#lucien x king of hybern

[shadowqueenjude]

I can't get over how shippable Lucien is. Man could slap with literally ANYONE. The Archeron sisters- I already made a post about this, but every single pairing is amazing. Feycien? The chaotic younger-sibling duo Elucien? Our favorite sunshine regency life of the party duo Lucnes? OMG. OUR TRAUMATIZED WORLD DOMINATION DUO Tamcien? Dude, the best friend duo omg. Tarquin and Lucien? our nice boy duo. NICEST GUYS IN THE SERIES Lucien and Rhysand? Our enemies-to-lovers duo (even if I hate Rhys) Lucien and Cassian? Our sassy duo (even if I hate Cas) Lucien and Azriel? All this sexual tension...they're using Elain as a buffer between them babes. We all thought of Luzriel in that moment Azriel carried him, don't lie (even if I hate Az) Lucien and Nuan? Our smart bestie duo! Lucien and Amren? She already called him the handsome son, so... Lucien and Mor? (ok this one might be awkward cuz she fucked his dad) Revenge on Az duo! Lucien and Vassa? The fire duo! Lucien and Jurian? The eye duo! Lucien and the KING OF HYBERN? He called him handsome too, just saying...

[clockwork-ashes]

Something Lonesome - Part I (as we know it)

Read also on Ao3 :)

Summary: Elain dies when she’s thrown into the cauldron, but she doesn’t stay dead for long. Over and over, again and again, something brings her back, and every time she finds her way to Lucien.

Note: This is a romance, but it’s also just a story about Elain. There will be a happy ending <3 Also, completely dedicated to the lovely @nocasdatsgay because I have so many ideas and every time I yell them into the tumblr void (the tags) she has something nice to say <3

Elain screamed as her foot hit the water. 

No words fell from her lips, not as terror gripped her like a vice. It felt as though she had stepped onto a frozen lake, the surface so cold that it burned her bare skin.

Elain kicked at the guards as they hauled her forward, her neck twisting painfully as she tried to capture the king’s attention. 

Pretty, he’d called her. Perhaps it would be enough to spare her life, Elain thought. Beauty had always been the best of her qualities, a weapon she’d been taught to wield even before she’d been old enough to understand it fully. 

Smile, sweetheart. 

Her mother would say. 

Women are always lovelier when they’re happy. 

Elain wanted to rip out the king’s throat with her teeth. He kept his dark gaze on Feyre, taking her sister in with an ancient amusement. She remained unseen, desperation clawing at her throat as a sense of familiarity washed over her. 

Something tugged gently onto her rib, a thread being pulled. Elain’s eyes were drawn to the handsome lord who had ultimately betrayed them. His voice had been rich as gold and sweet as hone  when he’d demanded the guards stop. 

He’d surged towards her, staggered as he’d attempted to reach out. Magic had leashed him next to the High Lord of Spring, pinning him in place, useless. Elain tracked the vicious scar that cut across his features, a cracked piece of glass that had not broken completely.   

He looked horrified, expression pained as he refused to turn away from the sight before him. 

Lucien. 

Elain couldn’t remember when she’d learned his name, but she was certain that if she called out to him, he would respond. She knew it just as surely as she knew herself. 

Stay.   

The word was written all over his face, an echo in her mind just as she felt her heart shatter. She couldn’t breathe, her body unable to comprehend what had occurred. She felt the same, and yet entirely different. She was not given the time to examine the sudden shift, no chance to analyse what it might mean. 

In a single movement, Elain was shoved carelessly into the Cauldron’s whirling waters. She gasped, tasting blood on her tongue. Her limbs were pulled in opposite directions by phantom hands, joints groaning at the pressure. Skin peeled back like tree bark, revealing the white bone beneath. 

Elain witnessed none of it. There was a golden thread keeping her from sinking, looped around her ring finger, bright as the sun. The darkness danced along the edges of her vision, her curls floating in a blurred mess around her. 

Old friend.

Recognition flashed in Elain’s mind, and she reached for it. As if she were threading her hands through a field of grass, the gesture was enough to ease her nerves, rhythmic. 

Wait a moment longer.

Everything seemed to pause, the world no longer spinning. A sense of calm lingered, the silence lovely. 

Please. 

Elain felt light. Ripped apart, but she was tenderly being put back together. Apology and understanding was a soft caress as the water rippled. It felt like an eternity, time endless like the Cauldron she had been forced into. 

She shut her eyes, but the darkness had already begun to ease back. It trickled like a stream until everything was crystal clear. Elain could see the elegant pearl of her engagement ring, the gemstone dull in comparison to the golden thread coiled around her finger. 

The universe tilted, and Elain allowed the waters to carry her back. She’d nearly forgotten about the throne room, had hoped for a moment she would have returned to the false safety of her home. 

The tiles were warm in comparison to the Cauldron, Elain thought, her cheek pressing uncomfortably against the smooth surface as she regained feeling in her arms and legs. She pushed herself onto her elbows, tremors making her unsteady. 

Elain breathed in sharply. 

Nesta was next, she knew. She could hear the howl of anger her sister roared in response, the king speaking as well but her ears couldn’t make out the words.

“Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—”

She caught only Lucien’s sentence, anger in his tone as a flash of sunlight flared in the large space. It reflected prettily against the black water on the tile, golden like the strange thread that had slowly begun to fade. It swirled like a winding river on a hand drawn map, one end leading to Lucien as he knelt like a knight in front of her. 

Elain winced, shoulders curling inwards just as he draped his jacket onto her trembling form. She pulled back, staring at the brown skin of his throat. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, not even as she heard the guards throw a still thrashing Nesta into the Cauldron. 

Lucien pulled Elain into his arms and she fell onto his chest clumsily. Ice water poured around her feet, but the coat kept her warm. The thick fabric smelled like fresh apples and early mornings, throwing her into memories of summer days spent gardening beneath a cloudless sky. 

Elain breathed in, comforted instantly despite what had been done to her. She tucked her chin beneath the collar, using it as a makeshift shield in order to hide from her surroundings. 

Lucien kept a respectful hand between her shoulder blades, and Elain was aware of the heat of his palm leaking through the material.

Nesta slammed into them roughly, undeterred by those watching, unbelievably brave in the face of what they’d just suffered. Elain felt slender fingers grab onto her waist, pulling as she snarled at Lucien. “Get off her!”

Elain slipped when he moved back, but Nesta’s grip was unforgiving. Her sister sobbed, the sound heart wrenching but not capturing her attention as it normally would have. 

If Nesta or Feyre had cried as children, Elain could never stop herself from doing the same. She’d always felt their pain, caring to the point where it became embarrassing. A desperate hand ran over her still wet hair, almost as though Nesta was checking to make sure they were both still alive, the touch grounding. 

Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder, though, eyes locked onto a mismatched pair. She gazed up at him, close enough for her to hold onto if she wished. She heard the rapidly beating rhythm of his heart, thunderous in her ears. 

Lucien’s voice broke like waves against the shore as he whispered. “You’re my mate.”

[lady-sunbeam]

Rare Jewel

Summary: After the war, Feyre encourages Elain to invite Lucien to Velaris. Lucien wants permission from the lady herself. Elain wants Lucien to come to Velaris, but it's difficult to speak when he's washing her hands.

Lucien Vanserra was exhausted. 

There was nothing jarring about the realization; he so often was – in Autumn, he’d been at constant war with sleep, permanent or otherwise, and Spring served to rejuvenate and distract himself from the screaming in his nightmares right up until Amarantha sank her teeth into Prythian and his eye. Feyre came along and, for a time, he found hope that they might be free, and in that freedom, he found a friend, mortal and fleeting though she was, but as he was currently headed towards the Night Court’s cropping of tents, Spring was yet another failed avenue. And as for Night, he would consider its name quite the misnomer. Rest was in short supply. 

How could he rest with his mate just down the hallway, attuned to every beat of his heart? When at last he was needed, he ran, and prayed rest came with it. He ran as he always did, but now bore something to show for it: ships, Vassa, and the father of his mate. 

The father, who, as luck would have it, died. 

Elain was closest to her father of all her sisters, Lucien thought, or at least the most forgiving, and so he walked alongside her with nothing to say beyond meaningless platitudes he could not dole out upon a female he so longed for. Being anywhere near her was a dream, or would have been, and he still thought that perhaps it was but a mirage, down to the very smell of her – Elain in Winter Court armor, hair like caramel pulled back in shimmering sheets from her soft, lovely face. Radiant as the sun, even with her flushed skin hidden beneath splattered mud and gore. 

“Would you mind terribly if I visited Velaris now and then?” 

Her brown eyes, round and large and framed with long, full lashes, fixed upon him quizzically. Once, they’d been entirely vacant, spurring him to spend his nights bent over low tables in the library in search of some way, any way, to help her, going so far as to write various entreaties to the courts of Day and Dawn. He would have done so for an eternity. But here, standing before him, a glimpse of the woman she was and the female she had become returned, shining with vivacity. “I extended an invitation, did I not?” 

Heat flared up from the base of his neck to the roots of his hair. “Feyre – well, in a sense, Feyre did. I’d like your permission, assuming that’s not too forward, my Lady.” 

