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[drenchedfireworks]

CRIED SCREAMED HURLED BASHED MY HEAD ON THE WALL

if you ever think you got it wrong - Feysand Oneshot

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

@shallyne ho, ho, hello there!

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

Read on AO3

-

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s your husband?”

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

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

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

“Are you enjoying city life?”

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

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

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

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

It was better than staying in her empty apartment.

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

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

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

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

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

They were strong hands, warm and broad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course Rhys had sent them, the meddling prick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of—

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

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

“I was a perfect gentleman,” Cassian protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You wound me,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s…”

Lonely. Crowded. Expensive.

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

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

Cassian groaned. “Not this again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just need a moment, Rhys.”

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

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

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

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

She froze.

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

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

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

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

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

She unlocked it.

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

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

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

Her voice cracked a little. “Everything.”

“Tell me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[drenchedfireworks]

Whatever you do, do not think about Elain torturing Lucien by pulling all her hair off her back and over her shoulder, and asking him to tighten the strings on her corset.

Lucien, praying for strength from higher forces, has to block out her scent, the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers, her hair that's tickling the side of his face, her nape, the slope of her throat, the dip of her waist- so, so tiny and the curve of her ass.

When he finally (miraculously) manages to tighten and ties all the strings together, Elain turns and shyly holds a box up to him, the lid open and displaying the single petal shaped ruby pendant with the rosegold chain, the delicate piece being the first gift he'd given her when he officially started courting her.

Her request does not have to be voiced. Carefully, Lucien takes it out of the box and lays it against her chest, once again trying to keep his focus on the task at hand and off the generous view of her cleavage and the supple skin of her breasts that was accentuated by the corset. Once Lucien is done, he steps back to admire his handiwork and catches his mate's eye in mirror, noticing her mischievous expression. She loves putting him on the spot. Courting her before they accepted the mating bond meant he could not act on his baser instincts that were begging him to rip the corset off her and take her to bed instead of the dinner they were getting ready for.

That doesn't mean he doesn't get his own revenge. Months later when he can finally undo those strings for a change, he does so with deliberate slowness that drives Elain half-mad until she turns and pulls on his belt, her mouth scrunching up in exasperation while she tries to make Lucien go quicker, rid her of her clothes faster. And he does. Until all she's wearing is the ruby pendant, one he hooks two fingers in and pulls her up with to kiss her while he's buried so deep in that she can feel him in her stomach.

Later, Lucien decides Elain needs a matching crown.

[drenchedfireworks]

You can be an Elucien shipper and still like the Night Court/IC. I promise no one is going to hunt you down and carve your heart out. Some of you take it too far and it's exhausting.

[drenchedfireworks]

I NEED RECS!😭

i think i have a newfound obsession with jealous loid forger fics

[drenchedfireworks]

"oh sorry, i guess i was infodumping again" - sad, shy, apologetic

"you sly dog, you got me monologuing" - cool, strong, confident

[drenchedfireworks]

WOAH I LOVE THIS

eden college student ID concept 📸

[drenchedfireworks]

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE THIS

If Lucien Vanserra isn't ripping someone's bodice off by the end of ACOTAR and she in return isn't pushing him down to the floor and riding his legendary thighs until he unravels in disbelief I don't want it.

[drenchedfireworks]

elain: *struggling to undo her corset*

lucien “professional bodice ripper” vanserra waking up in a cold sweat: somethings wrong.

[drenchedfireworks]

AND NOW I'M BAWLING

I smelled jasmine first—then saw stars. A sea of stars flickering beyond glowing pillars of moonstone that framed the sweeping view of endless snowcapped mountains.

“Welcome to the Night Court,” was all Rhys said.

It was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. —ACOMAF, Chapter 5.

[drenchedfireworks]

It's wild to me when I see booktokers finally read ACoTaR and then say things like "Wow this silly little fantasy book was actually good?" First of all, you like Den of Vipers- the bar is in hell.

Second of all, it's almost like they truly don't know that ACoTaR is quite famous. Like if you look up Famous Epic Fantasy Books to Read you'll get Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, ACoTaR AND ToG.

Miss Sarah Jennifer Maas did not write,

"To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered."

and

"I would have waited five hundred more years for you. A thousand years. And if this was all the time we were allowed to have... the wait was worth it."

and

"I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise."

and

"For it was music between their souls. Always had been. And his voice was her favorite melody."

just for you to call it a silly little fantasy book on a clock app.

