#Feyre is very smug about it

[shallyne]

Feysand trying for a baby

Feyre: okay, let's go!

Rhys: Feyre, I'm not a faucet that you can turn on and off, you gotta romance me-

Feyre: *unbuttons her shirt*

Rhys: okay, faucet is on, let's do it!

@officialfeysandweek2023

[inkedinshadows]

Echoes of the Bond

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: part 2 of 3 of "A Helping Hand". When mates are reunited, Y/N grows curious about what the mating bond is, causing Azriel's brain to short-circuit.

Warnings: none I guess?

Word count: 3.7k

A Helping Hand (part 1)

֍֍֍֍֍

Y/N got out of the tub, wrapping her body in a soft towel.

For the last three weeks, she'd been able to take a bath on her own. Azriel had helped twice after that first time, and even Mor had tried when Azriel wasn't around. But Y/N wasn't comfortable with her there, not as she was with the Shadowsinger. Knowing she couldn't always count on him for something as basic as washing herself, she'd learned – or relearned, actually – how to do it herself. There were still bad days when the first few minutes in the water had her gasping for air, but they were now few and far between. And when they did occur, she usually imagined Azriel's heartbeat beneath her palm, just like the first time, and she'd calm down. She never told him that, though.

Sliding on a dress, she headed out of her room and toward the dining room. She was getting used to living in the House of Wind, almost looking forward to having meals with the Inner Circle. Elain and Nesta were still having a hard time adapting to this new life and refused to leave their rooms, and Y/N would visit them sometimes, but they'd never really been close. Out of the three sisters, Feyre was her friend, and she missed her. Things would be easier if she were back in the Night Court.

When Y/N entered the room, Azriel and Cassian were already there. She offered them a smile as she sat at the table, a plate of her favorite pastries appearing before her as soon as she did. Even after a month in Prythian, she was still trying to wrap her mind around magic. Real magic, right in front of her.

“How are you today?”

Y/N turned to Cassian with a small smile. “I'm feeling better every day.” She glanced at Azriel, who always seemed worried she might be lying about it. “And I haven't had any nightmares in a few days.”

Azriel inclined his head, a barely-there gesture she might have missed if she hadn't grown used to his subtle movements. Ever since he first helped her, she had become keenly aware of his every move.

“That's good,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her for a second longer before he returned his attention to his breakfast.

With Cassian's focus still on her, she picked up one of her pastries as she addressed him again. “And how are your wings?”

“Feeling better every day,” he answered, repeating her words with a mocking smile. He even extended them behind him to demonstrate the truthfulness of his statement. “Biggest wingspan getting back on track, I can tell you that.”

Y/N chuckled. “You have the biggest wingspan?”

“Oh, you bet I do.” Cassian's grin was nothing less than smug. “I could show you exactly how big–”

Azriel's snarl interrupted him. “Watch it, Cassian.”

But Cassian didn't seem particularly bothered. “Why? She asked,” he replied with a shrug. “I was merely offering her a chance to see for her–”

He was cut off by Azriel's low growl. Y/N looked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion at the reaction. She'd never heard such a tone from him before, never seen him so on edge. Glancing from one Illyrian to the other, she realized there might be something she wasn't aware of, or maybe wingspan was just a very sensitive topic for them.

Cassian lifted his hands up in surrender, finally picking up on his brother's rising irritation. “Relax, Az.” He glanced at Y/N, then back at him. “It was just a joke, brother.”

But Azriel still seemed tense, and Y/N reached over to him to place a hand on his arm. “Azriel,” she said gently, “are you alright?”

He’d always been there for her since she’d arrived at the Night Court, and she now wanted to do the same for him, even if she didn’t know what had triggered such a reaction from him.

Those beautiful hazel eyes slid to her hand touching him, then to her face, and he finally relaxed as he gave her a nod. “Yeah… sorry about that,” he murmured, casting an apologetic look in Cassian’s direction, receiving only a dismissive wave of hand in return.

As Y/N pulled back, a few tendrils of Azriel's shadows slithered between her fingers and curled around her wrist. Their master looked at them as if they were disobedient children and Cassian's eyes widened, but she only chuckled.

Shadows lingered in the darkest corners of her room, swirling under furniture or inside cracks as if they were trying to hide. But she knew they were there – she'd first noticed them one day when Azriel had brought her a tray of food, back when hunger was an unknown feeling and she didn't eat. Though neither she nor Azriel ever said anything about it, knowing his shadows were always with her was a comforting thought. But they'd never openly approached her before.

“They seem to like you,” Cassian pointed out, his voice muffled by the food he had just stuffed in his mouth.

Y/N watched the shadows linger around her wrist as a bracelet, a warm feeling sparking in her chest, there and gone as soon as the shadows hurtled back to their master. “I think they’re cute,” she said with a smile, her eyes meeting Azriel’s for a moment before they both looked away. She could have sworn a faint blush crept up his cheeks. It only made her smile grow.

Cassian seemed to notice it too, because he paused mid-bite. His eyes narrowed as he focused first on his brother, then on her, then on Azriel again. And then his jaw almost dropped, his eyes now widened.

Y/N was about to chuckle at the sight, but Azriel was even more serious than usual and just gave Cassian a short nod. She frowned, aware once more that there was some kind of silent conversation going on between the two brothers. But neither of them bothered to enlighten her, and she didn't ask. She was still new to their world, and to their group. They would have told her if it was something they thought she should know, she was sure of it.

They continued to eat their breakfast, though a somewhat tense silence had now settled over them. Azriel kept his eyes on his food while Cassian was miserably failing at hiding his grin as he glanced between the two of them. On her part, Y/N felt like anything she could say would be the wrong thing, so she didn't say anything.

Once they were done eating, she stood up, intent on heading back to her room or maybe stopping at the library Rhys had shown her a few days before. But Cassian called out her name and she stopped in her tracks, turning around in time to notice Azriel's warning look at his brother.

“Would you like to leave the House for a few hours?” Cassian asked her with a smile. “Az and I could show you around Velaris. You said you wanted to see it yesterday.”

“I did,” she confirmed, surprised by the offer.

Azriel was now watching her, more relaxed than a few minutes ago as he waited for her answer. And she didn't even need to think about it.

“I'd really like that, yes.”

“Good!” Cassian almost burst out of his seat and guided her towards the doors that led out onto the balcony, Azriel trailing silently after them. “Then I hope you're not afraid of heights.”

Y/N frowned. “Heights? No, why?”

It was Azriel who answered this time. “The easiest way to reach the city is by flight.” He walked up to her, standing so close that his scent enveloped her, and she had to fight not to close her eyes and breathe it in. “Will you trust me to fly you down?”

She smiled then, soft and warm. “Az, of course I do.” After everything he’d done for her, there was probably nothing she wouldn't trust him with. “You know that.”

A coughing fit drew her attention to Cassian as he tried to suppress a giggle.

“What’s going on with you today?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, nothing,” he snickered. “I'll see you down there.” He extended his wings and with a powerful beat, he shot skyward.

Y/N turned back to Azriel with a raised eyebrow, but he simply shook his head. “Ignore him,” he said, his tone somewhere between amused and annoyed. “He acts like a big child sometimes.”

She chuckled again, but it quickly died when Azriel stepped even closer. He moved slowly, as if he wanted to give her all the time to change her mind and push him away, but she didn't. And then his arms were at her knees and her back, and he effortlessly picked her up and cradled her to his chest.

Her heart skipped a beat and she tried her best not to blush at the proximity, the gentleness he was holding her with. It reminded her of when he'd washed her, every movement careful and studied so as not to startle her. That feeling in her chest came back, but it was more like a gentle tug. Toward what, she didn’t know.

“Are you ready?” His voice was soft, like he didn't want to ruin the moment, but his eyes bore into her and she could only nod, her ability to speak momentarily forgotten.

Next thing she knew, they were airborne. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck for more support when she realized just how high up in the sky they were, the House of Wind growing smaller behind them. She forced herself to peer at the city below them. And she stopped breathing altogether.

If the view from the House of Wind was beautiful, then there were no words to describe it from right above it. Velaris was sprawled below them, shining in the light of the morning sun, the river flowing through it to the sea, and as they slowly descended towards the city, Y/N could make out people in the streets, the sounds of music and laughter filling her ears.

“It's… so beautiful,” she murmured, her awestruck tone bringing a smile on Azriel’s lips.

“You should see it at night,” he replied, flying around until he spotted Cassian waiting for them. “There's a reason why it's called the City of Starlight.”

“Maybe you could take me flying at night, then.”

She didn't know where the words had come from, why she'd suggested it. Azriel definitely had more important things to do than show her a night view of Velaris. Sleep seemed like a good option, for example. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away.

But Azriel landed and gently placed her on her feet again, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment before he pulled away. “Maybe I could.” There was no hint of playfulness in his voice. He really meant it.

Before Y/N could answer, Cassian approached and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “There you are! I was starting to think you two would never come down.”

Azriel shot him a glare and simply gestured for them to start walking down the street. Cassian was still speaking, but she wasn’t listening, too busy taking in their surroundings to focus on anything else. She'd never seen a city before – none were left in the human lands – and Velaris was bustling with life. She marveled at every shop, every little corner, every painted house.

They had reached the end of the street, a bridge over the Sidra now in front of them, when both Cassian and Azriel tensed. Y/N turned to them, mouth already open to ask what was wrong, but a small cry of surprise came out instead as Mor suddenly appeared next to them.

“We have to go,” was all she said, her voice firm. She was wearing black leathers like the Illyrians, as if she was ready for a fight.

The three of them exchanged a glance, Y/N even more confused than before. Azriel simply said, “I'll take her to the townhouse,” and scooped her up in his arms once more. She only had time to see Mor grab Cassian's hand and winnow away before they were soaring through the sky again.

“Az, what's going on?” she finally asked, turning her face to look at him.

His unreadable expression only caused her to be even more nervous, yet Azriel didn't answer until he landed on the doorstep of a house and set her down. “It's Feyre.” Her heart jumped at the words. “She's in the Winter Court. We're getting her back.”

The door opened behind them, and Amren appeared. She lifted a brow at the sight of Y/N, probably not expecting her, but she simply looked at Azriel. “Go. Now.”

The Shadowsinger looked at Y/N one last time, gave them a sharp nod, and shot to the skies.

“Come inside, girl.” Amren stepped aside to let her walk by. “Looks like we've got some waiting to do.”

~~~~~~

Waiting must be some kind of torture.

Apparently, Amren didn't know much about Feyre's situation. She only explained that Rhys had spoken mind-to-mind with all of them, saying his mate had left the Spring Court. Other than that, she had no idea if Feyre was fine or hurt.

But Y/N wasn’t worried just about her friend. She was worried about Azriel too, as if he weren't a centuries-old warrior who could definitely look out for himself. Maybe it was just Amren's presence that set her even more on edge. The short female made her nervous, perhaps due to the power that seemed to thrum from her, or the way she seemed to look at her as if she could see into the depths of her soul.

After an hour that felt more like a century, five figures winnowed into the living room. Y/N flinched, then shot to her feet and ran to Feyre, not caring about the dirt that covered her friend as she held her tight. Feyre stumbled back a step, probably caught off guard, but hugged her back a second later.

“Y/N.” She pulled back, scanning her head to toe. “Are you alright?”

Y/N almost laughed at that. She wasn't the one who'd just needed a rescue party. “If I'm alright? Are you alright?”

Feyre nodded, but her attention quickly shifted. “Yeah, I'm… I'm alright.” Her eyes were searching the room, as if looking for something. Or someone, Y/N guessed.

Letting go of her friend, Y/N realized there was another person with them. A red-haired Fae with a mechanical golden eye. She'd seen him before – that day in Hybern. Now that her recollection of those events was clearer, she remembered him claiming Elain was his mate just as she came out of the Cauldron, right before they'd shoved her in.

Cassian, Azriel and Mor were assessing him, as if deciding what to do with him. But she paid little attention to what was being said, focusing instead on the Shadowsinger, searching for any sign of discomfort or – gods forbid – wounds. She sighed in relief when she found none, unsure of why she'd been so worried in the first place.

The conversation halted, and she whirled to see Rhysand appear in the doorway. Feyre sank to her knees, tears in her eyes, and he was immediately there to hold her. “My love,” he whispered, though they all heard it in the silence. “My mate.”

Once again, Y/N felt a slight tug in her chest, and her gaze was drawn to Azriel. She found him already looking at her, but when their eyes met,  he seemed to shrink into his shadows like he wanted to disappear. She unconsciously rubbed her chest as she averted her gaze.

“Go find somewhere else to be for a while,” Rhys ordered them.

One by one, they filed out the door and onto the street. Azriel declared he was going to fly her back to the House of Wind, the others announcing they’d be waiting in Amren's apartment until given the order to return to the townhouse. And so Y/N found herself in Azriel's arms for the third time in the span of less than two hours.

Despite her increased heart rate, she felt like a bit of a burden, needing to be carried around by him when he obviously had more pressing matters to take care of. Yet she couldn't deny the safety she felt in his arms while they flew toward the mountain and its house.

“Az,” she said after a couple minutes, “that male you brought back with Feyre–”

He looked down at her. “Lucien?”

Y/N nodded. “That day in Hybern, he… he said Elain was his mate.”

Azriel aimed for one of the balconies of the House of Wind. “What about it?”

“Fey and Rhys are mates as well,” she added, her brow furrowed. The High Lord had referred to her friend as such many times over the last few weeks.

The Shadowsinger landed and set her down, looking at her as if urging her to continue, not sure what she was trying to say. But he seemed to be holding his breath.

Maybe she should just let him go back to the others and keep her questions for later. But instead she asked, “What is a mate?”

Azriel tensed. She thought he might not answer, but then he spoke, his tone carrying a hint of reverence. “Mates are… equals, in every way. It's a very rare bond, but it's so deep and powerful that it's cherished and honored above others. Even marriage.”

Y/N rubbed her chest, the spot where she kept feeling that pull. Azriel cocked his head, noting the movement. She should definitely let him go, yet he made no movement to leave, and she found herself blurting out, “Do you have a mate?”

His shadows stilled their constant swirling around him. Maybe it was rude to ask, or it was a sensitive topic for him. Whatever the reason, she shouldn't–

“I do,” he answered, right as she was about to apologize. “I've found her recently.”

Her heart dropped. She didn't know why the idea of him with a mate bothered her, but that damn feeling in her chest grew stronger, and she had to resist the urge to rub it again.

“How is she?”

Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut, why did she have to keep asking questions? Why did she even care if Azriel had a mate or not? She'd just learnt what that meant anyway. At least her voice sounded soft and genuinely curious, not at all clipped – a small consolation.

“She is… kind, and gentle.” He spoke slowly, his words chosen carefully. But then his eyes softened and his shadows began to move again, a few tendrils stretching out towards her. “She's a lot like you, actually.”

All she took from his answer – what she chose to focus on, anyway – was that Azriel saw her as kind and gentle and that she reminded him of someone as important as his mate. Though it still stung a little, if she had to be honest. 

“Well,” she replied, her tone lighter as she took a step back. She smiled up at him. “She's lucky to have you, Az.”

She meant it. If he was even just half as sweet and caring with his mate as he'd been with her that first week after Hybern, then his mate was a really lucky girl. But the thought caused guilt to eat away at her insides. All those times she'd asked him for help – with her baths or to stay with her until she fell asleep – were all moments she'd stolen from him when he could have been with his mate instead. Every time he'd brought her food and checked on her, or even just spent a few hours in comfortable silence as she adjusted to her new life and body.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, unaware of the flustered expression on Azriel's face after her last comment. “When you helped me, I… I never meant to keep you from her. I hope she doesn't–”

“Don't worry about it,” he cut her off, a small smile now playing on his lips. “I'll always be there to help you when you need it.”

Y/N smiled again, whispering a ‘thank you’, though she was still not entirely convinced. But Azriel extended his beautiful wings, ready to return to his friends.

“You know how to get back to your room from here, yes?” he inquired, glancing behind her at the doors that led inside. When she nodded, he continued, “I'll see you later, then.”

A beat of his wings, and he was gone.

With a sigh, Y/N turned to walk inside, mindlessly brushing that same spot near her heart.

