#feyre don't need no man

[achaotichuman]

AU where feyre is the high lady of the night court b/c she was born into but b/c of society, she decided she would disguise as a male. All the guys are questioning their sexuality, all the women wanna be with her. Feyre is basically that guy and she actually fixes the problems in hewn city and illyria thru brute force or diplomacy.

My apologies anon for this taking so long, this was supposed to be a short and sweet little five-hundred-word one-shot and somehow it has turned into 16,400 words with a lot of plot and world-building. I don't know why I'm like this.

Yall just want me to genderbend every acotar character and I am living, breathing, existing for it. One actually good-at-ruling Masc!Feyre Archeron coming right up!

The black, jewelled crown of Night was heavy on her head. Crushing the careful hairstyle Elain had weaved it into. Elain didn't mourn the loss of her hardwork as she helped to tie up the laces of Feyre's corset. Nesta watched from the door, her silver eyes tracing her youngest sister's form. Feyre expected resentment, she expected outrage and anger from her eldest sibling. Nesta was the one who deserved the position of ruler. Between the three sisters, both Elain and Feyre had promised their allegiance to Nesta when she took the throne, to them it was never an if, never a question.

They were both planning to stand beside her when Nesta inevitably took the crown, when inevitably she faced discord and rage from the arrogant assholes that objectified and opposed any female in power. Feyre was prepared to stand by her sister wearing Illyrian armour and a sword in hand. Elain was prepared to stand by with her head held high and a courtier's tongue ready to smooth over the anger that would be faced.

But no, Feyre stood with the crown on her head and a midnight dress adorning her frame. Muscle pressed against the soft fabrics. She was too toned, too bulky for this beautiful, skin-tight silk. She had begged and pleaded since the day she was old enough to hold a weapon to join the Illyrian War Bands, to fight in the War. It was only through Elain's gentle coaxing that their father allowed her to go.

Through it she had fought, killed and fallen, gotten back up and swung her fists again. The males of the Hewn City called her a waste of a woman, and the Illyrians called her a witch. The females whispered and pointed, the Princes of the other High lords said she was only half a woman.

She wasn't made for this.

"You've studied, Feyre." Nesta said with that cold voice of hers. In Feyre's five hundred years of living, she hadn't ever heard Nesta speak with a warm tone. Yet somehow it had always been comforting.

"You've studied hard, you know this Court, you know the ins and outs." Nesta assured her, walking further into the room.

Feyre whipped around to face her sister, her dear sister, "Not as well as you! I don't have a courtier's face or tongue, I'm not cold or capable of being cruel like you! I'm not soft and I don't find it easy to lie or manipulate others like Elain! I'm fit for this."

"Leave the courtier tongues to us, Feyre." Elain said softly, "You focus on what you've always set out to do."

"And what is that?"

"Fight for what is right." Elain told her, smoothing a hand over Feyre's arm, "You've always fought for those in need, hell you were the one to convince father to fight for the human's right to freedom."

Feyre sucked in breath, feeling too constricted in this corset, "That was only because Baile helped." Baile the eldest Prince of Spring, now the High lord.

"There! You have an ally in Spring already!" Elain pointed out.

"See," Nesta replied smoothly, "You've already started to work for this position, even if you didn't know it."

"It should be you wearing this crown," Feyre whispered to Nesta.

"But it's not, the Mother chose you for a reason Feyre and..."

"And what?"

Nesta closed her eyes, "You can build the Night Court a better future than I can. Your ambitions and your motives are purer than I."

"Nesta no-"

"I fear if I take that crown I will be consumed by the power. I will stand beside you, always, but... as I am now, I will not take such a responsibility, such a high power when it has been granted to another."

"That's not true Nesta, give yourself more credit than that." Feyre said.

"Oh, I give myself credit. With the right words I am capable of bringing this entire continent under my own rule, but I do not know what I would do after that. What I would bring about. You however, do not wish for mighty amounts of power, you just want peace. You are patient, kind and honest."

"All terrible qualities for High lord of Night." Feyre said.

"High Lady," Elain corrected.

Feyre threw her hands up in the air, "Another problem, High Lady!"

Nesta shrugged, "So what? If I took the throne, I would be High lady."

"That is so much different."

"How?" Nesta pressed.

"Because Nesta, I would've been by your side! I have a foot in the Illyrian camps, and you have the Hewn City twisted around your finger! The second I take this crown; the Illyrians will revolt! At least as a warrior amongst them, they've learned not to care. If I, the one they call a waste of cunt and a witch, am the one ruling them, they will call for my head. And neither of you have the connections necessary to stop them. The Hewn City will for once in their lives, side with the Illyrians! At least with you Nesta the Hewn City will listen, however reluctantly. And I could command the Illyrians under your guidance."

Both her sister's were silent. They knew she was right. Feyre may have had the experience, she had taken the High lord's training alongside both Nesta and Elain. She had watched and learned, she may not wield a courtier's tongue as well as her sister's, but she knew how the politics worked and how to spin them to her advantage. They were equal in that department.

But Feyre didn't have the influence needed, she didn't have the command nor the loyalty of the people. They would call for her immediate execution, and while they were at it, there was a good chance Elain and Nesta would follow.

"I have an idea." Elain said.

"What's the idea?" Feyre said, all out of any of her own.

"You remember Tamlin right?" The middle sister asked.

"The shapeshifting witch? Didn't he run off with your mate?" Nesta asked.

Elain rolled her eyes, "He didn't run off. Lucien and I broke the mating bond all on our own and those two fell hard, it was inevitable."

"Isn't he Baile's youngest brother?" Feyre asked.

"Yep! Their father called him the beastly spare son at the first High lord meeting we attended, remember?"

"Oh yeah." Feyre remembered now. That 'beastly spare son' hadn't been in attendance for any of the High lord's meetings, Feyre met him briefly at the War Camps. Before he was kicked out for witchcraft.

"Didn't he try to access the shadow-side or something like that?" Feyre questioned, remembering the rumours that spread about.

"Tamlin was trained by his mother, she was a witch from the Middle. But he wasn't thrown out of the War Camps for witchcraft, he was just in love with another male." Elain murmured, knowing exactly what Feyre was thinking about.

"Those godforsaken bastards." Nesta grumbled.

Elain hummed her agreement, "He and Luce live on the border of Spring and Autumn-"

"Oh, it's Luce now." Nesta said.

Elain narrowed her eyes, "He is my friend, so yes, it is Luce. Anway, like mentioned earlier, Tamlin is a shapeshifter and a powerful one at that. He can shift not just himself but others."

"What are you insinuating?" Feyre asked.

"If you can't be High Lady for the risk of people rising up against you for what's between your legs, we have the magic to... change that."

***

It was Tamlin himself who opened the door when Elain knocked. The second Feyre saw him, every memory came bounding back. He looked healthier than when he had been in the War Camps, no longer was his skin pasty or littered with bruises from his father's abuse. The first day Feyre saw him he had been a scrawny little thing, then over the course of two years he grew into a more bulking frame.

Now, not having to use the War Camps as an escape from his household, he had grown into his natural frame. No longer did he have hulking muscle, nor was he too skinny. Tall with long, lithe limbs. Golden waves that weren't matted with blood or dirt flowed down his back, touching the ground, nearly dragging along it. Bright emerald eyes that weren't dulled with exhaustion. And a light tan on his freckled skin.

A Spring Faery through and through.

The little cottage they had found on the border of Spring and Autumn perfectly matched the essence of both Courts. Half of the building was covered with the colours of Autumn, then it melded into an ombre of reds and greens before it turned into Spring. The woody smell of smoke and the fresh smell of rain and pollen drifted together, pairing perfectly. Birds, deer and foxes could be spied wandering through the deep forests surrounding the cottage. Feyre had never seen a place so... peaceful.

Certainly not where she imagined a witch living. From the stories she had heard, she expected a dark, twisting house in the middle of a cursed woods or something along those lines.

Tamlin smiled brightly when he laid eyes on Elain, "Elain. What brings you to this part of the woods?"

Elain laughed, "I come bearing gifts!" The sister lifted a basket. Feyre had watched her pack dozens upon dozens of sweets and pastries, saying it was an offering. Tamlin may be her friend, but he still abided by the general rule of Fae and Witch. If you wanted a favour, you would need a sacrifice.

Tamlin's eyes flashed in the same way metal did when it reflected the sun, he kept that bright smile and happy expression, but Feyre knew he knew they wanted something.

"Why thank you." He said, taking the basket from Elain's hands, he turned and began to head inside, calling over his shoulder he said, "Please come in."

Feyre and Nesta looked at each other, wondering if it was a safe idea to enter under the roof of a true witch; they didn't get to ask as Elain walked in. Neatly taking off her boots and leaving them near the threshold. Nesta and Feyre quickly followed, neither shut the door, wanting an open escape should this turn ugly. Feyre herself didn't think Tamlin, the boy who had been so adamant that people, no matter who, all deserved rights and freedom, would trap or attempt to harm them.

Still, it had been a while since they last met.

They followed Elain and Tamlin. Turning a corner and entering what looked to be a kitchen, connecting to a sitting room. Tamlin placed the basket of baked goods on an isle in the centre of the kitchen, then spoke to Elain.

"It's been a good long while since I last saw you, how is everything?" Tamlin asked, even his voice was bright, bright in a way that reminded Feyre of the sun shining through a dark storm.

"Actually, things have taken a slight... turn." Elain said.

Again, his eyes flashed, he knew they were about to ask something. Tamlin discreetly lifted the top of the basket, his tongue darting over his bottom lip when he saw what laid in there. Neither Feyre nor Nesta were stupid, he was weighing up if the offering would be equal to the favour.

"That isn't any good, may I ask what has turned?" Tamlin asked, turning his eyes back to Elain.

"Tam..." Elain's eyes flicked back to Feyre, "Feyre has been chosen by the Cauldron for the crown of Night."

Just like that the slight mischief and excitement for whatever Elain was going to ask winked out, his eyes widened as he looked over at Feyre. The same recognition that had no doubt been in Feyre's eyes when she saw him flashed on his face. He too was no doubt thinking of the consequences of Feyre being in such a position of power.

"Oh fuck." Tamlin said, running a hand through his hair, "That is a problem."

"We've tried to establish peace where we can throughout the years, but with our father's rule, contempt for females is still extremely high."

"I don't doubt it." Tamlin murmured in a low voice. That was a voice Feyre recognised, she had heard Tamlin speak in the same low voice when he rebuked some males who were speaking of enslaving humans once again. It seemed some things never changed, and Tamlin's hatred of injustice was one of those.

"What do you need me to do Elain?" Tamlin asked.

Elain finally made her request outright, "I need you to shapeshift Feyre into the form of a male."

Tamlin lifted a finger then quickly opened up the basket, rifling through it. The three sisters blinked, looking at each other with confused expressions before Tamlin exclaimed, "Ahah!"

He lifted a mini lemon meringue tart from the basket. He turned to Elain and laughed at her confused expression, "Eye for an eye Elain, I was checking if you had these little things, just one of them would be worth a spell to keep Feyre in a male's form, Lucien loves the damn things."

"Where is Lucien?" Feyre asked. The Fox boy and her had been drinking buddies two centuries back, before Jesminda, the poor girl, was executed and Lucien ran from Autumn. Only to find Elain as his mate and then staying as far away from the Archeron sisters as he could, his trauma still raw the mating bond chafed it.

"Out with Helion for the day." Tamlin said, placing the tart carefully back into the basket.

"Helion-steal your man-Spellcleaver?" Elain smirked, "Watch out Tamlin, you might have competition."

Tamlin gagged, "Don't worry about that Elain, as of recent we have found Lucien may be of Day descent."

Elain went red immediately, "Oh- Oh!"

"Wait, Lucien may be a Spellcleaver?" Nesta asked.

Tamlin lifted his hands and shrugged, "Don't go spreading rumours it hasn't been confirmed yet. But since Beron kicked it and Andrea left Autumn for Day, she sent Lucien a letter, telling him it might be the case."

"Oh I remember that, Andrea's affair with Helion... That was the hot underground gossip a good four hundred years ago." Feyre said. Head tipping back as she thought back on the drama that had arisen from that particular affair.

"Was more than that now. How old's Lucien?" Nesta asked.

"Four hundred and eighty." Tamlin replied, taking the basket and moving it to sit beneath a hanging cabinet.

"Four hundred and eighty years now, wow we're getting old." Feyre whistled.

"When's he getting back?" Elain asked.

As if on cue, the door of the cottage opened, and assured footsteps could be heard.

"Darling! I got those herbs you wanted. Thesan also said for you to visit him. He found records of some spells he thought you might- Oh! Afternoon to all." Lucien turned the corner, holding a white linen bag Feyre assumed contained whatever herbs Tamlin had asked for.

"Afternoon to you too Luce." Elain smiled.

Lucien smiled back, walking further into the kitchen, he opened his mouth presumably to ask why the three Archeron sisters were gathered in his home. Then his eyes found the basket, Tamlin lifted a pastry from it and Lucien seemed to catch on.

The thought came to Feyre that this was most certainly not the first time Elain had asked favours from Tamlin. She mentally noted to ask her sister what else she had bargained for with the witch.

"Is there anything new with you three?" Lucien asked as he placed the bag of herbs beside the basket and stood beside Tamlin. Feyre watched as Lucien took Tamlin's hand in his, stepping slightly in front of him. Protective.

"We were just discussing that Feyre has been chosen by the High lord's magic." Nesta revealed.

Lucien's smile dropped, he quickly looked to Tamlin who gave a slight nod. The Fox dropped his head to whisper something in Tamlin's ear. Feyre longed for the two to openly discuss whatever it was they were speaking of.

Dark voices began to whisper in her head, shadows wrapped around her mind and slithered past her mental defences, reaching, searching, finding.

Found.

Tamlin's mind looked like spider's silk and vines. So easy to press against, so easy to draw back, like a curtain made of the most delicate of silks. It was nothing for Feyre to reach in and-

Something dragged her in. Claws wielding the sharpest of blades pulled her kicking and screaming into the darkness that lurked beyond that soft silk. Down and down, she went until Feyre could no longer hear her own mental voice, nor feel her body. Hands with knives for fingertips wrapped around her, pushing in and stinging her.

Then she was tossed from that place, thrown through the silk and back into her own body.

When Feyre could see through her own eyes again, she was on her knees on the floor, gasping her breath and tears of pain streamed down her face.

"Rule number one, Daemati, never go into the mind of a witch, it will not end well for you." Tamlin hissed in a voice so dark Feyre shivered.

When she looked up Tamlin's face was carefully blank, no true feeling in his eyes. Lucien's, however, was of fury and anger. He had pulled Tamlin closer and glared at Feyre. Funny, Feyre had been under the expression he would be the even-tempered one.

"Sorry, sorry I'm sorry." Feyre shook her head forcing herself to her feet, "I... I don't know what overcame me."

"Your magic will want to stretch its legs, but please, experiment on people who give you explicit permission to enter their minds. Or work on rats or something of the like." Tamlin told her.

Feyre nodded, eyes on the floor, "Of course, of course. I am... I am so sorry."

"Just be glad I am used to dealing with Daemati." Tamlin told her, he then turned to Elain, "I will honour your request, on one condition."

"What condition?"

Tamlin gestured to Feyre, "She keeps her magic on a tight leash and does not go wandering into people's minds."

Looking back and addressing Feyre directly again, he said, "If you wish to turn the tide of your Court and remake it so you don't have to appear as male, you cannot go into other's mind, not even if your magic begs and pleads with you too, and it will."

"How do you know that? You have never experienced the High Lord's magic." Nesta said, her eyes narrowed at Tamlin.

Tamlin sucked in a breath, it was tight, and his eyes widened just a fraction. Lucien gripped his hand tighter, in a tense voice, Tamlin said, "Just listen to me. Do you want me to accept your request or not?"

Nesta leaned back on her heels, her arms crossed, she slowly released a breath. Tamlin then spoke to Feyre again, "I will do as you ask, but I do request something of you."

"We've already given you an offering." Elain said, her voice slightly snappy.

"That was before your new High Lady decided to enter my mind."

"I've never experienced the pull of the magic; I didn't know what I was doing!" Feyre tried to plead.

"But you knew it was mind, I heard you thinking so loudly around the entrance of my mental walls. You knew you reaching out for me, and you went in. For that, you owe me, your sister's gifts will suffice for my giving you the form of a male. But I ask something of you as payment for intrusion."

Looking to Elain, Feyre tried to ask her sister with her eyes on what to do. Elain just bit her lip and looked to the floor; Feyre mentally slapped herself. One moment of weakness, now she owed a witch a favour.

"Fine, what is the request?"

"There is a fungus in the Hewn City, it grows on any life it can latch onto and sucks the nutrients from it, draining it until its host is nothing more than a hollow shell for it to reside. From what I've studied it only grows deep in the Hewn City. I want it. Bring me that fungus and I will consider the debt repaid."

When Feyre looked at Elain, her eyes were wide, and her face had gone pale. Nesta swallowed hard. Feyre knew that fungus, had heard of it but never seen it. True it occurred naturally deep within the caverns of the Hewn City, but it was strictly forbidden for any to gather it.

It latched onto any life, including people. Not to mention the spores were invisible, once inhaled it would suck the life from a person from the inside out.

Why would Tamlin want it?

Did Feyre even have a choice but to give it to him?

The glint in his green eyes said she had too. Lucien kept a carefully neutral expression but the confused look in his eyes when he heard Tamlin's request didn't escape Feyre's notice.

Feyre decided that it was just one fungus, and Tamlin had never been a malicious male. So, she finally nodded, "Okay, okay fine, we'll get you your fungus."

Tamlin's lips tilted up, "Good."

"First you shapeshift Feyre." Elain said.

Cocking an eyebrow up, Tamlin watched Elain out of the corner of his eye as he let go of Lucien's hand and approached Feyre. The natural urge to run as fast and as far away as she could when in the presence of such ancient power nearly overtook her. But Feyre forced her feet to be still as Tamlin laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"The changes I will make are not permanent, however you will not be capable of shifting back to your regular form on your own. You will require my assistance for that."

Feyre's heart was in her throat, "What is the price for shifting me back?"

Tamlin smiled and this time it was that genuine boyish grin, "More lemon meringue tarts."

"There's lemon méringue tarts here?!" Lucien exclaimed, hands immediately going to that basket Elain had brought. Elain laughed quietly under her breath and Tamlin chuckled.

Glancing around Feyre noted her sisters were far enough away that she could whisper without them hearing, so she craned her neck closer to Tamlin and asked, "Why be friends with her? Elain is your husband's mate."

Tamlin just shrugged, "Mates are a predetermined melding of two people, I don't blame those that are shackled against their will."

Emboldened by his causal reply Feyre asked, "Why do you want the fungus?"

A tingling feeling spread across her entire body, Feyre barely noticed it as she watched Tamlin's green eyes flash again, "Just get me the fungus, High Lord of Night."

High Lord?

Feyre looked down at her own body, and sure enough. She had shifted. Now more focused on how she felt, she noticed the changes and differences.

There were no longer an weights on her chest pressing against the fabric of her black shirt. Now her sides were more tightly constricted by the satin. Her shoulders were pulling her shirt taut, and the hems of her pants were riding up higher, now too short.

There was also a noticeable weight sitting in between her legs. When Feyre noticed that particular change, she, no he now, blushed furiously. Tamlin smirked, "This form can be... customised. I just shifted you based on the genes I found within your body already, this is exactly how you would look if you had been born male."

"I'm sorry, customise?" Feyre said, she nearly jumped at how much deeper her voice sounded.

Elain, Nesta and Lucien all snickered. Tamlin just gave him a sympathetic smile, "I get you some clothes that will fit your new body better."

With that Tamlin slipped away from the group. Elain and Nesta looked him up and down slowly, Elain tilted her head to the side and Nesta narrowed her eyes.

Nesta said, "You look like our grandfather."

Elain hid a smile behind the back of her hand, "You do, just better looking."

"Thanks." Feyre said deadpan.

Lucien leaned back against the counter behind him, placing his palms on the surface, "You are pleasing to the eye, that's good, beauty is power in the Courts. Though Tamlin certainly wouldn't make you ugly."

"Good to know, Lucien. I am hoping to a achieve a Court where looks are not what people seek in courtiers, lords and ladies." Feyre said with that same deadened voice.

Tamlin came back into the room, holding a white shirt and dark brown trousers. Feyre glared at them, "Whose clothes am I stealing?"

If they were Tamlin's Feyre might owe him something. He already owed this male a Fae-eating fungus, he didn't need to give up any more dangerous plants or herbs to him.

"Mine, but relax, I will take nothing for this."

"Why?" He asked, Tamlin tried to shove the clothing into Feyre's arms, but he refused to take them.

Tamlin rolled his eyes, the light shone through the window in the kitchen, making his eyes appear like green-tinted sea-glass, "I am a witch, not an asshole, just bring them back washed and not torn."

Feyre glanced over at Elain, who simply nodded. Tamlin sighed, "Take the damn clothes Feyre, you look ridiculous in the ones you're wearing."

Feyre glared at him again as he snatched the clothing from his hands, Tamlin jutted his head in the direction of a hallway leading away from the entrance to the house, "There's a bathroom before the staircase down that hallway."

The High lord of Night just gave a low grunt of acknowledgement before heading for the bathroom. As he turned down the hallway, he heard Elain saying, "I don't know how this will go."

Tamlin answered her, "Baile will be on your side."

"You hate Baile." Elain pointed out.

When Tamlin replied, a chill ran down Feyre's spine, "I really do."

***

A week passed, a week for Feyre to get used to the body he was in. Before he had to finally see his Court.

Feyre spun in the mirror, looking himself up and down, side to side. Trying to convince his mind that the reflection staring back at him was indeed his own. It was... difficult to say the least.

His hair was still long, spilling down his back. Elain had asked whether or not he wanted to cut it, Feyre refused. His hair was an important part of him, for a while, during the War, it had been the only thing he could control, and he chose to let it grow long. He braided it and had let that long hair billow in the wind once they won.

It wasn't like he needed to cut it to look more male-ish, Tamlin had done a good enough job with that. He looked every part the High Lord of Night.

A sharpened jaw, with narrow eyes. Broad shoulders and a muscled chest. Feyre had chiselled muscles along her abdomen to begin with, but now everything seemed sharper, bigger. Elain had turned his hair into a single braid that fell down his back. A suit of black and silver hugged her body, a black shirt underneath a fitting waistcoat. Black trousers and knee-high boots. A jacket matching his waist coat fell around his shoulders. And black gloves adorned his hands. Everything was decorated with whorls of silver that glowed in the moonlight.

A knock rapped at his door, Feyre took a deep breath, then he turned and headed for the door.

Upon opening it, he was faced with Nesta, who lifted her eyes to his. Feyre always had a bigger build than Nesta, but it was her that possessed the height in their family. But now... now Feyre towered over his eldest sister.

"It's time." Nesta said, her voice emotionless. Her eyes a silvery blaze.

Feyre nodded, "I know," He held back the urge to wince at the low, rumbling sound that escaped his throat.

Nesta drew in a breath, crossing her arms. She moved away from the threshold, allowing Feyre room to walk beside her. They accompanied each other through the hallways, heading for the entrance of the Palace. Prepared to winnow to the Hewn City, prepared to finally face his Court.

Feyre heard Elain's voice, speaking with someone in low hushed tones, before they turned the corner to see her, Nesta held out a hand, stopping Feyre in his tracks.

"I need you to promise me something, Fey." Nesta murmured.

Fey... He hadn't heard that nickname in centuries.

Now Nesta had all of Feyre's attention, he turned to face his sister fully, "Anything Star."

Nesta's own eyes widened just a fraction, just for the smallest of moments, when she heard the nickname Feyre had given her when they were children.

"And I need you to promise that..." Nesta looked down at her feet, for the first time in her life she looked... uncertain. Unsure.

Feyre took Nesta's hands in his own, "Tell me."

Nesta swallowed as she stared at her hands, conjoined with her sister, her, publicly, brother, "I need you to free our people, Fey."

Free them...

Feyre unconsciously loosed his grip on Nesta's hands. Noticing the slight change, Nesta ripped her hands away and balled them into fists at her side. Staring up at Feyre, at the crown on his head, with such a cold, icy gaze that Feyre was certain frost was appearing on the black jewels.

"Free my people, Feyre Archeron, give them the power over themselves that they can't on their own. With the way our own people live outside of Velaris we... we're a third of a fucking Court, Feyre. And the former High lord was a third of a fucking male for governing them like this."

Feyre was silent. Silent as his heartbeat began to race. Silent as his muscles tensed and his jaw clicked. Silent as Nesta took a step back. Silent as he realised darkness had begun to collect around his feet, around his hands and climbed over his shoulders.

Silent as he realised Nesta was afraid of him.

Silent as he near fell to one knee, head held low, near to the floor. Silent as he bowed to his sister, to her sister, to the female who had been by her side, and would be by his side.

Silent as he lifted his eyes to meet Nesta's. Nesta said nothing as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Finally, it was the Princess of the Night Court who broke the silence, "Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court."

Nesta then took her hands and lifted them to the back of her neck, she pulled a silver chain from where it had been hidden under the high neck of her black dress. Unfastening it, she pulled a necklace off her throat. It was beautifully polished, with one dark gem at the centre of the chain. When the light hit it in just the correct way, a streak of silver with a small spot of white in the middle of it appeared.

Nesta gently wrapped the necklace around Feyre, she clasped it and returned her hands to her youngest sister's shoulders. Youngest brother's shoulders.

"Raven Archeron, High Lord of the Night Court." Nesta said.

The name had been decided, the name of their grandfather, Elain thought it fitting given how alike him and Feyre appeared.

It also may put Kier in an early grave considering how hateful he had always been of the male. And Feyre found that thought amusing.

Finally, Feyre, no, Raven, lifted himself to his feet.

"It's going to take some getting used to." A voice said, Nesta and Feyre turned to see Elain leaning against the wall. She gestured to Feyre, "That name. Raven, very different from Feyre."

"It was your idea." Nesta pointed out.

"I know." Elain smiled prettily before turning and pressing herself against the wall to reveal a person that was behind her.

A female with soil brown eyes, long locks of golden blonde, plush red lips and a red dress with high slits and a low neckline showing off her cleavage was stood before them. She smiled and bowed low when her eyes met Feyre's.

"Raven Archeron, or shall I say Feyre Archeron? A pleasure to meet you." The beautiful female said, in a low seductive voice.

Feyre was about to insist this stranger simply call him Feyre, when Nesta cut in.

"High Lord shall suffice." Nesta drawled, when Feyre turned to see her, Nesta was jutting her nose in the air. Her eyes were cold and hard, yet a light flush of red was patchy across her cheeks and nose.

The female's smile widened into a grin, her brown eyes met Nesta's and Feyre felt the fiery spark of this stranger meeting Nesta's cold flames. Something exploded in their gaze and Feyre nearly took a step back.

"A pleasure to see you as well, Nesta Archeron."

"The pleasure is all yours and none of my own." Nesta snapped back, taking a slight step forward, crossing her arms.

Elain stepped near completely in between the two females, as if preventing them from reaching each other. The middle sister clapped her hands as she happily said, "Feyre, meet Morrigan, she is the Steward's daughter."

"Exiled daughter," Morrigan mumbled, then she grinned at Feyre once again when she caught sight of her confused eyes, "My father attempted to kill me when I refused the marriage, he tried to force me into. My would-have-been fiancé met me broken on the border, after he pretended to leave me for dead, he sent a sentry to collect me and take me into a hidden place within his Court. Once I was older and capable of defending myself, I made contact with an... old connection within your Court and returned to Night."