[drenchedfireworks]

anon request | nikolai + shirtless (2.03 & 2.08)  

[drenchedfireworks]

i don’t care what people say, i LOVE rhysand. he gave everything to protect his family and his court. he sacrificed himself to keep them safe. he kept feyre from totally breaking under the mountain, gifted her music as an anchor there. he only wanted to keep her safe.

he may have made mistakes, but i think he always tries to do his best for the people he cares about. he should have acted different in some occasions, yes, but this is the same man who made sure there was a library where the priestesses who had been abused felt safe (mind you, the same one he used to go to after going back to velaris), the same man who used his last bit of power to make sure his family knew what was going to happen. he did it all for them, for this people, his family, his mate.

i also feel like some people like to forget what a hard life he has had, with everything that happened to his family and the, mind you, forty nine years under the mountain.

he made sure at least a bit of kindness and life remained with velaris and i can’t tell how much pain i felt when he talked about starfall and when he explained everything to feyre.

god, he even tried to help tamlin before, tried to be there for him. there’s goodness in his heart and people who refuse to see it and paint him as an evil male are blind.

oh, and i want to say that i felt so so angry when people kept calling him amarantha’s whore. i was so angry. and there hasn’t been apologies for it. ugh, it’s just so unfair.

and i know this doesn’t really have a coherent pace, but, at last, i need to say that i adore how much he loves his brothers, cassian and azriel, and mor and amrem. and feyre.

he’s just so SO in love with feyre, he would give everything for her. he made her his high lady, he didn’t give two fucks about that tradition. he helped her learn how to read, how to fight, how to control her powers. i think that’s one of the things i love most about him: he never, ever, tried to cut her wings. he never tried to undermine her.

i know he’s gonna be a wonderful dad to nyx and i’m so happy for them both. i wish we see how this little family loves and learns and blossoms.

i love him so so much.

[drenchedfireworks]

Feysand stans have never lost sleep and we love that for us

Me going to bed at night knowing Lucien himself has said Feyre was the better friend, Nesta is working to earn her family’s love, Tamlin is still a sad pathetic rabid animal, Feyre is surrounded by people who love and adore her, Nyx is going to be a mama’s boy, Feysand remains the center of this series, Rhys will keep on loving and defending her, Feysand (no matter what) will get their happy ending because the author of this series loves them, and no loud mouth anti in your ear will ever change the fact that everyone who has done Feyre dirty acknowledges that and is/were miserable because of it.

[drenchedfireworks]

Read someone saying "Eris is a dreamer but there are no stars in his world" AND NOW I'M SOBBING

[drenchedfireworks]

Azriel: *sneaks in through the window* Rhysand, turning in his chair and flicking the light on: You want to tell me where you've been all night? Azriel: I uh...I was with Cassian Cassian, turning in his own chair: Wanna try that again?

[drenchedfireworks]

Crying early in the morning😭

No Ending, No Beginning - Feysand Oneshot

The story of Feysand's wedding rings. Based on true events.

I suppose this is sort of a late submission to @officialrhysandweek Day 7: Free Day. This is not quite what I imagined writing for Rhys week, but the beginning of October harbors difficult memories for my family, and I wanted to write an ode to how love endures, sometimes even at the expense of our hearts.

Word Count: 2k-ish words

CW: Main Character Death (off screen), Fluff and Angst

Read on AO3

-

“At this time, you will now take out the rings you selected for each other. A ring is an unbroken circle which possesses no beginning and no end. The hands that you place this ring on will not stay the same. As the years progress, wrinkles and calluses may form. Scars may appear. Likewise, will each of you change over time. Your appearance, your values, your hopes may evolve as you face your hardships and triumphs together. However, these rings, and the love that they represent, will remain constant. With these rings, you place a vow that your love for each other will never cease. It will exist in a continuous circle, one that is felt every day and will last for eternity.”

Amren glanced up from the book she was reading. Her expression was unusually soft as she said, “Rhysand, please place your ring on Feyre’s hand and repeat after me.”

He had to swallow to ensure he could slip the words past his thickening throat. Feyre was standing before him, eyes shining like a storm-swept sea, and he, the wistful sailor who could never resist her call.

Feyre raised a delicate hand into the space between them. Like his own, her hands were trembling. It was comforting to know he was not the only one barely keeping it together.