~~~~~~

Azriel used the few minutes of flight to reel in his nerves.

What was he thinking, telling Y/N his mate was a lot like her? The question had caught him off guard, and his brain had stopped working. He couldn't very well tell her they were mates – not there, not like that – but he should have come up with some better answer.

She’s lucky to have you.

The words echoed in his mind. He knew she meant it, like she seemed to mean everything she said. But would she still feel lucky once she learned it was her, that she was the one who had him from the first moment he saw her a month ago?

The only thing he was sure about was that Y/N could feel the bond. He'd seen her rub her chest multiple times, always in the same place, right where he felt their bond in his own chest. She just didn't know what it meant. He couldn't blame her for it, not when she was still new to the faerie world.

Even as he joined the others in Amren's apartment, it was difficult to keep his attention on the conversation, on keeping an eye on Lucien, on what their next step would be. For the first time in decades, he was having troubles focusing, his mind constantly shifting to Y/N.

He couldn't go on like this. He had to tell her. He'd waited because she was still processing everything she'd gone through, but now she was feeling better. And she'd asked about mates. She deserved to know.

Azriel made his decision. Next time they'd be alone, he'd tell her the whole truth. Hoping she'd understand and not push him away.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it.

֍֍֍֍֍

Read part 3 here!

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Thinking yk FOR THE FAR FAAAAR future, do we want smut or can I do it like, with not so many details (not gonna leave you hanging just not very descriptive)

Also, I'm curious about how I'm gonna approach the rest of this 😔

Again, I've been writing this for WEEEKS but just now I started to build it in order and unite a scene with another, so don't be shocked I'm writing this fast (bc I'm not, it was already done hihi

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, Tamlin is not even here, we are at 20% book following, chatacter death, Amarantha still alive for a while, a tiny little bit of gore (not very detailed, but It's for the greater good), Rhysaaand 😝

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 6: The Chase

You couldn't sleep. The air in the cell was too heavy, thick with damp stone and fear and the promise of tomorrow.

You sat against the wall, knees tucked close to your chest, staring at the crack of faint torchlight beneath the door. Days had passed since the last ball — since Rhysand had kissed you senseless in some dark corridor, his body pressing yours against the cold stone, hands mapping every curve through your dress while the Court was distracting themselves with something else.

You could still feel the phantom imprint of his fingers on your waist. The ghost of his breath against your lips.

You didn't know what hurt more — the ache on your feet from staying so long on those shoes or the ache blooming deep in your chest. Would you ever feel him like that again? Would you ever see the way his violet eyes darkened when you whispered something in his ear — or hear the little growl that always slipped from him when you pressed your body against his under the guise of another dance?

You squeezed your eyes shut. If you let yourself think about tomorrow — about what would happen if Feyre and you failed — you'd start crying. And if you started crying, you didn't think you'd ever stop.

A soft rustle broke the silence. You opened your eyes to see Feyre sitting up across the cell, wrapped in that new blanket Rhysand got you days ago. Her face was pale in the dim light, hollowed out with exhaustion. But her blue-grey eyes were clear when they met yours.

"Can't sleep?” she whispered. You shook your head.

Feyre crawled across the cold stone floor, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself as she settled by your side, separated by some metal bars. She leaned her head to your side, inviting you to do the same, just like she used to back in that little cottage, when winter winds howled through the cracks in the walls and neither of you knew if there'd be enough money for the next day.

"I can't believe we're still alive," she murmured.

You huffed a laugh — soft, breathless. "I can't believe we've survived this long without killing each other."

Feyre's mouth curved. Silence stretched between you, it felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. You both clung to the warmth of each other.

After a long while, Feyre shifted against you. "You... you and Rhysand..."

Your stomach flipped, heat rushing to your cheeks. "What about us?"

Feyre's nose scrunched. "I see the way he looks at you."

You couldn't help it, a small, smug smile tugged at your lips. "And how about the way I look at him?"

Feyre made a disgusted little noise in the back of her throat. "Like you want to climb into his lap and never leave."

You laughed, covering your face with your hands — because she wasn't entirely wrong. "Gods, you have no idea."

Feyre peeked at you through your fingers, horrified. "You're actually enjoying this."

You bit your lip — heart pounding — as your mind flicked through every stolen moment you'd shared with him. "You weren't there the first time he kissed me away from people's eyes," you whispered, voice barely audible. "It was after that first ball... in one of the corridors when he was taking me back to change. He pushed me against the wall, I don't even remember what we talked, but suddenly there were hands in my hair, lips on my neck—"

"STOP." Feyre clapped her hands over her ears.

You grinned. "Or last week... when he dragged me onto that balcony, away from everyone, and made me sit on his lap the whole time—"

"I will literally throw myself into the Wyrm pit." You chuckled — but the sound died in your throat as the memories crashed into you.

His mouth on yours — hot and slow and desperate. His hands sliding up your thighs beneath the slit of one of those dresses he made you wear, his breath ragged against your ear as he murmured how dangerous this was, how much he hated you for making him want you this much.

You'd never been touched like that before — not in centuries. Not since the last time you'd let someone see who you truly were. And Rhys... He didn't even know the half of it.

You swallowed hard, staring at the wall across from you. "I don't know what I'm going to do if I never get to be with him again."

It was the first time you'd admitted it out loud — how deep he'd carved himself into you without even trying.

Feyre's face softened. "You... you really care about him."

You blinked fast — trying to chase away the burn behind your eyes. "I don't know what I feel. I just... When he is with me, I feel like I can breathe again. We don't even need to do anything, just him holding my hand, or being next to me… I don't know."

Feyre was quiet for a long time. Then she muttered, "That's disgusting."

You snorted, swiping at your eyes. "When I was your age, I thought the same thing."

Feyre stiffened slightly against the wall.

You felt her head lift, those sharp eyes narrowing in the dark. "Wait... how old are you?”

Your face dropped. You should've known she'd figure it out eventually with the little hints you'd let slip, the way you always seemed to know more about Prythian than you should.

You tried to play it off, shrugging casually. "Try to guess."

Feyre's brows furrowed. "Nesta always said you were twenty-eight... but if you're half-fae—" Her eyes widened. "Is it a lot?"

You bit your lip. "Depends on what you consider a lot."

Feyre squinted at you, trying to do the math. "Two hundred and something?"

You smirked. "Double it."

Her jaw actually dropped. "Four hundred—?"

"Four hundred and forty-six," you interrupted quietly.

The silence that followed was absolute. You could practically hear the gears turning in Feyre's head — all those years you'd spent playing the older cousin, the human distant family friend, when there were generations of Archerons between the two of you, and you were hiding the truth in plain sight.

Finally, she croaked, "That's… you look like you are less than thirty”

“Well, that's like thirties for faeries, so I think your guess is good?" You grinned. "Something like that."

Feyre's mouth opened, then closed. She stared at you for a long moment— And then both of you burst out laughing. You clung to each other, giggling uncontrollably into the quiet dark. It was half hysteria, half exhaustion, but it felt good. It felt like home.

When the laughter finally faded, Feyre wiped at her eyes. "All this time... you were always there. You could be free in your fae form but you were closed like a normal human, always looking out for me."

Your throat ached. "I'd do it a thousand times again."

Feyre's fingers curled around yours — small and warm. "I love you."

You blinked fast, squeezing her hand tight. "I love you too."

The silence stretched — softer this time. Eventually, Feyre whispered, "I'm scared I can't figure out the riddle."

You glanced down at her — at the fear flickering beneath her tired eyes. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." Her voice cracked. "If the last trial is worse than the others and I can't figure it out... we'll lose."

You shifted closer, pressing your forehead to hers. "We haven't lost yet."

Tears slipped down her cheeks — but she nodded. You held her until she fell asleep against your shoulder, both of you wrapped in the same thin hope, clinging to each other like you could keep the whole world from falling apart with just your hands.

Tomorrow would come. But tonight —

Tonight, you would just be two sisters, huddled together in the dark. Waiting for the dawn.

☆

The third trial began like a death sentence. Seven faeries on their knees, one from each court. Bound. Trembling. Innocent. You felt Feyre's panic like a blade against your ribs, slicing deeper with every heartbeat as Amarantha drew out the rules.

"Kill them." She showed you the blade. “This is your last challenge, half-breed.” You couldn't even feel the panic of her finding out.

Feyre was begging before the words even fully left the bitch's mouth, with her voice raw, hands clutching against the arms of the Attor that held her away. "Please, there has to be another way."

But there wasn't. Not unless she solved the riddle. Amarantha smirked, that twisted pointed crown glinting atop her head as she leaned forward on her throne.

"Would you like to hear the riddle again, girl? Since your little human brain seems so... lacking?"

Feyre's face crumpled. You could see the panic rising, feel it crashing through her mind. And something in your chest snapped.

Without thinking, you reached through the guards and grabbed her face. "Hey. Look at me."

Her wide, glassy eyes locked on yours. You squeezed her softly — steady, warm. The way you'd done a thousand times before, in that little cottage, when the world was cold and unfair and neither of you had anything but each other.

"Remember what I always told you, when you were growing up?" you whispered. Feyre's brow furrowed, breath hitching. "That... when all of your sisters were married off and we were left alone…" You brushed a kiss over her forehead, voice breaking. "You and I could do whatever we wanted to. Trust me just this one more time. I would do this for you a million times again."

Her lip wobbled. But then her brows knitted deeper, like something was tugging at the edges of her memory. Because that's not what you used to say. Feyre's eyes flicked over your face, searching, flickering, remembering.

“When all of your sisters are married off and we are left alone, I swear, Feyre, we will do whatever we desire.”

Your heart stopped. The room tilted, every breath turning sharp and electric. The Attor takes you away and shoves the blade in your hand. The first fae on the line started crying desperately. Feyre's eyes widened, her mouth parting as the pieces clicked into place.

"I can bind two souls or shatter them apart

A weapon, a blessing, a cage for the heart

I bloom in silence, yet scream when denied

What am I, when truth cannot hide?"

Feyre's desire to survive and save Tamlin was a weapon against the curse. Your desire to defy fate and save Rhysand was a blessing given by the Cauldron. And Amarantha's twisted desire for power was a cage for the numerous hearts that tried to be free.

"The answer... the answer is desire." Feyre said suddenly, looking at Amarantha’s face while shock ripped through her.

And then it all happened in a heartbeat. The curse physically shattered as the magic ripped through the air like a silent scream.

For one precious second, everything paused.

Feyre turned to you, her face breaking into something wild and disbelieving and happy. She was going to run to you. You could see it happening, her feet stepping forward, arms outstretched, eyes shining with the promise of survival. But then Amarantha moved. It was like watching the world crack open in slow motion.

The High Queen lunged from her throne, her shadow swallowing Feyre whole. And before you could even scream there was a sickening snap. Feyre crumpled to the ground lifeless. Blood pooling beneath her golden-brown hair. The scream that ripped from your throat didn't sound like it belonged to you.

It sounded ancient — something buried so deep in your bones that you'd forgotten it existed. The sound of your true self waking up after three hundred years you spent running away from your truth. Amarantha was saying something — laughing, gloating — but you couldn't hear her. You couldn't hear anything over the pounding of your own blood in your head. Over the roar rising inside you.

All you could see was Feyre's body on the floor, the little girl you'd sworn to protect, the only piece of your heart you'd ever let yourself keep. Dead. And something inside you broke open. Power surged through you, burning ancient and terrible. You felt your bones stretching, your heart splintering wide, and felt the world tilt as three hundred years of buried magic snapped its leash. You hadn't just been hiding your power all these centuries. It had been growing. And now nothing was holding it back.

You barely registered your own body shifting — your nails sharpening into claws, your vision sharpening to pure, predatory focus. Your skin shimmered with the deep, starless darkness of the Night Court.

But it was the wings that made the room fall silent. Not the delicate, membranous wings of lesser faeries. These were something close to Illyrian wings. Dark and curved and lethal. Amarantha's smile faltered.

"What are you?" she whispered.

You smiled, sharp and slow and full of teeth. "Your nightmare."

And then you were moving.

You hit her like a storm — shadows exploding from your hands, slashing through the air. You were everywhere at once, a whisper of black mist, a flicker of claws, a blur of ancient power that had been asleep for far too long. Amarantha screamed, clawing at the shadows ripping into her flesh. But you were faster. You fell on top of her on the stars that took to her false throne. A throne that tried to resemble the grandness of the one in the Hewncity, your home.

You took the spiked crown that fell from her head, you looked at her desperate eyes while she tried to free herself from the magic that tied her body to the ground. You saw her eyes begging for a quick death. But when Feyre begged she didn't listen. So you grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her head against her own crown — pushing it until it reached her skull.

For Lucien, who lost his eye years ago when trying to bargain, you slammed her face down onto the jagged metal.

For your cousin, your sister in your heart, who had endured too much of her games, you slammed her again holding for a few seconds.

For every faerie who had died under this mountain, the crown reshaped and grasped her skull.

For Rhysand, who had bled and suffered in silence to keep everyone in his home alive and secure, you slammed her head against the steps of the stair.

For your best friend and your mom, who died three hundred years ago because of the consequences of a war none of them participated in and the broken ego of stupid males who were lured by Amarantha, you clawed her neck and ripped it open.

For you, the girl who had buried herself in grief for hundreds of years and forgotten how it felt to be free, you threw her severed head on the other side of the room.

By the time you finally stopped — gasping, shaking, hands slick with her blood — Amarantha's body was nothing but a broken, mangled heap. The mountain was silent. No one dared move. No one dared breathe.

Except for Rhysand. He got closer behind her body, staring at you like he'd never seen anything so beautiful and so terrible in his entire life. And through the bond snapping wide open between your souls, through the shock and the awe and the soul-deep ache all you felt from him was pride and relief.

You staggered back from Amarantha's corpse, chest heaving, power still crackling in your blood. You slowly came down from that beast form to your normal fae body. But all you felt was our heart breaking.

Your heart was breaking—

Because Feyre was still dead. You dropped to your knees beside her, shaking hands brushing over her hair, her cold cheeks.

All you could see was her. Your cousin. Your little shadow. Your sister in every way that mattered. Lying there on the ground, her neck bent at a horrible angle. Eyes wide open. Empty.

No.

No, no, no—

Someone was screaming. It took you too long to realize the sound was coming from your own throat. You were shaking. Gasping.

The world was still spinning from the aftermath of your magic — that ancient, night-court darkness you'd unleashed on Amarantha. But it hadn't been enough. You'd ripped that bitch apart, you'd smashed her skull into her own crown, separated her head from her body. And it still hadn't been enough. Feyre was dead.

A hand touched your shoulder, tentative, cautious. Lucien. His face was pale beneath the blood and dirt, that ruined eye flicking between you and Feyre's body.

"We... we have to—"

"No." The word was a snarl, ripped from your throat — sharper than any blade.

His hand jerked back like you'd burned him. You couldn't look away from her.

You couldn't breathe around the crushing weight in your chest. "Please," you whispered. "Please, don't leave me."

And then Rhysand was there, dropping to his knees on your side. His face was pale, his hands shaking, but his fingers closed around yours.

He squeezed.

"We're going to fix this," he whispered. "We're going to fix this, little mouse, I promise."

You clung to him, sobbing into his chest as the other High Lords began to rise.

And through the glowing bond between your souls, through the grief and the pain and the blood still drying on your hands — you felt his voice echo deep inside you.

"You're free now."

"There must be something—" The voice was deep, rough — Tamlin.

You didn't even glance at him. But the others — the High Lords — were already looking at each other, their faces pale and drawn. You saw it in their eyes before any of them spoke. Hope. Desperation. Relief. The quiet knowledge of what could be done, but only if they all agreed.

