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thewulf · 5 months

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Bound by Shadows || Azriel

Summary: Request - I'm hoping you could write a fanfic where reader, Feyre's twin, who actually killed the wolf but let Feyre take the credit... and before she realizes what she's done Feyre is gone. She struggles with guilt and isolation in Velaris after the sisters transformation by the Cauldron.... Read Rest Here

A/N: OKAY I LOVE THIS. It got away from me a bit. I didn't realize how fun this world would be to dive into. Let me know your thoughts as always :)

Pairing: Azriel Shadowsinger x Female Reader (Feyre Archeron Twin Sister)

Word Count: 8.2k +

TW: General ACOTAR TW

Under the starlit skies of Velaris the City of Starlight pulses with a life of its own. Its vibrant lights reflecting off the river with laughter and music filling the air, breathing life into every cobblestone and corner. But for you the city’s brilliance only deepens the shadows that cling to your soul. Shadows that no light seems capable of dispelling.

You walked alone. Your steps aimless being driven by the restless guilt that gnaws incessantly at your conscience. Every whisper of the wind seems to accuse you, every glance from a passerby seems to pierce through the facade you barely maintain. The weight of the secret you harbor presses down on you with every step… the wolf, the woods, the dreadful slice of the arrow that was meant to protect Feyre not harm her. But Feyre stepped forward and shouldered the blame. She was taken from you in an instant and forced to face the horrors of the faerie lands. It was all to shield you her twin she thought of being too gentle, too fragile for the brutal truths of that world.

The transformation wrought by the Cauldron has only magnified everything. Every emotion, every fear, every shard of guilt. It was supposed to be a rebirth but for you it feels more like a slow descent into a nightmare from which you cannot awaken. The power that now courses through your veins feels like chains. A constant reminder of the price paid to the mother. Of the freedom you don’t believe you deserve.

As you wander through the bustling streets the sounds of celebration around you clash violently with the turmoil within. Families and lovers share warm, joyous moments. Their laughter echoing in the crisp night air while you drift among them. You were simply a specter unseen, untouched by the light of their joy. Your heart aches with a loneliness so profound it threatens to consume you whole. To reduce your existence to a mere shadow of regret and sorrow.

You find yourself on one of the many ornate bridges spanning the Sidra. A place you often found some sort of solace in. You leaned over the balustrade to gaze into the dark waters below. The reflection of the city’s lights dances across the surface, a stark contrast to the darkness that seems to stretch endlessly beneath. It is here in the quiet far enough away from the eyes of those who know you, those who worry over you, that your facade finally cracks.

Tears that were unbidden and unwelcome, spill over, tracing cold paths down your cheeks. You are tired. So incredibly tired of pretending. Of hiding the depth of your pain. You wish to scream so loud. To let out the anguish that fills you, but your voice is as lost as your soul feels in the face of your endless guilt. Instead, you just stare down at the dark waters with silent sobs wracking your body. It was better this way. You couldn’t let Feyre see you like this. She was finally so happy. So happy with her mate. Her Rhysand. You couldn’t threaten that happiness. You owed her so much more than that. You quite literally owed her your life. So, you would suck it up in solace. Cry it out on your own.

In the solitude of the night, you allowed yourself to feel your overwhelming emotions. To acknowledge the pain and the darkness. Little did you know you are not as alone as you believe. From the shadows an Illyrian figure watches you. His own heart heavy with unspoken secrets. Azriel was the spymaster of night court for a reason. He picked up on you disappearing for hours at a time when the others didn’t. He picked up on the fake smiles you threw everyone’s way. He seemed to pick up on it while the others didn’t… other than Feyre who seemed to watch you just as much as he did. He decided he would watch over you. For Feyre, his brothers mate. And for you. The woman who couldn’t seem to get used to being Fae as easily as your sisters did. The human turned Fae that consumed more of his thoughts than he cared to admit.

But for now, he waited behind his shadows. A silent guardian in the night recognizing that some battles must be faced alone before they can be shared.

You returned from the bustling markets of Velaris with arms laden with the myriad items Feyre requested. As you approach the townhouse the warm light from within spills out onto the cobblestones. It was a stark contrast to the dusk settling over the city. You pause at the door steeling yourself with a deep breath before stepping inside. Your smile as you hand the bags to Feyre doesn't quite reach your eyes. But she's too caught up in the moment to notice.

"Thank you so much," she says with a relief evident as she starts to unpack the food you’d volunteered to pick up for her. She pauses before she got too carried away giving you that look, the one you've come to know so well. The one that silently implores you to stay. To be a part of her world. "Will you stay for dinner? Everyone's coming over. Even Amren agreed to come. It would mean so much to me."

Her eyes are pleading and you know you can't refuse. Not when she's given up so much for you. With a nod you agree even as your stomach tightens at the thought of facing everyone. It was easy to fake your inner turmoil when it was only her or Rhys. But when it was the entirety of the Inner Circle it was harder to hide away. Inevitably someone would get you hooked in on a conversation. You haven't sat down with them since… well, since before the Cauldron. Since before everything changed. And that was almost an entire year ago now. You knew this request would come sooner or later. Though you were hoping for later you were going to suck it up for Feyre.

As the evening wears on the townhouse fills with laughter and conversation with everyone gathering in the familiar camaraderie that once felt like home to you. But now you feel like an outsider watching from the shadows even as you sit among them. At the dinner table you're terribly quiet. You were merely pushing food around your plate listening to the ebb and flow of conversations you can't force yourself to seem to join.

Feyre decided to sit beside you in hopes of calming your nerves. She notices. She notices the way your eyes were downturned. The way you occasionally nodded your head or smiled briefly pretending to be listening. The way you didn’t pick your fork up once. Her joy fades a little each time she glances your way. You didn’t notice the way her expression turned from mirth to concern. She squeezed your hand under the table in a silent message of solidarity and love. But even her touch can't pull you from the fog that's settled over you. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was your punishment? To live in a hazed state for thousands of years? Oh, how you wished to be a tiny little human again with the promise of dead after a hundred years or so.

Rhysand sat at the head of the table catches Feyre’s subtle, worried glances towards her twin. She meets his eyes with a silent conversation passing between them. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She needed help. He nods slightly. His expression was solemn, understanding the depth of her worry. His gaze then shifts to you filled with a quiet resolve. He knew you were struggling but didn’t pick up on just how much you were. You’d done a masterful job until tonight hiding it away.

Rhysand had felt the ripple of concern from Feyre long before she voiced it. Her distress over your withdrawal echoing within him. She watched you with a sister's keen eye and her silent worry bled into their shared bond. A testament to her deep care for you.

Azriel, Feyre is troubled by Y/N's state. As am I. Rhysand's thought reached out to his brother that was sitting next to you. There was a thread of urgency woven through the mental call. She's pulling away and Feyre feels it deeply. Keep an eye on her please? Help her if you can.

Azriel's presence in Rhysand's mind was immediate and calm. He was steady force amid the silent storm of concern. I'm already on it, Rhys. I’ve sensed it too, he assured. His mental voice as composed as the shadows he commanded. You don't need to worry. I’ve been watching over her not out of obligation, but because... because she matters to me. I’ll make sure she’s safe and supported.

Azriel’s vigilance came not from an order but from a place of quiet solidarity. His attunement to the nuances of emotion and the unspoken had already drawn him to your side. Rhysand’s request merely echoed the actions he’d already undertaken. His actions were born from a blend of duty and a deep, personal concern that Azriel rarely let show. In the face of Feyre's distress and now Rhysand’s request, he became a silent sentinel for you. He needed to ensure that you were not only protected but also truly seen and understood.

Dinner continues around you as you withdrew into yourself. The laughter a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. You're barely aware of Azriel's presence on your other side until you feel him beside you. His chair slightly closer than usual. His voice is soft, almost lost in the surrounding noise, as he leans in. "You don't have to be anything you're not, not here," he murmurs only for you to hear. "It’s okay to just be. To just breathe." His words meant to comfort felt like a lifeline in the sea of your tumultuous thoughts. You didn’t look at him for you were worried tears might spill over. But you nodded in acknowledgement letting him know that you heard him.

The evening slowly winds down and as the others linger over drinks and stories Azriel stays by your side. His presence a steady promise of understanding and patience. He doesn't push you to talk nor does he expect smiles. Instead, he offers the silent support you didn't know you needed, becoming a guardian not just of your safety, but of your peace.

Feyre watches this exchange with a glimmer of hope lighting up her worried features. Perhaps with Azriel's help you might find your way back to them. To yourself. Tonight, though, is just a small step in your journey back to yourself.

As everyone departs for the night you linger in the living room feigning interest in tidying up the small mess left behind. Feyre watches you for a moment with that same concern etching her features. But she decided against speaking, sensing your need for space.

Once the house is quiet you decide to step out for a walk under the night sky of Velaris. It had become your favorite routine. A routine that kept you grounded. A quick walk to your favorite spot on the Sidra. The city's soft lights reflect gently on the river casting dancing patterns on the water. It's beautiful yet the sight does little to ease the tightness in your chest.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice Azriel's approach until he's almost beside you. His presence is calming and somehow it doesn't startle you. Perhaps because in your heart you know he understands the need for quiet. His own demeanor is often just as reserved.

"Good evening," he says. His voice a low rumble. "Care for some company or would you prefer solitude tonight?"

You consider his offer for a moment. Company might not be so bad even though this was usually just a place for you. But it was Azriel. Someone who respects the silence as much as you do. "Company sounds nice, thank you," you reply with your voice softer than you intended.

Azriel nods falling into step beside you. As you walk his shadows play at your feet. It was a subtle yet comforting gesture. At one point one of his shadows curls around your hand. This small, almost imperceptible touch from his shadows offers a silent, comforting presence that envelops you in a sense of security. Neither of you speaks as you walk along the riverbank. The only sounds was the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the distant hum of the city. The silence between you is more than comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding that words can sometimes be too cumbersome.

After a while though Azriel speaks up. He wasn’t looking at you but staring out at the water. "It's easy to feel lost in this city… even with its lights and crowds. Sometimes it feels like being surrounded by shadows even in the brightest part of the day."

You glance at him, surprised by the reflection of your own feelings in his words. "Yes, it does," you agree. You were feeling a weight lift slightly knowing that someone else understands.

He nods slightly at your words, "The shadows aren't all there is though. There are places, moments like these, that can offer some respite. And not all shadows are bad." He smiles looking down at the ones that clung to your feet.

His words make you look at him anew. You weren’t just seeing the spymaster or the warrior but someone who also seeks to find balance between the light and the dark. It makes you wonder if perhaps in this shared moment you might find a way to navigate your own shadows. They might not all be bad you had to agree with him.

You don't say much more as you walk back to the townhouse, but the silent agreement hangs between you, comforting and promising. Maybe, just maybe, you're not as alone as you thought.

The dawn is still a whisper of light across Velaris as you sit quietly by the Sidra. The gentle murmur of the river a soothing background to your thoughts that never seemed to shut the hell up. Lost in the reflections of the dancing water you hardly notice Azriel’s approach until he’s beside you. His presence as quiet as the morning. It was becoming a routine for him to join you on the river it seemed. Not that you minded. He might be the one person you’d happily accept to intrude on your solitude.

“You’re up early,” he remarks softly not wanting to startle you. His tone as gentle as the river’s flow.

You look up with a soft smile on your face. His familiar, reassuring presence is a comfort. “Just needed some air,” you reply with a yawn. Your voice carrying the weight of another sleepless night.

Azriel nods, understanding. He looks out over the water for a moment sharing the silence with you. Then, turning back to you, he suggests, “Come with me. I think I have something that might help clear your head. Help you to focus a bit.”

You’re hesitant. The idea of doing anything but sitting quietly feels daunting. But there’s something about his offer. The promise of relief, however temporary, that nudges you to your feet.

“It’s just training,” he adds. seeing your uncertainty. “Physical activity can be a good way to let out some of the emotions that are harder to express in words. We’ll take it slow. You set the pace.”

Trusting Azriel’s judgment, knowing he wouldn’t push you into something without reason, you stand and follow him towards the training grounds. The city is quietly waking around you and the walk is silent but comfortable. His presence a steady reassurance by your side. Something you were slowly growing to cherish.

As you reach the secluded training area the first rays of sunlight begin to warm the cool morning air. Azriel gives you a small, encouraging smile. “Let’s start simple. No pressure. Just you learning to trust your strength again.”

The training starts at an easy pace. Azriel guiding you through basic maneuvers. His patience was evident. But as your body begins to warm up with the activity and your focus sharpens on the movements. There was that sense of release you never knew could come. It was unfamiliar yet welcome that starts to take hold on you.

