#listen i need to hold rhys in my hands more than once a week

[calenhads]

the desire to make my curse of strahd character in bg3 to play as a dark urge and romance astarion vs the fact that none of the face presets feel like him. staring dismally at the ground i am going to have to figure out how to make my own face for him aren't i

[yourejinx]

Undeniable Bonds.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: angst.

Warnings: mostly language.

Words: 3k or so.

Summary: Y/N and Azriel can't stand each other, despite the centuries working together they just don't seem to understand one another. Too many secrets are being kept. But that bond between them keeps pushing, demanding, making it impossible to ignore.

Author note: the summary sucks, I should work on it later.

Chapter One?

I could hardly see anything past the blinding white rage in my vision as I stalked through the streets of Velaris on my way back to the House of Wind. How dare he?!

“Is it business or pleasure?” Azriel purred maliciously, a dark smirk tugging at his lips. 

Rhys’s face went pale with stupor but he snapped out of it fast enough to stop me from snatching the Shadow singer’s eyeballs with my bare hands. 

He should have let me land that blow. Violet eyes turned soft on my face even as he commanded in all his Mighty High Lord voice for Azriel to get the fuck out. 

Fucking miserable Illyrian bastard. Breathing deeply through my nose I measured the distance between myself and the steps of the stairs up to the House, and then started sprinting for it. Maybe the aching of my lungs would numb the rising anger that occupied my thoughts.  

The sun was shining brightly in the sky by the time I reached the training zone. Cassian was already at it with a punching bag, hair loose, shirt already discarded and sweat dripping from his forehead. He kept shoving strands of hair that fell into his eyes out of the way in between punches, an exasperated huff leaving his parted lips. A prominent vein popped into his neck as a result of the effort and strength with which he was landing hit after hit, wings tucked in tight, he looked stressed. Tough night for the both of us then. 

 I approached him as silently as a wraith, not wanting to disturb his session and starting my stretchings. 

“You’re late.” He greeted me. He’d probably been up since before  dawn. 

“You can thank your brother for that.” I replied shifting my weight from one leg to the other. He stopped punching and grinned at me, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Which one?”

I rolled my eyes. “Which one do you think?”. 

“Az is giving you a hard time again, huh?”

“Isn’t he always? You know it was supposed to be a quick meeting, we had to report to Rhys about last week, take the new mission and leave. But of course Azriel had to be a huge pain in the ass again by pleading to leave me behind because I “complicate things”, which only means I do put to use my critical thinking and not just blindly follow his every command.”

Cass chuckled at my evident irritation with the Shadowsinger. “You know, Az can be entitled sometimes but he knows what he’s doing…listening to him from time to time can’t be that bad now, can it?”

“I know Cass, he’s Spy Master for a reason, I know he’s a great spy, but so am I. And he doesn’t seem to want to see it. I too have some good ideas, I’ve saved both our asses several times now, but he just won't acknowledge it. It is his way or the hard way every single time, I’m just tired of trying to prove myself to him.” 

The rich brown surrounding Cassian’s irises looks like molten chocolate in the late morning as his gaze softens on me. I hate to look vulnerable but I guess if it’s going to be in front of anyone, who better than Cass? This huge scary looking warrior that was actually just a big loving teddy bear. Cassian was my best friend, the one who knows my secrets and fears and desires and has never judged me or pitied me for it. Not once. 

"You don't need to prove anything. You've done more than enough time and time again, if he doesn't see it then he's a giant fool." 

“Thank gods I’ve got you, who would burst my ego like that if not you, huh?.”

He flashed one of his radiant smiles at me and I motioned for him to come closer. Once he stood in front of me I made him turn and sit at my feet, quickly grabbing hold of his locks and braiding his hair back. 

Cassian was one of the first ones to warm up to me and make me feel welcome besides Rhys. It was easy with him, always ready to make me laugh and help ease my process of adjusting to life in Velaris. He quickly became my best friend.

When I first got here I was stuck in the mountains for six whole years with Amren before I could even interact with the rest of the Inner Circle. A safety measure for all, of course, I was unstable in many ways after escaping that hideous place they call the Court of Nightmares. I needed space to heal, and to learn how to control my powers. Rhys came and went very often, he took the time to actually teach me how to put a leash on my power –being quite similar to his– and to bend it to my will, but it wasn’t until years later that I officially met everyone. It was awkward at first, I didn’t know much about socializing given that my only interactions were with the stoic Amren and even before that I’ve only ever met the cruelness of my family; but Mor was excited to see me again when Rhys brought me to Velaris and Cassian greeted me with a big fat grin and open arms. Azriel on the other hand…the spymaster had intrigued me since the very first moment we’d met, lurking in a corner, his shadows hovering over his shoulders and curling up to his head, hiding the lines of his beautiful face. Mesmerizing. He seemed intrigued as well at first, hazel eyes assessing me with intensity. I honestly don’t know when everything went downhill with him, but now we just can’t stand each other. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I said after a couple of heartbeats had passed in silence between us.

“About what?”

“Uh-uh, not playing dumb with me.”

“Is this what we do now? braid each other’s hair and talk about our problems?” He tried to dismiss the subject by playing funny.  

“Well, you’re always pestering me to talk about my problems, so I figured I should do the same” I grinned down at him. 

“There was a time when we fixed our issues in other ways,” he said suggestively, waving his eyebrows.  

“If you want to get absolutely hammered at Rita’s I may be down to it, but not tonight. If I show up completely pissed tomorrow Azriel’s gonna lose it, and honestly I don’t want to deal with his bullshit for even a minute longer than necessary.” I hissed the last words as a sharp twinge of pain shot through my head. 

Cassian’s eyes fixed on my face, worry staining his golden orbs as he stood towering over me. He cupped my chin so that I was looking up at him now, his gaze falling to the dark circles under my eyes. 

“The nightmares again,” he stated more than questioned. “They can’t reach you here, dove.” His tone was softer. 

“I know, Cass. It wasn’t the nightmares this time, I’ve been…having these dreams of places that I don’t recognize, people that I don’t know and there’s always so much suffering. I wake up feeling drained of energy and totally confused. I don’t know what it means.”

Weird, blurry images of last night’s dream came flooding into my mind. Darkness and smoke, the ashy taste of fire filled my senses and made me dizzy. All I could see were the outlines of white hair and twirling swoops of black ink very similar to the tattoos on Cassian’s chest. An ancient language that I didn’t understand. 

“Maybe you should stop reading so many of those weird books of yours,” he smirked, easing the crease of my eyebrows “Have you been eating well?”

I shook out of my trance and stepped back out of his hold, adopting a fighting stance in the middle of the ring. “Enough of me anyways. What 's up with you? you seem stressed, did something happen with Nesta?” I said throwing the first punch, he dodged it.  

“No. I got into a fight with Devlon yesterday, he’s been playing us for fools and the females have not been training at all.” 

“You went to the Illyrian camps? I thought you were gonna wait for me, you know I love to spook the shit out of that misogynistic pig.” I grinned at him. 

“I was but then you had that mission with Az and then the meetings and reports, I just didn’t want to burden you any further. Besides, you’re rarely around these days. You know, for two people who supposedly can’t stand each other you spent an awful amount of time together.” He smirked. 

“Yeah well, we work together, it’s not like we have a choice. Though Azriel really puts in the effort to try and get rid of me.” 

“What did Rhys say?”

“That I was going on the mission and that was final.” 

Cass chuckled and some of the tension was lifted from my shoulders, his mere presence was comforting enough for me to relax a bit. I have had a massive headache all morning, I was barely able to concentrate on what Rhys was saying above the urging desire to bang my head against the nearest wall. 

"I can tell when you're not telling me something, you know? It's not just the weird dreams is it?" 

I sighed tiredly and dropped my arms to the side, clearly we weren't going to any further in training lest I spilled it all out for him. 

"Azriel suggested that I was having an affair with someone from the Hewn City, and while he was at it he also kind of accused me of treason." 

The General 's jaw tensed. He knew the Hewn City and anything remotely involved to that nightmare of a place has always been a touchy subject for me, being born as I was — a female with the power of a High Lord — meant an open invitation for challenge and dominance. It had cost me almost everything at a very young age. The mere suggestion that I may hold a secret agenda with the snakes that prowl around the power of the crown made my ire burn like a thousand suns. It also made me nauseous, I sure wasn't as horrible as Azriel made me out to be.

"Someone clearly needs to knock some sense into him." He gave me a look that promised trouble, rolling his toned shoulders and spreading his huge wings wide. 

"Forget it Cass, you said it yourself, I don't need to prove anything. Besides, Rhys knows the truth so I'm clear." 

He didn’t say anything else and just followed me back to the ring. Good. I have had enough of Azriel anyways. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

“I have a lead!” I said bursting through Rhysand’s office at the River House, arms full of maps with annotations. Lucien hot on my heels. 

The High Lord turned in his seat to take a look at me, then at Lucien and back at me, one dark eyebrow arched high in question. Mere seconds later I felt a talon slide gently across my mental shield, asking for permission. I granted him access. 

“Does Lucien know what this is all about?” his voice sounded in my head. 

“Just that I’ve been hunting down a group of slavers. He offered some insight when he saw me looking for connections between Spring and Night Courts.” 

It wasn’t entirely a lie, we have been investigating the disappearance of fae females for the past year now, I had first noticed it one night when I was sneaking some of them out of the Hewn City to a Shelter in the outskirts of Velaris. Only Rhys and I knew about it. I just couldn’t leave those poor women to suffer as I had in that horrible place, but it was too risky, and as much as Rhys has been doing some political changes concerning the Night Court, it still was a very complex matter. So we investigated thoroughly about whom we would be bringing to our home. Just a few at a time, Rhys had said, we can’t risk bringing spying eyes here, and a large group of females vanishing into the night will certainly attract Kier’s attention back to us. 

A couple of months ago, the group I was supposed to escort out went missing. There wasn’t a whisper of them in the entirety of the Court of Nightmares, and the female servants were too afraid to speak. I just knew someone had been watching me, it had been a warning and a message. Stay out of our business. 

He nodded, then spoke out loud. “What did you find?” 

“Well I think they may be using the remnants of the Spring Court as some sort of Warehouse or… storage.” 

The thought alone of what those faeries may be enduring down there had my hands curling into fists, knuckles going white. “Since Tamlin’s left there aren't really many rules standing, his people have been barely subsisting; it is not that uncommon that in times of need people tend to turn against their own.” 

Lucien’s face was grim, probably remembering what had happened and his role in it. He blinked twice, then said, “they could be using the rivers and the caves to get in and out without being noticed” he offered; “just like I used to do to get out of Autumn. I marked the rivers that flow closest to the caves and the closest villages. People may know something, maybe they'll turn their eyes from it if it’s convenient for them.” 

Rhysand leaned forward, studying the maps and annotations closely. “Good work, Y/N, Lucien. This is a start. We need to investigate this further and put a stop to it before more fae are taken.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of determination settle within me. We couldn't let this go on any longer. No more innocent lives taken or families torn apart.

I knew I was taking some risks with this, but I also knew that we couldn't let fear stop us from doing what was right. I would do whatever it takes to end this.

“We need to find out everything we can about this operation and shut it down. I can gain some time and winnow there tonight, for some ground recognition.” 

Rhysand stood up from his desk, tired and with a look of wariness written on his face, “ I would wait until Azriel returns from his meeting, then you can go together.” 

“I can very well do this on my own, Rhys. I’m not stupid and I’m very capable of taking care of myself.” I argued back. 

He looked reluctant at first, but he loosened a breath and said “I know you can. Lay low, gather whatever information you can but do not engage until Azriel arrives, understood? I’ll be sending him tomorrow morning.” 

“Fine” I said, rolling my eyes. But he went on, in that brotherly voice that always got me following his commands. 

“And be careful, we don't know what kind of forces we're dealing with here.”

I nodded and gave him a small smile. As we left the office, I couldn't help but think about Azriel. He would be on this mission with me, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. But, for the sake of the mission and the fae that had been taken, we had to put our differences aside and work together.

“Thank you, Lucien” I said, fully facing the Autumn male, “I know you wouldn’t reveal information that could be used against your friend or his court. So thank you, for trusting me with this.” 

He seemed rather surprised for a second, eyes shining in the dim light,  but then a smirk cut on his lips. “I trust  you, little raven, I thought I’ve made that clear.” 

I smiled back at him. “Well yeah, but thank you anyways, I know you don’t get to hear those words around here very often.” I teared my gaze away from him into the open night beyond. I should leave soon. 

“I won’t keep you from your duties much longer” He said, shoving back a few strands of that auburn hair that had loosened from where he had pinned them to the side. “Stay safe Y/N, and if you thank me again you better start bowing next time” Lucien flashed a foxy grin as he started walking towards the house. 

I couldn’t help the chuckle from leaving my lips. “As you wish, good night Prince Charming.” 

I heard his breathy laugh even as I winnowed out of the city.  

—----------------------------------------------------------

The morning sun was rising over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the lush greenery of the Spring Court border. I was standing just outside the small inn I booked for the night, waiting for Azriel to arrive. I hadn’t found anything particularly shady last night, yet I couldn't help but feel uneasy about it. The whole village felt out of place. 

Azriel arrived on his shadow wings, landing gracefully in front of me. His black wings contrasted sharply with the bright blue sky, making him look even more intimidating than usual. "Let's go," he said curtly, motioning for me to follow him.

“Good morning to you too” I murmured under my breath; if he heard it or not he didn’t tell. 

We flew over the sprawling countryside, searching for any sign of the illegal trade. After hours of fruitless searching, we landed in a small village. The villagers looked tired and scared, their faces etched with worry lines. I made to approach one of the villagers and ask if they knew anything about people going missing these days.

The villager shook his head. "We don't know anything about it. Our High Lord abandoned us a few months ago, and we've been struggling to survive ever since. Some have left for other courts, it is not unusual to find this place so quiet."

That was a fact, I had spotted caravans moving across Prythian as I traveled through the courts. Entire families leaving their homeland behind in search of a better chance at survival. This place once full of life was really starting to look like an abandoned graveyard, drying lands and growing thorn bushes taking place. Where the hell had Tamlin gone?

Azriel's face darkened with anger. "This was a waste of time," he muttered. "We should never have come here."

A twinge of guilt crept up my spine. I knew it was a blind shot to try and find them here, but other than the utter state of abandonment of this court, I still had the feeling that something was off. There was this wrongness in the air. 

I dared another look in the direction of the villager but he was already gone. Weird. If Azriel wanted to leave then fine, I’ll investigate further on my own. 

Hours later as I walked through the village, I noticed a pair of eyes staring at me, following me around in the shadows. At first I thought Azriel had sent his shadows after me but…it didn’t feel like him. I neared the edge of a dense wood and turned to approach those watching cold eyes, my right hand flying to the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. They seemed to narrow in silent mockery and as I stepped through the bushes I was met with nothing but a lingering darkness. What in hell had that been? 

I returned to the village, searching for Azriel, to tell him what I had seen. "There's definitely something going on here."

Azriel sighed, “I’ll tell you what’s going on here” he started coolly, “Their fucking coward of a High Lord bailed on his own people and now they’re trying to survive with the little they have left still standing, there are probably shadow markets functioning across the court for those who still remain and try to sell their goods for food. They don’t need two Night Court scouts snooping around their business so no one here is going to talk. That's what is happening here. No signs of your supposed “group of slavers”. People leave on their own accord to avoid starvation.”  

He stared down his nose at me “Are you done playing your stupid game here? I told you we should have headed for Autumn. Now let’s go, we need to report back to Rhysand; I’ll love to hear how you will explain to him that you wasted both our time and his resources on a hunch.” 

I didn’t want to show him that his words had sting, that it still affected me how little trust he had in me, in my capability, but my mouth went faster than my gathering thoughts:  

"Why do you have to be such an asshole to me all the time?", my temper quickly rising to the surface, undoubtedly twisting my face in anger, sliping past my usual mask of boredness. 

“Someone has to tell you the truth to your face at last.”

“What does that mean?” I said almost snarling at his cocky face. 

“It means you’re not as good as you think you are, and no one seems to want to acknowledge it. I think Rhys spoils you too much. He handles everything on a silver platter for you and you rejoice in the riches of it like you’ve earned it. You're not his fucking sister! No one can ever replace her, what you're doing it's just awful. And he's so damn blind to it.”

Every word felt like a dagger to my heart. I've rather had him skin me alive than to hear those words again. Of course I wasn't Rhys's sister, although I do love him like a brother, but I hadn't meant in any way to come off as a replacement for her. It just felt right, to be a part of a family for once that I hadn't thought twice about my relationship with Rhysand. Does he feel like he needs to cover my needs just because he couldn’t do it with her before? Because he feels guilty? Has he been giving tasks just to excuse the amount of money he pays me? 

I stumbled one step, two steps back away from him. From his space, so dense and thick with loathing it was suffocating. I leashed my anger, spiraling down into that pit of numbness I was so familiar with as I said, with a face as blank and unreadable as his own, “I’ll give him the full report. And don’t worry, I’ll pay him back every last copper that I know I owe to him if it means I’ll never have to see you again.” 

It was the venom laced in her voice that had Azriel backing off this time, a twinge of pain and guilt flashing in his eyes but she had already winnowed away. 

[kindasleepywriter]

Bird of Prey - Chapter 12: Flight Risk

Bird of Prey masterlist. Azriel x Reader.

Chapter summary: You finally face Rhysand, prepared to defend your place in the Night court. You never expected it would end this way, though.

Story rating: Mature - Minors DNI

Warnings: Some good ol' trauma, as always, but that's about it!

Word count: 2.8k

Prev | Next

“Well, if this is your idea of necessary training, Az, you had better watch out before I try finding new powers of my own.”

Rhysand’s voice echoed in the modest living room, the amusement lacing each word sobering you up faster than a bucket of ice water ever could. You looked over your shoulder and hissed harshly at the man standing in the doorway, the length of your wings snapping back to their usual folded position in response to the intrusion.

Your centuries-old reflexes had you about ready to launch yourself at Rhysand, but Azriel’s hands landed on your hips and kept you from leaping backwards. You struggled against his hold for only a second before ceasing your efforts, regaining control over your instincts. You remained tense as a coiled spring, distrusting the High Lord.

“Not the best moment, Rhys.” Azriel sighed, dropping his head back lightly on the backrest’s cushioning.

“By all means,” Rhysand purred, “don’t let me stop you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, darkness by his feet almost unnoticeably flickering as your intertwined shadows made their way back into the room. You lost track of them quickly as they blended into Azriel’s, but you felt their presence around you as they distantly told you there was a box of spare linens in the attic.

You fought the urge to slap them away, frustration slipping into your very bones. They had apparently been too busy to count blankets to notice an entire person coming into the very small house. Spatial awareness was visibly not their forte.

“What,” you sneered, ignoring the pressure Azriel added to your hips in warning, “So bored of your own sex life that you have to live vicariously through other people’s?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes, unimpressed by your taunt. “All that training did not include manners, it would seem. Noted.”

“How about you shove your manners up your-”

Azriel cut you off before you could further insult the High Lord, his shadows pushing Rhysand encouragingly towards the kitchen. “Alright, let’s not do that. Rhys will you just- just give us a minute, alright?”

Rhysand sent another smirk your way, winking. “I’ll let you lovebirds finish what you were doing.”

You snarled as he turned around, still immobilized by muscled arms. “He better sleep with one eye open,” you hissed once he left the room. Azriel reluctantly let go of you and you sprung to your feet, using every last bit of your restraint not to follow into the kitchen. You fiddled with a fallen feather, and your shadows trailed the man, assuring you they’d report back on any suspicious activity. If they even kept their attention on him long enough, you thought.

Azriel shook his head as he put his shirt back on. “Can we reschedule the regicide for another day,” he sighed. “He just wants to talk.”

“About what.”

“About you not being a threat to the Night Court. My impression is that you’re not currently helping your case, I’m sure you know why.”

“I don’t need that asshole’s permission-”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, and he took a slow step towards you. “Watch it.” he snapped.“You’ve made your opinion about him abundantly clear, but I won’t tolerate insults. You do, in fact, need his permission to be here, so I encourage you to take it down a notch and go talk to him.”

You gritted your teeth, pacing throughout the room. You’d tried all week to get a clearer idea of who Rhysand actually was, and you’d gotten nothing more than ‘You can ask him.’ in return. If anything, the evasiveness around the man’s character had only made you more distrustful of him.

Your twin shadows slithered back to you, reporting nothing other than the fact that Rhysand was clearly listening in. That, you’d expected.

“Fine. But if he tries anything-”

“He won’t.” Azriel assured you swiftly, almost pleading. “Nothing more than a conversation, I promise you.”

You barely kept yourself from flinching at his last words. ‘Promises’, you’d heard that too many times. Nevertheless, you finally nodded, and the relief on his face was clear as day. You knew this would happen sooner or later. He softly laid his hand on your lower back, careful to avoid sensitive areas, and ushered you towards the kitchen.

Rhysand sat comfortably with a bottle of red wine at the dining room table, his wings almost brushing the floor. The open layout of the kitchen gave you enough space that you weren’t anywhere near close to him, and you hesitated to come closer. Azriel tried to lead you to the delicately carved oak table to sit down as well, but you remained standing. He gave in to your silent compromise and leaned against the kitchen isle at your side. Your shadows kept to themselves, hiding in your feathers.

All three of you stood in silence for a moment, too tense for the situation to be considered awkward. This was a battle, you knew, and you would not lose. You kept your eyes firmly on Rhysand, unwilling to show any sign of weakness. Your mental walls were stacked as high as they could go, ready for assault.

Rhysand’s silken voice was the one to cut through the silence that hung over the room, gesturing towards you.

“So few words from someone who’d been planning my assassination only a second ago. Still thinking up new ways to accomplish the feat?”

“Depends.” you said, infusing boredom into your every word. “Are you here to taunt and provoke me, or can we talk like adults and get it over with?”

He tsked and shook his head in disappointment. “So preoccupied with efficiency. No word of thanks for the man who has so kindly let you into his court?”

“I never asked for anything. If you want me to leave, you just have to say the word.” you said flatly.

Azriel’s hold on the kitchen counter tightened and you took a step, your arm brushing his. In the periphery of your vision, you saw his hands loosen, shifting closer to you. Barely noticeable, but just enough for Rhysand to raise an eyebrow, and you hated how vulnerable such a simple act made you feel.

“Ah,” he said, looking towards Azriel, a glimmer in his eyes before turning back to you. “I see. Well, you haven’t caused any trouble yet, but you must understand why I’m curious about what this ‘training’ consists of. Care to clue me in?”

Azriel looked towards you, a nod toward Rhysand indicating not so subtly that you’d be doing the talking. You took a calming breath.

“We have been working on… powers I can apparently wield.” you said, carefully choosing each word. “More specifically, on finding a way for me to use them consciously rather than instinctively.”

“Go on.” Rhysand encouraged, firm but without any anger or surprise.

“We have confirmed that I can use someone else’s powers as my own, that’s what happened with Feyre in the study.”

His gaze wavered, brows furrowing. “And how are you sure that they’re not yours?”

You didn’t reply, instead willing your lighter shadow to slip out from your plumage and explore the room. It joined with Azriel’s own companions, briefly brushing against his dark curls before making its way towards the dining table. It flowed over the wooden surface, a small cloud of white smoke dancing just out of Rhysand’s reach. He leaned forward, inspecting it, but the shadow flickered and skittered back to you, taking refuge in your feathers once more.

“I’m not a Shadowsinger. Well, I wasn’t one before arriving in Velaris, at least.” Before you met Azriel, you noted to yourself. “We’re still not sure how it all works. Nesta explained that she didn’t feel any power missing, and Az…” You threw a glance at him in confirmation.

“I didn’t, don’t, feel anything amiss. With Nesta, it had stopped the second you’d realized what you were doing, but her shadows haven’t dissipated. I don’t understand how, but she does have the ability, Rhys.”

Rhysand looked… he looked concerned at the implications.

“They’re like familiars.” he mumbled.

“What?” you asked, his voice so low you couldn’t make out the words.

“They’re like familiars.” he said again, louder. “When you conjure them, you use a burst of energy in a short period of time that lingers over time. They don’t fade away because in normal circumstances they don’t need a constant flow of power.”

“That could explain it.” Azriel said, nodding, “We haven’t tested the limits of it so far. Training has been…” he hesitated, and you froze. It was true that there were many words one could use to describe how you’d progressed, ‘not at all’ and ‘a waste of time’ at the front of your mind.

“Progress as been next to non-existent.” you cut in. Azriel frowned at your side and went to speak again, most probably to tell you that your shadows were a good sign of progress, but you didn’t give him the chance to coddle you. “At this rate, I might be able to start a forest fire in a couple centuries. I’m more of a danger to myself than to any of you.”

Both of their eyes snapped to yours, and you winced at Azriel’s concern. Ah, why were you never able to keep yourself from oversharing?

“What do you mean, Dove?” he asked carefully.

“Look,” you said, avoiding his stare, “We’ve established that these powers are not mine, and that they don’t come from your reserves either. I’m apparently making up these abilities out of thin air. So, where’s the catch, who or what’s paying for it? There has to be a give and take, there always is. I might not have noticed anything yet, but something or someone is paying the price for what I’m doing.”

In truth, the thought had lingered in the back of your mind since the moment Nesta had revealed her power was intact after your scuffle. You were bargaining with powers you did not understand, racking up a debt of uncertain value, and you didn’t see a scenario in which it would end well.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel breathed, his hand gently guiding your head back to him. You were still very aware of Rhysand’s presence in the room and his analysis of you both, and you pushed away to walk to the other side of the kitchen counter. You still refused to look at him.

“It doesn’t matter. I… have to train, don’t I? That’s how I can stay here.” With you, you didn’t add, trying and failing to sound as detached as you were earlier. “I understand the conditions of my presence here, and what will happen if I’m considered a possible threat.”

Azriel ran a frustrated hand through his hair and a low growl escaped him, his shadows rippling around him with a renewed fervor like winds in a storm. Your own were pleading to join them, but you held firm against their song.

“Dove, you-”

Rhysand’s voice resounded gravely across the room, stopping him in his tracks. “I think we need to clarify some things.” he said, looking unpleased at Azriel.

There it was, you thought, you’d given yourself away. What High Lord would let you in their court when you were possibly putting citizens in danger? You were nothing but a volatile threat to a leader. You reinforced your mental shields, forcing yourself not to flinch when you felt the unfortunate familiar talons grate at your mind, and furtively looked around the room. Your inability to keep your mouth shut was once again going to cost you your freedom.

Not this time.

Two doors, 3 windows. The windows were out of the question, you could never fit your wings through them despite their size, and one of the doors was blocked by Azriel’s large frame and his own fully flared wings. A common sign of anger, you knew that.  That left the other door, the easiest to reach. Only a few feet to your right, right where the dining room seemed to start. Past that, no obstacles other than the front door. You evaluated the distance of the two men in relation to yourself.