Your heart lurched. "Please do it."

Tamlin looked at you as if it was the first time, horrified by the way you looked.

"Do it." You snarled again, turning to look at all of them. You felt Rhysand's body go rigid by the desperation in your voice. If they didn't agree you know he would invade all of their minds and make them do it for you.

"She's one of us now. She saved our lives. And I will not let her die." They hesitated. Of course, they did. Because this wasn't done. This shouldn't be done. A mortal girl — a human — Turned into High Fae.

But you saw it, the flicker of guilt in Tamlin's eyes. The grief on Lucien's face. The exhaustion in Rhysand's. He was the first to step forward.

He knelt by Feyre's side, fingers brushing her cold hand, so gentle it made something in your chest crack wide open. A curl of midnight power whispered from his fingertips, sinking into her still body.

Then Helion.

Then Kallias.

Then Thesan.

One by one, the High Lords approached, each of them pressing the smallest seed of their power into her heart. You watched as it shimmered beneath her skin, tiny fragments of power blooming in her veins. Still not enough. Not enough.

You surged forward, barely aware of your own movements, until you were crouched at her other side, your hands framing her face. "Come back." Your voice was barely a breath, ragged and breaking. "You hear me, Feyre? You come back to me. Like when we were hunting, you remember? I would let you go away from me but you had to come back."

Your magic flickered — that old, buried night-court darkness rising in your blood. Ancient and feral. You'd hidden it for so long. Buried it so deep you'd almost forgotten it was there.

But now you called it — letting it pool in your palms, letting it pour into her along with the power of the High Lords. "You can't leave me."*

A crack — so faint you almost missed it — echoed through the bond between you and Rhysand. And then—

Her chest rose. A shallow, broken breath. A choked sob wrenched from your throat. Her eyelids fluttered, just barely.

"Feyre?" Another breath. A little stronger this time. Her fingers twitched beneath yours.

And then those blue-gray eyes opened, glazed and unfocused, but alive. You collapsed against her, sobbing into her hair.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, broken and slurred. "We did it... right?"

You choked on a laugh, half-hysterical, half-sobbing, pressing your forehead against hers.

"Yeah." Your voice cracked. "We did."

Her eyes flicked to yours. But she smiled. And something inside you, something that had been broken for three hundred years, finally, finally began to heal.

☆

You didn't know how long you stayed like that, clinging to her hand, listening to the fragile rise and fall of her breathing. It was Lucien who finally peeled you away, murmuring something about needing to rest, needing to clean up.

You barely remembered the room they brought you to. You barely remembered stripping off your blood-soaked clothes or scrubbing yourself raw in the cracked marble basin. You scrubbed at your hands until your skin was raw. The copper scent of her blood wouldn't leave, no matter how hard you tried. It was under your nails, buried deep in the creases of your palms. Amarantha's blood. Your own blood. The weight of every life you'd taken in your years alive.

You'd killed her. You'd ripped her apart with your bare hands. And you hadn't regretted a single second of it. But now… now the rage had burned itself out, leaving only the cold, hollow ache beneath. Your claws were gone. Your wings were gone. You looked like yourself again, only... brighter. Sharper.

Your reflection in the basin flickered, catching on the faint, shimmering glow beneath your skin. Still hald-blooded, but fae. After years of hiding. After years of pretending… You didn't have to pretend anymore. You were free.

A knock sounded at the door. You flinched, heart leaping to your throat, but when the faerie servant stepped in, she carried only a small bundle of clothes.

"I thought you might want to change," she murmured.

She laid the garments on the bed and slipped out without another word. For a long moment, you just stood there, staring at the two dresses neatly folded side by side.

One was soft green — light, airy, stitched with delicate gold thread. Spring Court.

The other was midnight black — simple and elegant, with glimmers of silver at the cuffs. Night Court.

You swallowed hard. You didn't even realize you'd reached for the black one until it was already slipping over your skin, the cool fabric clinging to your still-damp body like a second shadow. It fit perfectly.

☆

Feyre was still sleeping when you found her. Lucien sat by her bedside, his russet eye flicking to you the second you entered.

He looked like hell — bruised, filthy, still healing. But the way he looked at Feyre… You'd never seen so much relief on his face. In the years you shared together as friends when you were running away from your court you never saw him so focused on someone else.

He didn't say a word as you crossed the room, pressing a soft kiss to her brow. Her breathing was steady. Alive.

"We did it, right?” Her voice was barely more than a breath at the moment.

Your throat closed.

"Yeah," you whispered. "We did."

Lucien's eye stayed locked on you the whole time.

"You can go, let the stress run out," he murmured. "I'll watch her."

The mating bond was pulling, taut, and relentless now that it was recognized, it was dragging at something deep in your soul. He was waiting for you. So you thanked Lucien and followed that golden thread.

☆

The balcony was half-shattered from the years of poor use, marble cracked, the railing crumbled, but Rhysand stood at the edge like he barely noticed. He was in full High Lord regalia after the meeting, black, silver, night-dark suit. But his wings were out, spread wide behind him, catching the cold breeze. You didn't think he'd ever looked more beautiful.

His head turned the second you stepped through the archway, those violet eyes locking onto you, tracing every inch of you in that black dress.

The bond sang between you, sharp and bright and undeniable now.

You knew.

He knew.

And both knew that the other knew too.

But neither of you said it. Not yet. Instead, he smiled, soft and tired, the kind of smile that felt like slipping into warm water after too many frozen nights. "You clean up nicely."

You huffed a quiet laugh, coming to stand beside him at the edge. "You don't."

He chuckled under his breath, low and rough. But then his gaze swept over the broken landscape, the ruins of what the time Under the Mountain did to the outside world stretching out beneath the night sky.

"Are you going to fly home?" you asked softly.

You glanced at his wings, those beautiful, powerful wings he'd kept hidden for so long.

"I would." He exhaled slowly. "If I wasn't so damn anxious to see my family again."

Your heart squeezed — because fuck— you wanted to go with him. You wanted to see Velaris again. You wanted to stand on Sidra's shores and feel the sun on your face one more time. You wanted to walk through the Moonstone Palace and watch him light every corner with his power. You wanted to go home.

But...

"I can't leave Feyre." His face softened. You stared out at the wreckage, hands curling over the crumbling ledge. "There's still so much to teach her. So many people to help. I need to make sure she is making the right decisions for herself."

Rhys nodded, like he'd already known you'd say that. And of course he had, he, better than anyone, understood the necessity of sacrificing your own happiness to protect the ones you love.

He was quiet for a long moment, then reached out slowly, brushing his fingers over yours on the stone. "I trust you."

Your breath caught. "You do?"

"I always have." He turned fully toward you then — dark and regal and endlessly patient, even when the bond between you was screaming to be claimed. "Take whatever time you need."

Your chest ached, because you could feel the weight of those words. The choice he was giving you.

The choice he'd always give you. "And if I don't come?" you whispered.

His mouth curved, soft and secretive. "Then I'll call in that bargain your cousin made and drag you back home."

Your breath caught a laugh, and his side of the bond thrummed at the sound of it. But there was no malice in his voice. Only warmth. Only hope. You didn't even realize you'd moved until his hand was sliding up your cheek, until his thumb was brushing the corner of your mouth.

You leaned into him, into the quiet strength of him, and let your eyes flutter shut as he dipped his head. This kiss was slower. Softer. Like a promise whispered between two souls who had already waited too long. You felt him shudder against you, felt the way his fingers clenched in your hair, the faint tremor in his wings as they curved around you.

He pulled away first, pressing his forehead to yours. "Come home to me."

Your throat closed around the words that tried to rise “I will.” You whispered, touching your nose to his, breathing the same air as him.

But not yet. Not yet.

Instead, you pressed one last kiss to his mouth, lingering, aching, and whispered “I can't wait to fall in love with you.”

He smiled at you with so much hope you could barely handle it. “I already did” was the last thing he said before vanishing in his shadows.

And the whole time you stayed in Feyre’s bedroom, the whole time you watched her heal and pack her few things to go back to Spring Court, you felt that bond pulsing steadily in your chest. Waiting for him. Calling you home.

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam @itsinherited @romantic1stories @nebarious @mystirica-18 @willowpains @xelladarlingx @lucilia9teen @lifetobeareader @hjgdhghoe

[velarisnightsky444]

Insufferable

Angstober Day 3: Miscommunication with Lucien

CW: Tamlin, angst with a happy ending, miscommunication, implied SA(not super obvious, but if you know, you know)

AN: So sorry this is late! Today I'm catching up with my October fics! This takes place during ACOMAF, when Feyre would be in the Night Court. I tried to make YN tomboyish without making her a pick me, but sorry if she gives pick me vibes.

Summary: YN has lived in the Spring Court her entire life. When Lucien arrived, the two became fast friends. YN fell in love with him. But when she overhears a conversation between him and Tamlin, her heart is broken.

Word Count: 1.5k

October Masterlist

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You watched Lucien as he pulled back the string of his bow, his russet eye unwavering and focused on the target.

His long, fiery hair was pulled back, secured to keep it out of his face. His tan skin was golden under the setting sun.

And his face. His beautiful face. You had missed being able to see his whole face.

Once Tamlin got Feyre back from the Night Court, you would need to thank her for setting everyone free from Amarantha, simply because you could see Lucien's face again.

He let the string go, and you watched in anticipation, your eyes following the arrow until it buried itself right in the center of the target.

"I win," Lucien grinned, turning his smug attention towards you.

"It was close," you grumbled, crossing your arms.

"It was," he agreed with a nod. "But not close enough. I win."

You rolled your eyes, but had to bite your lip to keep back a smile. You watched his muscled form as he walked toward the target, collecting the arrows and placing them back in his quiver.

"It's getting dark, Y/N/N" he observed as he neared you again. "Your father will be waiting for you."

"Yes, I'm aware," you sighed.

Your father would be waiting at the manor, getting his horse ready to take the two of you back to the village. He would likely scold you for participating in such an unbecoming activity, but he knew very well what to expect from you, by now. A part of him would always secretly love you for it.

It wasn't that you refused to be a proper lady. You loved wearing dresses and spending your time with other females. You enjoyed cooking, didn't even mind taking over the house chores. And you had surprisingly proper etiquette for a poor village girl.

You could act like a lady with no complaints when the occasion called for it. But you needed a balance.

You needed adventure, and excitement. And you did not want to act like a proper lady all of the time.

The Fae in your village had always sneered about you when you were a child, gossiping when they saw you coming home covered in mud, climbing a tree, or playing with the other boys.

"It's because she doesn't have a mother," they would say. "A male cannot raise a lady on his own."

But your mother had died in childbirth. That wasn't your father's fault. Nor was it yours, as he always insisted.

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You woke bright and early the next morning to go back to the manor with your father. You rode on horseback together, every morning since you were a child.

Your father worked as one of Tamlin's sentries. Since you had no mother to watch you, he began taking you with him since he first got the job, when you were just a toddler.

Once you were old enough to watch yourself, you realized you loved going with him so much, you didn't want to stop.

It wasn't until two centuries ago that Lucien arrived. The second your eyes met, you had fallen head over heels for him. But he hadn't shown any interest in you, not like that. So you settled for being his friend.

He was the closest friend you'd ever had. He was only a decade older than you, and he had a dry sense of humor that you loved. He let you hunt with him, and challenged you to competitions of all sorts. He didn't care that you were a lady, and he didn't expect you to act like one.

When you arrived to the manor, you were informed that Tamlin and Lucien were taking care of business. You ignored the disappointment that settled in your gut.

Before Lucien, you had spent a lot of your days in the library of the manor. One of the Lesser Fae servants had even taught you to read there.

You settled in by the fireplace, reading an adventure novel you had loved when you were young. Every now and then, you reread it to remind yourself of the simple innocence of childhood.

When you had finished the short book, you sighed, stretching out your limbs, and getting to your feet.

You decided to venture out into the manor, just to see if Lucien had returned from the business he was attending to.

Your shoes clacked against the marble floors of the manor, until you found Lucien sitting alone in the dining room. He was not eating; he was just sitting there, staring at the table.

"Lu?" you asked, frowning as you approached him. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Y/N," he murmured, the words unconvincing. Your brows furrowed. He very rarely called you by your full name.

"You don't seem fine," you said, sitting in the chair next to him.

"Just leave me alone," he nearly whispered, not even glancing up to meet your eyes.

"Lu--" you began, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, snarling and shaking your hand off of him.

You flinched, eyes going wide. He had never raised his voice at you, nor had he ever spoken to you in such a disrespectful manner.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly.

"Just leave," he repeated, voice breaking.

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You couldn't sleep that night. You tossed and turned, wracking your brain to try and figure out what you had done wrong. But you could think of nothing.

You were hesitant to return to the manor the next day, but you did. You made to decision to seek out Tamlin, and ask if Lucien had mentioned anything to him.

You and Tamlin had never been close, but he'd known you since you were a toddler. He had a soft spot for you. He had made sure to buy more children's books for the library, and he always let you eat whatever you wanted from the kitchens. When you were young, he made sure to assign a servant to watch you everyday.

As you neared his study, the sound of voices inside carried out to you. You stepped closely warily, pressing your ear to the door.

"You'll have to put up with her for a bit longer," Tamlin was saying.

"I can't fucking stand her. Don't you think I've had to put up with her for long enough?" was Lucien's harsh reply.

You flinched, the words cutting deep. Did he mean you? You always thought he enjoyed your time together.

"She is our guest," Tamlin snarled. "We have offered her hospitality, and you will be civil to her."

"You have no idea just how insufferable she is!" Lucien snapped. "She never leaves me alone. She's always right there. I fucking hate it, Tamlin."

You had heard enough. You felt sick to your stomach. You pulled away from the door, tears lining your eyes as you quietly walked away.

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You went back to next day, only because you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of avoiding him. Not after everything he had said about you.

Your father had questioned you when your tears had begun to fall on the ride over. But you insisted that you were okay. He was still concerned, but he knew better than to push.

You spent the day in the library again, reading something new, this time. You wiped your tears and sniffled through the entire book.

"Y/N/N?" you heard. The first sound you'd heard in hours.

You glanced up, meeting Lucien's russet eye. Your shoulders slumped, your lip trembling pathetically at the mere sight of him.

"I wanted to apologize for the other day," he said calmly. "I was cold to you, and I shouldn't have raised my voice. I'm sorry."

"Are you apologizing because you're sorry, or because Tamlin is making you?" you challenged, eyes welling with tears of hurt and fury.

"What?" he asked, his face twisting in an expression of genuine confusion.

"I heard you talking to him yesterday," you scoffed. "You said you didn't want to put up with me anymore, and that I was insufferable."

His brows furrowed for a moment, then clarity fell upon his face. He sighed, shaking his head and approaching the couch you were sitting on.

"I wasn't talking about you, Y/N/N," he assured you.

"Who else could you have possibly been talking about?" you demanded.

"Ianthe," he explained. "She doesn't leave me alone. And she's very pushy. I can't stand her."

You frowned, recalling the words that were said. Yes, it did make sense for them to be about Ianthe.

"Oh," you said weakly, cheeks heating.

"I would never say or think such things about you," he promised, placing a hand on your warm cheek. "You mean everything to me."

"Really?" you whispered, meeting his eye.

"Yes," he nodded. "The other day, I was upset because of Ianthe, not you. I took it out on you, and that wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," you said. "I'm sorry for the way Ianthe is treating you."

He shrugged, though something skin to pain flashed in his eyes. You reached out, cupping his face like he was doing to you.

He smiled softly, leaning in a planting a kiss on your lips. Surprise rendered you frozen at first, but then, you relaxed against his lips. And you kissed him back.

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Kink/Fluff/Angstober Taglist: @serxndipity-ipity-blog @danikamariemain @book-obsessed124 @winchesterbbygrl @kissesfrommads @binnieonabike @fourthwing4ever @ghostslittlegf @mollygetssherlockcoffee @hawke1917 @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @honk4emoboys @rogerbarnesxx @a-courtof-azriel @kodokunarisu-blog @dxjaaaa @secretsicanthideanymore @littlepippilongstocking

Lucien Taglist: @roxan1930

General Taglist: @lilah-asteria @anneas11 @andreperez11 @isnotwhatyourethinking @effervescentbutterfly

comment to be added to any of the taglists!