As the morning sun climbs higher the training session progresses under Azriel's watchful eye. You find yourself gradually syncing with the rhythm of the physical exertion. Each movement flushing out the restless energy that has been building up inside you. Azriel's guidance is firm yet encouraging and you start to feel a rare sense of accomplishment as you slowly master each new maneuver he throws at you.

But as the session intensifies Azriel begins to push you harder, increasing the pace and complexity of the drills. His softness changed into some else. You knew he was only pushing you to help but it was starting to become a little too much. You’d only been Fae for a year to his centuries. "Come on, Y/N, focus. You can handle this," he urges. Throwing a series of rapid, controlled strikes that you're meant to block and counter.

For a moment you rise to the challenge your movements sharp and sure. Yet the physical strain is relentless. All too soon it starts to mirror the inner struggled you've been trying to manage. The boundaries between physical exertion and emotional pain blur… each block and dodge feeling more like a fight against your inner demons rather than a simple training exercise.

Suddenly, one of Azriel's strikes comes a little too close, a little too fast. It isn't meant to hit you and it doesn't but the rush of air as it passes by your face triggers something within you. Panic seizes your chest and the walls you've been holding up begin to crumble. Your movements falter. Your hands drop to your sides rapidly as your breath catches in your throat.

You step back abruptly with short, ragged breaths. Azriel stops immediately, concern replacing the intensity in his eyes. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks all too softly this time. He watched with concern as you struggled to compose yourself.

You nod rapidly trying to blink back the tears that want to rush out. “I’m fine. Just tired.” You murmur. It didn’t even sound believable to you. You turned you back to him so he wouldn’t see the distraught look on your face.

He steps forward with a sadness etched deeply on his features. "It's more than just tiredness, isn't it?" he asks gently as he reached out but stopped short, giving you space yet showing his readiness to support.

You shake your head again trying to compose yourself. Willing yourself to rebuild the barriers crumbling around you. "I'm fine, really, just got a little carried away," you offer weakly with your back still turned, fearing that facing him might reveal too much.

But Azriel doesn’t retreat. Instead, his shadows do what he physically refrains from—they reach out for you. You feel a cool, soothing sensation as one shadow gently curls around your arm, not binding but comforting. It was like a silent message of empathy and support. The unexpected kindness, the soft touch of darkness that doesn’t demand or judge, only seeks to comfort. But it undoes you completely.

Your defenses shatter at the tender contact. Tears finally spilling over as you turn back to face him. The floodgates opened by the gentle brush of his shadow. "I'm not fine," you admit, your voice choked with emotion. "It's all just... it's too much sometimes. I feel like I'm drowning in what I had to do. In what Feyre had to endure because of me. All because of me."

Azriel listens with his gaze never wavering. His eyes were filled with compassion and a profound understanding. His shadow retracts slightly giving you a moment, respecting your space while keeping the silent promise of his presence.

He nods his head willing you to continue. "Let it out, Y/N. You don't have to carry this alone," he says quietly finding the courage to step closer now. He opened his arms to you in an offer of comfort that you no longer have the strength to refuse.

As you step into his embrace, allowing yourself to be held, the warmth of his body contrasts with the cool touch of his shadows creating a cocoon of safety around you. "I was the one who killed the wolf that started this whole mess," you confess through sobs. Your words muffled against his chest. "Feyre took the blame to protect me... because she thought I couldn't handle the consequences."

“It’s okay,” he whispers. His voice close to your ear. “You were never meant to carry this alone.” He pauses. His hand gently lifting your chin so you can look at him. “Feyre’s path was her own. Fate had a hand in it. She was meant to meet Rhysand through Tamlin. To find her way to the Night Court. It couldn’t have been you, Y/N. Your path is different and it’s still unfolding.”

You shake your head feeling the weight of it all. “But-“

Azriel’s hold tightens reassuringly. His wings stretched around you before he stops you. “She did what she believed was right, out of love. And now you need to allow yourself to be loved and supported, too. Let your family be here for you. Let me be here for you.” he pleads, his tone imbued with a promise. In the safety of Azriel’s wings with the gentle embrace of his shadows, you feel a lightness you haven’t felt in a long time.

Beneath the shelter of his wings Azriel holds you close feeling the profound shift within as your eyes meet. In that moment a golden thread previously unseen but always present tightens, binding your soul to his. The mating bond ignites with a radiant force, undeniable and transformative.

This newfound connection stirs a deep protectiveness in Azriel, an urge to cherish and guard you that feels both ancient and freshly awakened. Love pulses through this bond unspoken yet palpable aligning his heartbeat with yours. He experiences a profound sense of belonging, understanding now that every moment with you, every shared concern, was leading to this revelation.

With the emergence of the bond, Azriel, who often cloaked himself in mystery, finds in you a clarity that illuminates his existence. This bond does not overwhelm; instead, it completes him, brightening his path forward. The world around him expands promising a journey not walked alone but side by side, in step with each breath.

Yet, the magnitude of this discovery brings a mix of elation and a daunting sense of responsibility. You are vulnerable, your soul laid bare before him, and he is cautious not to burden you further. Internally, Azriel grapples with the desire to declare the bond versus the need to provide you with stability and support without the shock of this revelation.

He resolves to keep this monumental discovery to himself for now, focusing on being your steadfast support. His shadows as a subtle extension of his will, curl gently around you both. They offered a protection and comfort without overwhelming you with the truth.

Azriel knows he must seek Rhysand’s counsel to navigate the complexities of this bond with sensitivity and respect for your emotions. As he holds you he silently vows to take this journey at a pace that honors both your readiness and the bond’s potential. Wrapped in his embrace, Azriel stands as your guardian bonded by fate yet guided by a deep respect for the journey your heart needs to undertake.

"You've been strong today," Azriel whispers into your hair as he senses your grip tighten. "Let's head back home. You need rest." His voice is as soothing as the twilight and his offer is tender, without any urgency that might hint at the truth simmering beneath his calm exterior.

The walk back from the training grounds is quiet, filled with a companionable silence that speaks of shared struggles and mutual care. As Azriel guides you to Feyre's studio, where she immerses herself in swathes of color and light, his touch lingers reassuringly on your arm. It's an affirmation of his presence, his support, his unspoken pledge to be there for you, come what may.

You offer him a soft smile. One that acknowledges the solace his presence brings even though you were still oblivious to the tectonic shift in his inner landscape. Azriel returns your smile with a quiet intensity, a vow that when the time comes for the bond to reveal itself to you he'll be there, just as he is now—steadfast, protective, and utterly devoted.

A subtle shift in Azriel’s demeanor as he prepares to leave catches Feyre's sharp eye. There's a fleeting tension, a trace of something potent and profound flickering in the depths of his usually inscrutable eyes. It's a glimpse of vulnerability. An undercurrent of panic that he's quick to disguise but not before Feyre takes note. Something significant has unsettled the shadowsinger and it likely had to do with you.

With a nod that holds more gravity than usual Azriel turns to go. His steps are measured but the urgency in his exit is apparent to anyone who knows him well. Once he steps beyond the view of the townhouse his wings unfurl, a dark silhouette against the Velaris skyline. He takes to the air with a speed driven by the need for counsel. For understanding the newly realized bond weighing on him with a mix of awe and anxiety.

He lands at the House of Wind with an intensity that is uncharacteristic for him. His feet touching down on the stone with a thud. There's no time for hesitation as he makes his way to where he knows he'll find Rhysand, perhaps Cassian too. The door to the study bursts open under his force and he stands there as a figure riddled with the shock of his own heart's awakening.

Inside the study, Rhysand and Cassian pause mid-conversation as the unexpected clamor announces Azriel's approach. Concern flickers over their faces. A stark, thunderous arrival is not Azriel's way.

"Are you alright, Az?" Cassian is the first to react. His voice tinged with concern as he notes Azriel's agitated state.

Azriel pauses before catching his breath. His demeanor one of a man grappling with overwhelming news. "It's the mating bond," he manages to say with his voice tight of emotion. "With Y/N—it just... it just snapped into place."

Rhysand rises from his chair. His expression shifting to one of understanding as he processes Azriel's words. The air in the room thickens with the significance of his declaration and there's a moment of collective stillness as they all absorb the meaning.

Cassian’s previous levity fades into a solemn gravity, reflecting the seriousness of Azriel's revelation. "That’s... big news, Az. How are you feeling about this?" he asks as he stepped closer in caution.

Rhysand, maintaining his composure, offers a supportive nod. "This is a momentous time, Azriel. We’re here for you, whatever you need," he assures him embodying the role of the leader who understands the profound implications of such a bond.

Azriel exhales deeply the reality of the situation settling in. "It's overwhelming," he concedes. A frown creasing his brow. "I mean, I hoped, maybe even wished for it. But now that it’s here, it feels... heavy." He looks up. His expression serious. "She’s still healing. I need to be careful. Need to make sure this doesn’t overwhelm her."

Rhysand gives a supportive nod. "Just keep being there for her, Az. You’ve always managed to support her without pushing. This doesn’t change your approach just your understanding of the connection."

Cassian smirks, pushing off from the table and clapping Azriel on the back with a bit more force than necessary. "Look at you all serious and broody—more than usual, I mean. Come on, Az, you know you're probably the only one who can handle this with the perfect blend of mystery. Besides," he adds with a wry grin, "have you seen the way she looks at you when you're not looking? That’s not just gratitude my friend. It’s like she’s hit the jackpot and she doesn’t even know it yet."

Azriel can’t help but crack a small smile despite the turmoil inside. "Thanks, Cass. I just don’t want to mess this up."

"Don’t worry so much, brother," Cassian chuckles, his tone light but earnest. "You’re doing fine. Plus, if you start floating around like a lovestruck bat, I’ll be here to pull you back down."

Rhysand laughs softly before shaking his head at the general. "He’s right, though. Take it step by step, Azriel. Let her come to terms with her own feelings. When she’s ready it’ll be right for both of you."

Feeling somewhat lighter Azriel nods appreciatively at his brothers. "Step by step," he repeats, firming his resolve. With a final nod he steps back into the night bolstered by the mix of Cassian’s humor and Rhysand’s leadership. He was ready to face the future with a heart full of hope and a mind cautious of the delicate balance he needs to maintain.

Back in the townhouse Feyre greets you with that mischievous grin that heralds some sisterly teasing. She sets her paintbrush down before wiping her hands on a cloth as her eyes sparkle with playful curiosity. "So, what did you do to him?" she teases with a smirk on her face.

You frown genuinely puzzled by her question. "What? Nothing, I... we were just training, then he said he had to go." Your voice trails off mirroring your confusion over Azriel's sudden change in demeanor.

Feyre chuckles, shaking her head as she picks up her brush again. "That man is always so mysterious. But don't worry it's probably just Azriel things. Or maybe, just maybe, you're the perfect distraction for our dear spymaster."

"What are you on about?" you ask while feeling a mix of amusement and bewilderment at her jest.

"Oh, please!" Feyre laughs, her brush dancing over the canvas. "He looks at you like every moment you spend together is something precious. Like you're a rare painting he can't quite believe he's stumbled upon."

"You're imagining things," you dismiss her. Shaking your head with a smile. "Azriel is just being kind. He's like that with everyone."

Feyre gives you a knowing look. Her smirk broadening. "Sure, he’s kind to everyone, but with you it’s different. He doesn’t look at anyone else quite like he looks at you. Like you’ve cast a spell on him and he’s trying to figure out how to live with the enchantment."

Her words make you pause. The playful insinuation tugging at the edges of your thoughts. Despite your dismissal Feyre’s observation lingers. A teasing possibility that maybe there's a hint of truth in her playful assertions. The room fills with your laughter, a sound that masks the flutter of curiosity her words have sparked.

Unbeknownst to you while you puzzle over Azriel's sudden departure, Feyre's mind is swiftly connecting with Rhysand's. A silent inquiry flits through their bond: Something's up with Azriel, he seemed... off. Did I miss something?

Rhysand's mental response comes with a chuckle that Feyre can almost hear: He’s fine, love. Just had a bit of a revelation. He’ll share when he's ready.

A spark of mischief lights up Feyre’s eyes as understanding dawns on her. Her lips curve into a sly, knowing grin. But she carefully masks any hint of her newfound knowledge from you. "You know, I think we deserve some fun today. Just us twins. You’ve been pushing hard with all that training and brooding," she suggests. Her voice bubbling with an excitement that piques your curiosity.

"Really? What did you have in mind?" you ask. Your earlier confusion over Azriel's behavior giving way to intrigue at Feyre's sudden enthusiasm.