You could make it, but you’d have to fly to get away, if you even could. You’d used the privacy of your guest room to stretch and move them, but you weren’t sure you could hoist yourself up in the air. There was a small ridge overlooking the Sidra next to this house… maybe it would be enough to bring you airborne. You’d just have to climb the stairs to the lookout.

You’d have no choice but to try. You tensed, ready to spring into action.

Rhysand’s voice resonated through the room again with an edge it had previously lacked. “Did you think you were on trial?”

Azriel took a step towards you, and you took one in turn towards the door. Your chest squeezed at the hurt that flashed across his face. You wished you could go to him, you wanted to go to him, but he was still a subject of the Night court. Rhysand called the shots. Had all of this been a set up?

“Aren’t I?” you asked carefully, keeping both men within your sights as you angled yourself subtly towards your planned exit.

“No, of course not!” Azriel protested sharply, taking another step. You did the same. He looked agitated, too agitated.

“You are not a prisoner here,” Rhysand stated, “and it seems that our good clueless friend here seems to not have made it clear enough.”

You stilled under their eyes, evaluating the situation. You wouldn’t be able to detect deception from Rhysand, not if he’d been fooling the entirety of Prythian for centuries. Instead, you looked towards Azriel.

You almost stepped forward at the devastation you found in him and his surrounding shadows, the latter reacting to the desperate song yours sent their way. Maker, it was all you could hear, the deafening silence broken only by their longing. Azriel took another step, raising a hand towards you gently.

“Az, don’t-” Rhysand warned, but it did not reach his brother’s ears.

“Dove, please, we only want to help you.”

Help you? Voices rang around you. Your scars were flayed back to life, flames licking at your back and wings.

‘Quit whining child, this is all for your own good.’

‘You can end the pain if you earn it.’

‘We’ll stop if you stop hiding your powers, dear.’

‘We’re only trying to help you; you’ll be grateful when you’re older.’

‘We’re only trying to help-’

‘We’re only trying to help-’

No, no, no, no, no, not again-

Your head yelled at you to run, run, run. Darkness, your mind wished for, darkness. Rhysand’s darkness, you realized. You couldn’t tell who started it, him or you, but an absolute void of light was created, snuffing out the sunlight streaming through the windows as easily as you would a candle. You heard Azriel shouting your name in the pitch black of the room, but you were already running. His voice followed you into the sun.

It was only when you reached the rocky ledge that you dared to look back. Azriel was right outside the house, violently trying to shake off the grip Rhysand had on him, holding him back. You couldn’t make out what he was saying to the shaking man in his arms through the ringing in your ears.

Azriel shouted for you one last time, eyes wide, when you used your momentum to propel you off the rocks of the lookout in a dive down towards the Sidra’s rushing water. It enveloped you in its noise and offered you a brief respite from your mind.

At the last moment possible, praying to the Mother to give you a helping hand this one time, you snapped your wings open to catch an air current. You thrust desperately against gravity, every muscle in agony, and your confidence wavered as you approached the water rapidly. If you hit the surface at this speed, you thought, at least it would be a swift death.

You doubled your efforts with a roar, using every second of your training to save you from the icy wall, still going down, down down until- you finally caught a strong draft. The tips of your feathers barely brushed the water, a moment stopped in time as you witnessed the reflection of your spread wings at your sides, black and white shining in the sun’s light, before you were shooting back into the sky.

You didn’t dare look back as you shot through the sky, heading for anywhere that wasn’t here.           

Okay first off- this is not edited, I got REALLY tired of waiting to find the time and I wanted to give you guys something! I'll probably go over it in the next few days.

We've got some angst today (I'm a whore for trust/betrayal storylines, can you tell?) and FINALLY a reveal of her ability to fly!! Rhysand tried to do damage control, at least x)

If I break up the next chapters like planned, the next one will be the first of the final story arc (the last one planned, anyways) and lemme tell y'all its WILD

Please tell me your thoughts, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Banner created by the amazing @saradika!

Taglist: @sapphenaa @minnieoo @weasleyreidstyles @anuttellaa

[starfall-spirit]

@officialfeysandweek2023

🎨: @sarahsoba

Read on Ao3

Summary: Feyre trusted Azriel and Cassian to keep her work as a Wraith secret. Perhaps they had, but it doesn't change the fact their High Lord knew what secrets were hidden in the shadows they share. Angered by her deception, Rhys sends Feyre home, freeing her from their marriage and bargain made Under the Mountain, all too soon finding that to be the worst mistake he's made in five centuries.

AN: The Silver-Tongued Bride, a Feysand fic based on 1,001 Nights/Arabian Nights, has been discontinued so I can write a book with a similar plot in the future, but UBC brought up the fic and I was struggling with my original project for Mates. So I'm closing this AU with a bang. As I said in a previous post there is a major time skip between Wife or Weapon? and Would You Like Me On My Knees? so reading/rereading STB is not vital, but the link is there if you want to see what the original story idea was and get a better idea of Feysand's history in this AU.

For those unfamiliar with 1,001 Nights, you can read the basic plot here.

CW: Dark!Rhys, Smut

“Feyre, you’ve told me a story every night for months now.”

“I have,” she murmured. “Would you like to hear another this evening?”

He gave her a slight smirk from across the oversized table between them, fiddling with one of the strategy pieces. “No, darling. Eager as I am to hear the ending of this last story, I have one to tell you tonight.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “One about a village girl brave enough to save her people.” She narrowed her eyes, accepting the chair. “Once upon a time a wicked foreign commander took control of seven High Lords’ power, trapping all but one in her perversion of a court.”

“Why are you telling me—”

“Be quiet and listen,” he hissed. There was something in his eyes tonight that for the first time stirred something like fear in Feyre. “For forty-nine years those faeries hoped and prayed for some salvation that never came. Until one day a village girl was just desperate enough to go Under the Mountain to save her sisters, and in her dealings with Amarantha, Prythian.”

Though he’d given her nothing but facts she recognized from her own story, something close to dread was coiling in her gut. “She succeeded, at the cost of her life, but was revived by the seven High Lords when their magic was returned to them. One would think after dying, our heroine would be content enough to keep a low profile and stay tucked away with her sisters.”

“You kept me from that, I’ll remind you.”

“Did I? Or did all of this start when you decided to play spy, Wraith?”

She ground her teeth, holding his burning stare. “You live in such wealth and privilege. Tell me, when was the last time you went days or weeks without more than bread and water? I did what I needed to to make sure there was food on the table and clothes on our backs, as I always have. Just because it took you three years to look at who you employ doesn’t mean I did anything wrong.”

He stood from his own seat. “You're right.” It took a moment for the words to register. That he had actually surrendered that small victory to her. “You haven’t actually done anything, beyond failing to mention your other duties to the Night Court. Which is why you will continue those duties, unrestrained.”

That dread began to seep back in, coiled and curdling deep inside of her. “Unrestrained? What do you mean unrestrained?”

“You are vital to Azriel’s network. I will not kill you, but you can not fully commit to your duties as my bride.”

Bride. Never wife, though she wasn’t quite sure why she cared about that little technicality during such a serious conversation. Because what his words implied…

She lurched from her chair.“Rhys, you can’t.”

“It is not your place to tell me what I can and can’t do, Feyre.”

“Rhys, please.” She was begging. Something she vowed she’d never do when it came to him. “Please don’t do this.” Her hand was fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt as if she could keep him there and hold his attention so simply. “They don’t deserve this.”

He cocked his head. “What would you give me, darling, to keep me from looking at another female?”

“Anything.” Dangerous words to offer the fae, especially one so powerful. “I will give you anything so long as these bride killings stop. Name your price.”

“Feyre, did you really think you could stop this, single-handedly? You never had a—”

He grunted as she pulled him down closer, one hand still holding his shirt while the other threaded through his silky hair. Though she initiated the kiss, he quickly took control, lifting her onto the table and disregarding the scattering of figures and marking pins so carefully arranged on the broad map atop it. He cupped the back of her neck, his thumb just brushing across her jaw. “Cauldron, Feyre,” he groaned, holding her in place to deepen the kiss.

She could say the same. Their kiss was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. His scent, his touch, and that cruel mouth working down over her neck, his tongue flicking that little sweet spot just higher that nearly had her whimpering. Apparently he remembered a few tricks from their time Under the Mountain. Each one left something inside her singing. And aching for more.

And then he was off of her, around the other side of the table before she could even open her eyes or try to assess what was threaded between them.

“No,” he growled, gripping the wood of the table hard enough his skin lightened. “You—we needed that distraction back then. I am not about to let you bargain with your body now, Feyre. You’ll leave in the morning, as usual. This time—” He waved a hand and a fresh horror filled her as the ink on her right arm vanished. “—free of our marriage.” Another wave and her left arm was bare. “Free of our bargain.”

She stumbled around the table. If Rhys was letting her go… “Rhys, wait.”

“It’s done. You’re free. You never have to see me again. What more do you want?” he snapped. She stopped in front of him, nearly close enough to share breath. Even wide and wild, those eyes drew her in. “What?” he growled.

“Promise me it will end.” His brow furrowed. “You’re a better male than this. I can see it. Your brothers can see it. I don’t know the others, but—”

“That’s enough.” He tilted his head as he assessed her, looking every bit the predator he proved himself to the world, any trace of the goodness she’d thought she’d seen just as absent as she ink on her arms. Her heart sank as he tutted, stroking his thumb down her jawline, this time almost condescendingly. “So that’s what you’ve been, little temptress. The martyr bride. One day my lover? My High Lady?”

“I’ll be whatever you need me to be if it saves others who are meant to follow me here.”

Reckless, stupid words, and yet she meant every one of them. She refused to release him until he listened.

Or winnowed.

Or layed her down on that war table and reminded her how easy it was to break a male.

Any other male, it seemed.

His hand dropped to wrap around her throat. One last security blanket, a means of control, even as she watched his resistance fracture. “Gods. Feyre, you don’t know how you tempt me to break the one code I can keep.” At this point she didn’t know how else to express she wouldn’t be as unwilling as he believed. Again, he tore away from her, leaving her cold and aching. What had gotten into her? “Your village and family will be pardoned in the future. If you’d like to take anything I’ve given you home then you’re welcome to pack tonight. As a Wraith, you can leave at your leisure. I trust you’ll be gone before breakfast?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning his back to her to repair the map she’d unknowingly torn. She should have felt relieved at the dismissal, but all she could currently think was that this was so wrong. On a scale larger than this sexual chemistry.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It rang in her head loudly enough she double checked her shields. Still impenetrable. Body and mind steeled, she gave him five parting words meant to sting after all this time in each other's company. “As you wish, High Lord.”

And she walked away, gaining her freedom, and losing so much more.

But what was still the question. 

~~~~~

Her sisters were elated. At least, Elain was elated. Nesta only felt the need to interrogate Feyre about what she had done to earn her freedom. “I wanted out,” she lied. “I told him I was a Wraith and he decided that was important enough to the war to release me.”

Neither of them seemed to believe her, especially with her vow to keep telling stories to maintain her position as a Night Bride and save the girls he’d yet to draw into his cruel game. Half of the town had started to treat her like a plague. The other was in awe when they saw her arms were bare of ink and her head was attached to her neck. 

Feyre didn’t have enough energy to care.

That was more frustrating than anything else. That empty feeling that grated against the anger and hurt she couldn’t find a way to justify. The dangerous tumble of thoughts that kept her awake in her bed until she was watching the sunrise. Because Cauldron damn her, she missed it. Missed him. The smirk on his face and the light in his eyes when she encouraged his flirtation. The glide of his hands over her body before that brutal dismissal. The taste of him, endless and all-consuming. The abyss she was too ready to leap into if she’d find him at the bottom.

That desperation scared her more than anything, and opened up a very unwelcome thought when the evenings went quiet. So she locked it away in a little mental box, shoving it behind that wall of steel and stone, down, and down, and down where she couldn’t feel even a flicker of want or worry.

But then, she had never been very good at compartmentalizing. And too many things in the home and village around her brought those feelings back to the surface. What they meant. But if she didn’t give it a name it didn’t have to mean anything. Not after he freed her. And with that mindset, she kept going, day by day.

She kept moving though life, waiting to hear the Bride Killer had returned to find his next target. But he never did. Not for weeks. She didn’t think it was possible for a town or village to simply freeze, but there was a feeling in the air all the same. As if the villagers around her, the birds and bugs and cattle, the very land around them was holding its breath.

It was excruciating to endure.

Still, she made herself go about town. To the market each morning and social functions in the evening. Nodding along as other females tittered about the latest gossip and just how lucky she was to be alive and marriageable again. It was positively disgusting. But she’d endure that too, for Elain and Nesta. It was where they thrived and she could tolerate being labeled the odd ball a while longer. It’s what she’d been her whole life, after all.

She should have known things wouldn’t be left there. That she wouldn’t be given time to heal and pass this strange emotional lull without some grand interruption. And grand it was.

In typical fashion, Rhys arrived at the height of the evening, his announcement by rolling thunder. “What a pretty little party.”

~~~~~

The house cleared remarkably quickly between the families scurrying for the door or flat out winnowing as he commanded them to leave. The only people to disobey were her sisters, frightened as they were by the intrusion. There was something to be said for their improving loyalty, she supposed.

He didn’t speak again until the door snicked shut behind their last guest. “Good evening, Feyre darling.”

“Rhys.” His name was hardly higher than a breath, but its weight did enough to heighten the already unbearable tension. “What do you want?” she asked a bit more confidently, pushing off the wall and shoving the flare between them down as deep as she could. If he wanted the… connection… between them, he wouldn’t have sent her away like he did. “You said you wouldn’t return to this village. Especially not this house.”

“It’s not your sisters I’m here for, Feyre.” The promise in his voice paired with the heat in his eyes sent a fresh bolt of want through her. “The last time we spoke—”

“The last time we spoke, you promised me my freedom, Rhysand. Peace from your games.”

“I think you like my games more than you’re willing to admit, darling.”

She scoffed, putting more distance between them as she moved behind the couch. “What do you want, Rhys? Say it and leave.” Her father coughed pointedly from where he had joined them just seconds ago, some small effort as the technical head of the house. It was a reminder to check her tone, speaking to a High Lord. She snorted. “He won’t touch me.”

Rhys winnowed across the room, his broad figure a mass of warmth against her, his scent flooding her senses. She pressed forward, hips digging into the back of the couch as she focused on taking shallow breaths, pointedly ignoring everything her body was demanding she do. “The last time we were this close—”

“You sent me away. I didn’t beg and plead for you to erase the bargain and wedding vows. I said I’d stay there for good. I’d be whatever the hell you needed me to be and you sent me away.”

“Is that what you want from me? Do you want me to beg and plead you come home to me? Do you want to see me on my knees for you? Should I grovel, love?”

“It would certainly be a new look for you, wouldn’t it?” she spat.

Ignoring Elain’s squeak, she shoved at his arm to escape his hold, fiddling with anything and everything that was already in its perfect place to ignore the male behind her as best she could. The next time she turned around he didn’t give her the choice of distancing herself. 

One hand caught her hip, the other cupping her face. Though his touch was loose and gentle, after weeks apart she was helpless against the pull of their bond. She sank into his chest, trembling slightly, finding that thread between them raw and open. “Darling.” There was a tentativeness to his voice she’d never once heard. Not in their most vulnerable moments Under the Mountain and certainly not in their time together in Velaris. “I’m sorry.” His right hand slid up, winding in her hair to keep her eyes level with his. “You need to know, you are worth more than what you thought I needed. I’ll have you as my mate—my High Lady—or not at all.”

She stiffened. “I don’t know a thing about leading a court.”

“You’ll learn.” Before she could say another word about it or explain anything to her family, she felt him start to winnow. 

“Rhys, wait! Don’t—” Her protest was cut off with her air, as they were folded in shadow, surfacing in the dining room of the town house in Velaris, his family already occupying the table. She jerked free of his hold. “You can’t just abduct me from my home,” she growled, ready to send herself right back.

“Just wait. Please.” The house was dead silent. She froze, watching with wide eyes as he sank to his knees. “Feyre.” The vulnerability between his actions and that one word was enough to clear the house, leaving the two of them alone, save each other. “Feyre. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his face. “But this is a discussion we need to have… unmonitored.”

“Tell me it's over.”

“It’s over.”

“Tell me that even if I turn around and go home, no more innocents will die at your hands. By your orders,” she clarified.

“I will never kill an innocent again. I will not call a priestess to an altar unless it is you by my side. You being pronounced my mate. My wife. My High Lady. My Forever. Feyre, my name is a stain on the history of this court. That will not change.” She shuddered as he wrapped his hands around the backs of her knees. “Help me do what I can to pave a better future.”

Because what would the world think when their Cursebreaker willingly married the Bride Killer? When she bore the ink of his court again? What would the world think of her when they realized she’d fallen in love with their greatest evil? 

She sank down to the ground, knee to knee with her mate. “I’ll be your equal? Respected in this court and the others.”

“The other High Lords will favor traditions. Especially those of the seasons. I can't promise you their respect. But no citizen of Night will question your authority and keep their life.”

“And… the other expectations of a High Lord’s wife?”

“One day, with this war behind us I would want to build a family with you. Raise children beside you. But not yet, Feyre. Not with this war upon us. I don’t—”

She kissed him, throwing her weight enough that he twisted his legs, settling on his back to let her set the pace. Though he didn’t object to her straddling him she didn’t think the privilege of control would last long, considering his grip on her waist was already beginning to tighten. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, working them open with an impressive dexterity, considering her mind felt like a muddled mess.

“Wait.” Feyre paused, confused. Then they were winnowing again, this time to a cabin in the mountains. “We won’t be disturbed any time soon,” he promised, walking her backwards through the cabin until she stumbled, only to be lifted upright in his arms before she could hit the floor. She locked her legs around his waist, gasping against his mouth as he pushed her up against the wall, her hands pinned over her head. “I’ve been aching for you,” Rhys confessed, “from the moment you left my bed three years ago, I’ve wanted you back in my arms.”

Years. Not just the weeks they were apart, but since they found freedom from Amarantha. Feyre tried to look back on those days, recalling the vulnerability between the pleasure they shared. Where they had let those careful masks crumble to dust. A single brief moment where she had let herself wonder if Rhys was more broken than he let on.

She pushed those thoughts down. “You sent me away.”

“Love is a dangerous thing,” he told her, letting her stand on her own feet again, his arms braced on either side of her. “And you were offering yourself to protect others, not for your own happiness. You would have come to hate me if I tried to act on our bond. I couldn’t see you reliving my mother’s story.”

“It may have seemed impulsive then, but I wanted it. Even without the mating bond established I wanted you.” 

Now that they’d both said it aloud it felt a thousand times more real. They were mates. A perfect match by nature or fate depending on who you asked. “Oh, and if we’re to do this in some sort of reasonable order.” She parted the panels of her gown. “It has pockets, see!” He was clearly confused about the relevance of her dress having pockets but stayed quiet to humor her. “I was keeping this for myself since they were just about the only enjoyable thing at that party, but here,” she told him almost conspiratorially, unwrapping the small linen napkin holding the cookies she was saving for a snack. “I didn’t technically make it myself, but… Food. Eat. Now.”

Confusion softened to something like awe and she realized for as cruel as he’d been in his time as High Lord, he had grieved the simple pleasures he thought he’d ruined his chance of finding. Like a female offering him food and truly accepting an eternity with him. He had a better future to look forward to, starting with half-crumbled cookies. “You’re exquisite,” he breathed, his thumb sweeping tenderly across her cheekbone. “I don’t deserve you, Feyre.”

She just smiled, nodding to the meager offering again. They were gone in seconds, the napkin so clean she wouldn’t have believed there were crumbs at all if she hadn’t seen the mess of crushed dessert herself. There was something to be said for a newly mated male’s dedication.

“Delicious,” he purred against her ear, tossing the pristine cloth over his shoulder. “But I can think of something else I’d rather taste at the moment.”

~~~~~

Rhys had never gotten a female out of a dress so quickly. He had never felt so close to losing control of himself. Not just that spiral of desire and the need to please his mate and satisfy their bond, but something more. Ancient and dark and primal. The need to claim in every respect. 

He hadn’t felt the cage swing open. Not until the thing within him was stalking out, his skin itching and tight as onyx scales rippled over it in patches. He groaned against Feyre, the taste of her on his tongue was doing nothing to help his attempt at suppressing the creature he worked so hard to hide. He knew it was only a matter of time before his talons would make themselves known and draw his mate’s attention to the steady shift claiming his body. She gasped as one of those obsidian claws nicked her tender flesh and an ugly guilt began twisting inside him at the single drop of blood that bloomed. He released her instantly. 

“Rhys…” He had been bracing himself for horror or disgust, not this quiet curiosity. 

“I normally have better control than this,” he said, jaw clenched tight. He hadn’t lost control of his beast form since he was a youngling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It's…” Her eyes shared the words her tongue couldn't find. She wanted this. Was hungry for it, even if it would temporarily cost him his sanity. 

He growled as she tried to guide him back between her legs. “As you wish, darling.”

She shivered at the next slow stroke of his tongue, her legs tightening around his head. “Stop teasing me,” she ordered.

A chuckle rasped out of him, even as he felt his control slipping little by little. “So my bossy little mate thinks she knows what she wants, hm? We’ll see about that.” While his body was only half-his own at the moment, he managed to retract the talons that had scratched her a moment before. Beast or not, he promised his mate his mouth, fingers, and cock tonight and he had no intention of disappointing her again. 

He didn’t quicken his pace, not when he had the absolute pleasure of drawing her steadily higher and higher until she was on the precipice of falling, flushed from head to toe and clenching around his fingers. He grinned as he heard her let out another frustrated whimper, her short nails dragging down from his scalp to scratch the back of his neck, bringing about as much pain as a kitten might. 

Do you need something, love? he teased, withdrawing entirely.

She gave a hard shove and he let her flip their positions, folding an arm beneath his head as he watched her straddle him. Seeing as her patience has been rather unremarkable thus far, he had ultimately expected her to take advantage of her position over him and claim the pleasure they were both aching for. It appeared she would once again surprise him.

“You take far too much pleasure in keeping me from mine,” she told him, almost in reprimand. “It’s high time the roles were reversed—” She slid back, wrapping her slender hand around the base of his swollen, scaled length. “—don’t you think?”

“I think, Feyre, that you should be very careful,” he warned her. Both of them knew she had no physical leverage over him. That he had let her turn the tables and could reclaim control the moment he decided he was done with this game. But for now he’d pretend he was a decent male, if only so his mate could feel proud of herself for this momentary victory. “Go on, darling. Do your worst.”

She grinned, sinking down to take the first inch of him in her mouth. Rhys could feel her smugness rippling down the bond, multiplying when his free hand flew to her nape. “Look at you,” he praised her, his fingers carding though her hair as a means of comfort as she took him deeper at her own pace. “So pretty, taking my cock down your throat.”

She wouldn’t be able to take all of him like this, not with him half-shifted this way. But she was trying her best and it wasn’t a sight he would forget anytime soon. She dragged her teeth against him and he jerked forward on instinct, choking her slightly. “Careful, pet,” he warned, the tension in his voice betraying his own state of mind. Her little hum told him she knew he was close to spilling down her throat and he had no intention of letting things end so soon.

He twisted her hair around his hand, pulling her up to face him, “As pretty as you’d look drooling on my cock, I think I’d rather watch you ride me, Feyre.”

She wasted no time, letting him guide her down onto him. “Look at you,” Rhys murmured again, his breath fluttering against her hair. She whimpered. “Slow down, darling. Almost there.” He hissed as she clenched around the full length of him, a new instinct roaring to life within him. Claim, claim, claim. 

For the millionth time that night he found himself grieving the absence of the  ink that clearly tied her to him before he granted her her freedom. He’d remedy that problem after they dealt with the frenzy.

He watched Feyre for a moment, taking in the glaze of lust in her eyes and the love beneath it, And deep down, even under that, the instinct that mirrored his own. He shifted on the bed slightly, preparing to flip them again. “Do you know what it wants, Feyre? Hm?”

She blinked down at him, trying to piece together what he was asking. “Do you know what the beast beneath my skin wants to do to you when you’re taking this cock like such a good girl?” She moaned again, hips jerking against his unyielding hold. “Needy little mate,” he admonished softly. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve been waiting. Now fuck me.” 

She yelped as he flipped her onto her back, pinning her hands to the mattress. “I told you to be careful, little mate.”

“Rhys—”

“I warned you to be careful, Feyre. That I was close to losing control. That there was only one thing the beast in me wanted from you.” She shuddered as he shifted both of her hands under one of his, bringing his free hand down to stroke her clit. She keened. “But maybe that’s what my little mate wants too.”

“Rhys.” A foreign, desperate sound left her as her release rattled through her. Rhys didn’t let her come down from it, refusing to acknowledge how she felt clenching around him as he aimed to bring her to her second orgasm. “Rhys, wait. I need—”

“Darling, I thought you needed to come,” he teased. He had almost forgotten how easy it was to overstimulate her, scrambling her senses and bringing her pleasure over and over. It had been his greatest joy in those moments they stole when they were stuck Under the Mountain. His only joy, actually. But that time was behind them. “So, so pretty like this, filled up with my cock,” he praised her, tensing slightly as the dark scaled patches rippled and spread over his skin. “Just imagine how pretty you’ll look when you’re carrying my baby.”

She let out a low groan that had new pride blooming, a jerk of his hips sending her over the edge once again. “Rhys, need you to fill me up.”

“I know, baby. That’s a good girl.” He sighed, pressing his lips to her neck as his slow drag turned more deliberate, bringing them to the next high together. He ducked his head again, slanting his mouth over hers as they came together. “I love watching you come undone for me,” he murmured. “I’ve missed it more than anything.”

She hissed as he pulled out of her slowly, watching onyx scales revert to brown skin, the possessive glint in his eyes fading to something softer. “What took you so long? The ward on the house was pathetic. Why did you wait so long to come for me?”

“Because I never deserved you. And one day I stopped caring about what was deserved and decided to be purely selfish. So I made you a Night Bride.”

“And then you sent me away.”

“I didn’t deserve a mate either. And I knew you would begin to recognize the bond for what it was. But the weeks apart, knowing it would be final, I couldn’t stand it. So I swallowed my pride and came to grovel.”

Feyre sighed, laying her head on his chest. “I’m very glad you did, Rhys.”

He smiled against her hair, holding her a little tighter. “So am I, darling. So am I.”

~~~~~

Taglist:

@lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[redheadspark]

I’d like to request a fic with either Cassian, Azriel, or Rhys where the reader is very sick (like pneumonia or something) and they’re really worried. Maybe the reader is human or half human so Fae aren’t used to human illnesses. I love your writing!

A/N: This is great! Thanks for the request! sorry for taking so long to write it, I was so busy at work and I get beyond tired at night.