“I don’t own the Night Court.” Elain sidled closer as the encampment neared, the black tents like cragged mountains. Wounded soldiers screamed and pleaded from within; a shiver rocked her spine. “But were you to visit, as is your right. . .” she glanced up at him with an openness he’d yet to see. Still cautious, a bit guarded, yet his knees wobbled, “. . . you might consider calling upon the townhouse.” 

Lucien fisted his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to touch the small of her back, feel her warmth radiating through her armor. She walked ahead of him into a tent that towered over the others surrounding it, the fabric black as ink and the inside shimmering like stars, lit by a lantern near the bed. The Morrigan stood inside already, wetting a rag in the ewer. A small smile touched her face at the sight of them – at Elain, more than likely. 

“Lucien,” she murmured coolly, and at once, he knew he’d been correct, as he tended to be in this instance. His eldest brother’s reputation preceded him, blazes that ran across Prythian and burned down his path. “Good to see you survived.” 

“Was there any doubt?” 

Like a wraith, Elain drifted towards the ewer, clasping her slender hands. Morrigan excused herself with another gentle smile towards Elain and assurance of her pride regarding the King; Elain, to her ever-increasing credit, did not shrink back from the death on her hands. 

When the flap of the tent closed behind Rhysand’s Third and they were bathed in gentle shadows, Lucien joined Elain, reaching for a cloth to scrub his hands. Blood pooled into the water like ink, like shadows, and Elain’s eyes jumped from them to him as she whispered, “I killed him.” 

“So you did, Lady.” His eyes caught movement and drifted to where she worked helplessly at dried blood beneath her nails. Holding his breath, Lucien extended a hand to help, leaving his palm face up between them. Only when she settled her hand in his with a soft intake of breath and he began working the grime from her did he continue. “And from what I’ve heard, you did so very well.” From what little snippets he’d been so privileged as to catch, he corrected himself. 

“I did as any one of you would have done.” 

“You’ve not killed before.” He said it simply, almost absently, so focused on caring for her skin. Her nails were clean now, but he held her for a moment longer, turning over her hands and peering at each individual finger for gore, for minute injuries he could not stand to leave behind. “It’s a wonder you didn’t choke.” 

Elain caught his eye from under a curtain of fiery hair. Metal whirred and clicked softly in the silence between them. “I did not choke because I wasn’t thinking. And as for killing, I should not like to do so again.” 

“That’s quite all right.” Huffing a soft laugh, Lucien retrieved a fresh rag and gently massaged her hands, praying they’d dry slowly. It was the most she’d been willing to grant him to date, and tomorrow, when she woke and clarity revealed to her what a disaster she was, they’d be right back to sparse glances and three-word sentences every few months. The ever-present pain in his chest pulsed at the thought. “There are plenty of killers among us, my Lady. If you should choose to be otherwise, you’d be a rare jewel, indeed.” As if she were not rare already, as if she was not the loveliest, most stunning female he’d ever seen. My Lady, my Lady, my Lady. It was the closest he would allow himself to saying her name. 

She faced him fully and struck him stupid as her small hand retracted from his, soft fingers soothing over centuries’ worth of hurt as they slid across his skin. “You’ve traveled Prythian, yes? I cannot be so rare as you say.” 

Elain’s mouth was full and warm and all sorts of things he couldn’t think about now, not when she looked up at him with such wide, bright eyes that searched his own for an answer as if she trusted him and did not consider the golden machine whirring in his eye socket something to fear. 

“You are. . . incredibly rare, my Lady. One of a kind.” 

Her gaze drifted down to his hands like falling leaves. Conviction strengthened her voice as it had not while walking to the tent. “You could come to Velaris, Emissary. You could come to the townhouse.” 

“I will. Whenever you – and the rest of the Night Court, of course – have want of me.” 

The string tied around his rib went taught, a sharp tug yanking him towards her hard enough he yielded a step, the golden specks in those lovely eyes clear as a rushing river. Yet Elain was impassive, watching him with careful consideration. “Whenever you come, we’ll have you. You might – you might consider telling us of all the. . . gardens you’ve seen in Prythian and how. . .” she heaved a trembling breath, averting her eyes to the ground, where his boots seemed incredibly interesting, “. . . how the gardens in Velaris compare.” 

“I’m sure they are breathtaking, Lady.” He might have mentioned her hand in creating them, or her beauty and how, in comparison to her, any garden would pale, but she was shaking, and a flush flooded her face all the way to her hairline, so he said a tad softly, “And when my time to leave Velaris comes, I might ask for someone to accompany me to Day. I’ve yet to see much of the solar courts.” 

A shock threw him back. Her hand was in his, soft and warm and so impossibly small. “Will you walk me to my tent?” 

He tightened his grip on her fingers, lest she disappear in a passing breeze. “Of course.” 

In companiable, unsteady silence, they walked, snow crunching under boots until he loosed just a bit of flame to melt the path ahead of her. Elain didn’t appear to mind snow terribly, but her pert nose was tipped red as if nipped and he couldn’t imagine the wrath that should befall him from the High Lady were he to endanger her sister, much less the hatred within in his own self sure to suffocate him just as soon as Elain suffered. 

Her tent sat next to the High Lord and Lady of Night’s, mercifully and considerately surrounded by a ward. Elain stopped right at the entrance to look down at where their hands joined, her thumb daring a small pass across his golden skin. Lucien shuddered. Did she know the power she held over his head as if it were an axe, and he the poor accused. Her fingers were pale and cold against his skin, and he sent from his hands to hers a pulse of warmth. 

“I am glad you are alive,” she murmured, her voice a whisper of hope cutting through all the aches in his head, “Lucien.” 

He was struck down by the sound of his wretched name upon her lovely lips, and for a moment, he existed without his family, without Beron. He was only Lucien, and from her it was something beautiful, something longed for aimlessly over centuries rather than a sense of nothingness and bitterness, and he raised his head from her mouth to meet her eyes and beg to come to Velaris with her straight from the battlefield, but she was gone, the tent flap waving in the wind and her scent lingering in his nose, wrapped around him like a coat of armor.

[love-and-books320]

"Elain is boring" "Elain's annoying"

okay. stop. no. Elain is the best character. Let me explain. Elain has THE MOST hoes out of anyone in ACOTAR. Greyson, literally proposed to her. Lucien, continues to be nice to her and buy her presents after being rejected. Azriel, literally got over his 500 YEAR LONG CRUSH because she smiled at him or something. The caldron gave her a piece of itself in the form of powers, just because it thought she was cute. Even Rhys. who hates Nesta for making a young Feyre hunt for her--which ELAIN ALSO DID--loves Elain.

She's cleaning up both the mortal and the fae world. She's not even trying and she's adored. Actually, that's not true. I feel like she tries more than anyone to be liked and maintain her innocent reputation, even though she probably doesn't feel innocent after everything she's been through. This makes her such a real and interesting character.

ALSO.... ELAIN KILLED A MAN???? THE MOST POWERFUL MAN(male, fae, whatever) IN ALL OF HISTORY?????? HOW ARE WE IGNORING THIS?

I got so frustrated in ACOSF when Nesta was bitching about everyone praising her for killing Hybern(I still love Nesta tho, don't come for me). Because Yes. Nesta helped kill him and seriously slowed and wounded him. but Elain KILLED him. She was the one who stuck the knife(Truthteller because I believe that this was symbolism that Elriel quite literally slays) through his throat. Nesta was on the ground, cuddling her boyfriend, content to die. Elain killed Hybern.

In conclusion this fandom better start showing Elain a hell of a lot more respect and get absolutely phsyced for her book in January.

[ghostedgrim]

WHY DID NO ONE WARN ME THE ENDING OF ACOMAF WOULD BE SO INTENSE!!!

Feyre the queen that you are! Nesta the fucking badass you are!

FUCK YOU Tamlin!

FUCK YOU Human queens! (Except for the 1 who gave Rhys and Feyre the book. Rip)

Lucien, I love you, but you have a whole can of ass whooping coming your way!

Hybern, Jurian, yall ugly.

I'm so worried for the spring court man!

Also, what is with SJM's obsession with referring to men and women in the book as almost purely male, and female? Like... eh?

Any good places where I can buy the books second hand?

[rachelfallonmcd]

Quintessence Chapter 38 “A Sister’s Rescue”

[velarisdusk]

Beneath the Vines

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

word count: 6.7k content: [ explicit sexual content, sex pollen (so, dub-con), unprotected PIV, public sex (forest setting), language, rough sex, biting/marking ] summary: Seeking refuge from court politics in a secluded part of the forest, Lucien meets a female from the Summer Court searching for a hidden spring. He offers to guide her, but their journey takes an unexpected turn when he comes into contact with a mysterious pollen... author's note: this idea has been cooking in the back of my mind since i finished the first book back in december, so i'm happy to finally share it :) writing some of his lines and the narration had me swooning i love him your honor ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

Lucien let out a long breath as the sounds of the court faded behind him. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the forest floor with warm patches that shifted in the gentle breeze. He closed his eyes, focusing on the soft rustling of branches and distant birdsong. It was rare to find such quiet moments, free from the constant dance of court politics and expectations. As the tension in his shoulders slowly eased, Lucien allowed his thoughts to wander, no longer needing to guard every expression and word. 