"Oh, just a day for us to unwind and maybe get into a little mischief," Feyre replies, winking. "We can leave the mysteries of shadowy spymasters behind and focus on spoiling ourselves."

You laugh while nodding in agreement, relieved to set aside the morning's puzzles. "That sounds perfect, actually."

As the day unfolds with Feyre leading the way with her occasional secretive smiles and the warmth of her company envelop you, making you feel cherished and a part of something larger than just sisterly bonding. Every now and then she throws you a look filled with unspoken laughter as if she's in on a joke that’s yet to be told adding an intriguing layer to your day out.

"Enjoy today," Feyre says at one point. Her grin infectious. "Because who knows? Tomorrow you might find yourself swept off your feet in ways you never expected." Her words are light, but they dance with implication, leaving you wondering about the possibilities that tomorrow might bring.

As the days unfold since your training session you begin to notice an unusual shift in Azriel's behavior when he's around you. Always the quiet, stoic presence, he now seems to carry an air of nervousness that is both surprising and endearing. It's as if he's forgotten how to be around you. His typically smooth demeanor replaced with an awkwardness that sends a ripple of amusement throughout your days.

During your daily routines, whether you're practicing combat skills or just strolling through the lush gardens of the Night Court, Azriel is consistently by your side. Yet, his typical quiet confidence seems to falter. Today when he hands you a training sword his fingers not only linger but also tremble slightly against yours. The contact is brief but the moment his skin brushes against yours a visible blush creeps up his neck coloring his cheeks in a rare show of discomposure.

"Sorry," he stutters. Quickly retracting his hand as if scorched by the brief contact. He averts his gaze making sure to look anywhere but at you. His discomfort palpable in the tight set of his shoulders.

You can't help but tilt your head eyeing him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Azriel, are you alright?" you ask with a hint of a smile on your lips. Your voice is soft though hoping to ease some of his evident tension. The gardens around you bloom vibrantly. A stark contrast to Azriel’s suddenly flustered state.

He clears his throat attempting to regain some of his usual composure. "Yes, I'm... fine," he manages. His voice a notch higher than usual. He meets your gaze again holding it for a moment longer than he intends. The intensity of his stare both confusing and thrilling.

Just then as if to spite Azriel, Cassian strolls by and upon noticing Azriel's flushed face and your puzzled expression he can't help but let out a snicker. "Lost your cool, Shadowsinger?" he teases, winking at you before continuing on his way with a chuckle. "You’re usually smoother than this, brother!"

Azriel shoots Cassian a brief glare but there's a resigned humor in his eyes that suggests he knows just how out of character he must seem. As Cassian’s laughter fades into the distance Azriel finally turns back to you attempting a sheepish smile.

"It seems I'm a bit out of sorts today," he admits. His voice finally steadying. "Nothing to worry about, really."

Watching Azriel grapple with this uncharacteristic awkwardness only endears him more to you. There’s a sweetness in his struggle. A reminder that beneath the composed façade of the Night Court’s spymaster lies a depth of emotion rarely seen but profoundly felt.

On a tranquil afternoon in the Night Court, you find yourself relaxing in one of the quieter gardens alongside Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel. The air is filled with gentle laughter and the soft rustling of leaves. Cassian and Nesta are notably absent, presumably because Cassian has taken it upon himself to "help" Nesta with some errands—a pursuit that everyone knows often ends in playful bickering and affectionate banter.

Elain has also opted for a day out with Lucien exploring new botanical gardens on the outskirts of the city. Her passion for plants and Lucien's support in her endeavors showcases the growing bond between them.

The conversation flows easily until Rhys, with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, steers it towards Azriel’s recent scouting mission. "Azriel here stumbled upon something quite intriguing recently, didn’t you?" he teases while watching Azriel closely.

Caught off-guard Azriel’s response is delayed, his eyes widening slightly as if Rhys had tread into forbidden territory. "It was nothing out of the ordinary," he finally mutters. Though his voice holds a trace of unease.

Feyre jumps into the fray. Her tone laced with playful curiosity. "Oh, but I heard it was quite the discovery. Rare and fascinating… something that might deeply engage a man’s interest."

You laugh completely oblivious to the underlying meaning and look at Azriel with raised eyebrows. "What was it, Az? Some kind of hidden gem or a lost artifact?"

There’s a brief moment where Azriel’s composure falters under your direct gaze, his eyes meeting yours before quickly glancing away. He recovers quickly, however, a slight flush on his cheeks. "Yes, something like that," he agrees, his voice steadying. "A discovery that could indeed change one’s perspective for a lifetime."

Rhys doesn't miss a beat adding with a light chuckle, "Let’s hope it’s not kept secret too long. Such treasures are better when shared, right?"

Feyre nods enthusiastically. Her eyes dancing with amusement. "Especially when they bring people closer together, right, Az?"

Azriel meets Feyre’s gaze. His expression settling into a subtle smile that hints at his deep thoughts. “Indeed,” he replies quietly, the single word rich with unspoken meaning, affirming the sentiment with his usual succinct eloquence.

As the conversation moves on the jokes and laughter continue, your heart warmed by the newfound perspective you found with them. Azriel watches you with a gentle, albeit slightly wistful smile. He noticed how much more you're around, how your laughter fills the air more often, and how your vibrant personality begins to shine through once more. His heart fills with a mixture of relief and deep affection, seeing the signs of your healing. In these moments he cherishes the progress you've made feeling hopeful about the future. He was ready to support you every step of the way as the true nature of his discovery waits to be shared with you.

As the weeks blend into months, the connection between you and Azriel deepens. It was nurtured by shared moments and his unwavering support. On a crisp evening as the sun begins its descent painting the sky with strokes of pink and gold, Azriel brings you to a secluded hilltop that overlooks Velaris. This spot was known only to him and offers a panoramic view of the city as it starts to twinkle with the first lights of evening, the natural grassy surface underfoot soft and inviting.

Standing close by his presence was both comforting and solid, Azriel shares a story, his voice low and warm, recounting a humorous mishap from his early days as a spymaster. The tale is endearing, revealing a less guarded side of him and laughter bubbles up freely from your throat.

As your laughter transitions into a soft chuckle, you turn to face him. The last rays of the sunset bathe Azriel in a warm, golden light that illuminates his features, casting a glow that outlines him like an ethereal halo. His eyes that were filled with affection and a hint of amusement, meet yours. In that instant something profound shifts within you.

It feels as if a key has turned, unlocking something wondrous and overwhelming. The mating bond, which has been delicately weaving its way through each of your interactions, now clicks into place with perfect clarity. The sensation is electrifying yet profoundly comforting. Resonating through your very being.

Your breath catches and your heart races—not just from the shock of the realization but from the undeniable rightness that surges through you. Azriel, noticing the subtle transformation in your expression halts his story. A flicker of concern crossing his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks with his voice tinged with worry. The humor from his story now replaced by attentive care.

A mix of joy and amazement washes over you as you feel a comforting swirl of his shadows around your feet. Like curious creatures affirming this new connection. "Azriel, I think... I think the mating bond just…," you trailed off unsure how to continue. Your voice was filled with awe. The realization brings a new depth to your smile as you meet his gaze which is now shimmering with a mixture of relief and happiness.

"That's what I've been feeling," Azriel breathes out, a tender smile spreading across his face as he steps closer. He reaches out gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I've been waiting, hoping you would feel it too when the time was right."

Taking his hand, you feel a warmth that goes beyond physical touch. A connection that seeps into the depths of your soul. "I’m glad it’s you," you say quietly, sincerely, the words flowing easily.

Azriel’s other hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His touch feather light. "And I’m honored it’s you," he responds. His gaze locked with yours. The world around you—the city lights, the soft whisper of the evening breeze—fades into a gentle backdrop to the profound connection you share.

In this moment with Azriel’s shadows dancing around, playful, and protective, you feel a sense of completeness. A promise of endless possibilities. Together, bonded not just by fate but by a mutual understanding you know that whatever the future holds you'll get to navigate it side by side.

As the realization of the mating bond settles between you, Azriel's shadows seem to take on a life of their own. They swirled around you both with a newfound enthusiasm. The delicate tendrils of darkness weave around your legs and occasionally brush against your hands as if testing and reinforcing the connection that has just been acknowledged.

Azriel watches with a tender amusement as his shadows interact with you, their movements more animated than usual. "They seem to have taken quite a liking to you," he comments. His voice warm with affection and a hint of pride. "They're not usually this... attentive."

As the shadows continue their gentle dance around you, one particularly daring tendril snakes up your arm, its touch lighter than a feather. You can't help but laugh. The sound echoing softly in the quiet of the evening. With a delighted grin you reach out to trace the path of the shadow with your fingertips, marveling at the cool, tingling sensation it leaves on your skin.

Azriel continues watching with an affectionate roll of his eyes accompanying his half-smirk. "You're going to spoil them," he teases. His tone light but full of warmth.

Encouraged by your positive reaction another shadow playfully darts forward and mimics the motion of a gentle kiss on your cheek. You giggle with joy, your hand touching the spot in mock surprise and then you're both laughing. A shared moment of joy and wonder at the peculiar yet endearing behavior of the shadows.

Azriel shakes his head, but his eyes shine with amusement. "Now you've done it. They're going to expect this king of attention all the time," he jokes as the shadows around him swirled in what you swear could be shadowy laughter.

"You know, I think I'm okay with that," you respond still smiling as you watch the shadows retreat slightly, as if bashful from the attention. "They're quite charming. Just like someone else I know." You glance up at Azriel with a playful smirk. Enjoying the light flush that colors his cheeks at the compliment.

The shadows, seemingly pleased with their role in this light-hearted exchange, settle more calmly around you both like a contented sigh after a bout of laughter. The protective circle they form feels like a gentle embrace not just from Azriel but from all parts of him.

As the laughter fades Azriel's expression turns tender, his gaze softening as he searches your face looking for any sign of unease. "But seriously," he says with his voice low and earnest, "are you really okay?" His concern is palpable. The bond between you making every emotion, every nuance of feeling that much more intense and meaningful.

You meet his gaze feeling a surge of warmth from his sincere concern. Smiling gently, you nod, the tranquility of the moment filling you with a profound sense of peace. "I really am okay. For the first time in a long time," you admit. Your voice steady and sure. The confession feels like a significant acknowledgment of the journey you've been on and the role Azriel, and his shadows, have played in it.

Azriel's smile in response is radiant. A look of relief and happiness that brightens his entire demeanor. "That's all I’ve ever wanted to hear," he murmurs. His voice soft with emotion. He stands closer, his hand gently squeezing yours. "Come on, love," he whispers with a twinkle in his eyes. "Let's fly home."

With a graceful motion Azriel unfurls his expansive wings, the dark feathers shimmering under the starlight. The sight never fails to take your breath away. He wraps an arm securely around your waist, his touch reassuring. "Ready?" he asks. His voice a low rumble filled with excitement and anticipation.

With a nod you cling to him, feeling the rush of air as he leaps into the sky. Velaris unfolds below you. It was a gorgeous tapestry of lights and shadows. The wind was cool and exhilarating against your face. Flying with Azriel, held close against his chest, the city sprawling beneath you is an experience that feels as if it straddles the line between dream and reality.

The flight is swift and smooth. The quiet only broken by the rushing wind and the steady beat of Azriel's powerful wings. The world seems to shrink away, leaving only the two of you soaring through the night sky. As the House of Wind comes into view Azriel’s descent is gentle, a reminder of his skill and care for you.

You land softly on the balcony, the cool night breeze playing around you, still wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. Just as you touch down the laughter and lively banter of the Inner Circle reach your ears from inside.

As you and Azriel step through the grand doors of the House of Wind the lively atmosphere of the Inner Circle greets you. Cassian's booming voice fills the foyer as he spots you descending from the balcony. "Finally decided to join us, huh? Or were you two plotting to take over Velaris with your love-struck scheming?" he teases, winking not so conspicuously.

Rhysand joins in with a sly grin. His eyes twinkling with mischief. "I think they were busy weaving shadows and starlight. Look how they landed, like a pair of night-blooming flowers." His voice was laden with humor and draws a round of chuckles from around the room.

Feyre, Nesta, and Elain watch from the side, their expressions varying degrees of amusement and affection. Feyre's eyes meet yours and she gives you an approving nod. Her smile suggesting she understands more than she lets on. Nesta’s smirk is more enigmatic but supportive while Elain’s gentle gaze is filled with romantic delight at the scene unfolding before her.

Amid the teasing Azriel keeps you close, his arm remaining protectively around your waist. The warmth of his embrace reassures you. His presence a calming force against the good-natured ribbing. "Ignore them," he murmurs softly against your ear, just loud enough for you to hear over the laughter. His voice is rich with affection and a hint of playfulness that only you are privy to.