Risk

Summary: Your wound from the battle gets infected, putting your health at risk. Leave it to the Spymaster, your mate, to get you the best care.

Warnings: Some angst and fluff rolled into one

"Madja, I don't know what to do,"

"Let me see her then,"

You were shivering in your ed, head beyond heavy and feeling like lead as your skin was too hot to the point of sweating as you head the healer come into your room. You had your eyes closed, trying to shield away the light as your were whimpering in your bed, which was soaked from your sweat. Even your legs were shaking, with no way of you trying to stop it or calm yourself down.

Azriel, your mate, was petrified and didn't know what to do.

Your felt Madja's soothing hands along your skin, you whimpering some more as Azriel reached over to lace your clammy fingers with his own to give you some comfort. Everything along the top of your skin felt too hot for you, yet at the same time you were shaking.

"Her wound from the Battle is infected," Madja explained, making Azriel's blood go cold and his breath stop for a moment, "It's making her spike a fever at a fast rate,"

"How can we fix it?" He asked with no hesitation, holding onto your hand for dear life as you were trying to listen yourself. You remembered getting stabbed in the Battle a week ago, a deep slice along your thigh that made you almost loose your own life when you fell to you knees. You were spared though, your own mate killing the soldier who was about to kill you off then sweeping you into his arms to fly you over to the medical tent not too far away. Luck was on your side, the wound seemed to be taken care of properly.

Until that day, when you couldn't get out of bed and had a massive fever.

"Because she's half human, the infection can be deadly," Madja explained as she moved the blood stained gaze away from your thigh, you squinting in pain from her moving the gauze off your tender skin, "I need to get my medical supplies from my home to heal her properly. I'll also need the twins, their nimble fingers will be helpful since time is of the essence, "

"What can I do?" Azriel asked, looking down at you for a brief moment and see him stare back at him with tears in your eyes. To see you own mate in pain, not knowing how to heal you and protect you in such an intimate and vulnerable moment. You've never seen him this scared before, not even in the heat of battle or against some of the bigger soldiers or members of an enemy court.

Yet his mate was sick, and he looked like he would collapse.

"You stay here with her as I fetch my bag and medicine," Madja explained to him sternly as she placed on a new clean gauze along your infected wound, "Make sure she drinks water and let a breeze come in to cool her down. We need to change the sheets and not let her lay in filth. Also, get in contact with High Lord Rhysand and Feyre, tell them all I told you now and they can bring me more supplies from the House of Wind. I'll be no more than 10 minutes at the most, do you understand?"

Azriel nodded his head, your eyes still on him as he was watching Madja and looking petrified. You saw the panic there in his orbs, the same orbs that you grew to love and considered your home. They were always filled with love when you two were together, always positive with a hint of amusement and playfulness morphed together into something deep and loving. Azriel loved you with all of him, not just half or part of him. His drive to love you and keep you safe was immense and grand, which made you fall for him all the more.

Once Madja left the room and out the door of the Townhouse, Azriel knelt down and was nose to nose with you. You were still shaking, the thin sheet of sweat along your skin and brow as enough to make you look like you were glistening that spring morning. Azriel scanned your appearance, you seeing the pain there behind in his since he couldn't care for you. He wanted you safe consistently, no matter you were half fae and half human. Azriel still had the urge to protect you at all times, which was annoying at times but you knew he meant well.

"She's gonna make you better, okay?" He asked, his voice trying to sound strong for you but you heard the small undertone of pain and worry there. You gulped, wincing a bit as your thigh moved and your wound rubbed against the new gauze, "Madja will make you all better before you know it. I know it hurts, and I wish I could take it away within a moment,"

"A-A-Az...," You moaned his name pain, Azriel reaching up to move your hair from your sweaty head, "It hurts s-s-s-so bad.."

"I know, Baby," he hummed, reaching over to kiss your head lovingly as you felt his cool lips on your hot skin, "We're going to take care of you, I promise. You're not going to go anywhere without me, understand me?"

You gulped and nodded rapidly. You were feeling the tension in the air as Azriel was simply buying you some time before Madja would return. He then moved to place his arms under your legs and back, lifting you very gently and trying to avoid hurting your leg. You yelped curling into his chest as Azriel was moving out of the room swiftly and with smoothness in his step.

"I'm letting you rest in Cassian's old room while the house changes your sheets. I'm gonna call Rhys and Feyre to get here and help, okay?" Azriel said to you as you felt your hear getting heavier by the second, "We're gonna get out of this, I swear on my life we are,"

"Mmph...." You tried to talk but your lips were feeling sticky and cold and your speech was slurring. Your felt your vision going blurry and almost black as you were in a new room, being placed themed gently and the room was so dark....so dark and cool.

"I got you, baby. You sleep, okay? Go to sleep," Azriel's voice that sounded so far away was commanding you. You nodded once, then slipping into a deep slumber without your realizing it.

Darkness over took you so swiftly, like a blanket over your head.

You woke up wit your head against a hard but warm chest.

Blinking a few times, you felt as though you slept for hours on end. Did you? You tried to remember what happened before you passed out, but it wasn't coming to as you felt the warmth of the room touching you again. But this time, you weren't shaking or shivering like you were dunked in water. The sweat that was covered you was gone.

You felt like new. Tired, but new.

You blinked a few times, seeing the soft morning light coming into the room. Your shared room with Azriel, the deep maroon sheets of satin and the soft goose feather pillow under your lower back as the chest your head was against shifted a bit. There was something wrapped around your wound on your thigh, which felt like a dull ache compared to the cheering hot pain when the infection was there. The scent of cedar, ambers from a fire, and perhaps a hint of the river water, was going through your nose as you looked up to see who it was. A tried but soothing smile on your lips.

Azriel, bare from the hips up, sitting against the headboard bed holding you in his arms.

He felt soft, a contrast to his hard muscles and his cooling nature that you were used to. This time he seemed so vulnerable and open, no guard up around him or his wings being rigid. They were languid, hanging off the bed behind him as his fingers were along your arms and skin. His legs were tangled with yours under the sheet, avoiding your wounded thigh.

Speaking of which.

"Good morning my love," he hummed to you, his voice no longer scared but calm and a bit drowsy as he pressed kiss after kiss along your hair line, you nuzzling into him a bit more, "How do you feel?"

"Like I was slammed by a Illryian soldier during a training session," You grumbled, Azriel chuckling in a tired way. You saw the stubble that was growing on his cheeks and skin, his hair unkept and almost flopping everywhere, and some evident bags under his eyes. It made your worry, reaching up to touch his stubbled chin with your fingers as Azriel watched you with relief on his face.

"I stayed awake all night to make sure you were safe," He explained, you searching his eyes and seeing how they were somewhat bloodshot, "You were tossing and turning a bit through the night, I had to hold you since it was calming you down in your sleep,"

"How...how long was I out for?" You asked sheepishly, feeling Azriel reach up to take the hand on his cheek and kiss your palm as he kept his eyes on you.

"Two days," he explained, your eyes going wide, "Madja got the medicine to work and the infection was gone within an hour. There was a moment that you almost didn't make it..." he paused, taking in a long breath as if he was trying to remain calm in front of you. You felt the mating bond them so hard from his emotions, feeling it yourself as it was singing to you several things at once.

Relief.....assurance...pure love....protection.

"I stayed with you through the night, not having the heart to leave you since I feared the worst," He said some more, you wrapping your other arm around his waist as he pressed his head against your hair, "For a moment, when Madja was tending to you and you were shaking so bad on the bed....I thought I was going to loose you,"

That pained you inwardly, almost like a sword was carving out your heart. You tried to picture it in your mind: Azriel worried sick next to you on the bed as you were riding out the injection, his eyes wide in fear and despair since he couldn't help you himself. The one thing you never wanted with your life with Azriel was having him feel pain because of your safety.

You merely kissed his chin, feeling shiver as you breathe him in and felt your body nestle into him more, "I'm right here, Az. Thanks to you,"

"To Madja, you mean." Azriel tried to correct you, but you shook your head ad grinned.

"You saved me, Az."

You both stayed wrapped in each other's arms throughout the rest of the morning, letting the morning light come into the room with ease as you feel asleep within each other's embrace. There was no more fear for your safety or your life, only the sense of a future outstretched far and wide. The fear of loosing you was long gone in the Spymaster's mind, all he was thinking about was your being safe and content in his arms.

You both slept the morning away.

The End.

[astranva]

Reason To Hate You.

// masterlist //

Word Count: 5k

Category: Angst

Warning: Some strong language, as usual. Just angsty. It’s good for the skin and some soul cleansing.

Summary: He loves her, but has no time to show it even when she asks him to. But she’s had enough, and Harry writes a song.

Based on Reason To Hate You by Rhys Lewis.

..

You were sure when Harry sang “comfortable silence is overrated” he wasn’t joking, because maybe your boyfriend appreciated the uncomfortable silence more, or at least he had been showing so.

Familiarity was out of the window when it came to the both of you, because that would be an understatement. Your friends and families had joked about it for the one year and 7 months of your relationship, about how you were one soul in two bodies, how alike you and Harry were and how the differences completed one another.

You knew when he was stressed, sad, nervous, even when he was a combination of every emotion there is and it had always assured you that he, too, knew you like the back of his hand.

One look at you and he’d offer the best support; let it be a shoulder to cry on, a celebratory dance, or a shared cup of blueberry yogurt.

But quietness had barged in like an univited guest, one you weren’t ready for and the more you thought about it, you would have never been ready for it.

Empty was one word to describe it; the bed, the kitchen, the living room, the balcony, the house, the trips to the grocery’s – the relationship.

It began around the time of Fine Line’s release. Biting back your tongue, you had managed to not feel small whenever you listened to all the tracks on there that Harry had on his ex, especially the one that had his ex talking at the end of.

But Harry had showered you with love and assurance, telling you that he couldn’t believe he had ever lived without you by his side and how he had never felt this sort of love with anyone.

You, too, had showered him with affection and the undivided pride you felt for him, making sure all your friends and family purchased the album, playing it at all times, working online so you could accompany him to some of his press because he needed you there with him.

“Mom’s birthday is coming up. I think we should get her that dress she talked about last time, remember it?” You had asked one night as you lied in bed, eyes on your boyfriend as he moisturized his face while standing in nothing but his boxers.

Harry glanced at you before looking back at the mirror one final time before walking to the bed, “I don’t, no.”

“The Marc Jacobs o-“

“When is it?” He rushed, getting under the cover, turning away from you before turning his head back to look at you.

Your lips parted before closing again, before you replied. “Friday.”

“This Friday?” And at your nod, Harry pursed his lips, “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t make it. Have a meeting all day to talk about tour.”

“But H, you knew about this for two weeks.”

“I did?” Sheepishly, Harry asked.

You slumped before shaking your head, “It’s alright. I’ll just tell her you had an emergency or something.”

“You do that.” He nodded, reaching behind him to give your thigh a squeeze, “Get whatever gift you want, pay with my card.”

You didn’t reply, watching as he let his head down on his pillow, back to you as he got comfortable, the only light in the room coming from the lamp on your bedside table.

On the day of your mother’s birthday, you remember the halfhearted smile you offered to her when she asked you where Harry was,

“Says he’s really sorry. Family emergency, but this is from the both of us.” And then you had given her the neatly wrapped present, a card attached to it with a birthday message from you and Harry, only that it was only you who had written it because Harry was up and out of the house the minute you opened your eyes that morning.

And then it happened, again, and again, and again,

and some more.

“Good morning,” you had smiled at him one morning, watching as he rubbed his face before he approached you, capturing your lips in a kiss that had the butterflies in your stomach cheer and dance, “How did you sleep?”

“Fine, love. What about you?” He smiled tiredly, hands on your waist and chin on your shoulder from behind as he watched you flip the cheddar cheese and omelet toast on the pan.

“Great.” You smiled when you felt him rub your skin from over your nightgown with his fingers. You turned off the stove before turning, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, leaning to peck his lips, “Hey, I know we always get Chinese takeout for our Sunday night date but how do you feel about Thai?”

And instantly, Harry tensed, guilt already taking place on his face and the smile on your face faltered at the change of demeanor, “Y/N, I’m sorry, lovie, I can’t make it tonight.”

“What? Why? We never skip on our Sunday night indoor date.”

It was a ritual you and Harry were devoted to since the very beginning of your relationship, and not once had neither of you flaked on it, always having plans around it but never during it because it was when the both of you would kick your heels up, pig out, watch a movie, talk, and just get ready for the start of another week.

“Told you I’m going to Miami for a few days to meet with the director for Watermelon Sugar, baby.”

“You’re travelling?” You frowned, “You never told me.”

Harry paused, eyes going slightly big before he looked away for a moment before looking back at you, “I’m sorry. It must have slipped out of my mind with how hectic everything has been.”

You didn’t reply, suddenly feeling a tad uncomfortable with your position which had you remove your arms from around him and turn, holding the pan and moving out of his grasp to put the toast on his plate.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. It’s just my job and I can’t reschedule.”

You sighed, feeling as if your heart strings were being tugged at. Nevertheless, you managed to give him a small smile. “It’s alright, H. I understand. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

To be honest, if anyone had a say in this, they’d say Harry took advantage of how accepting you were, but you would never. You would never say – nor admit – that he was taking advantage of all your “I understand”s and “I get it”s, because you knew he was busy. You knew he loved you. You knew it, until you weren’t so sure anymore.

Standing in the corner of Adam and Emi’s living room, you sipped on your Sprite as you watched people from Harry’s band and those behind the album mingle, your boyfriend standing out of earshot but in front of you, conversing with Tom – Kid Harpoon – and Naomi, his hands moving around as he talked which made you smile a little.

“Why are you standing here all lonely?” You felt a nudge to your shoulder before you looked beside you, seeing Sarah leaning on the wall beside you.

You shrugged, “Just watching.”

“You never texted me yesterday after your date. How did Harry react to your dress? Did you end up wearing the white sh-“

“We didn’t go.”

“-oes? Or- Wait, what?” Sarah frowned.

“We didn’t go on the date.” You repeated, avoiding her eyes by looking down at the small soda bubbles in your cup.

“Oh,” Sarah’s shoulders slumped, taking notice of your gloomy mood, “Oh, um,” she cautiously looked at you, “You were dressed.” She mumbled with a frown, genuinely sad for her friend.

You chuckled, putting your weight on one leg, “So was he, but we had different intentions, I guess. He had a meeting with Jeff.”

“Y/N…” Sarah, with a frown, offered a hand of support on your shoulder.

With a small, very fake smile, you looked at her and shook your head, “It’s alright, really. He’s been busy with tour and the press and all that.”

“Doesn’t make him less of an arse, you know?” She raised an eyebrow.

You only chuckled, looking down at your shoes, “Don’t worry about it. Hey, at least I got to watch that show you’ve been bugging me with.”

You were patient; something many of the people you knew in your life always praised, some even were in disbelief at how patient you were with the shit life threw at you. Like that one time your laptop lagged in the midst of your presentation at uni and instead of freaking out, you remained calm, collected and patient, and it was why you ended up acing that presentation.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t feel like crap, because you did.

Since communication was key, you had decided to do just that – communicate. Harry was better than you when it came to confrontation. For a long time, you had trouble with approaching anyone and telling them that things weren’t fine, but as yours and Harry’s relationship blossomed, you learned to.

It was why you had decided against going to bed early one night and opted to stay and wait for Harry’s return, knowing that it was the only time you would be able to see him with how tight his schedule had been.

In a crewneck of his and plaid pj pants, you sat on the couch with a cup of green tea in your hands, watching a talk show that you mentally criticized as shit in your mind before you heard the click of the door.

Taking a breath to steady your heartbeat and breath, you put aside your tea before you clutched your hands together, cracking your knuckles nervously as you heard the sound of Harry’s home sliders against the floor.

His face showed confusion at the light being turned on, knowing that by that time, you usually slept, but he saw you sitting there, too in your head as you looked at your fidgeting hands to notice that he was a few steps away.

“You’re still up.” He stated in surprise, watching your head snap to look at him.

“Um, yeah,” you nodded, “Was waiting for you.”

Unknowing why, Harry smiled to himself as he approached you, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple, “Yeah?”

You nodded, “Can we talk?”

And then his smile slightly faltered, eyebrows furrowing in slight worry before he sat. “Are you alright?” His hand reached up to brush your hair.

You hated how loving he was that moment, how he made you feel. How he showed you care when he was there for a few minutes, but you hated how he had trouble showing you that by making time for you.

“Harry,” you began and he immediately felt like shit because you rarely use his name, “Are you ever not going to be busy?”

“What?”

You felt stupid, not knowing how to articulate how you’re feeling but gave it another go anyway. “It’s just that, you’re never here anymore. It’s always the album, meetings, press, and when it’s none of those, then you’re out with your friends-“

“Is this about me cancelling that date?”

And you knew he was starting to get defensive and you made note that you hated that, too.

“Which one?” You asked tiredly before sighing, turning fully to look at him, “I’m not asking you to choose between me and your job, your life, but I’m just asking you to make time for me. I just feel out of place, Harry, and it sucks.”

“You know this album is important to me, everything about it.”

“And I absolutely love all that for you, I’m so proud of you,” you held his hands, “I just miss you, that’s all.”

“But Y/N, that’s-“ Harry let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, “That’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to cancel on our quality time more than twice to be with your friends, all of whom you see everyday.”

“I see you everyday.”

“Seeing me when I’m sleeping or kissing me goodbye is hardly anything, Harry.” You said gently.

He contemplated it, staying silent for a few moments as he looked down at your joined hands. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just, make time for me, for us – please?”

You had kissed then, almost like a promise, and for the first time in a long time, you cuddled.

You wished you received enough assurance that he was trying, wished to see it, but it seemed like too big of a wish to come true.

You had a career of your own, one you were proud of and worked hard for, so when one day your boss asked you to their office to break the news of your promotion, your smile might as well have resembled a painted one like the Joker’s, from ear to ear.

Your colleagues had cheered for you, even interns approaching you to tell you that you deserved it, and they had all decided that a celebration was due. While they were planning for the celebration, deciding that it would take place at a nearby pub the following day as it Saturday and Friday was a good day to recover from hangovers, you took out your phone, composing a text to Harry.

‘H, please be home early tonight. Big news! 🥳 Love you!’

“You sure you don’t want to join for a quick drink? You earned it.” Your colleague Mariah asked as she walked you to your car.

“I’m sure. You go have fun and we’ll meet tomorrow.”

“Hey, tell your boyfriend to tag along!” She said as she waved before leaving.

That day, you went back home, showered and changed before cooking a nice meal for yourself and Harry.

You had checked your phone multiple times, checking if you might have missed a response or missed a call but granted, your phone only notified you of few congratulatory messages from people in your workplace and your family’s Whatsapp group after you had shared with them the news, none from the one person you longed for.

When the clock struck 8 that night, you found yourself grabbing your phone, tapping on it until you were calling his phone. One missed call, you called again and that time, he answered.

“Baby, I’m in the middle of something.” Harry rushed.

“What is it?” You found yourself asking.

“Mate! You fucking cheated!” You heard him laugh, sounds of different people in the background, “Don’t wait up, yeah? I have to go now. Love y-Wait, I’m coming!” And with one final laughter from him – a sound you had always loved and cherished but that moment, it only made you feel like crying – he hung up.

You stared at your phone, eyes stinging and nears getting itchy, swallowing the lump in your throat before you angrily tossed the phone onto the couch before walking to the kitchen to eat your share of the food. No way in hell were you going to sleep sad, angry, and on an empty stomach.

You hated how small you felt, how you felt unwanted in his world. It wasn’t like you wanted much either, just some time.

It was why the following morning as you got ready for your day at work, you might have loudly closed a drawer or two before looking over at Harry’s sleeping figure.

Huffing as you looked into the mirror while adjusting your top, you were unaware to Harry stretching and rubbing his eyes before you heard him.

“Good morning, love.”

Your heart raced, turning instantly to look at him. You tried to smile but when that failed, you turned back to give yourself a final look before grabbing your bag, mumbling a halfhearted “good morning.”

“Leaving early?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I want to grab donuts before I go.”

Harry smiled sleepily, “You usually get them donuts when there is good news.”

“I got promoted.” You said, still avoiding looking at him as you walked towards the door, lingering by it before you finally looked at him, finding him looking at you with a grin.

“Really? Baby, that’s wonderful! Congratulations, Honey. You deserve this. C’mere.” And he opened his arms, making grabby hands at you.

That moment, you also hated how you couldn’t fight the urge to go to him because that was exactly what you did. You walked towards him, sitting beside him and letting him embrace you, peppering kisses on your head.

“I’m proud of you.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around him as you closed your eyes. “You are?”

“Of course. Always am.”

You smiled, nuzzling your head into his neck.

Harry wasn’t dumb – he felt it. You missed him, and he, too, missed you. He just couldn’t seem to say no to all the plans that he was invited to – except yours.

“They’re celebrating me tonight. Do you want to come?” You said, and although it was a little muffled, he heard it.

“Tonight’s Steve’s birthday. Remember hi-“

“Oh my God.” You rolled your eyes, pulling away from his embrace, shaking your head at yourself before letting out a chuckle, “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Why? What did I- Y/N, you know I can’t miss it. Steve has helped a lot with the album, it wouldn’t be right.”

“He helped with-“ You laughed bitterly, “Right, and I have never helped you with anything. Nothing at all.”

“Don’t take it like that, Y/N.” Harry huffed.

“I’m not taking it like anything, Harry. It doesn’t matter. Don’t wait up. Oh wait,” you stood, giving him a sarcastic smile, “You never do.”

And with that, you were out.

Any other time, you probably would have felt guilty. You would have felt like running back into his arms the moment he opened them. Only, he hadn’t called you, nor had he opened his arms.

There you were, sitting on a stool at the bar as your friends danced and drank, sulking with an untouched cocktail glass, staring at the door every time someone walked in.

But 7 became 8, 8 became 9, and before you knew it, you had driven one of your very drunk colleagues home at 12 and you were back home at 12:30, too sober for your own liking. That was a pathetic celebration, you thought.

You weren’t sure why but the moment you stepped foot inside your shared home with Harry – it was initially his but by the 12th month of your relationship, he had asked you to move in – you couldn’t stop the tears.

Ugly sobs broke the silence in the house, your body shaking with the extra weight of emotions it carried for months.

Maybe it was because even then, Harry wasn’t home and surely, he wasn’t beside you as your friends celebrated a big event in your life. Maybe it was because you received a notification that Harry had posted to his close friends story list on Instagram, the story being him holding his phone with the front camera, Harry singing along to a Queen song with Alexa Chung as she had one arm around his shoulders, her other hand holding a cup that resembled the miserable cocktail you had earlier to celebrate yourself.

But you were packing a suitcase.

You were neatly folding some of your clothes in it, putting some of your undergarments in the zipped-up area. You hadn’t bothered to quit crying, you figured that you owed that yourself.

One thing Harry didn’t expect to return to was to see you out, closing your car’s trunk as you stood in your black sweatpants and a grey hoodie, comfortable sneakers on your feet and your hair left with no hairbands or as much as a clip as if you hadn’t bothered to do anything with it.

Quickly parking and turning off his car, his eyes had glanced at the time quickly, finding it reading 2:21AM. Harry was quick to get out, noticing your movement to your driver side halt as you heard so.

“Where are you going?” He asked as he approached you, feeling worried and scared as he stared at the back of your head as you were yet to turn.

But you did, and Harry found himself staring your puffy eyes, tears in clouding the color he loved too much and his heart broke.

“I’m leaving.”

If it was possible, his heart would have beat its way out of his chest.

“L-Leaving wh-where? What?”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “I’m leaving, Harry. I’m done.”

“Y/N, baby,” he cooed, stepping closer, “Let’s talk, alright?” He gently put his hands on your arms, only to have you shrug them off, breaking his heart even more and causing a lump to form in his throat.

“No! We’re not going to talk, Harry. I’m done talking. I’m done waiting. I’m done being alone in this fucking house – in this- this fucking relationship!” You cried.

“Baby, please,” his jaw clenched as he tried to control his breathing and to push back the tears, “Y/N, please. Don’t do this.”

You shook your head, “I gave you everything. I tried everything and it’s just not working. I’m done giving, Harry. Please, just understand.” You stepped closer to him, cupping his face, “You’re never here for me anymore and I’m done holding on to the ghost of you.”

“What can I do? Anything, please,” his nose reddened, eyes going tearful as he was just about to melt in your hands, watching you shake your head, “Please, lovie, anything.”

“I’m done.” You whispered in the midst of a sob, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I tried.”

And with that, you got into the car before speeding off, leaving Harry standing there, his heart seeming to wave him off as he watched your car disappear.

//

He was shit.

He had tried to contact you, even tried to visit you at your work only to get told that you were taking a few days off.

He messaged you everyday for 3 weeks, called and left voice notes.

His friends felt bad for him when they knew, but they felt worse when he broke down one day when his band visited to check up on him,

“If only I wasn’t part of all of this! If you didn’t drag me into all of this shit, she would have still been here! Right here in her fucking home with me!”

“Hey! You got no one to blame but yourself. You’re the one who decided to blow her off every time, even when Mitch and I asked you about her and gave you an earful so don’t fucking put the blame on anyone but yourself, Harry!” Sarah had knocked some sense into him, “I love you and all, but this is all you and whatever will happen next will be you. Don’t wait for anyone to pick up your mess because it’s about time you act and show her you love her.”

He deserved that.

Harry had tried countless of times, visited your old apartment only to face an old man holding a puppy who had no idea who you were.

He found himself sitting in his studio one night – where he slept because he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in your bedroom – his journal perched up as his pen worked on it. It was like he didn’t need to think about it, he went on auto-pilot and before he could realize it, he had written a song.

You weren’t any better. 2 months later and you were still avoiding his calls. It didn’t help that you got another phone and number but kept your old one, only to know that he still remembered you and you felt pathetic for it.

His fans were bombarding you with questions on yours and his whereabouts, saying that you’ve been inactive for way too long and it wasn’t like you to not interact with them, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t.

By the 3rd month, you began to go other places than your workplace.

You met up with 2 of your friends, giving them short answers and “yeah”s as they talked. With your mind being somewhere else, you unlocked your phone and opened Instagram, checking your explore page.

And there it finally was; a picture of him. His beard and moustache had grown, untrimmed and messy as his hair. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, yellow sweatpants and a grey hoodie worn along with his running shoes while he walked.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you opened the photo, checking the caption to read it;

‘Harry out a few minutes ago!’

As fresh as your favorite home baked pastries this photo was. Your eyes moved from him to the shop behind him, zooming with your fingers before letting out a gasp.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” One of your friends asked.

“I have to go.” You quickly said, slinging on your bag before you shot out of your seat and outside, frantically looking left and right before walking towards the shop you had seen in the picture.

You didn’t even know what you were doing. Hell, you shouldn’t have been doing that, looking for him like that.

You panted, reaching up to place a hand on your rapidly beating heart as you stood in front of the shop.