His brow furrowed as he mulled over the latest reports from their border scouts. Hybern was growing bolder, their movements more frequent and less concealed. He’d tried to discuss it with Tamlin, but the High Lord seemed more concerned with maintaining the illusion of peace, instead focusing his people and efforts on the upcoming Calanmai festivities. 

A twig snapped beneath Lucien’s boot as he began to pace. Rumors were swirling through the courts. Whispers of Hybern’s king sending one of his most cunning generals to Prythian. Amarantha, they called her. The name tasted like ash on his tongue. 

He paused, leaning against a tree trunk, its rough bark grounding him. How long could the Spring Court afford to turn a blind eye? How long before the fragile peace between the courts shattered under the weight of this looming threat? Lucien’s gaze swept across the peaceful forest, so at odds with the turmoil in his mind. He’d seen firsthand how quickly alliances could shift, how devastating the fallout could be. This time, he vowed silently, he’d be prepared. Whatever storm was coming, he’d do everything in his power to ensure Spring weathered it. 

His ears pricked at the sound of rustling leaves, followed by the snap of a twig. In an instant, his posture changed from relaxed to alert. His hand flew to the dagger at his hip, drawing it in one fluid motion as he spun towards the source of the noise, russet eyes scanning the brush.

A figure emerged from behind a large oak, and Lucien found himself face to face with a female High Fae. She froze, eyes wide, clearly not expecting to encounter anyone else in this secluded part of the forest. Lucien’s grip on his dagger loosened slightly as he took in the unexpected sight before him. The female stood there, clearly startled, holding a woven tote bag over one shoulder. Her hair flowed slightly in the wind, and she wore a sheer, cream-colored crochet cover-up that did little to conceal the black swimsuit underneath. The ensemble was revealing for a trek through the forest. 

“Sorry to interrupt, kind sir,” she said sarcastically. “Just passing through.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“How could you possibly know that? You don’t even—”

“You’re looking for the spring, right? It’s not that way.” He gestured to his left, far ahead. “It’s hidden, and not in the direction you were headed.”

She crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. “And you know this because…?”

Lucien chuckled softly. “Because I’ve spent more time exploring these woods than I’d like to admit.”

She started walking off in the direction he signaled, and he jogged a bit to keep pace with her. “I can show you the way, if you’d like.”

After a moment’s hesitation, came a shrug and a nonchalant response. “Alright, lead the way then.”

He didn’t try to hide his smirk at her casual demeanor. 

As they fell into step together, he couldn’t help but notice the graceful way she moved across the uneven forest floor. He broke the silence after a moment.

“You’re not from the Spring Court, are you?” he asked, his tone light and teasing. 

Her lips formed a small smile. “Is it that obvious? I’m visiting from the Summer Court. I heard tales of the hidden natural springs here and couldn’t resist seeking them out,” she replied. “And the heat wave made the idea of a cool spring irresistible.”

Summer, he mused. She had a brightness about her, a warmth that seemed out of place in the cool shade of the forest.

He chuckled. “Well, you’re in for a treat. Just beyond those trees over there, through the vines. I must admit, Summer, you certainly know how to find the most intriguing places.”

She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “‘Summer’?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “Seems fitting for a female as radiant as yourself.”

An eye roll failed to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her soft lips. 

“I’m Lucien,” he said, extending his hand with his palm up. 

She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand gently in his. “(Y/N),” she replied, her eyes meeting his with a spark of curiosity and amusement. 

“A pleasure, Summer,” Lucien said, his voice low and smooth. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across the back of it.

She laughed, a melodic sound that seemed to blend with the sounds of spring around them. “Nice to meet you too, Lucien.”

He lingered for a moment, their hands still lightly clasped, before finally releasing her. “Shall we?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes twinkling with intent. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Their conversation flowed easily as they walked, with Lucien pointing out various plants and sharing tidbits about them.

“What’s this one?” she asked, pointing to a vibrant blue flower.

“That’s moonbloom. It only opens at night, used in sleeping draughts,” Lucien explained, pleased by her interest.

“And that? The tree with the silver bark?”

“Whisperwood. The Court’s best instruments are carved from it.”

Their exchange continued, with Lucien sharing more about the flora they passed. Eventually, he turned the conversation to her.

“Tell me about the Summer Court. I’ve spent some time there, though I suspect there’s always more to learn.”

“It’s vibrant and full of life. There are endless festivities, stunning beaches, and exquisite food. I may be biased but of all the courts I’ve visited, Summer definitely has the best cuisine. People are already preparing for the solstice even though it’s barely March.” A soft sigh. “But… the constant activity, the heat… it can be a bit overwhelming.”

Time seemed to slip away as they walked, the forest around them a lush backdrop to their discussion. Eventually, they reached a curtain of vines hanging between two ancient trees. 

Lucien stepped forward gently parting the greenery. A fine, glittering pollen dusted his hand as he brushed against the vines. He blinked, momentarily disoriented by a sudden rush of warmth through his body, but he attributed it to the day’s heat. 

"After you," he said, holding the vines open with a slight bow, trying to shake off the lightheadedness.

Amusement and appreciation danced in her eyes, accompanied by a warm smile as she stepped through the vines. Lucien followed, letting the vines fall back into place behind them. As they walked, a sweet scent filled his senses — warm vanilla mingled with honey and a hint of sea salt. He found himself inhaling deeply, drawn to the aroma.

As they rounded a large boulder, the spring came into view, its serene beauty unfolding before them. The sight before them was breathtaking. A lush, verdant oasis spread out in a natural amphitheater, encircled by towering trees draped with cascading vines. The milky white pool at the center was fed by a small, delicate waterfall, its gentle cascade a soothing murmur that filled the air. Vibrant moss cloaked the surrounding rocks and tree roots, forming an ethereal green expanse that stretched to the water’s edge. Exotic flowers in vibrant hues dotted the landscape, their colors a stark contrast to the predominantly green surroundings. Above, the canopy formed a natural dome, with sunlight filtering through the intricate patterns of leaves, casting a magical glow over the alcove. 

"It's beautiful," her words were hardly more than a breath, eyes widening in genuine awe as she tentatively stepped deeper into the sanctuary.

Lucien nodded, his gaze drawn between the spring and his companion. "The minerals in the water give it that color," he explained, his voice taking on a rich, velvety quality that surprised even him. He cleared his throat and leaned against a tree, arms crossed. He watched as she  set her woven tote bag onto a nearby rock. Reaching over her shoulder to unfasten the tie of her cover-up, the delicate fabric slipped off her shoulders, revealing soft, smooth skin. The way the bikini she wore fit every dip and curve deliciously. His breath hitched as his russet eyes lingered on her, watching her with an intensity that surprised him. 

Flip flops discarded, she dipped a toe into the water, a shiver running up her spine as the coolness contrasted with the warm air. “Oh, that’s refreshing,” she murmured, taking a tentative step into the spring.

The water was unlike any she had ever felt, a soothing mixture of cool and silky, enveloping her in a comforting embrace. She fully submerged herself, the refreshing sensation washing over her as she disappeared beneath the surface. When she emerged, droplets of water clung to her skin, shimmering in the sunlight. 

A warmth spread through Lucien’s veins, his pulse quickening as he watched her. The way the sunlight played on her skin, highlighting the gentle curves and the elegance of her movements, captivated him. His thoughts grew hazy, his usually sharp focus dulled by the inexplicable urge to be closer to her. His gaze traced the line of her neck, watching as the breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. Every subtle shift, every graceful motion seemed to draw him in further. The serene pool and vibrant surroundings had practically faded, leaving only the mesmerizing vision of his Summer Court visitor before him. 

His…?

Lucien shook his head a bit, a useless attempt to rid himself of the growing intensity of his thoughts. It had to be the heat, it was getting to him. 

“You look hot,” she said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Lucien blinked, momentarily flustered as he took in the way her wet hair clung to her, the bathing suit now a shade darker and clinging to her curves. She looked exquisite, the milky white water droplets glistening on her skin like tiny jewels. “So do you, Summer,” he replied, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

She laughed, the sound like a light, bubbling brook. “I meant you’re dressed too warmly for this weather. Why don’t you join me and cool off?”

Lucien felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the weather. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, as he began to undress. His fingers deftly unfastened his tunic, revealing a chiseled chest and toned muscles beneath. The sunlight filtering through the leaves cast tantalizing shadows across his skin, highlighting every ridge and contour. 

As he shrugged off his tunic, he noticed the sticky pollen coating his hand. He tried to rub it off onto the fabric, but it clung stubbornly to his skin. He frowned slightly. No matter, it would come off in the water. 

He continued undressing, kicking off his boots and undoing his belt, letting it fall to the forest floor. As he slipped out of his trousers, now standing in just his boxers, he couldn’t help but notice her eyes following his every move.

Lucien caught her gaze and held it, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He had been watching her watch him the entire time, a fact she only realized when she tore her eyes away from his body and looked up to meet his gaze.

