifts in her demeanor when a woman entered the tavern. It wasn’t overt, but Nesta could sense it, a quiet energy that surrounded Taryn when she spoke to them, an ease that never quite appeared with men. It was something that Nesta had noticed, and, after a while, she couldn’t deny it.

One night, after enough drinks had dulled the sharp edges of her thoughts, Nesta found herself asking the question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for weeks. Her words slurred a little, but there was a certain curiosity behind them that couldn’t be ignored. She asked, almost without thinking, “You prefer women, don’t you?”

Taryn had raised an eyebrow at the question, but there was no hesitation in her response. She simply nodded, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “I do,” she said, her voice low and unbothered.

Nesta expected something—an uncomfortable pause, maybe, a feeling of rejection or some sort of judgment, but nothing came. There was no judgment in Taryn’s eyes, no moment of awkwardness that made Nesta feel small. It was just… a fact. Something simple, and Nesta had found herself surprisingly unaffected.

She thought she would be offended, that some part of her would react as if Taryn’s admission was something that needed to be dissected or questioned. But it wasn’t. There was no anger, no surprise, just a strange calmness that settled over her, as though Taryn’s truth didn’t change anything between them. It didn’t matter. Taryn didn’t owe her an explanation, and for once, Nesta didn’t feel the need to dissect every detail of it.

After Nesta had figured it out, something began to stir in her thoughts. Night after night, when the tavern was quiet and the music had faded into the background, her mind would return to Taryn and what she had said. Taryn preferred women.

It wasn’t something that Nesta had ever really thought about before, at least not with any depth. She hadn’t been around women like that, not in the way Taryn was. It wasn’t that she disapproved, or even felt disgusted—it was just… foreign to her. Nesta didn’t really understand how someone could love a woman the way Taryn loved them. She couldn’t grasp the feelings, the pull that must have existed there.

She had known attraction—men, their rough hands and demanding gazes—but women? It wasn’t something she had ever considered. How did it feel to want another woman the way she had wanted men, to feel that same fire, that same need? The question lingered in her mind like a dull ache, but Nesta didn’t know how to answer it. She hadn’t experienced it herself, hadn’t felt that longing for someone of the same sex. It made her wonder if there was something wrong with her, or if she was just missing some piece of the puzzle that Taryn had seemed to find so easily.

The confusion would wash over her in waves, late at night when she was alone with her thoughts and the empty glass in her hand. She didn’t understand it. How could someone fall for someone of the same sex, when everything in her had always told her it was supposed to be a man who sparked that desire?

But still, there was no judgment—just curiosity. She wasn’t offended by Taryn’s preferences, but a strange kind of distance remained. It was as though she were on the outside of something, unable to fully comprehend it, even though she wanted to.

Some part of her, deep inside, was disgusted—not with Taryn, but with herself. It wasn’t something she could admit, not even to herself at first, but it gnawed at her. The confusion, the curiosity, the questions—it all circled back to something darker, something deeper.

There was a part of her that felt a strange shame, not for Taryn’s preferences, but for her own inability to understand them. It made her feel… small, as if there was something wrong with her for not being able to accept this part of the world so easily. She wasn’t repulsed by Taryn, not at all. No, it was the way Taryn’s reality highlighted a flaw in her own. A flaw that she wasn’t ready to face.

Nesta had always prided herself on understanding things—on having a handle on what was right, what was wrong, what made sense. She had always known the rules, the roles, the expectations. But this? This was different. It made her feel as if she were somehow behind, unable to catch up with the rest of the world. There was nothing wrong with Taryn, but there was something wrong with her for not immediately understanding it. She hated that she couldn’t just accept it without questioning everything, without feeling like there was something missing inside her.

It wasn’t just confusion. It was shame, like she wasn’t enough—like she was the one who didn’t fit, who couldn’t keep up with what felt like an endless flow of new realities and experiences. She didn’t know if this was something that was wrong with her, or if she simply didn’t belong in this world where there were so many shades of gray she couldn’t even begin to color in.

And the worst part? She couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Not to anyone. Not even to herself in full honesty. So, she buried it, just as she buried so many other things. But it was there, lurking beneath the surface, and every time she saw Taryn, every time she thought of how easily Taryn moved through the world, it stung a little more.

Nesta found herself at the bar again, seated beside Taryn, a drink in hand. She wasn’t sure what brought her here this time. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the feeling of drowning in the chaos of her thoughts, or maybe it was something about Taryn that made her feel a bit safer, even when her mind was a tangle of contradictions.

The drink was strong, just like the last time, and as it burned down her throat, something in her cracked open. The questions that had been bubbling inside her for weeks, the confusion, the shame, the disgust—everything that had been building up inside her suddenly felt like too much to keep quiet. She couldn’t stop it. It tumbled out before she could even stop herself.

“How… how do you like women?” The words came out blunt, unrefined, as if she didn’t even care how they sounded. The alcohol had loosened her tongue, and now the question hung in the air between them, raw and uncomfortable.

Taryn turned to her slowly, her gaze steady. There was no judgment in her eyes, just a quiet kind of understanding, something that made Nesta feel exposed. She could feel the heat rising to her face, the vulnerability settling into her bones. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but now that it was out there, she couldn’t take it back.

Taryn didn’t immediately answer. She took a sip of her drink, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, she spoke, her voice soft, almost gentle.

“It’s not something that’s easy to explain,” Taryn said, her tone thoughtful. “It’s not about how you like someone, it’s just about who you’re drawn to. It’s not about logic or reason… it just is. And that’s enough.”

Nesta swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taryn’s words settle deep inside her. It didn’t quite answer her question. It didn’t give her the clarity she had been hoping for. But there was something about the simplicity of it that made her feel… lighter.

Taryn’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, and then she gave a soft, almost imperceptible shrug. “It’s not about having to explain it to anyone else, either. It’s about what feels right for you.”

Nesta took another drink, trying to process the words.

Nesta stared into her glass, swirling the drink as the silence stretched between them. The music in the background seemed to blur into a distant hum, and her thoughts ran wild, chaotic as always, trying to piece together what she couldn’t understand. There was still something gnawing at her, some question that had lingered in her mind ever since she had asked Taryn how she could like women. The question, so simple but so tangled, wouldn’t leave her.

She glanced at Taryn, her lips pressed into a thin line as the words formed in her mind. It wasn’t a question she’d ever thought she’d ask, but the weight of it was too heavy to ignore.

“Have you… ever wanted men?” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t know why she was asking. She didn’t know if she was prepared for the answer, but it was there, and she couldn’t push it back down.

Taryn didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem surprised. She just regarded Nesta with those steady green eyes, as if she had been expecting this question all along. Her fingers rested on the edge of her glass, her thumb tracing a pattern absentmindedly.

“Once,” Taryn said quietly, the word soft but lingering in the air. “A long time ago. But it was never the same, never what it should have been. I thought it was, but I was just trying to convince myself.” She paused, the briefest shadow crossing her face before her expression smoothed again. “It wasn’t real. Not for me.”

Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of her felt relief, but another part of her, the part that had been taught to look for logic, for reason, felt unsettled. How could it have been so clear to Taryn? How could she know so fully? Nesta hadn’t even started to figure herself out, let alone something like that. She couldn’t understand what it felt like to desire something different from the world she knew, from the expectations she had been raised with.

Nesta’s thoughts drifted back to the human lands, to the world she had come from. The world of strict rules, of things expected of her, of the roles she was supposed to fill, the people she was supposed to be. She thought of her mother, of the old traditions, of the whispers that ran through the halls of their estate. The idea of deviating from what was “right” had never really been a possibility for her—until now.

It wasn’t even about wanting to understand it. There was a part of her, deep down, that wanted to push it all away, to close her mind and shut off the curiosity. She couldn’t even explain why. The idea of being with another woman—the thought felt foreign, as if her mind recoiled at it instinctively, as if the concept itself was something wrong, something forbidden. It was so deeply ingrained in her, this fear of being different from what society expected, from what she had grown up knowing.

In the human lands, they had rules—rules that told you who to love, who to marry, who you were allowed to be. Her mother had made sure she understood that. “A woman’s place is with a man,” her mother had said, a reminder as harsh as the walls that had caged Nesta into her place, into the role she was supposed to fit. Her mother had always tried to push her toward the ideal match, toward the right kind of man, the one who would give her a future she didn’t even want. And the thought of anything else—anything different—had always been wrong.

Nesta’s chest tightened as she thought about it. It wasn’t about Taryn. It wasn’t about her at all. It was the world she had come from, the world that had shaped her. The idea that something other than a man could be right, could be enough, felt like betrayal. The weight of that shame pressed on her, and she found herself questioning: Was something wrong with her for even thinking about it?

The very thought made her feel small, like she was doing something dirty, something shameful. She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to acknowledge that there was a part of her—hidden, deeply buried—that felt that way, that recoiled against the idea of being with a woman. Her heart raced as if the very thought would tear apart everything she had ever known about herself.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the feelings away. She could never have said it aloud—not even to Taryn. It was too much. Too foreign, too uncomfortable. It felt like it would unravel her, like it would expose something broken in her, something twisted that shouldn’t exist.

Nesta’s mind spiraled back to her mother—the woman who had molded her, who had carved out her place in the world for her, a place that always involved a man. Her mother’s teachings, her expectations, had been so clear, so concrete. There had never been room for anything else. Nesta had been raised to believe that her worth, her purpose, lay in pleasing the men around her—whether it was her father, the suitors she’d been pushed toward, or, later, Cassian.

She thought of Cassian then. His strong, comforting presence, the way he seemed to always be there, as though he were the anchor to her storm. She’d felt something for him, or maybe it was just the relief of finally having someone who didn’t look at her with disdain. He’d taken her by force, claimed her as his own in every sense of the word, and for a long time, Nesta had convinced herself that that—him, his touch, his dominance—was the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t love, not really, but it was what she had come to expect. It was what she knew.

She thought about her mother’s words, about the unspoken pressure to marry, to produce heirs, to keep the line intact. Men, men, men. It was all men. Every lesson, every expectation. That’s what she had been raised to understand: that women were supposed to belong to men, to be shaped by them, molded by them, loved by them. But when Nesta thought about it now, all she could feel was the tightness in her chest, the frustration, the resentment. She wasn’t sure if it was the men or herself she hated more, because somehow she felt complicit in it all. She let them define her, let them use her, let them claim her, even when it made her feel empty inside.

And now, she sat here, with Taryn, who was the opposite of all those expectations, who didn’t want a man at all. It made Nesta’s mind spin. How could someone—someone like her—be different? How could a woman choose to love another woman? It felt like an intrusion on everything she had been taught, like a rejection of her very existence. The very idea of it, of choosing a woman, felt so foreign and wrong, even if Nesta knew in her heart that Taryn wasn’t broken, wasn’t flawed.

It was her mother’s voice in her head, the disapproving glare she’d have if she knew. It was the legacy of generations of women who had never been given a choice, whose only purpose was to serve men.

As the silence stretched between them, Nesta couldn’t shake the feeling that Taryn might be able to see right through her, to the ugly thoughts lurking beneath the surface. She felt a cold knot twist in her stomach. What if Taryn knew? What if she could somehow read Nesta’s mind, understand the internalized disgust, the way her brain rejected this idea of women loving women?

Would Taryn hate her for it? For the part of her that recoiled at the thought? For the way she had been taught to see things in such narrow, rigid lines—men, women, roles, rules? The part of her that had tried to bury everything she thought she knew about herself, to keep it locked away so no one could see just how deeply confused she was by this new world she was stumbling into.

The thought gnawed at her. Taryn had never pushed, never tried to make Nesta feel anything other than comfortable, but Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if Taryn would look at her differently if she knew what was really running through her mind. Could she still see her as someone worthy of her company, or would she see the disgust, the shame?

The last thing Nesta wanted was to lose the only person who hadn’t looked at her like she was broken—who hadn’t looked at her like she was someone to be fixed, or worse, to be discarded. Taryn had made no judgment, offered no expectations. But now, Nesta felt like a fraud. Was it even possible to be around someone like Taryn without being honest with herself? Would Taryn hate her for thinking she wasn’t even capable of understanding who she truly was?

The weight of it all settled in her chest, the fear and the shame wrapping around her, tightening with each passing moment. She had come here, night after night, trying to numb herself, to forget. But now, she had no choice but to wonder if, deep down, Taryn could see her for what she truly was: a woman who didn’t even know herself enough to trust her own thoughts, a woman scared of everything she felt, of everything she was.

The night she’d run, it had felt like everything had collapsed on her. She had been suffocating under the weight of her own thoughts, the fear, the shame, the uncertainty. The silence that had stretched between her and Taryn had felt suffocating, and for the first time in a long while, Nesta had wanted to scream, to lash out at something, at someone. But instead, she had done what she always did when things felt too much—she ran.

Her feet had carried her out of the tavern before she even knew what she was doing. She hadn’t said a word to Taryn, not a single syllable, even as she saw the confusion in her gaze. She had just turned and fled, not caring where she went, just needing to escape. Escape from herself, from the thoughts she couldn’t stop, from the feelings she couldn’t control.

After that night, she hadn’t returned. Not once. The thought of walking through the door again, of facing Taryn, of facing herself, had felt impossible. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself go back there. What if Taryn saw the truth? What if she knew how broken, how lost Nesta really was? What if she saw how much she hated herself, how much she despised everything she had come to believe about herself, her desires, her place in the world? It was easier to just avoid it all, to pretend she had never gone to the tavern in the first place.

So she ran. It was the only thing she knew how to do. When things got too hard, when the weight of it all became too heavy, she ran. She ran from the pain, from the thoughts she couldn’t escape, from the guilt that seemed to follow her everywhere. She ran from herself, because it was easier than facing the truth.

Each night, she found herself staying away from the places that once felt like a refuge, from the people who might see through her carefully constructed facade. The tavern had been a place of escape, a place where she could lose herself in drink and company, but now it was just another reminder of how far she had fallen, how much she was drowning in her own mind.