God, you felt stupid.

“Y/N…”

You heard it, then you felt it; his hand, gentle on your shoulder.

You turned, coming face to face with the man you had sworn up and down was the love of your life – and you knew he still was.

He snatched off his sunglasses, as if they played a trick on him but they weren’t because you stood right there.

“You’re here.” He breathed out.

Harry’s green eyes were staring into yours, hand still on your shoulder.

At the feeling that rushed through you; one that made you feel that one more minute and you would be in his arms, kissing him and going back home with him, you slowly shook your head. “I have to leave.”

“No, please, please, a minute. Just a minute.” Harry pleaded with wide eyes, desperation in his voice.

“If I stay for one more minute, I won’t control myself. Please let me go.” You closed your eyes as you spoke softly.

“I can’t.”

“You can. You did it more than once.”

One final jab to his heart, you turned, rushing to cross the street before getting in your car.

//

The news of a sudden single drop was everywhere.

Friends and family texted you to ask if you had heard the song, most asking you to “please talk it out with Harry, he seems really sorry.”

Your coffee, sat waiting for you as you read the wave of tweets that crashed on you from fans, most of asking you what your friends and family asked of you, some others apologizing on his behalf, some others questions if the song was about you to begin with, and some others giving you shit for “breaking Harry’s heart.”

You were quick to click on a YouTube link that was attached to a tweet of a fan reacting to the song, sitting up straight and suddenly feeling nauseous as the screen changed.

Harry Styles – Reasons To Hate You.

Your stomach dropped as you saw him. In a white tee and black shorts, his hair was held back with your light blue clip while he sat in a chair behind his mic in the comfort of your home studio, holding the black guitar you had gifted him for his 26th birthday.

“Can you just lie to me

And ruin these memories

'Cause I've gotta forget somehow

So I'm begging you, burn us to the ground,” Harry sang as he played the guitar.

“Cause I know it's over

But I don't know what to do

So help me get over

Help me get over you,”

With no intentions to stop the tears, you let yourself cry, reaching up to stifle a sob by putting a hand to your mouth.

“And tell me you love somebody else or something

Or say you've been unfaithful to me

'Cause I need a reason to hate you, a reason to let you go

A reason to move on 'cause without one I know I won't

So tell me you love somebody else or something

Or say you've been unfaithful to me.”

He had looked up to his camera, and as he did, you felt like he was physically there and singing for you.

“Where do we go from here?

Do you just disappear?

'Cause I don't think I can be your friend

When it feels like the break isn't gonna mend.”

You stopped questioning your moves, and as proof, you had no idea what you were thinking when you grabbed your car keys and bolted out of the studio apartment you had rented, the song still playing.

“'Cause even after all this time, I'm hoping I can change your mind

'Cause hope's the only open door left to choose

So let me out for good because I know that I'm not strong enough

To stop myself from feeling things for you

So don't give me the truth.”

And you drove to him, right back to your home.

The song had replayed itself 4 times before you were finally out of your car and rushing to the door, ringing the bell and knocking, cursing yourself for forgetting your keys back at that apartment.

The door opened and there he stood, in the same clothes with the same clip holding back his hair.

Harry didn’t have time to comprehend before you threw yourself at him, crying into his chest.

“You’re such an asshole.” You cried, “How can you release something like that, you shit?”

He held on to you, hiding his face in your hair as he took you in.

“Next time, even an album won’t bring me back, you understand?” You mumble, feeling his arms tighten around you as he kissed your head then shoulder.

“There won’t be a next time.”

[vidalinav]

Letting Things Get too Far: (One-shot) *Contains ACOSF spoilers

This is not the fic I was going to post and I am on the fence now about posting “Love is Bright Red, Hope is Dark Blue.” I might still do it, but I don’t know, because I don’t want the six chapters to influence my perception, but OMG I am so mad. I have to laugh because I’ve never been this mad before. And I know eventually it will be okay with the rest of the book, but I cannot deal NOW with what we’ve got. I will not be unbiased, no reader in the world is unbiased when they love a book, but oooo this is a little too much. Like if you’re not deeply enraged are you even a fan? Lol

The only way I deal with emotions is writing because I get really obsessive and I cannot stop thinking about something until I change my mind about it, so I wrote a fic based on those chapters to change my mind. 

So Please don’t read this fic if you haven’t read the 5.5 chapters that were released (legally) to the world yesterday. I do have to say that I wrote this based on Italian translation and not of the one that was translated by someone here in English. But the general concept it the same. 

Summary: Nesta gets threatening (some time after she’s “healed”) 

~

Nesta could tell they were watching her. She supposed it must have seemed off to them that she was sitting in the dining room, reading a newspaper, a toast with jam and cup of tea to the side of her. Too casual, they must have thought. So very much unlike the Nesta they knew.

But one by one they sat—to the side of her of course since she’d chosen the head of the table. Nesta knew of only one other person who would dare sit across from her. She smirked behind the letters, the paper smelling of ink.

First Elain, sweet Elain with her soft, cautious good morning.

Then Feyre with her ruffled hair, matted and imperfect. Nothing like the High Lady she was supposed to be. How embarrassing, she thought, that Feyre had not yet learned that queens were to be perfect in every instance. Every circumstance.

Mor yawned loudly, stretching her arms above her head. The billowy blonde looked to Feyre as Nesta sipped a bit of tea. Green with a slice of lemon.

Amren was shushed as she came barreling in. Loudly and grumpy. Tired, perhaps, from her days going over the law books of Velaris code.

Rhysand kissed the apple of Feyre’s cheek, her little sister’s skin turning red. A honeyed gesture that made the rest gag mockingly for the way Rhys then bit down on the soft flesh and playfully pulled. He indeed sat where she thought he was going to—the only seat left closest to Feyre. His brows furrowed when he noticed her across from him, but Nesta didn’t give him the light of day.

The game had not begun.

Nesta waited for the missing player, ruffling the newspaper, the sound harsh in this room where all remained quiet. As if they were waiting for something.

Waiting for someone.

Azriel walked in, sitting to the side of her. He peered up at her. Wary and assessing. What are you up to?

She blinked at him surprised, not at all expecting that he’d be here for this—that he’d come down from the House of Wind to grace them with his presence. No matter. This talk wasn’t particularly for him, but she supposed he’d learn something too. As they all could.

The last one of them arrived with a flourish down the stairs. Bright and loud, stomping on the wood as if soldiers had been set loose in this house and not merely one male who made her smile sweetly despite herself.

He kissed her on the lips, a small peck. Something new for the others to witness. They looked at each other, mirth in their eyes—shock. But not from her happiness, Nesta thought, from their triumph. This broken girl who’d been mended when her heart was full.

“Sit down,” Nesta commanded softly, pointing her chin to the seat beside her—across from Azriel. She watched him look towards his brother, but Azriel merely shrugged.

“You waited for me?” Cassian laughed, the sound off even to her. His eyes squinting with concern… or was that vigilance she saw?

Oh, how dangerous he must know her to be to look at her like that.

Nesta smiled, her eyes softening. “I’d always for wait for you.”

Cassian lips set into a fine line at the sickly-sweet tone.

“In fact, I couldn’t have done this without you,” she gestured to the room, shrugging at the last moment. A strained laugh on her voice, “Or so they’ll say.”

Nesta set her newspaper down. The paper rumbling. Distantly she could hear the yells of soldiers, the clash of swords calling to her in her memory.

But none of that noise was here. No one said a gods-damned thing.

She sighed, sitting back in her chair, surveying them all. She could scent their fear, but Nesta didn’t know who it was coming from as she looked to food in the center. Vibrant jellies, eggs, and bacon. Much more food than any she’d consumed in her months away. She’d been reduced to plain porridge.

“Just say what you need to say, girl,” Amren said, gripping the table with her hands. Small and powerless.

Not as powerful as her anyway.

“You’re right of course, dear friend. I should get on with it as any other.”

Nesta lilted her head in a nod. “Consider this meeting long overdue. It was my fault really, for having been in such a low place. I suppose being constantly faced with death and brutality is a regular occurrence to the fae.”

She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder, huffing a laugh as Cassian’s gaze went to the skin of her collarbone from where her robe had slipped off from her shoulder. “Or so I’ve been endearingly reminded of for the past four months… It was my bad of course for letting things get too far.”

Nesta leaned forward, laying her head delicately on her hand. “Isn’t that what you said Feyre? I want to get the exact words right.”

But Feyre didn’t speak only stared at her with those blue eyes so much like hers but so different. They were made from different parts she supposed—different parts of their mother. Feyre got the stomach, and Nesta got her cold, melodic heart.

Queen indeed.

“Letting things get too far?” Nesta laughed, the sound loud even to her own ears. “Yes, I suppose that was true… But you know, this amazing thing happened when I was forced to follow this routine of yours. Have breakfast. Train. Have lunch. Work at the library. Have breakfast. Train. Have lunch. Work at the library. Over and over until I thought the monotony might kill me itself.”

Nesta smiled brightly to all of them, her eyes rolling over their gazes. Elain didn’t dare look at her. Nesta was not in the mood to comfort. What were older sisters for but to lead by example?

“If the magic and the trauma didn’t do it first,” she added.

 She lowered her voice as if she were about to tell a story, engaging her audience until all they could do was listen.

“And then—like a miracle—Cassian was called to Vallahan and I went with him. Screw the rules, he said…” Nesta patted him in the shoulder. A good little soldier. “So easy for you to say that when the rules were not made for you.”

“You know what I discovered?” She sang.

Nesta waited for an answer, but no one would meet her gaze.

She looked to the one who knew so much about the outside world. The one who could never leave the one inside her head. “What did I discover Mor?”

Mor took a sip of her mimosa, cringing as she swallowed. “People fear you.”

“People fear me,” Nesta said, proudly.

She laughed, shaking her head at these beings in pajamas who thought so highly of themselves.

She lifted a shoulder, “for good reason of course. I certainly convinced the council of Vallahan. I always knew I had this power, but to wield it—to not let it control me but to be controlled—Glorious.”

“And you know what I learned in those two weeks?” Nesta lowered her voice, the words slipping out of her in a sneer. “That I have more power in my little pinky then you have in your entire body. All of you.”

She flipped her hair back, where a stray piece had fallen forward, “I got your little treaty signed of course. That was simple. You’d be surprised how easy it is for people to give up their will when they are pissing their pants. But no matter, all’s fair right?”

“Why are you tell us this?” Rhys asked. “What do you want?”

Her eyes went to his, those violent storms of subdued rage.

Tell me again to sit like a dog High Lord, she whispered into his mind. Rhys sat straight up, Feyre grasping his arm.

Nesta simply picked up her newspaper once more. The image in the center showing a great depiction of Velaris’s royal family.

“You ever make a decision on my behalf again,” her voice turning to soft silk. As sweet as a poison apple, “I will burn this city to the ground.”

Nesta tilted her head up, noting the marbled leaves engrained in the ceiling. The opulence. The fraudulent comfort of a house too large for two.

“I think I’ll start with this estate.”

She tutted. “Paints are usually flammable, aren’t they Feyre?”

She watched her sister swallow, the light of Rhysand’s eyes dimming to a darkness she thought might engulf them all.

Nesta could smell his fear…

She lifted the cup to her lips, “Understood?”

“Duly noted.”

The rest mumbled their assent.

And Nesta turned to the toast at her side, already spread with apricot jam. She picked up the bread and set it on Cassian’s plate. “I quite like these jams. We should get some before we go.”

“Too much sugar,” he replied slowly, as if he was getting used to the switch from her being threatening to caring. “You eat this, and you’ll be tired within the hour.”

Nesta pouted in response, wrinkling her nose, “You know, you really need to lighten up. Maybe you’ve gotten harsher in your old age.”

Cassian gave her a hard look.

“I mean, you’re in your 500s. You can barely keep up with the times,” She teased. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t keep up… in other areas.”

Cassian scoffed, lifting his lips in an outrageous laugh.

“Wait” Feyre called, holding her hands up in surrender. Nesta turned to her, lifting a curious brow. Her little sister blinked back, unsure if Nesta still wanted to destroy their home.

She would never destroy her little sister’s home...

But then Nesta thought of her shabby apartment laying in rubbles, ready to be rebuilt.

Oh, right.

“Will you continue to be our emissary?”

That was a question Nesta was not expecting…

“Oh, I don’t know,” She flourished. “I suppose we’ll see how it goes.”

She shrugged dramatically, “You follow these rules… and after a couple of months, I’ll re-assess your behavior. We can revisit me working with you all after some time has passed.”

“I don’t see how you’re allowed to do whatever you please, just by being threatening,” Amren noted.

Nesta smiled at the hypocrisy.

“Subsection B, Line 84 says I can,” Nesta sang, “As long as were making up rules.”

~

I’m laughing as I type this. This book is about to be a cathartic experience. It actually did make me feel better to write this. 

I wish someone would release an epub already. Like fuck this shit, we’ve bought three versions, two versions, one versions, multiple versions. There’s only a week left. It hardly matters, release the PDF! The book was supposed to be out last month anyway. I’m not into self-righteousness right now, like the release of books is mostly about money. Sara has earned her part. I’m sure she’s happy. These are the people who hardly cared about promoting it at all. I think they threw this book out the window a long time ago and you know what they saved money on promotions too. They’ll be fine. 

I’m clearly displacing my anger... But I cant handle this anymore... But I cant stay away. 

[nestasgalpal]

Consequences

Fixing ACOSF Part 3

Masterlist | AO3

Summary: Nesta tells Feyre what the baby’ll do to her when she gives birth and regrets it as soon as the words leave her mouth.  This chapter is a long one and it’s all about being sisters.They would die and kill for each other, we know that, that was never doubted, but where is the scene where they talk like real sisters? Here.

Tagging:  @gwynriel @rhaenystargaryn @clolikescloquetas @amelievrstr  @t8astr8ng @wanderlustlastsforever @saltydreamcollector @lordlorcan @esrahiba @queenestarcheron @ko0mbayamylord  @jemstan300 @nessiantrashh​ @mothergwyn @poisonus-bloom @loveadora @frosted-crackers  @mireillemystique @pataytayo @968sunflower968 @caram267

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!!

The next part will be Cassian’s pov from this chapter, which was in the book. I’ve said this already, but my intention is that you can simply pick this rewrite and exchange it with the one in the book and still have all the events before and after match, so I think rewriting his pov is necessary for consistency. That’s also why Nesta is still feeling lost by the end of this: that’s how she felt until they went to the lake.

Nesta snarled, but Feyre stepped between them, hands raised. “This conversation ends now. Nesta, go back to the House. Amren, you …” She hesitated, as if considering the wisdom of ordering Amren around. Feyre finished carefully, “You stay here.”

Nesta let out a low laugh. “You are her High Lady. You don’t need to cater to her. Not when she now has less power than any of you.”

Feyre’s eyes blazed. “Amren is my friend, and has been a member of this court for centuries. I offer her respect.”

“Is it respect that she offers you?” Nesta spat. “Is it respect that your mate offers you?”

Feyre went still.

Amren warned, “Don’t you say one more fucking word , Nesta Archeron.”

Feyre asked, “What do you mean?”

And Nesta didn’t care. Couldn’t think around the roaring. “Have any of them told you, their respected High Lady, that the babe in your womb will kill you?”

Amren barked, “Shut your mouth!”

But her order was confirmation enough. Face paling, Feyre whispered again, “What do you mean?”

“The wings,” Nesta seethed. “The boy’s Illyrian wings will get stuck in your Fae body during the labor, and it will kill you both.”

Silence rippled through the room, the world.

Feyre breathed, “Madja just said the labor would be risky. But the Bone Carver … The son he showed me didn’t have wings.” Her voice broke. “Did he only show me what I wanted to see?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta said. “But I do know that your mate ordered everyone not to inform you of the truth.” She turned to Amren. “Did you all vote on that, too? Did you talk about her, judge her, and deem her unworthy of the truth? What was your vote, Amren? To let Feyre die in ignorance? Or maybe he simply gave the order and you all obeyed your High Lord’s command, dismissing the new High Lady” Before Amren could reply, Nesta turned back to her sister. “Didn’t you question why your precious, perfect Rhysand has been a moody bastard for weeks? Because he knows you will die. He knows, and yet he still didn’t tell you.”

Feyre began shaking. “If I die …” Her gaze drifted to one of her tattooed arms. She lifted her head, eyes bright with tears as she asked Amren, “You … all of you knew this?”

Amren threw a withering glare in Nesta’s direction, but said, “We did not wish to alarm you. Fear can be as deadly as any physical threat.”

“Rhys knew?” Tears spilled down Feyre’s cheeks, smearing the paint splattered there. “About the threat to our lives?” She peered down at herself, at the tattooed hand cradling her abdomen.

And Nesta knew then that she had not once in her life been loved by her mother as much as Feyre already loved the boy growing within her. It broke something in Nesta—broke that rage, that roaring—seeing those tears begin to fall, the fear crumpling Feyre’s paint-smeared face.

She had gone too far. She … Oh, gods.

Amren said, “I think it is best, girl, if you speak to Rhysand about this.”

Nesta couldn’t bear it—the pain and fear and love on Feyre’s face as she caressed her stomach.

Amren growled at Nesta, “I hope you’re content now.”

Nesta didn’t respond. Didn’t know what to say or do with herself. “Don’t talk to my sister like that” Feyre snarled, the sorrow so obvious in her voice that the only thing Nesta could do was turn on her heel and ran from the apartment.

Nesta run down to the street, but she didn’t even know where to go. Feyre’s steps resonated behind her. Nesta could hear her voice calling her, too, but she muted the sound in her head.

She wanted to disappear, to stop existing, that’s what she wanted to do.

Then she heard the pair of wings in the air, aiming towards her in such speed that frightened her a little. Cassian was above her, barely five feet from where she was, but Feyre gripped her arm before he could land, and they vanished.

Nesta had never been to Feyre’s studio, but recognized the space immediatly. She had never been invited, and she had never wanted to go. Nesta didn’t like being in places where she wasn’t welcomed. There were chairs and half painted canvases forming a circle around the center of the room, so Nesta deduced her sister had been in the middle of a class. There was a couch against the back wall, and that’s where Feyre collapsed and started crying her heart out. Nesta aimed for the floor, not daring to sit in the beautiful piece of furniture.

Nesta didn’t ask why she had brought them there, why she had run after her, reaching for her arm before Cassian could.

Feyre didn’t explain either

Her head rested in her sister’s lap, and she joined her in her crying. Feyre’s was loud, unhinged, while Nesta’s was silent. What had she done? How had she allowed herself to go so far?

Nesta wanted to speak, to tell Feyre that she was sorry, but no apology could make up for the words that had already been said. No apology would prevent her from dying when the time came.

Nesta’s heart shattered. Listening to her sister was too much. She had endured her own weeping, the tears that had adorned her cheeks so many nights until she fell asleep, but to hear Feyre… to know she was the one responsible… Nesta hated herself.

For how long they were like that, she didn’t know. At some point, they both run out of tears, their hands together, their fingers interlaced. Nesta caressed Feyre’s palm until her sobbing was completely gone, pressing soft kisses to the inked back of her hand. She couldn’t recall a time when they had ever been like this, this calm, this close to one another. Alone and without fighting.

It was Feyre the who broke the silence.

“I can’t believe he hid something like this from me,” she muttered, her voice so weak Nesta almost couldn’t understand what she was saying.

She raised her head from her sister’s lap to meet her gaze. Her own eyes stared back, mirroring her pain. “I’m sorry”

“For what?” Feyre’s question was not innocent. She was mad at her too.

Nesta didn’t care for Rhysand and his wrath in that moment. She only cared about her sister and the damage she had done to her. She wanted Feyre to know how much she regretted it, bout still didn’t know how to put her thoughts into words. “For telling you.”

“I forgive you” Feyre tried to smile, but her mouth only twitched, a sobbing coming out again. “I’m glad you told me. I needed to know.”

“You shouldn’t. I certainly won’t forgive myself” She was desperate to tint her words with the mess of feelings tangling in her heart, but she didn’t know how. She hadn’t really done this before. She had regretted things, but she had never asked for forgiveness. Not once.

She was glad Feyre was the first one.

“I still forgive you” Her sister’s words were kind. Too kind. It was Nesta’s turn to become a crying mess, tears running down her face again. Feyre rose from the couch, not letting their hands part, holding tight to her sister. She found a place to sit next to Nesta, and hugged her.

“Then I’m sorry for everything else” Nesta murmured.

“It’s okay. I forgive you for that too”

“He will never forgive me”

Feyre took Nesta’s face between her tattooed hands. Her grip was firm, but her body was still trembling. Nesta didn’t want to look at her, but she did it anyway. There was no more hiding “You don’t need his forgiveness. This is not a punishment, Nesta.” Her voice broke, but they both waited for her to find her words back. There was no rush, only understanding “This was not a punishment. I wanted to help you, I really did, but I didn’t know how.”

Nesta shifted, changing her posture to face Feyre better. She still hadn’t let her face go. “I thought you wanted revenge.”

“I never meant to hurt you… to lock you up and take away your choices”. Nesta recognized the words she had once said to Morrigan; the only time she had verbalized to anyone how her sister's actions felt. The blond one had talked to Feyre about their encounter, apparently. Nesta pushed the inked hands that framed her face away and took Feyre’s body in her arms abruptly. She didn’t resist, only moved her arms to go around Nesta’s waist “I only wanted my sister back” she whined.

She understood. Nesta understood. She wanted her family back, too. But a war had happened, and she still doubted she would ever be adjusted enough to be herself again. She didn’t say it, but she knew, somehow, that Feyre understood that too.

Like war drums, the sound of two pairs of wings coming closer made both of them shift in each other’s arms. Through the walls of the studio, only her fae senses made it possible for her to hear the sound they made. Her arms remained wrapping Feyre’s body, her sister still like a statue.

Rhysand and Cassian.

They landed outside, their presences obvious to both sisters.

“I know it will take time for them to listen to me as they listen to him, but I also know they are trying. They are my friends, Nesta, don’t be mad at them” Feyre moved, loosening her grip on Nesta, so she did the same to leave her more space. Feyre rose to her feet. “They’ve been together for over 500 years.” She reached her hand and Nesta took it, getting up as well. The sisters faced each other “What I need, Nesta, if for you and Elain to be there for me too when I can’t resort to them. I know I’ve claimed them as my family… they are my family now, but so are you. I need you. I need my older sister” Feyre’s eyes were glassy, but her gaze burned with fire. Determination.

Nesta forced herself to hold her stare. She wished she could be there. She wanted to, but she didn’t have the strength. She was too lost.

“I will never fit in that perfect family you seek. Doesn’t matter how bad you want it, Feyre, it just can’t be. I’ll never be one of you.”

“You could...”

“But I don’t think I want to” Feyre didn’t say a word, she just listened to her “I don’t know if they can be a family for me”. Nesta wished she could, but it wasn’t just on her end. They didn’t want her either. Morrigan would have sent her to the Mortal Lands. They would get rid of her, if it wasn’t for Feyre shielding her.

You are a waste of life, Amren had told her once.

Nesta was not doing all of this on purpose. She wanted to have her life back more than anyone, but she didn’t know the way. “You can’t control people’s lives, Feyre. Even if you are doing it from a place of love. I wish I could tell you that there is a way, that I’m going to be there for you, but I don’t know if I can promise you that.”

Feyre finally sat back on the couch. She was pregnant, she must be exhausted. Her blue-ish eyes were caught up on the window, the view of the Sidra. Nesta didn’t sit by her side.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when we were younger. If I could go back now, I know what I would change. But I don’t know how to change the past, and I don’t know how to fix the future.”

Nesta didn’t know what else to say. She was sorry. Feyre was sorry too. Yet all their problems remained. Nesta wanted to die, to stop existing, and Feyre wanted her happy and by her side. She knew Feyre would give in, she would always give in if Nesta just asked her to, but she didn’t even know what to ask for. There was no solution for her, no future.

Nesta didn’t have tears left to fill her eyes. She didn’t know how to fix herself, her terrible impulse to hurt others, her high walls. She didn’t know and she didn’t want to find out anymore.

When she stayed close to the people she loved, they were hurt. But when she put distance between them, they still suffered.

She was the problem.

“I will live. And so will my baby. And so will you” Feyre’s words were the sentence of a High Lady, they were not up for discussion. Her sister had grown too much and too fast. She was far from perfect, but she was giving her all to become the ruler her Court needed. One day, she would be. “Run away, take your time if that’s what you need. Come to my house, we’ll kick Rhysand to a guest room so you can sleep in my bed when you have a nightmare. I don’t care. I won’t give up on you.”

It didn’t matter, Nesta had given up on herself.

“You don’t have to fit in the Inner Circle, you know?” She added, her eyes still fixed on the river beyond the glass windows. “You don’t have to be part of the Court. You can just be my sister. You can come see your nephew when he is born, help me teach him how to read, dance…” Not even Nesta’s inner demons could stop the smile that formed on her lips at the image her sister described. She would like to have a nephew.

Feyre saw her face, the trembling lips, swollen, the smile in them. She was smiling too, thought it was a sad grin.

“I haven’t forgotten what you said to me when I came back from Tamlin’s state. Any of it.” Nesta hadn’t forgotten either, the memory of herself encouraging her little sister to go back to the Wall to save her beloved. She had been a fool. That was just another point in the large list of times when she had failed her “You wanted to leave father’s state to him and Elain, and you wanted to see the world. Not what I expected, from someone who had spent her entire life revolving around marriage as the basis for a future.”

Nesta shifted on her feet, eager to understand what her sister’s point was.

“You don’t need to be a lady or a queen without a throne of anything at all. Just take your time, find out who you want to be when every possibility is within your reach. We’ll be waiting for you, whenever you are ready to come back. You’ll always fit in my family, Nesta. And it would be an honor for me to fit in yours.”

There was a knock on the door. An impatient hand moving on the wood to drive their attention.

The door didn’t open for them.

They had been waiting out there for a while, and without seeing him, Nesta could tell Cassian was nervous like a caged animal. Rhysand hadn’t moved, he remained perfectly still, waiting for his mate to go meet him whenever she wanted to.

“I asked Cassian to come” She didn’t mention her husband, why he was there “I’ll take us to the river house if you want to be there from now on. He can take you to the House of Wind, too, if that’s where you want to go.” Nesta dipped into the slightest nod, ready to go out and find Cassian mad at her, but still willing to take her back to her room and wait until he made sure she was okay. She wanted to be alone, but she liked how being alone together felt. Just as her sister, Cassian couldn’t let go of her. She hated it, and she had a feeling that he hated it too. He was out there, with Rhysand… “But there is a third option…”

Nesta waited for her sister to go on. Where else could she go? There wasn’t a place for her. There had never been.