"Where have you been living since?"

Morrigan shrugged, "Many places, mostly Velaris, at times in Autumn, sometimes in Winter."

Elain spoke, "Morrigan is an incredibly courtier, Viviane Lady of the Winter Court is a close friend of hers, she has friends in Illyria, Vallahan and her ex-fiance is Eris Vanserra."

Feyre met Elain's eyes when she said Eris' name. When he looked back at Morrigan, he finally remembered her. The Morrigan, the promised fiance to the then heir to the Autumn Court, now the High lord of Autumn.

Feyre had been in the War Camps during the time of Morrigan. Nineteen when she was set to be in a marriage to a male, a boy, ten years younger than herself.

"Eris Vanserra was nine years old at the time of your engagement to him." Feyre stated.

Morrigan nodded, "His father is not what I would call the greatest example of what a father should be."

"Are any High Fae fathers?" Nesta huffed.

Morrigan gave her a half smile, "You're more dressed up than the last time I saw you Nesta."

Nesta tensed, she once again curled her hands into fists, until her knuckles were white, otherwise her face remained blank, "We are going to Feyre's formal coronation, we are all dressed up."

Nesta looked Morrigan up and down, "Though you wear the same dress you did when... I saw you last."

At those words Morrigan eyes darkened, her lips darted over her red lips, "I didn't wear this dress for long then, did I now? Though you were able to wear the dress you brought the entire... encounter. It was quite fun to look at when I-"

"Now! We must be heading for the Hewn City in less than five minutes!" Elain cut the conversation off.

Feyre quickly looked at Nesta, then Morrigan again, then back to Nesta. Nesta's face had gone considerably red. Morrigan was just grinning at the reaction.

What had happened between them? And why didn't Feyre know about it, yet Elain seemed to have some sort of a clue as to what was happening?

"Morrigan will be joining us, she has offered her services to our Court and tonight we shall put them to the test!" Elain said.

Morrigan met Feyre's eyes with a flirtatious spirit but cold cruelness seeping into the edges, "If that is alright with you, High Lord?"

Feyre looked at Elain, then at Nesta, then back at Morrigan.

Over the course of the week, Feyre had been trying to convince himself he was chosen for a reason, that he had the knowledge for this.

Yes, he had much to learn, but he had lived here all his life. Had been given the same chances Nesta had, no he didn't have her cruel coldness, but he had his heart, he had his honor, and he had the same knowledge she did.

So Feyre forced himself to take in a deep breath, facing Morrigan, "Your services will be tested, however I will have the final word on if you will be needed in the future. You will not answer to either of my sisters, you will come to me for any and all requests. Understood?"

Morrigan blinked, taken aback by Feyre's quick harsh words. Feyre watched as her brown eyes began to slide to Elain, looking to find confirmation with the middle sister, but Morrigan caught herself and looked back at Feyre. Keeping her eyes only on the High lord.

With a short bow, Morrigan said, "Yes my Lord."

"Good, then we must be off to the Hewn City, the time has come."

With no other words, Elain and Morrigan turned on their heels and headed for the entrance of the Palace, which was built into the side of the mountain. Half connected to the Hewn City, half connected to Velaris.

Nesta and Feyre began to follow the two, Nesta whispered to him, "Well done, Morrigan is pushy, don't let her shove you around."

Feyre nodded, then he asked, "Where do you know her from?"

Again Nesta' face went red, she quickly shook her head, "Forget it, we met at a bar and I learned of her former position after a few drinks."

Feyre didn't believe her, or at least didn't believe she was telling the full story. It didn't matter though, because they were heading into darkness. Into the hallways that would lead to the High lord's quarters in the Hewn City. From there they would winnow to the coronation party thrown in Feyre's honour.

"This is going to be difficult." Feyre said.

Nesta smiled a little, her thumb brushing the back of Feyre's hand, "It will."

***

The coronation ceremony went off without a hitch. Morrigan, Elain and Nesta went in first. Even from behind the closed doors, Feyre heard the hushed gasps and whispers at the appearance of the long-lost daughter of Keir. Morrigan was going to be a problem, Feyre already knew it, but he supposed he didn't have much of a choice but to at least trial her out. After all, his Court at the current moment was just her two sisters.

After Nesta and Elain took their places standing on either side of the throne and Morrigan joined the front row of the crowd, standing just an inch in front of everyone, Feyre walked through.

Raven walked through. He forced into his mind like he had forced referring to himself as 'he' into his mind.

It was Raven who stepped out into the crowds. Raven, whose darkness poured out in front of him, curling over his shoulders and around his hands.

His braid swung behind him, whipping like a vicious tail, the long trail of his floor-length black jacket dragged behind him across the sea of darkness. His cunning eyes grazed the crowd. Everyone was gathered here, everyone except the people of Velaris. Even Illyrians were mixed in amongst the High Fae of the Hewn City.

A female with unruly black curly hair and clipped Illyrian wings raised her hand in a wave, her dark skin making her stand out amongst the pale of the Hewn City.

Raven nearly waved back to her, but forced himself to face ahead, that female was Feyre's best friend, not Raven's, Feyre's partner, not Raven's.

Not for now at least.

He approached the throne and the Priestess standing before it. She had long black hair that reached down to the floor, her robes were of black and silver, a jewel of blue was hanging from the crown of her head. She held the formal crown of Night in her hands, tonight Raven would wear it upon his head, then come morning it would return to its place in a chest hidden deep in the Hewn City. Not to be touched until the next Heir was crowned.

It was Elain who walked over, removing the smaller crown from Raven's head. Then Raven went down on one knee. The Priestess lifted the crown and began her speech.

Was he to be on his knees the whole time? Nesta had said he would, he thought it would be easy, he had underestimated how long the speech would go on for.

Finally once she was finished, she placed the crown upon Raven's head. Raven lifted his eyes, lifted his body and turned to face the city before him.

He was met with terrified eyes, the trembling hands of children and women. The greedy look of hunger in the faces of the males.

The males of Illyria looked stoic and uncaring, but Raven spotted the younger males, who looked... exhausted, no doubt counting the days before they would be sent to their dooms in War, not given a choice on whether they wished to fight or not.

"They say we're brutes born to kill." Celvin had said, "I didn't want this, I don't want this.

"What would you do if given a choice?" Feyre asked.

He had slumped his shoulders, his wings dragging along the dirt, a dejected, saddened look in his eyes, "I would have painted."

Raven wouldn't allow this any longer.

Free my people, Nesta had said.

'Oh I will free them, I will free every last one of them.' Raven and Feyre thought.

The rest of the ceremony was nothing but formalities. Raven lounged in the black, sharp cut throne, gazing down at the people mingling amongst each other. The prejudices were plain to see, as the Illyrians snarled at the High Fae, and the High Fae sneered at the Illyrians. 

Kicking one leg over the other, Raven rested his head on his knuckles, trying to not appear as bored as he was. He had asked Nesta over and over to go and join his people in the celebrations, but was told to sit still and be quiet. 

Was this all his ancestors had done? Look pretty on the big, bad throne then disappear to dance the night away in Velaris? 

That would change. 

This would change. 

Starting tonight. 

Raven couldn’t even believe it, Feyre couldn’t believe it. How could he ever just sit idly on a throne? Sitting up here for the entire duration of a celebration with his people and not joining in on the celebrations? 

Raven would never do something like that. Feyre refused to ever be like that. Idle. 

So he stood. The coat he wore slipped off his shoulders and fell onto the throne behind him. Then he walked down into the crowd. 

Eyes went wide and mouths moved quickly in hushed whispers, but Raven ignored them. Feyre ignored them. He let the mask slip. Mentally he had tried to remain in character, Raven, Raven, Raven. 

Now, in the youth of the night, when many were too drunk to do any more than simply whisper and point. Feyre let the mask of Raven slip. 

She wished to turn back to her own body, the one she knew and felt comfortable in, but that wasn't possible. So she settled to stay in this body as she moved through the crowds, no real purpose in her stride. 

Then a hand slipped down her arm. Feyre turned and her breath was caught in her throat. 

A beautiful female smiled at her. Her hair was black as midnight, her skin glowing like the moon, her dress was long, barely touching the ground. Her sleeves covered her arms, her neck was almost entirely covered, but her dress was so tight around her frame that Feyre couldn't help but feel like it was a mockery of modesty. 

Her mouth was painted with shimmering black. She leaned in close and those plush lips were so close to her neck. Feyre could hardly breathe. 

“Greetings, my High Lord.” She said, and oh good Gods even her voice was filled with a soft seduction that drew Feyre closer. 

“Greetings, Lady.” Feyre forced her voice back into that of Raven’s. Forced her shoulders to loosen even when they wanted to remain tense. 

“I don’t suppose the newly crowned would care for a dance.” Her eyes twinkled like stars, she lifted a soft hand, Feyre was helpless but to take it. 

“Why I don’t think-”

“Lady Kathleen. A pleasure to see you once again.” Elain appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Feyre’s hand and reeling her back. 

Kathleen’s eyes simmered but she forced a smile as her back straightened, “Lady Elain Archeron, the pleasure is all mine.”

Elain laughed sweetly, but there was something strained in the sound, “I’m sure it is. I hate to interupt however, Lord Raven, there is an emergency that requires your immediate attention.”

“There is?-”

“Well we best be off, do take care Kathleen.” Elain said, before near dragging her sister away. 

“Elain what-”

Elain pulled Feyre close and whispered in a harsh voice, “You are now the High Lord, they think you to be male, that means that every Lady here that is looking for marriage is going to want to carry your children.”

“Elain!-” 

“I am stating it how it is. Don’t accept dances from random females. Keep to yourself, and keep yourself on the throne. There is a reason we place the Court so high above the rest.”

Feyre ripped her arm from Elain’s. The mask came back on and just like that Feyre, became Raven Archeron, “I have promised to free my people, if it starts with dancing among them, so be it.”

Elain’s eyes softened, “Fey I know you want to do the right thing, but we must do this slowly-”

“This is my Court, not a school, I do not have to treat my people like children that need lessons to be taught. Elain, all changes are to be implemented immediately from now on and you know what… it starts tonight.”

***

Months passed, months of terrible, terrible days and sleepless nights.

Feyre was currently in his study within Velaris, still in the form of a male, he didn’t wear a shirt, it felt nice to not be restricted to such modesty, no one had even batted an eye at his appearance, except Nesta who had nearly stumbled back. But ultimately she just nodded her approval. 

 Elain was sitting in a black velvet chair by the fire, helping by reading reports and checking the budget.

"Nearly eighty percent of taxes taken from the Hewn City and Illyria go to Velaris." The middle sister sneered with such disgust in her voice that Feyre nearly flinched.

"Eighty percent?" Feyre baulked.

All of that money... going to a city that didn't need even a third of that.

Elain nodded, "And get this, most of it just sits in that treasure hoard of ours. We have slums in our city Feyre, slums and yet we're taking eighty percent of our other cities’ money just to keep it to ourselves."

Elain threw the papers down onto the coffee table before her, "How has our Court survived this long."

At that moment Nesta walked in, "Many of the Lords in the Hewn City evade paying their taxes, they use the money they manage to stow away to keep the Court functioning, as for Illyria... Illyrians are capable of bearing children far quicker than that of High Fae. If it weren't for the fact they are so many they would've died out a long time ago."

"Fuck." Feyre mumbled, he knew of the hardships in Illyria, had faced them when he went there for training. Yet still, he had a warm bed and hot meals. Some of the boys and girls he had befriended they... he never saw them again.

Whilst he hoped everyday they simply went to other parts of Illyria. He knew in his head that they simply didn't make it. Couldn't make it through the freezing nights, nor the starvation.

"What do you wish to do first?" Nesta asked Feyre.

Feyre turned his eyes to the view of Velaris behind him. He saw the twinkling lights and the shine of the sun upon the city.

"Start with Illyria. Hire as many healers as needed, bring hot food and clean water, any children without shelter are to be brought to the Hewn City. Any females with clipped wings are to be given the choice to leave their homes or turn in the males who hurt them. And as for the Hewn City... open the borders."

"Feyre-"

"Open all the doors, all males, females, children should be given free access to Velaris and given the proper care needed. If any are found to be injured they are to receive health-care free of charge."

Feyre stood from his and walked to the window. Staring down at the blissful peace below.

All beautiful, it was all peaceful.

His mind went to Celvin, and his dream to paint. His head then turned to the wall opposite to him, where the beautiful landscape of the mountains of the Night Court was hung. A painting Feyre herself, himself, had made.

“And military training for males and females will be completely optional.” Feyre added. 

“What will be optional?” Morrigan asked as she flounced into the office. Over the course of the months Feyre had grown even more wary of her. She was too bright, and too easily turned cold and cruel. She was perfect for Night in every way, but only for the former way the Court was ruled. If Feyre wanted a Court that respected the ones that ruled it, were loyal out of their own will, and lived happily and in peace with one another, she couldn’t have people working for her that didn’t support that. 

Either Morrigan needed to change her tactics, or she needed to go. 

Nesta’s eyes widened a fraction when she saw the blonde, she unconsciously stepped closer to Feyre. And Feyre stepped closer to Nesta protectively. 

It was Elain who explained, “Feyre is implementing change within the Court, from now on the borders between the Hewn City, Illyria and Velaris will be completely open. More money is going to be put into Illyria and the Hewn City.”

Feyre went on, “The resources that were hoarded by my ancestors will all be put back into the people. And military training will become completely optional to both male and females. Elain are you writing this down?”

Elain smiled as she lifted a notebook and paper, “Been writing it down.”

Feyre gave his sister a grin. 

Morrigan, however, did not look so pleased, her eyes had gone wide and her pretty smile had dropped, “The borders are being opened?!”

Now Feyre scowled at her, in a low tone he said, “Yes they are, do you have a problem with that?”

Morrigan spluttered for a moment then she cleared her throat and met Feyre’s hard eyes with cold ones, “I have no problem with the final decision of my Court, however in my professional opinion-”

“Are suggesting my opinion is not professional?” Feyre asked, beginning to take steps forward towards Morrigan. 

“No! No my Lord, but you must understand,” Morrigan laughed as she spoke, it only served to piss Feyre off even more, “These borders have not been opened for well over five thousand years, to open them now, especially with the nature of the Hewn City and the Illyrians-”

“What nature, Morrigan?” Nesta seethed, crossing her arms. 

Morrigan’s eyes flashed an almost golden colour as she looked over at Nesta. Feyre stepped in between them, “No, you look at me, you respond to me, don’t look at her, don’t talk to her. Don’t. Go. Near. Her.”

Morrigan’s jaw dropped, then it snapped shut as finally anger came forward, “I see turning you male also gave you the self-entitled possessiveness of one of them.”

Feyre nearly lost his fucking mind. Then he took in a deep breath, forcing himself to be calm. 

Forcing herself to be calm. They weren’t in front of the Court right now, she didn’t have to put up the mask. 

Over the last few months, it had all been training, training, training, since five seconds ago this conversation had been one of diplomacy. 

Now it was about her sister and this godforsaken Morrigan. 

So Feyre allowed herself to slip away from the mask and approach Morrigan as an equal, as a bitch getting on her own and her sister’s nerves. 

“I am no possessive person, I am in a disguise. You know this very well. You know why I am doing this-”

“Because Illyria and the Hewn City would have you killed!” Morrigan shouted, “You have to do this because they are monsters-”

“You will do well not to refer to my people as monsters, Morrigan. I understand you came from there, I know very well the horrors my people go through, but I have the power to change that. I have the power to make for certain no more teenagers and little girls get tortured for not being virgins and end up being dumped on Autumn Court borders! I have the power to make for certain that no Illyrian boys end up dying from the freezing weather or lack of food! I have the power to make for certain that no Illyrian girls lose their wings just for the sex they were born with! And if you are against that then you are no better than your father!” 

At Feyre’s accusation angry tears welled up in Morrigan's eyes and Feyre knew she had gone too far. 

“You accuse me of being like my father,” She whispered in a low, angry tone. 

“No I do not, I apologise for my choice of wording. However, I do accuse you of condoning abuse within my Courts,” Feyre said, “Now either get on board with this or get out, I will not allow a near stranger to warp my thinking.” 

Looking back at Nesta, Feyre added, “Or bring mental strain to my eldest sister.”

Nesta sucked in a breath, Morrigan tried to find her eyes but Feyre took a step forward, forcing Morrigan back. 

“Leave, and once you have your act together, then come find me.” Feyre ordered. 

The voice that left her throat was not her own, it was her speech, her thoughts, but a power was in those words that sent Morrigan skirting back and out of the room. 

“You just used your High Lord’s power on her.” Elain said. 

“I did.” Feyre whispered, “Wow that’s powerful.”

Nesta stumbled back into Feyre’s desk, hands gripping the edge like her life depended on it. Feyre was in front of her in a moment, desperately trying to find a way to help. 

“There’s something between you and Morrigan isn’t there?” Feyre asked. 

Nesta swallowed hard, she scrunched her eyes closed and nodded, “She’s… she’s better when she’s not in Court, but when she is, she’s… almost destructive.”

“It’s what makes her the perfect courtier, she’s apathetic in the face of a Court. The Hewn City though she harbours resentment for.” Elain said. 

“I know.” Nesta whispered, “I just wish she was able to get past what happened to her and see how others are going through the same thing.”

“Are you and Morrigan…” 

“How much will you hate me if I say we are?” Nesta whispered. 

“Hate you?!” Feyre nearly snorted at the idea. She could never hate her sister. Not in a thousand years, not a million.

Nesta’s eyes turned cold and Feyre quickly added, “I could never hate you, Star. I love you. I just… I don't like Morrigan.”

“I know.” Nesta said, she straightened, letting go of the desk, “I can’t say I necessarily love her either, I just…”

“You don’t need to explain your feelings to me, Star. If you see something in her, try to find it, but know I will always be behind you. If she ever does something to you, I will-”

“Rip her throat out and feed her skin to the wolves?” Nesta asked deadpanned. 

“I was going to say something a little more painful, but that works too.” Feyre smiled. 

“You are more cruel than you think, Feyre Archeron.” Elain said, “Not a good quality.”

“Ah yes, kindness will always prevail.” Feyre moved away from Nesta, heading for the lounge beside Elain. Nesta followed and fell gracefully into a spot beside Feyre. 

“It does, and especially in this case, we are going to need a whole lot of kindness and patience when dealing with the Illyrians.” Elain stated, rifling through some paperwork. 

Feyre’s face suddenly went grave, “Get me Devlon. Immediately.”

***

The last time Feyre saw Devlon was a year ago now, six months before their father had succumbed to the brain trauma inflicted by the former High Lord of Spring when he attempted an assassination himself on the High Lord of Night, after his previous hired assassin was killed single-handedly by the Night Lord himself. 

They had torn each other to shreds, returned to their homes on their death-beds and died from various injuries. 

The months before that Feyre had returned to Velaris to help with various jobs and to explore her own hobbies in painting. The guilt now ate away at her, how was she hidden away in Velaris whilst her people suffered daily? 

His people, right now, in the face of Devlon, Feyre was Raven Archeron. The High Lord of the Night Court. 

He sat before Raven in his office in the Hewn City. Devlon, like many of the high ranking officers of Illyria, knew of Velaris. Still Raven did not take him in, not yet. 

Not yet. 

Devlon’s eyes had always been hard towards Feyre, always glaring, but as Raven, they were more downcast, more respectful. 

Raven to Devlon was his High lord, Feyre to Devlon was a waste of a pretty female. 

It fueled Raven’s anger that much more. 

Silence had encompassed them, whilst Raven examined every inch of Devlon. He knew the Illyrian was squirming under his High lord’s gaze, but was attempting to keep still. It was dark down here, with no sky to escape too, that would be taking a toll on him as well. 

“My High Lord, is there a particular reason you wished to meet with me today.” Devlon finally caved. 

“There is. You and your men have one week to gather the names of every female with her wings clipped, every boy and girl who has died from the conditions in Illyria, and every male or female who has been mistreated by their superiors.”

Devlon blinked, his mouth dropped open, he began to stutter, but Raven cut him off, “One week, I expect those papers to be dropped on this desk before the final second of your deadline. Else consider your title and power completely stripped from you.”

“Your Majesty, that is just not possible-”

“Oh it very well is,” Raven hissed. He then leaned forward, and in a far, far darker voice he murmured, “Unless you believe I will be angered at the results you gather.”

It was when Raven brushed the dark claws of his mind against Devlon’s mental shields that the Illyrian snapped. He stood up and leaned over the desk, beginning to shout, spitting on Raven’s face as he did, “You will not order such a thing from me! I have kept Illyria running for centuries! I have trained generation after generation! You have appeared out of nowhere and are going to ruin our country with your-”

Raven threw him back against the door so hard a wing bone was crushed under Devlon’s own wing. The Illyrian screamed in pain, but it was nothing compared to the onslaught of agony that ripped through him as Raven curled his hand into a tight fist. Darkness whipped around his wings, wrapping around the limbs and tearing. 

Blood sprayed from his back, Devlon writhed and screamed and cried, until he was covered in just red. 

Finally his body was just laying on the floor, twitching whilst small cries left his throat. 

Raven leaned back into his chair as he watched the male finally still as the life ebbed away from his eyes. 

A few seconds passed, and the doors tentatively opened. Morrigan could be seen through the crack, she shoved the door fiercely to push Devlon’s body out of the way. When she entered she stared down at the broken wings of the now dead Illyrian. 

Then she lifted her eyes to Raven. None of the sly intrigue was in them this time, just a blank nothingness. 

“What do you want, Morrigan?” Raven drawled. 

Morrigan put her hands behind her back. Raven’s eyes trailed up her body, today she wore a black dress, the same slits ran up her thighs, each pane of fabric loosely connected by silver chains. 

“I wish to ask for your blessing to court Nesta.” 

“No.” Feyre came through now, the face of Raven dropping. Feyre let the protectiveness she felt for her dear eldest sister shine through in her eyes. 

Morrigan didn’t react much, like she expected that to be the answer, but she did ask, “Is there any way I can earn your approval?”

Standing up from her chair, Feyre walked to stand before Morrigan. If she was in her regular female form Morrigan might have two inches on her, but as it was, in the form of a male, Feyre had enough height over Morrigan that the blonde had to look up to meet her eyes. 

“We can start with you learning the new ways of this Court. We can start with you accepting that there will be change implemented.”

Morrigan sucked in a breath but she nodded all the same. Keeping their eyes locked, Feyre said, “I see good in you Morrigan. Elain is right, you have the born skill of a courtier, but you, like many of the other courtiers, cannot see how this change will benefit the Night Court. You can only see how it will disrupt your peace.”

Morrigan, for once, didn’t try to defend herself, she cast her eyes down and took what Feyre gave her, “I think you will be a valuable asset to this Court, but you need to move past your own resentment. I think I know where to start with that.”

At that Morrigan lifted her eyes and scrunched her brow in confusion, “Start where?”

Feyre straightened her back and put the mask back on. In a blink it was Raven that glared down at Morrigan, “Morrigan, by order of your High Lord, schedule the execution of Keir.”

*** Keir’s execution was nothing to look twice at. The male knew what was happening the moment he saw his only daughter walk into his office with two guards beside her. Neither spoke a word. Feyre watched as the male was brought out in chains, wearing the finery of Night. There was no emotion on his face, he said nothing as he was brought deep into the Hewn City, as his head was placed on the butchering block. 

The only words he said were when the axe had been lifted, his eyes were cut into Feyre’s, into Raven’s. He spoke quickly, in a voice so quiet that without his daemati abilities, Raven would not have heard him. 

“Free them all.”

Then the axe went down. 

Keir’s eyes were open when his head rolled to the floor, his face looking up at Raven’s. 

At Feyre’s. 

Somehow, Feyre knew that Keir knew who she truly was. Somehow, she knew that in these final moments there hadn’t been judgement. 

Morrigan threw up. She vomited onto the stone floors until she was dry heaving and sobbing. It seemed even her father being her torturer wasn’t enough to tear away the deep childish love that a daughter had for a parent. 

Feyre wondered if Keir knew how much his daughter had secretly cared for him. 

Feyre didn’t look at Morrigan as a guard helped her to feet and led her out. The executor and the rest of the guards left, following Morrigan. Leaving Feyre alone with the dead body of Keir. 

Feyre told the cold stone, told the soul that may still be lingering in this place.

“I am going to remake this Court, so that no more boys end up like you.”

She could have sworn there was a deep answering hum of approval. 

Feyre left, and she didn’t look behind her. 

***

“Here they are.” Morrigan said as she snapped her fingers and piles upon piles upon piles of paper appeared, filling every conceivable surface in Feyre’s office. Filling the floor, near blocking the door. Piles reaching so high they almost completely blocked out the window. 

Feyre nearly threw up. She pressed herself back into her chair, beginning to breathe heavily. Her body began to shake. 

“No.” She whispered. 

Morrigan’s eyes were red, deep circles were underneath her eyes. Her skin was pasty, near grey. She had visibly lost weight. 

After Devlon and Keir’s executions. Morrigan took over in the Hewn City and helped Feyre organise parties in Illyria to gather the names of those lost to the climate. 

“I…” Morrigan looked as though she had been crying, she looked like she might start again. 

“All these people…” Feyre couldn’t breathe. It took all of her might and strength to lift a paper from the closest pile and read the names. 

“Dead, they’re all dead.” Feyre whispered. 

Morrigan said nothing. She said nothing as Feyre began to drag in shaking unstable breaths. She said nothing as the High lord stood up, nearly knocking over her desk, beginning to rifle through every paper, every name.

Feyre read them aloud. Read every single one aloud. The sun set and night took over, but Feyre read and read and read and didn’t allow Morrigan to leave. 

Once she finished, she and Morrigan were sprawled across a couch. Morrigan was staring at the ceiling with her head tipped back. And Feyre was clutching a piece of paper like her life depended on it. 

“We make this right.” Feyre whispered, “We can’t get back these lives, but we can prevent the list from getting longer.”

“How?” Morrigan whispered, her voice downcast and dejected. 

With anger seeping in, Feyre forced herself to her feet and with a deep breath, Raven came out to play. 

“Healers to Illyria now. Any children you find starving or without shelter are to be brought ot Velaris and given the proper emminties-” 

“There are thousands of Illyrians, Velaris is only so big-”

“We start construction tonight. Bring down the walls of the Hewn City. Build housing and provide temporary shelter for the time being. We are going to connect this Court forcibly.”

*** They experienced hiccups along the way. Mostly from judgement coming from the elders of the Hewn City, and Illyrians not wishing to let go of the ways they were stuck in. That was until their families were given proper facilities and access to fresh clean water and food without having to hunt, fight and kill for it. 

Feyre watched with her sisters as the walls of the Hewn City were brought down and for the first time in their life, Hewn City folk saw the night sky. Everyone agreed to do it at night so the harsh sun wouldn’t blind them. 

What wasn’t expected was how the people cheered. 

Then it was about building. Feyre sent males and females into that treasure trove, money was taken and given back to the people. The taxes of Illyria and the Hewn City were reduced by almost more than half. 

Then the biggest challenge came along, getting the people to work together. 

Hewn City people refused to work with Illyrians, Illyrians refused to work with any High Fae. And the people of Velaris refused to work with any outsiders. 

So Feyre called in… reinforcements. 

“Your dashing knight in shining armour has come to the rescue Feyre.” Baile announced as he waltzed into Feyre’s quarters in the Hewn City. 

Feyre was sprawled across a dark lounge by the fire, just out of sight from the door. 