With a shaky breath, Rhysand accepted the small wooden box from Cassian, who stood beside him on the altar. A sob hitched out between his lips when he saw the rings nestled together in the velvet. He could still hardly believe this was happening.

Amren fed him the line, “Feyre, I give you this ring with all that I am and all that I will ever be. Wear it and know that I love you.”

“Feyre,” he said, the word little more than a rasp. He cleared his throat, aware there was nothing he could do to stop the tears stinging his eyes. Feyre bit her lip to smother a sob, but it came anyway as he slid the ring onto her finger. “I give you this ring with all that I am and all that I will ever be.” Rhysand looked into her eyes, needing her to know that he meant every ragged, sob-outed word as he said, “Wear it and know that I love you.”

She nodded as if to say, I do know.

“Feyre, in accepting this ring, do you accept Rhysand to be your husband?”

Her eyes widened, and he could see the panic rising in her mind as she realized that she would need to be the one to speak next. She raised a hand to smother another sob and merely nodded.

“I do,” she gasped once it was clear that Amren wouldn’t move on without a spoken answer.

Amren continued as if they weren’t utterly falling apart. He thought even her voice sounded a little wobbly. “Now, Feyre, I need you to put a ring on Rhysand’s hand and repeat after me: Rhysand, I give you this ring with all that I am and all that I will ever be. Wear it and know that I love you.”

With a sniff that drew a soft laugh from everyone in the room, Feyre handed her bouquet to Mor and withdrew Rhysand’s silver band from the ring box. Then she turned to Rhys and froze. She opened her mouth, then promptly shook her head and covered her mouth to stifle another sob.

He said softly, “Just as well we decided not to use our own vows, huh?”

Feyre’s laugh blended with her tears. They both knew they wouldn’t be able to make it through their own vows—clearly, they could hardly make it through Amren’s.

“I’m sorry that I’m such a baby,” she said to no one in particular. She was met with sniffing laughter that said she wasn’t the only one incapable of keeping her weeping at bay. Rhysand was well aware his lower lip was trembling.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Feyre tried again. “Rhysand.” Her voice cracked, and her face crumbled again, but she soldiered on through her tears. “I give you this ring with all that I am and all that I will ever be. Wear it and—” her breath hitched. “Wear it and know that I love you—so much.”

“Rhysand, in accepting this ring, do you take Feyre to be your wife?”

He’d barely collected himself enough to utter, “I do.”

Amren smiled, likely relieved their talking was over. “It is my honor to pronounce the two of you husband and wife. Rhysand, you may now kiss your bride.”

He needed no further prompting. Rhysand swept forward, pulling Feyre into his arms so he could kiss her and say all of the things he was too much of a mess to say in his vows—that he loved her and would always love her, even when this world was a forgotten whisper of dust between stars. She kissed him back with equal fervor, and he knew she felt the same.

It was the happiest day of his life.

-

“Ake!”

Feyre giggled. “Yes, Nyxie, lake!”

“Ake, ake!”

She kissed his head. “That’s right, baby. The lake is so fun, huh?”

Rhysand looked up from the cooler. Feyre was sat on the stern with Nyx, her feet dangling in the water. Their son was situated snugly in her lap, his round face sandwiched between the puffy hood of his life jacket. He gave a high-pitched, delighted squeal as Feyre leaned over and splashed him gently with the water. His heart melted at the sound and even more at Feyre’s smile. She leaned over to do it again, and Rhys couldn’t decide which he loved more—the way Nyx flapped his hands in unbridled joy or the way Feyre lit up each time he did it.

He was coming over to join them, canned wine in hand for Feyre to enjoy, when she drew up suddenly, her posture rigid.

Rhys paused. “What is it?”

“My ring,” she said, staring at her hand. She had tanned slightly from the week they’d spent at this lake, leaving a thin, pale line on her ring finger. “Rhys.” Panic seeped into her voice now. “My ring. I—I had it on. I was looking at it just a moment ago.”

He glanced, hopefully, around the stern, like it might have simply fallen off on the boat. But that was the hand she’d been using to splash Nyx, and they both knew what had truly happened to it.

Tears were already shining in her eyes. “Rhys,” she whispered. With one hand secured around Nyx, she raised the other to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

Perhaps he should have taken longer to think about it. Feyre would undoubtedly argue that he should have done so. But all he knew was that Feyre had looked so happy a moment ago, and now tears were spilling onto her cheeks, and he couldn’t bear to hear his wife apologize for the joy she’d brought Nyx.