And so, Nesta kept running. From everything. From the woman who had never asked her for anything more than to be herself. From the very thing she was too scared to understand. And, most of all, from the person she might become if she ever stopped long enough to look.

One night, after weeks of running, Nesta had found herself standing at the edge of a decision. She had tried to convince herself it was time to stop hiding, to stop running. The pull of the tavern had been too strong, and there, amidst the warmth and the laughter, she had found herself looking at a woman, someone who seemed to gaze at her with an openness that stirred something deep inside her—a feeling she couldn’t name, something that felt raw and unguarded. It was tempting, too tempting to push away.

She had approached, hesitant but curious, the sharp edge of her emotions still cutting through her resolve. The woman had smiled, and they had shared a drink. The conversation had flowed easily, and Nesta felt a strange, fleeting connection. She had told herself it was just a drink, just a conversation, that it didn’t have to mean anything. But in the back of her mind, she knew it was more. She wanted it to be more.

When the woman leaned in, her breath warm against Nesta’s skin, she didn’t pull away. It had felt so easy, so natural in the moment, and she had thought for a second—just a second—that maybe, just maybe, this was how it could feel.

But when the woman’s hands had touched her skin, when their lips had met, everything had shattered.

It wasn’t the woman’s fault. It wasn’t even her fault. But as the kiss deepened, as the heat of her touch spread through Nesta, a wave of discomfort hit her, too strong to ignore. The hands on her body felt wrong—too familiar, too foreign at the same time. The lips, the warmth, the taste—it all blurred together into something unnatural. Her stomach twisted, her chest tightened, and her mind screamed for her to stop.

And then the voices came. The voices she’d tried so hard to push down, to ignore. You were never meant for this, they whispered, cold and harsh. This is wrong. You’re not supposed to want this. You’re not supposed to be like them. Her mind, once so clouded by drink, now seemed crystal clear, every word sharp, every fear magnified. She heard her mother’s voice, distant but unmistakable—You are a disappointment. A failure. Do you really think they’ll accept you? The voices of men from her past, from her childhood, echoed next—You were made for a man. You’ll never be enough for anything else.

Her chest tightened painfully as she shoved the woman away, her hands trembling as she backed off, unable to breathe through the storm of thoughts and shame that overtook her. She felt trapped in her own skin, like every part of her was screaming at her, telling her she had done something unforgivable. That she had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

Nesta didn’t even say anything. She just turned and ran.

She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself. The kiss hadn’t been bad—it wasn’t the woman’s fault. It was her own mind that had betrayed her. She could still feel the heat of the woman’s skin against hers, but all she could hear were the horrible things in her head, the accusations and judgment she had spent so long trying to bury.

The guilt felt suffocating, the rejection of herself complete. She had wanted to give in, to let herself feel something different, something that was hers. But the moment it became real, her mind spiraled into chaos. The whispers of everything she had been taught, of everything she was supposed to be, consumed her.

Nesta had retreated into the dark confines of her apartment, the world outside fading into a blur she no longer wanted to confront. She barely left anymore, choosing to stay in the silence of her own misery. Each day bled into the next, a cycle of self-loathing and numbness. She had stopped even pretending to care about the world beyond her door. It was easier this way. Easier to hide from everyone, from everything, from the part of herself she didn’t understand and feared.

The apartment had become her refuge, but also her prison. The walls closed in on her, suffocating, but it didn’t matter. It felt like the only place she belonged now, the only place she could hide from herself. She spent her days numbing the pain—drinking, sleeping, avoiding. It was a hollow existence, but it was all she had.

Some nights, as the darkness crept in, Nesta found herself wishing she could disappear entirely. If she stayed here long enough, isolated and buried under her own guilt, maybe the world would forget about her. Maybe the whispers in her head would finally fade.

She had no real desire to live anymore. The constant weight of everything—the shame, the confusion, the fear—felt too heavy to bear. If she was lucky, maybe she’d wake up one day and find that it was over. That she had disappeared without a trace, like she had never existed at all.

But she didn’t die. Not yet. So she kept hiding, kept suffocating in the quiet, hoping for something—anything—to end it. The thought of dying seemed almost comforting. It would be easy to slip away, to not have to feel anymore, to not have to face the parts of herself that made her want to run and hide.

The knock at the door came suddenly, breaking the silence that had swallowed her whole. Nesta froze for a moment, sitting on the edge of her couch, eyes fixed on the door. For a heartbeat, she convinced herself it was Cassian. Maybe he was finally here to tell her how horrible she looked—how pathetic she had become. He would taunt her with some sharp, sarcastic comment, maybe even drop some well-meaning remark about how Feyre had been concerned, about how her family was worried for her. He might mock her for staying holed up in her apartment, running away from everything, expecting a comeback from her, some biting response to make him feel justified in his judgment.

It would be just like him.

Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from the dread of facing him—of hearing him look down on her again. The thought of seeing his face made her stomach churn. What did it matter if he came? He wouldn’t understand. He never did.

But then the knock came again, louder this time, pulling her from her spiral. She gritted her teeth and stood, her legs shaky as she walked toward the door. Her breath hitched in her throat, and for a moment, she considered ignoring it. Let whoever it was think she wasn’t home. Let them go away.

But the knock persisted, and against her better judgment, she turned the handle.

When the door creaked open, it wasn’t Cassian standing there.

It was Taryn.

Nesta tensed, every muscle in her body tightening as she stood in the doorway, staring at Taryn. Her mind screamed at her to close the door, to retreat back into the safety of her isolation. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need anyone seeing the mess she had become, seeing how far she had fallen. But for some reason, her feet didn’t move, and she found herself staring into Taryn’s calm, unwavering gaze.

“What do you want?” Nesta asked, her voice harsher than she intended. Her stomach twisted with unease, but Taryn didn’t flinch.

Taryn tilted her head slightly, a faint, knowing smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Company,” she said simply. “I thought I’d come by, see how you’re doing.” She paused for a moment, as though weighing her words carefully. “If you don’t mind.”

Nesta’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt the walls of her apartment pressing in, felt the weight of every empty bottle, every wasted night, all of it hanging heavy in the air. She wanted to slam the door in Taryn’s face, tell her to leave, but she couldn’t. Something held her there.

Taryn didn’t look disgusted or appalled by the mess—she didn’t even flinch when her eyes scanned the room. Her expression remained the same: calm, open, unbothered. Nesta almost wished she would say something—anything—that would make this easier. But instead, she just waited, quiet and patient.

Nesta swallowed, her voice coming out almost a whisper. “How did you know where I lived?”

Taryn didn’t seem surprised by the question. She simply shrugged, her eyes never leaving Nesta’s. “You’re not as hard to find as you think,” she said, her tone light, teasing. “I pay attention.”

The words hung in the air, and Nesta felt a strange, uncomfortable shiver run down her spine. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that made her so hesitant, so conflicted. Was it the fact that Taryn had found her so easily? Or was it the way she made Nesta feel—like someone cared, like someone was actually willing to step into her mess without turning away in disgust?

Nesta didn’t answer right away, her thoughts a tangle of confusion and something she couldn’t quite name. She should send Taryn away. She should shut the door, lock it, and forget this ever happened.