With deliberate grace, he stepped into the water, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat bubbling beneath his skin. The spring’s translucent white waters swirled around his calves as he waded deeper, his eyes never leaving hers. 

He finally submerged himself, the water rippling around him as he moved closer to her. “Better?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, the playful smirk returning to his lips.

She felt her pulse quicken, the sight of him, all muscle and smooth confidence, stirring something deep within her. “Much,” she replied, a smile playing at her lips. 

They floated together in the cool water, the soothing embrace of the spring relaxing their muscles. Lucien watched as she dipped her head back, letting her hair float around her like a halo. She closed her eyes, a look of pure bliss on her face.

“This place is incredible,” she said softly, her eyes still closed. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

Lucien smiled, his own tension easing in the tranquil atmosphere. “It’s one of the Spring Court’s hidden gems. Not many know about it.”

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a flicker of curiosity. “How did you find it?”

He shrugged, moving closer. “I stumbled upon it years ago, during a particularly stressful time. This general area of the forest has been my escape ever since.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the peaceful surroundings and the coolness of the water. Lucien felt a tingling heat spreading through his body, no longer the gentle warmth of before. His thoughts kept drifting back to the female in front of him, the way her skin glistened with water droplets, to the curve of her lips when she smiled. He wanted to feel those lips.

He tried to push the thoughts aside, but the more he tried to ignore it, the more intense it became, his desire for her was becoming harder to control, the need to touch her, to feel her against him, was almost overwhelming. 

“This spring is said to have unique properties,” he continued, his eyes lingering on her face, her eyes, her lips. “Some say that bathing in its waters can bring good fortune, or help with one’s artistic talents.” He chuckled softly. “But others speak of it being enchanted in a more intimate way.”

This provoked a turn of the head and a raised eyebrow, curiosity peaked. "Well, I never cared much for fortune, and I’m a sorry excuse for an artist,” she laughed softly. “So what have you heard? About the intimacies of the spring?” An almost knowing smile graced her lips. 

He swallowed, trying to cover it up with a nonchalant shrug. “They say,” he began, slowly, “that the waters can awaken one’s deepest desires. Enhance one’s… physical urges.”

She smirked at that. “Sounds to me like whoever came up with that got to this spring already horny,” she laughed. At the shit-eating grin on his face, her laughter grew infectious. “Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, playfully shoving his shoulder.

But the touch was searing. He hissed, a jolt of electricity shot through Lucien’s body, his skin burning where her fingers made contact. His pulse quickened, and he felt a raw, primal need flare up inside him. The laughter faded, replaced by a charged silence. Every muscle in his body tensed as he struggled to keep composed. 

“Lucien?” Concern laced her voice. She reached out for him, but he flinched away from her touch, bringing his hands up to stop her. Hurt flashed across her face until she noticed… “What’s that on your hand?”

She reached out again, but he pulled his hand back, glancing at the sticky pollen coating his skin. Suddenly, it clicked. He knew what this was, had heard tales of its effects but had never encountered it personally.

“It’s… it’s this pollen,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It must’ve been on the vines at the entrance. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together…”

A mix of curiosity and concern filled her eyes. “What does it do?”

Lucien took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could hear his heart thrumming in his ears and wanted nothing more in that moment than to throw himself at the female mere feet across from him. “The pollen is known to,” he pauses with a sigh, choosing his words carefully. “It causes arousal, an intense arousal, making it almost impossible to think about anything else. It heightens every sensation, makes my skin feel like it’s on fire whenever you touch me.” She could see his chest rising and falling more shallowly, could hear his breaths coming more rapidly, could see his pupils dilate each time he looked at her. He hesitantly added, “The only way to get rid of its effects is through… physical intimacy.”

Her eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on her. “You mean…?”

He nodded, though his regretful expression barely concealed his longing. “Yes, but don’t concern yourself. This isn’t your problem to solve,” he said, his voice strained yet resolute. “I’ll return home and find a way to… handle this. You’re under no obligation here.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched, clearly struggling with the pollen’s effects, but his eyes remained steady. “I apologize, it was careless of me not to recognize the signs sooner.”

With that, he turned, moving to exit the spring and retrieve his clothes. The cool water swirled around him as he took a step, but he felt a hand grasp his bicep, halting his retreat. The contact sent a shockwave of heat through his body, as if her hold would be permanently marked on the flesh there. His muscles coiled tightly beneath her touch, and he had to force himself to contain a whimper that threatened to escape his throat. Every sensation was amplified, transforming the simple gesture into an exquisite torment. He glanced back, his eyes darkening, surprise giving way to raw, unadulterated need. 

“It’s not such an inconvenience,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made his skin prickle with anticipation.

His eyes widened in surprise, but she rolled hers, a playful smirk forming on her lips. “Don’t act so surprised, Lucien.” His name on her tongue sent a jolt of arousal through him, and he only realized now how painfully constricted his cock was. “It’s obvious I want you, and I think you wanted me even before the pollen?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I did. I do.”

Her smirk turned into a gentle smile as she reached out again, tracing a finger down his chest. “So let me help you.”

Lucien’s body tensed, caught between desire and restraint. “Wait,” he said, his voice husky. As he spoke, his hand dipped beneath the water, fingers flexing unconsciously. “You should know… I’ve managed to control myself thus far, but if we continue…” He paused, swallowing hard, his voice dropping to a low, strained growl. “Once I feel you, I won’t be able to stop.”

His fingers curled into a fist underwater. Most of the visible pollen had washed away, leaving only faint traces on his skin, but its effects still coursed through his body. The cool water did nothing to dull the rush of his blood pumping in his ears. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he refocused on her, his eyes full of want. 

“The pollen… it’s mostly gone now,” he managed, his breath nothing more than rhythmic, short pants. “But it’s like it’s under my skin, in my blood. I can feel it everywhere.” He unclenched his fist, watching as the last remnants of the pollen dissipated into the vast pool, now diluted and rendered harmless. “You won’t be affected, but I…” His eyes bore into hers, desperation in his voice as he spoke, “I’m burning for you, (Y/N).”

With a tender smile, she closed the distance between them. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. Lucien's breath caught in his throat, her touch igniting sparks beneath his skin. His hands remained steadfast on the large stone submerged beneath the water behind him, as though touching her might shatter what fragile self-control he had left.

"It's okay," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips. "I've got you."

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his with exquisite softness. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a stark contrast to the fire raging within him. Lucien's eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by the sensation. Even in the cool water, heat radiated from his skin, and where her lips met his, it felt as though he might combust.

She drew back slightly, placing feather-light kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. Each touch was like a brand, marking him, stoking the flames of his desire. Seeing his hesitation, she gently guided his trembling hands to her waist. The sensation of her bare skin beneath her fingertips sent a shiver through him, and he instinctively bucked his hips against her, a long, deep whine escaping his lips like a plea. The sound shot straight to her core. 

"(Y/N)," he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips. 

A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. “Not ‘Summer’ anymore? I was starting to think you’d forgotten my name,” she spoke against his neck.

Lucien’s gaze was unfocused, looking at the vines on the other side of the spring, pupils dilated as he struggled to process her words. His breath came in short, ragged pants, and a fine tremor ran through his body. “Forget your name?” he murmured into her ear, his voice hoarse. Each word seemed to cost him great effort, as if speaking required immense concentration. “Darling, it’s the only word my mind can form right now.”

His fingers tightened on her waist, seeking an anchor as the world around him seemed to blur, leaving only her in sharp focus.

The gentleness of her actions was both a balm and a torment. His body screamed for more, for friction, for release from this exquisite agony. Yet he found himself surrendering to her pace, allowing her to lead him through this intoxicating haze. 

She returned to his lips, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. Lucien responded with a low moan, the sound vibrating through both of them. The gentle waves of the spring embraced them, their cool touch contrasting with the heat building between them, intensifying every sensation.

Without breaking the kiss, Lucien’s hands tightened on her waist, subtly guiding them towards a shallower part of the water. He felt the solid presence of a smooth, submerged stone beneath him and sank down onto it, pulling her closer. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his, pressing her body against his so deliciously that he couldn’t help it when his hips bucked up hard against hers. She gasped in surprise, the sound mingling with their shared breath.

“I’m sorry, I—” he began, but she silenced him by grinding down onto him, her movements deliberate and slow, a wordless reassurance that sent yet another pulse of need crashing through him. His mind spun, every point of contact between them sent his nerves into a frenzy. Her skin felt like silk under his fingers, warm and inviting. He let his hands roam, tracing the curve of her back, feeling the subtle shift of muscles beneath her skin. The way she moved against him, the soft gasps and moans escaping her lips, were a symphony that played directly into the hot coil within him. His hands wandered further, exploring every inch of her, committing the feel of her to memory. He caressed her sides, ran his fingers along the edges of her swimsuit. His touch was gently yet firm, reflecting his reverence for her as well as the uncontrollable hunger that coursed through him. 

But it wasn’t enough. The burning within him grew fiercer with each passing second. He needed more, craved more. The sensation of her grinding against him was driving him to the edge of sanity. It was sweet torture, the ache of unfulfilled need becoming almost unbearable. Lucien’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body screaming for more, for release — demanding it. The longing was a physical pain, a fire that consumed him from the inside out. 