"You make it sound so easy," you whisper back, unable to suppress a smile feeling buoyed by the love filling the room.

As the evening progresses the light banter continues, with everyone occasionally casting teasing glances your way, making playful comments about the inseparable duo you and Azriel have become. Despite the jests there’s an underlying current of genuine happiness for you both. A celebration of the deepening bond that everyone seems to recognize and respect.

The night unfolds with shared stories, laughter, and an occasional clinking of glasses in toasts, not just to the night but to new beginnings and magical connections. As you stand by Azriel’s side, surrounded by friends who are more like family. You feel a profound sense of belonging and happiness. Here in the heart of the Night Court, under the watchful eyes of the stars and the soft glow of the city, you are home—not just in place, but in heart, bound by love, laughter, and the eternal dance of shadows and light.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

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shadowdarlings · 4 months

Text

Blood Will Rain II

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis : After emerging victorious in the war with Hybern, you are learning to be a part of a family again. Your recovery after being captive is slow, but a certain shadowsinger makes it his responsibility to see that you get well again.

part one

Pairings : AzrielxReader , ReaderxInnerCircle!Platonic , ReaderxRhysand!Siblings

A/N : part two of idk. if you’d like to be tagged in any other series updates please comment!

Warnings : slight angst, mentions of captivity, az being sweetie pie hehe

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It had been weeks since you and your family had returned to the Night Court. After half a millennia you were thrilled to be back in the city of starlight. Velaris, your home, finally. You had taken up a semi-permanent residence in the House of Wind alongside Cassian and Azriel. Although the elation of returning woke something that had been long asleep within you, the scars of your captivity rang throughout your very bones. Rhysand made a habit of coming to check on you frequently. Sometimes under the guise of wanting to meet with his general or shadowsinger, but it was all to see you. You noted his efforts and appreciated his call to be your older brother, but you did not know how to be a sister anymore. You did not know how to be a friend. These titles had been forgotten, the only thing you knew how to do was be prisoner. You often caught yourself falling into old habits that had been developed during the 500 years you were Hybern’s pet. The chambers in which he kept you at the grey stone palace had changed throughout the years. The first 200 you spent confined to a small dungeon with little light or air. After much beguiling the King saw fit to move you into a room similar to what their servants were housed in. It was nothing compared to the space and lavishness of your quarters in the House.

This did not stop you from remaining mostly confined to that room. It was rare that you strode the halls or explored the libraries or training ring. Interactions with the rest of your brother’s court were kept short and polite. You did not want them to see that you now felt stranger to them, this world. Although you had grown up with the three Illyrian males they had become something you did not recognize. They too had gone through extensive changes during these years. Rhysand had become High Lord. Cassian a commanding General to the Night Court’s armies. Azriel had become something completely different than what you knew before. He was the same in some regards, still reserved and watchful, but his presence held a more powerful purpose than it did during those years in Illyria. These people were your family, yes, but they were also strangers. The Archeron sisters were also completely foreign to you. Feyre visited as Rhys did and made efforts to give you any comfort you requested. The other two sisters you hardly spoke to or saw at all. Strangers. They were all strangers. Except that this was their House, their family. There was a sickening realization that it was not them but you who was the stranger. So you kept to yourself, to your abominably large quarters, and to the small tasks you gave yourself each day.

You were up before dawn as you practiced each morning. The power that the Cauldron had bestowed on you was something that needed an outlet. These last hours of night were perfect, you would not disturb anyone as you released waves of magic. The stars winked at you from the lightening sky as you levitated each item in your room several inches then gently placed them back down. It was simple magic, not anything that could be used productively, but it was something to quell the ocean inside. One floor above you felt movement coming from Cassian’s rooms. The General was often awake early but typically not for at least another hour. The shock of it was enough that your bed landed with a dull thud instead of silent ease. Panic struck through you and it was an effort to control your breaths. “Relax,” you said to yourself, “he is not your enemy.” The footsteps and noises that came from the two Illyrians often sent your survival instincts into hyperdrive until you reminded yourself that they were not the guards. You were not prisoner. You were home. Loosing a calm breath you considered. His steps were no longer solitary but accompanied by a lighter pair, and they were making their way down to your floor. Then seconds later a soft knock sounded on the large wooden door to your sitting room just outside your sleeping quarters. You shouldered on the floor length robe that hung on your bedpost and pulled your midnight hair back from your face. Padding over gently you opened the door slightly to reveal a towering Azriel waiting to greet you.

“There’s breakfast,” he offered observing your entire figure. He seemed to note the thin sheen of sweat that adorned your forehead from your morning magic. He did not comment, but raised his palm slightly in invitation. “Let me change into something more appropriate and I’ll be ready,” you said assessing him in a similar manner. The shadowsinger was not in his usual Illyrian leathers, but instead he donned casual black pants and a loose fitting long black shirt. The swirls of ink on his chest peeking just above the neckline. Whispers of autumn were upon the northern territory, a slight chill had claimed the mornings while the sun still heated the afternoons. He bowed slightly, “Of course,” was all he said before you shut the door and turned to get yourself ready. The outfits you’d worn at the House had all been casual. Rhys did not deem it fit for you to take up any sort of fighting anytime soon, and you were inclined to agree with him. “Recovery,” is what he had said, “that is all I want you to focus on. If you need anything at all please let any one of us know.” You smiled slightly at the thought while pulling on a lightweight sweater that matched your violet eyes and a pair of black leggings accompanied by woolen socks. It had been longer than you could remember since such kindness had been extended to you. It was so foreign, but you welcomed it nonetheless. After tying your hair into a loose bun at the nape of your neck you strode to the double doors that entered the hallway. Upon opening them you were surprised to see Azriel still standing there waiting for you.

“You didn’t have to wait,” you said, willing the slight blush that threatened to climb up your cheeks to dissipate. “I know,” was all he said before gesturing towards the hall that led to the dining room. The two of you took the short walk in silence. Whether Azriel knew the silence was born by feeling like a stranger he did not let on, but silence with him felt different than with the others. With the rest of your family you were always searching for something to say, something to fill the emptiness that gave away your alienation from them. With Azriel the quiet did not seem so desperate. Perhaps it was just the nature of a shadowsinger, you thought.

The two of you entered into the grand dining room and the silence was broken by Cassian’s bellowing laughter and Mor’s palm thwacking against his bicep. Surely you did not want to know the words they had exchanged before your arrival. Rhysand and Feyre swooped into the main room not a second later, the two of them giving knowing glances as they strode in and joined the rabble. You were happy for your brother, and it was then you made a mental note to try and get to know his new mate better. When you halted a few feet from the group, Azriel stopped with you. Rhysand turned his attention from Feyre and his eyes landed on you and the towering Illyrian standing just to your side. “Good morning, Y/N. Good morning, Az,” he purred. Cassian and Mor paused their bickering to gaze over to you both as well. The sets of eyes that all laid upon you now had you toying with the sleeve of your sweater, but you simply replied “Good morning, everyone.” Feyre approached and wrapped her slender arms around your shoulders. “I hope you slept well,” she said pulling back after her short embrace. You nodded and plastered a cheery smile on your face. This was your family. They love you. “Good,” Rhysand stated, “because we have a long day ahead of us.” At your confused look Azriel leaned down to say gently “We’re going to celebrate your birthday.”

Taglist : @annamariereads16 @lilah-asteria @sidthedollface2 @todaywasafairytale07 @doodlebugg16-blog

#acotar #azriel x y/n #azriel series #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #rhysand #feyre archeron #a court of thorns and roses #azriel supremacy #azriel #acosf #acomaf #acowar #king of hybern #acotar imagine

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starfall-spirit · 2 months

Text

All works will be NSFW, seeing as this is omegaverse.

Read Series on Ao3

So This is What Heaven Feels Like~Modern Feysand

Summary: After one last screaming match and a good cry, Feyre is finally ready to move on from her lousy ex and rebuild the life he took her away from. She didn't imagine she'd be right back in the thick of it, reviving buried feelings for her best friend's cousin.

OR;

Feyre dumps Tamlin, moves back to big city life, and gets herself an alpha who will treat her right.

Chapter I // Chapter II

Mine for a Moment~Modern Eluzriel

*Elucien Week 2024*

Summary: Elain doesn't need a pack bond to be satisfied as an omega. She's perfectly content being mated to Azriel alone and their solo bond had never been a problem. That is until Elain's heat cycle arrives ahead of schedule and her alpha is half way around the world with no way home.

Luckily for them, their very good friend and roommate, Lucien, is willing to step in until Azriel can get home to help her.

Chapter I // Chapter II

Precious Collateral~Feysand Mafia AU

*ACOTAR Omegaverse Week 2024*

Summary: When Rhys set out to collect his dues from the head of the Archeron house, he knew the man would be begging for more time. What he didn’t expect was to be offered the youngest daughter as collateral.

After spending only a day in the temperamental woman’s company, he found himself utterly enraptured with his new guest—and with no intention of letting her father scrape together the funds that would grant her her freedom.

Masterlist

How Can I Loathe and Crave You?~Feyre x Rhys x Eris Canon Divergence

*ACOTAR Omegaverse Week 2024*

Summary: After having just moved into the Forest House weeks before the wedding, Feyre finds herself in a strange predicament.

OR;

Burning in the Starlight, but make it omegaverse.

Masterlist

Scarred So Pretty~Feysand Mafia/Omega Auction

*ACOTAR Omegaverse Week 2024

Summary: If there was one thing Rhys was well aware of, it was that his life expectancy as a kingpin was a short one. Unless he wanted his uncle seizing power the moment he bled out, he was in need of an heir. An Alpha heir at that.

The only way he could guarantee such a thing was by breeding an omega, a designation nearly extinct in the world they lived in. Regardless, he would acquire one—no matter how unconventional his means may be.

Masterlist

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears. Isn't it fun?!

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asnowfern · 1 year

Text

Crimson Blade - Part One

Summary: When Paris-based Feyre stops contacting their London home, Nesta engages private detective Cassian to investigate. The truth turned out to be much bloodier than she ever expected.

OR a vampire Cassian and human Nesta Victorian love story

Rating: M, for vampire shenanigans

WC: 4.5k

Read on AO3 | Part Two | Part Three

A/N: Happy Nessian Week everyone!🩷🩷🩷

This fic is written for @nessianweek Day 7: Free Day and is part two of my Victorian Vampire series. Part one is Crimson Starlight, a artist Feyre and vampire Rhysand love story. While I would love for you to read Crimson Starlight first, I tried my best to make this fic capable of standing on its own.

A huge thank you to @thelovelymadone for beta-reading. You are amazing and I love you!🩷

Enjoy!

It starts with a letter. Or in this case, two letters.

Two innocuous letters lie on the table and are the primary focus of the two sisters. One is addressed to both in the familiar scrawl of their sister, while the other is scrawled elegantly in an address to Elain. For a moment, nobody moves. However, Nesta can feel Elain's indecision and familial concern warring with personal excitement. Nesta picks up Feyre's letter and jerks her head at the other.

Hiding a smile, she sees her sister carefully tearing with guarded excitement into her letter as her own eyes scan the contents of her sister's letter.

It has been over a month since Feyre last wrote to her sisters from Paris. When Feyre moved to the French capital to pursue her artistic dreams nearly four months ago, she sent regular letters to Nesta and Elain. The letters were not the most affectionate or frequent (about two to three a month), but they were perfunctory. They let her know that Feyre is safe and doing well.

Nesta feels the worry ebb from her chest as she finishes the letter's contents. Next to her, Elain folds the letter and places it back into the envelope. Her spine is straight, and her movements are controlled and precise, unreadable to anyone who isn't her sister. "Good news?" She asks as casually as possible without letting her suspicions show regarding her curiosity about Elain’s mystery letter.

Elain shrugs, "You first. How's Feyre?"

"She is doing well. She apologizes for the late letter, saying she was selected to exhibit at the World Fair and was focused on that."

Elain's answering beam is bright like the Sun: "World Fair! That's amazing. Although a little word would have been nice."

Nesta nods, her shoulders raising slightly in a silent, resigned expression. Feyre has always been passionate. She gestures to the envelope still clutched tightly in Elain's hand, "So, good news?"

The middle Archeron's head bobs as a spark enters her eyes, "They agreed to take me on as their landscapist. They would cover all training and living expenses as I shadow their current staff." She trails off hesitantly.

Sensing the hesitation, Nesta asks, "But?"

She nibbles on her lower lip slightly before speaking, "It would be a live-in job at their country estate for the first couple of weeks before I get transferred to take care of their London townhouse."