But then she felt herself step aside, the door opening just enough for Taryn to slip past her. A part of Nesta wanted to stop her, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Fine,” Nesta muttered under her breath, almost to herself. “You can come in.”

Taryn gave a quiet nod, stepping into the dingy apartment with a grace that almost made it feel less suffocating. She didn’t comment on the state of the place, didn’t judge Nesta as she thought she would. Instead, she simply walked in, her presence calm, her eyes taking in the room without speaking. It was as though she had seen it all before.

Nesta closed the door behind them, the weight of the decision settling heavily in her chest, but she didn’t regret it. Not yet.

Taryn’s voice was soft but certain as she glanced around the cramped apartment, her eyes landing on Nesta. “Are you hungry?”

Nesta almost wanted to laugh at the question. Hunger felt like an impossible thing to focus on—so distant, so unimportant compared to everything else swirling in her head. She shook her head, her voice dismissive as she replied, “No.”

But as soon as the word left her mouth, her stomach growled—loud, unrelenting, betraying her in a way that made her wish she could disappear into the floor. She flushed, embarrassed, but tried to hide it by crossing her arms tightly over her chest, looking away.

Taryn didn’t miss it. Her gaze softened, a small, knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Alright then,” she said, as though it were no surprise. “I’ll make something. You look like you could use it.”

Nesta wanted to protest, wanted to tell her she didn’t need anything, but Taryn had already turned toward the kitchen before she could voice another word. Nesta stood frozen for a moment, watching her. She didn’t know why Taryn had decided to stay, why she seemed so determined to take care of her when Nesta had been doing nothing but pushing everyone away. The kitchen was barely big enough to be called a kitchen, just a small counter and a stove with cabinets that had seen better days. Nesta knew there wasn’t much in the cupboards. A few cans of vegetables, some dried pasta, maybe a bottle of sauce if she was lucky. She hadn’t made much of an effort to restock lately.

She rubbed her face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling on her shoulders. Why does she care?

Taryn, though, didn’t seem bothered by the small, threadbare apartment. She walked over to the counter with a calm, purposeful air, and as she started pulling out ingredients, her movements were fluid, practiced—like someone who had done this countless times before. It made Nesta feel awkward in contrast, as if her own existence in this space wasn’t enough. She had no idea why Taryn would want to be here, but a part of her was too tired to question it.

Nesta moved toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as she watched Taryn work. Her mouth felt dry, her stomach protesting as the scent of something delicious began to fill the air. It wasn’t much, just a simple meal, but the warmth of it felt like something she hadn’t experienced in far too long.

Taryn turned to Nesta, her hands steady and sure as she set a plate in front of her. The dish was simple—scrambled eggs with soft, buttery potatoes and a side of fresh herbs sprinkled over the top. There was something rustic about it, nothing extravagant, but the way the steam rose from the plate and the rich smell of the food made Nesta’s stomach growl again.

She looked at the plate, unsure how to react. It wasn’t much, but it was the kind of thing that someone would make for you because they cared, not because they were obligated. The warm yellow of the eggs, the golden crisp of the potatoes, and the fresh green herbs dotted on top—it all seemed so foreign to her now. She hadn’t felt like she deserved something like this in ages.

Taryn stood back, watching Nesta’s expression carefully, her eyes calm but knowing. “Eat,” she said quietly, her voice soft but firm. “You need it.”

Nesta hesitated for a moment, still unsure of what to make of it. She didn’t want to accept kindness. She didn’t want to let anyone see her weakness. But as she sat there, the hunger that had been gnawing at her for days surged forward, her body demanding attention. She slowly picked up the fork, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought a bite to her mouth.

The food was simple, yes, but the warmth of it was like a balm to the raw, hollow ache inside her. It was comforting, in a way she hadn’t realized she needed, and despite herself, she found herself taking another bite.

Taryn, who had sat across from her with her own plate in hand, simply watched her with a quiet understanding. There was no judgment in her gaze, only something that felt like patience, like she knew this was just a small step.

But it felt bigger to Nesta—like a crack in the wall she’d built around herself.

As Nesta set the fork down, her stomach full but still tight with an uncomfortable mix of hunger and unease, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The silence between them stretched for a moment, and just as she thought she might breathe easier, Taryn’s voice broke through it, soft but unyielding.

“I know what happened,” she said, her gaze unwavering, eyes steady on Nesta.

The words hit her like a blow to the chest, and immediately, Nesta’s stomach twisted. Her breath caught in her throat, the sudden rush of nausea threatening to push everything she’d just eaten right back up. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t breathe. Her pulse raced, her skin feeling too tight, too warm.

The last thing she wanted was to talk about it. She didn’t want to relive it, didn’t want anyone to know the ugly things she’d buried in her past, things she hadn’t even let herself acknowledge until now. She should have seen it coming—Taryn was perceptive, too observant for her own good. But hearing those words from her lips was like standing on the edge of a cliff, with the wind howling in her ears, ready to push her over.

Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nesta forced out, her voice strained, cracking under the weight of the lie.

But Taryn didn’t push her. Instead, she sat back in her chair, quiet, waiting for Nesta to meet her gaze, her expression calm, almost unreadable. The silence stretched, and Nesta felt her chest tighten, her heart pounding painfully. She couldn’t even look at her—couldn’t stand the thought of being seen so completely, so raw.

She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to disappear. Instead, all she could do was breathe, shallow and quick, as the room seemed to close in around her.

“I’m not going to force you to talk,” Taryn said softly, her voice gentle but firm, like she knew Nesta needed that space.

Taryn’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it felt like a lifeline in the thick, suffocating silence. “It’s okay,” she said, her tone steady and warm. “You don’t have to be okay right now.”

And then something cracked inside Nesta.

The words weren’t anything special—they didn’t offer a solution or make any promises. But the way Taryn said them, with such quiet understanding and no expectation, it was enough. It was enough to tear away the facade Nesta had been holding together for so long, enough to let the tears fall. She wasn’t ready for it, didn’t even know why it was happening, but suddenly there was no stopping it.

Her breath hitched, the dam inside her breaking, and before she could even think, the tears spilled over. She didn’t make a sound at first, just blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the feeling of weakness, of being so exposed. But it didn’t help. The tears kept coming, faster now, like a storm she couldn’t control.

And still, Taryn didn’t say anything more. She didn’t reach for Nesta or try to comfort her in some grand, overbearing way. She just sat there, still and patient, letting Nesta cry, letting her feel what she’d been holding inside for far too long. There was no judgment in her eyes, no pity. Just a quiet acceptance, like she understood, like she knew that sometimes, it wasn’t about fixing things—it was just about being there.

Nesta wiped at her eyes roughly, but the tears didn’t stop. She felt embarrassed, humiliated even, but something in her—some part that had been broken for so long—was unraveling. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t known she needed it, but the simple act of letting someone in, letting someone see the cracks, felt like a release. It felt like freedom.

Taryn didn’t rush her, didn’t try to say anything else. She just stayed silent, her gaze soft but unwavering, like she was giving Nesta the time she needed, even if Nesta didn’t know how much time that would be.

She just let her cry.