“It was actually Cassian’s idea. He thought you might use a little time outside. You can go together to the Illyrian-”

“I’m not going back to that village” Nesta was not going to the camps. Not all of this again…

Nesta started building up her walls again. Feyre kept her cool. The crying mess she had been a while ago, completely gone, a confident woman replacing her; a High Lady in the making. “I was gonna say Illyrian Mountains. As in actual mountains. You’ll go hiking, I don’t know what he has planned exactly. To talk to him, if you want to.”

Nesta relaxed her back, but kept her posture straight.

“I could give that a try.” she answered. If there was an option where she went out of Velaris, she was taking it.

A smile threatened to form in Feyre’s lips, but she retained it, knowing that Nesta wouldn’t like the expression of victory on her face. Nesta had already seen the corner of her lips move, but pretended she hadn’t. Feyre had a lot to learn about keeping a blank face. She hoped one day she would be in conditions to teach her.

“Your mate is outside” Nesta said, her tone casual, her words heavy like stone.

“He is” Nesta could read her sister like an open book. She was eager to see him again, scared, angry.

She gave her little sister’s hand a tug. “Let’s go see what he has to say.”

Nesta couldn’t yet find a way to help herself, but she was going to face Rhysand, his anger, and she was going to come out on top. She was going to do it for herself, but also for Feyre, who needed her biggest sister having her back.

[nestable]

BRING IT ON HOME NESSIAN ONESHOT

Bring it on Home to me by Sam Cooke is on of my favorite songs in the word and I highly recommend you go have a listen if you havent heard it, I promise you wont regret it. I was listening to it the other day and instantly thought of how these lyrics resonated with nessian, cassian more especially and couldn't resist writing this fic. Just a little soft, SFW, domestic Nessian. 🥺😭

"Nes." Cassian groaned as he rolled closer to her side of the bed. "Nesta?"

After being met with stark silence, Cassian outstretched his hand only for it to collapse onto cold sheets.

No Nesta, he realized with a start.

Though he and his Nesta have been mated for some months now, all of which have been without an incident, he can't help but worry.

Each night he reassures himself with the knowledge of their bond, the heat of her body pressed against his own, the words of love and loyalty she ensures he hears everyday, that she is safe and finally happy.

Not miserable and balancing on the cusp of oblivion where he found her last year. Juggling between drowning her sorrows and indulging in sub-par sex just to feel something, just to deny the connection they share because she felt that she wasnt worthy of him. No, that was all over now, but he can't help when the memories resurface.

The memory of Nesta writhing and arched in her bed as silver flames wreathed her body like a shroud. The screams of pain and anguish that left her lips only to be swallowed by starless night and Deaths flames. How the very mountain trembled beneath their feet, bracing itself for the potential explotion that Cassian could sense building up. Somehow he knew that Velaris would've been crumpled to dust that night and become a fond memory. He felt it in his gut. Just the same way he felt her night terrors take hold of her for her powers to bask in centre stage. And in the same breath, he also felt that he could stop it. Whether that was pure male arrogance or the suspicion of the bond that lay between them, that was yet to be found. And it was...the moment her powers seized in intensity when he said her name. Once, twice, just enough for Rhys to gain control and save them all.

No, he would never forget that and he'd be damned if it were to happen again and catch him in a helpless position as the first time he witnessed the extent of her power. A power that mostly returned back to the Cauldron, only to be replaced by 3 Dread troves and the Mothers favour. A different sort of threat perhaps. One sweeter, kinder, even benign from what he's witnessed.

Nesta barely speaks about the power the same way she did with her Cauldron gifts. She reassures him that these were different, these she understands and smiled every time he enquired about her connection with the Mother. He wishes to know more, his body yearns for it, but his mate has always loved surprises.

Cassian threw on a pair of his undershorts before leaving his and Nestas new room. Though the House of Wind has become their shared abode, its ill advised to walk around naked with the possibility of Azriel becoming an unwilling spectator with his prowling around the halls in the dead of night like he's been doing for the past year.

Cassian loves his brother, sometimes more than kin normally do, he believes sometimes, but he'll never forgive him for that night he ruined his birthday night when he walked in on Nesta modelling her new negligee in the library. He's never jumped from one intense emotion to another so quickly. Blinded by the red lace of her silk garments only to see red of a different kind when the blue of Azriels siphon opened the door.

The territorial male part of him nearly took over that night and he was inclined to let it ride him had Nesta not winnowed them to their room and pushed him onto the bed. The anger, the curiosity he had as to how Nesta was able to winnow around the House when no one else could were obscured then turned insignificant by the view of Nesta sitting astride on his thighs.

Cassian followed the music swimming through the hall which brought him to a new lounge area that didn't present itself in the centuries that he's been living here until Nesta inherited the place.

Many new things have made their presence known and sprung to life since Nestas made the House her home. Hidden rooms have materialized, troves have opened and a gorgeous garden has flourished on the top of the mountain. As if in preparation of someone, or little someone's who might need it.

Cassian isn't blind to the fact that the House makes things available according to Nestas hopes, dreams and wishes. All of which make Cassian excited for the future and a forever with his mate even more.

Nesta was leaning against the cream white wall that she and Cassian painted just last night, holding an A2 canvas painting in both hands. He couldn't decipher her facial expression or read some of the wild thoughts that were evidently bouncing around her head as Nesta was inclined to raising her mental walls to him when she was stressed. He'd once asked why and she told him that she didnt want to plague him with her problems. Didnt want to bother him. Little did she know that Cassian was built for her, problems and all. Nothing about Nesta could bother him. Not even the parts that bothered her.

"Hi." He whispered which startled Nesta before she composed herself. For her to be so drawn into her thoughts that she didnt notice him approaching, instantly put him on edge him.

"Hi." She said, plastering a lazy smile onto her face.

Cassian took that as an invitation to enter. His eyes swept across the room, taking in the organized clutter. From the closed boxes filling the lounge, the half hung snow white gossamer curtains blowing in from the open balcony, to the slightly dusty white marble tiles that were installed just last week.

Cassian was a bit skeptical when Nesta told him of her plans to decorate this room in all white. White cushions, white couches, white walls, white flower arrangements, white chandeliers and white fur carpets felt like a fever dream to Cassian, but now that it's all coming to life, he can see the vision of beauty that Nesta had in mind. A vision not only limited to this lounge but the entire House of Wind that Nesta will decorate herself with the input of the House itself to revitalize the place. All of which will be paid for by Rhys.

How the Cauldron matched him to such a female, not mere female but god, he'll never know. All he can do is be grateful and work to be worthy and deserve the gift to draw breath in her presence.

Now that Nestas accepted her Human emissary role and is the courts newly appointed courtier, she's recieving the same fat salary like the rest of the IC, but Cassian doubts that Rhysand will ever let Nesta access her funds because he insists on paying for everything for her. Which goes to show that Rhys' gratitude for Nesta runs very far. Or guilt, or both.

What Nesta did for Feyre, Nyx and Rhys was something that couldnt be described with words. She saved their lives and in doing so the entire court. Rhys failed to tell his family about him and Feyres decision and never left a plan of action to follow after his death. Had he died, the role of High Lord could've fallen to anyone. Probably Keir or one of Mors detestable brothers because they are Rhys closest male blood relatives. What they would've done to Velaris, done to the entire court....Cassian seldom contemplates that. Nestas sacrifice and mercy saved them all and in doing so, opened herself to a higher form of being that is yet to be seen.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"I had a lot on my mind. I couldn't sleep so I decided to come and get this room in order." She explained, flipping her golden brown hair over her shoulder.

"What's been on your mind?" Cassian asked casually, taking a step closer.

He'd have embraced her and held her against his chest if it weren't for the massive painting in her hands. A painting that he can feel is the source of all her trepidation.

Nesta bit her lip before turning the canvas toward him and placing it in his hands. "Feyre finally finished that and it was delivered yesterday afternoon. I was too afraid to open it then- but I figured that I wouldn't be able to sleep until I saw it."

At first glance, anyone would assume that the muse was Nesta. From the steel eyes to the clear skin and poise in the pose. But upon further inspection, the age of the woman, the beauty spot beneath her right eye and slight darker tresses reveals the truth.

"This is your mother..." Cassian said lowly. The weight of the image, not the canvas itself but the obvious memories, pain and loss the painting held settled on him.

"Was." She uttered a bit sharply. Her throat bobbing up and down.

Cassians eyes darted between Nesta and the painting. Surprise and admiration pouring into him in droves. Her sisters did mention more than once that Nesta is their mothers spitting image, but this...it was as though the same person had been born twice.

"You stole her whole face." He chuckled, bringing a sweet curve to Nestas lip.

"I know...I know." She shrugged.

Cassian lay the painting carefully against the wall then wrapped his arms around his mates shoulders. Her own found their home around his waist as she rested her chin atop his chest so that their eyes could meet.

If it were a few months ago, a year, she would've furiously blinked away the tears that have settled in her eyes, or rejected their proximity entirely. Only to retain a semblance of control that shes strived so hard to maintain. But now shes opened herself to him entirely. Made him a part of both her happiness and pain, loss and gain, victories and failure. Just as their mating vows ordered.

"Talk to me." He whispered, dragging his fingers through her hair.

"I- I just...I know that my mother was not the best of mothers, nor did she love us in the ways that a mother should but....but that doesn't make me love her any less. She might've trained me instead of raised me, saw me as a ticket to wealth and leisure or lived vicariously through me but she was still my mother." Her tears fell down her cheeks as if a damn had been broken. "There were good moments as well as bad and I'm not going to pretend that she was never loving or good to me. Elain and Feyre might've forgotten her, but I can't... I wont."

Cassian lowered his head to press soft kisses to her cheeks where her tears left stains. "I know." He murmured. "You dont share the same memories as Elain and Feyre, it's only natural that you saw her much differently and remember her in a better light than they do." He rubbed feather light circles on the back of her neck in an attempt to assuage her from her pain.

"It broke my heart when I walked through Feyres house that day and didn't see a piece of myself or her. It felt like I was being erased, forgotten. Now I've found my place in that hall but she hasn't. I couldn't allow that to happen. I couldn't let her be erased just like that."

"And she wont be, not if you will it. I'll remember her with you." Cassians lips found Nestas and before they knew it, the couple found themselves descending into a deep kiss that only a mating bond could conjure.

"You know that's one of the reasons I love you?" He stated, to which Nesta replied with a raised brow. "Your compassion, your massive heart, your loyalty... these are all qualities that you motivate me to pursue everyday. You've kept your soft side hidden for a long time and now we're starting to see it." She smiled. By far the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. "That sweet love. Just bring it on home to me."

A giggle was shared between them as soon as the words left his mouth. The lyrics of a song, their song, that came on the day of their mating ceremony that they had on repeat for 2 hours straight. Cassian had never heard a song that spoke to him and his experience with love the way that one did. One that Nesta knew would speak to his very marrow and chose not to warn him in advance, only to see his reaction.

"You're insufferable." She said, only to hug him tighter and lay her head on his chest.

"Well then you're going to have to get used to it, Nes. We only have forever left together."

Just when Cassian expected Nesta to respond, the soft melody of a piano begun in the corner of the room from Nesta symphoniam, followed by the ever true lyrics that might've been written for them, that might as well have been their wedding and mating vows.

If you ever change your mind

About leaving, leaving me behind

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Nesta begun the dance. Cassian followed with no hesitation. Though it was a far cry from the pulsating waltz they'd done in Hewn city or other court events thereafter. It was far more intimate, passionate. Just a sway of the hips and foot movements that reforged and strengthened the golden bond that surged through them on Winter Solstice and polished it to a shimmer. Their bond was not a mere tether, not a chain. It was a rainbow. Shimmering through storms and sunny days. It didnt only make its presence known or surge when they were in the throes of passion, it became more sentient when they were upset with each other. It was the musical and colourful road that led mate back to mate. Self back to self.

I know I laughed when you left

But now I know I only hurt myself

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

His heart cracked at the words and the truth they carry. The memories when they were so at odds with each other that they could barely be in the same room longer than necessary. The nights when he thought the immense sadness and grief at the prospect of losing her entirely would drown him and suffocate him. When he wished that he could rip his heart out of his chest only to get a reprieve from his anguish. Anguish he attempted to expunge with throwing himself into work and training only to realize that the further they moved from one another, the further they moved from themselves.

As if Nesta could hear and feel those memories, she held onto him tighter. This female, his tether to reality, his anchor, the tree that was able to weather a thunderstorm that left the land decimated only to come back and continue to grow with fruits and flowers on display for all to see.

I'll give you jewellery and money, too

That ain't all, that ain't all I'll do for you

Oh, if you bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian knew that from the moment he met Nesta, there was nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for her. Nothing too out of reach that if she should request, he would give. He was already hers in mind, body and soul. Their bond might've snapped into being after she emerged from the cauldeon, but the draw he felt toward her was infinite. Like their souls were made from the same essence but placed on earth in different time periods so that they know life without the other, to appreciate being together more.

You know I'll always be your slave

'Til I'm buried, buried in my grave

Oh honey, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian held up Nestas hand so that he may look upon the wedding and mating band. She requested that she have both and went to the best jeweler in Velaris to fuse both choices so that they sit as one on her finger. Both were made of rose gold, the slimmer wedding ring was imbued with three tanzanite diamonds and the larger mating band sports just one giant diamond that would need it's own security team. Cassian knew his mate loved nice things and made him pay a pretty penny to get it. He'd do again if only to see the stars that twinkled in her eyes when they chose the bands at the jeweler.

He looked at his own jeweled finger. A simple silver band that stood out more than he expected it to. He wanted to get black carbon fiber but Nesta threatened not to speak to him again if he had. Now he can't stop looking at it. He loves how it makes an appearance even though he's bedecked in full illyrian armour. He'll never forget the swell of pride he felt when his soldiers eyes zoned in on the piece of metal that could've easily been obscured by the red siphon that rests atop his hand, but chose to stand out and make its presence known. A symbol of his immature bachelorhood dead and gone, giving life to a new stage in his life. A stage he's waited for longer than he cares to admit.

He remembers using the word 'shackled' when describing his mating bond with Nesta when he was upset with her, but now that word seems appropriate. If the pieces of metal sitting on their matching fingers are the shackles of which he spoke, then he'd wear his shackles with pride.

One more thing

I tried to treat you right

But you stayed out, stayed out at night

But I forgive you, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian rarely thinks about the time they spent apart. When resentment, self punishment and grief pulled them apart only because those memories are nothing in comparison to the centuries he spent without her.

Living life believing the words of the ignorant and seeing oneself as a inferior and undeserving of the love that he relishes in now. The love that has somehow wiped away centuries of self hate and lack of self awareness. He figures that the reason why he used to be the first to throw himself into deadly missions were all desperate plea to prove himself, to put it into stone that he isn't a mere worthless bastard but is someone worthy of respect. But now his outlook has completely shifted. He is no longer living only for himself, but for another. He remembers the blind terror he felt when he thought that Nesta was swallowed by the black water in the Bog, or how she screamed when she thought that she lost him on Mount Ramiel.

He doesnt want either of them to go through that again. To be without the other. To feel that their very heart was ripped out of their chest, when both had taken permanent residence in the other.

He saw how Feyre reacted when Rhys died, and heard when Rhys screamed when Feyre was on deaths doorstop. The mere thought of Nesta experiencing that pain or him has softened his daring heart.

He will live, he will love and he will do it with Nesta in his arms.

As the song drew to a close, Nesta shifted from her position on his chest, too look upon him again. She brought her slim fingers to his cheeks and smiled. "Forever."

He could offer nothing but the same. A truth that had been both a promise and a prayer from the moment they met, "Forever."

Tag: @bakingandbooks3 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @arinbelle @silvernesta @darklobe @haepaw @carlieg20 @illyrianshadowhunter

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Three

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: tw for abuse mention. i hope this chapter is readable bc a lot of it was written when i should've been sleeping.

***

“...expecting heavy snow, possibly even a snowstorm, by the end of the week.” The TV blares softly in the background as Nesta types away on her laptop propped on the arm of the couch. The fireplace is up and crackling, and Cassian has to stop in the threshold between kitchen and living room to take in the scene. He’s getting a little too used to this, he worries sometimes. She’ll be gone as soon as her apartment is fixed, he reminds himself, and pushes off the wall to circle the couch and approach Nesta.

He sets the steaming mug of coffee down on the table before her and takes a seat beside her. She doesn’t even stop typing as she glances up and murmurs a “thank you” before returning to her paper.

Cassian doesn’t want to interrupt her work, so he settles into the comfortable habit of watching her. They watch each other a lot— Nesta claims it’s because she’s bored and there’s nothing else to look at. Cassian has no such delusions.

She’s in a wool sweater and thick leggings today. Her hair is pulled back in a worn braid and her glasses are pushed all the way up her nose, but what catches Cassian’s attention tonight is the way her baby hairs escape her braid and frizz around her temples. Yesterday it was the way her cheeks flushed in the firelight, and the day before it was those damn glasses. Today it’s baby hairs.

The fantasy is quick and sneaky, there in his mind before he’s even aware of it.

Getting up to sit on the floor before her. Nudging her legs apart with slow hands while her fingers stutter over the keyboard. Pushing the hem of her sweater up, and pulling her leggings down. “Focus on your work,” he says when she tries to push her laptop away. “Finish your paper for me.” Tracing the inside of her thighs with his lips until his head is right—

The slam of a laptop snaps Cassian out of it. Nesta makes a frustrated growl and rubs her hands across her face before shoving her laptop aside to reach for the coffee.

He raises a brow, endlessly amused by everything she does. “Writing troubles?”

“I deserve a break,” she grumbles.

“I could help with that.”

Tucking her feet beneath her legs, Nesta ignores him and gestures at the TV with her chin. “Think we’ll get snowed in?”

Cassian almost hopes so. Any excuse to build more fires and stay inside with Nesta. “I’ll have to make a shopping trip,” he says casually. “You want anything?”

“I want to be in a state where there aren’t blizzards in October.” She looks over at him. “I miss Tennessee.” It’s a simple admission that brings Cassian to attention. She never gives out details about herself unprompted.

“I didn’t know you still got homesick.” Feyre never talks about her childhood in Tennessee. The only indicator of the Archeron sisters’ pasts is Elain’s sweet little Southern belle accent, which Cassian has a feeling is more for show at this point than anything else.

Nesta shrugs awkwardly in response, but he keeps going. “Rhys’s mom had a summer house in the Smokies. We would go down there each year without fail until college.” Rhys thinks it was fate that the summer home was so close to the small mountain town where Feyre grew up. Cassian thinks that’s a stretch.

“Yeah?” Nesta sips her coffee. “Have you gone back since?”

He shakes his head. “Rhys and Feyre are renovating it right now. You should come vacation with us when it’s done.” He perks up at the sudden idea.

Nesta gives him that familiar weird look from the corner of her eye. “Mm-hm,” she hums noncommittally.

“I’m serious,” Cassian insists. “We could have fun.” He’s already imagining it, getting to show Nesta around the place he grew up. Hearing what she has to say about the rocks and corners he would hurt himself on when he played with his brothers, maybe even hearing about her childhood in the Smokies. But Nesta looks stuck, unsure of how to turn him down.

“It doesn’t sound like a good idea,” she states finally. “I wouldn’t be welcomed there, and I would be the odd outlier the entire time at best.”

Cassian already knows Nesta has no interest in getting friendly with the rest of Feyre’s friend group, and he can respect that. But he still wants her there.

“You wouldn’t have to hang out with everybody there,” he says. “You’d have me and your sisters. That’s three whole people.”

She looks surprised at that. “Since when did I have you?”

Oh. Cassian shrugs. “We’re friends, right? I like you, so you have me.”

She straightens even further at that. He continues without waiting for her reply. “That’s why I want you to vacation with us. I like you, and I’d like having you there.”

Nesta sits back against the couch, staring at him, and then her coffee, then him. “This is new,” she finally says.

Cassian is lost. “What is?”

She considers for a moment, chewing her lip. “I’ve had people say they love me,” she says slowly, “but I don’t think anyone has ever liked me very much.”

The words are so incomprehensible that Cassian just sits there like a fool. She’s making even less sense than when she told him she used to come around to Feyre’s all the time and he never noticed. “I don’t get it. Who doesn’t like you?”

Nesta frowns deeply. “Don’t make me come up with a list. It’s not nice.”

Cassian might need a list, because he wants to have words with these people. “Okay, then. Why wouldn’t anybody like you?”

Nesta’s eyes narrow into a glare and she scoffs like he just said something offensive. “Jesus, I don’t know. Why don’t you call up my ex and ask if you care so much?” She sets her empty mug down and stands up, gathering her laptop and notes as she goes.

Cassian doesn’t know what he said wrong. “Wait, Nes—”

“Thanks for the coffee, I’m going to finish my work in my room.” She pushes her glasses up her nose and speedwalks out of the room, ignoring Cassian’s calls to wait.

***

Cassian can’t sleep that night knowing Nesta is upset with him. He tried knocking at her door when he came upstairs an hour after Nesta had, but the lights were off and he received no reply. Now in bed, he listens to the howl of late autumn wind outside and goes over everything Nesta said earlier.

She misses Tennessee. She feels that nobody likes her. She has an ex that definitely doesn't like her.

It's the last two details that bother Cassian the most. He’s about to spiral into another hour of overthinking when his phone lights up on the nightstand.

Subconsciously thinking it's a text from Nesta, his hand shoots for his phone. He has to smother his disappointment when he sees it's only Feyre checking in.

Feyre: how are things going with nesta? is she causing u any trouble?

Maybe he’s still upset about his conversation with Nesta, but the text rubs him the wrong way. Nesta sounds like a pet or a rowdy child.

Cass: not at all. she’s perfect

He quickly erases that last word and hesitates, trying to think of another one.

she’s lovely wonderful great. He settles on great and clicks send.

A reply pops up a few seconds later.

Feyre: lmao sure

Cassian frowns at his phone. What’s that supposed to mean?

Another text appears: just tell me if you need anything and i’ll take care of it. i know this isnt easy.

What isn’t easy? Having a roommate? Cassian replies, We don’t need anything, we’re fine. He uses capitalization and everything, feeling offended for some reason. And then, not really wanting to see a reply from Feyre, he turns his phone off and leaves it facedown on the nightstand.

He shuffles deeper under the covers and pushes his friend out of his mind, thinking about ways to make up with Nesta tomorrow instead.

***

Nesta stays up all night berating herself for how she reacted to Cassian’s innocent question. She wasn’t expecting him to pry for details because no one ever pries into her life, and she freaked out instead of rationally assessing the situation.

A part of her is satisfied now, having seen this coming from a mile away. It happens with everyone she meets, when she says or does something wrong and inevitably pushes them away. Maybe she should keep pushing him away, and keep him at arm’s length for the rest of her time here.

A larger part of Nesta is embarrassed at having caused a scene, and worse, mentioning Tomas. Because that’s exactly where her mind went when Cassian asked that question— to the man who used to say he loved her, but who never truly liked her. Intrusive memories from years past attack Nesta until the sky outside turns a light gray: dressing up for fancy business events and having his arm wrapped around her waist in an illusion of affection. Him pinching her side hard enough to make tears spring to her eyes when nobody was looking and leaning into her ear to lovingly whisper everything wrong with her that night. Going home and having makeup sex.

She’s still flustered from Cassian and can’t keep the thoughts out as well as usual. When she finally does drift off into a restless imitation of sleep, it’s by holding her thumb to her wrist until the steady beat of her pulse soothes her worn nerves.

Nesta wakes up cramping.

It takes her a few moments to pull out of the fog of sleep and recognize the feeling, and she groans aloud. This can’t be happening to her right now.

She was stupidly hoping that her period would hold off until she moved back into her apartment. Her premenstrual cramps are telling her she has two days at most.

She refuses to go through that experience in the same house as Cassian. Her family doesn’t even like being in the same house as her when she’s on her period. Her ex would outright leave their apartment and stay at a friend’s until she got over it. So this…

She groans once more and pulls herself out of bed. A quick phone check tells her it’s only been three hours since she fell asleep, but she’s given up at this point.

Nesta tiptoes hesitantly out of her room, not wanting to face Cassian just yet. It’s only when she reaches the stairs that she realizes the house is unusually quiet, even though it’s almost eleven.

Frowning, Nesta pads into the kitchen to find two things: a covered dish sitting on the island and a green sticky-note stuck to the fridge. She goes for the note first.

In messy handwriting it reads: Went out for groceries. Text me if you need anything. Beneath the words is a dark, almost furious scribble of ink, as if Cassian had written something there only to forcefully scratch it out.

Without overthinking it, she gets out her phone and texts Cassian that she needs pads. It only occurs to her after she’s sent the message that that’s probably not enough information.

Having Cassian know Nesta is on her period is one thing, but him knowing the size of her pad? The heaviness of her flow? She might need to enforce that rule about him never speaking to her again.

In her best attempt to not be viewed as a walking blood gusher, she asks for a smaller size pad than usual and turns her phone all the way off so she can’t see any replies.

Once you’re out of this house you’ll never have to see him again, so it won’t matter if you’re the rude bitch who cried and bled a lot while she was staying at his place.

Going over to the kitchen island, she uncovers the plate she assumes is for her. She isn’t expecting anything much, maybe Cassian’s leftovers from breakfast, so she hesitates when she sees a full stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Carefully decorated with berries and syrup, they’ve long gone cold, but— still.

Nesta reaches out as if they might not be real, or not meant for her, but nothing happens. Mouth tightening, she snatches the plate and grabs a fork.

Cassian comes in through the kitchen door twenty minutes later, long after Nesta’s cleaned off her food and washed the dishes in the sink. He throws her a smile as he shakes snow out of his hair and sets down the bags of groceries on the island by Nesta’s laptop.

“Oh, is it snowing already?” She throws a concerned glance outside, not having noticed while she was working.

“It’s light for now, but it won’t be for long.” He starts taking off his coat, and Nesta gets up to help with the groceries. She quickly finds the bag holding her stuff and discreetly sets it aside, but then Cassian grabs another bag and upturns it, its contents sprawling all over the island. “I don’t know what your period’s like, but we’re gonna be snowed in for a while so I got some of everything just in case.” He looks hesitant.

“Oh— thank you,” she says, overwhelmed. There’s three different types of painkillers, all that she already owns, and ten different types of junk food. And they're all for her. Nesta plucks up a package, stunned. “How are gummy worms supposed to help me on my period?”

Cassian leans his elbows on the marble and shrugs. “They’ll make you happy.”

“I’m allergic to gelatin.”

His face falls. “Oh.”

But Nesta just places the gummies in front of him and starts sorting the rest of the stuff. All the chocolates end up on her side, and the candies and gum and hot chips on Cassian’s side. When she's done, she finds him watching her closely. “Did you want some chocolate?” She offers out a Twix bar, her favorite. “I can trade you.”

“Uh, sure.” He accepts her Twix in exchange for his Hot Cheetos.

Silence ensues as Nesta tears open a Toblerone package and breaks off a triangle of nougat, when she remembers she has to tell him something.