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[bookwormjust]

Imagine: The Cauldron’s Wrath and Azriel’s Love

The King of Hybern’s war camp was an imposing sight—a dark, foreboding landscape filled with enemies who reeked of cruelty and malice. The tension in the air was palpable, each breath feeling like a struggle against the oppressive weight of impending doom. Your heart pounded as you stood with your sisters, Nesta and Elain, on the raised dais where the Cauldron loomed, its dark, ancient magic swirling ominously.

Feyre stood beside Rhysand, her expression a mix of defiance and desperation as she tried to bargain for your safety. But the King of Hybern’s smug, cruel smile told you everything you needed to know—he had no intention of letting you leave unscathed. The chains that bound your wrists bit into your skin, a painful reminder of your vulnerability in this twisted game.

The Inner Circle was assembled, their expressions grim as they watched the King’s cruel spectacle unfold. Cassian was bleeding from a deep gash on his shoulder, his wings battered and dragging on the ground. Azriel, your mate, was barely standing, his shadows clinging to him like a shroud, the pain in his eyes mirrored in the unsteady way he held himself upright. His usual calm composure was fractured, the terror of potentially losing you visible in every taut line of his body.

“I want my sisters back!” Feyre shouted, her voice laced with fury and fear as she tried to appeal to the King’s vanity, offering herself as a willing participant in exchange for your lives.

But the King only laughed, his voice dripping with derision. “You all will learn the cost of defiance,” he sneered, his gaze sweeping over the three of you before settling on Azriel, who met his eyes with a deadly calm that promised retribution. The King’s smile widened, enjoying the power he held over you all.

Elain was the first to be forced into the Cauldron. She screamed as the magic consumed her, the ancient power pulling her under. The Inner Circle watched in horror, powerless to stop it. Then Nesta was dragged forward, thrashing and spitting curses, her defiance only spurring the King’s sadistic delight. The water churned violently as Nesta was thrown in, her screams mingling with the Cauldron’s terrible hiss.

Your turn came far too soon, the guards’ grips tightening as they pulled you toward the Cauldron. You fought against them, the primal fear of death making your heart race. The cold stone of the dais scraped against your knees as they forced you closer, the chill of the Cauldron’s dark power seeping into your bones.

“Wait!” Azriel’s voice cut through the chaos, filled with a desperate command. He lunged forward, but his injuries slowed him, and the guards pushed him back. Rhysand tried to intervene, his power crackling around him, but the King’s wards held firm.

You looked over your shoulder, your eyes locking onto Azriel’s. There was so much unsaid between you—so many words of love and promises of a future that you hadn’t yet spoken. The bond between you thrummed with a wild, frantic energy, the connection a lifeline in the face of what was about to happen.

“Azriel,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes as you were dragged closer to the Cauldron’s edge. His name was a plea, a promise, and a goodbye all rolled into one. The world seemed to slow, the roar of the Cauldron and the King’s laughter fading into the background.

Azriel’s expression was a mask of agony and fury, his shadows swirling around him in a frantic storm. “I’ll find you,” he vowed, his voice breaking. “No matter what, I’ll find you.”

The guards didn’t wait for another moment. With a rough shove, they pushed you into the Cauldron’s depths. The water was freezing, the shock of it stealing your breath as you were pulled under. Darkness closed in around you, the Cauldron’s magic a suffocating force that tore at your very essence. Pain lanced through you, every nerve ending screaming in agony as the ancient power tried to reshape you.

You fought against the pull, every instinct screaming to survive, but the Cauldron was relentless. The pain intensified, blinding and consuming, and for a moment, you were certain you wouldn’t make it out. Your vision blurred, the edges of consciousness fraying as the magic continued its brutal work.

The bond with Azriel was the only thing that anchored you. Even through the haze of pain, you felt him reaching out, his presence a beacon in the darkness. His voice, strong and steady, cut through the chaos, a lifeline that you clung to with everything you had.

Stay with me, he pleaded through the bond, his voice tinged with desperation. Don’t let go.

But the pain was overwhelming, a crushing weight that made it hard to breathe, to think. You felt your body breaking apart, the magic tearing at you from the inside out. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the pain stopped. Silence fell over the world, the water of the Cauldron stilling around you.

You drifted in that void, caught between life and death, the faint tug of the bond with Azriel the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. You could feel his fear, his rage, and his love, all mingling together in a maelstrom of emotion that pulled you toward him.

Then, slowly, you became aware of the world again. The water churned, and you were thrown from the Cauldron’s depths, gasping and shivering on the cold stone. You coughed, the taste of iron and salt lingering in your mouth, and your vision slowly cleared to reveal the horrified faces of the Inner Circle.

Azriel was the first to reach you, his wings unfurling to shield you from the world. His hands were gentle but frantic as he checked you over, his shadows swirling around you both protectively. “You’re alive,” he breathed, relief flooding his features as he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you in a desperate embrace.

You clung to him, your body trembling from the aftershocks of the Cauldron’s magic. “I thought… I thought I wasn’t going to make it,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

Azriel held you tighter, his wings forming a protective cocoon around you both. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Around you, the Inner Circle moved quickly. Rhysand and Feyre confronted the King of Hybern, their combined power crashing down on him like a tidal wave of fury. Cassian, despite his injuries, had fought his way to Nesta and Elain, his protective instincts as fierce as ever.

The King’s forces crumbled under the onslaught, the battle turning in your favor as Rhysand unleashed the full wrath of the Night Court upon Hybern. The King’s smug arrogance evaporated as he realized he had lost control of the situation, the once smug expression twisting into one of fear and disbelief.

Azriel’s grip on you never wavered, his wings a constant barrier between you and the outside world. You could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface, not at you, but at the King and the horror he had subjected you to. The memories of his own traumas, of his brothers and their cruelty, echoed in the way his hands clenched and the way his wings tightened protectively around you.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against the soft feathers of his wings, grounding him. “We’re both here.”

Azriel’s eyes met yours, a mix of anguish and relief reflecting in their depths. “I thought I’d lost you,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never been so scared.”

You leaned into him, pressing your forehead against his, letting the bond between you pulse with the warmth of your shared connection. “You didn’t lose me,” you reassured him, your voice firm despite the tears that still lingered. “You saved me.”

In that moment, as the battle raged on and the King of Hybern’s forces crumbled, you and Azriel found solace in each other. The Cauldron’s magic had tried to break you, but it had only made the bond between you stronger. The world might have been chaos, but within the safety of Azriel’s wings, you felt whole and protected.

As the Inner Circle regrouped, victorious but worn from the fight, Azriel kept you close. His protectiveness was as fierce as ever, his eyes scanning for any lingering threats. But for the first time since the battle began, you felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what came next, you and Azriel would face it together.

You were his mate, his equal, and nothing—not even the Cauldron’s wrath—could tear you apart. And as you stood together amidst the aftermath of the battle, surrounded by friends and family, you knew that the future, though uncertain, was one you would face side by side with the one person who had always been your anchor, your protector, and your greatest love.

[theladyofbloodshed]

Reasons why I hate pictures of rhys with nyx and headcanons about him as a dad:

Does nothing for the children in 2/3 of his courts

Has watched little boys in Illyria succumb to the system in Illyria where it's kill or be killed; either they join his army and kill for him or die for him, but they are the only paths boys can take

Has watched little girls have their wings disfigured but doesn't disrupt the status quo because the need for the army prevails over girls' lives

Has watched little girls in the Hewn City be married off to older, abusive males but doesn't disrupt the status quo because the need for the army prevails over girls' lives

He kept the very real consequences from Feyre under the guise of wanting her to enjoy the pregnancy

Knew the consequences of her shifting into an Illyrian form but kept them from her

Chose not to risk the baby to try and save the mother, instead deciding it was better for all of them to die

He is the most powerful high lord and had their government and her sisters keep the secret - and wanted to kill one sister for revealing the truth (you know, the most powerful high lord who everybody is afraid of)

He is the most powerful high lord and had the doctor keep the secret from the mother

He kept her shielded from everybody thus isolating her to keep the secret (and preventing her from making her own choice about the baby)

She wore the same damn outfit that she wore UTM to the hewn city to show off her pregnancy whilst heavily pregnant while her husband is smug with male pride or some crap it's GROSS

Edit to add: I also think he will veto any decision Feyre makes about their child because he will know what’s best, including throwing him into a war camp

[shardechance]

𝖏𝖆𝖜𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖗

ao3 link | playlist | detailed content warnings | masterlist

pairing: feysand rating: explicit wc: 23k warnings: non con

Feyre’s a big fan of scary movies. So much, in fact, that Halloween night spent curled up on the couch and watching Poltergeist while the kids she’s babysitting sleep upstairs doesn’t sound so bad, even if it means missing out on a party or two. It’s a relatively boring night, until a real ghost appears. Rhysand, in the shittiest costume she’s ever seen, picked the wrong house to trick or treat... but scary movies aren’t scary until they’re real.

[FREAK WEEK DAY 1]

read on ao3 or proceed below for small snippet.

The movie is better than Feyre remembers it, which isn’t exactly a surprise. The first time she saw it, her sisters stole dresses from Mom’s room and dressed Feyre up as E.T. so they could stuff her in a closet. They’d instructed her to hide, and after too long spent in the dark, Feyre eventually wandered out on her own. She found her sisters downstairs, seemingly having forgotten their little sister, with the credits already rolling on the TV.

By contrast, the boys let her have her own blanket, and laugh along with her even when they don’t get the joke. They leave the last bit of popcorn for her, and even though it’s hard in the middle and the chocolate’s gone, it tastes good. There’s fifteen minutes left in the movie when Feyre’s phone buzzes in her pocket, and she’s more than a bit disappointed when she gets up to answer it.

“Be right back, boys,” Feyre sighs, flinging the blanket off her lap.

She stands in the foyer, where she can see into the living room to keep an eye on the boys and the movie, and brings the phone up to look at the screen. FaceTime Video. Lucien Vanserra.

“Hey, Lucien,” Feyre says, a bit distracted. What greets her in full and glorious outdated iPhone resolution, is half an opera mask, an open dress shirt, and the smug grin of her best friend.

“Sing, my angel of music!”

Her thumb hits the end call button before Lucien can embarrass himself further.

She doesn’t get the chance to roll her eyes, let alone head back to the boys and their movie. Before she’s even lifted her thumb from the red reject call button, his picture flashes across her screen again. Against her better judgment, her thumb slides across to green.

“Why are you such a bitch?” Lucien asks by way of greeting.

“Mind your manners, potty mouth. Tiny ears present,” she warns, turning her back to the living room as if to shield the kids from his bad language.

He snorts, shooting back something from a red solo cup. “Oh yeah? Fu—”

“Shut up!” She snaps. Her shitty phone speaker is no match for surround sound, so it’s unlikely the boys can hear from the other room, but Feyre doesn’t want to be the reason they learn their first swears. “You look like a loser.”

“What do you mean?” He lifts the mask, revealing his scarred cheek, and half a smirk. Usual golden prosthetic eye switched for a scarlet alternative. “I’m told it plays to my strengths.”

He’s gorgeous. Unfortunately, he is very much aware of that. Scars and all. Chicks dig it, she’s told. Feyre takes the last few steps to the kitchen, dropping a couple of stray candy wrappers in the garbage on her way past.

“What do you want?” she says. “I’m working.”

“Yeah, about that,” Lucien says, his tone dripping with the promise of trouble. “Ditch the kids! Come play!”

And lose the easiest hundred bucks of her life? No way. Yeah, seeing Lucien in his element, chasing the highs of what little nightlife there is to offer, flirting with boys, dancing with girls—

“Negative.” Feyre inspects her cuticles. “This is easy money.”

tag list: @velidewrites @melting-houses-of-gold @popjunkie42 @secret-third-thing @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade @jon-snows-man-bun @iftheshoef1tz

[athenanfaymont]

Not All Dark Wings Are Red Flags: In Defense of Rhysand 🖤✨🕊️

After talking about Tamlin... let’s talk about Rhysand!

No, really. Let’s talk about him — because for a character who’s literally written to be the fantasy, he sure gets called toxic a lot.

It’s a conversation that keeps resurfacing in fandom spaces: “He’s manipulative.” “He hides things.” “He has too much power.” And sure, if you squint hard enough and remove all context and character development… you might be able to argue that.

But here’s the thing: Rhysand isn’t toxic. He’s complicated. And there's a very big difference.

🧠 First of all: He was introduced as a mask. Let’s not forget A Court of Thorns and Roses was written through Feyre’s point of view — and Rhys, at that point, wanted her to mistrust him. He wasn’t trying to be liked. He was trying to protect his people, himself, and Feyre, in the only way he could under Amarantha’s rule. The Rhys we meet at the beginning is not a complete man — he’s a cornered animal with claws out.

🌟 But the deeper we go, the more we see the real version. By A Court of Mist and Fury, we learn that Rhysand is one of the only characters who respects Feyre’s autonomy. He gives her choice, time, space. He doesn’t lock her in a house, doesn’t silence her pain, and certainly doesn’t pretend to know what’s best for her. He challenges her, but never controls her.

💔 He understands trauma — because he lives with it. Rhysand doesn’t arrive in the narrative as a knight in shining armour. He’s broken, strategic, full of pain — and still able to offer gentleness. Unlike the male love interest in book one, he never tries to rescue Feyre from herself. He helps her become who she wants to be, not who he wants her to be. That's not toxic — that’s healing.

📜 "But he kept things from her!" Yes. Because trust is something that’s built, not automatic. Because he wanted her to choose him, not feel obligated to him. Because sometimes, people make the wrong call — even when their intentions are good. And importantly: when Feyre does confront him, he listens. He apologises. He grows.

🧸 Being powerful doesn’t make him a threat — how he uses it is what matters. Rhysand has immense magical, political, and personal power. But not once does he use it to force Feyre into anything. That’s the point. He could, but he doesn’t. Because real love is consent, balance, and agency. He’s an example of strength that chooses restraint.

🌠 At the end of the day, Rhysand is a fantasy. Yes, he’s written to be alluring, clever, strong, and just a little bit smug. But above all: he’s written to be safe. The man who waited. The man who saw her breaking and didn’t rush to fix her — he knelt, and said: I’m here if you want me.

That’s not toxic. That’s emotional literacy in wings and starlight.

[Roberto Crescenzio]

[achaotichuman]

hi there, this is my first time asking anything from anyone on here. but, i am a big fan of your work.

i was wondering, when given the time, can you write about how Feyre and Rhysand diss Tamlin at a high lords meeting, but Eris and Lucien are quick to defend him? Lowkey even Nesta gets upset.

i’m a simp for these four. again, when given the time, there’s no rush.

thank you 🥰

Hi!!!! I'm so glad you like my works, thank you for the compliment!

I love this prompt request, I too am a simp for these four. So, without further ado, here you are!

Edit (future me here) I just realized after writing this that you meant for me to rewrite the original High lord's meeting, I am so sorry I thought you meant a future meeting. I can rewrite this later if you would like to see that, but so I don't leave this request for too long, here is what I wrote, I hope you enjoy it!

Another monotone meeting, another set of excruciating hours. Purple eyes flicking to him at every twitch and odd breath. Fingers tapped against the wooden armrests, and his hand slid to her knee. Pale skin gleaming in the light of day, splotchy against her tattooed arms. Blue eyes once stormy pale, were like deep pools, reserves for power and magic since being turned Faery. She looked at her husband, then flicked towards him. They were speaking mind to mind. Tamlin looked towards Thesan speaking. 

It was a lengthy speech that alluded to alliances forming between Dawn, Day, Winter and Summer. A discreet hint for Night, Spring and Autumn to get past differences and keep peace between the Courts. 