Nesta smiles. Leave it to Elain to worry about a small thing like leaving her sister alone in the city that pretty much grew up in, "Go, it's just a few weeks. Imagine how much reading I can get done."

Nesta frowns as her attention gets snagged by maroon spots on Feyre's letter. She brings the paper closer to observe the spots, completely missing what Elain has been saying.

"Nesta!"

She snaps her head up, "What?" Nesta asks, trying to keep her irritation at the interruption hidden from the surface and let Elain only see her concern for her alone.

Elain's brows are creased in worry as she repeats slightly exasperatedly, "Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself?"

Nesta scoffs and rolls her eyes good-naturedly, "Go, I'll be fine!" She insists as Elain’s worry turns into unbridled happiness. Like the very first day of spring after a long winter, the joy from Elain spreads like wildfire.

She observes as her sister excitedly runs to draft her response, only turning her focus back to the letter in her hand after she is alone in the sitting room.

She draws a sharp breath. She must be paranoid, right? She must have been reading too many novels recently. Why else would a letter look blood-splattered?

She pushes the thought away and picks up a half-read journal from the desk. It's nothing, it's probably nothing.

It’s likely a new type of ink, the color of maroon.

It’s nothing.

***

Nesta sighs to herself as she looks up from the newspaper clipping and at the cream-coloured building, raising a hand to the door handle for what has to be the fifth time. She knocks on the door before she talks herself out of it.

Is she overreacting to engaging a private detective because of an obscure brown spot on a letter?

Maybe, but she's not letting that stop her.

Her back is rigid as she walks up the stairs, her shoes somehow hitting the carpeted surface a little too loudly. She cautiously pokes her head into the second-floor flat when the pressure of her knock pushes the door open.

"Hello?" She calls, unable to keep down the shiver that traverses her spine, feeling like she's being watched.

Thick curtains cover the window and shroud the entire flat in semi-darkness. The room is disconcertingly neat, without a single frame or stationery out of place. She cautiously pads across the room, taking in every framed article - from the arrest reports of major crimes like murderers and arsonists to more minor offenses like lost antiques.

Nesta starts to zoom in on a recent article of a French aristocrat getting mysteriously mauled when she spots a small poster poking out from under the chair. Intrigued, she lowers until she is balanced on the balls of her feet and picks up the sign, her blue-grey eyes widening at the picture of an elegant glass-domed building and the wordings above it: PARIS EXPOSITION UNIVERSELLE 1889

The Paris World Fair - where Feyre’s art will be showcased. Her heartbeat picks up. Of course, there are many, many reasons that this private detective has for having a copy of this poster. A possible theft or even an art enthusiast. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

She startles at the sound of a door opening from a distance. She hurries to slide the paper back beneath the seat and draws herself to full height. Her face returns to its usual haughty impassiveness when the man enters the sitting room. Nesta bites the inside of her mouth to avoid giving away a reaction to his appearance.

Though he is dressed in sharp casual attire, every stride is taken with powerful military precision. Piercing hazel eyes lock with hers for a second before they sweep over her body, assessing. Despite how it raises every hair on her body, the gaze draws a slight upward tilt of her chin at him. A cocksure smirk graces his lips as he clocks the action. It cuts through the stern features and raises the right eyebrow, where a thin scar dissects it.

"Please," he gestures to the armchairs before the fireplace, "Sit, and we can get started."

Nesta wordlessly makes her way to the seat, taking care only to lower herself as he does.

The man leans back with his legs crossed casually, "So how can I help you today, governess?"

To her surprise, the muscle in her jaw tenses as the smirk on his mouth grows, and she asks lightly, "Ah, is this the infamous deductive skill I keep hearing about? The great Cassian Everly at work?"

He leans forward and uncrosses his legs almost obscenely wide, a gleam entering his eyes, "Would you like to find out?"

Recognizing the challenge, she scoffs, "And give in to your dying need to show off? I'll pass."

The detective shrugs, quickly brushing off the insult. He leaps off the chair, the feet of the furniture scraping against the ground as it moves backward with the sudden impact, effortlessly crossing the distance between them to grab the exhibition poster from the bottom of her seat. Green and gold flakes dancing around his pupils in teasing, knowing, "So, who in Paris do you want me to look into?" He asks too casually, yet Nesta can feel the threat.

This man is dangerous, she realizes almost belatedly as their faces are inches apart. Her eyes unwittingly take in every handsome feature, even once daring to dip down to his mouth. Her following words come out more breathless than she ever intended, "Rhysand Night." The name leaves her lips as the spell around them breaks like glass.

For a split second, his brows creased. The look passes so quickly that it leaves her doubting if she even saw it. She continues, feeling the need to explain while her face becomes a little flushed at her unexpected confession, "He is my sister's sponsor. A sort of agent for her artwork. They left for Paris nearly four months ago, then nearly two months ago, my sister stopped sending us letters." She hands him the letter, "Until this finally arrived three days ago."

He takes the envelope from her, rough fingertips lightly brushing against soft skin. He carefully scans the paper products before giving the contents of Feyre's letter a quick read. "The brown spots," he declares, evidently isolating the same abnormally as she did, "are simply coffee stains."

She bristles, asking almost indignantly, "So not a cause of concern?" She can’t help but cross her arms at his dismissal, slightly disappointed at his quick assessment.

"No," he agrees but pockets the letter nonetheless, "but if you still want a report on Night, I'll take the job." He says as he stands up and holds out a hand to her.

She smiles tightly, "Thank you." She intones as blandly as she can as she grabs his hand to stand up. Now, on her feet, she realizes he is but a couple of inches away as he takes her hand and raises it to his mouth while meeting her gaze with his hazel eyes that promise something to her.

She tries to ignore the knot in her stomach, tightening as his lips brush her knuckles, "I'll have it ready for you in three days." His eyes darkened as the words rolled off and caressed her skin in playful, hot rasps, "Pleasure doing business with you, Nesta." His name has her goosebumps rise as she snatches her hand away and walks as gracefully as she can out of the rumor like a Queen. When she no longer feels his gaze on her, she picks up the pace and allows herself to disappear into the crowd.

***

Nesta raises a porcelain cup to her lips and sighs deeply at the fragrant scent of the tea. The world passes in a rapid swirl of dark French woods outside the window before her. She sinks back to the velvety cushion, her mind again drifting back to the private detective throughout her journey from London to Paris.

She isn't quite sure what she had expected after her visit to the investigator. However, a young courier at her doorstep asking for payment with comprehensively documented papers was probably not it. Not after the burn of his stare etched into her brain, or the pressure of his lips on the back of her hand left her tingling for hours—her hand flexes from the mere memory of it.

Then she stiffens, her back impossibly straight, like a prey under attack.

Unable to shake off the sudden unease, Nesta whips her head around the empty carriage. There is something out here. She's sure of it.

The train lurches just as she stands, causing her back to collide with a solid, warm wall with an "oomph." Thick, calloused hands grab either side of her upper arms to steady her.

"Easy there," a low, husky voice haunting her dreams rumbles, kicking her heartbeat up a notch.

"Detective," she mumbles, her body still hyper-aware from the strange fear that struck her earlier.

Numbly, she turns to face the newcomer. The grip on her arms tightens as her chin raises to meet him eye-to-eye. Time stills as hazel eyes meet stormy blue. She feels the lump forming in her throat as she takes in his form. He was undeniably attractive before, but now, with brown skin reflecting the silver sheen of moonlight in the most gentle, sensual caress? The man is devastating.

Brown pupils dart around her face as the edge of his lips curves upwards, giving the teeniest glimpse of pearly white canines, "Fancy meeting you here."

She swallows heavily as the world begins to move again. The rhythmic sound of the train against the tracks returns, loud and flashy, and kicks her excellent sense back into gear.

She narrows her eyes, demanding, "Are you following me?" She asked as accusingly and haughtily as she could, trying to land a blow on him.

The accused waves a dismissive hand as a deep chuckle escapes him, "Trust me, if I was following you, you would never even know I was." A hand disappears into his lapels, "I guessed you would be here, and I came to return this to you."

Three pounds, the exact amount she paid him for the work.

"Why?"

"I know Rhysand Night. We are very good friends." He pauses, contemplating his next words, "It did not seem right to charge you when I already knew most of the information presented."

She shakes her head and raises a hand to close his fingers around the coins. She says, "I paid for information. It matters not how it was obtained so long as it was factual."

A look of surprise overtakes him, but he silently pockets the money anyway. She turns and settles back into her seat, the glassware clinking as she once again brings the cup to her lips and sips the tea.

"May I?"

He sits beside hers at her nod, facing the racing, dark forest beyond the window.

"How did you know I would be here?" She asks, unable to quell the curiosity, and almost immediately regrets it as he perks up. His smile is almost irritatingly triumphant.

"You were always going to find your sister. No matter what anyone, even me, says about those brown stains on the letter. That glint in your eyes told me that the day we met. Considering your employment, you need a week's notice and sufficient headroom to book your transport. Of course, there are several ways to travel from London to Paris, but a person of your stature and financial position? This particular Dover and Calais route offers security and speed without burning a hole in your savings." He said, all matter of factually, as if he knew the exact steps she would make from one meeting with him.

She blinks, absorbing the information. The teacup in her hand rattles slightly as she places it back down. "You're not that impressive," she informs him curtly.

He smirks, "But I got it right, didn't I?" He crooned as her hackles rose while the smile on his rugged, handsome features only grew like a cat who captured the canary in a trap.

She doesn't deign to give him a further chance to gloat and asks, "So why are you going to Paris? It can't be for me." She intones sharply, determined to cut his fire with her ice.

Though the burning gaze says otherwise, he tells her, "The World Fair is always full of mysteries. I'm here to see which one I can uncover this time."

The chair drags against the carpeted surface as she stands, bidding him a farewell, "Then I guess I'll see you there." She says flatly as she can without revealing how scared she is at his unnerving comment. She is almost at the door in her haste when his voice calls out with a touch of panic:

"Nesta?"

His face is touched, just barely, with nerves as she stops in her stride and turns back to him expectantly. As her gaze meets him, the nerves fade from his face as he smiles like a devil at the sight of her.

"Don't leave Paris without saying hi." He says it like an order, but she can hear his question beneath the façade. He can’t fool her, and she can’t fool him.

The sides of her lips twitch upwards as she heads back, "I'll see you around, detective."

***

Nesta slides down the staircase of the hotel lobby and instantly spots the man waiting for her at the base. He takes a gloved hand, raising his lips in greeting. A stray wavy strand escapes from the neat bun and falls to tickle her hand as molten hazel brands her.

"You look exquisite, Nesta."

She lets her gaze rake through his body, dressed in the most layers she's seen. Though every tailored shirt, vest, and jacket clings to his muscled form and attracts wandering eyes. She murmurs thanks as she takes his elbow and loops an arm around. She stands half a step too close, the proximity sending a message more evident than anything that can be said out loud. His elbow is tight around hers as they exit the building, leaving behind gloved whispers.

He offers a hand as they step out of the carriage, greeted by a row of neat, affluent townhouses. He tilts his head towards her slightly, his mouth curved into a small smile, "I think you'll like this."

She releases a breath she hasn't realised she has been holding as they walk through an intricately designed door. Her ears pick up on the dreamy and melodic harmony of strings and winds, the music stirring something profound within her. There is a splattering of applause as the piece ends before a solo piano act begins in a flow of lively keys.

"Is that Claude Debussy himself?" She whispers to Cassian in disbelief, her arm tightening around him. "How did you-" The words trail off as she finds herself unable to finish the sentence.

How did he know her love for music? She wonders, her breath hitches in her throat at how his eyes hold tender affection as he observes her reaction. It is all Nesta could do to meet the gaze head-on.

He answers, "I thought you might enjoy this." As if it is no trouble at all to jump through hoops for her happiness—the things she holds dear.

She squeezes his arm and gives a small smile in return. With a little bow, he leads her onto the dance floor. His palm is heavy on her waist as another warms her hand through her glove, their bodies so close that the space between them heats up. The first note of the piano has them moving, her feet following quickly in his lead.

There is an ease to dancing with Cassian, she realizes. The proverbial wall between them thins with every spin and twirl of their bodies, with every swell and fade of the piano.

"How are you enjoying Paris?" He asks, his cheeks slightly flushed from the movement, "Was the visit to your sister all you hoped it to be?"

Their hands drift apart as she spins away, effortlessly joining again as the dance spins her back into waiting arms. Her eyes narrow, "Fishing, Everly? I'm sure you know full well how it went."