“Thank you.” Her words are out of place and out of nowhere, spoken during the wrong time mark of a film and ruining the rhythm of the scene. Despite this, she powers on. “Thank you for breakfast, but also for this. Thank you for everything, really.”

Cassian perks up. “Did you like breakfast?”

Nesta nods through a mouthful of chocolate. “Chocolate chip pancakes are my favorite, and you’re good at making stuff.”

He raises a dark brow. “You mean cooking?”

“Same thing.”

“Well, I’m glad you liked it.”

Nesta slumps in relief, thinking her necessary talking points are over with. She's thanked him for shopping and for breakfast. What more could be— damn.

She clears her throat, even though she doesn't know what to say yet. She won't apologize— she doesn't know if she's physically capable of it, to be honest, but she can still seem regretful.

“Are we over last night?” she says bluntly. So much for regretful.

Cassian seems startled that she's even brought it up, which is perhaps a good sign that he already forgot about it. “Of course,” he says. “Nesta, I really didn't mean to offend you—”

Oh god, he’s not over it. “Don't apologize,” Nesta demands, throwing her hands up to ward him off. “You didn't even do anything, why would you apologize?”

“Well, you looked upset,” he says seriously. Cassian’s apologetic face looks an awful lot like hurt, though Nesta doesn't know why he would possibly feel hurt. Still, she has to pin her stare to the dark cabinets so he can't hurt her in turn. He keeps talking. “I know I promised to push your boundaries, but I never want to hurt you.”

His sincerity is more than disarming; it makes her ache.

“And I hated not talking to you last night.”

That gets Nesta's attention, and she suddenly feels two things at once: a swoop of joy that he likes talking to her, and a heavy drop of guilt that she ignored him all last night, even when he knocked on her door and apologized profusely.

“I fell asleep early,” she decides to lie. “I wasn't ignoring you.”

Cassian smiles softly and reaches out to brush a thumb over the tired circles under her eyes. “I can tell,” he says.

She's gone dead still, but she doesn’t flinch. She doesn't even want to flinch. Cassian clears his throat and drops his hand, and Nesta’s eyes follow him closely. “We’re good,” she says in finality. “Let’s go back to normal now.”

Cassian nods, his face carefully blank. “Okay. Then stop stuffing your face and help me with the rest of the groceries.” He moves off the island and elbows her on the way.

That makes Nesta smile, which makes Cassian smile even harder, and just like that, they’re back to normal.

***

a/n: two things: 1) cassian definitely texted feyre that morning and asked what nesta’s favorite breakfast was, and 2) can you tell im in love with writing nesta archeron?

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08

[writtenonreceipts]

ACOTAR, Feysand ~1.7 words, just a little thing for the holidays.

Home for the Holiday

A fire cackled happily in the hearth as Feyre moved around the living room of the house.  She strung garland from the fireplace, keeping the ends from the sparks that fluttered out on occasion.  Lining the mantle were stocking hooks and ceramic snowmen.  

Leaning over one of the half empty plastic bins, Feyre pulled out a few cheap decorative pillows declaring Let it Snow! and Ho! Ho! Ho!

They were the same pillows from years past.  Ones that should most certainly be tossed out and exchanged for new ones, but these were the first decorations her sisters and her had purchased after their parents died.  And Feyre couldn’t bring herself to toss them out just yet.  Besides, Nesta might kill her if she tried.

“Okay, the hot cocoa is ready!” Elain called out from the kitchen.  

Feyre glanced over to see Elain poke her head around the corner.  She wore a terrible disarray of mismatched pajamas combined with an apron that had reindeer prancing around on it.

“Thanks, Elain,” Feyre said, she smiled and turned back to the oil painting she had made last year of an angel.

“You want your usual peppermint?” Elain asked, her painfully kind smile alluding to something akin to pity.

“Sure,” Feyre said, if only to get Elain to stop making that face at her.

Elain disappeared and Feyre sighed heavily.

No matter what Feyre had tried the past few weeks, nothing seemed to put her in the mood for the holidays.  No amount of baking, shopping, decorating, family time had made a difference.

All because her boyfriend couldn’t be there for the holiday.  He’d recently accepted a job promotion, which was wonderful, but it required him to move out of Veleris and to Hybern.  Once, Rhysand had sworn he would never leave Veleris, the city he loved so much, but Amarantha had made a far too appealing offer apparently.

Feyre took a deep breath.  At least they’d managed to skype yesterday.  It wasn’t the same of course.  Christmas Eve without him was turning to be unbearable and Elain’s doe-eyed stare was not helping.

Maybe she should just go to bed.

“Merry Christmas!” Nesta called out.  She entered the house with a loud bang, followed by a curse. “Hell.  I might have broken Lucien’s present.  Oh well.”

“Be nice!” Elain yelled.  She rounded the corner with a giant mug that she handed to Feyre before going to help relieve Nesta of some of her many bags. “Geez, Nes.  How much crap do you have.”

“Some of it’s Cassian and Azriel’s,” Nesta grumbled.  She flipped her braid over one shoulder as she hurried the rest of the way into the house and dumped the bags on the couch. “They had something to take care of.  Probably a prank.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Cassian tried to stuff himself down the chimney.”

“Maybe he should,” Elain mused, “it might actually cheer Feyre up.”

“I’m fine,” Feyre insisted.  She punctuated her words by taking a long sip of cocoa, whipping cream staining her upper lip. “We’ll skype all day tomorrow...when he’s not in a meeting.”

“Who does that woman think she is, not letting her employees have time off?” Nesta said.  She pulled presents from the bags and began arranging them beneath the tree. “I mean I know we don’t really celebrate Christmas, but it’s a holiday.  It’s family time.”

“He’s the project leader for this really important account,” Feyre sighed. “He loves his job.”

“He loves you more,” Nesta said.

The words were so sudden and unexpected that it took Feyre a moment to register them.

“What do you mean?” she asked her older sister.  

Neta shrugged as she finished placing presents under the tree.

There was nothing else to say on the topic as Elain demanded a sister picture, followed by a heated discussion of which Christmas movies they watch first.  It was barely eight o’clock, but they all seemed ready to delve into whatever tradition they could get their hands on.  Or maybe it was just Elain and Nesta trying to distract Feyre from Rhysands absence.

While they were in the middle of one movie, Lucien arrived.  He’d finished up his shift as a nurse in the ER earlier than expected.

“We’re just getting to the good part!” Elain told him as he came over to sit on the floor just in front of her.  Despite there being plenty of space on the couch, he still was in the habit of avoiding being closer to Nesta then necessary.

“Where are the others?” Lucien asked. “There’s a storm coming in.  It started snowing while I was on my way into the city.”

“What?” Nesta demanded sitting up straighter.  She paused the movie and looked at Lucien. “It’s snowing?”

Feyre looked to the front window, where indeed, snow could be seen in the distant street lights.  A white Christmas for certain.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Lucien was saying.

Nesta was having no part of that, however.  She had her phone out in an instant and was calling Cassian.

“He knows how to drive in the snow, Nes,” Feyre said.  Her sister held up a hand to silence her.

Rolling her eyes, Feyre stood and gathered empty mugs of hot chocolate to take to the kitchen.  Apart from the tree and the small tea lights dangling over the kitchen counter, the house was dark.  But not in the miserable sort of way.  This was the kind of dark that exuded warmth and hope.  

The fire had died down hours ago and was not smoldering, keeping the house toasty.

As she set the empty mugs in the sink, Feyre looked out the window just above and watched the snow falling in thick folds through the night.  It made her all the more grateful for being inside right now, but she just couldn’t get over the seed of loneliness in her heart.  

She couldn’t cry about it now or else Elain and Nesta would try and cheer her up and it would ruin their Christmas Eve.  Rubbing a hand over her face, Feyre filled the empty mugs with water so they would be easier to clean.

Just then the front door burst open and Cassian’s booming laugh broke the silence.

“Merry Christmas!” He shouted.

In the living room, Feyre could hear feet pounding and knew Nesta was jumping up to engulf her boyfriend in a hug.  She listened as boots were kicked off and Cassian made a loud noise of pain, likely in response to a punch from Nesta.

“Where have you guys been?” Elain asked.

Cassian didn’t respond.  She heard when Azriel entered and took his sweet time to close the door behind him.  She would need to put on a thicker pair of socks.

Making sure her eyes were clear, Feyre rounded the corner from the kitchen. 

“Do you guys want some hot chocolate?” She asked and then stopped in her tracks.

Because not only were Cassian and Azriel there grinning like five-year-olds but a third person was there too.

Feyre slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, because there disheveled and jetlagged and still breathtakingly handsome was Rhysand.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Unable to hold herself back, Feyre ran to him, flinging herself in his arms.  He caught her easily and held her tightly against him.  Tears leaked from Feyre’s eyes as she buried her nose in his neck.  Despite the long three months apart--his touch, his scent, everything was so, so familiar.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, tears unabashedly slipping down her cheeks. “I thought you said you’d get fired if you came back.”

Rhysand cupped her face in his hands beaming down at her with his brilliant violet eyes.

“It’s hard to fire someone when they’ve already quit,” Rhysand said.  He gave her a lopsided grin and shrugged.

“You what?” Feyre gaped at him. “This is your dream job, Rhys.”

“Nah,” he said with a shake of his head.  “Not really.”

Around them, their friends and family got distracted by other things to allow the couple time alone.  Someone started the movie back up and a Christmas song was playing in the background.  

Feyre fisted her hands in Rhysands jacket, unwilling to release him yet.  She still couldn’t believe that he was here before her.  Nor could she fully grasp what he was telling her.

“I couldn’t keep working there,” Rhysand said.  “Not for her.  Not in that place.  Not so far from you.”

Feyre bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. “You love your job.”

Rhys’ response was automatic. “I love you more.”

No matter how often she heard them, the words still sent a thrill through her.  She laughed lightly and looked away from him to where Azriel was stoking the fire and Cassian drew Nesta in his arms as they sat on the couch.  Elain leaned her head on Lucien’s shoulder as she mouthed the words along to the movie that played in the background.

The house was full of love and family for the first time in a long time.  Feyre had spent so long searching for these feelings of peace and comfort and now she had them.  She didn’t want to do anything to alter them--to diminish them.

But she also couldn’t let Rhys walk away from his work.

“Rhys,” she began.

His warm hand slid to cup her chin, gently tugging it up.  It took her a moment to meet his gaze.  Mostly because she was, again, tearing up.

“Everything about that job was tearing us apart,” he said as he leaned his forehead against hers, “and I refuse to let that happen any more.”

Feyre surged forward and kissed him.  There was so much they needed to figure out now.  So much to talk about and plan.  But for now, she was content to kiss him.  Content to be with him, with her family.

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Feyre darling,” he said.

And it was.  It was a glorious night together with snow falling down outside, the fire roaring in the hearth, and they were all together.

.end.

#

thanks for reading!

tags: using my general tags

@tottenhamboys20  @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival 

@my-fan-side  @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[mmvalentine]

But You pt 7 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 The smut continues! Honestly I get so carried away this could have been a one shot. You've been warned.

The gallery where Feyre's paintings hung was throwing an honest to goodness ball.

At first she had thought it was pretentious, but then Rhys had actually been excited. In sixteen-odd years of knowing Rhys, in her one year of living with him in their cosy little townhouse, she had never seen him excited for a social event. Not once.

So she brought out the black, backless dress she had impulsively bought for that one gala a couple of years back, and watched with endless amusement as Rhys primped and peacocked for over an hour in the bathroom. They were almost late. By the time got his hair and bowtie just so, Feyre was holding the door open and yelling to the taxi that they'd be right there. Rhys emerged in a haze of hair spray and cologne, took one look at her, and pushed it closed again.

"Feyre you looks absolutely delicious," he said, trapping Feyre against the door. His hands remained on the wood on either side of her face, and his bedroom eyes burned into her as they dragged down her body. Back up. Caught on her breasts, and then on her mouth.

"Rhys, we really do have to go," Feyre said. Rhys bent his elbows, pushed a thigh between her legs and ran his teeth over her throat. "We will," Rhys assured her. "In a minute."

His hands found the slit in her skirt and trailed up the inside of her bare leg. When he discovered she wasn't wearing any underwear, he froze on the spot. Then a feline grin spread over his face. "Wicked creature," he purred. "Pretending to be all business-like when secretly..." He stroked a finger over the centre of her, and her core clenched in response.

"I just didn't want a panty-line," she tried to explain, gasping as Rhys' hand moved. "No objections here," Rhys said, and ghosted his lips over hers. "I'm wearing make-up," Feyre protested weakly. "I just want one little taste," Rhys whispered. "You'll get lipstick on you." "I won't," Rhys argued, and then dropped to his knees and with no warning at all licked a stripe up between her legs. Sucked her clit into his mouth and tongue-kissed it until Feyre's legs started to give.

Then he stood again, straightened her skirts, and smoothed a hand over his hair.

"Well we'd better not keep the driver waiting any longer," he said smoothly, and held his arm out for Feyre to take. She gaped at him. "Come now, my dear, you can't be late when you're one of the artists."

She looped her arm though his, and let him walk her to the taxi in a daze. He held the door for her, and when he slid in next to her she said, "You're a bully, you know that?"

Rhys smirked. "Leave you wanting, did I?" "Started things you couldn't finish, more like," Feyre huffed. Rhys' eyes brightened. "I'll have you know that I can accomplish anything I set my mind to." He hugged her closer to him on the seat. Smoothed a hand down her leg, and found that slit in her dress. Stroked up the inside of her thigh.

"Of course, I don't intend to make this evening about myself," he said conversationally. While his fingers found her entrance.

"I more than anyone know how hard you've worked for this exhibition." The volume of her black skirts over the dark sleeve of his jacket meant the driver wouldn't be able to see anything if he happened to glance back. But Feyre blushed a deep scarlet anyway.

"I mean, you've always enjoyed a bit of exhibition, haven't you darling?" Rhys went on. His fingers dipped in just enough to feel the slickness there, and then slipped up toward her clit. "It's always important for an artist to be able to be in the public eye, I think."

He rubbed slow, wet circles over her clit, and Feyre's hands tightened on the seat.

"Of course, some prefer to labour in silence," Rhys said. "What do you think, Feyre? Could you work unnoticed? Can you stay quiet?" "I... um..." Feyre stammered. Rhys' fingers sped up. "Oh I know, so typical of artists to have difficult speaking about themselves. That's the paradox, isn't it?"

And then he plunged two fingers right up inside her. Feyre bit down hard on her lip to stop herself from crying out.

"Say driver," Rhys said casually. As he fucked her with his fingers. "How far away do you think we might be from the venue?"

The driver looked up at his rearview mirror, and Feyre forced her features into neutrality. Pretended to cough as the heel of Rhys' palm pressed against her clit.

"I think we're coming up on it now," the driver said. "Oh excellent," Rhys replied. And then sure enough, they were pulling over and Rhys was withdrawing his hand. Feyre whimpered and squeezed her now very empty thighs together.

Rhys got out of the cab and rounded the other side. Opened Feyre's door.

"Why Feyre, you look a little flushed. Are you feeling alright?"

Feyre just nodded, and let Rhys help her out of the taxi.

That cab ride more or less set the tone for the evening. Rhys stuck by her side like glue, and was always touching her some way or another. While they mingled and met patrons and other artists, Rhys kept a warm hand on her bare back and stroked over her skin. Nails on her spine. Finger tips above her tailbone.

When they sat down to listen to speeches, Rhys' hand sat on her knee, drawing circles there, never stilling. Every so often he'd lean over, and brush his lips over the curve of her ear.

Finally, the string quartet sat down and everyone was called to dance, and with no hesitation Rhys swept her up on her feet and into his arms. Where he held her tight enough against his body that she could feel the press of his erection in her abdomen.

"You are driving me absolutely insane," Rhys murmured. I'm driving you insane? Feyre wanted to say. Instead, she asked, "Where did you learn to dance?" "Brazil, probably, maybe, I don't know. I don't know anything right now except that I think I have to get you home immediately." "Rhys we just got here." "Yes yes, we came, we looked amazing, we can leave now, right?"

At that moment, a man whom Feyre recognised as one of the other exhibiting artists tapped Rhys on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said, with a beautiful smile. "May I cut in?" "No," Rhys said curtly, and whirled Feyre away, leaving her to mouth "Sorry," and give the man her most apologetic expression as he stood there looking shocked and a little confused.

"Well that was rude," Feyre scolded. "Do I look like I give a flying fuck?" Rhys asked. "When you are in that dress, no one else is touching you, not even to shake your hand. You are mine." "That's so funny," Feyre crooned. She shifted her hips against the hardness pushing into her belly, and watched with satisfaction as Rhys suppressed a shudder. "Here I thought you were mine."

Rhys hid his face in the crook of Feyre's neck. "Of course I am," he breathed. "Of course." "Well then," Feyre said, and stepped away. Rhys frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Feyre took his hand and led him away. Out of the ballroom, down a corridor, and through a door that she had to open with a keycode.

"Where are we?" Rhys asked, looking around. Rows and rows of large, rectangular canvases lay on their sides. "The archives," Feyre said. "This is where they keep the artworks that aren't currently on display. I have the current code because I have a couple of paintings down here, but it changes every week."

Rhys looked back at her with half a crooked smile.

"And what are we doing here in the archives, Feyre darling?"

Feyre pushed him back against the wall, and when his back thudded audibly the grin stretched wide. "You're finishing what you started is what," Feyre snarled. "Yes ma'am," Rhys breathed, and turned them so their positions were reversed and it was Feyre backed up against the wall. Feyre leaned forward to kiss him, but Rhys pulled away.

"Careful dear," he said. "Wouldn't want to ruin your pretty lipstick."

He grabbed her hips and spun her around. Feyre's hands hit the wall, and Rhys pushed this thigh between her knees to widen them. He pulled her skirts open at the side slit, and put his fingers in his mouth before he slid them into her. Feyre groaned.

"Is this what you wanted?" Rhys asked. "Is this what you've been thinking about all evening?" But Feyre shook her head. "More," she gasped. "More?" Rhys echoed. He slid another finger into her, earning a second, louder moan. Pumped her already soaking pussy. "More," Feyre begged again, and this time Rhys unbuckled his belt and pushed himself into her.

Feyre's knees unlocked, even as she arched her back to get him in deeper. Rhys paused there for a moment, breathing hard, then pulled out and pushed in deeper. Did it one more time and he was seated to the hilt.

"Is that what you needed?" Rhys murmured. He stroked his hands over the bare skin of her back, his rough callouses raising goosebumps in their wake. Feyre smirked at the wall, and licked her lips.

"More," she said, and Rhys growled low in his throat as he gripped her hips in his hands and fucked her relentlessly from behind.

After a whole evening of teasing, it didn't take long for Feyre to come apart. She tried to keep it quiet, but Rhys pounded into her so hard that stars burst before her eyes and no part of her body was in her control. She just had to hope that they were far away enough from the crowd, and that the music was loud enough that the would go unnoticed. After all, she wasn't the only one with the keycode.

When Rhys' hand slid down in front of her to slide over her clit, Feyre's climax was a live thing between them. It burned through her, until she was leaning her hot face against the cool of the wall.

"God you're beautiful when you come," Rhys murmured. He had slowed down as Feyre's orgasm faded, but was now speeding up again, building toward his own release. Feyre let him, for about ten seconds. Then she pushed him away.

Rhys scrabbled to pull her in again. "Where are you going?" he grumbled. But Feyre just smoothed her skirts down and leaned back against the wall.

"You can't come in here Rhys," she said, with mocking concern in her eyes. "These are precious artworks and I am wearing a nice dress."

Rhys just opened and closed his mouth, his erection still sticking out of his open pants.

"Hurry now and put that away," she said with a glance down. "We're at a formal function for goodness' sakes." And with that, she swept toward the door, leaving Rhys to fumble with his button and trot helplessly after her.

"Gods," he muttered, as they made their way back into the main hall. "This why other people are never fucking worth it. Let's get out of here." He made to grab Feyre's hand, but she yanked it out of his reach.

"But Rhys darling, this is a very big event for me, there are still people I have to meet." Rhys groaned loudly and gnashed his teeth at her. She ignored this, and continued to torture him for a good fifteen more minutes before graciously agreeing to leave.

They made out in the taxi all the way home, Rhys tipped the driver generously in apology before Feyre dragged him in through the front door. They didn't make it to the bedroom. Feyre got about half way up the stairs before Rhys grabbed her ass, flipped her skirt up and started eating her out from behind.

Feyre dropped to her knees, hands on the steps in front of her, and was just starting to climax in his mouth when Rhys replaced his tongue with his cock and fucked her until his cum was running down the backs of her legs.

They collapsed there, until eventually Rhys went to fetch a towel to clean up and then carried Feyre up to bed. Carefully helped her out of her ridiculous dress and shoes, and even brought a wet towel for her makeup.

"You're the sweetest," Feyre said. "I might just have a shower before bed." "No," Rhys said, pulling her into his chest. He was now just in his boxer briefs. "Stay here with me." Feyre laughed. "I'll be right back." "Shower in the morning," Rhys insisted. His arms wouldn't budge.

So Feyre lay back down and loved the feeling of his nose nuzzling into the back of her neck.

"Let's not see other people for another month," Rhys said. "I hate everyone." "Everyone?" "But you."

Feyre grinned in the dark. "Good boy," she said.

****

Fam let me tell you I almost ended it when Feyre walked out of that archive room but I figured I had tortured poor Rhysie long enough! That's the end of this one, thank you enormously to everyone who has read and reblogged. I don't hate any of you.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @thalia-2-rose @f-cursebreaker

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 5 (Feysand)

Woooo it’s done :) Sorry it took an ~insane~ amount of time. Most the time I’m not this shitty with updating fics, but it’s been a really weird, hectic couple of weeks. Thanks for being patient and reading!

_______________________________________________________

~Feyre~

Honestly, I don’t know why I’m being so dramatic about this. 

I knew it had to end at some point. I just didn’t expect to feel... regret.

I don’t regret anything that happened that night, or even the fact that I’d vastly overstepped my boundaries and paid for his cousin’s treatment. 

That isn’t where the regret stems. 

It comes from the fact that I left in the first place. 

Six days after we were together, my skin still tingles whenever I think about his touch, the raw possession in his hands that somehow still managed to be gentle. I shiver whenever I think of his mouth on mine, his smile against my lips. 

Leaving him after that hadn’t been easy by any measure, but it would’ve been much harder to do if he had been awake. 

And this way, he knows it was nothing he did. 

Besides be a good listener, and being more compassionate than anyone I’ve ever met, and handsome, and funny. 

Nope, it was none of those reasons. It was because I, a self-admitted idiot, can’t keep my heart from wanting more. From wanting it to be real. 

Like I said, I’m an idiot. 

Even if... even if it sometimes felt like I wasn’t. I mean, there had to be a reason he was so unbelievably patient with me, right? A reason he looked at me with curious, attentive eyes that told me more than words ever could?

Pushing those thoughts away, I remind myself that it’s done. Over. I made my decision. Thinking about how dumb it was wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

And I had places to go. 

It had been such a short time since the last appointment, but so much had changed in my life. All good change, but change nonetheless. 

I’m starting over; reinventing myself. So what if I’m twenty-seven and single and have no idea what I’m doing? 

So what if I can’t stop thinking about Rhys’s smile, or the fact that our last appointment was supposed to be tomorrow?

Sighing, I turn over in bed and pull the covers above my head. No small part of me wishes I had his phone number so I could call him, hear him say my name. 

But I don’t, and it’s for a reason. He doesn’t get personal with clients, and I was just a client to him. 

I have no way of contacting him, of telling him that I regret leaving, and it’s a good thing. 

I repeat the words to myself just before I go to sleep, the lie bitter on my tongue. 

~

It’s Friday. 

Which, a week ago would’ve meant I would get dressed and go to work, not pay attention to what I was doing at all, and then meet Rhys. But I had rightfully ended things, so I didn’t need to do that. 

And I don’t need to go to work. 

Instead, I force myself to make breakfast and get dressed. Then I clean my entire house top to bottom, go on a run, ate lunch, and balance my checkbook. 

But when the clock reads six, there's no more denying it. I'm bored. And lonely.

So I do what any clinically insane woman would do: I go to the hotel, grabbing my art supplies as I leave. Getting in the car, I laugh as I look at the faded leather bag in my hands. 

It’s been ages since I’d reached for it so thoughtlessly. Once upon a time, this bag had been an extension of my arm, but I hadn’t thought about it since before the breakup. But now... I want to paint. 

And suddenly, I know exactly how I’m spending my evening. 

I drive to the hotel and get my key--for some reason I never cancelled the reservation--then head up to the room, frowning when I think about walking through this doorway with Rhys. 

How do I miss someone I hardly know?

Although, that isn’t really true. It’s only been a little over a month, but I feel like I do know him. I know what makes him laugh, what his favorite food is. I know the feel of his skin, the way his eyes crinkle when he’s annoyed. I know him. 

It doesn’t matter. 

I won’t ever see him again, but maybe... maybe I can give myself something to hold on to. 

I walk into the room, mess with the lights until the room is cast in soft, buttery light, and set up my art station. 

And then, for the first time in years, I paint. 

~

By the time I’ve finished the small piece, I’m smiling and feeling lighter than I have since... since last Friday. But I’m also hungry, so when I hear a knock on the door, I run over, assuming it’s my room service order. 

It’s not. 

My jaw hits the floor as I look up at Rhysand, who looks just as surprised to see me, even though he’s the one who knocked on my door. 

For a weird moment, we just stare at each other. 

Normally, I’d say something, maybe ask why he’s here, but I’m just so damn happy to see him. 

He’s tall and beautiful and smells like the ocean, and I realize then how much I’ve missed the twinkle in his eye, the curve of his lips. 

His eyes run over me, and then he glances behind me to where the make-shift, wobbly easel I keep in my bag still stands in front of the bed. 

“You’ve been painting.”

I nod. Given the paint-splatters on my hands and clothes, that’s pretty obvious. I have no idea what to say, so I just state the obvious. “You’re here.”

It comes out equal parts question, statement, and accusation. 

“So are you,” he shoots back. 

True. 

I have no idea why he’s here, but I know I don’t want him to leave, so I swing the door open wider in silent invitation. 

He takes it and walks in, looking at the rumpled bed and art supplies, then walking over to the easel curiously. 

Then I remember what I painted. 

And suddenly, all thoughts of why he might have come are long gone. All that remains is the blind panic that he’ll see what I’ve done and run for the hills. 

“Wait, don’t!” I shout, hauling ass to stand in front of him with my hands raised like a linebacker. “It’s... you can’t see it.”

Those violet eyes dance as his lips twitch. “Why not?”

“It’s not done.” Not true. Finished it twenty minutes ago. He’s turned me into a filthy liar, and we both know it. 

“Move.”

I shake my head. 

“Feyre, this is cute and all, but you weigh like a hundred pounds. Move, or I will move you.” I narrow my eyes, ready to go down fighting, and he laughs. “Please?”