Eris, lounging in his golden chair, the peaks of his bejewelled crown glinting in the light, asked to see the contract they had all signed. With a quick glance, he smoothly began asking questions, subtly voicing his interest. 

Tamlin simply watched and listened. Not having been born with the ability to speak words very well aloud, he found another talent he possessed. In silently watching and determining decisions from observations. He listened intently as Thesan and Eris went back and forth for several minutes, before Eris placed the contract on the large glass table they all sat at. 

“You have a deal, Lord Dawn.” Eris wickedly grinned, signing his name to the paper and handing it back to Theasan. 

“Glad to see eye to eye with you, Lord Autumn.” Thesan bowed his head only slightly, before he cast smart eyes between Night and Spring. 

Feyre wrinkled her nose at the contract and Rhysand placed a hand on her shoulder, expression smug and proud. Neither looked as though they would reach for it, so Tamlin made his final decision. 

“May I view the contract, Lord Thesan?” Tamlin asked. 

Thesan nodded as he handed it over. Green eyes flicked to amber ones, Eris nodded once, confirmation that the contract was legitimate. Tamlin trusted Eris more than anyone (perhaps besides Lucien, who watched quietly from beside Helion) and since their recent alliances, he had met with the Autumn Lord more than once for advice on Courtly matters and thus trusted his judgement. Though he read it over himself more than once. The paper were enchanted with bargain magic, and once it was signed by every Ruler, it would be sealed, and they would have to keep up their end. 

In the end, he found no loopholes. The far too long contract was specially worded in every Lord’s favour. Tamlin was impressed. Placing the contract on the glass, he took up a pen and began to write his name into the paper. 

“Deal.” He said, as ink touched the yellowish white. 

A scoff echoed from the otherside of the room and Tamlin felt his hand begin to shake even as he ignored Rhysand. 

Signing his name, Tamlin handed the contract back to Thesan who murmured his thanks. 

Finally all eyes turned to Rhysand and Feyre. Who briefly glanced at each other, before Rhysand said, “We will not be signing, quite frankly I can’t see why any of you would.”

“It is a way to ensure no arguments between territories and smooth workings from now on.” Eris replied easily, eyes disinterested in Rhysand’s antics. Tamlin’s lips flicked up, but only for a moment. 

Tamlin glanced over to Lucien, they hadn’t spoken in forever, and every breath felt like a string being pulled tighter and tighter. As if sensing it, Lucien looked over at him. Gods he was breathtaking, wearing lighter colours. Though he still wore simpler clothes. Pale linen trousers and a white shirt with golden accents all over him. A band of gold around his head. He grinned, jerking his head ever so slightly to Night before rolling his eyes. Tamlin stifled a giggle and turned back to what was happening. 

Elain and Nesta sat beside Feyre. Nesta in her Valkyrie gear, with her sword strapped to her back, she looked at Rhysand, eyes turning from careful blankness to confusion with a slight sneer. 

Rhysand said, “There are no arguments between Courts.” 

He looked over at Tamlin, the Spring Lord’s muscles locked up, but he faced those venomous eyes with no emotion. 

“Well I suppose there is one that stirs up trouble for the rest of us. But for someone who was raised by the woods, what should we expect?”

“I’d close my mouth there Rhysand,” Tamlin replied, “Considering you met your brothers in the mud of Illyria.”

“At least I wasn’t known as a feral beast.” Rhysand said lazily, “I could hold a conversation without being kicked out of a ballroom for childish antics.”

Tamlin clenched his fists. Childish antics, yes snapping back at his abusive brothers was childish in retrospect, but he had been on his last thread at that point of his life. 

“I do believe you met your shadowsinger there by beating him to a pulp.” Tamlin replied with just as much ease, “I’d call that feral, wouldn’t you?”

A twinkle sparkled in Rhysand’s violet gaze, as he purred, “You know I hardly think your agreement to this deal is a good indication of its legitimacy.”

As Tamlin furrowed his brow, Rhysand cocked his head and finished, “You couldn’t even keep Hybern, your ally, from turning on you. You entire people left you. Why should anyone think you capable of making decisions in regards to your Court?”

Tamlin gripped the rests of his chair, “You know, it does become quite difficult when your ex-lover fucks with your people’s heads in order to remake their memories so they turn against you.”

Feyre’s face turned white with fury as she said, “Don’t turn this on us when you couldn’t keep your Court from falling apart.”

“You caused it to fall apart.” Tamlin hissed, “You plotted and lied.”

“People lie in Court all the time, Tamlin.” Rhysand said, “You not being able to catch Feyre when she pointed at how you truly are is not our problem-”

“Shut your viper’s mouth, Rhysand.” A voice hissed. 

Tamlin glanced over at Lucien. Eyes flaming orange, as he glared daggers at the Ruler’s of Night. 

“Lucien-” Rhysand began with a proud tone. 

“Don’t.” Lucien warned, “Don’t start this when we are trying for peace, the only ones arguing and antagonising are you.”

“We are not-” Feyre tried to cut in. 

“Feyre you tore the Spring Court apart when they trusted you as a leader of their lands.” Eris drawled, “You are in no position to make judgements on others here.”

Tamlin nearly gaped at Eris, who briefly glanced at him with… sympathy? Sympathy, in his eyes.

“Hybern’s actions are not ours.” Rhysand argued. 

“No, but your actions are yours. And you opened the floodgates for Hybern to come in. You are an accomplice for the lost lives and destroyed lands.” Lucien countered. 

Rhysand opened his mouth to argue but another smooth voice cut in sharply. 

“They’re right.” Nesta said with flaming eyes. 

All eyes went to her. Rhysand flared up with anger, his hatred burning intensely in the room, “You be quiet.” He hissed. 

“No, you be quiet, Rhysand.” Nesta gritted out, “We came here for peace, there is no reason to torment others because you are desperate for revenge.”

“You-” Morrigan began to harshly reprimand, but Nesta continued. 

“Feyre you killed people when you let Hybern in.” Nesta said, “You have no moral high ground here, you are not justified in what you did.”

“I did no such thing!” Feyre raised her voice, skin burning bright with Day’s drop of power. 

Tamlin looked between the three. Watching as Nesta looked towards Eris and Lucien who glanced at each other briefly. 

What were they plotting?

“I think that’s all quite enough from you two.” Eris said to Feyre and Rhysand, “Every time we have a meeting it’s your Court that is raising your voices and starting arguments. Threatening others until you get everyone under your thumb.”

“Oh please.” Rhysand murmured, “I could wipe your minds and have you under my thumb. I don’t, I only speak the truth to you.”

“That is exactly what we mean, Rhysand.” Lucien replied smoothly, adjusting the rings on his fingers. Sliding out of his seat, on elegant limbs, he stood, looking down his nose at the Lord of Night.

“You threaten and antagonise. You fuck with people’s minds and expect us to fall to your every whim no matter how impulsive.” 

Eris agreed with his brother, saying, “We have no reason to trust you. When at any given moment you could plant false memories in our heads and we’d be none the wiser.”

Stepping slightly towards Tamlin, Lucien said, “You could agree to our new terms and create a Prythian where we are all connected and not at war. But you choose not too, this raises plenty of warnings for the rest of us, not to mention,”

He glanced down at Tamlin, who blinked up at Lucien, dumbfounded. 

They were sticking up for him, he realised distantly, not for the life of him able to understand why. 

“Not to mention,” Lucien breathed, “You are consistently going at the Spring Court, you killed thousands Feyre, was your massacre not enough?”

“Massacre?” She stuttered out, fists clenched around the rests of her chair. Rhysand grabbed her hand and said, “How dare you-”

“No, how dare you!” Eris stood suddenly, eyes blazing with fire that Tamlin hadn’t seen in a long while in him. A memory of the two training when their fathers met yearly flashed through his mind, the fire that had been in Eris back then…

Reawakened, no longer smothered under the heavy gaze of his father. Now with Beron buried beneath six feet of dirt, Eris’ flame was let loose. 

“How dare you sit there, acting as though us trying desperately to restore peace to our lands is laughable when you both are the reason that we nearly lost the war!” Eris’ voice raised as he continued, the room grew hotter and hotter as his eyes turned to liquid gold, swirling with flame. 

Lucien stood back on his heels sneering at the Night Court, as Eris went on, “We could have all died because of your reckless actions for the sake of pity revenge, your constant degrading of us will no longer be tolerated.”

“You think you can speak that way, Autumn?” Rhysand hissed, face slightly flushed with embarrassment and eyes simmering with loathing. 

“In defence of him, no less?” Rhysand added with a smile to Tamlin that was full of all the hatred he held for Spring. 

“In defence of the man who fought for his home at every twist and turn, yes, I will side with him, in nearly every case I will side with him. At least I can trust what he says is true, considering I don’t believe Tamlin has ever told a lie of his own accord, nor would he fuck with my memories to make himself out to be in the right.” Eris snapped back. 

Clenching his fists, eyes darting between all of the High lords, Helion stared back at Rhysand with a hardened gaze. Nothing like the usual laid back demeanour he normally held.  Hatred simmered in his gaze, not a speck of starlight in that hardened gaze, the purple darkening to near black. Feyre’s skin glowed with the power of Day as the clad around her magic faltered. 

“Don’t you dare throw another temper tantrum, High Lady,” Eris hissed as he stepped sideways, slightly towards the former Lady of Autumn, no beside her Day Court lover. The memory of Feyre’s outburst that resulted in her harming the Lady flashed through Tamlin’s mind.

‘You tore my Court apart because I couldn’t control my magic. Now you do the same.’ He thought. 

“How dare you speak to us like that.” She hissed, “After everything our Court has done-”

“Done what, Feyre? Cause problems?” Eris hissed back. 

“How dare you speak to my High lady like that.” Azriel shot to his feet, shadows a storm around him, looking as though he was try and ram Eris again. 

At the same time, Thesan got to his feet and shouted, “That is enough!”

All at once everyone went quiet, the normally mild-tempered male losing his cool was enough to snap everyone’s attention to him. 

“That is enough.” He repeated, quieter, “I think it’s time you leave.”

Rhysand shot a smug look to Eris and Lucien, “I agree, it is time you leave.”

“Rhysand,” Thesan said in warning, “Not them.”

Violet eyes went wide and the room went hot as Feyre also caught on to what Thesan meant. 

“No!” Rhysand shouted, “You will not make us leave when we are not the problem here. We have only pointed out facts, we will not be driven out because you all chose to side with the insinuatar of all quaralls today.”

“Rhysand, get out.” Thesan murmured, with quiet vemon that sent a shiver down Tamlin’s spine. 

“How dare you.” Feyre said, “How dare you allow them to twist the narrative, because they chose to sign your agreement!”

“I will not ask again.” Gaurds appeared at the doors, no doubt summonded when the arguement started by their High lord, “Either leave, or I will have you removed.”

“You cannot remove us.” Morrigan said, “We will not go.”

A snap of thunderous power shot through the room. Thesan’s eyes glowed bright gold, threads of power whipped around him, his hair became like long waves of glowing magic. 

“Get. Out.” He said in a dark voice, half-turned to his true beast form. The strange metallic rendition of his normally calm, soothing voice was enough to make the Inner Circle shoot to their feet. Commanded by the voice of the Lord that ruled this part of the lands.

Everyone but Nesta stood. The Lady of Death along with her Valkryies remained perfectly poised at their chairs. 

“You-” Rhysand pointed his finger, no doubt trying to reach deep within his power to overthrow Thesan’s control of him.

Thesan just nodded to the door, and the Inner Circle, commanded by the power of the Ruler, walked as told.

“We will not forget this, Thesan! You will regret this!” Rhysand spat at him as they all winnowed back to the Hell hole they crawled out from. 

All power ceased, Thesan returned to his normal state. Those dark eyes turning straight to Tamlin, asking, in that familar soothing voice, “Little Lin are you alright?”

Maybe it was the fact Tamlin had just watched his oldest friend and even older enemy be forced out the door in the name of protecting him. Maybe it was the centuries old nickname Thesan had coined for Tamlin when he was a youngling. Maybe a combination, either way Tamlin felt a tear slid from the corner of his eye and fall down his face. He quickly wiped it away and managed a croaked, “Yeah, fine.”

“We’ll put the meeting on hold,” Thesan said anyway, “A short intermission, and then we’ll return.” 

The High lord’s all nodded their agreement, and before Tamlin could stand to run and try to collect himself, the older High lord, now the oldest in the room with Beron gone, appeared quickly before Tamlin, grabbed his wrist and led him out of the meeting room. 

“Thesan-” Tamlin tried to pull back, but as they left the room, they winnowed. Whisked off by the winds and scents of breaking dawn. 

When they reappeared it was deep within the cherry blossom gardens of Dawn. The soft pink petal fell and kissed Tamlin’s face. Soft and powdery, he turned to Thesan, brow furrowed. Confusion lining his face. 

“Are you okay?” Thesan asked once more, in a softer, gentler tone. 

Pressure collected in his chest, feeling like his heart may explode. A band around his head, getting tighter and tighter, as hot tears swelled in his eyes. A breeze like honey, pears and fresh blossoms drifted around him, as he whispered, “No.”

Hours passed and he felt like he might cry for day. It was a strange feeling though, to be held while he lost all composure. Thesan’s touch was warm and comforting, and a gentle carrassing feeling spread over his body, he knew it must be the healing magic native to Dawn.

When he finally managed to collect himself, Thesan took him to a room. Waiting outside while he washed his face and tried to reduce the appearence of his red, puffy eyes. 

Once Tamlin stopped feeling like he was one minor inconvience from sobbing his mind out again. Thesan said they would return to the meeting now, Tamlin folded his hands behind his back and nodded. 

But they didn’t walk towards the meeting room, as they passed through long hallways, filled with tapestrys and painting Tamlin had never seen before, or may have once when he was very little, he asked, “I didn’t think the meeting room was in this direction.”

“We aren’t going back to the meeting room.” Thesan said. Now Tamlin was properly confused, but the High lord just through a knowing smile over his shoulder. Rolling his eyes, Tamlin submitted to allowing the Lord to take him to wherever he was going. 

Soon enough, they were in the East Wing of the palace and stationed before a large oak door. Tamlin was about to ask what this room was, when Thesan opened it. 

“No, you’re wrong, I win you lose.” Eris hissed at his youngest brother. 

“No I win, green cancels out red, you idiot!” Lucien snapped back, grabbing onto the deck of cards Eris was clutching in his hands and tried to rip them out. Eris pulled back and tried to kick him. 

“You’re so fucking annoying!” Eris yelled as Lucien proceeded to try and launch himself at the Autumn lord, before their mother caught the back of his shirt and ripped him back down the floor. 

“Stop it, Lucien he wins.” Andrea scolded. 

“No, but ma-” Lucien attempted to save his bruised ego, but a swift slap to the back of his head silenced him. 

“No, ‘but ma’s’ from you.” Andrea told him. From across the room, Nesta fell into a puddle of hysterical giggles at the sight, as Gwyn and Emerie clutched their own stomachs in laughter. 

“That’s what you get, Lucie.” Cresseida smirked as she took the deck from Eris’ hands, who handed them over easily. 

“Tamlin!” Helion noticed his arrival, “Welcome back!”

Tamlin stared with his mouth agape at the sight of the room, every High lord and their Court all lying across the floor filled with pillows and blankets. An array of card games and puzzles strewn amongst them. 

“What..” 

“We figured since Night is gone, we could all relax a little.” Thesan explained.

“It’s really only them that are so uptight.” Kallias quipped from where he was, head in his wife’s lap whilst she quietly cheated in a game with Tarquin. With his head focused in on his own cards, he did not notice Viviane sneaking a peak and playing accordingly. Gwyn stifled giggles when she saw it. 

Lucien shot to his feet, puling away from the grip of his mother, and grabbed Tamlin’s hand, “C’mon Tam, you’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, you have to be on his team to help him win.” Eris said as he watched Cresseida shuffle the deck. 