And Nesta didn’t stop.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites @viajandopelomar

#anti acosf #anti acotar #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta #anti azriel #anti cassian #anti amren #anti night court #anti morrigan #anti nessian #sapphic nesta #crying into eggs core

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feyres-divorce-lawyer · 2 years ago

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sjm really named feyre, princess of carrion, cassian, lord of bloodshed, nesta, lady death, and rhysand, death incarnate, then said yeah let me pair feysand and nessian…..

#miss janet failing to to understand her own characters -_-#common sjm L #feyre and cassian who are fighters at their core #nesta and rhys who are scholars at their core #look me in the eye and tell me they’re not perfect matches #feyssian #rhysta #anti feysand #anti nessian

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ladydeath-vanserra · 1 year ago

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the elriel + feysand stan duo and dunking on Nesta OR saying that acosf was good for Nesta OR a redemption arc is so weirdly consistent with the "Nesta is Abusive" + Pro Rhysand Bootlicker narratives im just so intrigued

#the nesta poat inrecently reblogged where op was originally defending acosf is apparently hard core e*riel how interesting #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #sjm critical #anti rhysand #anti elriel #anti feysand

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dimalry · 6 months ago

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Feyre Archeron, but as Feyre Cursebreaker instead of the High Lady. What if she had to visit the courts to understand and master her powers? Since the whole High King crap didn’t work the first time, Feyre could instead take on the role of keeping peace and balance between the courts, as well as saving and protecting Prythian’s magic (Atla reference). Have Tamlin’s paranoia come true about people coming after her because she possesses the High Lords’ magic. It would add layers of tension and danger to her journey.

It would also be interesting to see each court as equally powerful and none can survive without the others. Imagine the dynamic between Rhysand vs Tamlin, with the Spring Court being such a vital core of Prythian- interconnected with and as necessary as the Night Court.

Feysand, but with Rhys as a morally gray character who cares only about his own gain. The sole reason he kept Feyre alive Under the Mountain was because she was the key to his freedom and nothing more. After Feyre gains power from each High Lord and becomes a symbol of freedom and peace (something similar), Rhys begins to see her as a weapon- a means to make his court the most powerful of them all (he lies to her that he needs her to win the war and save Prythian). But will he stay true to his ambitions when he finds himself falling in love with her? 😏 (They both aren’t aware of the mating bond)

Idk, this is just a fun concept. Let me know what you think.

#feyre archeron #feysand #rhysand #acotar #concept art #storytelling #digital art #sketches #illustration

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azsazz · 10 months ago

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Severance

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Idk if you’re taking requests and it’s okay if you aren’t but I was rereading Feysand bonus chapter and it mentions that Feyre’s libido was heightened due to pregnancy and really wanted a fic where we see that with Az and reader bc I LOVE LOVE your daddy!Az fics and it would be funny seeing Az being a dad but also finding time to pleasure his pregnant mate due to hormones that man’s schedule would be jammed pack hahaha

Warnings: Smut, reader is pregnant, light breeding kink.

Word Count: 2061

Notes: This req is literally from a year ago today 😳 now that's some sort of fate (or mad laziness lol) Also, it's been a hot minute since I've written some smut hopefully it's good.

Bat Babies ages in this fic: Wren, Nyx, Gid 8, Baz 6, Zuzu 3, Jax 2, Knox and Malos in the womb.

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“Wren,” you sigh exasperatedly at your eight year old, “Please go play with your siblings. Mommy just needs a few minutes to herself.”

It’s hard to keep your tone cool and level while your core is burning, dripping for the mate who’s stepped into the shadows whilst you bargain with your son. The both of you had snuck off for a few quick kisses that turned into something more, and it’s the first time you’ve had any time to yourselves in weeks. You don’t know if it’s being pregnant with two babies this time around making every single one of your senses heightened, but you don’t recall being this horny for your mate during your first four pregnancies.

Oh, you were insatiable, sweetheart, your mate purrs in your mind. You can feel the smugness radiating off of him not only from the bond tethering you, but from where he stands, five feet away and shrouded in darkness. And I loved every moment of it. You did too, of course.

You shut your eyes for a long second so your oldest son doesn’t catch you rolling them. I would love for you to remind me of just how much I loved it, mate, you send back, letting your frustrated desperation cling to your words, if we can ever seem to find the time.

Last week, Zuzu refused to go to Feyre’s painting class even though all of the other cousins were going in for a private session the High Lady had set up specifically so that you and your mate could spend the night alone together. She spent the entire time latched to Azriel’s leg and crying her little eyes out until the both of you gave in and let your daughter stay home. Your only saving grace that night was getting to lounge on the couch with a good book—that really only made you hornier for your mate—whilst Azriel and Zuzu baked cookies in the kitchen and hand delivered them to you with a large glass of milk.

A few days ago, it was Baz who had trouble sleeping and came pounding at your door while your mate was three fingers deep into your sopping cunt. The both of you had hastily gotten dressed, grumbling the entire time you did so, and let your second oldest son into the room. Azriel swiftly avoided Baz’s questioning about why your door had been locked in the first place, and the both of you watched him crawl up onto your bed and settle in the center of the tangled sheets, looking at the both of you expectantly. Baz talked your ears off all night long.

And it was only last night when Jax who couldn’t be consoled when he couldn’t find his stuffed Suriel for bedtime. Azriel spent an hour scouring your house for the toy while you held Jax close, trying to keep your own emotions calm and serene instead of the frustration you wanted to give into, lest your son pick up on them and dampen his mood further. Even with his keen spymaster abilities and the shadows he’d released to help the cause, Azriel came up empty.

With four young children and twins on the way, it seemed as though they always knew the perfect time to interrupt you and your mate every time you tried to get close to each other.

Wren frowns, his head falling back on his shoulders as he stares up at you with those hazel eyes that are a gift from his father. They’re pleading, and he really wants to have that sleepover with Gideon and Nyx, but you’ve never been a sucker for those pleading looks. If Wren thinks that huffing and puffing and making sad faces is going to change your mind, he came to the wrong parent.

Especially since he’s interrupted your fun as well.

You tap your foot, waiting your son out. He stares, and you stare back. You even cross your arms over your chest, resting them over the swollenness of your stomach, nearly two-thirds of the way through your pregnancy.

Your body goes taut at the feeling that Azriel lets zip down the bond. It’s one of complete arousal, his obsession with you when you make that stern face.

It takes all of your willpower not to shift on your feet with the rush of wetness that accompanies the feeling of heat rushing through your veins. Not to clench your thighs together or glance over to where your mate stands, probably staring at you with his hazel eyes, filled with need.

Not that you’d be able to see him in the darkness anyway.

Wren’s pleading draws your attention away from your desires and back to the matter at hand.

“Please, mom!”

Clearing your throat so that it doesn’t falter when you speak, you answer. “You may have a sleepover with Nyx and Gideon tomorrow night if you're a good boy tonight. And that means playing with your siblings for a few minutes until I come to take Jax and Zuz for their baths.”