“Feyre?” Baile asked, venturing further into the room. 

Then Feyre responded, not getting up, “Glad you could show up, Baile.”

Baile seemed to startle at the deep voice that responded, but before he could say a word, Feyre sat up. Looking over the back of the lounge at Baile. 

He looked near nothing like his youngest brother. Short brown hair and hazel eyes specked with gold, a broader stance and more blocky features. Baile looked like his father and Tamlin looked like his mother, Feyre mused. 

Baile’s eyes turned confused before he could question who he was speaking with, Feyre smiled and stood up to her full height. It was after Baile took a small step forward, observing Feyre carefully, that he noticed the tinge of magic on her. The magic that held her in this form. 

It was with no fanfare that he said, “You went to Tamlin.”

Feyre clenched her hands into fists behind her back, “I did.”

Baile seemed to glower at that, “You could have come-”

“It was Elain’s idea, and I trust her judgement.”

“You shouldn’t, not if her judgement involves making deals with witches.” Baile crossed his arms, gritting his teeth. 

Feyre leaned back on her heels, now regarding Baile with suspicion, “Why is it that you and Tamlin hate each other so?”

“None of your damn business, Feyre Archeron.”

“Raven Archeron in the face of the public.”

Then Baile’s eyes went wide, he looked Feyre up and down again, opening and closing his mouth before it curled into a grin, “So you’re the new High lord?”

“You see why I chose to go to the witch? Tamlin doesn’t really belong to one Court, and I didn’t need another High Lord, especially one who in the face of my people I am supposed to loathe, to be the one tampering with my body through magic.” Feyre fell back into the couch and Baile joined her. 

They met centuries ago, during the War. Feyre had been cornered and Baile came out of nowhere to help her. From then on they stuck together. Once the War’s conclusion came about, and relations between Night and Spring were more strained than ever, they began to only converse via letter. 

And Baile never really spoke of his brothers…

“Alright, what do you owe him?” Baile murmured, voice dripping with venom, wondering what his youngest brother had asked of his friend. 

“Elain gave him and Lucien some baked goods for the shapeshifting… however…”

“However, what?” Baile sat up straighter, now appearing concerned. 

Feyre scrubbed her face with her hands, “I… may have gone into his mind without permission and tried to see his thoughts.”

“Feyre!” 

“I know, I know it was stupid.” She stared into the flames flickering in the fireplace, resting her forearms on her thighs, “Him and Lucien were whispering to each other, my magic pleaded to just have one look and I caved.”

“What happened after?” With a glance at Baile, Feyre saw how his eyes were trained on her. Watching her face closely. 

“Some form of Tamlin’s magic dragged me into his mind, I had no escape, if it weren’t for him then tossing me back into my own head, I don’t believe I would have been capable of leaving.”

“Sweet Mother’s tits Feyre.” Baile pressed back against the lounge, running a hand through his thick hair. 

His mental walls looked like a spider’s web, I didn’t think that-”

“He would be strong enough to do something like that. Gods did your mother teach you nothing abotu witches?”

“No Baile, unlike yours, my mother was not a witch herself.” Feyre snapped. 

“Most of the warnings of such creatures are passed down through families. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Night always seen such beings as powerless in the face of their own magic.”

“Are you saying I’m cocky?”

“I’m saying your family is cocky.” Baile stood from the couch and walked over to Feyre’s desk, picking up one of the papers and beginning to read it. Feyre had half a mind to believe he was simply up and walking about to ease some of his own anxiety.

“What do you owe him?” Baile asked with resignation in his voice. 

Feyre then snapped in a breath and Baile looked right into her eyes, slowly repeating, “Feyre, what do you owe him?”

Feyre winced, “Do you remember that… Fae-eating fungus?”

Baile slammed his fists down onto her desk, “The one that killed nearly three hundred men in the span of eight days?! Yes I remember that one! Please don’t tell me-”

“He demanded it to repay the debt.” 

“Cruel Mother in Heaven and Cauldron on Earth, what the fuck Feyre Archeron?!” Baile gripped his hair, squeezing the strands until his knuckles turned white. 

Feyre finally stood, “It's not like he’s malicious! I don’t know why he wants it, but I mean, Lucien is a good person and Tamlin has never wanted to hurt others-”

“He is a witch Feyre-” 

“Is that your only reason for hating him?!”

Baile stood there dumbstruck, he blinked then shouted, “I would be against you giving any-fucking-body a Fae-eating fungus!”

“Okay! Okay! I get it! It was stupid! Still, how can you harbour so much hatred for your brother! What has he done to you that you don’t trust him so!”

Baile then held onto the edge of the desk like it was the only thing stopping him from losing control. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep, tense breath, then said, “Do you want me to help you or no?”

She did. She really needed him to help her. So Feyre threw her hands up in the air, turned around and fell back into the lounge, “Yeah… yeah I need your help.”

“Then we’ll focus on what I’m here for then.” Baile mumbled as he walked back over to the lounge. 

“We’re going back to that though.” Feyre promised. 

“Fine. Later.” Baile waved her off, “What do you need me for?”

“How can I get my people to work together?”

***

Baile was a lot more help than he looked. 

It took months. But Feyre expected it to take years so she supposed this was good. 

Baile helped her to organise training for the Illyrian girls that wished to participate. Brought in wood and other building supplies from Spring in return for Velaris silk and Hewn City herbs, plants that only grew in the damp, dark underground. 

With her father gone, Morrigan began to improve. From what Nesta had told her, the female’s mental health had been slowly spiralling for years, now with the memories she kept locked up released she began to make a slow, but sure, recovery. She reunited with her mother, step-mother and two younger half siblings. 

Some families from Illyria moved to Velaris. After buildings became available in Illyria and the economy began to pick up, plenty of Velaris citizens began to move out to the mountainous regions. 

The rivers running through Illyria were accessed and clean water quickly became freely available. Food was being shared equally. For the Illyrians in further villages, regular shipments of bread, flour, sugar, yeast, meats and spices were being sent out near daily, along with the onslaught of people moving into the further villages, the economy was blossoming. 

That didn’t mean the complaints weren’t regular. Villages Feyre hadn’t even heard of sent word. The Illyrian males still stuck in their ways were the most against the new changes, but Morrigan and Baile both worked together to create patrols of willing Illyrian females and males that did rounds all throughout Illyria, if a female was found with her wings freshly clipped the males of that household were arrested and brought before the court. 

Feyre didn’t need to fake her disgust and anger when she saw them. 

Eye for an eye was the punishment. Any male found guilty of clipping their daughter, sister, mother or wife’s wings were clipped and sent back to their villages disgraced and humiliated. 

Many females did not leave their households if they were given the choice. Many had children, or relatives they had to look after, but they were all put on a list to be checked up on regularly. 

Soon the decline of wing clippings and deaths too young was evident. If the decline continued by a decade from now, it would be almost non-existent. 

For the most part the Night Court was running more smoothly, more equally, and more fairly than ever before. 

It did mean that Feyre was working day and night. 

“Feyre go to bed!” Elain flicked the back of her head, jolting Feyre up, it appeared she had fallen asleep on her desk, drool had dried down the side of her mouth and the ink on the letter underneath her was smudged. 

“Alright! I will, I just need to-”

Elain was having none of it, the older female took Feyre by her arm and dragged her up. Elain was surprisingly strong, Feyre supposed that came with her constant gardening, hauling large bags around, wheelbarrows, constantly working under the sun and never asking for help. 

Still Feyre was stronger, she stopped in her tracks, Elain nearly fell back. She turned and glared at her younger sibling before attempting to pull her forward, “Come on Fey, you need rest.”

“I know, I just need to finish writing this letter.” Feyre insisted. 

Elain glanced over at the letter then back at Feyre, “You mean the letter that is smudged and covered in drool.”

Feyre gritted her teeth as she ripped her arm out of Elain’s grip and went back over to her chair. Elain put her hands on her hips and glared, the normally sweet sister incredibly frustrated at how the younger female was behaving. 

But Feyre ignored her and turned back to the letter. Most of the words didn’t make sense and she had forgotten who she was sending it too exactly. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Elain, so she simply plucked another paper from the pile in the open drawer beside her and set about attempting to rewrite what she had written before. 

“That’s it.” Elain said. Feyre furrowed her brow and finally looked up at her sister who was storming out of the office. 

“What are you doing?” Feyre called out. 

“Resorting to desperate measures!” Was Elain’s answer. 

Feyre sighed and shook her head, turning back to the letter in her hands. 

Not two minutes passed before there was a shout that made Feyre go wholly still. 

“Feyre Darren Archeron!” 

“Oh… shit.” Feyre said as the door to her study flung open with such force it slammed into the wall. 

Nesta stood in the threshold, hair in a silk bonnet, her nightgown practically falling off one-shoulder, red, sleepy eyes and dried drool staining the corners of her mouth. 

And she was pissed. 

Nesta Archeron didn’t need to say a word, only had to meet Feyre’s gaze with her cold, silver eyes. Feyre slunk away from her desk and headed for the door with her head down. 

“What have I said about staying up so late so many nights in a row?” Nesta hissed as they walked down the hallway. 

“I’m scared, Star.” Feyre whispered. 

Nesta just took her youngest sister’s hand in hers, “I know, so am I sometimes.”

Feyre huffed, “You’re never scared.”

Nesta just squeezed her hand. 

***

“Good morning… What is all this?” Feyre asked as she walked into the dining room. Nesta and Elain were… attempting to eat breakfast, though it was difficult due to the sheer amount of letters strewed across the table. 

Elain and Nesta ripped open each one, looking them over them scrucnhing them up and tossing them away, before Elain could toss another, Feyre grabbed it from her hands and unfurled it, “What is going on?!”

“Relax, Fey, you don’t want to read them.” Elain said as she sipped on her jasmine tea. 

Nesta hummed her agreement, as Feyre read over the letter now in her hand, her features reduced from anxious to annoyance. 

“A marriage proposal? Really?” Feyre scoffed, scrunching the letter up and tossing it in the same manner Elain and Nesta were. 

“However, what are the rest?” Feyre asked, pointing at the piles upon piles of piles. 

“What do you think, Raven Archeron?” Nesta asked, waving a letter above her head, “They’re all marriage propositions.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open, she stared at the letters, they had to be more than a few hundred here. All… all for households to marry her?

“These are all…”

“Snakes trying to wriggle their way into our family, yep!” Elain said, her voice deceptively sweet. 

“These… This many people want my hand?”

“Well they want you to take their daughter’s hands.” Nesta said, a sly smile on her face, “Flattered Feyre?”

More than flattered. Perhaps it was cocky for her to think such, but… many had thrown Feyre aside when she attempted to court, she was the bastard daughter, and the disgrace of the family. Whilst she wasn’t a true ‘bastard’ many regarded her as such anyway. How could a Princess of the Night Court wish to fight in the War. Want to fight for humans of all things?

To see so many wishing for her hand… It boosted her confidence. 

“We need to burn all of them.” Elain stated. Those words snapped Feyre’s attention to the present. 

“What?”

“Everyone here is wishing to slither into our home and disrupt what we’ve worked hard for. We cannot let them. We must ignore these propositions.” Elain stated, tossing yet another proposal over her shoulder. 

“Now, now hang on-” Feyre attempted to stop her normally sweet sister from destroying every single proposal of marriage, “Lets not be so hasty.”

“Disagreed, I believe we should make haste even more so.” Elain said. 

Feyre sighed, Nesta raised an eyebrow, “You aren’t actually considering any of these proposals are you, Fey?”

Feyre let out a lourd ‘hah’. Not in a thousand centuries. Marriage was something so far down on her list of things to do it may as well not exist in her mind, it was simply seeing how many people desired her that… stroked her ego a bit. 

So what?! She’s spent nearly five centuries dealing with every single one of her own people looking down and ridiculing her. Maybe she did want to read of the same people who bullied her near begging her hand in marriage. 

Feyre shook her head “I… These are the same people that made my life hell more times over than not. I… seeing them so desperate for a marital alliance with me is… satisfying.”

It sounded sadistic. God’s above, what was happening to her? How oculd she even think of such-.

Elain read, “Dear Raven Archeron, I give my household congratulations for your smooth transition to the place of High Lord. You may remember my name from the time you spent in the Hewn City with your dear sisters. We have passed each other a great many times and I do hope many more are in store. As of recent times my daughter River Haveen has come of martial age. She is a delightful young female with vigour and diplomacy in her very veins. She wishes to meet your acquaintance at your earliest convenience. We would be more than grateful to house you over supper, if it is not of any trouble. Sincerely, Lord Haveen of the Haveen household.”

The room was silent, then Elain said, “He was also the male who called you a waste of ‘good cunt’ at a meeting.”

More silence, a heartbeat, then another. 

Feyre nearly fell to her knees laughing. Nesta threw her head back and had to clutch her torso. Elain nearly doubled over. The three laughed until tears streamed from their eyes and their stomach’s hurt. 

Feyre gripped the side of the table to stabilise herself, once in control of her laughter once more she straightened and wiped the tears from the sides of her eyes. 

“Oh Good Gods.” Feyre half laughed. 

“He couldn’t even be discreet about his intentions.” Nesta noted, a bright smile on her face. 

Elain answered them both with a cheeky grin, she lifted another letter, “Who wants to read Lord Taren’s letter?”

Feyre quickly snatched it from Elain’s fingers and flopped down into the chair at the head of the table. Kicking her feet over the armrest, she opened the letter with a grin.

*** “Chin up, eyes forward, back straight, you are the High Lord. Even if you are trying to establish an equal rule, you are still their Lord. They still owe you respect.” Elain said as she braided Feyre’s hair, “Be kind, but keep conversations short until Starfall begins. Don’t go off with other females or males who try to take your hand. Offer the first dance to Nesta, then Baile as he is our guest, then me. Then you may frolick and fuck as much as you please. Oh! But do wait until at least half of the party is too drunk to care, so if you go off with someone stupid they won’t notice-”

“Yes! Yes okay, Elain, I know.” Feyre said, feeling her sister beginning to ramble. 

Elain sighed, smoothing Feyre’s shirt, “I know you know, I just…”

Elain cupped Feyre’s face, furrowing her brow as she looked up at her, “You’re all grown up now.”

Feyre grinned, “I am.”

Elain swallowed hard, “I… I haven’t always been a good sister to your, Feyre.”

Feyre was silent for a moment, before she murmured, “Not always.”

Not always at all. Some days when they were younger Elain would allow the children she befriended to bully the much younger Feyre for being so ‘tomboyish’. She would be silent and allow them to kick her until she was down, then hurt her some more, not just in words. 

“I was silent when I should’ve stood up for you. I’m… I’m so sorry Feyre.” Elain cast her eyes down. 

Feyre took her sister’s wrists in her hand, “Hey now, I get it. You were trying to fit in, we all were-”

“I was older, I should’ve-”

“We were both still children, even if you were older.”

Elain was quiet, then she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Feyre whispered, “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t, I have done nothing to deserve it.” Elain said.

Feyre nearly laughed as she pulled her sister into a tight hug, “You have done everything in your power to help protect me since those days, between you and Star you both have done more for me than any other person in the world. I’m so happy you’re both going to be by my side tonight, I wouldn’t have this any other way.”

Elain hugged her back, wrapping her arms around Feyre’s waist and burying her face into her chest, barely able to hold back tears. 

Elain whispered, “I know Nesta finds it… difficult to express her feelings but I’m telling you Fey, she feels so guilty and she loves you so much-”

“I know Lainy, I know.” Feyre murmured, stroking her sister’s hair, “I know, Star shows me, I don’t need her to tell me how much she loves me and regrets being silent to know how she feels.”

Elain sobbed into Feyre’s chest, ruining her makeup but she didn’t care, “I’m so sorry, Fey.”

“I forgive you, Lainy, I love you.” Anybody else might find the nickname stupid or childish but Feyre loved it, she loved remembering the good times she had with her sister when she was younger, even if they were few. 

“And I forgive Star. I love you both and nothing either of you have done centuries ago will take away from that.” Feyre added. 

Elain took in a shaking breath, then she steeled her expression as she adjusted Feyre’s collar, “Don’t trust anyone with a moustache okay?”

Their father had a moustache. 

Feyre forced herself not to laugh, “Okay, Lainy.”

Elain took in a deep breath, tears nearly falling down her face, “And don’t take any drinks that stranger’s offer you!”

“Okay, Lainy.” Feyre was struggling more and more to control her laughter. 

Elain finally began to cry, “And don’t make bets or bargains you can’t win!”

“I won’t, Lainy, I won’t.” Feyre pulled a sobbing Elain back into her arms. 

Feyre stroked her sister’s hair and back, letting her cry. Holding onto her. Keeping her close. 

It was Morrigan who knocked on the door, saying it was time. Elain pulled away, looking up at Feyre like all she reemmbered was the scrawny little girl who could barely lift a rock over head. 

“You are a great High Lord.” Elain said. 

“I hope I will be.” Feyre replied tightly, looking out the window towards the Night Court. 

“No.” Elain’s hands in Feyre’s forced her sight to the middle sister, “You are a great High Lord, keep doing what you’re doing.”

Feyre nearly broke down crying, “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Now we best get going before Nesta and Morrigan beat us there.”

*** “Hello High Lord.” A girl with red curls and blue eyes smiled at her. Feyre nearly allowed her slender hands to lead her to the dance floor, to lead her to a private room where she’d pull up her skirts and let the High lord-.

“Evening.” Feyre forced her mind to focus on the present. Like Elain had said, she could take anyone to bed once Starfall had commenced and the people were too drunk to care who she fucked. 

A male then stopped her, he had short black hair and eyes like violet amethysts. He wrapped his arms around the High Lord of Night and mouthed for him to come closer. Feyre nearly fell for it, nearly followed the male into the private rooms not far from the ceremony. As the male kissed Feyre’s neck, Feyre felt herself, himself tonight, nearly fall to pieces. Then a female with long golden hair and golden eyes pressed against her back, caging her against the violet eyed male. 

“Come with us, High lord.” The female whispered seductively. 

Feyre nearly fell for it, then a male came out of nowhere. He was an Illyrian, larger than any Feyre had ever seen, with seven red siphons, he whispered hardly in the violet-eyed male’s ear, who rolled his eyes before waggling his fingers in a wave goodbye and strutting away. Feyre, no Raven tonight, found himself missing his presence. 

But the female didn’t leave, she began to grind against Raven’s ass. He nearly flipped her around just so he could feel his length pressing against her undoubtedly wet core, but his plans were ruined by. 

“High Lord! Starfall is about to commence!” Elain appeared and once again ruined his fun. 

Tonight, Raven was prepared, he turned to the female behind him and before Elain could drag him away he said, “I have to be off, my lovely, perhaps later tonight I’ll see you again?”

She seemed pleased with that answer, she smirked and whispered that they would in fact see each other tonight before slithering away. Elain grabbed his arm and pulled him towards where his Court was gathered. 

Elain hissed in his ear, “What did I say?!”

“But she-” Raven attempted to justify himself. Elain silenced him as they approached the balcony watching as the stars grew bright in the sky. 

Elain and Raven, Feyre, stood beside Nesta. 

The first star fell. 

And Starfall began. 

***

Raven did as Elain had told, he offered the first dance to Nesta, who accepted with a bow and a smile. Nesta had been the hardest to dance with, as her talent far outmatched that of Raven’s. Next was Baile, who didn’t visually react except for a dark blush that spread across his face. He was the least coordinated, but it served to make Raven feel better. Next was Elain, who matched Raven in talent and nearly challenged him to a duel with how competitive she became during the dance. Eventually Elain released his hands and Raven was allowed to slip back into Feyre. 

The night went on and females approached her. Many running their hands down her chest, over her biceps, feeling up her back. Feyre shooed most of them away, some she allowed to stay, to whisper in their ear and talk in dirty language that she wouldn’t dare use outside of this. 

She watched the Hewn City folk, how they were captivated by the star show. Feyre wished she had shown it to them earlier, as she watched how they cheered and clapped at almost every star something warmed her heart. It almost burned her up. How dare she enjoy this show for centuries but never share it with all her people?!

Males approached her, more specifically they approached Raven. Near all of them were discreet, trying to pull her away to dark corners where they wouldn’t be seen. All of them insisted they wouldn’t do this with any other male. 

Yet all of them tried to get on her. All of them tried to get her away to their households, trying to spend a night with the handsome High Lord of Night. 

Only one male got her away from the crowd. 

Feyre spotted him a mile away. Golden hair braided, wearing a suit of green. Tamlin caught her eye from where he was leaning against a marble pillar. Feyre didn’t offer the females and males nearly climbing on top of her an explanation as she slunk away to where Tamlin stood. 

When she was right before him, Tamlin simply jutted his head towards a private balcony, then he walked over to it, disappearing from the crowd and Feyre followed. 

Once they stood alone, Feyre watched as Tamlin clasped his hands behind his back. She copied the motion, waiting for him to speak first. 

When he didn’t speak, Feyre accepted her loss and asked, “I assume you’re here for the Fae-eating fungus?”

“I’m here to see how you’re doing.” Tamlin said, starting Feyre. The idea that this witch might care how her court was doing was more than absurd, still he continued, “the Night Court has been suppressed for years, I wanted to know how the new management was handling it.”

That choice of wording made Feyre straighten her back, “We are fine. The Night Court has flourished.”

“Good.” Was all Tamlun chose to say. 

After several minutes of intense silence, Feyre asked, “Why are you really here?”’

Tamlin sighed, “To see how the girl who opened her heart to those that didn’t have ‘pretty’ trauma is faring. Feyre you… you were the first person I had ever met that didn’t care that how I reacted to my trauma wasn’t the standard cute version and I… I wanted to know that girl was still there.”

There it was. 

Feyre smiled at the male, “She’s right here.”

Tamlin smiled back, it was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless, “I;m glad.

“Was there anything else?” 

“Actually yes.” Tamlin turned to face her fully, “That Fae-eating fungus-”

Feyre sighed, “Have it right here.”

Pulling a small linen bag from the pocket between realms, Free handed it to Tamlun. Who took it with intrigue in his eyes. 

“Please don’t use that to kill all of us.” Feyre near begged as Tamlin inspected it. 

“Now why would I do that?” Tamlin asked. 

“Because you're a witch?” Feyre said, with an eyebrow raised. 

Tamlin near sneered at that, “We are not as evil as the High Fae paint us to be.”

She figured that to be the case, considering how Baile acted vs how Tamlin acted, “Then what are you planning to do with that?”

Tamlin took in a deep breath, “If you really wish to know… Lucien has a friend in the Human Lands, who is dying from an incurable sickness. I swore I would find a cure and… from what I’ve researched this could very well be the cure.”

“A Fae-eating fungus could be the cure?”

Tamlin glared half-heartedly at her, “Mixed with other herbs and spells, yes it could be.

Feyre hummed, then she smiled, as small as it was. She rubbed Tamlin’s head who ripped himself away, again glaring but with that softness in his eyes, “What are you doing?!”

“You’re still the same. But… all grown up.” Feyre murmured, feeling like she was repeating what Elain had told her. 

Tamlin rolled his eyes, then put the bag in between the realms, “that's what happens when years pass.”

“I know you dimwit.” Feyre crossed her arms. 

“I;m sure you do.” Tamlin crossed his own arms, then looked out at the night sky. 

They seemed to stay there forever, then Feyre forced herself to ask, “What happens next?

A wave of magic shocked through the land. What looked like glowing golden light fell from the sky, heading down and down and down. Feyre and Tamlin watched, shocked. It gained speed, going too fast. Far too fast. 

Tamlin wrapped an arm around her arm, “It starts with slowing down her.”

Feyre didn’t know how Tamlin knew whatever that thing was, was a her. She didn’t ask questions either, Feyre simply sent out a wave of power to counteract the force of whatever or whoever was falling, to slow her down. 

Feyre could have sworn there was a glimmer of something grateful shinning back at her. 

Then the golden glow was gone. 

And all that was left was the Night Court. 

“You did it.” Tamlin said. 

“We all did.” Feyre murmured. 

[separatist-apologist]

Feyre: Rhysand is my mate and I'm telling you this to your face.

Also Feyre: If you try and break my mating bond, I'm going to ruin your life.

Also Feyre: If you drag me back to Spring against my will, I'll destroy everything you love.

Tamlin: Break her mating bond so I can drag her back to Spring and we can start over.

Also Tamlin: I can't believe you destroyed everything I love and ruined my life!

[seleneprince]

A Court of Shadows and Blood Chapter 3

The hallways are carved out of pale stone, lined on either side by torches. No shadowy spots to hide. It's a wide open space, but she barely has the chance to appreciate the details. The eery silence that reigns in there is only interupted by the echo of her hurried steps as she runs.

She doesn’t know where she’s going. Every hallway looks the same. She’s taken several turns already, but can’t, for the life of her, figure out where she is.

But there’s no other option. She has to keep running and hope she finds a way out—or else stay locked up until the monster tires of her and ends her life. Especially now that she’s given him very good reasons to do so.

Nothing has gone as it should since she left for the Wall. Nesta thought that embarking on a life-threatening journey to rescue Feyre was the craziest thing she’d ever do.

Until she was captured by a Fae made of deadly shadows and locked in his opulent room. Until she tried to strangle that same Fae with her bare hands. Until she chained him to his own bed with the very metal that had once been locked around her ankle.

Nesta isn’t naïve enough to believe it will hold him down forever. He’s an ancient being, filled with power. She doesn’t know how, but she can feel it—perhaps the same way she can see through spells.

'Have you ever witnessed something really strange that you had no explanation for, but no one else noticed? Things that just didn't make sense in your mind?'

He obviously knows the reason. It unsettles her deeply that he’s aware of some hidden part of herself, something she doesn’t even fully understand. For someone to know you like that is dangerous. She learnt that the hard way, long ago.

She skids around a corner, nearly slipping as she pushes forward, her pulse drumming louder than her footsteps. The torches flicker as she passes, shadows trailing her like phantoms.

She thinks of Feyre, her sister’s face flashing in her mind, and she clenches her fists, gritting her teeth. Nesta will get out of this wretched place and find her, somehow. She will drag her back home, away from these monsters and this godforsaken land.

That thought pushes her fear down and drives her forward. The iron poker burns her hands as she grips it harder—it’s the only weapon she could find in that room. She’s been planning her escape ever since those hellish shadowy creatures spawned in the room and dragged her from the bed.

She had no way of knowing what time it was, only that she’d been sleeping shortly before they arrived. She’d dreamed of Feyre, of Elain, and for a moment, all was well. Then the dream twisted into a nightmare of black claws pinning her to the bed by her throat, choking her slowly as they dug into her skin. A pair of violet eyes stared at her with cruel amusement while blood trickled down her neck. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t respond. It was all pain, darkness, pure agony.

She woke up drenched in sweat, gasping for air. Her eyes took in the room, fixing on the orange flames crackling in the fireplace. She buried her face in her hands and, for the first time since she’d left, she sobbed.

She had already stopped by the time those Fae materialized in front of her, her eyes still red and puffy. They were made of shadows and floated around the room, their features barely discernable, save for their loose, flowing cobweb gowns. They didn't say a word even when they reached for her. She tried to fight them off, get their cold inhuman hands off her, but to no avail. The grip around her forearms remained firm.

She knew exactly who had sent them. Shadows were obviously his domain. One of them crouched down, tugged at the chain a couple of times, and unlocked it, freeing her ankle from its weight. The relief was short-lived, though, as they dragged her across the room and into a nondescript chamber, where they stripped her bare and bathed her roughly.