“Please,” he groaned, his voice rough and low, a powerful undercurrent of desperation threading through it. “I need more, (Y/N). I can’t take it… I need you.” His eyes locked onto hers, a fierce determination in their depths, even as his words pleaded for relief. His grip tightened on her waist, guiding her movements with urgency and restraint, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. “Please,” he repeated, his voice a pained rasp. 

“You need me?”

A single, tense nod.

She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the same need. “Then take me,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Lucien captured her lips once more, much more hungrily this time, their bodies moving together in the water. Her hands raked over the expanse of his back, nails lightly digging in. She relished the feel of his muscles tensing beneath her touch, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Every contour and ridge of his body seemed sculpted for her hands alone. The power in his frame, the way he responded to her every touch, sent a thrill through her. Her hands wandered, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, the firm muscles of his chest, and the tautness of his abdomen. Each caress was deliberate, savoring the sensation of his body and the way it reacted to her. 

Lucien's breath hitched as her hands moved lower, feeling the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the edge of his waistband. Her touch was both curious and confident, a gentle exploration and bold possession. 

With a low groan and little thought, Lucien's hands moved to her bikini top, tugging it up just enough to expose her chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, only taking a moment to admire them before descending upon them, his mouth eagerly finding her exposed skin. He left a collection of red and purple marks across them, and she couldn't help but hum softly at the sensation.

Smiling, she pulled the bikini top the rest of the way off, tossing it to the shoreline. “Impatient, aren’t we?” she remarked, her voice breathless and not nearly as teasing as she’d hoped it’d be.

Lucien looked up at her, his eyes so different than when they’d first encountered each other not an hour prior, a smirk playing at his lips. “Only for you,” he murmured before his mouth returned to her skin, his kisses hungry and possessive, leaving a trail of marks across her chest. He shifted slightly, the water lapping at his chest. Her fingers traced idle patterns on his shoulder, not ceasing the movement of her hips. 

“You’re trembling,” she whispered, concern evident in her voice.

He straightened, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It’s unbearable. Every touch, every breath…I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.” He swallowed hard and brought her hand to the nape of his neck, leaning into her touch as if it were a lifeline. 

“Are you sure this is helping…? Maybe we could try—”

“(Y/N),” Lucien interrupted, his eyes wild and craving. “Doing anything but this would destroy me. I’ve never felt anything like this before, but I know… I know that I need you. All of you. I need to feel every inch of you against me.” His gaze locked onto hers, pupils dilated. “Your touch,” he choked out, “is both torment and salvation. I crave it like I crave air to breathe.” Lucien’s hands trembled as they moved to her hips, urging her closer. His fingers splayed across her skin, desperate to eliminate any remaining space between them. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible over the soft lapping of the water.

She shivered against him, not from the water, but from the raw emotion in his voice. She brought her hand from the back of his neck to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. 

“Lucien,” his name on her tongue was so pleasing to his ears. He couldn’t help but close his eyes, lean into her touch.

Her other hand trailed down his chest, his abdomen, finally reaching the waistband of the only thing keeping all of him from her. 

“Let me take care of you,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over his ear. Her hand traveled further yet, getting ahold of him, cupping him, squeezing him, feeling the size and weight of him.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, muscles taut. A strangled moan escaped from his lips, closing his eyes and rolling his head back. He dug his fingers into her hips, only vaguely aware of the frustrating barrier of her swimsuit. “(Y/N)...” Her touch, her ministrations, it was all so intense. “You’re driving me insane,” he growled.

A low chuckle emanated from her. “Say my name like that again, let me hear it.”

He obliged, her name falling from his lips like a reverent prayer, drawing out each syllable like a sinful plea. 

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Whether it was from his voice or the fact that he was tugging her bottoms off, he had no idea. But the sounds she let out were mouthwatering. He watched as she shuddered and moaned beneath his touch, letting out grunts and curses of his own. “Gods,” he rasped, his voice thick. “You sound so beautiful when you moan for me.”

She squeezed him sinfully at that bit of praise, moaning his name quietly. 

“Please touch me, (Y/N)... It hurts…”

In that moment she caved, both of them lifting up a bit to allow the other to rid them of their last bits of clothing. She tugged him a few times, grip tight and movements long. He rocked into her hand, a string of curses falling from his lips. Normally he wouldn’t unravel so quickly, but with every sensation magnified, he’d be surprised if he lasted another minute. 

“Sweetheart, you have to… Gods, please don’t stop,” he managed to gasp out, his hips rocking eagerly, his face scrunched in concentration. 

She met his gaze, her eyes darkening with desire. Nodding slightly, her breath coming out in puffs, she continued, increasing her pace while he maintained his movements into her hand. Lucien’s breath caught, his muscles tensed as waves of pleasure washed over him. He clung to her desperately, burying his face into the crook of her neck to muffle his increasingly vocal responses. His release coated her hand, but quickly washed away into the water as she continued stroking him through it. She murmured soft encouragements all the while. 

She felt his weight slumped against her, heard his breathing slow, found herself wondering if it had passed. She held him close, running a soothing hand along his back, through the hair and the nape of his neck.

When he finally lifted his head, she was ready to greet him with a warm smile, but where she expected either newfound calm or lingering distress, she found neither. On the contrary, it almost seemed as if their actions amplified his hunger. 

Lucien wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and found himself rutting his hips up, thoughtlessly trying to find her entrance. She gained purchase on a stone behind him, her chest hovering over his face. With a groan, he released one of his arms from around her, using the hand to guide himself. But when his fingers brushed against her and she let out the softest, most helpless whimper he’d heard in his life, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear more from her. He replaced the head of his cock with his fingers, shakily grazing over her folds. 

Her repeated mantra of “oh’s” and “yes’s” goaded him on, and as he dipped his fingers further through them, he slowly thrusted the still-hard length of himself along her cunt. The caress of both on her sensitive skin getting to be too much. “Lucien, why don’t you just—” What bordered on a wail interrupted her words when he let his tip brush against her clit, the first meaningful relief of pressure she’d gotten there all this time. 

“Wanna feel you, wanna make sure you’re alright,” she could hardly recognize his voice, it sounded pained, his words slurred. “Don’t want… to hurt you.” When he went to slip his fingers into her, she pulled them away, moving to seat herself on him.

“Don’t worry about me,” she assured him she was alright. “I’m helping you, just worry about yourself, okay?” But he shook his head, insisting that he wanted her to feel just as good as he did. “I will. I am.” With that, she lowered herself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Their faces were a mirror of shared ecstasy, expressions soft with contentment. They were entwined — she cradled in his embrace, he sheathed within her warmth. 

Lucien's world had narrowed to this single point in time and space. Any remaining semblance of coherent thought dissolved entirely. The feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the scent of her hair — these were the only realities that existed for him now. Nothing else mattered — not the court, not his duties, not even his own name. There was only her, only this. 

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he tightened his hold, desperate to remove any open space from between them. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving only base instinct and overwhelming need.

“(Y/N),” he huffed, voice rough with emotion. “I can’t… I need…”

Words failed him, but his body spoke volumes. Trembling muscles, racing pulse, sharp breaths. He was a male consumed. Lucien heard her voice distantly. 

“It’s okay… Take what you need, Lucien.”

As she pulled herself up, something primal awakened in him. Lucien drove his hips up into her and moved with fervent intensity, his actions far beyond conscious control. Every fiber of his being sang with pleasure, drowning out all else. Nothing beyond this moment.

He was dimly aware of sounds escaping him — groans, gasps, fragmented words of reverence. There was only feeling, only her, only them. 

The spring water surged around them, disturbed by the frenzied movements of their bodies. Each trust was relentless, powerful, driven by an urgent need. Lucien’s hands guided her by the hips with a force that left no room for gentleness.

He groaned her name, told her he needed more of her. He didn’t know how it would be possible, in this moment she was his everything. 

Her responses were lost in a series of breathless moans and gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she tried to match his relentless rhythm. “Lucien… don’t stop… please…”

The words spurred him on, his pace now frantic. His eyes bore into hers. Every thrust, every movement, was a raw expression of his need, amplified by the pollen’s effects coursing through his veins.

Her nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. She clung to him, feeling the intensity of his desire in each powerful motion. The friction and pressure were overwhelming, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her body responded to his instinctually, her moans and cries echoing through the trees around them.

“So… damn good… So tight,” he groaned into her.

She gasped, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she rode him, rode the pleasure coursing through her. “Lucien… oh gods… you’re so deep, I can’t,” she buried her face into the crook of his neck. All she saw was the tanned color of his skin, the golden red of his hair, and smelled the earthy scent of cedar and fresh rain, mingling with the faintest hint of smoke and spice.

He shook his head. “Don’t hold back… Let me hear you. Tell me—fuck—tell me how good it feels.”

Her voice came out in broken gasps, each word punctuated by a moan. “It’s… so good… you’re so good... I can't... I need…”

Lucien's lips found her neck, his teeth grazing her skin before he sucked hard, leaving a mark. "Need what, darling? I want to hear you say it."