Without thinking, he slipped off his own wedding ring and tossed it into the lake.

She gasped, “Rhys!”

Gathering Nyx in her arms, Feyre quickly stood up, staring toward the water like she might jump in after it. But their boat was floating aimlessly in the center of the lake, and with Nyx and no diving equipment, they both knew those rings were lost to the water’s depths.

“How could you?” she said, turning toward him.

Rhysand offered her a small smile. She might be mad at him, but at least she was no longer crying. “They can be together now.”

She shook her head, exasperated. “Those were expensive!”

He stepped closer, pleased she wasn’t so mad that he couldn’t take her into his arms. Nyx babbled happily to be bundled between them, and Rhys ducked beneath his son’s floppy hat to kiss him on the cheek.

“That doesn’t matter to me. This is what matters.” He raised his head to meet her eyes. Hers were still filled with steel but rapidly softening as he kissed her cheek, then the other. Her forehead. Her nose.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said with a soft sigh.

He grinned, knowing he was forgiven, even if it meant he’d be hearing about this for the rest of their marriage.

-

“Dad?”

Rhys turned from where he stood at the end of the dock, unsurprised to find Nyx standing behind him, his expression unbearably gentle.

“Hey, Nyxie,” he said, taking a shaky breath. He ran his fingers through his hair. He probably looked a mess. “You ready?”

Nyx gave a solemn nod. “Yeah.” He stepped forward, slipping an arm around Rhysand’s shoulders. “Are you?”

“No,” Rhys said honestly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. But let’s do it, anyway. For your mom.”

“For mom,” Nyx echoed quietly.

It was difficult to say who led who. Rhysand knew he was leaning on his son, perhaps more than he should, but Nyx was leaning right back. They carried each other into the boat. It was early morning, the lake shining like glass on the surface. Rhysand felt numb as he turned the ignition and slowly guided the boat toward the lake’s center.

He couldn’t remember exactly where they’d been twenty-four years earlier. Somewhere vaguely in the middle, he cut the engine and stood up. Nyx did, too, his eyes already burning with the same churning sea of his mother’s. Rhysand perched himself on the stern, Nyx beside him.

For a moment, they said nothing. Did nothing. The water was rippling from their boat, stretching in rings towards every edge of the lake. Part of him wished it wasn’t so quiet, so calm. The silence felt too heavy these days. But he knew Feyre would appreciate it.

“I recognize it,” Nyx said, voice sawing out of him. “From mom’s paintings.”

Rhys nodded. He knew if he tried to speak, his composure would crumble. But Nyx was looking at him, eyes so wide, filled with a hurt that Rhys could do nothing to soothe. This was a wound that did not heal over, not entirely.

“She loved it here,” he said. Four simple words, and yet each one was excruciating.

Nyx nodded.

With a laugh that was closer to a sob, Rhys added, “She was so mad at me when I threw my ring into the lake.”

“As mad as she was when I accidentally backed into the garage?”

“Nearly.” Rhys offered his son a watery smile. “Definitely as angry as when you broke your arm sledding down the stairs.”

That made Nyx laugh. His shoulders shook until the laughter dissolved into tears, and then he was sobbing. Though he couldn’t see past his own tears, Rhys forced himself to stand up and go to his son, who buried his face into Rhysand’s shirt like he had as a child. Rhys pushed out a breath. He had to remind himself to do that sometimes. Breathe. Find the nerve to keep going.

He shoved a hand into his pocket and retrieved the ring box from all those years ago. A different pair of rings sat nestled in the worn velvet, the two he’d bought to replace the ones that had fallen in the lake. These were the ones that they had worn for over twenty years.

Not nearly long enough.

Handing his ring to Nyx, Rhys said, “Shall we?”

Nyx sniffed. “Do you think she’d be mad that you’re doing this?”

He nearly lost his courage right then and there. Not because he thought Feyre would be angry. But because he knew that he would do anything—anything—to have her staring at him with that steel in her eyes again.

It took him several swallows to choke out the words, “She was never good at being mad at us for very long, though, was she?”

“No,” Nyx whispered, staring out at the lake as if he couldn’t fathom how its reflection of the world could look so smooth, so untouched, when it felt as if their world had shattered entirely. “She wasn’t.”