You’re pretty sure you lost your eldest son when you agreed to the sleepover, and you nearly stumble when he throws himself at you, hugging you tight.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Wren screeches with excitement, and your heart grows when he places a fleeting kiss to your stomach and bolts from the room. You can hear him tearing down the halls to where Baz is loudly making the toys in the living room speak.

“Sweetheart, are you crying?” Azriel’s voice startles you. No longer is he hiding in the shadows, but at your side, swiping a calloused thumb across your cheek, swiping away the wetness.

“He’s just so sweet,” you gush, leaning into your mate’s arms. You press your ear to his chest, listening to the steady and strong thumping of his heart. You love this man and everything that you’ve built together. Through all of the missions and worrying, to building a home and family together, you truly are grateful for the life that you live.

“You know what else is sweet?” Azriel says, his suggestive whisper caressing the shell of your ear. It causes you to shiver, fingers curling into his shirt as he pulls you closer, lifting you easily into his arms.

“What?” you answer breathlessly, already losing yourself to your mate’s touch again. Namely, his thick cock brushing against your cunt with each step closer to the desk in the office he takes.

You don’t even have to worry about the kids right now. You can fall into the bliss you’ve been so desperately trying to find for the past week, because you noted how Azriel’s shadows trailed your son from the room, at least one always with every child at all times of the day.

“You.” His lips slant over yours, his tongue parting your lips with ease. You meet him halfway, licking, tasting your way as his hands hike up the skirts of your dress and pull your panties to the side as soon as your ass hits the edge of the wooden desk. “Tell me what you need, mate.”

There isn’t time for foreplay, for teasing nips of teeth against your hardened nipples. They’re rubbing against the fabric of your dress just fine. No time for orgasms by his hands, his tongue. You’d hardly be able to enjoy the view of Azriel on his knees for you with the size of your bump.

“Your cock,” you whimper, trying desperately to keep your voice low.

You shudder against the fingers he drags across your cunt, swiping through your slick. You’re ready, more than. You need him right this instant.

Azriel swallows the plea you’re about to release, enjoying the way you tug on his hair as a way to reprimand him. It has him grinning into the kiss, his fingers quickly fumbling with his belt because he’s just as desperate as you are, having not nearly been near you—or in you—enough in the past few weeks.

Your pesky children are always interrupting.

“Your wish is my command,” he answers easily, and your back arches as he rubs the head of his cock across your sopping heat.

Azriel almost snarls with pleasure at the sight of your bump pressing sky-high. He leans in closer, loving the feeling of the three of you close. You’re so fucking beautiful, and there’s something special about how you look swollen with his child, something the both of you made.

He’s seen it four times over by now, and it never gets fucking old. He’ll keep you good and pregnant until you tell him you don’t want any more children.

And he loves the way you writhe against him, hook your legs around his waist, trying to force him closer, your cunt greedily trying to suck his cock deep into your womb. Loves the way your nails pinch into his shoulders, the way your teeth latch onto his lip to keep quiet when he pushes into you in one fell swoop.

There’s a burst of blood on his tongue but Azriel loves it, quickly pulling out and pressing back in so that you’ll bite him again. When you come down from your high, you’ll apologize profusely, but he doesn’t care, likes a bit of pain with his pleasure.

He’ll revel in the redness of your cheeks when your children ask him what happened to him later, though.

“Azriel,” you cry, clutching onto your mate for dear life. You love the feeling of his thick cock stretching you, the gushing between your legs when he so easily finds that spot that has you cumming within seconds like some whore. He knows that you need this release, that the both of you need to be quick and quiet with your fucking. Your children can only be occupied for so long.

“I’ll make sure Cassian or Rhys can take the children tomorrow,” Azriel promises against your mouth, smothering the sounds you make for him. He’s just as desperate to hear you scream, the reminder of it has heat pooling in his core, his pace quickening. “Then, you can scream as loud as you want, mate, all night long.”

A second orgasm washes over you like a wave. Azriel didn’t even have to stick his hands between the both of you, but he is now, wanting one more before he releases himself. It’s brewing quickly, and he circles his fingers over your clit, skilled and an expert at everything that has to do with you.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You beg, hips rolling to meet his. Azriel groans into your neck, sucking harshly and laving his tongue over the hurt.

“I’m going to cum,” he pants harshly, straightening to his full height to look down at you in all of your sexed-out glory. The way you can barely keep yourself braced against the desk, the way your mouth is parted in that perfect shape that almost makes him want to pull out and stick his cock down your throat instead. The way that your eyes are rolled so far into the back of your head that you can see the bond connecting the both of you, completely overcome with desire.

You keen your agreement, words jumbled as he takes you to your peak again, the both of you shuddering with pleasure as your orgasms overcome you.

He rubs you through your pleasure, rocking his hips slowly as he empties himself deeply inside of you. If you weren’t already pregnant, Azriel’s sure you would be now, with how much cum he’s pumping inside of you.

Your mate hugs you close, rubbing your back until you come down from your high.

You lean back, blinking up at him blearily, and it makes Azriel want to take you all over again.

“Is that a promise, mate?” You ask, referring to him making sure that all of your children will be away at their aunts and uncles tomorrow night, leaving the both of you to yourselves. Well, plus the two in your uterus.

Azriel hums, finally pulling out of you. You gasp at the loss but his fingers are there, stuffing the leaking cum back into your cunt. You’re not sure your legs can support you right now, but they don’t need to, because you’re already rearing for another round.

“It’s a promise, sweetheart.”

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #daddyaz #daddy!azriel #daddy azriel #bat babies #azsazz batbabies

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jacksdreams · 17 days ago

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He thinks he'll be remembered as the villain in the story. But I forgot to tell him that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key. He was the one who let me out.

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depressedreader209 · 1 year ago

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feyre core

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youareatragedy · 4 months ago

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I don’t know if they ever touched on this in the books, but I find it odd that in a group of really really attractive people, not a single one of the IC members has at least one bastard child. Okay, Amren shouldn’t count (and maybe Mor too with her trauma), but the three supposedly hottest guys in high-ranking positions in their court? And they do sleep around. I’m shocked none of them has a bastard, including Rhysand, because he’s a High Lord.

Realistically, as the sole heir, shouldn’t he at least think about securing his bloodline as soon as he can? At its core, the one thing he can secure is his bloodline and family name, right? Since it’s the magic that chooses the next HL (and all of it is about power) the magic wouldn’t care whether that person is a bastard or not. He could at least try to secure his family name while hoping his bastard ends up being the next HL.

And please don’t say, “they just haven’t found the right person yet” because that misses the point of the word 'bastard'. Or “there was a war” because that sure as hell didn’t stop Feysand from being dumb and having a kid when it was almost guaranteed that there’d be a war with Beron/Koschei coming. And “It’s hard for fae to conceive” is such a weak excuse too. These guys have been screwing around for hundreds of years (maybe thousands of female??). SJM could easily make one of them have a bastard child.

It just seems stupid and like it’s trying too hard to make them seem oh so noble and waiting for their mates (remember 'mates' should be a very rare thing anyway). Because even though he doesn’t know, Helion has a bastard. So why not anyone in the IC? Maybe SJM could actually do something interesting and introduce Cassian’s bastard in the next book... and it’s Balthazar. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA (literally laughed as I typed this).