The sensation of hands tearing away her clothes and touching her skin stirred panic and fury, making her lash out in an attempt to push them off. But it was useless. The two shadows forced her to stay still in the tub as they scrubbed her. Then they wrapped her in a thin robe and, to her confusion, began to paint her face and brush her hair.

Their brushes were cold and tickling, their shadowy grips firm whenever she squirmed. They didn’t speak, offering no explanation for their actions—though Nesta had no doubt it was yet another sick game of that bastard.

When they were finished, she hardly recognized her reflection. She looked regal, reminiscent of the noble girl she’d once been. Her face was artfully decorated with cosmetics that subtly enhanced her features, just enough to suit a lady’s propriety.

The shadows didn’t stop there, of course. They seized her again, wrapping her in a dress. It was tight around her torso and flowed loosely toward the ground, cascading over her legs like a sea of stars. The design was unlike anything she’d ever worn—or would have if she had a choice.

"What’s this? Why are you…?" But before she could finish, they dragged her back to the bed, locked the chain around her ankle once more, and vanished as soon as they did so.

She was alone again, processing what had just happened. In their absence, she could feel the nightmare flooding back—the suffocation, the pain, the raw terror as she was killed, again and again. Those violet eyes full of evil.

Nesta decided she couldn’t stay there any longer, trapped as a plaything for these faeries, awaiting her inevitable demise at their hands. She would not let that nightmare become her reality.

Hit with a surge of determination and desperation, Nesta grabbed the metal chain with both hands and began pulling at it repeatedly. Her hands ached, her ankle throbbed, but she didn’t stop. She ignored everything but the relentless clink of the metal as she tried to tear it free, focusing on the sound it made when she tugged at certain angles.

Finally, the cold air hit the raw skin of her ankle, and the chain fell to the ground. She almost sobbed again.

But she wasn’t done. Carefully, she set one foot on the floor, testing her strength. Her eyes shifted to the poker by the fireplace, lying close enough to the flames to sear anyone’s skin if touched on the wrong side. Faeries have skin, too, after all. And it's not so much different from human's, if her experience with her hands around someone's throat were anything to go by.

She began to formulate her plan right there. It was very risky, downright suicidal, but at that point she was ready to try anything for her freedom. So she returned to the bed, hid the chain under the skirt and waited for him.

She still can't believe it worked.

Another turn. Her lungs burn, and the air feels thicker, heavier, with each step. She’s in a maze meant to ensnare her, to lead her back to where she started, drive her to insanity. Her thoughts race, searching for any sense of direction, any logic in this place.

But nothing about it makes sense. Seems to be the rule of the faerie world.

She rounds another corner and stops dead. Ahead, two guards are stationed at the end of the hall, clad in dark armor that reflects none of the torchlight. They haven't seen her yet, too engrossed in their conversation.

Nesta takes a step back and presses her back against the wall beneath it, concealing her body with the shadows. Sucking in deep breaths behind her mouth, she glances back down the corridor. They're still there, seemingly unaware of her presence.

She wonders how it works. Don't faeries smell humans from miles away? That's the only explanation on how her captor found her the way he did. And she knows by what he said that he could, in fact, smell her like a piece of meat. But these guards haven't so much as glanced in her direction. ¿Maybe not all faeries can sense humans?

She tries to make out pieces of what they're talking about. Their voices are the only sound in the hallway, so it's easy for her to listen. Perhap she can hear something useful, a hint to leave this place.

"...to leave. He's...bad mood."

"...prick. Almost worse...other."

"Waiting...company."

They chuckle. A sound so unnerving it makes her skin crawl.

"Vanserra...most dangerous."

Vanserra. A name. It means nothing to her, but they way they say it carries a certain air of authority. Whoever it is, it's someone they have to obey.

Her mind is running through multiple possibilities, strategies to proceed. She has to act now. Every minute she spends here without moving is more time for that monster to find her. She's not that foolish to think the iron poker in her hand will stop him.

Suddenly, the guards begin to move towards her and Nesta's blood runs cold. She turns, sprinting down another passageway, uncaring that they surely heard her now.

She’s running blind again, every hallway an endless stretch of pale stone and torchlight. Her mind flits back to the Fae chained in his bed, his rage as he realized what she’d done. She’s not sure if she’s more terrified of his revenge or the despair of knowing she might never escape this place. That it was all for nothing.

The hall narrows, and ahead, she catches a dim glimmer. She sprints toward it, pressing her hands against the wall. There's a slight fissure in the rock, opening onto a crudely carved, dark subterranean passageway. It's large enough for one person to squeeze through—so jagged and rough that it's obviously not used often.

It’s deathly silent, with a faint, warm breeze whistling through. The sound of footsteps and angry shouts approaching spurs her into action; she squeezes herself into a narrow opening, holding her breath to fit. She remains perfectly still as the guards pass her hiding spot. When their footsteps fade, she moves on. The iron rod scrapes against the stone, and she almost feels sorry for the high-quality fabric of the dress getting ruined. Almost.

The passageway narrows, forcing her to suck in her stomach to keep moving. The smell of burning wood reaches her nose, and distant sounds—voices—grow clearer. Light seeps through cracks in the stone, giving her glimpses of the other side.

Bedrooms. This passageway connects to other fae’s bedrooms. She wants to scream.

Nesta closes her eyes for a moment, steeling herself. She can’t fall apart now. She's already here. Turning back is not an option anymore. And she has to find Feyre.

She keeps moving. The voices fade, and her body bumps into a solid wall. The smell of burning wood is stronger now, drifting from just beyond it.

She presses her hands against the wall, pushing with all her strength until it slides aside. A hidden door, then. As soon as she steps out, it closes behind her.

Before her it's a magnificent bedroom, entirely different from the one she was locked in, yet equally beautiful.

The color scheme is rich in golds and reds, with warm orange hues. Another king-sized bed stands at the center, adorned with exquisite bed linens embroidered in flame-like patterns. The posts are made of real gold, and the fire blazing in the enormous hearth beside it casts an ethereal glow across the room. A large, intricately carved wardrobe stands nearby, its surface adorned with thorny patterns. A small desk is cluttered with scattered papers and books, yet looks as expensive as everything else.

If Nesta were asked to describe it, she’d say this room is made of fire and fury. It radiates a palpable power, as though the very walls are steeped in the essence of whoever resides here. The heat from the fire makes her skin prickle, and a strange, welcome warmth settles over her, seeping into her bones.

She walks around slowly, eyes scanning for exits. She notes a large set of double doors to her right—likely the main entrance—and a smaller, inconspicuous door to the left. Her heartbeat quickens, calculating the odds.

But then she hears faint footsteps, muffled but approaching. Her gaze darts to the wardrobe, and without another thought, she darts toward it, slipping inside just as the door swings open. She presses herself against the back of the wardrobe, the scent of polished wood and faintly spiced cologne surrounding her. Through the crack between the doors, she watches.

A figure steps inside, tall and imposing, dressed in an elegant jacket of scarlet and gold. His movements are fluid, controlled. His gaze sweeps over the room, his expression sharp and focused, as if he senses something amiss.

Nesta holds her breath, willing herself invisible. She grips the iron poker with both hands, ready to pounce.

The Fae moves to the bed, then over to the fireplace, seemingly lost in thought. His fingers trail along the desk, tracing patterns on the scattered papers. And then, he turns on his back and leaves. The sound of doors closing resonate in the room.

Nesta waits until she's sure he's gone. She steps out of the wardrobe carefully, glancing in both directions. Her heart pounds so hard she can feel it in her throat.

Standing in the middle of the room, she watches the flames flicker. Their light reflects off her dress, casting an orange glow that transforms the fabric into the hues of a sunset rather than a night sky. She likes it better.

Suddenly, the flames sink in size and she barely has time to react before she feels a strong hand grabbing her by the arm, grip iron-clad.

"Well, well" a voice low and silk-smooth drawls in her ear, breath hot against her skin. "What do we have here? A little bird who..."

Nesta doesn't even think it.

She whips around and swings the poker, the sharp, burning end aimed blindly at him.

The iron rod connects, glancing off his arm before he jerks back with a low, furious hiss. She stumbles, nearly losing her grip on the poker, but she doesn’t let go. Instead, she takes a shaky step back, holding it between them like a weapon. Her pulse pounds like thunder, her gaze locked on the Fae.

The flames leap higher in the fireplace as he steadies himself, one hand cradling his injured arm. His face twists, not in pain but in something sharper, colder—a kind of restrained fury that makes her blood run cold.

"Quite the little fighter, aren’t you?" he says, his voice low and dripping with dark amusement, though his eyes burn with ire. "I assume you're not the female I was expecting tonight."

He speaks in a unfamiliar accent, different from the other Fae man she knows. His voice is rich and deep in a way that would be attractive in an human man, but coming from someone like him, Nesta refuses to feel anything.

Just by looking at him she knows he’s of the same status—or close—to her captor. He’s taller than any man she’s ever met, with dark red hair perfectly cut over his nape and amber eyes that resemble two flaming orbs. He's dressed even more elegantly than the other bastard, and Nesta has the knowledge to see he has a refined taste and takes pride in his appearance.

Not to mention she can practically feel the power thrumming off him, as palpable as the fire’s warmth at her back. This is no ordinary fae—he’s one of the important kind. The masters.

And this is his bedroom.

Nesta feels the urge to scream again.

He huffs, releasing his injured arm, and she catches sight of a thin trail of blood trickling down his elegantly stitched sleeve. It’s a dark shade of red—almost black—a stark reminder that he’s not human, but a monster.

She holds the iron rod between them, keeping it firmly pressed against his chest, though she knows it’s futile. The sharp end digs in, and he raises an eyebrow, glancing from the poker to her with a look of faint bewilderment.

"Who are you?" it takes everything within her to keep her voice steady.

He snorts. "I believe I should be the one asking that, birdie. This is my bedroom."

Nesta bites her lips, her pulse beating in her ears. He doesn't look threatening, but that doesn't mean he's safe. Yet there's something oddly comforting about this room, about its aura. She can't explain it, but it just feels alluring to her. Just like the man in front of her.

'Focus, you idiot. He's not a man. He's a predator.'

She straightens her spine, trying to appear taller and more confident than she truly feels. She’s no fighter, despite the iron rod clenched in her fingers. Her weapons have always been her words—and she doesn't know to what extent they're useful against faeries.

The fae draws a twisted grin, his fire eyes gleaming with menace.

"How interesting," he takes a step closer to her, the iron pressing further into his chest. "I wasn't aware the Night court kept human pets now."

The fury that flares up at being called "pet" dims in confusion as she processes his words. ¿Night Court? Is that where that fae of shadows comes from?

The red-haired fae picks up on her shock instantly, his grin widening as if he’s uncovered something amusing and entirely to his advantage.

"Oh?" he drawls, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Don’t tell me you didn’t even know? You're dressed like one of them. A wonder we haven't heard of you." He says the last part more to himself, as though she’s little more than a spectator to his thoughts.

Nesta grits her teeth, keeping her grip on the poker tight. "I don’t care about that. I only want to leave."

The fae’s expression shifts, some trace of real interest sparking in his eyes, though his amusement remains. "Leave? And where exactly would you go, little mortal? This place isn’t exactly known for its... hospitality to uninvited guests. Specially if they're humans. She has a...let's say strong dislike for your kind."

He lifts his fingers to trace the iron rod lightly, as though inspecting it. "Besides, did no one tell you it’s rather rude to wander into another male’s chambers?" His tone drips with sarcasm, but Nesta catches the veiled threat in his words.

She truly has the worst luck in the world. Jumping from one sick bastard to another. ¿When will this end?

Nesta’s pulse races. She can feel the power simmering just beneath his polished exterior, as potent as the fae she’s managed to escape from. Her hand tightens on the rod as she meets his gaze defiantly. "You didn’t answer my question. Who are you?"

For a moment, he simply stares at her, the smirk fading as he watches her face with sharp, unreadable eyes. Then, he inclines his head in a graceful bow.

"Call me Eris," he says, voice low and almost purring. "And you, little bird?"

Nesta hesitates. Giving her name to a Fae is a horrible idea, or so she's been taught. But she also thought iron could hurt them and she saw her captor holding it with his own hands to chain her. She's not sure what to do.

But he's given her something more than the other male has. So maybe she can allow herself to be a bit nice.

"I'll tell you if you let me out of here," she replies after a beat, keeping her chin high.

Eris’s smile returns, smug and unbelieving, as if he’s found something truly valuable. "Seriously?" he repeats, letting a short huff of amusement. "I just gave you mine. It's not fair I don't get to know yours."

Her eyes narrow. "You could be lying to me for all I know. Some knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands."

He stares at her. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"I agree," he clasps his hands behind him, leaning forward. The end of the poker cutting slightly through his exquisite jacket. He doesn't seem to care. "So pray tell, why should I let you leave after telling you my name, mhm? It's dangerous knowledge, after all."

She tenses.

"What could I possibly do against you? I'm just a human."

He takes a step closer to her.

"A human dressed like a member of the Night court, who just intruded in my bedroom with a weapon. Forgive me for being a bit skeptical."

His gaze never leaves hers, and though Nesta tries to keep her stance steady, she feels herself shrinking back involuntarily. His body is on the way to her exit, but it dawns to her that, even if she managed to get pass him by some miracle, there could be more faes outside.

She doesn't have time to think that far ahead. She needs to act now.

The fire cracks behind her, the comforting smell of burning wood caressing her nose. She can do this.

"Please, I just want to go home." Fighting back hasn’t worked so far, so maybe playing the role of a pitiful, scared human will "He kidnapped me, kept me locked in his room like a beast. I escaped by sheer miracle, but I know he's looking for me now."

His eyebrows rise briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before it vanishes, replaced by an unimpressed stare. If Nesta wasn't so well versed in those same tactics, she would've missed it.

She knows Fae look down on her kind, see them as inferior beings. If she plays on that role, she might get the upper hand here.

Eris watches her, the flickering firelight casting his sharp features in a golden glow. His smirk fades and his eyes narrow slightly, as though he’s debating whether or not to believe her tale.

"How exactly did you escape? I know he wouldn't have let you go so easily. And there's no way you could've overpower him."

Shit. He’s cornering her with that question. If she tells him the truth—that she outwitted a powerful fae and chained him to the bed—there’s a risk he’ll see her as a genuine threat and act accordingly. Or worse, he won’t believe her at all. And hand her over to her captor.

Everything's been a risk since she got out of that room. She can't falter. Not now. Not when might be so close to freedom.

"When his servants came to dress me, they unlocked the chain, and forgot to lock it again when they left. I saw an opportunity. I grabbed the poker and ran away before he returned." she sighs. "I almost got caught by some guards, so I hid. That's how I ended up here."

He hums, looking at her in silence, as if pushing her to continue.

"Please, I beg you, let me go. My s...family need me. I must find them. I promise I won't tell anyone about this place. Ever. I just...let me go home."

As she talks, she realizes it's not an act anymore. Every word comes straight out of her heart, her raw emotions. She misses her home deeply, misses her sisters. She must save Feyre from that monster's claws and bring her back home. Her eyes grow misty against her will, but she's too weary to feel asshamed.

She only wants this nightmare to end.

The fae doesn't say anything. Not a sound comes out of him. Nesta doesn't dare to look at his face.

"Home, you say?" His voice drips with an emotion she can't identify. "You really think that's an option for you now? That's why you went through all that trouble? Sweet Mother, I forgot how blissfully unaware mortals are of everything around them." He looks away, his expression serious, contrasting greatly to how he's been acting until now. "And what, pray tell, is it you intend to do once you’re back in your quaint little life? Forget this ever happened? Forget this place? Him?" His tone lowers, his words taunting. "Do you truly believe a creature like him will let you escape unscathed?"

Nesta's blood freezes, her head throbbing. The grip around the iron rod begins to tremble.

"There must be a way, I know it..."

"Let's suppose I let you out of here. What then?" he interrupts her, insisting. Taking her apart. "Do you have any idea where you are right now? How to navigate this place? You don't. Bet you don't even know where the entrance is. You don't have a plan, am I right? Risked your sorry life for nothing."

Nesta moves before her common sense can't stop it. She swings the iron rod again, narrowly missing his side as he sidesteps.

Eris laughs, a sharp, delighted sound, even as he raises his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, you're fun. I like you."

"Shut up. You're a powerful fae, I can feel it. There has to be a way you can help me here. What do I have to do?"

Eris’s smile returns, smug and predatory, as if he’s found what he was looking for.

"Well, I can think of a few ways you can...persuade me to help."

Nesta already recognizes this tone, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and the shiver all through her back. Maybe she should try to aim for the head this time.

"Not that, you disgusting pervert." She grits her teeth.

Eris hums, his expression unreadable as he steps even closer, close enough now that the heat of his body mixes with the warmth of the fire behind her. "How brave of you to say that. Or just suicidal. I can't decide."

Nesta holds her ground, though her instincts scream at her to back away. She won’t cower—not yet. She tilts her chin up, meeting his fiery gaze head-on. "I repeat. I’m no threat to you. If you're not going to help me, then let me go, and you won’t have to deal with me ever again."

Eris laughs, low and rich, the sound reverberating through the room and her body. "You misunderstand, birdie. I don’t 'have' to deal with you. I’m choosing to."

His hand reaches out, catching her wrist with infuriating ease as he gently pulls the poker from her grip. He lets it clatter to the ground, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, firm but not painful. "And now I’m wondering…" He leans in, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off him. "Why the High Lord of the Night Court went to such lengths to dress you up like his prize, only to let you slip away."

Her pulse pounds in her ears, but she forces her voice steady. "I’m no one’s prize."

Eris’s lips twitch, his grip tightening just slightly. "No, you’re not. You're a pet." he murmurs. "But I think there's something more of you than that. And I really want to find out."

His free hand raises toward her face, and Nesta reacts without thinking. She stomps down on his foot with all her strength, yanking her wrist free as his grip loosens.

But before she can grab the iron rod again, his whole face changes. It’s almost imperceptible, but she notices it, and it makes her wary.

He tilts his head to the side, as if listening to something outside. She watches him, his sudden change in behavior unsettling her enough to keep quiet. The faint tension in his posture, the way his eyes flicker toward the door, and the tilt of his head, as if straining to hear something beyond the thick walls. It sets her on edge.

Her heart pounds in her chest, the icy claws of unease curling around her spine. Whatever—or whoever—has his attention, it makes him pause. And that, more than anything, terrifies her.

A cold, horrifying though comes to her. ¿Could it be him? Has he found her at last?

Suddenly, he turns his head at her with an intense stare. Something flicker in his eyes, and he's frowning. He looks at her as if he's conflicted. ¿Why?

He grabs her harshly by the arms, but not enough to hurt, and basically lifts her up in the air. She doesn't have time to protest before he presses a hand against the wall where she came from and...pushes it open like nothing. Like he does it regularly.

He shoves her inside and gives her a stern look of warning.

"Leave the way you came," he instructs, his tone firm but distracted. "Once you're out, keep your right hand pressed to the wall and follow it. It’ll take you where you need to go. Don’t run, don’t make a sound, and above all, avoid the shadows. They’re not safe." He turns his head to the door again in a pissed off gesture. "And one more thing."

He grabs her wrist, and Nesta feels the cool weight of something pressed into her palm. She looks down.

A knife. Crafted from gold and ash wood.

"That will hurt a Fae far more than burning iron," he says evenly. "Keep it with you at all times. Even a light touch of it will have them writhing in pain."

She can barely process what's happening. Everything feels too fast, his words too cryptic.

"Why are you doing this? What's going on?"

The glare he shoots her makes her breath hitch.

"He's here."

Her chest tightens as her heartbeat thunders painfully against her ribs, each beat like a desperate plea to escape.

"But... I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me?"

He stares at her, his expression unreadable, though something flickers in his eyes—a shadow of emotion too fleeting to name.

"We’re not close enough yet to share our secrets," he says, his smile sharp but empty, like a blade with no warmth behind it. "Now go, before I regret it and hand you over to him."

Her mind spins, a storm of unanswered questions she can’t bring herself to voice. Her tongue feels heavy, her thoughts muddled.

But one thing is unmistakable: he’s helping her. For reasons she can’t fathom, this Fae is offering her a chance. A lifeline. And he hasn’t demanded anything in return.

Before she can say another word, he moves to push the wall closed.

"Pity. I didn't got your name in the end," he says, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Maybe next time."

It's so absurd she feels the urge to chuckle. For the first time since she was kidnapped. It's a miracle. Or a sign of insanity.

"Nesta."

"What?"

She locks eyes with him, her gaze unwavering as she stares into those amber depths, like molten fire swirling. Her own reflection in those fiery orbs.

"My name is Nesta."

He blinks.

"Nesta." He repeats, savouring the syllabes in a soft, low tone. "Be careful, Nesta. Everything can be trap here."

She grips the knife.

"Trust me, I know now" she replies. "Thank you. For doing this."

He chuckles.

"Don't thank me yet, birdie. After all, I'm sure we'll meet again."

The wall closes in her face before she can ask, leaving her alone in the darkness once more.

She battles with herself to get moving, her mind still reeling from everything that just transpired. Pressing her right hand firmly against the wall beside her, she begins to walk back on her steps.

Every step is deliberate, her movements slow and calculated, as she struggles to keep silent. Her breathing is shallow, her chest tight with the effort of not making a sound.

If that bastard truly is here, then there’s a chance—pretty big one—that she'll pass by him through this hidden passage, near the damn rooms.

The weight of the knife in her hand is both a comfort and a reminder of the dangers that lie ahead. Nesta moves cautiously, every small sound amplified in the thick silence surrounding her. Her heart hammers in her chest, a constant warning of how close she is to being discovered. The passage feels tighter now, the stone walls pressing in as if the space itself is conspiring to trap her.

As she walks, her mind races. Who was that fae, Eris? Why had he helped her? And why, despite the sharpness in his eyes and the veiled threat in his words, had he let her go instead of handing her over to the other? Surely it would've been easier for him, and spared him any trouble.

Her breath catches in her throat as a thought hits her like a cold wave—was he playing her all along? Or was there something more to his intentions?

The wall beneath her fingers feels cold, unyielding, as if daring her to falter. She forces herself to ignore the creeping dread, pressing onward, trusting in the directions Eris had given her. The passage twists and turns, its walls narrowing at times, forcing her to squeeze through with minimal room to spare. She forces her thoughts back to the present. 'Focus. Get out of here. Find Feyre.'

The low murmur of voices reaches her ears just as she rounds a corner. Her stomach tightens. They’re close—too close for her liking. She slows her pace, flattening herself against the wall as much as she can, holding her breath. Her eyes scan the shadows, looking for any sign of movement.

The voices grow louder, unmistakable now. It’s him. The one she’s been running from.

"Sorry, but I don't have the slighest idea what you're talking about," That's Eris. She recognizes that suave, arrogant tone. "Are you sure you're not just tired? I know she's been keeping you busy lately..."

"Spare me your bullshit, Vanserra," her tormentor growls, and Nesta's heart stops at how close he sounds. "I can smell her here. Where.Is.She?"

Hold on. Vanserra? Did he just call Eris 'Vanserra'?

'Vanserra...most dangerous.'

'...prick. Almost worse...other.'

'Waiting...company.'

¿What was it he said when he saw her?

'I assume you're not the female I was expecting tonight'

Her knees threaten to give out, her breath growing heavy and clawing at her chest. In her desesperation to escape from a monster, she jumped into another one. And made him bleed.

She truly, definitely, has the worst luck in this godsforsaken world.

But he also let her leave. Even gave her a weapon to defend herself against his kind, or so he claimed. So what's the truth here? Why are these creatures so dreadfully confusing?

"Who exactly is 'her'? I don't understand...Oh!" He chuckles mockingly, in that taunting way of this. "Are you hiding something from us, Rhys? It must be pretty important if our queen doesn't know yet."

"I'm warning you, Eris, I'm losing my patience here. Tell me where the fuck she is now, or you can say goodbye to you and your miserable family before tomorrow."

Her pulse quickens again. It’s really him—her captor, the shadowed fae who had claimed her as his. His voice is unmistakable, even though he’s out of sight. Nesta’s stomach lurches with the realization that she’s within inches of him, and the thought of what he might do if he catches her sends a shiver down her spine.

Keep moving, she tells herself. Don’t stop. Ignore them.

But it's hard to do so when they're so close to her, specially the moment Eris replies.

"Keep my family out of our filthy mouth." It shocks her how deadly serious he sounds. How threatening. "They have nothing to do with your personal messes. If I were you, I'll be more worried about Amarantha finding out. I wonder what she'll think of her whore keeping an human pet under her nose, without her permission?

Whore? Amarantha?

Suddenly, there's a loud bang and she has to bite her lip to not scream.

Someone punched a wall, cracked a hole in it probably. She can hear some heavy breathing, but can't tell whose.

"I'm sick of your games, Vanserra." It's him. "I don't like when people tamper with my things. Tell me where you hid her, or I'll fucking slit your throat right here. How would your mother fare mourning another son?"

Nesta takes another step, but her foot catches on something—a loose stone, a crack in the floor. The faint sound is enough to make her freeze, her breath caught in her throat. The voices stop. The air becomes thick with tension, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She closes her eyes, praying she hasn’t been heard.

Seconds stretch into eternity.

Then, a faint shuffle of feet.

She presses herself further against the stone, her heart racing, praying to whatever gods might listen that she’s not discovered. She waits, breath held, her fingers tightening around the golden knife. The faintest tremor runs through her as she imagines what would happen if the shadows, that dark fae that had haunted her every step, found her now.

Her breath escapes in a silent rush, and she forces herself to keep going, her movements fluid but swift. Just a little further. Just a little further. She has move away from them. Far enough to give her some advantage by the time he comes out to get her. Whatever farse Eris had been spouting to distract him is over with her mistake.

Her mind is racing as the path stretches ahead of her—there’s no going back now. She’s committed herself to whatever happens next. The knife feels cold in her hand, despite having been there for quite a while now.

The voices resume, softer now, but she can no longer understand them. She takes it as a good sign.

The passage winds on, the flickering lights from the cracks that guided her earlier growing faint and distant. Nesta’s pulse thunders in her ears as she moves, every nerve in her body attuned to the faintest shift in sound or shadow. She keeps her right hand on the wall, gripping the knife in her left. Eris’s instructions echo in her mind: Follow the wall. Don’t run. Don’t make a sound. Avoid the shadows.

She tries not to think about how close she came to being caught—or how the bastard would’ve reacted if he’d seen her. His threats, his fury—it all feels like a dark storm closing in, and she’s only barely staying ahead of it.

The air grows colder as she moves deeper into the passage, and she shivers despite herself. Her dress feels flimsy and useless against the chill. The fabric whispers against her legs as she walks, the only sound she allows herself to make.

She misses the fire and the wood from Eris' bedroom. She's going insane, no doubt, missing to be in a Fae's presence.

Nesta rounds another corner, her steps faltering as the walls widen slightly. The space feels different here—emptier, less confining. She presses her hand more firmly against the stone, willing herself to keep going. She doesn’t know where this path leads, but it’s better than staying where she was.

A faint, eerie hum creeps into her awareness. It’s distant, almost like a melody carried on the wind, and she freezes. Her breathing stills as she listens, trying to pinpoint the sound. It doesn’t seem like voices, nor does it belong to any creature she can identify. It's almost hypnotic...except she doesn't feel particularly drawn to it. More like weirded out, scared even. It wants to pull her attention, she knows, and she feels how it flies past her body. Her eyes squint around her, trying to see something.

Avoid the shadows, he said.

How is she supposed to avoid them if she's surrounded by them?