The evening with Feyre and Rhysand the night before was fraught at worst and awkward at best. Even the extraordinary charm of her sister's art sponsor could not dispel the awkwardness of her unannounced arrival. Conversations were tense and stilted, leaving Nesta more suspicious than when she first stepped through the door.

"Feyre," she continues, their feet moving quickly in time, "Feyre is different. I can't quite put my finger on it, but she does. And I'm not leaving until I figure it out."

"Cassian," he says instead.

"What?"

Their eyes lock as they circle each other, their steps in a perfect semicircle, "Call me Cassian."

A little laughter bubbles up her throat, escaping her lips in a huff. The music comes to a close and ends the dance with a dip. Strong arms support her securely as he pulls her back upright, their faces inches apart. For a stretched beat, hazel eyes darken and dart towards her lips. His sculpted lips are parted, almost in anticipation.

She steps back, giving him a little bow as etiquette demands. "I'm not leaving Paris until I figure out exactly what is going on, Cassian." She feels his weighted gaze even hours after they have parted.

***

The moon hangs high in the sky as Nesta sneaks out of the exhibition housing the World Fair artworks. The night is still, and the building feels eerily abandoned. Even the warm summer night fails to tamper the shiver that travels down her spine.

She looks back at the shut wooden door and heaves a sigh. Once again, there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Feyre's artworks, while stunning in their bright coloured strokes, are standard. Normal like Feyre's flat is, regular like her studio is. Not even a paintbrush needed to be put in the right place.

The golden brunette thoughtlessly tugs the hood of her coat over her head and heads back to the inn. The fast pathway has her cutting through a park, keeping her footsteps light and quick.

She stills when the sound of a throaty moan slices through the silence of the woods. She should move, she should move.

But she doesn't.

Despite her better sense, Nesta moves safely behind the trees toward the sound. Stormy blue eyes widened to mimic the moon above while blood roared through her ears.

It was Feyre and Rhysand. With another man, she doesn't recognise.

Except Rhysand has what could only be fangs extended pointedly at tender skin. Feyre's lips are fused to his neck, arms holding him tight in an embrace. She lifts her head, exposing her own set of razor-sharp canines and blood running down her chin. Nesta watches, horrified, as Rhysand releases the man's hand and whispers into his ear.

The man retreats, his steps heavy and slow like a zombie. Nesta's vision tunnels back to the couple. Rhysand approaches her sister with a predatory gleam, his mouth opening wide as Feyre bares her neck at him. It is too obscene and intimate both at once.

Nesta opens her mouth to scream.

But no sound escapes. A rough hand clamps tightly over her mouth. "Don't make a sound or even move a muscle."

Her heart stings with betrayal at the familiar voice. She begins to shake as another strong arm encircles around her middle. Her breath feels cut off as she soars high up in the night sky, stopping when the street lights are nothing more than fireflies blinking in the dark. Shakily, she turns to look up at her captor.

She thinks bitterly that it is unreasonable for him to look so beautiful, bathed in silver moonlight. It distracts her, pulling her attention away from the monstrously large leathery wings flapping to keep them airborne. Or elongated fangs that can pierce her flesh like a hot knife through butter. No, instead, she is entranced by the way the light reflects off the contours of his face and accentuates his cheekbones, the way his hair gathers deliciously in the wind, taunting her fingers to reach up and yank.

His eyes are darker than she's ever seen, pupils blown wide, pushed to the edges until there is just a rim of gold.

Her brain slowly moves again, and her blood speeds as she seethes, "You've been lying to me all this time. Covering up for them, distracting me, and leading me in circles."

"Nesta," the voice is strained.

Cold fire surges through her veins and laces her words, "Bring me back down now."

"They could've killed you if they've seen you." He argues sharply.

She barely hears him over, her heart pounding in her ears, pushing aside the chill of fear to dig her nails deep into muscled forearms, "Bring me down. Now."

She can almost hear his jaw click in tension. But powerful, leathery wing pitches with the wind, and they descend. Not back to the same woods but precariously outside a dark window. It falls open with a swipe of his nails.

Nesta extricates herself the instant her feet touch the ground. At any other time, she may have dwindled to observe her surroundings properly, what is sure to be his room. Instead, she whips around, striking out like a viper, "He did this to her."

Hazel eyes flash dangerously, his lips curling into a snarl, "Don't talk about what you don't understand." He hissed at her like she was a silly little prey who could be coaxed to the slaughterhouse.

The wolf emerged from hibernation and roared within her. She shoves the hysterical laugh that threatens to escape and scoffs derisively. She hisses, "Feyre was human when she left. Not," she swallows the lump in her throat, "not this monster Night turned her into."

"A monster." he echoes flatly, a hint of hurt flashes past his face. It is gone within a heartbeat, replaced by a determined predator's glare.

"Yes," She tilts her chin to level a stern gaze at him, refusing to step back even when he is close enough that the heady scent of snowy pine and sandalwood envelops her.

She is as stiff as marble as his face lowers towards and the tip of his nose ghosts along the nape of her neck, "Then do you know," he growls, breathing deeply, "how delectable you are to monsters like me?" He whispers as his hot breath practically envelopes her, urging the wolf inside her to let him in and let go of her burdens.

A whimper wrangles out of her as a hot tongue laps her throat with one long lick. The strangely erotic action sends a spike of heat straight between her legs. He chuckles lowly, the barest of movement in the front of his thigh, rubbing delicious friction against her core, “So what does this say about you? Enjoying the attention of a monster?" He crones, his breath hotly against her neck while baiting her like she is nothing more than an insignificant plaything to him.

Slap!

Her hand stings from the impact as she spits venomously, "Is this what he did to her? Seduce her into it? With music and lies?" She wrestles herself out of his grip, stumbling backward. Hot tears prick the back of her eyes, but she holds firm, throwing him the coldest look she can muster, "You tell Feyre. If she ever valued her relationship with us, she would tell us the truth. Otherwise," she takes a breath, "otherwise, she's dead to us."

She straightens her back, her legs moving almost mechanically out of the room.

"She was dying, and he saved her." He croaks out, desperately like it was something she wasn’t supposed to know. Yet the secret stops her in her tracks and hangs between them heavily. Nesta would have done anything to save her sisters, even if it cost her life. But this…

The ends shouldn’t always justify the means—even miracles carry a heavy cost, for the roads to hell are often paved with the best and good intentions.

She stops, just barely long enough to reply. "Depends on your definition of saved." She says as softly as she can, for if she releases her fury, he will see her bruised heart in pieces beneath her façade. Some things are never meant to be played, no matter the tragedy.

Feyre was as good as dead to her as was he.

#nessianweek2023 #nessian fic #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #vampire!cassian #crimson love series #in an ideal world both parts would have been finished by now but alas #life is tiring

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achaotichuman · 7 months

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We back at it again with this fic. Hope you guys enjoy!

Summary-

She had eyes like starlight and a grin that could outshine the moon, "We'll rule the world."

"What if we fail?"

"Then we'll burn it all down."

In hindsight maybe it could only have ever ended like this. Making a man who was never made to rule, High lord. This was all inevitable.

With his Court in ruins and everyone gone, Tamlin lives amongst the broken pieces of his Court and has no intentions of changing that. Lucien, however, will not stand to leave his oldest friend alone.

When Lucien takes Tamlin back to the human lands, they discover a darkness coming for Prythian. If something does not stop it, it will completely rewrite the way Faeries and humans alike live as they know it.

Fandom- A Court of Thorns and Roses.

Relationships-

Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra, Azriel/Eris Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Tamlin & Lucien Vanserra, Tamlin & Eris Vanserra, Past Tamlin/Feyre Archeron, Past Lucien Vanserra/Jesminda

Characters-

Original Female Character(s), Andras (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Original Male Character(s), Lucien Vanserra, Tamlin (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Elain Archeron, Eris Vanserra, Azriel (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Death-God Kosechi, Morrigan (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Cassian (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Nesta Archeron, Tarquin (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Tamlin's Brothers (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Amren (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Band of Exiles (A Court of Thorns and Roses)

Tags-Tamlin Redemption (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Depression, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Secret Relationships, Mating Bonds, Flashbacks, Self-Harm, Found Family, Abandonment Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Grief/Mourning, Dissociative Amnesia, Forced Marriage, repressed trauma, Panic Attacks, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Demisexuality, Overthinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Horror, Body Horror, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorders, Hewn City Rebellion, Illyrian Rebellion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Enemies With Benefits, Deep Dive Into Elain's Past, Deep Dive Into Tamlin's Past, Bisexuality, Anxiety Attacks, Elain Archeron Character Arc, Heavy Angst, Necromancy, Smut, Psychological Torture, idiots to lovers, dumbasses in love, Fluff

Part one of A Court of Outcasts, Thieves and Assassins.

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feyresdaughter · 1 year

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A Court of Frost and Starlight, chapter 25-28:

I hadn’t even been back to the town house. Hadn’t even told Rhys. I’d woken at dawn, Rhys already off to meet with Az and Cassian at Devlon’s camp, and decided to hell with waiting. Putting life off didn’t make a lick of sense. I knew what I wanted. There was no reason to delay.

YES HONEY, YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WANT

I couldn’t stop the tears that blurred my vision. Couldn’t stop myself from remembering those years in that cottage, the hollow ache of hunger. The image of those three little containers of paint that I’d savored. “I didn’t know it existed,”I managed to whisper. Even with all the committees that I volunteered to help, they had not mentioned it. I didn’t know that there was a place, a world, where artists might be valued. Taken care of. I’d never dreamed of such a thing.

It's what she dreamed of as a human and now she can help the people who are in a similar situation as her 😭

Ressina asked, “So what are you going to do with it? The studio.” I surveyed the empty space before me. Not empty— waiting. And from far away, as if it was carried on the cold wind, I heard the Suriel’s voice. Feyre Archeron, a request. Leave this world a better place than how you found it.

She's making the world a better place 🥺

A minute passed by. Then two. “Come on,” Ressina muttered. “Perhaps they had the wrong time?” But as I said it, they emerged. Ressina and I held our breath as the pack of them rounded the corner, aiming for the studio. Ten children, High Fae and faerie, and some of their parents.

YASSSS I love it

If there were children who might not be able to talk about what they’d endured, but could perhaps paint or draw or sculpt it. Perhaps they wouldn’t do any of those things , but the act of creating something … it could be a balm to them. As it was for me. As it was for the weaver, and Ressina, and so many of the artists in this city.

No one and nothing can ever convince me that this is stupid. No anti in the whole wide world. It's amazing. Feyre took what helped her through hard times and made something bigger of it, helping many people

How soon do classes start? was the most frequent question. The close second being How much does it cost? Nothing. Nothing, we told them. It was free. No child or family would ever pay for classes here— or the supplies.

“Rough day at the office?”I pushed back a strand of my hair. Knowing it was likely streaked with blue paint. Since my fingers were covered in it. “You should see Ressina.”Indeed, she’d gone into the back moments ago to wash off a face full of red paint. Courtesy of one of the children, who’d deemed it a good idea to form a bubble of all the paint to see what color it would turn, and then float it across the room. Where it collided with her face.

Paint smeared Feyre being happy and enjoying life is my favorite Feyre

“They don’t take their paintings home?” - “These will dry first, but I asked her if she wanted me to keep this somewhere special. She said to throw it out.” Rhys’s eyes danced with worry. I said quietly, “I want to keep it. To put in my future office. So we don’t forget.”

She would never forget but it's adorable

Rhys helped me with my coat, stealing a kiss before we walked out into the sunny, frigid day

AWWWW SJM PLS YOU MAKE MY HEART FLUTTER

I linked my arm through his, nestling into his warmth. “It’s strange,”I murmured. Rhys angled his head. “What is?”I smiled. At him, at the Rainbow, at the city. “This feeling, this excitement to wake up every day. To see you, and to work, and to just be here.”

She's literally come so far and I'm so proud of my Feyre

So I leaned into him, into that unfailing strength, and said down the bond, "You make me so very happy. My life is happy, and I will never stop being grateful that you are in it." I looked up to find him not at all ashamed to have tears slipping down his cheeks in public. I brushed a few away before the chill wind could freeze them, and Rhys whispered in my ear, “I will never stop being grateful to have you in my life, either, Feyre darling. And no matter what lies ahead”—a small, joyous smile at that—“we will face it together. Enjoy every moment of it together.”

And even after that. "I love you," I said down the bond. "What’s not to love?" Before I could elbow him, Rhys kissed me again, breathless and swift.

Adorable fucking idiots

To the stars who listen, Feyre.

To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.