Rhys held up Feyre’s elegant wedding band, the gemstones glinting in the low morning sun. He said, “A ring is an unbroken circle. It possesses no beginning and no end, just like the love your mother and I had for each other. This may feel like an ending, but love does not end after death. It endures in every laugh, in every tear, in every step we take in the wake of her absence. It is an honor to carry this grief, just as it had been an honor to wear these rings.”

Together, Rhysand and Nyx stepped towards the edge of the boat.

Rhys extended his hand toward the water. “Feyre.” He choked on the word. Nyx sucked in a breath. “With this ring, I give you all that I am and all that I’ll ever be. Let our rings be together, and know I will always love you.”

Nyx only offered a small, “I love you, Mom.”

The rings dropped, sinking quickly beneath the water’s surface. Rhysand and Nyx watched until they disappeared and the ripples across the surface smoothed. Then, the water was again untouched glass, and the lake was quiet as though nothing had ever happened.

That was the most challenging part for Rhysand. His entire world felt like it had stopped turning, yet everything kept moving around him, indifferent to what had been lost. And he was expected to just keep moving with it.

This was not the ending, nor was it the beginning. It just simply was.

In time, he would learn to accept that, and this raw, aching wound would slowly begin to scab over. For now, it was enough to know that their rings would be together, unbroken and constant—as everlasting as their love.

[drenchedfireworks]

Of Stolen Moments

Helion X Lady of the Autumn

One of the thousands of stolen moments between Helion and Lady of the Autumn before Under The Mountain.

Word Count: 3.2K

Mostly unedited.

Rhysand is purple (obvs) and Helion is orange.

###

Helion picked another flute of champagne from the passerby waiter, his third one in ten minutes.

In his defense, it took much, much more to get him tipsy and Cauldron be damned, he was trying to get there.

Coming to the Autumn Court always had that effect on him. Beron loved throwing lavish parties the week of his birthday and while all the HighLords were invited to stay the entire week, by some unspoken agreement everyone only arrived on the eve of his birthday and left the next morning.

This year, Helion had been tempted to pull lots and the whichever poor minister of his pulled the shortest end of the stick would have attended as a representative. The idea was vetoed and he had been sent to the hellish court to participate in the even more hellish celebrations anyway. The only saving grace was the fact that it was a masquerade theme which meant Helion had all the reason to not have to greet Beron and simply blame it on the fact that he hadn't recognized him under the masks.

And Helion was going to stick to his story even if it was crystal clear who Beron was considering he sat on a freaking dais, all alone.

Finishing the contents of his champagne flute in one go, Helion was about to go for another one when a whiskey glass was placed in his palm instead.

If he was dressed like the Sun, all whites and golds with the matching white mask with its gold undertone and threads, Rhysand was dressed like his night counterpart. Decked out completely in black with silver linings in his jacket and a midnight black mask resting on his face outlined in silver that was only found on starlight.

"Stop playing safe sober games and drink up"

Helion chuckled, raising his glass to that and throwing it back in one gulp. Rhys grinned, tipping his own glass in cheers before he, too, finished his drink in one go.

"Can you believe this pretentious party?"

Rhys shot him a look, easy to decipher despite the mask he was wearing. "You think this is the only pretentious party we attend in one year?"

"You're right. Tamlin's are just as awful"

Rhys laughed sardonically before making a shuddering gesture "Somehow they are even worse. It's like an invite for pollen fever"

"Where is your lovely cousin?" Helion asked, eyes roaming around like he was searching for a blonde and not trying to avoid looking at a certain redhead.

"With Vivianne" Rhys jut his chin in the direction of where Morrigan and Vivianne were standing next to an exasperated Kallias who rolled his eyes behind his mask exaggeratedly when he found the two Highlords looking at him.

"Think you can take Morrigan away for enough time to let Kallias grab a dance with the girl he swears he's not in love with?" Helion snickered, flagging down a waiter carrying champagne.

"I can also keep an eye on Beron for enough time so you can do what you actually came here for"

Helion paused in the act of taking a sip, slanting a look to the Highlord of the Night Court who casually picked off a piece of non-existent lint off his jacket.

"And what might that be, dear Rhysand?"

"Don't insult my intelligence by pretending to be obtuse, Helion" Rhys smiled, feline-like. "This is the only bracket you might get, don't waste it"

"Who is to say where she is and how many sentries surround her?" Helion gritted out, despite his better judgement.