Nesta steps back instinctively, her grip tightening on the knife. She scans the dim passage, her eyes straining to see through the gloom. The hum grows louder, closer, and she realizes it’s not coming from one direction but all around her, as if the passage itself is alive and aware.

Her breath catches as a flicker of movement darts just beyond her vision—a shadow, but not her own. Her blood runs cold, and she takes another step back, pressing herself against the wall.

"Not safe," she whispers to herself, repeating his warning like a mantra. "Not safe. Not safe."

The hum crescendos, a low, thrumming sound that resonates in her chest, and the shadows seem to swell, stretching toward her. Panic claws at her throat, but Nesta forces herself to move, keeping her steps deliberate and quiet. She doesn’t dare look back, doesn’t dare think about what might be lurking just out of sight.

The wall beneath her hand feels warmer now, as though guiding her toward something—away from the terrifying darkness. She follows it blindly, her focus narrowing to the rough texture beneath her fingertips and the steady rhythm of her steps.

Finally, she sees it: a faint glimmer of light ahead, spilling through the cracks of what looks like another possible exit. Relief floods her, but she doesn’t let herself rush. Instead, she inches closer, every muscle coiled and ready to act if something—or someone—appears.

When she reaches the door, she feels along its edges, noticing a soft breeze coming from the other side. Her fingers brush against a hidden latch, and she hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder. She can see the shadows writhe in the distance, alive and hungry, and she knows she has no choice.

Nesta pushes the latch, and the wall swings open, revealing a room bathed in warm light. She steps through, the wall closing shut behind her with a quiet click. The hum vanishes abruptly, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

It’s a small, empty space, furnished only with a worn-out desk and an old chair, a few cushions tossed carelessly on the ground, and a dusty bookshelf leaning against the wall. The thick layer of dust suggests it hasn’t been used in quite some time—or that no one cares enough to clean it.

She hears nothing but her own breathing. No footsteps, no voices, no hums. The room feels abandoned.

For now, she’s safe.

As if on cue, her knees give out, and she collapses to the ground. The knife slips from her grasp, clattering loudly against the floor beside her open hand. Her shoulders tremble as her vision blurs with unshed tears. The adrenaline that had kept her upright is gone, leaving her raw and vulnerable. Everything—the danger, the fear, the weight of survival—crashes over her all at once.

Nesta hugs herself tightly, pulling her legs to her chest and burying her face in her knees. For a moment, she lets herself break.

Now it's not the time, a voice eerily similar to her Mother's echoe in her head. Focus. Get out of here. Find Feyre.

Nesta takes a long, deep breath, looking up again. She casts a glance to the knife besides her and grabs it. She scans her surroundings again, making sure she didn't miss anything. The knife somehow comforts her, her heart going back to its normal rhythm as her finger traces the ashwood part.

She doesn’t know what more dangers she'll have to face, but she’ll find a way out of this nightmare—back to her sister—or die trying.

She's Nesta Archeron. And she won't break.

[animezinglife]

Your spending damn sure is up for discussion when it's not your money, Nesta, regardless of the reason or what you're going through.

[androidsvsvikings]

was thinking about ACOTAR and really into the idea of Elain struggling with the forced mating bond, so I ventured into the eluc*en tag to maybe get some slow burn or hurt/comfort or just cute stuff, but instead of art or fics the only thing I found was an unhealthy amount of copium regarding elr*el and bashing of every single other character in the series. imma go back to shipping azriel/elain, nvm.

[bat-boys]

besotted

pairing: Azriel x fem reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: none, just tooth rotting fluff

summary: Rhys and Feyre have asked you to babysit Nyx for the day, meaning you get to spend the whole time enjoying one of your favourite weaknesses: your mate cuddling cute babies.

a/n: thank you so much for the love, it's been so lovely 🫶🏻. this fic is completely self-indulgent - I don't even want children but the thought of handsome men with babies? lord have mercy. My inbox is always open for a chat or fic suggestions /requests. Enjoy loves.

Velaris was truly stunning in every season, every weather, at any time of day, but for you, your favourite time in the city was during the height of summer. When the weather was perfect, the warmth not too stifling, and the evenings cool, the sun glistened on the smooth water of the Sidra, and the air was filled with the soft chattering and laughter of its citizens that lasted well into the evening.

A soft grin played on your lips as you strolled through the streets of the city you had grown up in, the warm breeze gently blowing the gauzy material of your trousers and licking at the stretch of skin exposed at the waist due to the cropped top you wore - the beautiful outfit a gift from your close friend Amren who shared your sense of style. Your confident and sure steps took you past familiar shops, filled to the brim with their exquisite wares as you approached the handful of shops you needed to visit. 

As you neared the first shop you needed to visit, you turned your head slightly when you felt one of those familiar shadows that followed you everywhere. It slipped up your arm and affectionally curled around the skin between where your shoulder met your neck. The darkness cooled your warm skin, causing a soft smile to fall on your lips when you thought of the man to whom they belonged. Since being mated to Azriel, a handful of his shadows were always with you, and you had grown very fond of your own little shadows. According to the spymaster, they had left him on their own accord, feeling as protective of you as their master did. They acted almost as a messenger service between you and your mate. 

"Are you okay, babe? One of your shadows just tapped me on the shoulder." As you entered the small shop, you spoke gently through that sparkling, glimmering thread you shared with your favourite person in the whole wide world. 

"When are you heading back?" His deep, midnight-laced voice slipped into your mind, and you had to hold back the involuntary shudder as you touched one of the children's toys hanging on a rack before you. 

"Why are you missing me already, Az?" Judging by the chuckle you heard that echoed in your head, he could practically hear the teasing smirk in your words. 

"Always, sweetheart." There was a pause, and your eyebrows furrowed. You realized that something was actually amiss, and he wanted you home. "Nyx is fussing, and I don't know what to do."

This time, you chuckled out loud as you grabbed the toy from the rack and took it to the counter at the back of the shop to pay for it. You smiled gently at the shopkeeper, who warmly greeted you.

"He's probably hungry, babe; give him one of those bottles Feyre left. They're in the fridge." Rhys and Feyre had to attend a last-minute meeting today with the Court of Nightmares and Eris from the Autumn Court. They politely asked if you and Azriel could babysit Nyx on short notice. Initially, Azriel had put up a bit of a fuss, arguing that he needed to be there at the meeting, but Rhys had reasoned that Cassian would be there, as would Mor and Amren. Plus, he would show Az everything through his daemati ability. Feyre had sweetened the blow by telling Az you and him were Nyx's favourite aunt and uncle and that they trusted him the most to look after their precious son. 

You had beamed at Azriel's shocked face, winking at Rhys as you had shared in your amusement. Azriel was absolutely besotted with the tiny babe and would protect him with his life if needed. You had no doubt Azriel would immediately sacrifice his life for Nyx, no questions asked. Privately, you had agreed entirely with the idea of you and Azriel protecting Nyx from a security perspective - both of you ready to use your extensive abilities to protect the tiny fae - but also because it meant you could watch Azriel cuddle the baby. In the last couple of months, it had become one of your favourite weaknesses when it came to the shadowsinger. 

"Oh yeah, ok." Relief washed down the bond as he moved towards the kitchen and grabbed the bottle from the fridge, remembering how to warm it and test its temperature. 

"You've babysat Nyx before, Az; you're a natural at this—trust your instincts, babe." You assured him as you passed the money over to the shopkeeper, gave her a warm smile, thanked her, and took the small bag she set on her counter. Wishing her a goodbye, you left the shop and stepped back into the warm streets of Velaris, heading towards the next shop. 

"I've never babysat him before on my own!" You could practically hear the panic in his voice, and you shook your head absentmindedly at his lack of confidence in something he was exceptionally good at. 

"You're his favourite uncle for a reason, Az! I won't be long, promise." 

"Hurry back, sweetheart. I miss you too." A warm caress reached you through the bond, accompanied by the feeling of his shadows sliding up your thigh, the phantom feeling of his hands on your skin causing you to jolt ever so slightly. Wicked little things.

You had been hesitant to leave the Town House, which you and Az now called yours, this afternoon, but with Nyx arriving at such short notice, you needed more time to get some supplies in. You desperately needed some baby stuff and food for both yourself and your mate. You were just exchanging money with the butcher when you felt another frantic pulse through your bond. 

"Babe, he's crying again! He's had the whole bottle." You sent your mate a pulse of affection through his bond, trying to calm him down as you slid the package of food you had just brought into one of your bags. 

"Sweetheart, you need to burp him now." You gently reminded him. 

"Oh shit yeah." You laughed at your mate, drawing some strange looks from passersby, which caused a slight blush to rise on your cheeks. 

"No cursing around the baby!" This time, you felt Azriel's amusement through the bond, a warm beat of laughter that you would spend forever trying to coax from him - his laughter, deep, rich and full, was one of your favourite sounds.

"He can't hear me." He reasoned, his voice now calm now that you had given him a plan of action. He thrived in coordination and planning, able to adapt in times of chaos, but he preferred a detailed and methodical approach to everything. Even in the bedroom. 

As you stepped out of the final shop, your purchases swinging from your hands, your face turned up to catch the afternoon rays as they gently warmed your face, you felt another shadow creep up your arm to practically tap on your shoulder. 

"Fuck, now he's crying so loud I think he might bring the roof down!" Azriel was panicking again, and you could imagine him running his slender fingers through his hair - tuffs of midnight black standing up in a messy array as he started to pace.

"Az, calm down - he needs to sleep." In the Town House, Azriel felt a wave of calm wash over him as he listened to your levelled voice. No hint of irritation or annoyance in your voice. Even after all these years, he still had to fight his instincts that told him you would get tired of him and his pestering, overprotectiveness or panic, but you had been steadfast the entire time. Making sure he felt supported and loved through everything, and he could never be so grateful for the connection you had built together, the love you shared and the life you had crafted with each other. 

"I've tried putting him down, but he screams louder." He sounded tired, and you had to stop yourself from teasing, knowing that wasn't what he needed right now. 

"Pick him up. He probably wants you to cuddle him while he falls asleep." If you were being honest, you couldn't blame Nyx. Nothing, and you mean absolutely nothing, compares to Azriel's cuddles. You always felt so safe, so protected, and so comforted in his arms.

"Ok, yeah, I can do that. Gods, why are you so good at this love." You chuckled at the exasperation in his voice. Azriel must have been so agitated because, through the bond, he sent you images of him gently picking up a crying Nyx, his sweet face red and crumpled as he cried, and holding him to his chest. You tried so hard not to focus on those broad, beautiful, strong, scarred hands as they firmly held Nyx, thoughts of how he had held you last night entering into your mind unbidden and causing you to stumble on the uneven cobblestones of the path you were walking, "Careful love." You felt Az chuckle. 

"Ass." You felt his amusement through the bond and his relief as Nyx began to calm down and snuggled into Azriel. "You're a natural at this, Az, though. I'm nearly home."

"See you soon, love." At the sound of his husky voice, filled with love, you felt your pace pick up as you made your way towards the beautiful home you shared, eager to get home to your waiting mate. 

…

The Town House was quiet and bathed in darkness when you stepped inside. Trying to make as little noise as possible, you carefully set your bags on the entryway floor and slipped your shoes off, the cool wooden floor of the house soothing your hot feet. 

A handful of shadows flew through the air towards you, darting around your body and playfully getting tangled up in your hair and clothes. They whispered at you to be quiet and told you that Azriel and Nyx were in the main living room. 

With a grin on your face, you tip-toed over to the doorway to the living room and leaned against the frame as you took in the heartwarming scene before you. You had to physically stop the tears brimming in your eyes as you gazed at your mate, gently napping on the sofa with a content and fast asleep Nyx resting on his chest, softly snoring in the way only babes can. 

The scene before you was so soft and sweet that you indulged yourself for a moment, picturing your own child fast asleep on your mate's strong chest. You stared for a while, marvelling at the beauty of Azriel. His strong arms were exposed due to his sleeveless top, his Illyrian tattoos proudly swirling around his dark skin - arms you know would hold you close in the dead of night, keep you standing when you were weak and protect you until the ends of the earth. His soft, slightly curled, midnight hair gently fell on his proud forehead, making him look almost boyish and not the formidable man he presented to the rest of the world. His soft, full lips that were parted slightly in sleep. His strong jaw and proud nose, his sculpted body and thick thighs. He truly was heaven-sent.  

"I can feel you staring." He mumbled through the bond, and you had to stifle a soft laugh. Of course, Azriel wouldn't be entirely asleep - he rarely was; at least some part of him was always awake and alert. You think the only times Az had ever wholly given in to peaceful sleep was those precious weeks after you had accepted your mating bond when he was so tired and content to be next to you and holding you close that he couldn't resist falling into a deep slumber. But only after he had made sure the wards protecting the secluded cabin were still secure, ever the spymaster. 

You pushed away from the doorframe and padded towards where your mate was sitting. He opened his eyes slightly, still sleepy from his brief nap, and his lips curled into a warm smile as you approached. 

"Hi, love." You whispered as you bent over the back of the sofa to grip his face and press your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Kissing Az was something you would never get over, even after decades together. The feel of his plush but slightly chapped lips against yours, his delicious taste and scent enveloping your senses, had your toes curling against the cold wooden floor. 

"I'm so glad you're back." You beamed at him as you stared at his upside-down face, gently stroking his jaw and feeling the slight stubble against the soft skin of your hands. 

"Seems like you've got it handled," you teased as you turned your attention to the sleeping child on Azriel's chest. You reached out a hand to gently brush Nyx's soft hair off his forehead, desperately holding in the coo that threatened to leave your lips as he let out a soft sigh and nestled further into Az's chest. Who could blame him, you thought? You had the exact same favourite sleeping position. 

"You're definitely better at this than me," he mumbled as you skirted around the sofa to sit beside your mate. He ever so slowly and ever so gently shifted so as not to wake Nyx so you could tuck yourself into his side. His arm curled around your shoulders to bring you closer, planting a gentle kiss on your temple. 

"How long has Nyx been asleep?" you whispered as you snuggled closer to your mate, hand reaching out to gently stroke up and down Nyx's back in a soothing manner you knew he liked.

"About 20 minutes." You hummed, proud of Azriel for handling the situation. He had been so nervous around the babe when he was first born—so conscious of the tiny, breakable fae he now felt some reasonability for.

"I'd say you've had it completely covered, babe." Nyx stirred ever so slightly, and you knew from experience that you had exactly 5 minutes before he woke up and was agitated again due to not sleeping enough. 

A soft hum filled the quiet air as you got up and gently took the sleeping child from Azriel, whispering soothing noises. He stirred slightly as you manoeuvred him into your arms. You bounced ever so slightly on your toes, continuing to hum a lullaby you had heard Feyre singing to him the other day as you walked over to the travelling crib Azriel had set up next to the sofa. Ever so gently, you lowered Nyx into the plush mattress, stroking a finger down his cheeks in a way you knew he liked as you watched him settle back to sleep. 

Azriel just sat back, arms spread out on the back of the sofa behind him, as he watched you so expertly soothe Nyx. He could practically feel his eyes turning into hearts as he watched you, almost unable to control the all-consuming feeling of love that was threatening to spill from him. He loved you so much and had done so for hundreds of years, but in recent months, watching you become so enamoured by your nephew, a new tentative love grew. 

You turned around, and Azriel offered you one of his sweet smiles before holding out an outstretched hand and silently bidding you to return to his side. With a matching grin, you took his hand and let him pull you in beside him before shifting you both, so you were lying down on the sofa, both facing Nyx as Azriel wound his arms around you to pull you flush against his chest. 

A feeling of absolute contentment flooded Azriel as you lay there, breathing in your sweet scent and kissing your soft hair. You shifted closer to him, fingers stroking over his hands wrapped around your waist, holding you close. Mirroring smiles danced on your lips as you watched your nephew and enjoyed the comfortable silence that had settled over the Town House.

"I love seeing you with Nyx Az." You whispered into the soft silence, and you felt a pulse of utter adoration through the thread you both shared. 

"Hmmm, do you, love?" He mumbled into your hair, an ear-splitting grin stretching on his lips. He was unable to deny that primal part of him that basked in the glow of your words—that you had admitted enjoying seeing him with children. 

"It's my ultimate weakness." He chuckled softly. 

"Seeing you with him is mine, too," he confessed back, his arms loosening as you turned around to face him. For a minute, you just looked at him, eyes drinking in his handsome face, flitting over his lips and his nose before settling on his hazel eyes, which were gazing at you with such emotion that a lump formed at the back of your throat. 

Slowly, lazily, you brought your hand up to trace the features of his face before gently pushing a soft curl of his hair that had fallen over his forehead. The ring he had gifted you nearly 60 years ago glinted in the dim light. 

"Have you ever considered it?" You whispered shyly. It wasn't a topic you had discussed with Azriel much; there simply hadn't been enough time. Shortly after the bond had snapped for the both of you - after years of pining and yearning for each other - Rhys had gone under the mountain. You had spent those long years trying to hold everyone together, and then Rhys had returned, and you had been focused on bringing him and Feyre back from that dark place where they had found themselves. Then, the devastating war you had all been plunged into. It had not been an environment you could ever bring a child into. 

"What?" He knew what you meant, but he wanted to hear the words come from your lips. 

"Having children of our own?" The words felt fragile between you. Deep down, you knew you were both on the same page, but still, this was not a conversation you had had before. The soft smile dancing on Az's lips soothed you, however, as he, too, brought his hand up to delicately trace your features. 

"I didn't think I would ever get the opportunity to be a father, certainly didn't think I would be a good one. But seeing you with Nyx these last couple of months…yeah, I have." His confession was soft, and you couldn't help yourself as you closed that small distance between you two to press your lips to his in a kiss that held a promise and contained all of the love you could ever feel for the male. His arms wrapped tightly around you again as he held you close and lost himself in the delicious feeling of your lips on his. 

You broke away gently, slowly, languidly, eyes still closed as you leaned in to press short kisses to his lips. Resting your forehead against his, you stayed there, breathing him in, hands softly caressing his face. "You will be such a good dad, Az. You will be patient, kind and considerate. Fun when you want to be, firm when you need to be, and comforting when they're sad or frustrated. I've thought about it too." You made sure you delivered the words whilst looking him in the eyes, conveying just how much you meant the words.

"Yeah?" His voice was hoarse, and you spotted tears brimming in his beautiful eyes, your heart breaking in your chest at the fact that he had so desperately needed to hear the words. You leaned in to kiss his lips again, hand resting on his chest to feel his thundering heart as he breathed in a shaky breath. 

"I don't think I'm ready just yet. I still want to experience life with you," you whispered, an amused smirk playing on your lips. You hadn't had enough time with Az yet. There was still so much of the world to see, so many things you wanted to explore with just your mate before you put down roots and grew a beautiful family of your own. 

"I feel the same." He reassured, pulling you closer again, desperate to make sure not a single inch of space was between you two. 

"But when the time is right, when we are ready. It would bring me nothing but joy to have children together." A stunning smile you had not seen before stretched across Azriel's face, and you gasped at the powerful pulse that reverberated down the bond from your mate. It was pure light—beautiful, gleaming light—such happiness radiating from between you two that you imagined both of your skins glowing with it. 

"I love you so much, Y/N." He said reverently. 

"I love you too." The distance between your lips closed again as you placed a sweet kiss on his lips, tilting your head slightly to deepen in - determined to convey just how much you love him, how thankful you are to the Mother and the Cauldron for giving you, Azriel as your mate. You felt him moan softly as you slipped your tongue past the seam of his lips, gently licking into his mouth as you swallowed the soft sounds you were both making. You pulled away with a mischievous grin dancing on your lips, "Gods, our kids would be cute."

"Do you think so?" He asked, pushing your hair behind your pointed ears so he could see your face clearly.

"What, you don't?" You asked in mock shock and horror, causing another chuckle to rumble through his chest. 

"As long as they take after you, sweetheart, they will be the cutest children Prythian has ever seen." You laughed at him, but secretly, you hoped they looked nothing like you and took after the incredible man you had been mated to for all of these years—that they had his kind eyes, gentle smile, and luxurious locks of soft midnight hair.

"I can't wait." You whispered as you laid your head down beside him, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in his scent of mist and cedar, the smell of home. 

"Neither can I, my love." He whispered back to you as he held you close, kissing your hairline and temple. You both let your heavy eyelids droop as your limbs tangled on the sofa. Nyx continued to sleep softly beside you. One day soon, it would be your child in that crib, you promised yourself and Az through that golden thread deep in your heart before you both fell peacefully asleep. 

[dont-look-its-embarrassing]

To Be Seen

Azriel x Reader

This is my first ever one-shot or fanfiction type writing on here, so be patient with me bc it will be FAR from perfect or good.

This is purely self-indulgent bc again, I'm new at this and just wanted to write an insert or y/n type little blurb.

Summary; Being the best friend of Feyre when she was human, you regretfully got roped in and turned with her sisters as a tool for manipulation by Hybern. As the sister's find it hard to settle in claiming the attention of the two other bats, you attempt to make Feyre's and the inner court's life easier by flying under the radar and figuring it out on your own. However, are you really as unnoticed as you hope or is a certain shadowsinger entrapped by your caring and soft nature as his heart battles his mind for the third sister or you.

Warnings: None really, mentions of PTSD and anxiety, loneliness and self-help, slow-burn, slight angst with a fluffy ending, reader just wants to be seen but feels like she can't ask

Word count: 2,389

Pt2

The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you sat in the drawing room in the house of wind. The gentle crackle of the fire Infront of you allowed your body to sit comfortably within the rather cold season and the book you were just reading sat loose in your lap. You haven't gotten used to your enhanced hearing yet as your now longer and thicker hair gently fell from where you had tucked it behind your ear.

"Y/n?" Your best friend's voice echoed into the room as her footsteps followed. A soft smile spread across your features as she came in, confirmed you where there, and plopped down ungraciously on the couch next to you. "Thank the mother you are here."

Her features where stressed, the worry written all over her face as she took your form in.

"What's going on?" You ask, hopeful to help.

Feyre let out a sigh as she let her eyes wonder to the fire Infront of the both of you.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know, it seems that everything I do to try and help Nesta and Elaine seems to only make things worse." She rung her hands, a trait she picked up back in the human lands when she was nervous or upset. "It just never seems enough to make them comfortable or to try and apologize for everything that happened."

Your best friend's eyes slightly widened as she took her gaze from the flames.

"How are you? Are you doing okay?" The genuine care and concern oozing off of the female Infront of you reminded you of why you cared so much about your friend in the first place. When she was taken, you had searched high and low for her in hopes to get her back only to have her return happy and healthy with a loving man, or male, doting on her every need. You were ecstatic, and expressed yourself as so, even if it was with fae beings. When you and her sisters were taken, that happiness was put on hold to make sure that you are all where comfortable. Feyre's self-sacrificing nature did always drive you mad, even now when she was so close to being truly happy.

"I'm okay Feyre." She shot you a look, trying to dig deeper and call the bluff you made. "Seriously, I'm here with you and in an amazing place that I could only dream of with great people."

"A lot happened Y/n. A lot happened to Elaine and Nesta, but a lot happened to you." She was right, and it was weird for you to be so put together when the worlds of the other two were falling to pieces. With your more emotional and strong relationship with Feyre, you had been held captive with her sisters yes, but you also took the brunt of interrogation that the wicked king deemed necessary to gain any information of her court. You had put yourself in that position, you knew how awful she would feel about her familial blood being brutalized in such a way, so you took the heat. But, in the end, her sisters still took the change harder and refused to accept their new life, making everyone on edge and overexerting themselves to help.

With one look at your best friend's-tired eyes, you knew that she couldn't handle another burden. More like she shouldn't have to handle another burden.

The word tasted sour on your tongue.

Burden.

Shaking your head a small gentle smile graced your face, and you forced your features to emulate that same energy.

"I'm okay Feyre, really. Aside from some cool new power thing that I haven't figured out, I'm fine. " The breath she released could only register as relief in your mind as she met your smile.

"Okay, and we will definitely start working on that when we are all settled here." Her reassurance did little to reassure that it would be investigated. Again, with the two sisters gaining war altering abilities, your random energy (that had yet to manifest) would be put on the back burner until everyone else was settled. Again, the slight dismissal ached, but you understood the need for others to take precedence.

Giving a little nod, you two sit in silence for a bit just listening to the crackling of the fire and enjoying each other's presence. That is, until a wince rippled across your friends face and she slowly rose.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I think Elaine is out and not talking to Lucien and it's a mess-"

"It's fine Feyre, go make sure they are okay." You assure with the same smile. Giving one last 'thank you, I love you' she was gone like the wind that howled outside the windows. The silence that followed her exit had the ringing in your ears become a bit to unbearable. Removing yourself from the couch, you travel down to your room and grab a quick change of footwear.

Today would be a good day to explore the town, or at least good enough to get your mind out of the dark slump of trying to acclimate to its' new body and abilities.

Making your way towards the door, a small flicker of shadow catches your eye.

"Hello?" You call. You know that Rhys is most likely with Feyre and Azriel is also probably there because of Elaine, so you dismiss it quickly after a moment, chalking it up to just a trick of the light.

Opening the door, the slight chill on the wind has a shiver run through you, but the sun quickly chased it away. Breathing a sigh, you look at the vastness of the stairs below you.

No time like the present.

Taking one step at a time and avid breaks when needed, you would rather not admit to yourself just how much time that trek took. However, upon reaching the bottom, the satisfaction that filled you outweighed the journey. Walking down the streets of Velaris, the bustling normality of the people filled you with ease. As your heels clicked against the stones below, your gaze just missed the little shadow that trailed behind your body.

Taking in the colors and vibrant people, the ease and happiness that covered their faces had the ache in your gut grow more and more. Your mind wandered to if you would ever be that happy and mundane. With everything that had happened so far, the familiar life in the human forest (although had its struggles) seemed like an ideal. It was the lack of routine, lack of knowledge, the newly sprouted life, the misplacement, all of it plus more. You didn't notice your breathing gain more weight and take longer to fill your lungs than it did at the house. You also didn't notice the little skitter of the shadow that had followed you as it raced away towards some unseen location. The heat in your body seemed to increase as the sight of a simple family loving and walking together entered your mind.

Would anyone love you like this?

You couldn't think.

Ducking into a nearby ally, the overhead sheets and covering allowed it to be shaded and darker than the streets 20 feet away. Even then, the darkness of the ally seemed to illuminate with your presence there. However, it wasn't the light, it was the lack of grasp of oxygen you could inhale and the strenuous shaking your body couldn't stop. The tears that fell without your knowledge burned their tracks into your skin and sizzled as they hit the ground. Your body gave way to the spasms that took ahold of you as your mind raced. Burring your head into your knees, you attempted to shut the world out and let your mind slow but to no avail. You wished the darkness of the alley would swallow you whole, allow the sun and light to escape you being seen just this once.

Almost as if your prayers where in fact answered, the light surrounding you died as the darkness of the ally surrounded you. Picking your head up to view what cloud or magical being answered your plea, your eyes were met with those of hazel crouching Infront of you.

"Azriel?" You hadn't met this male for more than a couple days ago. He was nice, offering to go with you places or chat every so often. You had a couple nightly talks with him where you shared some stories between the two of you. Nothing out of the ordinary though, you felt safe around him when he was near. Confusion washed your features and for a moment your brain stopped running in circles and focused on why the male might be in front of you in this very unfortunate situation.

"You're okay." His large hands had gently pried your head from between your own. He Slowly, as if not to spook you further, reached for your hands and took them in his own. As twisted as it sounded, the morbid scarring that littered his skin grounded you further and pulled you back to this moment and out of that forsaken cell and cold water. "Focus on me, breathe."