“You are a cheater!” Lucien yelled as he pulled Tamlin down amongst the pillows, Thesan closed the door and followed them into the chaotic yelling that overtook their ‘meeting’.

For once in his life, Tamlin was thanking Rhysand for causing problems once more. It led to a far better outcome then he could have ever imagined.  

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

Do That Again

Summary - You meet a certain fellow after your roommate starts dating some guy.

Content Warnings - Language, heavy drinking, characters getting drunk, underaged drinking (please tell me if I missed anything)

A/N - I wrote this mostly because there are definitely a lack of Cassian x Reader fics out there and as much as I love Cass and Nesta, this felt necessary. *Do not repost my work without my express permission.* *Do not copy my work.*

1k words

✨ 💫

You and Cassian. Cassian and you. Attached at the hip in every sense of the phrase. If someone was looking for one of you, they’d find the other. The only time you weren’t together is if you didn’t have a class together or if one of you was going to the bathroom and even then if one of you was drunk enough… you might be in a close proximity.

You met Cassian through your friend and roommate, Feyre. Feyre, after a shitty high school boyfriend, met Rhysand at a party. Rhys was… well he was something. It was one of those situations where someone falls first and the other falls harder. Feyre fell hard. Like inches of cement hard. You’d be grinning with smug intent while Feyre’s face was absolutely red after getting back from an evening out with Rhys. Somewhere in the madness of first year the two crazy kids finally were official. You ensured you would meet him before summer break. You did. 

As Feyre’s friend, and body-guard , you were of course critical of the man. He certainly had an ego. But below it all he felt right for your friend. He treated her like an individual, a partner—not a possession. The same night you met Cassian at a party. Admittedly you were a little drunk. Okay, you were more than a little drunk. Okay, fine! You were very drunk. Like hookup-with-your-friend drunk. Thankfully he was drunk too, less drunk, but still drunk. Somewhere between the drinks, bad music, and watching Feyre and Rhys be sickeningly smitten with each other you and Cassian found a connection. It was like in kindergarten when your eyes land on any random person in the room and think, you’re cool and we’re friends now. 

You woke up the following morning with a hang-over on a couch to Feyre and Rhys stifling laughter. Your friend informed you it was the suite Rhysand and his friends shared on campus. How a group of first-years got that was beyond you, but you didn’t complain. You were still wearing your clothes and thanked the heavens you saw no vomit either. You managed yourself awake to see Cassian sprawled on the floor. You met Azriel that morning. 

“For the headache,” he said, as he offered you a glass of water and Aspirin. 

The three of you suffered while Feyre and Rhys remained wrapped up in each other all morning. 

The connection with Cassian only grew faster. You kept in contact over the summer, both constantly joking about the disgust you felt for the budding relationship between your friends. In truth you both were happy for Rhys and Feyre. Upon your return for your Sophomore year of university, the friendship solidified itself. You were constantly together. Staying up late to get work done, eating, studying, getting stupid drunk at parties. Despite the humor and jokes, you also found a deep comfort from each other. 

Cassian adored physical contact, which was perfect because you did too. Something you discovered when you woke up on the couch in the suite to your dear friend have a nightmare. 

“Just a nightmare, Cass. Just a nightmare,” you reassured him. He had clung to you, falling back asleep soon after. 

By the end of Sophomore year, you were literally inseparable, constantly draping over the other whenever you hung out as a group. A group you drunkenly named, Rhysand’s IC , because he was constantly parenting the rest of you alongside Feyre. IC standing for Idiot Children . 

One particularly very early morning, around 1am, you and Cass were draped over each other on the couch in the suite. The conversation topic was stupid things you did as children, and Cassian was letting out a particularly loud laugh when a cold-faced looking Az stepped out of his room, asking you to “pipe down”. 

Your junior year, Cassian managed a suite that could fit you and Feyre and you all lived together. Often times the night would end with Feyre and Rhys finding themselves together with you and Cassian sitting together having a drink while you braided Cass’s shoulder-length hair, talking about trivial matters. 

Your final year, Feyre and Rhys chose to live off campus because they wanted a place to themselves leaving you, Cass, and Az to fend for yourselves. Az wound up with a single while you and Cassian chose to share a room to be closer to the center of campus. Azriel was a floor above you. You spent night after together, sitting in the corner of your room, watching a movie together, or talking, or sitting in silence enjoying the other’s company. In hindsight it was crazy how quickly college had gone by. 

Cassian had become your dearest friend through it all. His humor you adored, but it was his caring and passionate nature which had you feeling more deeply for him. And suddenly you were stumbling back from an We’re Almost Graduated party Rhys and Feyre hosted.

✨💫

“There’s a spider on your shoulder!!” You shout as you stumble into your dorm room with Cass. You cackle as Cass squeals, squeezing his eyes shut. 

You step forward to flick the spider off his shoulder and he screams making you laugh and nearly keel over. He catches you before you do, a hand landing on your hip. An electric buzz bolts through you. For all the times you’d been in contact this felt different. Maybe it’s the alcohol, the fact that his hand has never been on your hip before, or the the excitement of graduation. 

“Cass?” You ask him, his hand still resting against your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Y/N?” His question is met with a moment of silence. And then suddenly Cassian’s hands are cupping your cheeks and he’s kissing you. 

Your eyes flutter shut before he’s pulling away. The kiss somehow intoxicating and sobering. There’s a stupid grin on your best friends face. “You know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

He’s met with silence for a while. You are unable to move. Finally you manage words. “Do that again.”

There is a mild question in his eyes. 

“Do that again,” you repeat. 

Cassian doesn’t need to be told a third time.

[jealousveronya]

Would've, could've, should've - Chapter 1

Summary:

Everyone at the Spring Court always talked about how menacing and ruthless the High Lords were, especially the strongest High Lord, the High Lord of the Night Court. And Feyre did fear him, but when the entire world seemed set on reminding her how she needed to be protected, something even her husband couldn't accomplish without her sacrificing her freedom, she couldn't help but imagine a reality where he wasn't a threat, but the one she clung to breathlessly every night.

After all, if she needed to be protected, the company of the strongest should suffice.

However, that was just a fantasy Feyre created to escape to when she couldn't get out of bed. It meant nothing. She hadn't even met the lord of the night.

But what happens when she does and can't stop a blush from creeping onto her face as she finally puts a face to all her sensual fantasies?

Read Chapter 1 on: AO3 or continue reading

Seven thrones, crafted out of purest white marble, encircled a pond that shimmered in the daylight with lotuses gently drifting across its surface. The seven thrones were meant for the seven high lords, the rulers of Prythian. Six were occupied, but one remained empty, a truth no one dared to speak of yet, nor its implications.

It had been a considerable time since the high lords held a meeting, their mutual disdain apparent in the uneasy silence that hung over the gathering.

"For how long do you intend to keep us in the dark, Beron?" Tarquin asked, scratching his chin, a hint of mockery woven into his words.

"I have a court to attend to. Explain the reason for this meeting at once, or I'll return to it." Tarquin crossed his legs. A slight wave in the pond splashed Beron's leather boots, prompting a mischievous smirk to dance on the High Lord of Summer's face.

Beron, the high lord with auburn locks, exhaled as his fingers drummed against the throne. He behaved as if he were the father of five insolent brats he'd summoned for a lecture.

"I had honestly hoped someone else would be the first to admit it, but I see it all comes down to me. Very well." He leaned back in his throne.

"A spark of my power has vanished," he declared.

Whatever smug expression had been on Tarquin's face instantly evaporated into thin air.

In a world where even a spark could mean the difference between life and death, high lord or slave, the danger of this confession did not go unnoticed.

"Am I the only one?" Beron asked, looking at the other high lords with a narrowed gaze.

"Regretfully or fortunately, you are not the only one," Kallias began. "I noticed it too. I was at breakfast when I felt it just... leave. That was about two months ago."

"I have also experienced it," Tarquin added.

The other high lords followed with their agreements.

"It's just a spark now, but who is to say how much more will vanish, how much weaker we will get?" Beron balled his hands into fists, slamming them against the throne. "It's natural to suspect Hybern—perhaps they've found a way to drain us of our power slowly; Cauldron knows how much they'd want that. But we also can't dismiss," he looked toward the seventh throne, the empty one covered in dust,

"him."

Silence flooded the room.

The seventh throne was meant for the death incarnate, the strongest high lord, the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand—the only male in Prythian who could make all the other high lords take a step back, even if some wouldn't admit it.

"Well, shouldn't he be here then? So we can ask him? If he's responsible, he already knows—there's no point hiding it from him." Helion broke the silence. He had been avoiding Beron's gaze the entire meeting. Although the rumors of his affair with Beron's wife were old, the bitterness between the two males was still palpable.

"And if he isn't to blame and was somehow unaffected unlike us, do we need to let him know we have grown even weaker?" The high lord of the autumn court spat.

"I have to agree. We can always plan a second meeting with him, but perhaps we don't need to tell him everything from the beginning." Tarquin followed.

"So what would be the best way to handle this?" Kallias spoke as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His power was leaking from him, so much that the part of the pond in front of him was slowly freezing.

"I recommend sending spies to the night court. We need to see if Rhysand is planning a war, and whether he is gathering armies. As strong as he is, if his goal is to weaken us so he can take over, he still won't try it without an army. If there is no army, we'll meet again to discuss what should be done further" Beron suggested.

Agreements could be heard from all sides of the hall, except for one. Beron's eyes followed the silence until they stopped at a male dressed in green, blonde strands of hair covering his already unreadable expression.

"You've been awfully quiet, Tamlin. Is there any reason for that?"

Tamlin hummed in dismissal before replying.

"No, you have just said it all. In fact, I volunteer one of my spies for the mission."

Upon the end of the meeting, Tamlin had winnowed back to his manor.

His hands were shaking slightly, his vision blurred, claws growing longer every second as the beast inside threatened to come out.

He had barely kept it inside during the discussion, gripping the armrests of the throne for dear life.

Since he'd gotten the letter from Beron that called for a meeting he had prayed to the Cauldron that this wasn't the topic. That no one had noticed the missing sparks of power. Or that if they had noticed, that they didn't care enough. They were just sparks after all. They were so insignificant compared to the entirety of a high lord's power, power capable of maintaining an entire court, keeping a season everlasting.

He took slow steps up the staircase. The weight of his secret was threatening to push him back down.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to handle this? Right now they believed Rhysand or Hybern was to blame, but it's only a matter of time before they find out the truth.

The all-too-familiar scent hit his nostrils. It was the sweetest scent he had ever known. He relished in inhaling it before his feet followed its trace. 

Slowly opening the door, he peeked inside.

It was a moment to behold. Water was splashed everywhere, bubbles were spilling out of the tub. Light from the windows passing through the bubbles reflected rainbows on the marble floor. And inside the tub lay a female with golden wet hair framing her face and one leg lazily draped outside, swinging back and forth.

The sight of the female he held dear to his heart was a momentary reprieve, forcing the beast to retreat within the chamber of his soul as if her presence alone could pacify it.

As if for the first time ever, Tamlin exhaled, only for a second though  as the sight of her was also a reminder of the ever-looming threat.

The meeting had been a threat, a warning, because of who she was - because around her shoulders, that were peaking out of the water, tiny water wolves were frolicking - water wolves that she was creating. Her face wore a concentrated expression with furrowed brows as her delicate hands shaped water into wolves and gave them life.

Finally breaking her focus, taking notice of Tamlin, she looked up. Her blue orbs graced him with their sincerity as a smile found its way on her lips. Her skin started emitting a glow with intensity similar to one of the sun.

If he wasn't mesmerized he might have squinted to protect his vision.

And as the final punch to the gut, to remind him again of whaz she was, instead of speaking, she gently entered his mind.

"I missed you."

Tamlin could spend an eternity in that tub snuggled up against Feyre, kissing the nape of her neck, listening to the faintest of her moans, her fingers tangled in his hair, if the Cauldron only allowed it.

His teeth grazed her skin in between his kisses causing Feyre to shudder and pull on his hair harder.

The beast inside of him wanted him to mark her, to declare her as his as if that would protect her.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Feyre asked using her daemati powers, trailing her nails against the inside of his mind. As much as he was settled inside her physically, she was inside him mentally.

He bit her neck eliciting a sharp gasp from her. It wasn’t enough to mark her, just enough for her to feel the sharpness of his canines and how easy it would be for him to pierce her skin.

“I prefer it when I hear your voice.” Tamlin pulled on her plump bottom lip with his claw. He wasn’t interested in containing his claws like he had been doing at the meeting. Not with her. With her he didn’t need to hide or fake control.

And the reality from who she had gotten her daemati spark wasn’t really allowing him to even try concealing them. The fact his magic was running through her veins now was eating at his heart, especially when she was so determined on using it so frequently.

Violet eyes flashed in his mind, but he quickly composed himself.

“Fine. Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Feyre asked audibly now, pink covering her freckled cheeks.

“No,” Tamlin murmured before shifting his hips. Feyre breathed out a song of pleasure as her eyes rolled back into her head. “Fuck, Tamlin.”

He licked the sensitive place he found above the collarbone. 

He’ll protect her.

He’ll protect her from everyone. 

No one will take her from him.

His jaw closed around the curve of her neck, this time with enough force to draw blood.

“Feyre,” Tamlin started as his tongue tasted her blood.

“Hmm,” Feyre moaned.

“You’ll cook us alive.”

At that Feyre noticed the rising temperature of the water, a consequence of her skin getting hotter and hotter, almost igniting fire.

“Cauldron, sorry.”

Tamlin’s chuckle echoed against his mark.

”I can’t- I don’t know how to stop it.”

At that Tamlin picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he stepped out of the tub and headed towards Feyre’s bedroom. He made a point to step on one of the water wolves following them, turning it into a puddle.

“HEY!”

Tamlin only laughed in response.

“I need to practice. I need to get better at using my magic.” Feyre sounded disappointed.

“Nonsense,” Tamlin commented as he walked over to the bed, leaving a wet trail behind them.

“I could help you with the court, I could do so much.”

He lowered her onto the silky sheets. “You are already helping me.”

She looked to the side out of embarrassment.

“I could help you in other ways.”

“I am the high lord. I think I’ll manage. Besides, I want to take care of you. Not the other way around.” He kissed her breasts.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to stop taking care of you.”

“That,” he warned “is an exception.”

His kisses started to get lower and lower. “Which we will get to later.”

“I just think that I should train, get better at using it.”

But Tamlin did not respond.

[shallyne]

I Think Your House is Haunted

"And I've been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted. Your dad mom is always mad and that must be why. And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates." meets "I like it, picasso" in a 1.4k word Feysand fic for @sjmromanceweek

Feyre's eyes darted to her sister, who sat beside her at the dining table. Feeling Feyre's stare on her, Nesta looked at her for a brief moment. Long enough for Feyre to see a devilish glint in her sister's eyes, not the usual “I'm going to stab someone” glint, but pure mischief which gave her something…child-like, something Feyre never had seen in her sister. Nesta had never been a child, she always had been expected to be a young lady and she had played that part very well.

The mischievous glint wasn't gone, Feyre knew that, but as Nesta straightened and cleared her throat she hid it better under a mask, you had to look closely if you wanted to find it.

“So, Rhysand,” she said in an unusually nice tone. “I heard you are interested in art?” He only mustered a short nod before Nesta continued to say, “My sister happens to be a fine artist herself.”

Feyre froze, clasping the fork so tightly in her hand that she could feel the metal bending in her palm. She tried to look at Elain, who sat on Nesta's right, signaling her for help but she pressed her lips together as if trying to hold in a laugh. What the hell were they doing?

“Go on, Feyre.” Nesta said, ignoring their mother at the head of the table, fuming. This dinner was a ruse, something to match Nesta with the King of the North, Rhysand who sat just across from them. “You just chewed my ear off this morning about your new painting.”

Feyre looked at Rhysand, muttering, “It's a concept I told you about, I haven't painted anything yet.” as heat warmed her cheeks.