Rhys smiled, patted him on the shoulder and made his way toward Kallias. Helion watched him go, turned the other way and made his way deeper into the crowd.

On the East Wing, on the 2nd floor, last room. Shares a balcony with the adjacent one. You'll have a ten minute window to slip into that room. I'll let you know if Beron so much as shifts in his seat.

Helion smiled, a secret one. I owe you one.

Stop bothering Cassian and Azriel for a threesome.

Aw, Rhysie, jealous? You can join us too.

Don't forget to put up wards.

Helion made sure he was in Beron's line of sight as he danced with a curvaceous red-head, running hands all over her too-eager intoxicated body. A few minutes of dilly-dallying and then he was leading her into a corridor, through a silent hallway and away from the festivities till they finally encountered an empty bedroom. To her credit, she tried her hardest to pull him in but Helion sent a silent apology to her as he put her under a sleeping spell, warded that room so no one could enter and silently made his way to the other side of the mansion.

Glamouring himself as he passed Autumn Court sentries so no one would recognize him, Helion made it to the East Wing in record time. When he reached the second floor, however, his steps slowed. One of the sentries turned to him, head lolled at an uncomfortable angle, looking at him as if he was seeing right through him. Helion slipped into the adjacent room.

He made quick work of climbing over the balcony into the adjacent room's. Wards, he told himself as he silently put those up. He couldn't trust himself to remember to put those up after he laid eyes on her. Wasn't sure he'd remember to do anything.

Unlocking the balcony door, he stepped inside the candlelit room just as she stepped in through the connecting doorway.

Their eyes met and for a moment, the world went still. Her breath caught, he could hear it, her hand flying to her chest.

"You shouldn't be here-" She started toward him the same time he moved toward her.

"Seraphina" He breathed, one second before her mouth was on his and he was kissing her for all the years spent apart, all the yearning.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer as he ran his hands over everywhere he could touch, trying to familiarize himself with her all over again, worried that this was one of his cruel nightmares where she'd disappear come morning.

"Helion-" She whispered, but Helion didn't stop kissing her to give her a chance to say more "Helion-" She tried again, but he took that chance and plunged his tongue in her mouth, the force of the kiss making her knees weak and his arms around her body the only thing keeping her up "Heli-" She gave up, kissing him back with all the desperation she felt.

"Sera" He breathed, moving from her lips to her cheeks, her nose, eyes, forehead and jaw, anywhere he could reach to kiss her, hands in her hair and around her waist and on her back, scared their time would be up.

"What are you doing here?" And it broke his heart to see she looked worried not for what Beron might do if he found her with another man but for him.

"Ten years" He cupped her face, bringing his forehead down to hers "Ten years I've dreamt of holding you in my arms again" She was crying before he was done talking but so was he.

"You shouldn't be here. He- He can't find you"

Wrapping his arms around her, Helion picked her up and carried her to the bed "I know" He said, sitting on the edge and bringing her down on his lap.

She took his face in her hands, lovingly running her fingers over his cheeks and lips, his eyebrows, the slant of his nose before she moved in to kiss him again "How I've missed you"

And it was as if they couldn't stand to stay clothed for one more second as Helion began undoing her robe and she was pulling at his tunic, while he kissed a path down her throat, biting and nibbling against the skin knowing he'd have to heal it before he left. Knowing she'd have to mask his scent before Beron came to check on her.

Realizing they didn't have that much time to waste, Helion simply loosened his pants, pulling his cock out and positioned himself below her.

"Sera, are you sure?"

She leaned in once and kissed him "Give me all of you, Helion"

Driving into her to the hilt in one go, Helion bit her shoulder to hold in the roar that was building at the base of his throat. Her breath had caught and her legs were trembling but the scent of her arousal was thick in the air, mixing with his own.

He gave her a moment to adjust "I've missed you so much" Helion was soothing the spot he'd bit on with his tongue "This is not how I wanted to do it. I want to do it right, Sera"

"We don't have that time, Helion" Tears were forming in her eyes and the string around his chest tightened, pulling taut against his ribs "But we will" She kissed his brow "And when we do, we will do all of it right" Moving her hips, she pulled a groan of long-suffering from him as he started to move inside of her slowly.