The ease of your breath returned as the seeming dark cloud that surrounded you peeled back revealing that same dampened alleyway. However, the slight char on the walls and burns on the ground was distinct enough to question. Looking around, more of those marks surrounded you but faded as it got further from you. Opening your mouth to ask, a quick look from the male had you hesitant as he shook his head.

"One thing at a time sunshine." You nod, ignoring the small butterfly that hatched in your stomach at the nickname, but the pain in your head from the little outburst brought you back to reality. Bringing your hand up to caress the muscle between your eyes, Azriel scanned you from head to toe checking for any other possible injuries. "Let's get you back to the house, okay? Have Madja take a look at you and maybe give you something to help process."

Although the beginning of his statement was directed at you, for an answer, the second part was mumbled more to himself.

"Okay." The short response was all you could get past your lips as he sent you a small smile and opened his arms.

Looking at him questionably, he held back a chuckle.

"Have you never flown?" Shaking your head, no, you had never flown before. Winnowed? Yes, but never in the arms of one of the three males residing in the same house at you. The aspect of Azriel being your first had a little flush cover your cheeks. He approached you carefully, scanning your eyes for any aversion to being touched or space invaded. If you didn't just have a literally breakdown in the middle of Velaris, you could've sworn there was a deeper emotion residing in his eyes.

Guilt?

Worry?

Longing?

You couldn't place it and decided not to keep the process waiting. Taking a step towards him, he kept his arms spread out to accompany your space against his.

"Wrap your arms around me." His voice was lowered with your closer proximity. Slowly you brought your arms to wrap around the back of his neck. He waited until you settled there before moving to hoist you up into his arms and walk slightly out of the alley to give his wings more room to take flight.

While doing so, you couldn't help but settle into his warmth as it felt nice against our colder frame. With all the adrenaline wearing off, you were left shivering.

"Make sure to hold on." He noted, which was all the notice you got before suddenly you two were no longer on the ground. Tightening your grip instinctually, you shut your eyes as you could practically feel the male smile at your nature.

"How did you get down there anyway?" With the loud wind it was hard to hear, but again due to the lack of space between the two of you his voice rang clear.

"I walked."

"Down those?" Without realizing the easygoing atmosphere he created, you had peered open your eyes to look down at the stairs you both were currently soaring over. Only a brief look however as you still had some human tendencies and did have a slight aversion to heights.

"Yeah." You nodded and went to shut your eyes once more to finish out the flight, but as you did you caught sight of a new look on the spymaster's face.

Pride.

Landing as softly as possible, Madja was already there waiting for the two of you to arrive. Without thinking, you blamed it on the spymaster's shadows (but grateful they were there). Feyre also stood to the side of her, worry wringing her hands again and you let out a sigh of defeat.

Stumbling out of Azriel's arms, he steadied you, giving a once over before his high lady had shot him an inquiring look. She looked at you shortly after.

"You are never to lie to me again Y/n, you hear?" Her chastising voice was filled with love and worry all the same.

But before you could open your mouth to respond with a thousand reasons why you might, a certain male beat you too it.

"Don't go too hard on her, admittedly we have all been a bit busy to check in." You both glanced back at the male in question as his shadows wrapped around him in song. He has said it was so to promise his attention to fix the problem, which warmed your core.

"She will be okay Feyre." Meeting eye contact with him, he had sent you a small nod of his head and smile before disappearing into the dark.

Your best friend looked at you in question, but a deeper thought was spinning in her head. However, the little throat clear of the healer nearby jumpstarted the next 24 hours of care and therapy from your best friend and the best healers in Prythian. The whole endeavor couldn't tear your thoughts to a certain inner court male and the way his arms felt around you.

Maybe you would be okay.

[yourlittlebunnyy]

fawn -tamlin x reader

masterlist

summary: Y/n is the youngest Archeron sister. The Cauldon trasforms her into a fairy, and there's only one certain thing in her life: she doesn't belong in the Night Court.

warnings: slightly suggestive, Tamlin (haters step back🙏🤺)

wc: 5,5k

enjoy😉

The Cauldron made you a fairy. A fairy. You scoff at the thought. Nesta has become death itself, Elain a seer. You a stupid, little, useless fairy.

That day, when Fae warriors came into your and your sisters' home and forced you into that place, you never thought you would end up with pearl-colored wings and be able to talk to flowers.

You've always been shy, you've always made yourself small in front of others, and when they threw you into that pile of magic, the Cauldron was generous, in the telling of your sister's lover.

"You went in last. It could have given you nothing, as it could have killed you, but it gave you wings. And flowers, plants, and everything a fairy possesses. You shouldn't pout." But you never asked for that.

When they pulled you out everyone's eyes were on you. How could they not? They had never seen such a thing. Sure, the Cauldron could turn a mortal into a Fae, but a fairy?

You didn't look anyone in the face that day, or the weeks that followed.

"I would like to learn to fly," you once said to Azriel. He replied that he could not teach you, that the fairies belonged to the Court of Spring and that even there they were so rare and secretive that no one knew anything about them.

"But you have wings, too. You just need to teach me how to move them. Please."

Azriel shook his head, a neutral expression on his face.

"I can't. Besides helping you support its weight, your wings are shaped differently from mine, they are smaller and more fragile. I cannot put your life in danger." The authoritative tone makes it clear that the conversation is over. You would have hoped to find a friend in him. Instead, every time you try to talk to him, his gaze has only coldness to offer. Perhaps all his warmth-which doesn't seem much to you at this point-is reserved for Elain.

So, for you, the days go on with no clear meaning. You are not allowed to leave the house, and you can only afford to observe Velaris, such a beautiful city and full of life, from the balcony of the house.

When Feyre returns, you thought for a moment that things would finally change. That she would convince someone to help you get to know your new form, your new being. But you were okay, sure, you were a little confused, but you were living. Elain was much sicker, and all your sisters' priorities belonged to her.

You found comfort in Lucien instead. A charming, red-haired Fae who had lived in the Spring Court for years. That's how you became friends: no one would take you into consideration, and you were desperate for some information, some help. And Lucien fortunately seemed to have answers to your questions.

"I remember you. That day, I mean." You and Lucien are playing chess. It is rare that you talk about that day, but sometimes it happens. You don't care much, talking about it with him has helped you in the past, "Actually, I don't remember much. I remember what Tamlin reminded me of."

Now that's new. Never once had the Fae told her about his High Lord turning his back on her sister. She knew something about it, but she didn't know the whole story.

"Did Tamlin recall to you about that day?" She asks a little incredulously. Lucien nods and tightens his lips, makes a move with a chessman, and a feline smile lights up his face.

"I think...," he freezes for a moment, as if to think carefully about his next words, "he's playing some kind of double game, with Hybern. To get information. He's a good male, only sometimes he struggles to show it."

You feel a twinge in your heart. You don't know why, you should be furious with the man who took your life to give you this. The man who hurt Feyre so deeply. But the way Lucien talks about it, with so much regret....

You are sitting on the armchair in your room, already wearing your nightwear. You have a book in your hands and are completely immersed in reading, so much that you don't hear someone's footsteps outside your door. You gasp when they knock. You place the book in the small coffee table, and you don't bother to fix yourself: Lucien had told you he would come by and deliver a few things before he leaves Velaris for good. You get sad at the thought.

When you open the door you find not the familiar face, but Feyre's.

"Hey." She greets you. You return the greeting and wait for her to tell you why she is here. Although your new life started off on the wrong foot, feeling ignored by your family and useless, everything healed over time. Now the relationship between you and Feyre is closer than ever, Nesta is doing well, Elain is working on it. You have also learned to accept your sister's Fae friends. You even talk to them from time to time.

"I'm sad that Lucien is leaving. Especially for you" You nod, you know there is something else she is not telling you, "You know how much I told you about the High Lords meeting? I'd like you to come too, if you feel like it." You don't hesitate when you say yes. Your sister told you that not everyone had confirmed their attendance, of whom Tamlin. And she did not tell you about what happened with him. But something inside you urges you to go and meet him. It's for my being, you think, I just want answers, that's why I'm so impatient.

That night you struggle to sleep. At dawn you stop tossing and turning in bed and start getting ready, by now you give up: you won't rest that night anyway.

"You look wonderful" Feyre's words make you smile. She takes Azriel's hand, and in the blink of an eye they transmute into the palace of the Court of Dawn.

After greeting the others politely, you realize that Tamlin is not coming. You do not understand the reason for the disappointment you feel. Perhaps it is even better, so you avoid any awkward situation that might arise with your sister and Rhysand.

The meeting begins, and it is just as you start to disassociate yourself from the High Lords' boring talk that Tamlin appears.

He is alone. You don't remember him from that day in the Cauldron. But he is as you always imagined him. His blond hair reaches a little below his shoulders, clearly unkempt. His green eyes remind you of the blossoming plains. His skin tone is a rosy tint, his facial features delicate, almost princely. He is the very definition of spring, you think. He is a beautiful man, and you understand why his sister was once in love with him.

The silence in the air is tense. Tamlin looks at each person and takes his time with each one. And when he gets to you -- you feel his gaze run through your body, but you ignore him. You make a mistake, though. You look up too soon and meet his eyes. And now the thing is clear as day to you, what you feel in the center of your chest.

A bond.

Tamlin is your mate.

His expression turns surprised, his lips tight and his jaw contracted. He doesn't say anything. He moves on to the next person as if he hadn't heard it himself. But you can't contain yourself, and before you can stop it, a gasp escapes your mouth and tears cloud your eyes. You back away, stumbling back in your chair.

"Are you all right?" Feyre asks you, visibly concerned. You do not answer, but it is Beron, High Lord of the Court of Autumn, Tamlin's friend, who answers for you.

"A bond." He says simply, his tone both haughty and amused. Feyre sniffs the air, looks at you. Then she looks at Tamlin. And then back at you again. The look in his eyes... Rhysand says something, but everything around you is a blur.

First the Cauldron made you a useless fairy. Next the Mother punished you by tying you to Tamlin.

You listen to no one, with hurried steps you leave the room. No one follows you. Good, you think, I don't have to explain myself to anyone for a while.

With one exception, someone has followed you. Your body recognizes him before you do, your heart beats wildly, and you could cry from how wrong this all simply is. Your sister was going to marry this man. And she didn't, she ran away because he did something terrible to her, and now it was going to be your turn.

You stop in the middle of the hallway, and Tamlin grabs your arm gently, leading you into a small room. You try to ignore how such a soft touch puts a pleasant twinge in your stomach. No, you would never do that to your sister.

When you enter, no one says anything for a while and you feel his gaze on you, making you blush. He doesn't even know your name, probably.

As if he hears your thoughts, the Fae speaks to you. "Y/n." His serious tone makes you set your eyes on his. This is so wrong, yet looking at your mate feels like the right thing to do.

"How-how do you know my name?"

Tamlin smiles at your words. An expression so different from the one you saw on his face when he first walked in. It fits him, you think, and fear invades your senses because of the things you realize you would do, because of that smile...

"I remember it ... from that day, with the Cauldron..." Your body stiffens, as if remembering who the male in front of you really is. What he did to you. What he has done to your family.

It doesn't matter that he is your mate, you think. Your body may react to his look and touch, but you will not be betrayed by it.

Tamlin probably feels your emotions through the bond, and with a step forward he grabs your arm gently. He needs to touch you, and you don't realize how much you needed him to touch you, too. You welcome his warmth without fighting back.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. I'm not just saying this because you are my mate, " Both of you seem to feel satisfaction when he says such words, the bond in your chest seems to glow and sing "I... had to do terrible things to protect my court. To protect Prythian. It was not in the plan to do such a thing to you."

You think about his words, his eyes shining with sincerity. Lucien has told you things that would explain Tamlin's words, that actually make him a good male.

"Tamlin." To the sound of his name on your lips, the man suppresses a growl. "I... Lucien has been telling me things. And I believe you, and I believe you are good male. But the thing with my sister..."

The look in the Fae's eyes becomes embarrassed, and the emotions you feel through the bond are a mixture of shame and remorse. You don't know what happened between the two, but it must have been really difficult if it causes him such a reaction.

"I regret how I behaved. What I did. I was broken, as was she, and I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to protect her, and to this day I realize my mistakes."

You study his face. You find nothing but honesty and pure feelings, and he is really putting your instincts to the test. He's so handsome that you want to jump on him, but on the other side of the coin-you still don't know if you can trust him. But he's your mate, and he deserves at least a chance. There's such a battle inside your head.

"I forgive you. For the Cauldron, I mean. I don't know if she has forgiven you, or will but..." Your hand moves to his where he still holds your arm, both of you smiling. "I think you deserve a second chance, Tamlin. And I -- I'd like to try."

The smile he gives you, so genuine that it makes his eyes sparkle with brightness, makes you realize deep down that you made the right choice.

You have not made the right choice.

Neither you nor Tamlin ever returned to the meeting.

When you see your sister and the Inner Circle again, they are all furious with you. As if you chose the bond. You scoff at their looks.

"You disappeared all day with Tamlin. Do you realize that? What was I supposed to think you were doing with your mate, huh? Do you realize who we're talking about?" Rhysand yells at you. Feyre, who does not look angry but grieved, lays a hand on his arm, and after what seems like a brief mental conversation, the High Lord comes out with one last murderous look directed at you. Tears sting your eyes.

"Y/n, he didn't mean to be so mean, it's just that they have so many unfinished business..."

"What about you? What unfinished business do you have with him? Why do you all hate him here? And I'm not talking about the alliance with Hybern."

"None, Y/n. I have none. I have had my revenge. In all sincerity I wish him the best. And I want the best for you, too. So if you-if you've talked to him and he seems to-you seem to like him I won't have anything against you, or him, if you accept the bond." Saying these words seems like a great effort for her, but you appreciate it very much. Mor grimaces.

"No one? That male locked you up - no, he let you drown locked up inside his house. Don't you remember what condition I found you in? Well, in case you don't remember, I'll remind you, Y/n. That male after she was turned into a Fae locked her up in a room, denied her every single space of freedom until she went crazy and we rescued her. So don't-"

"Enough, Mor." Feyre says annoyed.

"You want the best for your sister, and you send her into Tamlin's arms without warning her what he would do to her?"

You are speechless. Tears wet your cheeks.

"But he told me-he told me he regretted it. That he was just as broken as you and that he just wanted to protect you..."

"Those are just words, Y/n. But in actions--what do you think is keeping him from doing the same thing to you? We will have no right to rescue you and bring you back here, because you are in fact his. Think carefully about what you want to do with such an individual." And with these words, Mor leaves the room, leaving you whimpering and afraid. Feyre approaches you and wraps you in a hug.

"Everything will be all right. I know you are afraid, honey. You just try, never stop trying, okay? You don't have to accept the bond right away. Even when you move in with him, if you decide to, you can wait and see if it's worth it. And in case it's not worth it, you can always come back as a free woman."

"I thought you hated him."

"No. Everyone deserves happiness, honey."

Before you can even consider your sister's words, war breaks out. Tamlin takes Hybern's side, but as you expected, it actually turns out to be all a double-cross.

You can feel his emotions through the bond, and you know he can feel yours, too. Sometimes your dreams come together and you are able to talk. If you were uncertain about trying before, now you are convinced.

Once you even woke up in the middle of the night. The bond in your chest overflowing with emotion - lust. Excitement. Pleasure. It didn't take long to realize that your mate was pleasuring himself. Just the thought of it was able to make you damp between your legs, and you discreetly slipped a hand under the sheets and touched yourself fantasizing Tamlin in front of you, rubbing his hard cock with one hand, while his eyes were fixed on yours. You reached your climax in the same moment he did, and you could have sworn you heard his laughter on the other side of the bond.

It was also the first time you tried to touch that bond, pulling on that sort of golden thread that connects the two of you. Tamlin responded by doing the same, and when you went back to sleep, you fell asleep with a smile. That night you dreamed about how your mate taught you how to fly.

The next day you were not able to look anyone in the face, though.

But that was a long time ago.

Now you are not in the comforting warmth of your bed. You are in a tent in a war camp and you are freezing. Your body shakes as you try to rub your hands together. Your wings are sore and have taken on a worrying purple tint, you are almost tempted to go to some healer's tent and ask for an extra blanket, but surely they would be full of injured people, and they would need it much more than you do.

A wave of warmth through the bond radiates through you, and you are grateful to have Tamlin right now, but it doesn't stop there. He touches the bond, like he did all those nights ago, and you find yourself out of your sleeping bag, but not to go to the healers. You meet no one as you head to the Spring Court camps. Your heart pounds - you haven't seen Tamlin since that day at the High Lords meeting. A slight blush covers your cheeks. How will you look that charming male in the face after what you did that night?

You don't know which tent is his, but your body seems to know. The bond takes you straight to him. You can smell him - citrus and spice - even before you see him. You enter without even knocking or warning of your presence, aware that he is able to feel your closeness just as you are able to feel his.

"I've been waiting for you." The male offers you a mesmerizing smile. He is different from how you had seen him. He has cut his hair, and it now reaches just below his ears. He no longer has such dark circles under his eyes and looks decades younger. He is now the living definition of spring more than ever. The mere sight of the man could bring you to your knees.

"Hey." You greet him softly, still a little embarrassed. He notices, because his smile now turns feline. You're my little prey and I want to play with you, he seems to say. Only now do you notice a pungent note in his scent - blood. Your worry fills the bond. Yet you have felt no pain through it lately.

He seems to sense the direction of your thoughts, because he shifts his gaze from your figure to his chest. That's where he bleeds. He has been wounded in the chest.

"Tamlin... You're bleeding." He nods, then offers you a reassuring look.

"Oh, don't worry, it's just a little scratch. You, on the other hand, looked very cold earlier." He cannot hide his concern.

"It's already better here, much warmer." You still feel the tips of your wings sore, though.

"To get to such a situation you must have been freezing for a long time, Y/n. Didn't they teach you how to take care of your wings in this situation?"

"Not really-I tried to ask, but I never got an answer." The anger on his face is impossible to mask. He takes a couple of deep breaths before speaking again.

"'Brute bastards." He hisses through his teeth. You feel in awe at his words; they are still your sisters' family.

"Tamlin..."

"No, Y/n. I'm fine, but you...fairy wings are different from Illyrian wings. They should have done some fucking research. You could have lost them, and do you know how painful that is? You could still be losing them." He finally realizes, and jerks around to get his blanket from his sleeping bag. It's thick and woolen, and as he wraps it around you, it smells of him in the best way.

"You're taking care of me." He looks at you surprised.

"Of course I'm taking care of you, Y/n."

"I want to take care of you, too. These days I've treated the cuts of the wounded, I can help you." Tamlin lets out a low growl, then shakes his head. He sits you down on his sleeping bag and positions himself next to you. Shoulder to shoulder. Even this small contact, divided by several layers of fabric, is capable of making your heart race.

"Please, mate. Let me take care of you." Tamlin sighs, then murmurs an unenthusiastic consent. You get up with the blanket still tangled around you, leave the tent without a word, and return a few minutes later with gauze, alcohol, and a clean bandage. You freeze in the doorway when you realize the man has taken off his shirt.

A shirtless male body was no stranger to you. You had often accompanied your sisters to see their males working out. You had gotten to appreciate the muscles. But Tamlin... seeing your semi-nude mate activates something in you, something similar to that night when you came with his name on your lips. You blush and approach slowly, he still has his back to you, as if he didn't hear you come in.

"Didn't they tell you it's rude to stare?" You know he's only joking, yet you still get embarrassed. Yes, you are used to a shirtless male. But to a shirtless male flirting with you? Absolutely not.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, but the thing that cools your blood is the wound you see ripping through his chest as he turns around. You look at him surprised, anguish and disquiet flow freely through the bond.

"It's nothing, Y/n. I'll live." You find it ironic how he is the injured one, yet you are the one being comforted. You approach in silence, your eyes fixed on the injury, and let him rest his back on the sleeping bag. You kneel beside him, the blanket now forgotten on the ground, and soak the gauze with alcohol.

"Put the blanket back on, Y/n. It's cold." You ignore him, focused on wetting every last millimeter of the fabric. Tamlin is about to get up, but you place a hand on his chest, blocking him. The contact with his warm skin makes your cheeks warm, but the blood on his chest freezes them.

"What is it?"

"The blanket. Put it on."

"No, I'll be uncomfortable while I medicate you." Tamlin growls when you answer him. You snort a laugh, protective males. "Do you find my worry funny, fawn?"

"Fawn?" You startle at the nickname.

"Don't change the subject, put it on."

"But I'm uncomfortable, Tam."

"Then sit on my lap and wrap it around both of us." You don't let him tell you twice. You do as he says and start dressing his wound, which reeks of Faebane. That's why it didn't heal. You notice Tamlin clenching his teeth from the burning and as if on instinct, you reach down to kiss his chest above the wound. At the level of his heart. You both smile, but do not utter a word. When you finish bandaging his cut, you give him another gentle kiss, this time over the bandage.

"So you heal sooner and feel better." You smile at him.

"You are such a little fairy."

"Is that an insult?"

"No, fawn, how could I ever."

You don't converse much longer, the fatigue of battle preventing you from doing so. You get off his lap and lie down beside him on top of the sleeping bag. You remove the blanket and he seems to inspect your wings. A satisfied expression appears on his face and without needing a word, you remove the blanket and use it to cover yourselves. Just five minutes, you think, then I go back to my tent or I'll risk worrying my sisters.

Five minutes turns into the whole night.

When you wake up, Tamlin is not there. You are under the sleeping bag, though. You smile at the thought. His side is cold, and you wonder how long you slept for. You get up and stretch, and take some time to poke around his tent, something you didn't do the night before. There isn't much there, but you were expecting it. You find a blanket with a note.

Take care of your wings.

You smile like a little girl under her Christmas tree. You leave the blanket there, but take his instead. It smells like him.

A little alarm bell rings in your head. Oh, God. Your sisters must be worried sick. You quickly grab your new blanket and run through the camps until you get to your tent. God, why did they put the Night Court and the Spring Court at opposite ends? It's an almost 10-minute walk.

You enter your tent panting where you find a very, very worried Feyre.

"Are you crazy! Where have you been!" She shouts without even looking at you. But then she does. She smells Tamlin's familiar scent on you. His blanket in your hands.

"Feyre...I can explain, I swear-" She turns a mocking smile on you.

"Ooookay. Maybe next time you warn before you leave. You gave us a scare!" She says without even time for you to respond, leaving you standing in the middle of your tent like a fool.

You and Tamlin have a kind of unwritten agreement. In the evening he pulls the bond slightly and you join him in his tent. The Inner Circle knows this, but says nothing about it. It's better that way. Once Nesta even came to call you, making Tamlin chuckle and you die of embarrassment.

He never tried to do anything more than cuddle you. And you are fine with that. You don't want your first time with your mate to be in a war camp, on a sleeping bag, with the screams of the wounded in the background. One time he even took you to the top of a hill and you stayed and watched the stars until dawn, then he had to go back to fighting, and you had to go back to helping the healers.

You are afraid to admit it to yourself, but you are falling in love with that wonderful man. And you are afraid of not knowing what will happen once the war is over.

The fear of not knowing doesn't last long, though. Because the war is over. Hybern has died by the hands of your sisters, and Rhys has even died and risen again. You meet Tamlin as the camps are being shown.

"Hey, fawn." He says, smiling at you.

"Hey, Tam." You return his smile, but a motion of sadness contorts your lips into a grimace. Tears are quick to stream down your face. You don't want to cry in front of everyone. Tamlin seems to understand this, because he grabs your arm and within moments you are on the hill where he took you to see the stars a few nights ago.

"It's nothing, it's just ... I don't want us to be apart." Tamlin can swear he feels his heart break and recompose itself at the same time at your words, at your tone. At the emotions you are sharing with him.

"Neither do I, y/n. Neither do I."

Tamlin kisses you. It's sudden and unexpected. It is not a real kiss: he simply lays his lips on yours. His hands caress your face gently. After a few moments, you relax and respond to the kiss with just as much sweetness. Just as much love.

"Come home with me, Y/n. Come stay with me at the Spring Court." You think about his words. The words of the male you are in love with, your mate. Your heart tightens with happiness at those words. You will think of your sisters later: for now you just want to be in Tamlin's arms.

"Yes."

Communicating this to Feyre was easier than expected, and since you had nothing significant in Velaris, you went straight home with Tamlin.

The Spring Court is... beautiful, breath-taking even. You can't hide the warmth in your chest, the feeling of home it communicates. And seeing your mate in the place where he belongs enhances the experience.

It is warmer than the dry cold of the camps, and you begin to sweat under the layers of heavy clothing. Tamlin notices, and invites you to follow him inside his palace until you reach a bedroom.

You take time to look around. The house seems full of life, smells of flowers and nature, and glows with gold. It is different from what you expected: Rhysand had mentioned, years ago, that he had paid a visit to the High Lord of the Spring Court, and found him in a miserable condition. And like him, so was his house. But to you that sounds like a far definition from reality.

The room he takes you to is beautiful. It is very different from the typical ones in the Night Court. There the wood is dark, the floors are rough, and everything looks like it's been through a battle. They're not ugly, they're just - gloomy.

While the Court of Spring is full of light and warm colors. The bed frame is made of a light, delicate wood and is carved with flowers and leaves. The room does not have much besides the well-prepared bed. There is a closet that echoes the pattern of the headboard, and Tamlin heads straight there.

He opens it, revealing a surprising amount of clothing.

"You can choose whatever you like, I'll wait outside." He smiles at you and you smile back.

You leave the room wearing a new dress. It is the one you liked most. It makes you feel like a fairy, but positively. It is definitely better than what you wear in the Court of Night. The fabric is softer, the pinkish white of the skirt is a color you've never seen before but already love. Tamlin's face lights up as soon as he sees you.

"You look beautiful in my Court clothes, Y/n." Your cheeks take on a rosy hue as you whisper a vague thanks. He holds out his hand to you and you immediately take it. Without a word, he begins to drag you through the corridors you admire all the way to outside. Into the gardens.

As soon as your eyes meet such beauty ... your breath catches in your throat. Your mind immediately wanders to your sister, Elain. How she would love it.

Your mate looks at you smugly.

"Do you like it?" You can do nothing but nod. Tears well up in your eyes at the relief you feel, and you realize you have lifted a burden, the opression of the Night Court.

The words come out of your mouth before you can even think them, let alone stop them, "I want to accept the bond."

Tamlin looks surprised. "What?"

"I-obviously if you want to. But-"

Your mate interrupts by kissing you. You are surprised the first few moments, but you quickly recover, responding to the kiss. The bond in the center of your chest seems to sing with joy.

"Now?" He asks when he pulls away from your lips, a gentle blush covers his cheeks and he is short of breath. He has never looked so good. You nod.

"A little further on there are some fruit trees. If you want we can go there."

You nod, and he takes you by the hand, fingers interlocked with yours, and once again leads you to some fruit trees. You take the opportunity to admire the beauty of his court again. Which will now become yours as well.

You stop in front of a loquat tree. In a comforting silence you turn to pick a fruit. You have nothing with you, and you struggle a little to peel it. You split it in half and offer it directly in front of his lips. He bites into the loquat with his eyes on yours. He finishes the whole fruit.

The bond seems to rejoice and shine and seems to unite your two souls even more than before. His gaze communicates to you that you have a long day ahead. A long night, too.

He kisses you fervently, his hands gripping your hips making you moan in the kiss. You didn't expect to feel this way. Sure, your sisters told you something about the frenzy ... but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely. The intensity of what you feel is almost overwhelming.