“But you plan to?” the King asked, seeming genuinely interested. And her sisters seemed genuinely interested in her response.

“Yes-” she said and Nesta began, “You should take a look at her paintings, they are exquisite.”

Rhysand threw Feyre a smile, which made her cheeks burn even more. “I'd love that!”

Nesta already stood up from her chair and Feyre genuinely didn't know if her sister misunderstood the first meeting between Rhysand and her as flirting, if she saw any chemistry between them. Which wasn't true, Feyre thought that man was a huge prick, and he did not do his job right if he had time for dinners in search of a bride. Or maybe Nesta wanted to just piss off their mother, which Feyre was actually a bit proud of. Although, this would have consequences. Knowing their mother, the consequences would be even worse if it was the former, trying to play matchmaker between Rhysand and Feyre, than the latter, trying to piss her off.

“Nesta!” their mother said, “We are still eating, this is incredibly rude!” Then she turned to Rhysand, who already stood, too. “I'm so sorry, your majesty-”

The two men that sat beside Rhysand both looked amused at the scene that played out before them. If Feyre remembered correctly, those were his brothers and the beautiful blonde to his left was his cousin, and third in command.

Rhysand said something to their mother but Feyre didn't hear as Nesta pulled her up, and the King's entourage stood as well, everyone following them.

Her heart started pounding, “What are you doing?“ she whispered to her sisters.

“Please, Feyre.” Nesta said, exasperated, as if Feyre said something stupid. “That man can't take his eyes off of you, and neither can you. You're literally eye-fucking at the table!”

Feyre was surprised about her sister's choice of words and so was Elain as she gasped, “Nesta!”

“This is not one of your smutty romances!” Feyre quipped back.

“Keep that attitude up and I'll make sure to mention all the paintings of the north you hide behind your bed!” Nesta replied, looking smug when Feyre huffed in frustration.

“Mother will kill us,“ Feyre said, still in a whisper as they ascended the stairs, their guests behind them. As Nesta and Feyre talked, Elain told their guests about the house and pointed out specific decorations to keep the attention from the other two.

“Mother will kill me,” Nesta corrected, “But you won't even know because you'll be on your way to the north!”

“I'd kill you if we didn't have any witnesses.” Feyre whispered quickly before they reached the door to Feyre's room, Nesta only snorted unimpressed.

Her sisters entered the room and Feyre stood behind, realizing what they were doing. Who they invited, who was looking at their paintings. Who they didn't pay any attention as they squabbled their way upstairs.

Rhysand paused beside Feyre, neither looking at the other. “Second guessing?” he asked.

“I haven't even first guessed,” she replied grumpily, hoping he didn't notice the slight tremble in her hand. To her surprise, Rhysand radiated warmth and he smelled so good. Fuck. It was unfair, he was handsome and smart and smelled like the ocean and he was respectful to her and her sisters. He was cocky and arrogant, yes, but was that always bad? He has shown genuine interest in them, meaning herself and her sisters, and he didn't seem to be a big fan of their parents, which, honestly, made him even more likeable.

When she didn't get an answer she looked up, yes up because he was a full head taller than her, and found him staring into her room. Following his line of sight, she found the painting she had finished just yesterday. It still sat against her dresser, which she had also painted.

It portrayed a beast looking at themself in the mirror. But if you looked closely, it wasn't just a beast. It was multifaceted, like the night. There was softness portrayed, just as it portrayed hardness. It portrayed herself but she wasn't about to say that, it was ridiculous.

Rhysand entered the bedroom, his eyes fixed on the painting. Of all the paintings, he had to choose this one. Feyre still followed him because the alternative would be dealing with her parents, which she already could hear their angry whispering from the stairs.

“It's even more beautiful than I had expected,” he said, turning around and looking Feyre in the eyes. “Which means a lot because your sister put it on thick downstairs.”

“I don't know what got into her, “ Feyre said truthfully, tucking her hair behind her ears. She couldn't stop herself from blushing at his compliment.

“I'm glad,” Rhysand said, still not breaking eye contact. “Because I have a proposal for you.” Time felt like it stopped, right as her parents reached her door. She felt everyone's attention on them, every pair of eyes in this room on Rhysand and Feyre. She swallowed, Rhysand watching that movement carefully. “I want you to paint a portrait of my family, I've been looking for a qualified painter, you seem perfect for the job. Of course you'll be paid graciously for your work.”

“I thought you wanted to travel back to the north tonight.” Feyre brought out. She remembered him mentioning setting sail shortly after this dinner. “That's hardly enough time for a portrait.”

“That's, Feyre darling, is why I want you to accompany me to my home. I can assure you will be taken care of during your stay.”

A gasp behind her. Was it a surprised gasp from Elain? Or was it their mother seething in anger? She didn't know.

This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and still, the first thing she said, “I can't, not without my sisters.”

“Feyre!” Elain said shocked, being met with Nesta's equally shocked “Are you insane?”

But all Feyre could think of was, “Mother will kill me but you won't even know because you'll be on your way to the north!” and she knew Nesta spoke true, they would be met by their mothers wrath once Feyre was gone and she couldn't for the life of her let that happen. It was either all of them or none of them, but she sure hoped it would be all of them. Feyre was ready to beg but Rhysand only took a look at her sisters and said, “Okay, if you want to pack some things, we will wait downstairs. But as I said already, all of you will be properly taken care off, so don't stress yourself out too much.” he looked back at Feyre and smiled, and she had a feeling this was a real smile, “I'm looking forward to working with you.”

[justatouristhere]

A standing appointment

Part one ~ Day 1: Bonds of @nestaarcheronweek

Read on Ao3

A/N: A two part Acofas/Acosf fix it ficlet that explores a different route in Nesta's post war storyline, in particular her journey to get on a healing path. This part focuses on the sisters' bond and how they approach Nesta - to which I enjoyed adding some light sisterly bickering. TW: Depression, Alcoholism

Nesta looked from the cards in her hands to her two sisters sitting across from her, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Elain and Feyre were both frightfully bad at this game, each and every one of their emotions dancing across their faces, giving them away. Feyre was improving since they began playing together, yet she still couldn’t hide her smugness whenever she was dealt a good hand.

They sat lazily on the wooden tavern chairs, eyeing their cards with amused anticipation, drinks sitting before them on the table. The familiarity of it all almost belied the turmoil that had brought these gatherings on.

But Nesta remembered it only too well.

The end of the Hybern War had left her feeling unable to face the world. The way everything returned to its normal rhythm, people going about their lives as if the war had never happened, had felt wrong to her, jarring even.

She’d turned down Feyre’s offer to move into the family’s new abode, finding the constant bustle of people coming and going unbearable. Instead, she’d taken lodgings in a less central, more modest part of Velaris.

All Nesta had wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner and hide from everything. She’d ignored the long list of messages and messengers that followed from her family, hoping they would eventually stop appearing and she would be forgotten.

Some weeks following her move, however, both her sisters had shown up at her front door, brimming with determination.

They woke her at the ungodly hour of noon, knocking persistently, her sister’s melodic voice flowing in from the hall. She covered her throbbing head with a pillow and contemplated pretending not to be at home, but figured that Feyre would likely just winnow herself in and find her either way. So, resigning to the fact that she could not flee this encounter, she got up from her bed and opened the door. Feyre and Elain stood in the hallway and as they took her in, their smiles faded and their expressions turned anxious. They must have found her very changed.

“Hi Nes, can we come in?” Elain said, reapplying the smile on her face.

Nesta moved back a step and opened the door wider. They exchanged awkward hellos and took seats on the couple of chairs available in her sparsely furnished living room. The state of her lodgings didn’t seem to diminish their anxiety. These days, she was seldomly aware of her surroundings. Nesta sat on a stool she had dragged in from the bedroom. For a moment her sisters both looked at her, concern etched on their faces.

“How have you been, Nes?” Feyre began. “We got worried when we didn’t hear from you.”

“I’m alright, I have been … occupied,” Nesta schooled her features into a neutral expression.

“What have you been up to?” Feyre went on.

“I do not see how that is any of your business,” Nesta said coolly. Her head started to throb harder. These were precisely the kind of questions she had wanted to avoid by not answering her sisters’ messages.

She saw Feyre frown, her gaze travelling over the empty kitchen shelves and the empty bottles of liquor scattered in the sink. If she had known they were coming she would have tossed these out. They were bound to raise more questions.

Elain leaned towards Nesta and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

“Nes, you can tell us, we are family, if you are not feeling well-”

“I said I’m fine,” Nesta snapped, making Elain wince. She sighed, and in an attempt at a more even-tempered tone, added, “I’m alright, really.”

“Can we do anything? Is there something you need? Maybe help around the house…” Elain suggested tentatively, looking around her.

“It’s only two rooms, I can manage,” Nesta replied.

An uncomfortable silence ensued, one that made the air feel heavy with unspoken things. She could read it in their concerned looks, all that they wanted to say. The urge to just get up and leave was making her twitch. She was about to move when Feyre eventually broke the silence again.

“We are truly worried Nesta, I wish we could see you more often, to make sure you are well.”

“I don’t need anyone checking on me, I wish to be left alone,” Nesta replied, bristling again. She felt her stomach twisting with anger. Why couldn’t they simply let her be?

“Is it not preferable to arrange a meeting between us rather than have us barging in uninvited?” Feyre pressed on, half-smiling, half-pleading.

“What is preferable for me, is not to be patronised by my little sister.” Nesta stood, unable to sit still anymore with her temper rising. Feyre rose to her feet too, abandoning the calm tone she had adopted so far.

“Do you expect me to just leave my own sister, to simply waste away all alone, with no one to care for her?” she asked defiantly. Sometimes looking at Feyre was like looking into a mirror. The same blazing blue eyes as her own stared back at her. They both stood there, facing each other with matching icy glares.

“That is not helpful Feyre,” Elain interjected in a reprimanding tone. Feyre broke the staring contest, shaking her head, and huffed in exasperation.

“Look around you Nes,” she said, “this is all that is left of our family now.” She crossed her arms over her chest with a look of determination. “You may rage and storm all you want but I am not giving up.”

In the end, Nesta agreed to a monthly gathering of the three of them, in the hopes to finally end the conversation and have them leave. But aside from the nuisance of unwanted family visits the truth was that Feyre’s words had rattled her more than she would care to admit.

They left it up to Nesta to decide the when and how of their gatherings and she opted for card games at a local tavern to give them something to do other than talking, as it usually led to uncomfortable subjects that she resolutely wished to avoid. She had still hoped to put them off by choosing the seediest taverns she could find in Velaris but it hadn’t discouraged her sisters from meeting with her.

Feyre seemed to almost enjoy being in those shabby bars. All pretence of being High Lady left at the door, she appeared relaxed and undaunted by any of the creepy regulars. Elain seemed more out of place than any of them, like a rosebud amongst weeds. If she was uncomfortable, she never complained.

Their first meetings felt somewhat awkward and the forced politeness often drove Nesta to leave early. But after a while they eventually got used to each other anew and fell into a comfortable enough rhythm with one another. Nesta had even started to look forward to these monthly outings.

They were presently sitting at a sticky wooden table, tucked in a corner of a tavern that smelled of stale beer and pipe smoke. The place was small and consisted of a couple of wooden tables, a crooked counter and a fire hearth that was currently unlit due to the warmth of the season.

Other than themselves, a group of Fae males was sitting at a neighbouring table, occasionally bursting into a raucous laughter, and a few regulars sat at the counter, silently holding on to their drinks, now and then breaking the silence to grunt orders to the barkeep.

“The whiskey here is appalling,” Nesta said, picking up her glass and taking a sip, making a face as she swallowed.

“You bloody chose this ramshackle of a tavern, so don’t complain now,” Feyre said as she threw her an amused look over her cards.

“No one forced you to come,” Nesta retorted.

“And yet, here I am,” Feyre replied.

“Do not start with your bickering,” Elain took a small sip from her own glass and burst into a coughing fit.

Feyre filled a glass from a water jug and pushed it over to her.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Nesta said with a sidelong glance at Elain.

“I’m sorry,” Elain said between coughs, “how can anyone drink this, it burned a hole in my throat.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and turned to her cards.

“Whose turn is it?” Elain asked and then startled when suddenly one of the males from the neighbouring table appeared at her shoulder.

“Hello lovely, can I buy you a drink?” he said, leaning in.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I have to decline,” Elain answered in a polite tone, and then returned her attention to her cards.

The male, seemingly unconvinced, decided to drag a chair up to her side and sit next to her. Before he could open his mouth again however, a blade appeared at his throat.

“I think you better return to your friends and leave the lovely lady be,” Feyre said and flashed him a toothy grin.

The male put his hands up in a gesture of surrender and slowly got up and backed away. Feyre kept her eyes on him until he rejoined his group and sheathed her blade at her hip, putting her feet on the chair he just vacated. She turned to her sisters who were both glaring at her.

”What?” Feyre asked, widening her eyes in mock surprise.

“Why do you always have to take your blade out?” Nesta hissed.

Feyre chuckled, “You are one to talk, if I recall correctly, the last time someone came too close to you, you kicked him in the groin.”

That was true enough. During their last outing, a particularly drunk male had tried to corner Nesta on her way to the lavatory and had paid for it.

“Well that groin was asking for it,” Nesta admitted.

“And besides,” Feyre continued, “it saves us the trouble of spending the evening fending off other fools trying to approach us.”

“Why don’t you just show off your High Lady status? They’d all stay away if they knew who you are,” Nesta remarked.

Feyre had chosen to use her shape-shifting powers to change her looks and go unrecognised. Tonight, she was sporting a bright pink bob and honey-coloured eyes, the ink usually staining her right arm with symbols of the Night Court glamoured. In her leggings, shirt, and gilet ensemble she looked like an odd cross between a pirate and a circus performer. A rather unladylike snort-laugh had escaped Nesta when she had first seen Feyre that night, which had earned her a scowl and an you’re so old fashioned Nesta from her sister.

“I don’t like the deference that ensues when I introduce myself as High Lady, I get it enough as is, it’s nice to get a break from it,” Feyre said, keeping her voice low.

“Shouldn’t have married a High Lord then maybe,” Nesta said waspishly.

“Well, what can I say, the heart wants what it wants,” Feyre replied, shrugging.

Nesta eyed her with curiosity, “Does Rhys even know in what kind of places you are meeting me every month?” she asked.

“He does,” Feyre replied.

“Doesn’t he hate it?”

“He does,” Feyre said, grinning, “but he’ll get over it.”

Nesta huffed a laugh and looked back at her cards.

“I can’t drink this,” Elain said, looking dismally at her glass. “I’m going to get us something different for a change.”

She got up and strolled over to the counter. Several heads turned but nobody dared to approach her this time. The barkeep leaned over the counter to listen to her order, frowning. A little while later she strolled back holding three glasses with a bright red liquid in them and offered them each one.

“What in the world is that?” Nesta looked at her drink as if it was poison.

“It’s called Lover’s Kiss,” Elain explained.

“I’m sorry what?” Feyre looked uncertain at the liquid inside the glass, sniffed at it and took a sip. An overly sweet taste filled her mouth that turned bitter as she swallowed. She had to stifle a gag.

“It is a mixed drink,” Elain slowly sipped hers, “I have had better ones if I’m honest.”

“Lover’s kisses? I certainly hope so…” Feyre said, chuckling.

Nesta snorted and Elain’s cheeks flushed, “Well maybe next time we could choose a more… delectable place to meet,” she said, looking pointedly at Nesta.

“Alright Elain we will get you some delectable choices next time,” Feyre continued, teasing.

”Of drink!” Elain protested. “And ideally food,” she added.

A familiar voice greeted the barkeep and Nesta looked up from her cards to see a tall figure standing by the entrance. The newcomer had silvery blonde hair that fell in a rope-like braid over his left shoulder and slate-coloured eyes.

His Winter Court features were not a novelty in these parts any longer. Since Velaris was unveiled to the world, more and more people from other Courts came to the city in pursuit of trade.