Acofas has such a Fairytale (Feyretale) ending and I love it

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unhealthyfanobsession · 2 years

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This is more of a guilty pleasure fic and kind of a weird/random idea but-

Basically like a sicfic (?) where Nesta is ill but nobody (Cassian&rest of the IC) believes her and later on in the day she like blacks out or something during something important and then they realise she wasn't lying and feel really bad about it so then it's just a lot of fluff/comfort/apologies after that.Oh and if you decide on post ACOSF then maybe have the valkyries reaction to the others ignoring her and established bessian dynamic...idk you have full creative liberty,you're the artist.

Oh and it's ok if you don't want to do this at all really.That's understandable really.

I’m glad you said “creative liberty” because uh … I was very creatively liberal with this prompt lol - it started and then just took on a mind if it’s own!

Nesta Archeron saw different stars than her sister. Feyre looked up to the sky and dreamed, or whatever. Her gaze lit up with a thousand thousand shining lights set against a midnight blue backdrop that planted a painting directly into her mind. Feyre loved her city of Starlight. Would do anything to protect it, no, not protect, preserve. Keep the city a brilliant beacon of rainbow rivers and wishing upon the first star to the right every evening. A magical place. A place that didn’t exist. It never had.

Velaris was just as dark and twisted as the rest of the world. No place was pristine, no person untouched by darkness. Nesta knew this, and she accepted it. She chose to sink into the parts of the city that fit her.

Nesta had never looked up to the sky and wished. Wishes didn’t come true for people like her. That was probably why she loved romance novels so much, what a beautiful escape to read about the girl that has a happy ending.

Feyre was a girl who could have a happy ending. Nesta had always thought that, it is probably why she found the girl so insufferable. Even Elain, sweet Elain, was not the sort of girl who got a happy ending.

Happy endings and wishes on stars were for the brave. The ones who ran blindly into battle and pretended there could ever be victory there. The ones who smeared their hands in blood and then shoved fear and loss and pain down their throats until a crimson coated smile rose like iron gates around their true feelings. A certain amount of delusion was required for a happy ending.

Nesta had never been delusion. Nesta was not a nice girl. She was not a brave girl. She was not interested in hiding or pretending or smiling.

Nesta Archeron was a bitch.

And that suited her just fine.

Until she got caught in the crossfire of her happy ending, star wishing, night sky painting, sister.

Until she got caught in the crossfire of this infernal warrior heart with duty and honour inked across his muscles and the mistaken belief that he knew what is was to be hopeless the way Nesta was hopeless.

The kind of hopeless that does not rage, but sags. Completely devoid of fight. Nesta was so tired of fighting.

Cassian thought she was fighting him, but she wasn’t. She was just sitting on a rock, staring at the stars that blurred across her vision with every frozen blink.

“Nesta,” Cassian growled. Long past teasing grins and coaxing offered hands. “Get up.”

“I can’t,” she whispered. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Hadn’t meant to say anything out loud, truthfully.

“Yes you-” Cassian cut himself off, head tilting to the side. Likely taking in the sorry state of her pale skin and trembling hands.

“Cauldron,” Cassian cursed loudly, sinking to his knees in front of her in an instant. His hand came up under her chin, long fingers holding her entire face in a single palm. Nesta wretched herself backwards, desperate to be free again. To be left alone. “I don’t understand. How did this-”

“Stop,” Nesta spat, blinking too rapidly as she fought to push down the stars that blurred out his face and the nausea roiling in her empty stomach. “Stop trying to understand.”

“Stop breathing,” Cassian looked her dead in the eye. Eyes hard and focused and he searched for something that wasn’t there. Nesta wasn’t surprised by the statement, he’d said similar things before. Everyone hates you.

“If you feel that way then let me go.” Nesta swayed as she tried to stand, legs suddenly not strong enough to hold her. “Help me leave Night.”

“Stop. Breathing.” His hands circled her shoulders, holding her upper body straight even though she couldn’t do so on her own. “That is what you are asking me to do, Nesta.” He pulled the growl from his voice, whispering softly as if she would topple over if he yelled the way he wanted to. With how her head felt, she might. “Stop trying to understand? Help you leave? Leave you like this? Stop fighting? You’re asking me to stop breathing.”

Nesta tried once more to blink around the blurring stars before giving up.

“Then stop breathing.” She said, before collapsing to the snow-covered ground.

Of course, Cassian caught her.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #nesta and cassian #a court of silver flames

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covinskyswhore · 2 years

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Okay, buckle in because I have an SJMverse theory connecting all three of her series and what comes next.

I’m re-reading A Court of Silver Flames and I get to the scene where Nesta accidentally scrys during Gwyn’s singing and projects her mind to the chamber under the mountain prison where she finds the harp at the center of an ancient chamber that has wards (wyrd markings) and eight pointed star at the center, right under the harp. Time does not exist in this chamber. When Nesta asks about the star, Cassian says it might be part of the night court and then he says that Rhys mentioned once that it “might have even been an eighth court”. Nesta’s inner monologue makes it clear that she doesn’t believe it’s the night court because the magic feels different than night court magic. It would also make sense to have another court. We have four seasonal courts (spring, summer, autumn, and winter) and three celestial courts (day, dawn, and night). My theory is that there is a fourth celestial court that has to do with stars, just like the night court. But that comes later. At the center of this chamber guarded against time is an eight pointed star. You know where else we’ve seen an eight pointed star? When Bryce Quinlan from Crescent City does the drop, she’s left with an eight pointed star on her chest, the mark of the starborn fae. This makes me think that the “eighth court” are the starborn fae that were transported to Midgard and possibly another celestial court, like night, day, and dawn. Something to do with stars, so maybe a dusk court. Or…..The Twilight Court. Because twilight is the light from the sky between full night and sunrise or between sunset and full night. So between night court and dawn/day court. And you know what Sarah J Maas has on her goodreads page? A book that’s set to come out called..wait for it…….Twilight of the Gods. We have Twilight but where do the Gods come in? Are these the God’s Aelin banished in Kingdom of Ash? I firmly believe that the “Gods” represent the three leading SJM women. Sun, Night, and Stars. Aelin, Feyre, and Bryce.

Aelin Galathynius- Queen of Terrasen, representing the sun. Heir to Mala Firebringer, the sun Goddess of Erliea.

Feyre Archeron- High Lady of the Night Court, representing the moon. There’s many parallels drawn between her and Deanna, the goddess of the moon and sister of Mala Firebringer. Feyre’s abilities revolve around shadow and darkness and she wields a bow and arrow, like Artemis (basis for Deanna) from Bryce’s world as well but there she’s named Luna.

Bryce Quinlan- Starborn princess of the fae. Has abilities of starlight and the most powerful starborn fae in existence. She could be considered a god in her own right.

Three of them represent the God’s of celestial proportions. I have a feeling that Crescent City 3 will set up the ultimate plot and battle and culmination of all of SJM’s books in this book Twilight of the Gods. An Avengers: Endgame type of battle. Somehow, each of the major villains (the gods, the asteri, Hybern, the demon princes, Maeve, the prison under the mountain) from all the books are connected in some way and Twilight of the Gods will be the ultimate crossover between all three worlds and have Aelin, Feyre, and Bryce fighting together. Maybe even combining their magic. What makes me think this even more is the title. Twilight of the Gods. You Google it and the first thing that comes up is a reference to Norse Mytholoy and Ragnorak and “a series of major events foretold to result in the death of a number of gods”. Bryce lives somewhere named Midgard, also from Norse mythology. The God’s being killed are the gods Aelin banished and maybe the asteri. Maybe they’re even the same. I may sound like a lunatic but I think it’s a solid theory? Any thoughts lol?

Oh and I think the third Crescent City book will be called House of Flame and Shadow because not only is that one of the houses in Crescent City, it’s also two words used in one of the Throne of Glass books to describe Aelin. I forget which one and the passage but I know she’s referenced as flames and shadow. Flames because of her magic and shadow for her being an assassin.

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balladofbells · 2 years

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Myrmidons = Asteri prototype name for Illyrians?

It’s 4am, just bare with me.

Cassian said to Helion, “Are your forces ready?” (Blah blah blah) “Yes. They’ll rendezvous with yours in the Myrmidons.” The mountain range we shared at our border.

- Feyre Archeron, ACOWAR

I’ll tick off some hind legs supporting the theory.

1. The location of the mt. range

It’s The area between the day & night courts. What’s between day and night? Twilight. What’s Bryce Quinlan’s power? Starlight. Sounds awfully familiar right? Especially with the theory that Bryce Quinlan is a supposed dusk court heir? Any connection to Bryce right now is a big bonus.

2. Myrmidons in Greek mythology

According to Greek legend, the Myrmidons were a troop of fierce warriors who fought under the leadership of the hero Achilles in the Trojan Warf. Originally from the island of Aegina, they were created from a colony of ants to repopulate the island after a plague had killed nearly all of its inhabitants.

(Red highlighted will be explained in further detail)

The Greek Myrmidons are praised as being a troop of fierce warriors. Though the Illyrians are mostly considered by many to be violent and warmongering people, they are still unparalleled warriors. They also use the terms “troops” for Illyrians bands as well, just as the myrmidon warriors have.

The Greek Myrmidons leader was Achilles, now…there’s a whole lotta’ talk about how the Asteri (crescent city) were creating an prototypical army in another world (Prythian). Sarah could of flipped the coin and said the Achilles leading role could be the Asteri’s role.

The island of Aegina is the where the Myrmidon warriors were created. The island can also be named “Oenone.” In greek mythology, the goddess/god Oenone was a mountain nymph.

Okaaaayyyy, this gets deeper and deeper.

Oenone hailed from Mount Ida in Phrygia, a mountain associated with the Mother Goddess Cybele and the Titaness Rhea. Her gift of prophecy was learned from Rhea.

Side note: there’s a prophecy mentioned multiple times in hosab by Bryce.

More about the mountain. Mount Ida (oenone’s birthplace) is of the two sacred mountains in Greek mythology.

It is a crucial notion that the Mountain Ida in Crete is associated with the mother goddess Rhea. In Greek mythology, Rhea was known as the goddess of all Olympian gods and goddesses. She was the goddess of female fertility, motherhood, ease, and generations. People referred to her as the Meter Megale, the great mother.

A shooting star falls onto the mountain in answer to the prayer of Anchises to Jupiter in Greek mythology. SHOOTING STAR? STARFALL?

More onto the colonisation of the Greek Myrmidons by a colony of ants?

“Ideal world located. Indigenous life not sustainable, but conditions prime for colonization. ”

Asteri’s notes on another world

The Asteri were colonisers, just like what these ants did with the Myrmidons. The Asteri wanted to farm the creatures for food.

And the ants created to Myrmidons because they’re species had been killed by a plague. Just like how the Asteri said they’re Homeworld was dust, and the things within it.

#I’m too lazy to finish this #enjoy #house of sky and breath #sjm #sjm theory

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starseternelle · 11 months

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verse descriptions for the pinned post (a living post that will be added to as au's and other plots arise, under read more for length purposes)

main verses

v; court of dreams (main)

takes place during any of the acotar books / in the sjm extended universe. set during feyre's time in the mortal lands to her ascension as high lady and beyond

alternate verses (set more or less within the canon world)

au; the winter lady (nobility)

feyre's mother never died and her father never lost the family fortune. as a result, feyre is the forgotten third daughter of the wealthy archeron family whose pursuits are deemed unladylike. she chafes against her lack of freedom and wishes for nothing more than to be seen for who she is, not for what she can bring in a marriage

au; bride of spring (consort)

feyre's wedding to tamlin was not interrupted and she is married to the high lord of spring. she serves as his consort, but with war on the horizon and her traumas left untouched, it is only a matter of time before her world crumbles

au; gold shall be her crown (high queen)

an au that explores a prythian after rhys and feyre claim the crowns as high king and queen. note that since this is something canonically feyre would have hated, there are personality tweaks that are made to lean into the desire for power and the world rebuilding that comes with remaking a whole continent. usually a good default au for any corruption plotlines.

au; never doubt my love (memory au)

the king of hybern didn't just break feyre's bond to rhys in the throneroom at the end of acomaf. instead, he also placed a charm on her mind at the insistence of tamlin to erase all of her memories of the night court // open to all interactions, but ship exclusive to @nightstriumph

au; this mortal coil (human)

amarantha didn't kill feyre at the end of acotar, thus she was not made and resurrected by the high lords. instead, she is still human but bears scars both physical and emotional from her time under the mountain. note that feyre is still sworn in as high lady, but the night court binds her life to rhys during her vows. she ages incredibly slowly and is capable of minor magic

crossover

au; forged in flame (fourth wing)

feyre is a scrappy huntress who chose the rider's quadrant upon her conscription to escape the poverty of her home life. though initially extremely distrustful of the children of the rebellion, she comes to sympathize with and subsequently aid their efforts. she rides a black swordtail named bryaxis and has the signet power of starlight (the kind that blinds and burns)

au; under the cover of night (superhero)

feyre archeron learned early on to keep her head down and mind her own business in her city littered with crime. what started as vigilante justice to avenge her mother's murder and her father's maiming, feyre herself was killed on the street before being resurrected (note: the circumstances of her resurrection can be discussed with muns depending on the universe this takes place in. i.e. marvel, dc, etc) now under the name eternal, feyre possesses all her canon abilities and seeks to make the world a better place

pending write-ups: star wars/grey jedi au, game of thrones au, modern au

#v; court of dreams (main)#au; this mortal coil (human)#au; never doubt my love (memory au)#au; the winter lady (nobility)#au; bride of spring (consort)#au; gold shall be her crown (high queen)#au; forged in flame (fourth wing)#au; under the cover of night (superhero)

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confused-as-all-hell · 3 years

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Feyre and Rhysand

Night Triumphant - and the Stars Eternal.