You pull away from the kiss with a heavy breath. Tamlin's predatory gaze, the lust in the look, is impossible to mask.

"Fawn... tell me no now, or I won't be able to stop later." You don't even think about saying no. You desire him as you have never desired anyone. You want to feel him all over.

"Please, Tamlin. I want to be yours."

You spend all afternoon making love on the fields, careless of who might see you. You return only when it begins to get dark. A huge smile on your face.

You made the right choice.

@rcarbo1

[sapphicmsmarvel]

acotar characters and getting mad over silly, silly things

these are the things the characters get mad over, except they are super silly. 

This is a short one!

i.e. the only times they ever get mad at you, but it’s not toxic ❤️

Azriel

Just let this man zip your dresses up. He gets you want to be “independent” but just, let him zip the damn dresses. 

He also loves lacing up your corsets. 

He’ll press a kiss between your shoulder blades. Kiss the spot between your neck and shoulder. 

He loves the intimacy within the action, loves knowing that you are for him. 

Wrapping you up as a gift is just a plus. 

Cassian 

He gets mad when you open a door for yourself. He will race you to the door. Even shove you out of the way. 

it’s the gentlemen-like thing to do. 

He loves seeing your ass when you walk past him. 

He doesn’t want his babydoll lifting a finger. 

Rhysand 

if you don't let this man pull out your chair at a dinner table or function…. 

What a pouty bitch. 

It’s a simple claim of “they’re mine.” But also he just simply loves doing it. He loves to help you whenever he can, even if it’s something small like pulling out your chair. 

Plus, when he does it, he usually kisses your head or brushes his fingertips across your shoulders, making you shiver. 

Feyre 

Don’t you ever do your nails yourself. 

She loves working on a smaller canvas and painting your nails intricate designs is like therapy to her. She loves doing cheesy things like putting your initials together in a heart. 

Morrigan 

Let her do your makeup. It brings her so much joy to just stare at your face when you aren’t looking. It’s the one time she doesn’t feel like a creep doing it even though you’re her wife. 

When you close your eyes as she dusts some sparkly shadow across your lid, it making your skin tone pop.

And if you’re dark skinned? with metallic colors? That would kill her. 

Amren 

Putting your jewelry on for you. She’s a simple woman, just let her do your jewelry. You have hundreds nearing thousands of pieces she has given you. 

She knows what compliments your skin, or what looks good with an outfit. As well as what gems you like the most and what metals irritate your skin. 

When she puts your necklace around you, she’ll kiss the spot on your neck where the clasp is.  

Nesta 

She loves closing the clasp on your heels and tying your shoes. 

It’s the only time anyone will see her bow to someone else.  (besides the bedroom but they don’t see that). 

If you do it yourself, she literally makes you undo them, or she undos them, then she redoes it. She’ll be damned if you buckle your own shoes. While she’s down there, she’ll press a kiss to your thigh, calf, inner knee, ankle. Whatever she feels like.

Elain 

She loves doing your hair. Even brushing it after a bath, she doesn’t want you doing it. She wants to do it. 

She loves weaving flowers through it, braiding, any type of style. It’s therapy for her, to just sit there and play with her girl's hair. 

Lucien 

He doesn’t like you doing ‘boy jobs’, as in the dishes or some ridiculous shit like that. 

It’s not that he thinks you’re incapable it’s just, you’re his spouse you deserve better than taking out the trash! 

The definition of “my hands look like this, so theirs look like this” but again, not in a toxic way. Just a “my baby is my baby and i’ll be damned if they lift a finger.”

Eris 

He gets mad when you refuse to let him walk on the more dangerous side of a sidewalk or sleep in the spot closest to the door so he can protect you better if need be. 

He’s a natural protector and you are the love of his life. He’s not going to put you in danger even though you’ve told him nobody is waiting outside the bedroom door to kill you. 

But, you can never be too safe. 

Tarquin

Washing your hair, it’s really therapeutic for him to wash your hair. Even if you get embarrassed because if you have a flaky scalp it embarrasses you. But he loves just taking care of you. 

Nothing with him is embarrassing. Every hair wash day he’s there with your products as well as adding his own new thing, such as a mask or new leave in product.

[falsemneme]

ACOSF, Ch. 37. The Inner Circle tortures two obviously ensorcelled Autumn Court soldiers. ("Rhys had tried to get into their heads but found nothing but fog and mist.") Feyre introduces ethics, an uncomfortable topic for a group of people who were just a second ago happy to watch Azriel torture those prisoners for a solid 10 minutes without question.

NOTE how Cassian "knew" that Rhys is mentally apologizing for "making Feyre witness even the ten minutes Azriel had worked" [emphasis mine]. NOT apologizing for torturing two people who are not fully in control of their own minds and bodies for a whole ten minutes, but apologizing for making Feyre watch Azriel torture two people who are not fully in control of their own minds and bodies for a whole ten minutes. FFS.

(Orange was just me highlighting how Feyre seems to accept his apology at face value. There's no push for meaningful change. If they get their hands on another set of soldiers, they're going to get tortured too because as I pointed out in this post, that's just what the Night Court fucking does.)

How Mrs. Human-Heart could've withstood watching ten whole, gruesome minutes of torture WITHOUT piping up in defence of the prisoners is... interesting. It's like SJM wants me to see Feyre as this compassionate person who cares about how others are treated, but Feyre just let them get tortured for 10 fucking minutes before bringing up that this is not ethical and... they just LEAVE them there. She doesn't call for Madja to come heal their wounds??? That's not included in the text???

I just... look, they don't need to be good people, right? But it feels like SJM wants me to think they're good people instead of incompetent, unfeeling leaders with the decision-making skills of a despot. Their compassion is activated only after they've Done The Thing(TM) and even then all they do is stop. They don't fix, they don't mend or make right, they don't change. They are the Court of Nightmares. It's just the nightmare is having them as rulers.

Editing to add like a petty person how quickly Helion assesses the Autumn Court soldiers without attempting torture even once. Man was in and out in like two minutes.

[ladydeath-vanserra]

idk if I'm being controversial for my own account but tbh it's weird how much we talk about "Tamlin taking care of Feyre" or lack there of after UtM when.... she was also His partner? She didn't take care of him either?

Rhysand has his entire IC that he can lean on and Tamlin had to send his own IC out to be murdered to even break the spell, leaving only Lucien to carry the extra baggage and also LUCIEN was ALSO tortured and hurt UtM and he ALSO did not have anyone taking care of him, either?

like I know that Tamlin is the HL and that Lucien and Feyre are his subjects so he does have more of a, well. professional(???????????) responsibility to take care of everyone ever in his court. which. we see him trying to do. His entire court is in shambles and he spends the entire time taking care of everyone as best as he can while in an active, ongoing fresh PTSD episode with absolutely zero people who he can lean on

so while yes, Tamlin didn't take care of Feyre the way she needed, she also didn't take care of him, her lover, the way he needed either. and neither of them took care of Lucien

idk man. like. why am I in Tamlin Feels when I don't even like the guy

[imaginesmai]

Right around the corner - Azriel (5)

AHHHHH this is the final part and let me tell you I'm SAD. It was so hard to write the ending you all deserve after all this love, so I tried my best. Let me know what you think! Also, you deserve A LOT, so I made it long hehehe. Don't worry, a request about the RATH universe is coming soon! If you want one too, drop it in my inbox!

(1), (2), (3), (4)

Plot: The story of how Azriel fixed what was broken, and how you forgave him.

Warnings: this is sad, but has a happy ending! Also, mental health issues.

No one expected the sidra to froze that year, and against everyone expectation, one day Velaris had woken up to see the riven covered by a silver layer. Children had missed school to skate in the solid surface, parents watching carefully from the edge. Some couples were skating too, holding hands and giggling endlessly.

You had been watching the new scene unfold all morning. And while you usually loved snow and ice as much as any child in town, you were starting to get a little sick of all the noise.

It wasn’t your new employee situation, who had been staring at the river all morning. She had already finished her duties, but always the polite and nice girl, Elain Archeron was keeping you company.

When you spotted for the third time the familiar red-head through the glass and she didn’t say anything, just sighed, you decided you had enough.

“You should tell him to get in before he freezes to death” you commented, still busy with measuring the ingredients.

“Oh, no” Elain blushed and looked away from the window. “No. He’s just… He can wait”

“He can, but doesn’t have to. You and Lucien should head out, rent ice skates and have a fun day. You already finished here” you smiled kindly at her, and before she could reply, you added. “I’m fine, I don’t even like cold weather. And I still need to finish this, which you can’t help me with. So, go”

Elain stared at you with uncertainty, and you tried to look as convinced as possible. Would you have liked her to stay? After all, she was one of the few people you socialized with these days. She had turned in when you opened the bakery again, right after you posted the sign about looking for a new partner.

And even if you had had your doubts when you discovered she was Feyre’s sister and Azriel’s friend, you considered her your own friend.

So, yeah, you would have liked her to stay. Because you were still awfully sad all the time, and her company was one of the few things that made your day better. But you being sad didn’t excuse her missing a wonderful day with her mate.

“It’s not closing time yet” her eyes danced between the glass and you. “He was supposed to wait for me at the house”

“Guess he’s too eager to see you. He’s been dancing around the bakery for a good hour” you chuckled. “Elain, I mean it. Go. Have fun. I’ll see you on Monday”

“Y/N, I promise I don’t mind waiting. It’s not like it will unfreeze”

“And I promise I don’t mind at all. So, go, have fun and tell me about it on Monday” you gripped her hand softly over the counter, nodding to the waiting mal outside. “Come on, go”

Lucien was once more outside the bakery, the only visible part of him his red hair. He was covered in thick layers, but still managed to smile when Elain kissed your cheek and took her coat on the way out.

You didn’t have it in you to watch them be affectionate with each other, so you looked down at your task and decided it would be the last of the day.

It was hard watching all those couples walking hand in hand and remembering the feel of his warm, scarred hand in yours. To hear a man laughing and remember the unexpected laughs you dragged out of him sometimes. Even looking at the river was painful, because you could almost see the ghost of Azriel and you learning how to skate in a frozen lake in the Illyrian mountains a few years ago.

You had seen Azriel around a few times now, walking through your bakery and waving at you through the glass. Two times he had been waiting at the door when it was late at night, silently walking you home from afar without talking. Almost two months had passed by and your feelings were still as messed up as before.

Though you didn’t cry as much as before, and you were starting to get better, you still wondered.

If Azriel getting help would mean your relationship would be fixed, or if it was broken permanently. Deep in your thoughts, and used as you were to Azriel’s shadows, you didn’t notice how they tugged on your apron until the door sounded again.

Elain’s name didn’t leave your lips, because as soon as the door opened, you lost your breath.  As if you had summoned him, Azriel walked through the door, beautiful as ever. He wasn’t in his usual training leather, but winter clothes that fit him as a glove. Instantly, you noticed he had lost weight. His shoulders were slumped and his body didn’t carry the usual grace of an Illyrian warrior.

“Hi”

His scarred hands, that had held you so many times and slaughtered so many enemies, were tucked in his coat’s pockets. You could feel the nervousness through the bond, the hesitance. Too stunned to answer, you only stared at him.

You had known that, eventually, he would talk to you. That you would have to do more than just wave at each other through the glass and stay silent when he sent you details through Elain. But still, you hadn’t expected it.

Unable to move, you only blinked.

“I saw Elain and Lucien heading out” he added, not looking away from you. “It’s a nice day outside”

Azriel hadn’t finished before one of his new shadows scaped his control, sneaking around the counter. The familiar ones, that had been by your side since he left, danced around the new intrusion. It lifted your apron, and crawled up your neck.

The cool feeling was the last of your worries, because no matter how much you willed yourself to say something, you couldn’t even tear your eyes from him.

The bond flickered between the two of you, once more. Knowing that it was one-sided, that he didn’t wear it like you did, made break your trance.

“She’s finished for the day” you explained, sounding way more confident that what you felt.

“It’s a nice day, yeah” he repeated, not giving you time to feel awkward before he continued “I thought that maybe you wanted to take a walk with me. It’s cold, but we could… get coffee. Or chocolate, if you want”

Azriel gave you a half, broken smile. Hearing his voice again made you take ten steps backward.

“I have things to do”

You looked down to your current task, which could be easily discarded. You had left much important things half-done because of him, and you would have done it normally without a second thoughts. But no matter how heartful the conversation at your door had been, you just knew you weren’t ready to have a conversation without getting angry.

You knew you weren’t ready to forgive him.

His new shadow gripped your wrist tightly before disappearing, and you heard Azriel’s doubt. He wanted to say something else, and you wanted too. Still, you fell back to your measuring and ignored the way your vision blurred, how your knees became weak again.

Maybe going back to your duties was the only way not to break down again.

The silence continued for a long minute. You couldn’t not feel his presence, the way his scent filled the bakery and made your stomach turn. Your heart recognized what you needed, what you wanted, and threatened to jump out of your chest.

Before you could regret your words, Azriel opened the door again.

“You’re forgetting the yeast” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

When you looked up again, he only smiled. You opened your mouth to tell him to wait, maybe to fuck off and never come again. You didn’t have time, because Azriel closed the door behind him and he was gone.

The first tear fell against the unformed dough, followed by many more. You wouldn’t be finishing the blueberry cake that afternoon, you realized, as you crunched behind the counter and cried.

-

There was a storm coming, and everyone in Velaris had had the same idea – run to the market, buy everything they needed for a few days, and crowd themselves at home with their loved ones. You were trying to follow the first part of the plan, not having anyone to go home anymore. And if that wasn’t enough reason to drag you down, the crowd was getting intense.

Velaris’ market was a beautiful place, full of shops and nice vendors. But that day, the space felt too small.

You already had a few bags with you, yet there were a few more to go. Wanting to finish as soon as possible, you had ignored the rational part of your brain and had gotten in the middle of the crowd. You had only managed to buy milk and pasta, and still had a long way to go.

After Azriel’s brief appearance, your life had been messier than before. He had come by the bakery at least five times more, always offering you some kind of plan you rejected. Going to the park, for a flight or to a coffee shop. Taking walks, watching the sunset or training together.

You lived now half-prepared to see him walking through your door again, and not having the heart to tell him no. You weren’t sure if that thought frightened or comforted you.

In your haste, you had almost forgotten to buy provisions for the storm, and had found yourself on the worst day to do them. Crowded, loud and suffocating, that was how you would describe the market at that moment.

The fact that most people ran with their children and family wasn’t helpful at all.

Most of the times, it was Azriel who did the last-minute shopping for you. He knew you didn’t like crowds, loud places, that you did best in your bakery where only five people were allowed at a time.

Another shove broke you down from your daydreaming, and you looked back to see a pregnant woman staring with her eyebrows furrowed.

“The line is moving” she spatted, pointing to the small space ahead of you. “If you don’t move with it, you should step out”

“Oh, no” you chuckled softly. You picked up the bags on the ground and took the two small steps that you were supposed to. “Sorry, I just thought I could take a little bit more space. It’s crowded here”

“I don’t mind crowds, so if you want to step back, let me get first. I’m in a hurry”

“Me too” you gave her a polite smile, mindful of her state.

The short distance that separated you from the customer on the front was certainly not enough, and she knew it. Still, she looked at you with disapproval. There were only five more people to go until it was your turn, you could buy your snacks and run to the next stall.

You thought you could ignore the glare at the back of your neck, and you did for a few minutes. Without meaning to, you thought how everything with Azriel was easier. Not only people wouldn’t dare to talk to him like that, but also, he assured you a good meter of distance between you two and the rest of the world with his wings.

The snacks on your hands almost fell when, not even two seconds after the man took three steps forward, you were shoved again.

That time, when you looked back, the woman was accompanied by her mate. His wings covered her from the people behind them.

“You should really step out of the line” she repeated. “You might have all the time in the word, but we are in a hurry”

“Me too. You can’t expect me to be glued to that man” you tried to explain, anxiety coiling in your stomach. “He just moved”

“And you didn’t, which proves my point. Besides, it’s obvious you only have a few things. We have more”

“Which should be enough reason to let me go first, not only because I was here before you” you shrugged, feeling even more uncomfortable when the male huffed a laugh. “Maybe it’s you who shouldn’t have come here today if you can’t wait in a line”

You weren’t a threat for the woman, and you were trying really hard to be polite and prove your point. Besides, being pregnant wasn’t an easy task, and you could tell she was far along. Maybe you should have let her pass, or maybe told her to fuck off.

But before you could argue further, something clicked in the male’s eyes, wide with recognition.

And you would have preferred for him to go full berserk mode on you. Because you recognized that look, you had been receiving them for a while now.

The male elbowed the woman’s side softly, pointing with his chin towards you. You didn’t have time to turn back and avoid the conversation, because he spoke.

“You’re the shadowsinger’s mate” he announced, loud enough to make a few heads turn.

“Oh” the woman finally connected the dots and lunged forward to grab your arm so tight you couldn’t shake her off. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry” you pushed your arm back, trying to let go.

While the woman apologized, you couldn’t help but listen to the whispers. The same ones you had heard in your bakery and through the streets. Some of them thrown in your face by rude or nosy customers that didn’t understand the concept of privacy, others by bystanders.

At the end, it was the woman who said it out loud, confirming what everyone in the small circle that had formed at the cue was wondering about. She finally let go of your arm and crossed hers in front of her body.

The look of pity wasn’t as bad as the confirmation.

“He rejected you, right?” it wasn’t a question, not when you didn’t answer and she continued. “We heard you’ve been mated for almost a century and he doesn’t want the bond. Is that true?”

It wasn’t true, but you didn’t have the heart to correct her. Instead, you turned around and used your wing-less privileges to sneak through the crowd. You kept your head down, as if that could stop you from hearing the comments or feeling the stares.

People had come up with an alternative version where Azriel and you had been mated for decades, for centuries. Where you had cheated on him or he had changed you for someone else. You had even heard that he had bonded with another person and had kicked you out of the house, and that you had been the one rejecting the bond.

Each version was farthest from the truth than the last one, but they all hurt the same. The crowd didn’t seem to get thinner no matter how deep you got in the market. Once the people who had heard the conversation were left behind, new people crowded you, worried about the girl panicking and running through the middle of the market.

There were a few occasions where you thought you would fall, where you tripped and almost embarrassed yourself farther. You had almost made it to the back entrance of the market when you finally realized you were tripping no more. There was no longer a crowd around you, nor whispers or hands reaching your way.

It took you another few steps to fully stop and assess the situation. When you looked back to see where the crowd was, you were met with a broad chest inches away from you. Through tearful eyes, you recognized Azriel’s wings tucking you away from people, his mere presence pushing them away.

You met his hazel eyes, full of worry and regret. His hair was longer, covering his brow, but you found comfort in his crooked nose, in his freckles, that you knew so well.

You noticed in his hands your bags that had been left in the stall, a new one with the snacks you were about to buy.

“What – what are you doing here?” you choked out, too grateful for the sudden moment of peace to wonder about anything else.

“I felt you through the bond, a few hours ago. Anxious and…” he stopped himself, his eyes scanning every tear that marked your cheeks. “I was just getting here when it got worse. I heard most of it. I’m –”

“Don’t say you’re sorry” you interrupted him. “It’s not your fault”

Out of the many things that were indeed his fault, people not minding their own business wasn’t his. You were used to him blaming himself for everything, from wars in other courts to people fighting in the street. The response came naturally.

Your nose was cold and runny, your hands frozen in your pockets, and your feet hurt. Besides all of that, you felt all wrong. Because you enjoyed his presence, because what they said, and because you couldn’t help but calm down when he was close.

Azriel didn’t say anything when you took the bags from his hands, thanking him quietly. He didn’t say anything as more people walked away from him, either because of his wings or because they recognized him.

“You don’t like last minute shopping”

It was a pointless observation, but it was better than to comment on how afraid he had been when, just outside the market, he felt the bond snap with urgence. His shadows knew where you were, and that you needed him, but even he had trouble running through crowds. Azriel also couldn’t talk about how mad he had been at everyone in that stall, how his new shadows had turned off every light and almost chocked them to death.

Azriel wanted to say that you were probably cold because you didn’t like your own coats, and most of the times wore one of his. He wanted to hug you, too, to feel you between his arms after what felt like an eternity and promise you that it would end well.

But he couldn’t say anything more than the obvious.

“I had to” you answered.

With a furious fist, frustrated at life, at him and at you, you brushed the tears off your cheeks. You could tell that he wanted to keep talking, and you did too. Since your last encounter, you had come up with more conversations you should have.

You stared at each other for what seemed forever. There were details that you had almost forgotten in your sorrow – like his long lashes, that you teased him about. Or the freckle that snuck up to the corner of his left eye. The way his mouth rose higher from the right, and the small scar on his ear from where Cassian dared him to wear an earring.

Only his face was enchanting enough to help you forget about the day, about the weight of your chest. It was the first closing call from the market, that sounded through the public speakers, that broke you away.

“I should go”

“I should go”

You talked at the same time, and you smiled softly when you pointed to different directions. You didn’t miss how his eyes fell to your mouth, how his own lifted up too.

“I could walk you back” he offered, not tearing his eyes away from your mouth. “If you let me”

You didn’t answer immediately. Those last words, that he had repeated so often lately, almost had you saying yes. You could almost imagine how it would go – him walking by your side, one of his wings behind your back. His elbow brushing yours, and his gaze fixed on you.

Your smile dropped when you remembered the times you had walked just like that, tucked together. The times you had waked by yourself through Velaris with his imprint on you, and the times he had left without a trace of your presence.

Azriel knew the answer before you said it, and his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Sorry”

That time, you decided to turn away before he could. Taking the back exit was a poor choice, knowing it was farther from your house than the main one, but you couldn’t picture yourself walking through the market without Azriel keeping the crowds a step away.

So you turned around, gripped your bags tight and didn’t tear your eyes from the ground during the whole way back.

-

It wasn’t Azriel who found you the time everything changed, but you.

The cold and winter were over, the streets were clean and the sun was out. It was a perfect day to spend outside, and Elain seemed fixed in throwing you out of your own shop. She claimed that the bags under your eyes were as dark as the night, and that your skin was so pale that she couldn’t tell the flour stains apart from it.

“Just for the record, you’re kicking the owner of the bakery out of the bakery” you stated, looking at her once more from the door. “You do realize that shouldn’t happen, right?”

“I’m helping a friend come out of her ghost-like season” she replied, still decorating muffins. “And you do realize that most shops close on Sunday’s, right?”

“Certainly not a bakery” you looked to the empty fountain at her right. “If we do it together, we will – “

“If you touch one single item of this bakery, I’m banning you from the kitchen for a month”

You doubted she meant it, she could. But still, you sighed and turned around to open the door. You weren’t an extrovert, certainly not an outsider. Since you were a child, you liked your kitchen, your house, and your space. And none of those things were outside the door.

But you actually feared what the fae you left behind would do if you turned back. Elain had already hidden your apron so you couldn’t put it on, and had threatened to mismatch the soy milk with normal one.

Giving her a last, tight smile through the glass, you walked towards the center of Velaris.

Not many people were outside that soon on a Sunday morning, but you were glad for her insistence the moment the sun kissed your face. The cold weather was disappearing and you could feel warmth across your cheeks. It was still cold, and it would be for at least another week, but the change in the weather promised a happy spring.

You walked aimlessly around Velaris, stopping to watch the Sidra move every now and then. Your feet carried you through unfamiliar streets, all of them filled with colors and smells. The longer you walked, the healthier you felt. Each step felt like a weight lifted from your chest, and you even smiled to a few usuals you found in the streets.

The main square peeked through the streets. It wasn’t your usual destination, too crowded and not as pretty as other parts of the town. But you still walked through it, feeling at ease and happy.

It had happened before, usually the days before you started your cycle, and you should have known the feeling of ease had nothing to do with the weather or the walk. It had happened and it happened again, just as you rounded a corner to walk in the square.

If, by any chance, Azriel hadn’t noticed you coming, the shadows that tugged him away from where he was standing would have made it obvious.

His eyes widened when he saw you, and you felt that peaceful feeling making its home for the day. There was no sorrow, no sadness, and none of the usual feelings that lately you felt when it came to him.

You cursed yourself stupid when you realized that you cycle was coming, and that every year you were in a mood until Azriel showed up, your hormones demanding your mate.

“Y/N”

Your name fell from your mouth and just by hearing it you noticed something different. It was new, and at the same time, you thought you recognized it somehow. You looked to his empty hands, to the syphons on his shoulders and chest and truth-teller on his side.

It looked like you had interrupted something important to him. But instead of running away from him like the last two times, you took a step closer.

“Are you going on a mission?” you pointed with your chin to his leather, eyes stopping at his chest. There was that thing, that you couldn’t name.

“Just came back. I was…”

Azriel looked to the building he just exited and for a moment, in silence. You had met a bunch of times since the incident in the market, and you had started having longer conversations. About the weather, about your bakery, and even about his family, who you finally knew officially.

Certainly, your relationship had improved, although it wasn’t just fixed yet. When he didn’t answer, you were reminded of all the times he had kept things to himself, either out of fear or doubt.

He seemed to doubt between telling you and keeping it to himself. Any other time, you knew, he would have kept it to himself. He had done it, in the past – when you asked him about his job, or tried to understand his past. Many times where he had evaded the truth or his emotions.

Your mood, that had been in a rush since you left the bakery, fell a little at his silence. He looked torn and you were ready to leave, before he answered.

“This is Madja’s house. I meet her here so we can talk, usually during the week” he looked back at you, watching the surprise of his statement. “But something happened and I needed to talk to her”

“What happened?”

Azriel’s lips were pressed tight, debating on whether he should tell you or not. He wouldn’t have doubted about it a year ago – he wouldn’t tell you, because in his eyes, it would only hurt you more than he already had. But he had learnt new things, and had realized that a relationship was built on trust. And that his fears, his perception of the reality, had broken yours.

He had cut the mission short when he had noticed, though he wasn’t sure he had ever done something like that. Azriel didn’t know what had triggered it, why it happened in the Winter court and not anytime sooner.

Madja, of course, had had an answer ready – an answer that had left him staring at her door for long twenty minutes before you appeared.

“Kallias should have sent something to Rhysand, but he didn’t” he started, not sure why he was traveling so far from the event. “So I went to check. Turns out someone must have taken it and, well, I tried to…”

He trailed off before he could finish, aware of your confusion. You never talked about what he did for Rhysand, in any court. No matter how big or small was the assignment, he didn’t tell you about it.

But that wasn’t what your confusion was about, at least not all of it. You couldn’t possibly notice because you had given it for granted since the beginning, but Azriel did notice. He noticed the change as soon as it happened, and babbled when he explained to Rhysand what he should have been feeling for years.

Had explained to Madja moments ago, who had given him a knowing smile and a proud nod.

“I accepted the bond” he confessed, continuing before you could say anything else. “I don’t know how, or why, but I was there and suddenly I was hit with – with this in my chest, and I don’t know why it wouldn’t happen sooner”

“You accepted the bond” you repeated, looking between his chest and face.

“I don’t know how, or why now. I was, thinking… And it hit me” Azriel smiled sadly, not saying what his thoughts were about – what they had been about since that night. “I didn’t want to tell you, because, this is, you don’t have to do anything now. Me accepting the bond doesn’t change what I did”

Azriel hadn’t meant to tell you, neither to be so vague and ridiculously nervous about it.