"Need you... need you to make me come," she confessed, her voice trembling with need. "Please, Lucien... I’m so close."

He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her skin. "Anything for you, love." His mouth trailed down to her chest, his lips closing around one of her nipples. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. "Lucien... yes, just like that... don't stop..."

His free hand snaked between their bodies, fingers seeking out her clit. He rubbed in firm, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The combined sensations of his mouth on her nipple, his fingers on her clit, and the relentless drive of his hips were too much.

Her body tensed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she teetered on the edge of release. Lucien bit down gently on her nipple, the sudden spike of pain mingling with the overwhelming pleasure, pushing her over the edge. She shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her with an intensity that left her breathless and trembling.

Lucien didn’t slow, riding out her climax, his own release following swiftly. With a final, powerful thrust, he let out a primal roar, spilling into her with a force that made stars dance behind his eyelids.

For a moment, they were locked together, their breaths harsh and mingled, hearts racing in unison. Slowly, as the intensity of their climaxes began to fade, they slumped into the water, still entwined, the spring's cool embrace a stark contrast to the heat of their encounter.

Lucien pressed his forehead against hers, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. "Are you... alright?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse with lingering desire and concern.

She nodded weakly, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "More than alright," she replied, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "That was... incredible."

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through both of them. 

She lifted her head slightly, looking into his eyes. "How are you feeling now?"

Lucien took a deep breath, still holding her close. "I still feel it," he admitted, his voice softer now, more controlled. "But it's much more manageable.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. "I'm glad," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "I was worried for a moment there."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his eyes softening. "You were amazing," he whispered. 

They lingered in the water for a few more moments, their breaths slowly returning to normal. But the connection between them, the raw need, was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

And then Lucien moved again, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. "But I think," he said, his voice taking on that rough, hungry edge once more, "that we have a bit more to take care of."

She shivered in anticipation, her own desire flaring up once again. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

His answer was a low growl as he shifted their positions, lifting her up and guiding her onto a nearby rock. He took her again there, their bodies moving together with a renewed intensity. Then, he turned her around, bending her over it, her cries echoing through the spring as he thrust into her from behind.

They moved to the water's edge next, Lucien pulling her onto his lap as he sat on a submerged boulder. She rode him hard, the water splashing around them as their movements grew more frantic.

Later, he laid her down on a bed of soft moss, hovering over her as he entered her again. The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one pushing them both closer to the edge once more.

And when they finally left the spring, sated but still hungry for each other, Lucien carried her back to his chambers. He laid her on his bed, driven by a deeper need, something more enduring. There, in the privacy of his room, he took her yet again, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion and connection, free from any enchantments, driven only by their desire for each other.

[stormhearty]

✨ pairings: Lucien x Reader, Elucien

🔮 preview: Hanahaki Disease definition: “If your love is not getting returned, flowers start growing inside your body, suffocating you from the inside. Surgical removal is dangerous and you're dying without your soulmate's love.”

📣 trigger warnings: pining, unacquainted romance, vomiting, mentions of blood, ambiguous ending

🔎 rating: PG-13 | 🔏 word count: 4.5k

💜 masterlist + notes: I am the Queen of Angst, as per @prythianpages… another one for the books. I loved Lucien, I loved him since ACOTAR. And so, it is time… to give him some angst to his already angsty story. I do hope you guys enjoy it!

“Lucien —-”

You gasped his name, struggling against the bonds that bound your hands behind your back, your knees ached against the stone ground. Tears lined your eyes, watching Lucien leave your side, tugging the turned middle Archeron sister into his arms, her wet form shivering from being drowned into the cauldron moments earlier.

The world around you slowed and all you could focus on was how Lucien held the sister so tenderly in his arms. For a moment, his back stiffened, and looked over his shoulder — back at you. Your eyes connected and all you felt was a burst in your chest — one that glowed but also one that was slowly suffocating you.

A mating bond.

Another gasp escaped your lips, head bowing as you pressed your forehead against the cool stone underneath your body. Your chest heaved, gasping as your back arched — your throat burned, your chest ached, you felt as if your lungs were on fire. You felt like you were burning from the inside out. Tilting your head up, you hoped that Lucien’s gaze was still on you, that he would abandon the Archeron sister and return to your side — you had hoped that the mating bond snapped for him as well; however, that wasn’t the case.

The eldest Archeron sister snatched the younger back into her arms, pushing Lucien away, him stumbling back from the strength. You watched as Lucien and the middle sister’s gaze intertwined, and even from your position, you could hear the disbelief in his tone.

“You’re my mate.”

The world tilted in front of you, and chaos ensued. You didn’t care whether Tamlin had broken out of his bonds and stalked towards Feyre. You didn’t care that Feyre was begging Tamlin to break the bond between her and Rhysand. You didn’t care that the Hybern King had caused all this madness — just for the Cauldron.

You just didn’t care.

Because all you cared about was the fact that Lucien had felt the bond with the middle Archeron sister — the beautiful Cauldron-Made fae — and not you.

Your world blurred behind your eyes, and you didn’t even realize that Mor was winnowing everyone of the Inner Circle away — the ward had been broken, and everyone was escaping. You watched as she ripped the Archeron sister from Lucien’s grasp, the male roaring at the loss of his mate. He clawed and grasped the ground where she had laid. You wanted to call out to him, tell him that you were still there — that he had another mate. But your voice died in your throat, and you barely could even let out a whisper of his name. Your throat burned, and you felt your lungs constrict and you couldn’t get any air in your lungs.

Pressing your hand against your throat, you wheezed.

You couldn’t breathe.

Panic set into your features as you clawed the palms of your hands, blood dripping down onto the ground. Arms gathered around you, tugging the bonds away from your wrist as you looked up, “—-Mor…” you choked out, grasping her upper arms as you struggled to get to your feet. You focused on her, and not the fact that your body was slowly being deprived of air.

She pressed her lips on the crown of your head, soothing you, as if she knew exactly what had happened between you and Lucien, “Hold on tight, (Y/N), we’re going home… You’re going to be okay…”

Wrapping your arms around her shoulders, you glanced at Lucien, watching him snap his head back towards you as if feeling that you were going to be taken away from him as well. Your eyes locked with his and you felt tears cascade down your cheeks.

“(Y/N)—-…!”

Your name slipped from his lips and all you saw before you were taken in swirls of light and darkness, was his hand reaching out to you.

“(Y/N)…”

You held up a hand, stopping a worried Feyre from coming to your aid. Eyes locked with hers and all you could do was shake your head, a silent plead not to draw any attention. A moment of silence passed before your gaze drifted up those familiar marble steps, the scent of your mate lingering in the air.

Lucien had just stopped by the River House and passed you — heading up those stairs… into Elain’s room.

You held your breath, awaiting the moment when the pain would slam into your body.

Burst!

A painful gasp escaped your lips as you grasped your chest, feeling the burst of flowers invading your lungs. It had taken your breath away so strongly that you stumbled backward, pressing your back against the marble column, chest heaving as you tried to gain any ounce of air into your flower-filled lungs.

Tears stung your eyes as the pain wracked your body, teeth biting into pink-stained lips, fighting back a painful cry that threatened to leave your throat. You couldn’t make noise… not when Lucien was oh-so-close to hearing it.

Just the thought of the male caused another surge of pain, feeling your organs being pushed around inside your body to make way for more of those deadly flowers to occupy your being.

It hurt so much.

All you could focus was on the indescribable pain, feeling every burst and explosion of your illness taking over your body, that you barely were able to feel gentle hands cupping your cheek — the scent of paint and starlight invading your system — Feyre.

You couldn’t help but lean into her gentle hold, her warmth as you blinked away the white flashes of pain, trying with all your might to focus on your friend. The High Lady looked at you with fear and worry etched on her beautiful, ethereal features and all you could do was give her a small smile, despite the pain that wracked your body with tiny shivers, “I’m fine, Feyre…” You tried to reassure her, your voice meek and strained… your tone shaking underneath each word. You wanted to convince yourself that you were fine… it was just another flare of your illness.

It would pass.

It always did.

Both of you knew you were nothing but fine.

Not when the source of your pain was just up those marble steps.

Your face scrunched as another wave of pain shook your body, your back arching and your limbs stiffening at the agony that you were succumbing to every time your illness took over. Attempting to regain control over your body, you pressed your palm against your mouth, trying to fight back every urge to vomit all over the floor. But the burn in your throat was so strong, that the need to empty your stomach would help alleviate the pain. You scrambled to push Feyre away, pressing your hands against marble floors — and all you could do was heave.

A rainbow of flowers splashed onto those pristine floors — vines and thorns from those very flowers scratching your lungs and throat, causing blood to spew out of your lips, dripping down the edge of your lips, coating those flowers with red and the smell of metal lingering in your mouth.

It burns, it hurts.

That was all that you can think of.

How the pain took over your whole body, and there was nothing else you could think of.

Not even the fact that your destined mate had decided to choose a bond that was not connected to you.

Tears of agony cascaded down your cheeks as you gagged and heaved those flowers that took over your entire system. You inhaled, grasping as much air as you could before you vomited again, this time the contents of your stomach pooling underneath you.