Prythian’s contraceptive methods are apparently very effective and they probably have great abortion care… unless you’re Feyre.

#dont know how to tag this tbh #anti sjm #acotar critical #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #anti rhys #anti cassian #anti azriel

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throneofsapphics · 6 months ago

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hiii can you grant my christmas wish??

I WISH FOR DARK POLY WITH ANYONE

- weird 🧠 anon 💗💗

dangerous hands

poly!feysand x reader

summary: Feyre and Rhys debate how to get through to you.

warnings: dark poly!feysand, light smut, shoving

word count: 1006

a/n: yes I can! merry christmas to you!

Rhys ran his finger down your shoulder, you tightened under his touch. The corners of his mouth turned down, that was unusual. Usually his touch had the opposite effect on you.

He flattened his palm on your shoulder, the tense cord of your muscle beneath his fingers. Fingertips dug into your skin as he leaned down, his mouth mere inches from your ear. “Is everything alright, love?”

“Fine,” you replied, a moment too quick.

His hand moved, trailing across your chest to grip you, just firm enough for you to know he had control, that in a moment he could snap your neck and end your existence. He'd never do it, he loves you too dearly to let you die, even if that was your one true desire. Besides, your death would destroy Feyre, and he could never do that to her.

He tilted your head back enough for their eyes to meet. “I don't like liars.”

You swallowed, her throat bobbing under his grip. “I'm not lying.” Rhys released you abruptly, shoving her a few paces away. You stumbled, barely catching yourself on the table, fingers white knuckled around wood, breaths heavy, head bowed.

Rhys loved you, but right now he had other things to worry about. “We'll talk later,” he said, and watched as you fled the room. Probably off to tell Feyre, and in turn get him in trouble with his mate. Sometimes, his brothers and cousins words about you would pop into his mind, but he never questioned if they were right. He always knew they had to be wrong.

You were one of the loves of his life, after all. A burgeoning artist Feyre had discovered in the rainbow quarter and taken under her wing, and eventually into their household.

They promised they wouldn’t go into your mind again, not after last time

“But I know she’s lying to me. She’ll be asleep, she won’t know,” Rhys insisted, running a hand through his hair.

“That makes it worse. I don’t want to lose her either,” Feyre glanced at their closed bedroom door, “but that’s a sure way to make it happen.”

She had a different look on how to handle situations like this with you. Rhys would try to push his way through, attempt a hundred different ways of getting through to you, but Feyre had learned patience worked best, that you'd come to them when you were ready. After all, you'd already learned there was no getting away from them.

But if the time came where she had to draw a line between invading your subconscious and losing you? Feyre already knew which side she stood on. The three of you were made, destined, to be together, no matter what it took. No matter what lines might need to be crossed, but there was a balance and she was doing her best to strike it.

“Let's go to bed,” Feyre murmured to Rhys, leaning up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned and their mouths caught each other, meeting in a sweet night's dream. He backed her against the wall, hands around her waist. One leg parted hers, her head arching back as he pressed against her core.

Just before a gasp could escape her lips, his hand pressed over her mouth, his lips grazing her ear. “Can you make yourself come like this, Feyre darling?”

She nodded rapidly.

Minutes later, the door opened and they slipped inside. You were laid near the edge of the bed, one arm hanging off. Normally they'd roll you to the middle, but Feyre glanced at Rhys, the evidence that he hadn't been completely satisfied, and slipped into the middle of the bed.

Neither noticed when you slipped out in the middle of the night. Neither noticed when a lone figured crossed past the wards surrounding their home. Neither noticed as you tasted freedom, bittersweet on your tongue.

They could forgive any sin of yours, but this one was stretching it. You couldn't save yourself, you were vulnerable, in danger, and despite his attempt to move the moon and stars to get you back to them, Rhys couldn't find you.

He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the end of the now constantly disheveled strands.

Feyre was pensive, Nyx wouldn't stop crying, and Rhys? Rhys couldn't fix his mind.

They'd entertained the thought that you were taken for approximately five seconds, you'd been biting at the leash, so to say, for far too long for that to be reasonable, but they hadn't stricken it entirely. Did you stage your own kidnapping somehow?

Sleep. Rhys needed to sleep, his thoughts kept circling over and over to dangerous places.

He should've slipped into your mind, ignored Feyre's concerns, ignored everything raging against his instincts.

One week without you, and they were falling apart at the seams. Not even that, the entire world felt like it was exploding. He was back in the war, Feyre in spring with limited contact, but this time? He couldn't reach you, no matter how hard he tried. Had you been afraid they'd read your mind and find impenetrable barriers?

Had someone gifted you something to block them out? Did something like that exist?

This line of thinking was getting him absolutely nowhere, but every mental road he led down always brought him back to more…

“Fucking questions,” Rhys slammed his hand down on his desk. “I need a damned answer,” he whispered, a broken plea.

“I might have something for you,” Azriel appeared in the doorway. He wasn't surprised he'd managed to sneak up on him like that. It wasn't too terribly hard to do in his current state, at least for a shadowsinger.

Still, he lifted his head to meet unreadable hazel eyes as the male crossed the short distance between them, letting a folded piece of paper flop down on the table.

He unfolded it, and for the first time in a week, Rhys grinned. The type of grin that promised retribution.

#acotar fic #feysand x y/n #feysand x reader #dark!feysand #poly!feysand x y/n #poly!feysand x reader #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #feyre archeron x y/n #feyre archeron x reader

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littlest-w01f · 3 months ago

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Celestial

Feysand x Reader

For @starfallweek [hosted by: @azsazz and @writingsbychlo]

Starfall Week 2025 Masterlist

Day 7 - What if getting struck by a Starfall Star invoked a new power within Character A? How might Character B react?

Summary: Starlight is the core power of Night. And getting struck by a pure streak of it, ended up giving you some unseen gifts of Night.

Cw: None

Starlight was known to be pure Night, there was no form of magic bigger than starlight. It was in everything, it was the essence of Night. So it was easy to figure out that when a streak of it struck you, it would leave with something new

As you stood beneath the celestial canvas, your skin tingled with anticipation, watching Starfall. The night air hummed with otherworldly energy as if the very stars themselves were alive and whispering secrets. You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply, and felt the weight of starlight settling upon you like a gentle rain.

A shimmering trail of silver light danced across the sky, weaving an intricate pattern. Without thinking, you extended your palm upwards, as if beckoning the celestial light closer.

The moment the star made contact, a jolt of energy surged through your body. You gasped, feeling the starlight coursing like liquid fire within your veins. The sensation was both exhilarating and terrifying, leaving you breathless and trembling.

When you opened your eyes again, they gleamed with an ethereal luminescence, casting an aura of mystique around your delicate features. You were in a bed, their bed as your High Lady and Lord stood over you, worry written all over their features.

Feyre's gaze searched yours, trying to discern the extent of the change that had taken place. She reached out a hand, hesitating for just a moment before gently touching your cheek. Her fingers brushed against the radiant glow emanating from your skin, and she flinched slightly at the unexpected warmth.