The word gives me pause, and I know he’s not leaving until he sees it, so I sigh and move aside. 

He sticks out his tongue as he brushes past me, but the smugness leaves his face as he looks down at the small canvas and sees the subject.

It’s him.

It’s the image that’s been in my head for seven days now. The image of him laying in the bed exhausted and ruffled, covers drawn to his waist.

His tan chest is on full display, tattoos stark against the white sheets, and his hair is ruffled. His face--which took me the longest to get right--is peaceful as he sleeps, even though there are laughter lines around his full mouth. 

It’s how he looked when I left him. 

Real-life Rhys looks at the bed, then me. “You painted me.”

His voice is full of light, but I suddenly realize how fucking creepy this is. “Uh, yeah. Sorry?”

He gives me a strange look but changes the subject to something even more uncomfortable without missing a beat. “Is this how I looked when you left?”

I look at the floor, suddenly finding it interesting, but a hand on my chin forces my eyes back to his. 

“Yes.” It’s a whispered admission, but he hears it. 

“Why?”

“I had to,” I defend weakly. 

“No, you didn’t. You chose to.” His hand falls away, and his tone grows a little... irritated? “I’ve been looking for you, by the way. I went to the coffee place you mentioned liking every day this week. I even went to the museum, but they said you quit.”

A smile finds its way on my face as I nod. “I’m going to go back to painting, I think.”

His eyes are soft, even though his jaw is still set. “You can’t paint me any time you want, but I’ll expect commission.”

I roll my eyes, cheeks flushing. Rhysand grows quiet, his eyes searching mine, and I know he’s thinking of the perfect way to phrase whatever he’s about to say. 

“Why are you here, Feyre?”

It’s a simple question. Or at least it should be. But there’s no one answer.

I’m here because I miss him.

I’m here because I wanted to think about our time together, however brief it was. 

I’m here because I wanted to feel like how I do when I’m with him. 

I could tell him any one of these reasons, and they’d be true. But they’d still be a lie, because the real reason I drove here tonight... “I’m here because I was hoping you’d be here, too.”

Rhys smiles, and his hand is back on my face, cupping my cheek this time. “Well that works out well, because that’s why I’m here.”

Disbelief and joy shoot through me, leaving me a little confused. “What?”

“I’m here because I thought you might com here, and I wanted to see you. So I could thank you for what you did.”

Oh. 

Right. 

It had taken selling an old piece to one of my longest clients, but seeing the expression on his face right now makes the hassle well worth it. 

It’s nice seeing him happy, even if the disappointment in my chest is almost crushing. He’s here to thank me, because of his cousin. 

I open my mouth to speak, but he presses a finger to my lips to shut me up. “I’m not done yet.”

My eye brows fly up, and he smiles. “I’m here to yell at you for leaving me in the middle of the night, with a goddamn note no less.”

Yet again, he cuts me off when I try to speak. “Who tells someone they have feelings for them in a note? Fucking Jane Austen, that’s who. The next time you have compliments and sweet nothings to shower on me, you’re doing it in person.”

My lips twitch under his finger, drawing his gaze. And his voice goes a little deeper as he continues, “I’m here to tell you it was dumb to leave, because I don’t think of you as just a client, either. You’re more to me, even though I tried to fight it.”

Oh my gods. 

“And lastly, I’m here to kiss you until you believe that. I’m here to show you how much you’re not just a client to me. I’m here because I’m desperate for you, and I don’t want to spend another minute denying it to myself.”

Rhysand grows silent, the finger on my lips finally slipping away. “I’m done now.”

I don’t know what to say, really. 

Everything I thought I knew was wrong. And he... I...

I may not have a clue what I want to say, but I at least know what I want to do. 

So I do it. 

I practically jump on him, my hands locking around his neck and bringing his face down to mine so I can kiss him. 

Relief and happiness and a million other emotions course through me as our lips meet, and from the way he kisses me back, he’s feeling them too. 

It’s a frenzy--a wild clash of two people determined to get closer, to take more. 

We hit the floor, but I hardly notice it and I definitely don’t complain, because I’m sprawled on top of him. I’m partially aware that all the paint on my clothes is seeping into his, but neither of us seem to care. 

Rhys pulls back enough to growl, “A note.”

I mumble a reply, but I don’t know if it makes any sense, because his mouth is on my neck and I can’t hold down solid thoughts. 

All I can think is that I want his skin against mine, so I reach and tug his shirt off, then pull him back down to me. My arms are around his shoulders, legs around his waist, and his hips churn against mine in a way that makes us both breathless. 

His hands find the hem of my shirt, then it’s on the floor next to my head and his mouth is on my beast, teasing me until I squirm helplessly underneath him. 

“Rhys, please.”

Ignoring me entirely, he just kisses his way to my other breast, giving it the same treatment. I’m restless and just a little desperate at this point, but he pays it no mind as his mouth moves down my stomach. 

Rough, calloused hands lift my hips, then slide my remaining clothes down my legs, leaving me bare before him. 

The pause gives me enough time to realize we’re still on the floor, but then his mouth finds the apex of my thighs, and I stop caring. 

I moan, hips lifting to give him better access. 

He’s making it clear exactly how much he missed me, because while being with him is usually long and luxurious and sensual, it’s now... ravenous. I feel like I’m being devoured, and I love it.

My body finds release quickly, but Rhys doesn’t stop until I climax again, name falling off my lips in a breathy tone I hardly recognize. 

He prowls back up my body and kisses my mouth, proving everything he said ten minutes ago once again. My legs fall open further as he pauses to remove his jeans and roll a condom on, then a hand on my hip keeps me still as he pushes into me, eyes meeting mine the entire time. 

My head falls back, digging into the carpet, and he kisses my neck as he begins to move. 

My body’s already fatigued and satiated, but it comes alive under his touch, reacting instantly to the indecent roll of his hips. 

“You feel so good,” he groans at my ear, the words doing very little for my sanity. 

If I had the ability to form words, I’d respond. But I don’t, so I stay silent. 

Well, not silent, but I stay murmuring absolute jibberish as his hips move against mine. He speeds up, and I arch against him, loving the way he wraps his arms around me to keep me close. 

His mouth is back on mine, tongue meeting mine in a desperate, heady way that makes me groan. 

Release begins to build once again inside me, and he somehow senses it, reaching between my legs to work the bundle of nerves there. I go over the edge, legs and arms trembling from their hold around him. 

Rhys follows suit, murmuring my name over and over as his motions get a little sloppy, then stop altogether.

Our breathing comes heavy and fast, and for a minute, we just lay there, both of us incapable of doing anything more. 

Once I finally regain the ability to breathe, I mutter, “So, you have feelings for me.”

He grunts in acknowledgement, making me smile. “You have feelings for me, too.”

I don’t feel like grunting, so I say, “I do.”

He sighs, rolling us onto our sides. “Like I said, no self-control.”

“I blame you.”

His violet eyes twinkle as he props himself on an elbow and looks down at me. “Me and my good looks take full responsibility.”

I smile again and realize how happy I am. I’m on the floor and covered in paint, but I’ve never felt more beautiful or important. And it’s because of him. 

“I don’t know how to be in a relationship anymore,” I admit, scared but knowing more than anything that I want to try. 

Rhys shrugs, leaning to press a soft kiss to my lips. “I figure we’ll argue a lot and have really great sex.”

“Works for me.”

“As long as you paint me again. Preferably nude this time.”

__________________________________________________________

I am tired I apologize if I missed stuff editing. Thanks for reading!! Feel free to drop asks in the box :) I have a few I’m working on.

@trinitybailey @zukos-simp @that-other-pineapple @booksofthemoon @stardelia @awesomelena555 @queen-of-glass @whilma-warfstache @highqueenofelfhame @spyofthenightcourt @samcortlandisaginger @city-of-infernal-dauntless @verypaleninja @nikki1288-blog @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 15//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandareay-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05) *bold tags don’t work. Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list! 

Thank you all for your patience over the last couple of weeks, enjoy and stay awesome! ❤️

XXX

The remaining session left in our annual summit had followed and ended, for the most part, rather successfully. After Eris had taken his treacherous father back to the Autumn Court, we reassembled the next morning. Each High Lord and High Lady had sat evenly spaced around the reflection pool with our entourages and our human friends as well; Tamlin and his sentry Hart, being the odd ones out. Despite the memory of our first High Lord's meeting, and Tamlin's actions back then looming over us, he continued with his peculiar silence—staring at the reflection pool as our host officially began the meeting and Rhysand began informing the others of our dire situation.

"A coup? In the Night Court?" Tarquin had asked.

I nodded solemnly in return. "Keir, our steward of the Court of Nightmares, has spent the last several years plotting with an Illyrian camp lord named Kallon," I explained.

In the decade of summits we held, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel informed the others more about the Illyrian forces and their ways of life—which they hadn't known much about prior to the war. The latter of the trio emphasized their archaic lifestyle—and his disdain for it, while Cassian and Rhys detailed more on how the armies functioned. I remembered how Cassian's hazel eyes brightened with pride when he announced that he and I had been slowly training more and more females to join their forces over the years. At that moment, however, those eyes had been dulled and matched the grim line of his lips as he and Azriel sat a little taller at my explanation.

"Unfortunately, that camp lord has rallied half of the other camp lords and their armies to his cause," Rhys had continued.

Tension then settled over us as Rhys summoned the reports that Azriel had gathered over the last several weeks in his hands; Helion using his magic to replicate and pass them amongst the group.

"Half of your Illyrian forces have turned against you?" He asked us incredulously, though his gold-flecked eyes were stony.

I nodded grimly, holding my stomach protectively. "Unfortunately. In exchange, Keir has promised to support Kallon in separating the Illyrians from the Night Court," I managed; my throat going unexpectedly tight at the thought.

"Which is why we called this summit early," Rhys continued for me. "Not only does our intel inform us of the traitors in our court, but it also suggests that Beron has joined their ranks as well."

Everyone's resolve had been matched with this news; after the High Lord of Autumn's display having only been hours behind us at that point, we all knew that his newfound alliance was no longer a suggestion.

"What would you have us do?" Kallias asked carefully. His fiercely blue eyes searched for a way to help, but I knew the hesitation was still there as he placed a hand on his mate's knee.

Viviane squeezed his hand in return and trained sympathetic eyes at me. She knew better than the rest that a war brewing on the horizon was the last thing I, nor my mate, wanted to focus on with our youngling on the way.

"We only ask for the same help you offered during the war," I pleaded softly—meeting all of their gazes as Rhys took my hand. "Your armies, should we need them, because if Rhysand and I should fall, then-" my voice cracked a bit, and I squeezed my mate's hand.

"We believe Keir has orchestrated this coup, rallying what Illyrian forces he could through a young and untested camp lord, and now reinforcing old ties with the Autumn Court in order to take over my throne. He's always resented my family ruling the Night Court, even during my father's reign, and now he believes he can take it for himself," Rhys said.

"Make no mistake, my father is ruthless," Mor joined in—voice tight. "And I know he wouldn't just stop with the Night Court. Kallon is an idiot for believing my father would grant the Illyrians independence. The Illyrians, and whatever ties he's formed with Beron, he's using to his advantage. He believes them all to be fools and wouldn't hesitate to bide his time until taking over their court as well. Whatever deal he's struck with the High Lord will ultimately give him leverage in the end. Leverage over them, over the rest of Prythian, and the Mortal Lands as well."

Mor's warning to the others of her father's ambition resounded in my head for the thousandth time since the summit and I groaned quietly as I rubbed at my temples, staring out the window at the wide expanse of the estate's gardens.

"I have to admit, Feyre darling, the rest you've gotten over the last couple of weeks has allowed your mental shields to build back up nicely," came Rhys's warm-tenor voice from behind me. "It's too bad that I can tell just by the look in your eyes what you're thinking of; or rather, remembering."

I glanced at his muted reflection in the library window, mirrored in front of me, and scowled at the taunting smirk on his lips. "You can't even see my eyes from here," I retorted.

"Sure I can," he said easily, his reflection growing closer as he walked towards where I perched on a cushioned seat by the window. "Just like I can see that lovely scowl on your face."

I threw up my hand in a vulgar gesture, knowing he'd see that, and his laughter finally allowed my shoulders to relax as he curled in next to me on the window seat. I adjusted, stretching my back and curving a hand along the ever-growing line of my belly. In the weeks that had followed since the summit, my stomach had only continued with its exponential growth—which left Rhys infatuated. He rested a hand on it now as I moved to recline against his shoulder, returning my stare out the window.

"Your level of stress is beginning to concern me, my love," Rhys said quietly as he ran a hand along my stomach. "I know it's easier said than done, but I wish you would unburden yourself."

I sighed and closed my eyes as I allowed my body to fully relax against him, taking in a few cleansing breaths. He was right; in spite of getting full support from our friends in the other courts and in the Mortal Lands as well, I couldn't shake off my sense of unease. Even Tamlin, our unlikely ally, silently agreed to offer his armies—should we need it. Though he remained speechless as the others asked more and more questions on the intel we had gathered, he listened. At the end when the others offered what they could, he merely stood with Hart and said he and his armies were at our disposal—before they winnowed away without another word.

Perhaps it was his abrupt behavior, along with the lingering question of Eris's true intentions, that weighed on me. After Tamlin's departure, we had all been suspicious of whether or not Eris was truly on our side. There was no doubt that the High Lord of Autumn was our enemy, but we had yet to see if his eldest son was merely using his father as a pawn in this coup for his benefit alone.

"Come back to me, Feyre," Rhys murmured in my ear, knowing my thoughts were once again swirling with anxiety and pulling me away. "Come back to us," he said as he rubbed the swell of my stomach.

"We have the numbers; we have the allies and support we need. Now we wait, and while we wait, we can go back to focusing our attention on him."

I smiled as he kept sending soothing strokes over the fair expanse of my belly and turned my face into his neck. I breathed in his salt and citrus scent, relishing in his touch before I slowly opened my eyes to meet his.

"You're right," I said softly. "I shouldn't worry so much, but I guess I do because…" I trailed off, unable to think of the right words.

"You're nesting," he amended with a smirk.

I raised a brow, "Nesting? Madja said that wouldn't happen until much later."

During one of our previous check-ins with the healer, she expressed that in the last remaining weeks of my pregnancy, I would be overcome with a sudden instinct to clean and organize in preparation for the baby's arrival. This instinct was commonly known as nesting, and every expecting female had experienced it before giving birth. The healer also expressed that males cultivated a form of it as well, something Viviane alluded to when she explained that Kallias's male-bonded instincts would alert him of when her time was approaching and cause him to accommodate her and their youngling's needs on a primal level.

"True, but this could be a form of it," he explained, amused. "As a High Lady simultaneously expecting a youngling, it's only natural that you would want your court in the best condition before welcoming a child into it."

I stared down at my stomach, his hands laying idle on either side of it, "That's still months away…"

Rhys kissed my temple, "Yes, but it's rather transparent that the threat of a coup is what keeps you so troubled." I could feel the shift in his mood as he mulled over his words, but I turned in his arms and carefully straddled him—meeting his gaze so that I could put his mind at ease.

"This isn't your fault Rhys, it isn't anyone's fault," I reminded him. "Like you've told me so many times before, this is still an exciting time for us, and we're coming to a solution. One day at a time, and although I have my moments where I get lost in my worries, I know we're safe."

His returning grin was slow as he held my hips, and I leaned in to press a tender kiss on his lips in an attempt to quell some of the stress he now felt. "Let's concentrate on him," I said.

"And on you," he emphasized as he rubbed the tender spot between my pronounced belly and hip bone. I hissed a bit at the soreness as he massaged the area. "Are you feeling any better after this morning?"

I sighed as I recalled the new aches and pains I had been experiencing as of late. Almost a week ago I woke up with excruciating muscle pain in my hips and out of an abundance of caution, Rhys sent for Madja-who, unsurprisingly, informed us that yet another unfavorable exploit of pregnancy was plaguing me. On top of the lingering nausea spells, dizziness, and fatigue, I was now dealt with the unfortunate side effect of pain in my pelvic area. According to the healer, due to my ever-expanding womb, the hormones being released in order to make room were causing an imbalance in my pelvis bone—thus causing pain in my hip joints and back. Thankfully, there was no cause for alarm in regard to the baby, but it meant another ailment added to the list I already struggled with.

Fortunately, the healer gave us a list of different exercises to try in order to relieve the strain and tautness, and I was more than grateful that my mate was eager to help alleviate it.

"A little," I replied as he kept rubbing soothing circles into either side of my hips. I relaxed as I sat in his lap, allowing him to continue as I laid my hands on his shoulders. "It always feels better when you do that, though."

He offered a sympathetic smile as his hands worked, "I'm sorry you're so uncomfortable, Feyre. I thought this level of discomfort would come at the end stages."

I pouted, "So did I. Now I can't even imagine the mess I'll be then. You'll have to carry me around everywhere because I won't be able to walk." I lamented with a dramatic sigh.

"I'll be happy to oblige you then, and now, my love," Rhys said before placing a kiss on my still pouting lips. "But hopefully you'll have some relief before then."

"Probably not, but it's all right," I said as I glanced down at my stomach. "He'll be worth it…"

He grinned as the glimmer that was our baby fluttered between us, but after a few seconds his lips parted in astonishment as we both felt that flutter turn into a solid bump against his hand. It was small, so subtle that any other lesser being might've missed it, but it was clear as day to us.

"Was that…?" Rhys choked out.

I brightened, "He kicked."

His violet eyes stared at my stomach, amazed, before lining with silver as he beamed. "Our son kicks."

I laughed wetly and rubbed the other side of my stomach, trying to gently coax the movement to continue and we both concentrated on it until we felt another kick in return.

"He's kicking, Rhys!"

"He's strong," he said, voice warm as his hands ran over my stomach carefully. "Try not to kick too hard in there, son, you don't want to hurt your mama."

I smirked, "Are you scolding our son already, Rhysand?"

"Not scolding, just giving him a gentle reminder to take it easy on you," he said.

My heart warmed, but before I could say anything else, something from the window caught in the corner of my eye. I turned to face it, Rhys following my gaze, and gasped as I saw flecks of snow falling outside. Just minutes ago, the sky had been clear and blue, the sun shining as it normally did on a spring afternoon. Now, the expanse of the skies were lined with clouds as it snowed, but I noticed none of it stuck to the ground—still warm enough outside for the snow to melt as soon as it touched the earth. I turned to Rhys, confused at this sudden change in weather—unlike any I had ever experienced in Velaris, or Prythian alone for that matter.

"Viviane has given birth," Rhys answered my silent question. "Whenever a youngling is born into a ruling family's court, it affects all the others in Prythian. In this case, since this child was born into the Winter Court, we have snow."

I brightened as I turned back to the window, a sense of pride swelling in my chest and throat, "So, this means she had her baby today? And they're both okay?"

He stoked my side lightly as he nodded, "Yes, this is a sign that both mother and child are healthy."

I felt my eyes burn at the realization, the relief. Viviane had mentioned that bringing forth a youngling would be difficult, and if fae cycles were any indication for what labor pains might be, I couldn't imagine how excruciating it must've been to endure. But, seeing the light snow shower meant she and her baby had made it through without complication, and were both recovering.

"I can't imagine what it must look like in the Winter Court," I said.

Rhys chuckled, "I'm sure the snowstorm is quite impressive for them, but it'll be nothing compared to what will happen here once you give birth."

I raised a brow, "What happens in the Night Court? A full day of night for all of Prythian?" I quipped.

He flicked my nose with a smirk, "You'll see, smartass."

I giggled, "Wait, but I'm actually curious! What will happen here?"

Just as he was about to retort with another snide comment, Mor and Elain burst through the library doors. Mor squealing in delight as she twirled about the room in excitement.

"Viviane gave birth!" She sang, too distracted to notice when I moved off of Rhys's lap as gracefully as possible, my cheeks warm. Elain was on her heels, but she took in our position and quickly looked away.

"I know, Rhys just explained it to me," I said as I stood, smoothing out my loose long-sleeved tunic.

"Oh, I can't wait to meet her," Mor gushed as she took my hands in excitement. "Did she tell you the name they picked for her?"

I shook my head and Mor grinned, "Eira."

"Snow. How beautiful," Elain chimed as she came to our side.

"It is," I said as I looked out the window again, and it was then that I noticed Nesta standing by the window at the opposite end of the room.

Her arms were crossed over her abdomen as she stared outside, blue-grey eyes actually soft as she watched the snowfall. I was surprised until I remembered the speech she delivered over a decade ago at our very first summit meeting before the war—the condolences she offered on Kallias and Viviane's behalf for the loss of all those younglings at Amarantha's wrath. Her sympathy had surprised me then, and I wondered at the warmth in her eyes now—and what looked to be like a hint of sorrow in them as well.

"Eira," Rhys said as he stood nonchalantly from the window seat. "Seems pretty fitting as well," he said as he took in the sight of the snow falling again before coming to rest a hand on the small of my back. "Looks like we'll have to be equally creative when we pick a name."

I grinned at his insinuation and Mor groaned in exasperation. "Will you at least give me a hint? Are you leaning towards boy names or girl names?"

I shook my head. "Sorry Mor, but my lips are sealed. You'll know the baby's name when he or she is born, just like everyone else," I teased.

"But you already know what you're having, don't you?" Elain asked, and I could see the impatience in her eyes as well.

Though some had implied that our baby was indeed a boy at the summit a few weeks before, Rhys nor I actually confirmed this fact—much to everyone's chagrin; especially Mor and Elain's.

I shrugged and Mor rolled her eyes again. "You know if you don't tell us, we won't know how to decorate the nursery," she tried to argue; and my sister's eyes widened at the idea.

"Then we'll stick to a neutral theme," Rhys suggested.

I laughed at Mor and Elain's equal protests, but my eyes returned to Nesta—who had turned from her place at the window and exited the room as quietly as she had entered.

XXX

I later found Cassian staring up at the cloudy sky, wings tucked in tight as he stood in the middle of the training arena as snow continued to fall. I cleared my throat as I approached, and he turned to face me.

"You aren't here to try and insist I train you again, are you?" He asked, hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

I rolled my eyes, recalling how in spite of Madja's recommendation, there had been days I still wanted to keep up with some of my training while still in the early stages. After seeing the toll my pregnancy was taking, however, Cassian adamantly refused.

"No, not this time," I said and motioned to the sky. "Did you hear the news?"

He nodded and picked up a stray dagger on the ground, "I know what it means. You should've seen the way the trees around here turned when Lucien was born. It was actually nice."

I watched as the lightness in the words he spoke didn't quite reach his eyes, noting the same strange sorrow in them that were in Nesta's. After she left the library, I had excused myself a few minutes later in order to try and find her—curious to know what melancholy suddenly plagued her. I had let Rhys know through the bond that I felt something awry with my sister, and that I was going to talk to her in the hopes that she might finally open up a bit more with me. However, while I searched for her, I instead heard Cassian's grunts as he vigorously sparred in the outdoor training pit. I watched from a balcony as he tore apart a training dummy to pieces, unusually aggressive, and waited until I saw him calm before coming out to meet him. There was something aching inside of him, and inside of Nesta, and though they continued to keep whatever bond between them private—I hoped I could find out why they were suddenly afflicted.

"It's good news then, isn't it? For Kallias and Viviane?" I asked quietly.

He glanced up at the sky again with a quick nod, "Yes, it is."

I softened as I saw the longing in his eyes, "Why do you look so sad then?"

He quickly averted my gaze, "What makes you say that?"

"Because the look on your face is the same look I saw on Nesta's earlier," I said gently.

He sighed and tossed the dagger in his hands into a crate by his feet. "I'm not sad, Feyre, and I can't always speak for your sister."

"No, I guess you can't." I said as I crossed over to a nearby bench and sat on it, wincing a bit at the pain it caused in my hips, but silently invited him to sit beside me regardless.

He obliged and sat on the bench, "You're in pain?" he asked.

I shook my head, "Moving around is just trickier now, because my growing stomach is throwing off...everything, apparently."

His lips widened into a grin. "Figures Rhys's kid would give you hell before it's even born."

We both laughed and I saw that same longing return in his gaze as he stared at my stomach. I hesitated before asking, "Have you ever considered having a child one day?"

Cassian's shoulders stiffened for a second before he sighed in defeat, knowing he couldn't evade this question. "I'll never have any offspring of my own Feyre," he finally said.

I blinked, surprised, and suddenly his look of sorrow and longing made sense—along with the same expression I had seen in Nesta's. Though unofficial, we all knew of the ties that existed between Cassian and my sister. Rhys and I figured that when they were ready to express their feelings—to share their bond, then they would. In the meantime, we all silently acknowledged it, but never said anything to try and coax a confession.

This revelation however, made me recall that in the decade since she'd been made, Nesta had yet to experience a fae cycle. Shortly after experiencing mine for the first time, I had briefly informed my sisters of what to expect. It wasn't long after that Elain had experienced her own and I had been there to coach her through the agonizing process. I expected Nesta to soon follow, but whenever I tried to inquire about it, she brushed me off. For years, I assumed that she just shut me out whenever her time came; until Elain revealed to me that our eldest sister hadn't had a cycle at all since before being made—when she was still a human.

Remembering this, and hearing Cassian's words now, my heart squeezed in remorse for bringing it up. I looked up at the sky as the snow continued to fall around us, "I'm sorry Cassian," I whispered. "I shouldn't have-"

He cut me off with a huff of laughter. "In my centuries of existence, I never gave it much thought. Rhys, on the other hand," he said, his gaze meeting mine again with solid reassurance. "When he came back from Under the Mountain, it was all he talked about,"

"I didn't know why at first, because we had always been too preoccupied to even consider settling down and having offspring. But after Az and I heard about you, met you, I knew you were the reason why. From the moment he came back from that place, when you both made it out of there, he envisioned a future with you."

My eyes burned as I squeezed his hand. "We wouldn't be here, expecting this child, if it weren't in part for you Cassian," I admitted with a sniff.

He laughed and pulled me into a one-armed embrace around my shoulders. "Those hormones of yours are no joke! It's kind of funny," he teased.

I scowled, "I can't help it. It's not my fault he's thrown me completely out of whack." I said, motioning to my stomach.

Cassian grinned. "He?"

I paused. "Don't tell Mor, or Elain. They're dying to know, but between you and me," I began, resting a hand over the apex of my stomach. "It's a boy..."

Cassian's eyes flickered with a mix of yearning and joy, and I noticed his hand twitch towards my stomach, but he stopped himself—hesitant.

I smiled, "Go ahead. You are going to be his Uncle Cassian after all, and according to Viviane he'll be able to distinguish our voices as he grows."

He blinked, "He can hear us talking?"

"Well right now he hears my voice the clearest, and Rhysand's. But over time, he'll be able to hear everyone else's, including yours," I explained.

He balked before touching my stomach cautiously with an open palm, "In that case, you should get used to my voice now, little one. I'll be training you once you're big enough."