You didn’t understand why. You couldn’t understand why this was cursed upon you — why you were destined to live this way, in so much pain… in so much hurt.

In so much loneliness.

For millennials, you had believed a mating bond was a beautiful thing, something that a happy ever after would grant you, much like those fairytale stories that you read as a child.

But for centuries, you realized that a mating bond was nothing but a curse.

The beauty of a mating bond, the flowers of love and romance… disguised as torture and unhappiness.

You didn’t even know, nor did you care, how long you were in that foyer, puking your lungs and stomach out. At that point, you didn’t care if Lucien had heard your retching from Elain’s room. All you wanted was for the pain to stop. Your vision blurred and your body swayed under the exhaustion you felt. You tried to stay conscious, tried to keep yourself from fainting… but you were so tired. You felt your body sway, the weariness tugging your brain to the darkness. But you caught yourself, regaining your balance with your hands and knees, fingers grasping onto the soft petals that lay beneath you, feeling them crunch underneath your grip.

Oh, how you hated it.

Hated how those flowers felt underneath your palm.

They were soft and gentle… but they grew inside of you — a curse to remind you of how devious and deceiving a mating bond was.

You had been so focused on the pain, so focused on staying awake that you barely heard the shuffling around you, how shadows covered your body, soothing your aching body. Whispers of worry passed over your subconscious, not having the energy to listen to what they were saying — was it about you? Did they take pity on your pain and suffering? You didn’t have an ounce to care. When gentle hands grasped your hands, feeling Feyre’s hands slip away from your cheeks, you whimpered, missing the warmth from your friend, only to be lulled into warm and gentle arms.

Blinking away the weariness and the tears, you looked up, your head lulling back onto broad shoulders and into beautiful violet hues.

“Rhys…” you whispered, your voice hoarse, your hands weakly reaching up to grasp his suit, bunching it up in your blood-stained hand, trying to ground yourself, to distract yourself from the pain that plagued your body.

Your body stiffened in his hold, another wave of agony threatened to pull you into subconsciousness. You whimpered, trying to gain little control over what was left of your body, one that was not dominated by torment.

You tried to focus on his words, seeing his lips open and close, as if telling you something — but the fog that penetrated your mind was so strong that it was just noise in your head. Vision swayed and black spots appeared in your vision. Your head rolled back again, your body becoming heavy in Rhys’ arms, as you felt him shift your body in his hold.

Gentle hands grasped the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at those violet hues. You blinked, trying to focus on the High Lord before a wave of darkness stormed into your mind, gently taking the pain away before lulling you into darkness — your body felt light, your mind drifting in the sea of darkness that welcomed you.

You floated in that darkness and all you hoped was that you would never wake up — would never have to succumb to the pain again. And never would have to face your mate who yearned for another.

But your wishes would never come true — they never did.

And when you had awoken, nightfall had fallen over Valeris.

Your body felt heavy, something that you had grown used to, after an intense eruption of your illness.

You lay there, in your bed, trying to attempt to lull yourself back into sleep, into that darkness that made you feel nothing. But your mind screamed at you to wake, to not drift into that darkness again.

An exhausted sigh escaped your lips, your throat burning from retching your lungs out, as you allowed your fingers to gently wiggle underneath the satin sheets, attempting to regain control over your body, feeling the cool sensation under your fingertips, grounding yourself back to the present — away from the memory of mental and physical suffering. You lay there, for seconds, minutes… hours before you opted to open your eyes. You blinked away the dried tears that crusted them, you blinked away the fatigue that made your eyelids feel heavy, as you focused on the painted ceiling above you — an image of the night sky, the one that mirrored the one outside your very windows. It usually gave you comfort, it gave you a sense of peace.

But at that very moment, all you felt was hollow.

As if you had emptied your whole self, your whole soul with those flowers, hours earlier. And now, there was nothing left of you. Your body was nothing but a greenhouse to create those painful flowers, there was no you left in the shell of your body.

It was a feeling, a moment that you would never get used to. On the feeling of being lost, that no one would be able to understand what you go through. And that no one ever would.

The door creaked open, the sound resonating loudly in your quiet room before the patter of feet entered your room.

You had no energy to look see who it was, you had no energy to do anything besides just lay there and rot, to decay into soil for those rotten flowers to grow from.

The bed dipped and you glanced over to see Feyre, that same worried expression on her features. You watched how her face twitched and shifted, trying to find the proper guise to speak to you with… but all you could see was the shadow of concern in her look. You watched as her brain turned, her lips parting before closing again — trying to figure out how to approach you.

Like you were an endangered, hurt animal.

“…How are you feeling, (Y/N)?” her lips tugged up into a simper of a smile, after a few minutes of silence, though her brows knitted together, assessing you from your supine position in bed, trying to gauge your physical and mental condition.

Dull eyes stared at her, unblinking and unmoving, and your throat itched to say something — something to smooth out those lines on her features.

But you couldn’t.

There were no words that could describe how much agony you go through… Every. Single. Time. You could never explain to Feyre, to Rhysand, or the rest of the Inner Circle… how it feels to have something so beautiful be so deadly.

No matter how many times they ask you, try to pull words out of you, or even whenever you allow Rhysand to wander your mind to understand just a bit of your pain… they would never fully understand.

All because your love was unreciprocated.

Your love and bond with Lucien Vanserra.

You had known him for centuries, ever since he had stepped into the borders of Spring Court. You had been nothing but the daughter of a low-ranking noble, one who had the privilege of serving Tamlin as a scholar in the High Lord’s castle; he had been the one to give you such a title. You had been the one who alerted your High Lord about the threat of Lucien’s brothers’ attempt at his life. You had been the one who befriended Lucien and allowed him to adjust while he was found a position in Tamlin’s court. You had been the one to stay by his side when the High Queen had ripped his eye out, been the one to nurse him back to health. You had gone through forty-nine years of the curse alongside him. And you had been the one beside him through the perils of Under the Mountain.

You had been his first friend in Spring Court.

And he had been your first love.

You had hoped and prayed for the Mother and the Gods to will your kindred spirits into a mating bond. You had hoped and prayed you gain any confidence to confess your feelings for him. But for centuries, that had been your downfall, you had been content with his presence, content with his friendship that you had believed that nothing would have changed.

But in the end, everything changed.

Feyre looked into your eyes, trying to find that part of you that still fought — fought for your life and your soul against this illness, but when she couldn’t, she sighed, willing back tears before reaching over to run her fingers through your tangled locks, trying to formulate comforting words to help you with your ordeal. But both of you knew, after knowing each other for years, there were no words that would soothe your pain.

Turning your head towards the rays of light that shone from your large windows, you focused on the soothing motion of your friend’s delicate fingers through your hair as you soaked in the night, twinkling sky of Valeris.

You had realized over the past few months you’ve lived in Night Court, that you had fallen in love with the night sky — how vast and never-ending it was over your head. It had eclipsed your previous adoration for your former home’s vast spring fields, ones that were overrun with wildflower and fresh grass — and that, now, you would happily die just laying out and staring into the twinkling night of Valeris’ skies.

Feyre had always said your sense of humor was morbid, how you would casually just bring up how you’d die as if it was a normal conversation starter.

But to you, it was.

Your illness was the only thing on your mind nowadays. Wondering when you would succumb to the pain and just die, or when the flowers finally take over your body — what would happen to you? Would you become a tree, lifeless and hollow, sprouting flowers from your mouth and nose?

It was the fear that drove your thoughts, turning them into morbid humor.

Because it was the only way you could cope with your looming doom.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, tasting the petals in your lungs, you turned back to Feyre, “…Is he still with her?”

Pain tugged on Feyre’s features and her hand grew still against your locks, hand pulling away and you could see that it was shaking.

That was the only confirmation you needed.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N)…” Feyre whispered, shifting so that she could sit closer to you, bringing your body into her warm embrace, “I had tried. Tried to force them apart with multiple different excuses, but Elain wanted to see him. She felt the tug on his end of the bond… and had grown curious... They’ve been together the whole night…”

There was nothing she could do to help soothe the ache in your chest. No comforting words, no gentle gestures. Nothing.

Tears brimmed your vision and all you could do was curse the Mother and the Cauldron.

Why couldn’t it be you?

Why couldn’t it be you that Lucien felt at the end of the golden string?

Why did the Cauldron deem that Elain was better for Lucien than you?

“(Y/N)…”

A shaky sigh escaped your lips as you looked over your shoulder, the sound of your name coming from a familiar-sounding voice — one that you had wished for centuries would call yours more often.

“Lucien…”

There stood at the threshold of your bedroom was Lucien, leaning against the open door, arms crossed over his chest. He garbed Autumn Court colors, rouge and gold material complimenting his skin tone very well.

He was a prince charming, straight out of those fairy tale books — but he wasn’t here to sweep you off your feet.

Your eyes glanced over his form, and caught the glimmering shine of the golden band around his ring finger — it was his wedding day. The ache of the mating bond resonated in your chest, one that you had grown used to and didn’t often flinch from the pain, and you gave a tiny smile, one you hoped wasn’t laced with anguish and hurt.