It had been a surprise when, in the middle of a conversation, he felt it. He had been thinking about you, because there were flowers and they were pretty against the cold weather, and to him, you were the prettiest thing the Cauldron had made. One moment Kallias had been going through the last movements of the package and the next the high lord was looking at him with raised brows.

Congratulating him for something that should have happened six years ago.

“It’s not that I didn’t want the bond before, Y/N” he continued when you didn’t say anything. “I promise you, I didn’t know how to accept it. I didn’t know that I deserved it”

Azriel had thought, and he still wanted to, that you so pretty that you were meant for someone else. That it was borrowed time, that he didn’t deserve the bond just as he didn’t deserve you. With Madja and Rhys, they had had deep conversations about his mental health, about his version of life where he lived through a glass of pain and rejection.

As he stared at your surprised form, he tried not to let hope leak into his heart. He knew it didn’t fix what was broken, but he hoped it was the first step of a long recovery to win you back.

Only if you could confirm or deny, instead of stare at him.

“Say something” Azriel finally broke, almost begged. “Whatever you want. Just say something”

And you wanted to, because wasn’t that what you had wanted? You had fooled yourself lately thinking about may what ifs. What if he had accepted the bond in the bagging, what if he had told you that he wasn’t fine, that he was broken and needed help.

What if you had helped him and not rushed things when he wasn’t ready. Now, it felt like the Cauldron was giving you that opportunity, only that you didn’t know how to react.

You finally looked away from him and decided to give an experimental tug on the bond, to see if anything had changed.

It had.

“Az”

It was a chuckle, maybe the beginning of a cry. It was anger but also relief because what came back from that tug wasn’t what you usually felt. It was stronger, solid, as if there was a physical string between your bodies that kept you linked.

Usually, it was just an intense feeling that was enough for you. But now that you felt him tugging back, felt him loving you, you couldn’t hold back another laugh. He shoved down through it everything he felt – adoration, love, joy. Many fears that had you stumbling towards him, and pain.

So much pain that your smile dropped. His dropped too, and you felt the bond getting fainter.

“That’s another reason. I didn’t want you to feel… that” Azriel retreated the bond farther. “I have so many fears and pains here that I couldn’t even imagine sharing them with you. And that – “

“You don’t have to feel ashamed” you cut him off, your voice hoarse. “I love you the same”

Words were unnecessary when you hugged his middle and buried yourself in his chest. He curled around you, like he had done so many times.

The channel snapped open again, and you just closed your eyes tightly. It was an endless source of emotions, and it broke you that most of them were bad. There was rejection, from so many people that it felt like an angry, black bull coming your way. Sadness that felt overwhelming and never ending, always coming in waves when Azriel didn’t expect it.

You also felt disgust, and you only held him tighter when you discovered it was self-disgust. Not only at the things that he had done, but also at what had been done to him. The scars on his hands, the shadows around him. He had hated himself for so long he had forgotten how to love.

But then, at the bottom, there was something bright, and that part you realized it was only dedicated to you. There was his family too, but it wasn’t as intense as his love for you. Everything that he lacked during his life, that he yearned for, was tucked where it mattered the most.

“I love you” he whispered against your head, softly. “I love you”

You didn’t answer, just raised your head until you could brush your lips against him. Later, you would have time to blame the cycle, which you wouldn’t get for another two months, or the emotions of the moment. But you knew it was just what you needed, what you both deserved, when you felt him kissing back.

At the beginning, it was just his lips against yours, and it was enough. Your noses brushed each other, you got on your tiptoes and his wing cocooned both of you. His hands only pressed you tighter against his body when you moved your lips against his, brushing the edge of your tongue against his bottom one.

Azriel could barely keep himself straight when you silently asked for permission to open his mouth, which he happily obliged.  

From that moment, it was crashing. The kiss was only a physical proof of your feelings traveling through the mated bond, so wild and intense you couldn’t tell which one was his or yours.

“I’m sorry, darling” he whispered against your lips, giving you no time to reply. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for being a coward. I’m sorry”

“I forgive you. We don’t keep secrets anymore” you managed to say between kisses.

“Never” Azriel answered while leaving kisses on your cheeks and nose.”

“And we’ll talk about our emotions, and feelings. You’ll tell me about your life when I ask”

“Always”

“You won’t close off to me” you pulled his head away and made him look at you.

While you held his face between your hands, Azriel smiled. It was a different smile from the previous ones, from the ones you had seen so far. It was carefree, loving, and yours.

Your thumb brushed the corner of his eye, his upper cheek, the border of his nose.

“I’m here, Azriel. Always. So you don’t have to hide anything from me, or to be ashamed or afraid. I’m here” you closed the distance once more, controlling the kiss by holding onto his face. “Right around the corner”

“Right around the corner” he repeated, dipping his head and sealing all his promises with another kiss.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Right around the corner taglist:

@lesliemurillo @impossibelle @polli05927 @florencemtrash @going-through-shit @minakay @setayeshmohseni @torchbearerkyle @esposadomd @amysangel @kennedy-brooke @originalcrusadetrash @luvmoo @historygeekqueen @marriedtolike18fictionalmen @wallacewillow0773638 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kristalhi @knmendiola @nikt-wazny-y @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @wallacewillow0773638 @clara-geekhime @kalulakunundrum @saltedcoffeescotch @originalcrusadetrash @mel-wcst @ailyr92 @bubybubsters @chickensrock3 @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @wallacewillow0773638 @just-m-2 @theravenphoenix26 @glitterypirateduck @a-frog-with-a-laptop @justdreamstars

[siriuslystyle1989]

The Only Exception

Lucien Vanserra x Fem!reader

Summary: When Your husband, Lucien finds out Elain is his mate, you decide to give him an ultimatum.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Lucien being the best

masterlist

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In a slight daze, Y/n lounged on the couch, her left hand grasping a mug of tea and her right hand clutching her latest read.

Lucien was in the night court helping their mutual friend, Feyre. Leaving Y/n alone with only her book as company.

But she was bored now. She wanted Lucien. She wanted him to walk into their shared home, scoop her up, let her nuzzle herself into his neck, kiss him.

Letting out an almost exasperated sigh, she looked at the clock and subsequently realised her husband was due home any moment.

Still, she remained reading hoping that time would somehow speed up if she was occupied.

"Y/n?" Lucien's voice travelled through the air causing the girl to jump and move to the entrance of their home.

'Luc!" She smiled, moving to hug the man who kissed her hair as he wrapped his arms around her smaller frame.

"What's wrong?" Y/n spoke suddenly, sensing something was amis with her lover.

"Nothings wrong baby, let's move to the living room." Lucien reassured her, guiding her back inside the house.

Y/n sat down, looking up at Lucien who ran a hand through his long auburn hair.

Her brows furrowed as she spoke "Luc, what's happened?" hesitance lacing her tone.

"I need to tell you something." He replied, getting on his knees in front of her, placing a hand on each of her legs.

Y/n nodded, anxiety bubbling up in her stomach.

Lucien sucked in a deep breath of air.

"Y/n."

A pause.

"I've found my mate."

Y/n shook her head slightly in disbelief, she could feel tears welling up in her eyes as her world came crashing down.

'But-" Lucien tried to speak as she cut him off.

"Wh- who?" Y/n asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Elain. Elain Archeron."

"Feyre's sister?"

Lucien nodded, looking into his wife's eyes.

"But Y/n-"

"If you want to be with her I understand, but tell me now. I don't want to be told in a few years if you suddenly decide that she's all you want-

"Y/n that's the thing-"

" -and I promise I won't be mad at you, we can still be friends. It's completely fine-" Y/n rambled, half for Lucien half for herself.

Tears now freely spilling down her cheeks, Y/n continued speaking.

"-But really if you want to be with Elain I understand, she's beautiful and really-"

"Y/n!" Lucien shouted louder, attempting to calm the girls incessant chatter.

"Sweetheart. What I was trying to tell you was that I've already rejected the bond.

"You- what?" Y/n uttered looking into her husband's eyes.

"Of course I did you silly girl." He smiled, moving a hand to her face to wipe away her tears.

"You're all I want my love. Cauldron be damned."

At this, Y/n flung her arms around Lucien, holding him as tight as possible, still sniffling.

"I love you." she mumbled into his neck.

Lucien ran his fingers through her hair as he forced her to look at him. He began gently kissing away her tears.

"I love you more than you'll ever know, my sweet girl."

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A/N: I'm back!!!

Can you guys tell that i'm obsessed with Lucien?

[lovemyromance]

I think there's just a lack of understanding amongst antis when it comes to Azriel's character. They see him as some combination of Rhys/Cassian when they don't understand the man is literally SOFT BOI.

He bought Elain a necklace for solstice

He gets headaches when his friends are too loud

He has dry, subtle humor

He gets flustered easily when people flirt with him

He makes everyone wait to eat until Elain sits down

He handles Nesta with the utmost care

He taught Feyre how to fly and told her the Nephelle Philosophy when she felt defeated

The man sits peacefully with Elain in the garden and reads his reports

He stays up late listening to her talk about garden plans

.....

Just because he's a Spymaster/interrogator for the NC - doesn't mean he's some kind of abusive, more toxic Rhys/Tamlin equivalent. He literally has so much self hatred and thinks his hands would taint Elain's skin - and you people just seem to think he sits there excited to clock into work everyday??

Be so fr.

These types of men don't sit there and belittle you or punch you in the face or say anything rude to you when they like you. These types of men are not built for enemies to lovers. They are built for traditional love. Soft love.

Like have you ever seen a soft boy fall in love??? Because I have.

It's a lot of:

"that looks heavy, I'll carry it for you."

"Are you hungry? I'm getting you a snack."

"It was your birthday so I bought you the book you've been wanting"

"Sit. I'll take care of it"

It's a lot of:

Of holding open doors

Of taking bags out of your hand

Of opening car doors, offering to drive

Of putting things on your plate

Azriel is the type of man that would 100% dote on and provide princess treatment to his love. He gets headaches from being around the IC and their obnoxiousness at times - y'all really think that's the type of man that "needs to be challenged" and likes "banter?

Please read the books 😭 stop assuming his job makes him some Zade Meadows dark enemies to lovers type mafioso 😭

He literally sits in the garden with Elain and loves his mom - this is soft boi core !!!

[thehighladywrites]

The Airhead Chronicles

…and the surprise

pairing: cassian x bimbo reader, inner circle x reader, nesta

summary: Not being able to avoid his family anymore, cassian brings you to meet them, despite the new bond. You all get along great and someone particular catches your eye👀 does the night end as amazingly as it began, though?

warnings: tragic backstory, reader’s mysterious aura is finally explained, i’m so sorry but i’ll have to villainize Nesta in this but I love her and will make a fluff fic with her soon

amara’s note: i’m sorry this took a while, life was kinda hectic but it’s all good now. This is quite a short bc i’m trying to build up some angst…

part one part two part three

“Wha- Rhysie? What are you doing here?” Confusion washed over you as Rhys appeared, equally bewildered.

“This is mine and Feyre’s home, we live here, y/n. What brings you here?”

Your puzzled expression deepened. This wasn't adding up. You were supposed to meet Cassian's friends. Maybe you'd gotten the wrong house.

“I’m visiting my mate's friends. Look, I even baked a cake! Doesn’t it look so tasty?” You held up the cake as you flashed him your usual smile as he nodded absentmindedly.

“You two know each other?” Cassian's raised eyebrows reflected his confusion.

“Cassie, this is Rhys. He’s the friend I’ve been telling you about. You know, the one that helped me move and who I work for.” You introduced Cassian to Rhysand, unaware they'd been friends for half a millennium.

“Y/n, why don't you come inside? Feyre and Nyx are here too. I know they’d be thrilled to meet you,” Rhysand suggested, maintaining eye contact with Cassian, whose expression remained unreadable.

“Oh, I wish we could stay, but we have to like go. Gonna meet my handsome man’s friends, and just between us, they’re like super important people, so I need to prepare myself. But you might now them since you’re high lord.” You leaned in, whispering lowly.

Cassian squeezed your hands reassuringly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and say hi, I’ll just talk to Rhys for a second.”

With a smile, you kissed his cheek and skipped inside to greet with your dear friend Feyre and favorite little guy, Nyx.

Cassians pov:

“You want to tell me how the hell you know her?” Cassian struggled to process the revelation. The idea of you and Rhys already knowing each other left him in disbelief. He couldn't fathom how he was being vexed by your super amazing friend, only to find out he was Cassian's friend too.

“Listen, I didn’t know you were mated or anything. I’ve known her since we were faelings.” Rhysand raised his hands, signaling that he harbored no ill intentions towards you and hadn't done anything wrong.

Cassian backed away, hands on his hips, strolling to the drink cabinet. He grabbed two cups, plopping down on the sofa and ruffling his wings in a mix of frustration and contemplation.

“Rhysie, I’m not going to eat you up, unless you want me to. Come sit down and just talk to me.” Cassian huffed, a hint of amusement in his expression as he noticed Rhysand practically glued behind his desk. With a roll of his eyes, Rhys rounded the table and settled down next to his friend.

They sat in silence, downing their third glass of Rhysand's expensive scotch. A nod from Rhys indicated he was ready to explain everything, and he met Cassian's gaze as he began.

“Alright, so when me and my sister were younger, my father made us switch from our private education in Velaris to Hewn City. The bastard claimed he wanted us to toughen up a bit. It was pure evil if you ask me.” A disgusted expression crossed Rhys's face as he recalled the horrors the new educators put him and his sister through in an attempt to toughen them up. The treatment was truly horrible for all the children there.

“There, I met Y/n and her sisters. They were downright horrendous towards her, and so were her parents because she wasn’t learning as quickly as us. She was also highly sought after due to her beauty and kindness, something her sisters envied. Her father is the Master of Coin, so they're loaded, and they had us do classes together. All the masters' children had classes together, separate from the other children of the city, to showcase how higher educated we were, in my father’s words.”

Rhys sighed, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, “Me and Selene befriended her, and you should’ve seen how jealous her sisters were. As heir, I had a lot of ladies interested in my title, and her sisters were among them. So they spread lies, telling everyone how I was bedding her as mere teenagers when, in reality, I was teaching her the work our educator couldn’t be bothered to teach her. After the rumors spread, her parents pulled her out of school to stay at home and learn her place in the court—how to talk to suitors, how to dress and act in front others with higher titles. She was raised like some sort of prized horse, ready to be sold. It was disgusting, the number of times her parents tried to marry her off for the sake of a title. Every time they tried, I intervened.” He smirked at the memory of your parents angry faces as the high lords son interrupted yet another proposal.

Cassian was shocked, slowly taking in the information as he nuged Rhys to continue.

“So, what happened when you became high lord? Did she stay in the city or did she move?”

“After I became High Lord, I finally banned forced marriages and made it punishable. Her parents suddenly found no need for her, so they told her that she either found someone appropriate herself and convinced me it was love, or they would’ve gotten rid of her.”

Cassian's jaw tightened, his fist instinctively knuckling up. He was seriously one second away from flying there and taking matters into his own hands.

“So I told her parents that she was marrying a well-off lord in the Day Court and that she’d be well taken care of, not that they really cared.”

“And, before you jump to conclusions, yes, I did ask her if I should take care of them for her, but she's not keen on the idea. She's way more merciful than I am. Y/n actually asked me to keep my father as the Master of Coin and, believe it or not, she told me not to kill them. According to her, it's better to let them live and witness her thriving one day. Quite the plot twist, no?” Rhysand smiled at your words, thankful that he had a friend to help him survive back in the city.

His smile faded as he remembered the 49 years he spent away from his family friends and city.

“I got her a house in Aetherian Crest, and she has lived there ever since, even during Amarantha’s reign. The only ones who know she exists are Feyre and, well, Nyx too, but he isn’t old enough to understand that.”

A shared laugh echoed through the room at the mention of Nyx, the thought of the little one adding a touch of warmth to the heavy conversation.

Cassian, still perplexed, glanced between Rhysand and the glass in his hand. He couldn't quite grasp what you worked on and the role you played in his life.

“She says to work for you. What exactly does she do, and why did you have her swear to secrecy with that bargain tattoo?” Cassian's irritation grew as he contemplated the idea of you engaging in something so dangerous that it required an irreversible oath.

Rhysand took a deep breath, sensing Cassian's increasing irritation.

“Y/n handles delicate matters, specializing in extracting information from people. Her bubbly personality and openness make it easy for others to confide in her. Y/n oversees a team, playing a crucial role in our court. She chooses to stay hidden because she doesn’t want the weight of our responsibilities. The intel she gathers is extremely essential; I pass it on to Azriel, who acts based on her information. You know those thrilling missions you love so much? Many are based on her information. She is absolutely irreplaceable and knows everything about every court. I made her swear the same oath that you all have sworn for the protection of Velaris.”

Cassian was stunned, yet it all made perfect sense. It dawned on him that he had shared his childhood and spilled secrets to you in just a few weeks. It had taken him centuries to truly open up to the inner circle, and here you were, extracting information within a matter of days. You were so smooth; he hadn't even noticed it happening. Your ability to weave into his life seamlessly left him both amazed and, oddly, more enamored with you.

It would be insulting to express surprise. Cassian had a hunch that you were doing something extraordinary; he just didn't know the specifics. Now that he had the full picture, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride and admiration, realizing that you were even more remarkable than he had initially thought, if that was even possible.

“What? You thought we only had boring study sessions together? Me and Selene taught her how to spy, just the basics of listening for information; the rest is all her.” Rhysand snorted, raising an amused brow at Cassian while taking a sip of his drink.

Cassian sat back, absorbing the revelation. A mix of awe and admiration colored his expression.

“Damn,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on Rhysand. “I didn't know all this about her. Rhys, I'm proud of her. More than I thought possible. Fuck, I’m falling even harder for her, if that's even possible.”

Rhysand chuckled at Cassian's reaction and clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations on the bond, brother. You'll find you fall for her in ways you never imagined. It's normal when you're bonded, trust me. The other day, Feyre showed me a new move she had practiced and I fell even harder.”

With a shared laugh, Rhysand and Cassian returned to the gathering, joining you and the others for dinner. The weight of revelations lingered but was set aside for the warmth of camaraderie, good company, and a meal shared among friends.

—

As he explained that the friends you had come to see were Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle, a blush crept onto your cheeks. The realization hit you – you had interacted with them so casually, forgetting for a moment that they were the most significant figures in the Night Court. But they were so nice to you, so did it really matter that you talked about ideal sex positions with the girls?

Seated at the dinner table, everyone enjoyed the meal together. You found yourself leaning into Cassian, the atmosphere around the table filled with laughter, shared stories, and the comforting feeling of being among friends.

Azriel had been sneaking glances at you, not really making much conversation, but occasionally cracked a dry joke or expressed his opinion on topics when asked. He found you interesting, not anything scandalous, he just knew there was more to you, his spymaster instincts picking up a mysterious vibe from you.

Amren just looked at you from head to to, nodding with a tiny movement, one you almost missed, and kept to herself the entire dinner, disappearing the second the food was gone.

Elain had been the most welcoming and openly discussed similar interests with you. She seemed to bond with you the most, appreciating your shared interests. You found her adorable and had complimented everything from her dress and hair to the flowers she planted on the table.

Later, in the sitting room, you and Cassian settled on the sofa, and Elain sat across the room. Eager to chat with her, you sauntered over, sitting extremely close.

Leaning in, you began, “Elain, I find you really, really cute. You remind me of a deer; I love them, they’re so adorable. And i heard tou killed the king of hybern. You’re soo brave!! ” Your words hung in the air, creating a bit of a nervous atmosphere, but Elain let out a small giggle at the proximity and the compliment.

“Ohh, thanks. You’re very pretty too. I like the bows in your hair. And it was nothing really, just protected my sisters.”

Your eyes widened at her cute stutter and the way she squirmed. Gods, she was sooo cute you thought you were gonna die!! You so desperately wanted to be friends with her.

You smiled at her one last time, leaving her with a pounding heart and a nervous smile. You skipped happily back to Cassian who looked mighty amused, ready to enjoy the rest of the evening with his mate.

—

Later during the evening, your arms wrapped around his massive bicep. Leaning your head on it, the warmth of the meal making you sleepy, you scooted closer to Cassian, placing both of your legs on one of his thighs as you rested on his arm.

In that moment, safety, warmth, and reassurance radiates from your mate.

“Cassie, I wanna sleep. M'soooo tired,” you mumbled against his warm skin. His rich laughter rumbled through his body, making you smile like a fool.

Holy fuck, you were so in love with him.

“It’s okay, baby. Do you want me to fly us back to your home or do you want to sleep in my old room?”

You perked up at the thought of seeing his old bedroom, filled with everything that defined him.

“Yes, please! Your old bedroom sounds super cool. Can't wait to see it. And, you know, maybe I could blow you or something?” you said, mundane, as if you were discussing the weather or the latest book you read

Honestly, like, who even cares if anyone hears you talking? It's totally okay to wanna please your mate, right? Ugh, people and their silly fucking rules, it was driving you crazy. If you wanna announce to the world that Cassian fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, then you totally should, no questions asked!

Giggles and laughs filled the room at your crude comment, everyone a bit tipsy after several bottles of wine were shared between you.

—

Cassian's strong and sturdy body carried you on his back as he gave you a piggyback ride through the house, providing a private tour before reaching his designated room in Rhysand's massive estate.

With your boobs pressed softly against his back, you tightened your arms around him, excitedly expressing your dirty wishes for what you wanted to do together.

His arousal was evident as his pants tightened around his cock.

His heart craved to cherish you eternally, eager to bring you joy in every way possible. In this short time, Cassian found himself wholeheartedly falling for you. Filled with a urgency, he yearned to share just how much you meant to him and the extraordinary lengths he'd go, wrapped in those three words and eight letters.

But life wasn’t a fairytale, especially his.

His body froze in shock as he swung open the door, completely taken aback by the unexpected sight of his old lover standing in the middle of his room. Her hands fidgeted nervously before a palpable wave of hatred emanated from her eyes as she shifted her gaze towards you, intensifying the unexpected and shocking nature of her visit.

You, still on top if Cassian, missed the tension in the air as he locked eyes with his old lover. The atmosphere crackled with unresolved emotions.

Cassian, with you still on his back, shifted uncomfortably, trying to gauge the situation.

He took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the unexpected encounter. “Nesta,” he said her name with a forced calmness that couldn't hide the turmoil beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

Nesta's lips curled into a bitter smile, and her gaze never wavered. “I heard you found someone new. Thought I'd see what kind of female you thought could replace me.”

Your heart raced, realizing the depth of the history between them. The room felt charged with a mixture of tension and heartache.

“Cassie, who is she?”

You hopped down, stepping back, a rush of emotions hitting you as you witnessed a scene too familiar. Many before had desired to take you to bed but had never chosen commitment, leaving you with a lingering sense of being used and discarded.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel the weight of past disappointments. Praying to every god, you desperately hoped this wasn't another painful chapter repeating itself.

Cassian wouldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t fuck you and toss you aside for a past flame, right?

You were utterly convinced that he couldn’t change that quickly.

So why did doubt and fear take root in you?

And why did his hand tense and curl in when you tried to touch it?

🏷️ taglist: @just-a-social-casualty-1 @wallacewillow0773638 @dominika20hella10black @pinksmellslikelove @hellsenthero @val-writesstuff @paasrin

[dippedinmelancholy]

TW: Discussions of SA, consequences, and shit men interacting with women who have been sexually abused. I've been toying with this for a while, trying to find the answer for it on my own but I just can't seem to. Why does SJM treat SA so horrendously? All of her series have this underlying theme feminism, finding your strength, fighting back, ect. Which, on the surface, is amazing. Except multiple women have histories of either straight up SA'd or have endured something that is very much an allegory of SA. Lydia - CC3 Lydia is repeatedly SA'd by her partner, something she doesn't fight back against as it's part of her double agent business. This is an on screen example of very near martial rape. He's violent with her, only put off by her monthly cycle. Ruhn gets hints of it, but there's no denying his knowledge of her pain and her many years of abuse. The first time he and Lydia connect as a couple sexually, despite having this knowledge, he shows her no softness. Lydia herself has no issue with this. There's no sensual connection, no refutal that they don't need sex to care for one another, they don't need sex to seal their relationship. No character development for Ruhn who up to this point has been a borderline sex crazed frat boy. The sex is intense, and though it lacks hard violence, the undertones of ferocity are there. Nesta - ACOSF

Nesta is a victim of SA, something only Cassian has picked up clues on. First, she is assaulted by her fiance of the time. Then, she is violently assaulted by the Cauldron, because she fights back. If she had been a "good girl" and just taken the Cauldron's attention rather than fight back and try to escape, her abuse would not have been so bad, something that very easily and so very clearly translates to real world victims. Then, she is assaulted by the Kelpie. He wishes to make her his "bride", dragging her to a watery death where dozens of women before have died as well. It isn't spelled out for us, but any person with two brain cells can put it together. What do monstrous men do with their brides? What is the role and purpose of a bride? He too assaults her, and plans to rape her. Then, she encouters Lanthys who plans to make her his Queen to rule the world, and forces images into her mind, showing her exactly how he will take and taste her body. Four moments of sexual assault. Three from other worldly, mind breaking evil entities. The Cauldron is just as vile as the other two, corrupted by the Asteri and taking pleasure in hurting Nesta. Again, again, again, Cassian is confronted with instances of Nesta being violated. Again, again, again, he knows the way she has been sexually assaulted, sees how she tries to cope and fails horribly. And yet, how does every sexual encounter go? He is intense. He is borderline violent sexually, though he'd never raise a hand to her. He has no care to give her softness. He practically punishes her for calling it "just sex" despite her being a 20 something scared woman who's never had an impactful relationship where her body wasn't something to be traded and yielded like a fortune of gold, and him being a 500 yr old man who is supposedly supposed to understand women and be more emotionally mature/understanding than Rhysand or Azriel. The men, Fenris/Rhysand - ToG

Fenris and Rhysand too suffer from SA, both from the hands of powerful, cruel mistresses they are "serving" to protect someone they love. These two men are granted space to hurt, to cry, to not know what they want. The fandom in turn is soft with them. The text is sexually soft with Rhysand, though there's no sexual focus with Fenris (which is completely fine, his friendship with Aelin is powerful enough to me). Feyre is soft and understanding with Rhysand, as she should be, yet I can't help but notice this very obvious and stark difference. The Difference

Why are the women treated and written this way? Why are they given no softness, no space to not know what they want? Why are they not given partners who have the bare minimum sense to not rail them like a pornstar? As a victim of SA myself, I'm very much in favor of women reclaiming their sexuality and finding power in it. But there's no journey for these women, no healing. They simply are 'fine' in every sexual moment for their partners, because why would a woman be anything but a wet, willing hole for their partners? Moments after Cassian breaks Nesta wholly, when she was seconds away from jumping from the side of a cliff, he fucks her. She breaks down, sobbing and utterly alone, abused emotionally and physically by HIS HAND, and he fucks her. He tells her it will be fine because he suffered hundreds of years ago, and look, he's great! After all, half of the fandom collectively agrees Nesta should be grateful for being boiled alive, retorn and violated on every possible level. All because she happens to be cruel at times, she isn't a perfect victim, and why should she have any pain when Cassian is right there? All that matters is his wet cock.

There is a constant underlying theme here, across all of the series, all focused on the women, and an obvious opinion and writing habit. If you brush this off as 'it's just a book', I would like to remind you that most of the ACOTAR fanbase are women, young women who are often in their first or second relationship and just now understanding what they should accept in their relationships. It makes me very concerned for Gwyn, who has the most violent and tragic SA history. It makes me concerned for all women who don't see the underlying issues here. At it's core though, it just makes me sad.