"You feel so good" Helion gritted out, his pace quickening, his movements feral and his thrusts almost animalistic. He was tapping into his beast side, using centuries of his training to hold off on shooting into her like he was a pubescent teenager. She met him for every thrust, arms wrapped tightly around him, lips hovering over his own as her breaths shortened.

"Helion.." Her fingernails were digging into his shoulder "Helion, I'm so…so.." The rest of her words dissolved into a moan that Helion swallowed as he kissed her, his tongue plunging into her mouth in sync with his thrusts.

Holding her by her thighs, Helion made quick work of picking her up and flipping them over. Bringing her ankles over on his shoulders, he was enveloped completely in her warmth, her walls impossibly tight around him and driving him half mad. Wrapping her arms around him again, she brought him down to kiss her as his movements turned frantic, one hand on her belly where he could feel himself inside her.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful" Biting her jaw, his movements turning frantic as he reached a hand between them, rubbing circles on her clit as she whimpered. Helion gritted out "Come for me, Sera" He was kissing her, speaking against her lips, one hand pulling on her nipple peeking out of her robe "Come for me, love"

And she did. Legs trembling, shivering and shaking, Helion swallowed her scream as he kissed and fucked her through her orgasm, his fingers working her up all over again till the tears in her eyes were those of pleasure and she was chanting his name like a prayer.

Helion pretended not to notice the glow of his skin, the string that was pulling uncomfortably inside his chest, groaning while he held himself back as Seraphina moaned loudly, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"Please..please…HelionHelionHelionHelion- oh my-" She was already coming a second time and this time Helion detonated with her, shooting into her without stopping, pulling back only to watch his own cum dripping down her legs mixed with her own. Gathering all of it, he pushed it back into her pussy as he pulled out, a whimper escaping her at the loss.

Helion leaned in to kiss her “I’m kidnapping you” He whispered against her lips, something he’d been saying for decades, trying to get her to agree to disappear with him.

Shaking her head, Seraphina rested her forehead against his “I can’t leave my sons alone with him..he treats them horribly as it is” At that she broke down, sobbing in earnest as he held her, running his fingers through her hair and pulling her against his chest.

“And you?” Helion managed to ask, his eyes catching the bruising against her arms where her robe sleeves had fallen back. Eyes narrowing on them as Seraphina quickly covered them “I’m going to kill him”

“No, Helion” She brushed her fingers against his face as if she, too, was memorizing his face for she didn’t know how long it would be before they got a chance to be together again.

“Mate, Sera” His voice broke, catching at the word “You’re my mate” Her eyes closed as if the reminder pained her, shoulders shaking with silent sobs “I will adopt all your sons if that’s what it takes”

Helion.

Ignoring Rhysand’s voice in his head, Helion took both of her hands in his “Say yes and you don’t have to suffer at his hands for a second longer”

Seraphina pulled her hands back, crying against his shoulder “You should go, Helion. P-Please” But she was kissing him, her actions a complete contrast to her words.

“Sera-”

Helion, Beron’s sentries are alert.

“Go” Wiping at her tears, she stood up, putting much needed distance between them "And thank Rhysand for me"

“Sera- please”

Beron seems to be looking for you.

She turned her back to him, like she had done countless times “I-" She began, considered her words “I-It’s not the time..b-but-” She peeked over her shoulder at him “Please wait for me?”

He was hugging her then, wrapping all of himself around her as he buried his face in her hair “Forever. I will wait another millenia just for you”

Helion. Beron is leaving the banquet hall.

“I have to go” He murmured and she nodded, refusing to watch him go or her control would snap “Stay safe, please take care..I-I’ll try to come back soon” With one last squeeze, he let her go, turning around and leaving immediately or he’d have been tempted to follow through with his earlier plan of kidnapping the Lady of another court as he removed the wards, wiped her room clean of his scent.

Helion, where the fuck are you?

Out.

By out he meant jumping the two floors down from the balcony, so distracted that he had no time to smoothen the fall and dropped straight into a bush, the poor plant flattening under him. Helion had no time to complain, making his way hastily toward the banquet hall hoping he didn’t encounter the birthday boy. For Seraphina’s sake more than his own.

His escape was going successfully until he ran straight into another problem. More like the problem ran into him.

The youngest Vanserra scowled up at the Highlord of the Day Court, rubbing against his forehead where he had accidentally collided with Helion’s side.

Crouching down to reach his level, Helion held an arm out to inspect the damage “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Even if it does, as the Highlord with healing abilities, shouldn’t you be able to soothe it?”