I grinned playfully, "If you're going to teach him to fly, just make sure you don't drop him out of the sky."

"It was one time," he said with a roll of his eyes. "And I would never endanger a youngling's life, especially his. You hear that little one? Don't let your mean ol' mom or dad tell you otherwise. Uncle Cassian will take good care of you."

My heart warmed as he went on to have a conversation with my stomach, and I continued to answer any other questions he had about pregnancy and about my growing son—reminding me that this pregnancy was just a wonder to him, and everyone in our inner circle, as it was for Rhys and me. They were living through it for the first time, just like we were, and they loved our son just as fiercely as well. I then silently promised myself that during this period of waiting, I would spend less time worrying and more time with my family.

[vidalinav]

Dance Like Your Falling In Love

Summary: One shot; Cassian doesn’t know how to dance, everyone tries to teach him but he’s hopeless.

I implore you to listen to The Dance from Martin Phipps, one of the best scores I’ve ever heard from BBC’s War and Peace. Please Please listen as you read. Youtube, Spotify. Whatever, This whole fic is based off of that score.

Masterlist

~

“You have faced beings larger than you, more powerful, more dangerous, and yet you’re telling me that you’re afraid to dance,” Rhys offered skeptically.

“I am not afraid…” Cassian grumbled. “I just don’t see why I have to do it.”

It, being the dreaded waltz that they were now discussing as being “necessary” for future political endeavors. Bull. Shit.

Feyre leaned her head back against the settee where Rhys was shuffling through papers. “The next meeting we have with the high lords will be at a ball.”

“And not just the high lords will be there,” Azriel chimed in, “the leaders from the continent as well.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “So what? We have to show off our table manners to get them to sign a treaty?”

“Whatever it takes Cassian,” Mor sang from where she lounged on the couch.

“I’ve hired Anna Pavlova to come tomorrow to…” Rhys gave him a pointed glance, “brush up on our skills so to speak.”

Cassian’s look of disgust must have said enough, because Amren snickered at her position at the coffee table where she was completing a puzzle in the middle of their strategy meeting.

“That old hag,” Cassian complained.

Amren huffed a laugh, “Our skills,” she said mockingly, looking to Cassian. He tried not to take offense to that.

Cassian crossed his arms, sitting back as if he were a child who’d just learned he was getting extra lessons as opposed to dinner time and an hour of play. This was unfair.

“Remember to dress nice,” Azriel grinned.

Rhys looked to him with a teasing glint in his eyes, “You know how Madam Pavlova can get.”

~

Cassian did know how the Madam could get, so he chose to wear pressed slacks, in which he only owned one pair and a nice dress shirt that Cassian hoped was clean. He had found it in the back of his closet, and after asking Nuala for an iron he’d almost burned off the sleeve.

He wished he’d burned off the sleeve. Maybe then he could get out of this ridiculous lesson like he was twelve again. But no, knowing Rhys, he’d probably have a whole suit for him. Cauldron forbid, it would have probably been sky blue with frills.

That bastard.

He twisted the tie around his neck, and after several minutes of twisting and knotting and twisting some more, Cassian yanked it off and threw it on the ground, stomping on it as he let out his frustrations.

When he was younger, Madam Pavlova would pick and prod at his tie, saying, in that thick accent of hers, that it needed to be tied tighter so the neck will have no room but to remain straight and tall. He’d nearly tore it to pieces every night after their classes had finished.

It was their mother’s idea to put them in lessons and Rhys hadn’t minded so much, the bastard he was, and the Madam had praised Azriel as almost every tutor and trainer did. Cassian though, she’d complain about. He wasn’t doing enough, he was goofing off, he glued her bag to the stage… the last one still made him laugh on occasion. Point being, Madam Pavlova hated him, but mostly because try as he might, Cassian could not dance.

So, Cassian walked with a certain amount of apprehension through the gardens where this “brush up” would take place. An impressive array of flowers were around the square, most noticeably the incredible rose bushes that were tall and in full bloom surrounding the paved open space.

True to his High Lord’s excessiveness, there was practically an orchestra by the square, tuning their instruments and strumming lightly. Practicing for the event of the season, Cassian thought sardonically.  

As soon as he noticed the female, her gait tall and thin, Cassian shirked back, wanting to turn away. Madam Pavlova had not changed… and Cassian didn’t know what to do with that information. She was no closer to death and something about that made him snap at his luck.

She raised a brow at him as he entered, calling him forward in attention.

“Let me look at you.”

The others were already gathered, including Varian who’d stayed with Amren in the past week, and Nesta and Elain. The former he tried not to glance at, not even a little.

“Yeah Cassian, spin for us,” Rhys teased.  

Cassian flipped him off. At the displeased look from the Madam, Cassian lowered his hand slowly, grumbling to himself.

“You have grown since last I’ve seen you. Though I see, your clothes are still wrinkled and you can’t keep a tie.”

“You haven’t changed either, Madam. I see your still a bi—”

“Best we get started soon, I think,” Azriel interrupted.

The Madam smiled sweetly at Azriel. “Yes. Yes, my dear. The sooner we start, the better the dancers you become.”

She looked at them all, pursing her lips, her fingers pointing at each one of them. At last, she snapped.

“There is not enough partners!” the Madam raised, her voice going deep with displeasure.

The others looked at each other, perhaps deciding silently who would sit this one out, but it was Nesta who claimed the decision. She didn’t even acknowledge the Madam as she left the line of them, going to sit on a bench. He watched as she opened a book that she pulled out of her skirt and began reading as if that what she was planning to do all along.

Nesta promptly ignored them and she looked every bit the part of a painting. Picturesque boredom, Cassian would call it. Madam Pavlova looked to her and sniffed at the lack of manners, but Cassian snickered. It was perhaps the only entertainment he’d get today.

Leave it to Nesta to get under the old bat’s nerves. He almost felt proud.

The Madam knocked her cane next to his feet in attention, and when he looked away from Nesta, the Madam was standing in front of him a look of disdain on her face. Cassian tried not to feel twelve again, shrinking where he stood.

But she dismissed him, raising her nose and walking back through the line of them.

“To waltz is to dance as one. You and the other must constantly move with each other, anticipating the other’s move,” She stood taller, gesturing with her hands in length. Cassian wanted to laugh at the innuendo of size, but he was not a child. Besides, he doubted she’d appreciate the joke. “This is the space that should be between you and your partner, like magnets attract, you must remain within this space. Pushing, pulling, but always close.”

He could hear the wicked tap of her heels on the concrete. “Now when we begin, gentlemales, I want you to bow, and ladies, I want you to curtsy before and after the dance as properly instructed.”

Cassian watched as Rhys grabbed Feyre’s waist, pulling her forward as she rolled her eyes.

“You do know I don’t know how to waltz, don’t you?” She drawled.

“If I’m leading, Feyre darling, you know how to waltz.”

Feyre scoffed, laughing as she said, “You know, your ego might make us both fall over.”

When Cassian looked in front of him, Mor was grinning at him, taking his hand with confidence. Oh right, he thought to himself, she hadn’t arrived yet when they were first taught this. Well, she was in for a surprise.

He gripped her hand tightly, his back rigid as the music began to play. A cacophony of noise in the background. A melody of strings and woodwinds.

Cassian stepped forward as Mor stepped forward, and in a fit of perfect chaos that only he could cause, they smacked their foreheads together.

“Ouch,” Mor gasped, holding her head in her palms.

“Sorry,” Cassian mumbled, pretending his own head didn’t hurt.

Asking if she needed ice or a bandage, Mor simply rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand once more. Cassian looked to Madam Pavlova and he could see the glare in her eyes. She lifted her chin and Cassian knew it was her way of telling him to get to it.

And he tried…

“By the Mother, Cassian. It’s forward then right.”

Cassian threw up his hands, “It’s not my fault you’re leading. The male is supposed to lead!”

“I wouldn’t have to lead if you were good at dancing!”

“Enough,” the Madam called out, stomping her cane as she eyed them all. “Switch partners.”

Elain went to Rhys, Mor to Azriel, and Feyre, at last, to him. Amren refused to let go of Varian, and he thought she might have latched on to him like a spider monkey if they tried to pull her away.

Feyre smiled up at him, and laughingly curtsied as he remembered to bow. Grabbing his outstretched hand, she titled her head with concern, probably feeling how clammy his hands had gotten.

“Relax Cassian,” Feyre spoke, her brows furrowing. “It’s just like being on the battlefield.”

“How do you mean?” He asked a little too eagerly.

“Well, I’d think you’d agree that there’s a certain level of movement in battle that resembles dancing. A step here, a step there, parry, cross…”

Cassian nodded slowly, his voice sounding out of breath. “Okay. Parry. Cross.”

But when Cassian tried this technique, he only ended up stepping on her toes. He could hear Rhys and Az snickering in the background as he profusely apologized to Feyre.

“Ten silvermarks says he trips her next.”

“Twenty says they both land on the floor.”

Cassian chose to ignore his friends, making a mental reminder to beat them when they trained later in the evening.  

“Okay,” Feyre exhaled, “One step, two step—Ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry!”

He heard the hard tick of the cane abruptly hit the concrete and the deep sigh of disappointment as Madam Pavlova stopped the music. He watched as she covered her eyes with her hands, as if she couldn’t stand to see the shame.

“We will start again,” She announced with that thick accent of hers, “Switch again.”

They began to shift, but Cassian caught Nesta’s gaze. Her book abandoned, sitting at her side and he mentally grumbled that his pain must have been entertaining to her.

Technically Amren was next, but she pushed Elain towards him.

“No chance I’m dancing with him.”

Cassian made a face.

Elain giggled. Flowers were tucked in her hair, and as she curtsied the petals glided in the soft wind. Cassian bowed sheepishly, already regretting being paired with someone as sweet as her. He knew she wouldn’t tell him when he hurt her, and he already felt guilty as the music started.  

“I apologize in advance for stepping on your feet.”

He was right of course, because when the monotonous tune once again stopped abruptly, Elain smiled through the pained expression.

And it was that look that made deep frustration fill his chest. After all this time, after all this practice, he could still not waltz. He had not learned at twelve, he’d not learned at five like Rhys or Mor. No tutors or governesses had taught him how to be adequate. All Cassian had learned as a child was to hit where it hurt and to take anything he could get his hands on.

His mother would’ve been ashamed.

Rhys’s mother—the only mother he knew—would have sat back and sighed. As disappointed as Madam Pavlova. He could almost see it, the look as the Madam had told her that he wasn’t progressing like Rhys and Azriel were. That he wasn’t fit for the life of a socialite or high-class citizen. He was rubbish, bastard trash.  

It will bring you skill in battle and luck in love, she’d said as he did behind the desk, waiting for the classes to be over.

Cassian didn’t feel skilled or lucky, and he clenched his fists, his impatience sounding as loud as that orchestra that played the same tune over and over. He wanted to go over there and shove that flute up the musician’s—

Cassian felt a hand on his shoulder and his gaze landed on hers as he settled his hand on her waist.

Her hair was in that ever-present coronet, but today, it had been tied with a white bow on the back. Cassian could see the ends of the ribbon touch her neck, flapping lightly. His eyes drifted the whole of her. She was wearing a sleeveless dress, the short straps bordered by delicate lace at the shoulders and neckline and all of her looked like the picture of elegance. A beautiful, proper lady.

He was not fit to hold her, not really. Not even if he wanted to, even if he imagined it sometimes—when he allowed himself to dream. Cassian was certain of it as she grasped his hand. It was so much smaller than his, her skin so much softer than the callouses that lined his palms.

Nesta blinked up at him, her long lashes casting shadows along her face. The teal color of her gown brought out the blue in her eyes.

A perfect female indeed.

As the music started, he felt the strongest urge to pull away so she could not see how inadequate he was. Never mind that she’d never see him that way. Cassian did not want her to see him in any way that pointed out his flaws. He’d already shown her too many.

But she took in a breath, her chest rising and falling, and he unconsciously did the same. A calm setting over them like the soft notes of a piano playing.  

“It’s just you…” She said softly, lower than the whisper of notes. He focused on her mouth as she spoke, eager for the words to reach his ears. She moved a step. Cassian lured by her movement, followed. “And me…” She mouthed as she moved another, her grip warm in his palm.

“And the music.”

Cassian didn’t realize they’d been moving as he stared, staying closer to her. As she moved, he moved, as she dipped he followed. If she spun he was there, holding her hand to bring her back to him as if they were in orbit. The earth and the moon in constant rotation, holding each other together as they traveled around the sun.

The music slowed around them, and it was not the same sound as when they began. Perhaps, Cassian had tuned it out altogether in favor of staring into Nesta’s eyes as if she could see all the way to his soul.

She had come to him, come to his rescue when he was panicked and alone, and Cassian once again felt it in his chest—that deep feeling that… Nesta had known him for all his life. Had understood his darkest places, his bitterest fears.

They slowed to a stop, but Cassian didn’t let go until the clapping started. Nesta cringed as she pulled away, clapping slowly as she chose to look anywhere but at him.

He didn’t look at the others, but he thought perhaps they’d been watching them for their applause was… teasing and careful.

“Oh!” Cassian gasped. Nesta’s gaze flew to his, but he merely bowed lowly, his hair hanging from his face.

Nesta smiled lightly, a soft, cautious tilt of her lips. Her neck and back were straight as she curtsied, grace in every moment.

She backed away from him, and Cassian tried not to reach for her, tried not to be noticeably discomforted from that lack of closeness. He watched as she picked up her book, and settled back on the bench, her teal gown bright against the red rose bushes.

He refused to look at the others as he turned away, but Cassian looked to Madam Pavlova.

She was nodding slowly in approval.  

~

@allilal @ekaterinakostrova @soitsgorgeous (I forget who to tag. So I just tagged people I know??)

I honestly don’t know where this came from because I wrote it in a hour, which clearly says I’m a liar when I say I cannot write in a timely fashion. 

Umm, I hoped you liked it. It was technically I guess suppose to go in my longer fic, but since ACOSF is coming out soon, I feel like I won’t finish that, so I’m thinking of just posting one shots of things that happen. But Idk. This might have just been a shot in the dark. 

Anyways Happy New Year!!! Nessian makes everything better!

Comment, Reblog, Like for more and happy reading!

[lily-mj-fae]

If your prompts are still open. Az has gone missing on a mission that he’s been undercover for 6 months and Elain’s worried sick and a vice a versa of the “I’m getting her back” moment. Where Elain uses her powers to find him and save him 🤗

We have more things outside my comfort zone xD But I like action like this and I can use it to play off of some things floating around in my head. Also, I totally loved that Azriel was like “I’m being a part of this mission to save elain. No one is stopping me” because YESS. Also, this is difficult, at least for me to do as a one shot. SO I am sorry for the wait, it’s only been 20,000 years. But I hope that you enjoy it regardless. It ended up being almost 3000 words. Which is a lot for me.

Az had always found a way to contact her, even when he likely shouldn’t have. It’d been a way to reassure her that he was safe. After the times Feyre disappeared and they never heard from her (though part of that had been a whole other mess), it had been comforting that he would let her know he was safe.

After 3 months, the communication stopped. She waited a few days, then a couple weeks. And soon it’d been four months since he’d left, and a whole month without any communication. She was worried at that point. But when she’d brought it up to Nuala and Cerridwen, they had somewhat helped ease her worries. Sometimes, no matter how much Azriel might want to try to keep in touch, he would have to forgo it sometimes.

And that worked to calm her for only another month. When another month passed, and she hadn’t heard from him, the worry began to return. But he was supposed to be home soon. She could wait and count the days.

But once it’d hit the mark that he’d been gone for six months, she was beyond reasoning anymore. He was supposed to be home. He should have been home, and if he wasn’t going to be home, he would have told someone…anyone that he’d been delayed. Even the others were worried though they tried to rationalize it. And they’d never say anything to her. But they didn’t know she’d been learning from him and the shadow twins. So she knew even they were worried.

So it came down to Elain. She would find him, if it was the last thing she did.

When Nuala and Cerridwen entered her room, she was dressed in a way she’d never been dressed before. She had on pants, and tunic, held together with a belt. A dagger that Azriel had gifted her at his side.

“Lady…” Nuala had started.

“Nuala,” Elain interrupted. “Something has happened to Azriel, and I know it. And no one else is as concerned as me. They don’t know that they should be worried.”

It was Cerridwen who gave a subtle nod. Followed shortly by her twin.

“I think I can find him,” Elain continued shortly. “But…I don’t know if I can help him alone. But I have to go after him. I have to find him and I have to do whatever I can to help him.”

It was a plea for them to help, though she couldn’t find the words to directly ask them. That was something she still struggled with. Something she wasn’t sure how to overcome. Perhaps it was guilt, from being so reliant on Feyre for so long, and not feeling able to do more for her. And now the idea of relying on anyone for help, it brought back feelings of guilt and shame. At least, with the important things, the bigger things.

The shadow twins, for everything they’d done to help teach her, seemed to understand. And this was why she was relieved when they gave another silent nod. It was the middle of the night. Rhys and Feyre had retired to their room long ago and would hopefully either be too preoccupied to notice her leaving, or fast asleep already.

She paused though, opening the door a crack to close a letter into it for Feyre. She didn’t want her sister to think she’d been taken. Or that she’d run away. But she intended to ensure that Feyre didn’t follow after her. She could do this, and would. Azriel and the shadow twins had taught her a lot.

Feyre,

I’ve left to get Azriel. I couldn’t sit and wait any longer. I know something has happened. So I’m going to find him. Don’t worry. I have help. And I know we can save him. I’ll be back.

Elain

Then Elain followed the twins out the front door of the river manor, and they stepped into shadows. Traveling through shadows had probably been the strangest thing that Elain had learned from Azriel. It was almost like winnowing (though she hadn’t been able to learn that), only instead of feeling like she was in a void, she felt wrapped in mysterious fabric. She preferred it. She wanted to be well outside of Velaris before using the Map she’d packed to try and find Azriel. As far as she could be from both sisters in case they tried to trace her using her powers.

Once they were in the woods, hiding in a cave, wrapped in shadows, Elain pulled out the map and laid it out flat. She’d only used this particular piece of her abilities twice. And even then, it’d only worked once, when finding the suriel for Feyre. But Nuala and Cerridwen each put a comforting hand on her shoulder and she closed her eyes. She focused on Azriel. On the way his scars looked and felt. On that sometimes faraway look in his eyes. On the way his wings shifted when he moved. She focused on the sound of his voice, the sound of his laugh.

And then her hand was moving, pointed finger tracing along the map until it stopped. She took a moment before opening her eyes. And then she was filled with such a deep rage as she’d never felt before that she was moving. Leaving behind the map, and nearly the twins as she moved. She let herself move through shadows quickly and without thought. Nuala and Cerridwen barely kept up with her. Until she started slowly from exhaustion. But she kept trying to push herself until the twins grabbed her and held her.

“You can’t keep going, lady,” Nuala said gently.

“You’re exhausted. You won’t be able to help him if you use all of your strength now,” Cerridwen reminded. 

And because they’d stopped moving, Elain felt the exhaustion truly hit her. And she nearly fell back into the females. So she nodded and set down her pack. She grabbed a blanket, and smiled slightly to herself when she saw the twins with their blankets from Solstice. It didn’t take long for sleep to claim her though as she wrapped herself with her own blanket, huddled with the two shadows. 

When Elain woke, she knew more time than she’d have liked had passed. But Nuala and Cerridwen had food. 

“You need to eat too,” they chided. And Elain listened, taking the food. She ate it, feeling her stomach grumbling anyway. She even pulled out the apples she had packed and handed each of the twins one and ate one herself. Then she made quick work of packing everything up and getting ready to move again. She would get to Azriel today. She didn’t care what it would take. 

Once the three women had their things together, she left the map for last. She checked again, focusing in on Azriel, letting her finger come to rest on his location. He hadn’t been moved. She felt both relief and fear there. She could still find him. But what if it meant a worse fate for him than she expected? She didn’t let herself consider the worst. She needed to keep it together as she put away the map and joined the shadow twins. 

Together they kept moving even as they reached where the wall had once stood. It felt strange, passing through that spot. Elain could still feel the remains of the immense power that it had possessed when it had been standing, though they were able to cross the invisible boundary with no problem. Soon she came to the fortress that she could never forget. She imagined that in a few centuries, it would be crumbling while she would look as she did now. That was strange.

“You two will need to disappear into the shadows,” she said softly. “If anything happens, you’ll need to be able to save him. It’s better if they think I’m alone.”

The two gave silent nods. Elain had no doubt that there would be some conflict if things came to turn. And likely they’d be trying to save her. But she was not the one needing rescuing today. 

Elain marched through the gate to Graysen’s family’s estate. The dogs approached, some growling. But some still recognized her for who she was. And they seemed almost confused, staying back. But Elain paid them no mind as she marched to the door. And then she banged her fist against the wood. Probably with more force than she intended, ultimately leaving a small dent in the spot. 

When the servant opened the door, Elain saw the flicker of surprise and recognition, and then terror as she took in the distinctly fae ears.

“I must speak with Lord Graysen,” Elain said, her tone as soft as she could allow it to be while demanding her ex-fiance’s presence.

“He will not-”

“He will come speak to me, now, or I will be forced to enter myself. Do not make me do that.” It felt wrong, made her heart skip and race with nervous energy to be so harsh. She did not like it. But she didn’t have time for politeness. Az needed help, and she was the only one coming for him.

The woman seemed to understand that Elain wasn’t going anywhere and nodded before leaving. Elain waited, taking deep breaths to calm herself. It had been a few years since she’d seen Graysen. And even then, it had ended horribly. It didn’t matter that she’d prepared herself to face it either, it had broken her and she’d been unable to hold it together. She could not fall apart again. She couldn’t afford to, Az couldn’t afford it.

The door opened, and there stood Graysen. The years hadn’t changed him, not yet. His hair was still a deep brown, his eyes blue like the ocean. But gone was all the warmth that had once been directed at her. Instead, he stared at her with cold hatred. 

“You are not welcome here,” he growled out at her. 

“Where is he?” she demanded in kind.

“Where is who?” he asked. “Surely not that mate of yours. I let Jurian deal with him. And your kind isn’t welcome here.”

Elain glowered. Both at the mention of Lucien against her, and the way he spoke of her. It wasn’t as if she’d asked to be kidnapped in the middle of the night and tossed into the cauldron. It wasn’t as if she’d asked to be fae. “I know he’s here,” she said in a low voice. “I am giving you the chance to free Azriel, or I will take him myself.”

“You know what my fortress is like, Elain. You wouldn’t make it. You’d die first.”

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you Graysen.” 

“I caught your friend didn’t I?”

“Wasn’t he here to talk about the Mortal Queens? You don’t kidnap and hold those who are trying to help you.”

It made sense now. Azriel hadn’t told her everything. He was going to gather more intel on the mortal queens, and then relay them at a meeting. She hadn’t really thought about it much, assuming it would be with Lucien and Jurian as well. But instead he ended up being held by Graysen.

“What does it matter to you? Don’t you think that you’re spreading yourself a little thin. A mate. This...creature. Are there other men? Perhaps Jurian and he just wants to keep that tidbit to him-”

Silence followed the sound of skin hitting skin. Elain’s hand dropped. Greysen’s head was turned, his hand cradling his cheek as blood started to pool at the corner of his mouth.

“Do. Not. Try to shame me. Not for what I am. Not for Lucien. And not for Az. I loved you. With all my heart once upon a time,” she ground out. “I did not ask for what happened. I did not want it. I wanted to be here. With you. You rejected me. I didn’t ask for a mate. I didn’t want one. You were the only person I wanted. And you will not shame me for moving on. I will ask only one more time, Where is Azriel?”

Graysen looked at her with a mixture of deepened disgust and yet also fear. He hadn’t expected her to do that. Or for her to be so strong. 

But he did not answer her. So she stepped closer. Glaring up at him. “It would do well to not hurt those who are trying to help you. Not when you know the mortal queens and most of Prythian couldn’t care about any of the humans here. Or you’ll likely find yourself isolated. And you and I both know you wouldn’t survive in the end,” she said. “And I can promise you, you’ll be lucky if you don’t die for whatever harm you’ve already caused. My sister, and her mate, are rather protective of their friends.”

He glared back at her, but said nothing. She knew he was considering her words carefully.

“You have ten minutes,” he told her. “Ten minutes to find him and get out before I let loose a hunt on the grounds.”

She sighed. It was likely the best she was going to get. So she nodded. And then closed her eyes, Holding Azriel in her mind. 

“Aren’t you going to go look for him? You’re wasting precious time,” he mocked.

But she ignored him. She reached for Azriel. And let herself walk, without opening her eyes. She stayed focused on the male she loved. Her feet moved light and quick, and she was even sure she’d likely slipped into the shadows to move even faster.

“Elain?”

She opened her eyes and found Azriel chained to the wall. Immediately she recognized the Faebane. And she wondered if Graysen had made sure to collect some when Hybern’s camps and armies were being raided. She was shocked she’d even managed to find him. She remembered Feyre describing how hard it had been to find Rhys when he’d been bound with it. But perhaps being cauldron made was her own private advantage. 

She smiled at him. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed in her time to find him, but she knew regardless it was dwindling. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get you out of here,” she said softly.

“We?”

Elain didn’t need to elaborate as the shadow twins came out of shadows, stepping forward. They began working on the locks to the small cell Azriel was in. And Elain barely waited for it to open before rushing in to him. She threw her arms around him. 

“Has he hurt you?” she asked, something dark in her voice. 

She was focused solely on Azriel as the shadow twins picked the locks on the cuffs. She made a mental note though to add that to the things she learned. 

Azriel shook his head. “Not really,” he groaned. “Caught me by surprise and knocked me out. And then locked me down here. He questioned me a lot. Nothing more.”

Elain wasn’t sure if he was being entirely honest. But she didn’t have time to spare for making Graysen pay. Not when she had to get Azriel out of there. His arms fell free, wrapping around her. And she soaked up that embrace. 

“We have to go,” she murmured. Graysen gave me ten minutes to find you and get off his land. After that, if we’re caught we’re in trouble.”

He nodded, and she stood, offering him a hand to help him up. It was clear the male was weakened, and it infuriated Elain. But she had to get him to safety. That was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that she could focus on.

To hide all of them as they moved, Elain had to work with the shadow twins. And she knew time had run out when they heard a guard running down a hall. They managed to just duck into a quiet room, sitting in the dark. When they’d passed, the group moved again, swiftly and quietly. 

There were a few close calls. But they managed to stay hidden, alert the whole time. Instead of fleeing towards the wall, Elain took them to the ruined estate that had once been home. She wanted Azriel to have some time and space to rest, and she set up a spot for him, starting a small fire and watching as he slept. He seemed restless in his sleep, and it worried her. So she placed a gentle hand on his head and stroked his hair, until he seemed to relax a bit. She’d done it. She’d saved him. She hadn’t been sure she’d be able to. But she had. And now it was time to take him home.