The male scanned the room as if looking for something. Meeting Nesta’s gaze, he dipped his chin in greeting and sauntered to the counter to order a drink. Feyre, realising her sister’s attention had shifted, turned to look.

“What are we looking at?”

Nesta’s eyes snapped back to her cards.

“Anyone we know?” Elain kept her voice low.

“Just a friend,” Nesta said nonchalantly.

“What kind of friend?” Feyre asked in a suggestive tone.

Nesta gave her a look of irritation, “None of your business.” She straightened and put her cards on the table. “Read them and weep,” she said triumphantly.

Annoyed groans ensued from her sisters.

“Oh, come on, again?”

“This is where I bid you two goodnight,” Nesta said as she got up from her seat, “I will see you next month.”

“Alright.”

Feyre leaned towards her and whispered, “Don’t forget to use pro-“

“Do not finish that sentence!” Nesta hissed, pointing a finger at her.

Feyre chuckled, “See you next month Nes,” she said.

“See you soon Nes,” Elain added.

She nodded at them both and walked to the counter, to the male and drink waiting for her.

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

Ive complained about acotar's weird plot structure before and I was gonna talk about how I would fix it as well, but then I forgot so Im talking about how I would fix it now

Just get rid of Amarantha, Rhysand's the villain now. He gets her Woman Scorned motivation of being rejected by Tamlin but hes still the high lord of the night court and instead of him ruling over all of Prythian, he basically just torments Tamlin and hes got the spring court locked down with magic so no one can come in or out for help. One idea that I like is that instead of the mask curse, everyone is cursed to just cant stand being near Tamlin, like he comes into a room that a few servants are cleaning and they immediately feel compelled to leave without another word. Idk, the idea is that Rhysands trying to break him through isolation while convincing him that hes unlovable so he'll come crawling right back to him. And then theres obviously still that caveat of 'the curse gets broken if you can find a human whos killed a fae with hate in her heart and get her to fall in love with you, but until then everything stays as is'

From then on, things mostly happen as they do in the book with Tamlin and Feyre bonding except Lucien's not there because of that curse. Or, actually you could still have him around since Feyre wouldnt be affected by the curse, just not anywhere near Tamlin. Oh, I really like the idea of Lucien very begrudgingly coming up to this human girl he dislikes so that he can be like "hey, can you please tell Tamlin that we're still friends and that I still love him even though I cant speak to him" thatd be sweet

(uhhhhhh this got way longer than anticipated, have a readmore)

I think if you still want Rhys to be like, the hot and sexy badboy alternative love interest you could have him corner Feyre whenever shes alone and try to seduce her in order make absolutely 100% sure she never breaks that curse. But its not working, she just keeps bonding with Tamlin and he notices that shes getting more and more comfortable with him and seems to be slowly falling in love with him and hes getting nervous, because Rhysand is absolutely not above just coming in and hurting her in order to torment him some more so he sends her away, again, like in the book

Then Feyre comes back and maybe she finds that the spring court is now shrowded in eternal night for 💫Atmosphere💫 and Tamlin has submitted to Rhysand. But hes still not quite satisfied because Tamlin basically begged him not to hurt Feyre because he loves her, and Rhysand just needs him to say that he doesnt love her after all. And Feyre comes in and demands that her high lord be set free and Rhysand issues the same three trials as Amarantha, I dont think he should give her the riddle because idk, i always thought it was really weird and stupid to have these trials AND a riddle, just pick one. And Im picking the trials because Rhysand is a sadistic mf. I dont think the trials should happen over the course of three months though, I think they should happen over the course of three days with one trial a day, because Rhysand is very confident that Feyre will just die and hes getting a little impatient, like he just wants to have his Tamlin already yknow

And then she completes the trials, Rhysand has to release them and thats the end of the story. I think this would work best as a standalone, but if you still wanted to make it a trilogy and you still wanted to have the Feysand bargain, maybe Feyre could completely break down during that last trial where she has to kill those innocent fae because shes bonded with them so much (in this version she would get to know more of the household than just Alis and Lucien) and she cant bring herself to do it and Rhysand is all smug like "do you give up?" but then Feyre pulls herself together and goes to stab the first one, and he realizes that she might actually do it for Tamlin's sake and that all of his plans are about to be ruined, so hes basically like "okay, you know what, Ive changed my mind, I'll lift the curse and I'll leave you and Tamlin be, but you'll have to agree to this bargain with me where you have to stay at my court for two weeks every months" the idea is basically that if he cant have Tamlin's love, hes gonna take Tamlin's beloved, and Feyre agrees

Idrk how the next book could play out from that point. I have this image in my head of like. okay so, one of my favorite obscure dark romance dynamics is ancient evil vampire/newly turned evil vampire/kind-hearted innocent human guy, bonus points if the newly turned vampire and the innocent human guy were in a perfectly normal loving relationship before the other vampire entered their life. And what Im pitching is basically the fae-version of that for Feylinsand. Im invisioning Feyre having a corruption arc and slowly falling for Rhysand but she also still loves Tamlin and Rhysand also still loves him so they entrap him in this fucked up and evil but also hot and sexy poly relationship. That might be a little self-indulgent but idk man, this whole series is built on self-indulgence and its not even interesting because sjm has the most boring sex fantasies ive ever read. which yknow, im not necessarily judging, I just dont like it. Also actually nvm I think it would be funnier if Feyre didnt fall for Rhysand, like its not a thing of her coming down to his level so she can kiss him, she turns evil for completely unrelated reasons

Another thing you could do if you wanted to make it a trilogy, but maybe one thats less focused on sex because what else are you gonna do with a hot evil polycule, is you have Rhysand take Tamlin to the night court which is like, all the way on the opposite side of Prythian. So then the first book could be everything I just described except when Feyre comes back to the spring court, she finds that Tamlin is gone and it ends right there, on a cliffhanger. The next book would be her and Lucien and maybe Alis or some other fae she befriended traveling all across Prythian to get to the night court and we see a bunch of Prythian because godddd I despise the fact that in the actual acotar series, we're just trapped in the night court for 4 books and barely get to see anything outside of the night court, nay, velaris. And then the third book would be them trying to find Velaris, which would be a secret city in the sense that no one knows where it is but like people do know the name and that it does exist somewhere, and Feyre either does the trials and frees Tamlin that way or maybe theyll get the Illyrians on board to just kill him and that breaks the curse idk

And yeah, thats it, this got way longer than I thought. I was just kinda spitballing here because again, I dont like the first book's structure at all and I think the existence of Hybern is so unecessary. Like, Prythian has seven courts with plenty of potential for interesting politics to happen between them, whyyyyyy does there need to be a kingdom full of evil people for them to unite against?? I hate it

Anyway, Ive been thinking about this idea for a little while but I had no plans for fleshing it out in any way, but now that ive written all that down Im thinking of maybe cleaning all of that up and actually making it a whole rewrite at some point. I make no promises though, I suck ass at writing longer stories. So until then, let me know what you think of this

[slytherhys]

For your fun drabble : how about, the sisters walk in on the bat boys in the birchin 😏they’re bruised from the fight but now invested in persuading them to join

Thank you so much for participating! 😊🌼 I took some creative liberties but I hope this lives up to your expectations!

Elriel Month Drabble 1 - Family Bonding

It took the sisters about three seconds to understand what, exactly, they were seeing.

They knew about the yearly snowball fight, just like they knew about the brotherly sauna session that usually followed, but for some reason, neither seemed to think of it when they first planned to spend the afternoon at the Cabin, wrapping Solstice presents away from prying eyes (read: Cassian and Azriel).

Now, as all three sisters stared at the bruised, semi-naked form of three very strong, very big Illyrians, all merry thoughts of Solstice presents, and hot chocolate seemed to vanish.

Rhysand was the first to notice them, raising his head just as he was about to pull down his pants. Azriel followed, turning bright red as his eyes snapped towards Elain’s, whose pink cheeks darkened under his startled gaze. Cassian, frustrated that his rambles kept being met with silence, finally looked up and what came over his face was nothing but pure delight at seeing the three sisters staring at them in different states of distress.

“Ladies,” He purred, and Nesta immediately narrowed her eyes, as if daring him to make a single joke. But Cassian grinned, all wicked charm and innocence. “Care to join us?”

Before he could even pretend to regret inviting them, Nesta was hurling something at his head, fast enough he barely evaded it. Feyre and Elain had dissolved into giggles just as Azriel slapped the back of his head with unnecessary force. Cassian scowled at him just as the sound of the front door closing echoed through the cabin, the girls long gone.

He turned to Rhys, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“I just thought we could do some family bonding.” He reasoned, not sure he even believed himself.

Azriel walked away, shaking his head in disappointment. Rhys simply rolled his eyes.

He scoffed at his brother. “Don’t act like you didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Rhys simply smirked, smug as he turned and dropped the rest of his clothes on the couch. “Good luck explaining your good idea to Nesta tonight.”

Cassian flinched, swearing under his breath. He was sleeping on the couch tonight, wasn't he?

[ofduskanddreams]

Truth or Dare, Azriel?

For @panicatthenightcourt :) The request: Gwynriel and Elucien. Tipsy truth or dare and maybe things get a little bit messy? I chose to make this a modern AU since it wasn't specified hehe.

A/N: It's implied that they've been drinking but let me assure everyone that they're still fully in control of themselves. There is no infidelity in this fic, everything is consented to by all parties involved.

Gwynriel & Elucien ✦ Rated M ✦ 1.3k words ✦ on AO3

Azriel dropped his head onto Gwyn’s shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the scents of sunscreen and lavender shampoo.

The bonfire was crackling merrily and carving a pool of orange out of the deep violet night. Crickets chirped, frogs trilled, and the lake water lapped gently at the sand.

He was tipsy.

Gwyn smelled fucking amazing.

There were still four days left of their vacation.

He was at his favorite place with his favorite people.

It was too….

No. 

Azriel sat up, blinking against the firelight and reminding himself that he was allowed to have this without the constant fear of it being stripped away.  

Some things were truly good. Other shoes didn’t always drop.

“Everything alright, Az?” Elain asked. She was curled into Lucien’s side across the fire from them.

“Yeah, fine. I just spaced out.” He hoped his face betrayed nothing. The last thing he needed was for Lucien to spend the rest of their vacation calling him Sadzriel again. 

“Okay,” Gwyn exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “We are going to play a game because it’s too early for us to be getting tired. Besides, we need to give them—” she jerked her head toward the house on the hill “—more time before the cabin will be safe.”

Half an hour earlier, Nesta had dragged Cassian away from the fire claiming she was “tired.” Rhys and Feyre made their excuses not long after.

Gwyn had a point. Even if they wanted to go to bed right now, Azriel knew none of them would be able to fall asleep due to the volume of the others' activities. It was the one downside of this pine-sheltered haven on the lake. 

“What kind of game?” Lucien asked.

Azriel turned to his right. The flames danced tangerine in the teal reflection of Gwyn’s eyes making them gleam with a devilish light. 

His girlfriend shot him a sly smile. “Truth or Dare.”

Elain grinned, “I’m in.” 

“Me too,” Lucien said with a huff of laughter. 

“Az?”

His past experiences of Truth or Dare weren’t what Azriel would call fond memories. Then again, maybe that was an unavoidable consequence of playing with Rhys and Cassian instead of being the fault of the game itself. And the way Gwyn was looking up at him all wide-eyed and lower lip caught between her teeth the way she knew drove him crazy….

“Fine, I’m in too.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Lucien chuckled and Azriel threw an empty beer can at his head.

“If you had my memories of Truth or Dare, you wouldn’t be so psyched about it either,” Azriel grumbled. 

It didn’t take long for the game to spiral in the direction that Azriel had been dreading. They made it once around the circle and then it was Elain’s turn again. He knew it was going to be bad no matter which option he chose. The world may think Elain Archeron the epitome of sweet kindness, but those close to her knew better than to fall to that facade. Elain Archeron could be the devil in disguise.

“Truth or dare, Azriel?” she asked, her tone intentionally disarming.

Knowing Elain for as long as he had, he knew she knew things about him that few did—that Gwyn didn’t. Not yet, at least. They’d been together for a year but some things he wanted to share were so weighty that a year might not be strong enough to hold them. To choose “truth” would be too risky.

“Dare.” Azriel leaned back, leveling Elain with a look of challenge to belie his fear of her next words.

“I dare you to kiss Lucien. For at least five seconds. With feeling.”

And Elain looked so smug at that, Azriel couldn’t help but laugh. Lucien was very attractive. Had they met in a bar and weren’t attached, he’d waste no time. “What do you say, Lucien?”

Lucien wore a smirk as he pushed off the log to stand. “If the ladies want a show, and you are willing, who am I to deny them?”

Azriel rose, moving until they were standing nearly chest to chest. “Oh, if it’s what the ladies want, I’m all in.” 

He shot a questioning glance toward Gwyn over his shoulder. It was only a fun game if everyone thought so, if she didn’t want him to do this he wouldn’t. But Gwyn was smiling, and she waved her hands as if to say by all means, please continue.

So, Azriel reached and tangled his fingers in the thick red hair at Lucien’s nape. He winked at Gwyn. “I always have had a thing for redheads,” and then he stepped into Lucien’s space.

Lucien was slightly taller than him. Azriel had forgotten until he had to tilt his chin at the last second. The kiss started out questioning: hi there, hello—drawing back, a second chaste brush and press—we’re doing this, yes we are.

Then it turned exploratory: how good of a kisser are you?—adding pressure—very good I’ll have you know—Lucien’s hands on either side of his jaw, tipping Azriel’s head as he took control. Azriel nipped Lucien’s lower lip in response to the challenge.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably Gwyn. Azriel took that as his cue to slow, and Lucien did the same.

The kiss ended sincerely: that was rather nice—a strong press—it was, wasn’t it—parting, then coming back for one last peck, featherlight and lingering.

They stepped away from each other, smiling. Lucien offered Azriel his hand, “Nice work.”

Azriel shook it, “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Lucien rolled his eyes and went back to sit beside Elain. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

Elain, whose red cheeks (though not as red as Gwyn’s when Azriel looked) were answer enough, but she huffed a laugh, “And then some. I don’t know what I expected but that was… something.” 

Lucien arched an eyebrow, glancing between Azriel and Gwyn with a silent question. Azriel couldn’t deny that the idea intrigued him, but that was something to think about for another night. Now he needed revenge.

“Elain—Truth or dare?” Azriel already knew which one she would choose, but they had to play the game. 

“Dare.” 

Just as he had hoped.

“I dare you to ask Gwyn to go skinny dipping in the lake with you right now.”

“Oh,” Elain feigned surprise. “So that’s how it’s going to be? What do you say, Gwyn, should we give the boys a taste of their own medicine?”

“Now hold on. That wasn’t—” Azriel’s half-hearted protest was interrupted when Gwyn stood up and tugged off her (it was actually his, but she’d stolen it) hoodie.

“There is nothing I would like more,” Gwyn replied with a wicked-looking grin aimed at Azriel. 

Elain and Gwyn walked down the beach, a trail of discarded clothes marking their path to the lakeshore. 

Slowly, Azriel and Lucien rose and turned as one, as if there were little more than puppets on strings. 

Inky water swallowed pale limbs and soft curves as they walked further out. The two women seemed to glow in the light of the nearly full moon reflecting off the breeze wrinkled surface of the lake. They were ethereal, otherworldly, like nymphs or sirens.

Azriel glanced at Lucien to find the man already looking at him. They exchanged nods, starting to follow the trail their girlfriends had left behind.

Gwyn and Elain stopped when the water was just below their shoulders. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew their hands were in each other's wet hair and they were kissing. 

“Fuck me.” The words sounded like they’d been punched out of Lucien’s gut.

“Yeah,” Azriel breathed. He shared the sentiment.

“Well boys,” Gwyn’s voice carried over the water. “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to join us?”

✦ ✦ ✦

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