If he was the sweet, terrifying darkness, I was the glittering light that only his shadows could make clear.

Feyre Archeron, sweet and whimsical and bright. Cursebreaker, Princess of Carrion, High Lady of the Night Court. A girl who understood desperation and poverty, who drew herself up, who set her jaw and said “I will make this world a better place.”

Rhysand, proud and arrogant and grinning. The Lord of Night, Death Incarnate, Night Triumphant. A male who donned the mask of a monster to save his home, who fought for his family with his final breath, who whispered to his unknowing mate, “You are my salvation.”

Their love was a storm, a hurricane, a deluge. It was sitting on the floor of their home eating breakfast together, grins wide as the moon, gesturing with spoons. It was sparring in the House of Wind, rough panting and breathless half smiles. It was kissing in the dark, roaming hands and hitched gasps.

It was unfettered.

Feyre’s love language was soft, kind, patient. She soothed nightmares with a touch of her palm, eased pain with a tender brush of her lips. Her voice could have lit the darkest corners of the world. She bestowed upon others the warmth she had never received as a little girl.

Rhys’s love language was fierce, unyielding, steadfast. He held the lines of his city with his bare hands, stood before his home and the world. His laughter was hewn of starlight itself. He gifted his family the devotion and unswerving loyalty he was never granted.

They both swore never to abandon the other, never to allow them to huddle in the woods alone, never to leave them to fight alone.

It was desperate, fiery, “please don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t perfect.

Feyre made her mistakes. Rhys fucked up.

They both have their issues and flaws and problems. If you truly believe your ship is wonderful and pure, I wish you a good day, but I will ask you to respect my opinion.

Feyre and Rhys have wronged each other, without a single doubt. But does this mean they are now awful and beyond redemption? No, no, no. It means they have something to work on, but they are not “toxic” or “awful” or “bitter” if they’re both willing to learn from their mistakes.

Love is not perfect.

People fuck up. They kiss the wrong person. They blurt out an unflattering compliment. They forget a birthday or anniversary. They keep unwieldy secrets.

I don’t know which bitch told you Feyre and Rhys never make mistakes. I don’t know who told you they can’t heal from those mistakes. I don’t know who told you in order to love someone, you can never wrong them.

I’ve loved people in my life, like my sister and friends and family, and I do hurt them sometimes. But I always want to make it right, and my god, doesn’t that count for something?

It’s okay for characters to mess everything up. I refuse to hold them to unattainable standards.

Feyre and Rhys, who love one another so dearly, who gave their lives for a kinder future, who can so often be seen laughing together in the gardens or libraries or skies.

The dreamers, hoping against hope for their salvation.

The female with a smile graceful as the moon.

The male with a heart fierce as a star.

The High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, a final line against the darkness.

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rhyswhitethorn · 4 years

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Steel and Fire (NESSIAN)

A Court of Silver Flames in another half year—damn right your girl had to write some Nessian before it did.

Not quite sure if I should make this a continuous chaptered series or keep this as a short story, do share your thoughts :)

AO3 if you prefer it here.

Nesta was in one of her moods again.

The one where she was easily irritated at every single being that breathes in her sight of vision, where a stray strand of hair would cause her to tug everything back harshly, and where she would hold her breath when someone speaks, as if the world reeks of rotten eggs.

It was written in her stormy eyes, where the azure hues once laid were drowned by the thunderclouds that rested before a treacherous sea, taking all life with it.

If the first thing that scared the shit out of Cassian was seeing Bryaxis, then this was a close second. He watched quietly as she stabbed her scrambled eggs and dug into them, still maintaining her straight posture and chewing like a proper lady. Well, at least her etiquette remained the same, shitty mood or no.

His pancakes sat in front of him, the butter already melting with the maple syrup. If it were up to Cassian, he would have picked his plate up and moved to eat in the sitting room, preferably with hard liquor, no matter that it was still morning. You can’t say you drank all day if you don’t start early, Mor had insisted time to time.

Alas, his High Lady had forced him to have this conversation. Cass had ran off to Illyria for a good two weeks, knowing that it was unavoidable. Nothing had happened between Cassian and Nesta when he had to bring her to the Illyrian Camps. Not when the High Lord had called them both to come back to Velaris to celebrate Starfall together, not until that night. It came to a point where Feyre, who couldn’t talk some sense into him, had to beg Rhysand and Azriel to haul Cassian’s ass back. And here he was, in the townhouse against his wishes.

The night was filled with spirits migrating, and bottles were opened to celebrate. Laughter and joy brimmed the brisk air in the House of Wind, Feyre and Rhysand swirling around, dancing together. His head was dazed from the drinks that he guzzled down before dinner on an empty stomach, added on with the ones after dinner. Elain and Azriel were trading shy looks, blushing once in a while as they drank on the balcony, the falling stars behind them. They remained unaware as they were lost in each other’s eyes.

Truly the Shadowsinger and the Fawn.

Cassian blinked out the memory from a fortnight ago, and beheld the eye of storms staring right into him.

He grinned at a Nesta, knowing it’ll piss her off more, before cutting up his pancakes to eat them. He had gone through three bites before she spoke.

“What are you doing here.” Not a question, by the sound of it. Never a question with Nesta, no. It was always an order.

Cassian stayed quiet for a few mouthfuls, aware that she was watching every bite he was taking. “You should ask your dear High Lady sister about that.” Cassian simply said after he was done with his breakfast. He really didn’t want to do this now. A headache was beginning to spike up at the back of his head.

Cassian was lounging on the loveseat with Mor. Amren had already vanished with Varian, no doubt heading back to her apartment. He drank straight from the bottle of wine, as if it would wash away his burdens. Mor got up and ruffled Cassian’s hair, pulling some of it from his man bun.

“I’m leaving now,” she had said, glancing at Rhysand and Azriel, both occupied. “Take care of yourself, you Illyrian prick.” Cassian had grunted at that, shooting her a smile. He heard as she walked out of the sitting room, careful not to disturb the remaining members of the Inner Circle.

“Nesta.” At the name of the person Mor greeted, Cassian sat up. A door shut, and he was hoping, praying, that Mor walked in—but the Cauldron must have decided to punish him for his sins there and then, because it was Nesta, clad in a lavender gown trimmed with blue hems, her hair in its usual updo, who entered.

Cassian was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard plates clattering in the sink. Nesta had gotten up and strode past him without him realizing, and he hated her for that. Hated that the walls he had raised up and the defense mechanism he built for the last 500 years melted when Nesta Archeron was in his vicinity. He turned his head, facing her back, and said, “We need to talk.” Even from behind, he knew her face had gotten slack. Her body stiffened.

She washed her plates too slowly, but he waited until she was done. Nesta wiped her hands dry and walked to the table, choosing the furthest possible seat from Cassian. Across him. Not the usual one they had adopted during her time at the camp with him; on his left hand side.

He rubbed his hands against his thighs underneath the table, trying to get rid of the sweat on his palms. “About Starfall,” he started, but her sharp tongue had cut him short. “What about it?” Fuck. The venom in her words had returned. Seems like his efforts during the year at the camp, getting Nesta to stop speaking to him like an animal and more like an actual being were gone to waste.

“You and I both know what happened between us was not.. normal,” Cassian managed to grit out. Fuck, there was definitely a migraine coming, not your everyday headache. He looked into those eyes again, the ones he was so scared of when his pancakes were still on the table. He shouldn’t be scared. Not when Starfall had changed things between them.

Before he knew what he was doing, he placed the wine bottle on the table at his side. He stood up and walked towards Nesta, towering over her. She looked up, and her High Fae features softened, the face she hid from everyone, the face Cassian would only see when she’s beneath his shadows. Feyre and Rhysand were heading towards the kitchen, to find something to snack on, Cassian assumed, as they had wasted their energy on dancing. Azriel and Elain were still on the balcony, both now watching the falling spirits, talking about what the history of each spirit may be.

He didn’t even realize his lips were forming a sentence until it was out of his mouth. “Care to dance with me, sweetheart?”

And Nesta Archeron, who, a year ago, would’ve spat on his face and called him a stupid ass for even thinking he was deemed worthy to ask for a dance with her, simply allowing her soft hands be enveloped into his large ones. He brushed his thumb on her palms, feeling the small calluses that had formed when she finally had the guts to ask him to train her at the camps. Their year together, far from the City of Starlight, had brought change into the human-turned-Fae.

Nesta didn’t look like she was breathing as she stayed still. In fact, if Cassian had painted her a dark marble colour and placed her in the Court of Nightmares, no one would realize that there was a living being between the statues that littered the courtyard. He let her collect her thoughts together, expecting her to spit poison itself, yet hoping her soft words and rich vocabulary came out instead.

His head pounded as minutes passed by, and he was half-tempted to walk over to Nesta and shake her, as if that would get her to spill her thoughts. But that was what Cassian would do a year ago. Now, after things had changed from time spent together and he had learnt Nesta’s tells, shutting the fuck up and waiting patiently was the best way to play this out.

He could feel the curves on her waist as he held her close, one of her hands gripping his shoulder softly, the other on his chest. It wasn’t as smooth as the ballroom dance that Feyre and Rhys had shared. This was the intimate kind where two Faes wanted to be close enough to each other, no care for the world. The hand on his shoulder slowly made its way to the base of his neck, tugging his hair, fingers twirling in it. He leaned in and rested his chin on her head, breathing in her scent. Florals and mint filled his nose. Mint for the icy fire that burnt within her.

“Nesta, we don’t have all day, sweetheart,” Cassian said. Each time the memories resurfaced, the pounding increased tenfold. He knew where exactly that pounding was coming from. But he’ll handle it, he’ll do it for Nesta’s sake. “What..,” she begun, but closed her mouth. As if her side of what happened is flashing through her mind.

Her scent was intoxicating. Cassian didn’t want this to end, not as he felt more alive than he had in all his years. They had slept in the same bed at the camp, nothing more, and her scent was always pleasant for him. But it was different now. It was as if it called to his very soul, trying to devour him.

Must be the alcohol, he thought to himself.

They danced slowly, holding on to each other for a few minutes. Feyre was already sleeping on Rhysand’s lap on the couch, Elain and Azriel joining them for their last glass of wine. Cassian thought he would be able to sneak in a kiss on Nesta’s forehead, had been yearning to taste her again ever since that day in the Mortal Lands, when her mortal blood still ran true. Grateful that his brothers paid no heed, he lifted her chin up and pressed his lips right beneath her hairline.

Something had snapped in Cassian, so loud in his ears, his head, that he was disoriented. Nesta’s fingers dug into his chest and pushed him away with such force, Cassian had almost tripped over his feet. She was clutching her chest, Feyre and Elain already running to her side. His brothers stopped short before Cassian. He watched as the two younger Archerons held Nesta up, his eyes shooting to Nesta’s. Rhysand, Feyre and Azriel stiffened, as they finally understood what had happened.

Before Nesta could understand what was happening and truly murder his ass, Cassian ran and jumped out of the House of Wind, evading the migrating spirits, and flew into the night skies.

“What happened that night?” Nesta asked, softly. Her eyes were roaming his face, searching for the right words. All the venom from before had evaporated, and sitting before him was the quiet, smut reading lover whose company he had come to enjoy in Rhys’ mother’s cabin for a whole year.

Cassian gulped. He had ran off on Starfall to avoid death at her hands, but he may very well face it now, even if her mood had lightened up over breakfast. With Nesta Archeron, there was no telling. But he would not run from her, not again. Never again.

“Nes.. we’re mates Nesta. Mates.”

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