Helion opened his mouth, closed it, utterly and completely speechless before he threw his head back and laughed “Listen here, boy, I’m Helion Spell-Cleaver, Highlord of the Day Court”

“And?”

“And?” Helion gaped “You are talking about Thesan”

“You’re not Thesan?”

“Ofcourse not. Having even 1/4th of my looks would be a blessing for him”

The youngest Vanserra looked unimpressed “Atleast he doesn’t announce himself with a title” he muttered.

Helion blinked, realizing that the little boy who hardly looked to be 8-9 years old, had known who he was this whole time “Who are you?”

At that, the little boy jut his chin out, his aristocratic nose high in the air as he replied “Lucien Vanserra, son of Beron, Highlord of the Autumn Court”

Helion smiled at the arrogance that looked like it was hereditary in the Vanserra household, noticing how Lucien’s hair color was similar to Seraphina’s “Well, Sir Lucien, while I cannot heal your injury as well as Thesan can, I could do something better”

To his credit, Lucien tried not to look too intrigued as he kept a straight face “I doubt it but let’s hear it”

He even had Seraphina’s stubbornness, Helion noted with amusement as he gently took Lucien’s hand in his, sidelining the zap that went through his body and the goosebumps on his skin “I can show you a spell that won’t make you feel hurt at all”

At that, Lucien turned his entire attention to the Highlord, his voice betraying his excitement “How?”

"You do this" Helion drew the symbol on Lucien's palm to demonstrate.

Eyes lighting up, Lucien watched entraced before taking Helion's palm in his and trying to replicate the symbol "Like this?"

Helion corrected it for him, holding his hand and drawing it over his palm again "Like…this"

Lucien looked like he had achieved enlightenment as he laughed, doing and redoing the symbol to make sure he got it right "You're sure this works, right? Right?!"

"Go ahead, try it on me" Helion held his arm out and while he was sure even without the spell, little Lucien wouldn't be able to do much harm he gave him his best weary look "Go easy on me"

"Nuh uh" Lucien tutted, pulling his fist back and swinging with full force, the hit not registering in the slightest.

"See?" Helion asked "What do you think?"

"You could be lying" The amber-eyed prince was not having it "Go ahead, you try it on me now"

Helion worried he might actually end up bruising the kid if he used even a tenth of his energy so he chose to go the easy path and flicked his forehead. Hands flying to his forehead, Lucien pulled them away a second later, his face a kaleidoscope of awe and disbelief.

"I-It didn't hurt at all!" He was jumping around now, making flicking gestures and little punching actions.

"This will come in handy when your older brothers push you around, huh?" Helion teased, a smile breaking on his face replicating Lucien's.

"Nah" Lucien was still in the middle of his happy dance "I’m gonna teach it to my Mom" When Helion's smile dropped, Lucien realized what he had accidentally divulged.

Immediately recognizing that the little boy was about to panic, Helion decided to do instant damage control even if his blood boiled at the reminder of Seraphina's bruises "You're too strong when you playfight with your mother and she needs to be shielded?"

Lucien latched on to the excuse with desperate hands "Yep. I'm going to be stronger than all my brothers one day!"

"That's very commendable" Helion nodded along "However, take care of your mother and don't hurt her. That's not how good sons behave. You have to protect her"

Lucien was silent for a moment before he stepped away "L-Like I need you to tell me! I will protect my mother from everyone!" He was getting flustered and Helion knew it so he stood up and dusted off the dirt on his clothes.

"You're a good boy, Lucien. I'm proud of you"

"I don't care!" Lucien turned away, walking toward one of the entrances too quickly before he seemed to second guess himself and turned back toward Helion "Thanks..for your help"

Helion grinned, all toothy and cocky "You're welcome, little Lucien"

"I'll come visit you in Dawn Court sometime!" Lucien turned away and was already running, an all too familiar mischievous smile on his face.

"I'm the Highlord of the Day Co-! Ah damnit" Helion laughed as Lucien disappeared around the corner, something in his chest warming.

Helion stood there for a long time before he turned and made his way back to the party to pester his favorite Highlord, thoughts of his mate and her youngest son still fresh in his mind, his heart full.

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My contribution to the Helion X LoA community because I don't see a lot of fanfics on this pairing (or maybe I'm looking at all the wrong places). This is a plea to send all and every Helion X LoA fanfic my way.