"I... I don't know what happened," You whispered, still reeling from the encounter with the starlight. Your voice sounded foreign, resonating with an otherworldly timbre that sent shivers down Feyre's spine.

Rhysand sat beside you, he reached to hold your hand and flinched the same, "It was just starlight, it shouldn't have made you pass out. It could be something to do with you not being from Night... But..."

His words trailed off as he studied your face more closely, noticing the subtle changes in your appearance. Your lips, once a soft pink, now held a faint blue hue, almost imperceptible but undeniable. He exchanged a concerned glance with Feyre, who nodded grimly.

As Feyre helped you sit up, you noticed the way her eyes lingered on your hands, the ones that had touched the starlight. A flicker of unease ran through you, but you pushed it aside, focusing instead on the strange sensations coursing through your body.

"Can... Can you not touch me anymore?" You asked them, worried at the thought of them never holding you again.

Feyre's expression softened, and she reached out tentatively, letting her fingertips brush against your arm. "Of course we can still touch you. We're not afraid of a little starlight." Rhysand nodded in agreement, his thumb stroking the back of your hand reassuringly.

However, their attempts at comfort only seemed to heighten your anxiety. You pulled away slightly, needing space to process this newfound awareness of yourself. "I don't understand what's happening to me," You admitted, frustration creeping into your voice. "This power, these changes... They're not natural. I'm Day, not Night."

Feyre sighed, her brow furrowing in concern. "We'll figure it out together, I promise. But first, let's get you some rest. You've been through quite an ordeal." She guided you back under the covers, tucking you in warmly.

Rhysand sighed, rubbing his temple, turning to Feyre, "We've never encountered anyone like this before, someone who absorbs starlight and begins to exhibit Night traits. Making you into High Fae gave you the powers of all Courts. But starlight?"

The implications of their words sank in, sending a chill down your spine. You were something else entirely now, a mysterious fusion of Day and Night, born from the very essence of the cosmos.

"I think it chose you." Feyre said softly, holding your paling hand, a surge of electricity rushed through you. As Feyre's words echoed through the chamber, the room began to spin, colours bleeding into one another. "Starfall stars don't randomly land on you."

The electric current from Feyre's touch intensified, pulsing through your veins like a heartbeat. You gasped, feeling the starlight within you respond, the electricity was yours, not Feyre's, coiling tighter, ready to unleash its full potential.

Suddenly, the room stilled, the spinning colours fading into a mix of blues and purples. You blinked, disoriented, as Feyre's hand slid from yours, leaving behind a trail of glittering stardust.

"What did it do?" Rhysand asked, his voice laced with worry as he watched you, waiting for signs of what might come next, for something he'd never seen before.

You took a shaky breath, trying to calm the turmoil inside you. The starlight pulsed within, urging you to embrace its power. Slowly, you raised your hands, studying the glowing trails left behind by Feyre's touch. With a tentative gesture, you brought your palms together, feeling the electricity crackle between them.

To your amazement, the sparks grew brighter, swirling into a miniature vortex above your joined hands. The air around you shimmered, as if reality itself was bending to accommodate the raw energy. You gasped, realizing the true extent of the starlight's influence - it had awakened a part of you that defied explanation.

Feyre and Rhysand watched in awe, their faces illuminated by the dancing lights. "By the stars," Rhysand breathed, "you're a conduit for the celestial power."

The vortex intensified, growing larger and more complex, tendrils of light reaching out like grasping fingers. You felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the sheer force coursing through you. Feyre and Rhysand stepped back, their expressions a mix of fascination and fear.

Suddenly, the vortex exploded outward, bathing the room in a blinding radiance. When the light faded, you found yourself standing alone, the bed you were on nothing but stardust, the starlight reflected in your eyes. The changes it had wrought remained, etched into every cell.

You looked down at your hands, half-expecting to see them glowing once more. Instead, you noticed a subtle shift in them, the brown skin pulsing with silver, the nails sharpened into delicate claws. You lifted your gaze to meet Feyre's, seeing her own surprise mirrored in her eyes. "What have I become?"

Rhysand approached you, hands raised, as if he was cautious, "It's ok... We'll help you figure it out."

You nodded, trying to steady your racing heart as Rhysand drew near. The starlight still thrummed within you, a constant reminder of the transformative power that now resided within your very being.

"We need to understand your abilities," Feyre suggested, her voice measured and calm despite the shock of witnessing such a phenomenon. "For your safety, and ours."

Rhysand nodded in agreement, his violet eyes searching yours intently. "Let's start with small tests. See how much control you have over the starlight's effects."

You swallowed hard, steeling yourself for the unknown. "Alright… What do you suggest we try first?" As you spoke, the starlight within you responded, a soft glow emanating from your skin once more. You felt its eager pulse, a siren call to unleash its full potential.

Rhysand considered your question, his gaze flickering between you and Feyre as they conferred silently in their head. After a moment, he turned back to you, a hint of excitement colouring his tone. "How about we begin with something simple? Like making the room lighter or darker." He demonstrated the suggestion himself, effortlessly manipulating the darkness around him with a mere thought.

Now it was your turn. You focused on the starlight within, visualizing a gentle breeze rustling the silken curtains. As you willed it, the fabric swayed. Emboldened, you tried to warm the chilly air, imagining a cosy fire crackling in the hearth. You gasped when the curtains set on fire instantly, flames licking at the edges of the luxurious material.

"Shit!" Feyre leapt forward, her hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, dousing the blaze with a cool, soothing mist. Smoke curled upwards, dissipating into wisps of stardust.

Rhysand swiftly moved to Feyre's side, his presence calming even as he assessed the situation. "Careful, love," he murmured, though there was no real danger now thanks to Feyre's quick thinking. He glanced at you, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. "Perhaps we should start smaller next time, hmm?"

You nodded vigorously, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and the thrill of wielding such immense power. It was exhilarating yet terrifying, a double-edged sword you weren't yet sure how to wield properly.

"Remember, it's okay to make mistakes," Feyre reassured you gently, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. Her words soothed your frayed nerves, and you managed a weak smile in return. "Maybe don't burn the house down. We should take this outside."

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Sounds like a plan. Let's move this training session to the gardens. Plenty of fresh air and open space for our experimentations." He offered you his hand, helping you to your feet. As you stood, you noticed the way his touch sent shivers down your spine, the connection between you humming with barely contained energy. "You'll have to train these powers."

You sighed, looking back down at your slivering hands, "Now who will tell my brother about this?"

Rhysand's expression softened at the mention of your family. "Leave Helion to me. I'll handle the news and ensure he doesn't overreact." His confidence was reassuring, and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. "Right now, focus on mastering your abilities. That's what matters most."

Feyre nodded in agreement, her eyes shining with determination. "We can't predict the extent of your powers, but with practice, you'll grow stronger and more trained at controlling the starlight within you. Whatever it may do." She placed a reassuring hand on your arm, the warmth of her touch grounding you amidst the whirlwind of change.

Together, the three of you made your way to the sprawling gardens beyond the castle walls. The night air enveloped you, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and the distant hum of Night creatures.

{General Taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86}

{Rhysand Taglist- @yeonalie}

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