You had to be happy.

Happy for his sake.

“I didn’t see you at the ceremony… Feyre said you were here in your room…”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the taste of petals coating your tongue, “…I wasn’t feeling too well, I watched it from up here though. It was a beautiful wedding, Lucien… I’m, happy for you.”

And you were, you were happy for him but the small part of you, wanted that happiness to be with you.

But the Mother does not grant you wishes — never for you.

Lucien stepped into your room and you felt your back stiffen slightly, shifting so you were closer to the metal railing of your balcony. You watched those heterochromatic hues stare at you, sweeping over your form as if to find the illness he had heard so much about — that russet eye assessing your form as if he could see right into your soul.

All you wanted to do was turn around, avoid his gaze — just avoid him entirely like you have been doing for the past few years.

You couldn’t be near him… not anymore.

He didn’t seek you out often anymore, and so you did the same.

For your health.

You watched as he stepped passed the doorway, his boots echoing into your room and that’s what you focused on, how he grew closer and closer to you to the point where he stood in front of you — his woody scent intermixed with honey and jasmine, of Elain’s scent.

It made you nauseous that your world spun around, you pinched your eyes shut, reaching back to grab onto the railing so you wouldn’t fall to your death. Though death seemed to be a better option than confronting Lucien.

Hands gripped your upper arms, as if to still your wavering body and your senses were overwhelmed by his — his scent, his breath, the warmth that radiated from his hands and body to your own.

It has been too much.

Pressing your hands against his chest, you shoved him away, your breath quick and sweat lining your forehead.

“Don't touch me… Please…” you begged him.

You used to love being in his presence. During peaceful times, before Amarantha’s reign, before the curse… you would always seek each other out — whether it be just basking in each other’s presence, or talking about your day to one another — your eyes would always try to look for him. He would easily just hold your hand for comfort or you'd always be welcome in his arms.

Everything was so much simpler and easier — without the cursed illness that rages in your body.

It was easier to be around him without the mating bond that connected you to him.

But now, nothing was simple. You couldn't be next to him, have him touch you so easily without the bouts of nausea and pain that came with an incomplete mating bond.

You had been able to handle it, since he had sought Elain often when he visited the River House. You avoided everywhere they may have been — the gardens, her bedroom — basically everywhere in the River House, confining yourself to your room.

The only people that would check in on you were Feyre, Mor and Rhysand — all three were the only people that knew of your condition, of your illness… and your love for Lucien.

Taking in a deep breath, the smell of florals invading your system as you felt small bursts of pain in your chest — more flowers taking over your lungs.

Eyes looked at him and you blinked twice — making sure your mind wasn't playing tricks on you. Surprise and hurt etched onto his beautiful features, his eyes staring at you as if you've done a taboo.

“What… what's wrong, (Y/N)? Why are you so distant with me lately?” his voice was full of confusion and all you wanted was to yell and scream all the pain that had been caused by the incomplete bond — but you couldn't.

He didn't know. He wasn't the reason why you were decaying slowly, it was your illness. The stupid, wretched curse placed upon you by the Mother above.

You looked at him, with so much longing and love — you wanted to convey centuries of your love for him, but it has been too late.

He had chosen his Cauldron bound mate.

A pained smile tugged on your lips as you reached up and gently caressed the scars on the left side of his face, and you watched as he leaned close to your palm — your illness flaring in your chest, you flinching slightly from the pain.

“You haven't been putting on the ointment for your face, Lucien…” you muttered, trying to avoid the topic of anything relating to your distance, to your pain, to your unrequited love for him, “It had been looking good… I hope it isn't too painful…”

Lucien’s golden eye whirlled, trying to lock gaze with your own, trying to assess what was going on with you; but you avoided his gaze, focusing on how badly your hand was trembling near him.

“… I haven't had the time to put on the ointment, and besides that had been your job for the past few centuries…” a tiny smile tugged onto his lips.

You tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind his ear, feeling the soft lock between your fingers before you dropped your hand, gently grasping it in your other as if to stop the trembles, “You're right, it had been my job…But it looks like not anymore. Elain could do that for you… I'll—-” you swallowed the lump in your throat once more, the urge to cough up the flowers was strong.

“Lucien…”

The two looked back at your doorway to see her — Elain, dressed in white. You gave her a tight smile, glancing up at Lucien who’s facial features morphed from worry and confusion at you, to complete adoration and love for her.

Tears stung your eyes as you turned around, your back facing the two married couple.

“You should go Lucien… you're missing out on your reception…” your voice shook and you desperately hoped neither of them would notice.

You have to continue to be happy — for him.

“You should come with us, you don't have to be here alone…” his voice drifted with the wind.

Shaking your head, you looked over your shoulder at him and gave him a smile, “I’m content here…”

Hesitation tugged on his features but before he could say anymore, Elain gathered his attention and both of them slipped out of your room.

Your chest heaved and you slowly slid down to the ground, pressing you hands on those cold stone tiles and you heaved.

Heaved all the pain and anguished of a love that was never yours to begin with.

General Tag List: @prythianpages @strangelygreat

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 5

Cassian X Archeron Sister

Summary: Y/N falls into a routine and finds her place in the Night Court. Even gets to have a one on one moment with the renowned Spymaster. But her anxiety spikes when Rhys and Mor Bring Feyre back urgently from the Spring Court

Content Warning; Nothing comes to mind

Word Count: 3.1

Masterlist Chapter 4

The next few days I was able to fall into a routine. Mornings were dedicated to training with Cassian, where I could feel my body getting stronger little by little. The more I trained, I found that the nightmares were kept at bay. Lunches were spent with Rhys. He was casually asking me questions about Feyre. Her favorite color, if she had any favorite meals before we lost our fortune, any embarrassing stories I could share. Along with that he would lay out the King of Hybern’s plan and how he wanted to take the Human lands back. He gave me more information than Tamlin and Lucien were willing to share.   Then Mor would take me to the closest café before we explored the town and all the shops.

After a long day of working out Mor made sure to take me clothes shopping to make sure I had a sufficient wardrobe even though we had gone shopping the day before. My hands were full of the bags from today’s excursion as walked toward the dimly lit sitting room of the town house. Azriel was lounging on the sofa staring at the fire in quiet contemplation, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “Hey, Az.” I dropped the bags and his head moved toward the thudding sound. He tilted his head, his mouth pressed in a tight line as his gaze met mine, a silent question in the air. “Mor made me buy every item that I glanced at for longer than 5 seconds.” He huffed out a breathy laugh, but I noticed how his shadows perked at the sound of the blonde female’s name.

Azriel lips quirked, and he reached over to the end table of the sofa and grabbed an empty glass and filled it with the Amber liquid and held it out for me patting the spot next to him. I dragged my feet over to him and grabbed the drink in thanks for taking a seat on the other end of the sofa, my back resting on the arm rest where I’m facing the spymaster. I hadn’t spent a lot of time with the Spymaster, he had been out doing some missions and I only got to see him in passing. “Thanks!” he nodded and clinked his glass with my own. I took a sip and let the burn of the amber liquid warm my throat. I watched as the shadows swirled around his shoulders and his wings; they were magnificent. “Have you always had your shadows.

Azriel took a sip of his drink, “For as long as I can remember.”  He looked at me mischief in his eyes as a breath of cold kissed the back of neck and both of my wrists. Looking down at the sudden temperature change I found his shadows swirled around my arms like the night mist kissing my skin and tickling the back of my neck causing me to giggle. I lifted my free hand and watched as the shadows slid around my arm and through my fingers the scent of citrus and the night breeze wafted through my nose.

I was entranced by their movements and the sensation of them along my skin, “They’re so beautiful.”

I could feel the sofa move and I didn’t need to look to see he was shifting, not used to the compliment I paid his shadows. Though he whispered through his glass, “Thanks,” throwing back the rest of the liquid. He didn’t even flinch from the burn of the alcohol as I tore my eyes from the shadows that were now settling into my hands. Azriel stared back into the fire, his hand idly twisting his glass around his knee. The firelight accentuated the white scars covering his hands. Cassian left out how Azriel got those scars when he talked about how he and Az met, and I would never pry, but he looked glum. There was a haunted look gracing his features and it unsettled something deep in me.

I set my own glass down the whiskey long forgotten and scooted closer to Az. I was about to reach out and looped my arm around his and I caught how he tensed at my reached-out arm, and I retracted my arm the shadows pulling it in protest. As if they wanted me to reach my hand out. “I’m so sorry, Azriel,” I scooted back from him. The shadows left my arms and returned to their master. “I should have asked if it was ok to touch you.” I sighed and looked up at the ceiling guilt building in my gut. “I tend to want to link arms or hold hands or hug anyone who may be feeling sad. I’ve never been good with words but when I sense someone’s sad,” I looked at Azriel, “Or brooding.” Az snorted, but I pressed forward, “Feyre was never one to talk about her feelings including hard messy feelings, but I always knew when she needed me to hold her hand or be nearby. Apparently knowing I was there good enough for her.” Az nodded his head as in understanding.

I scooted once more to create more distance and clasp my hands together and looked at the fire letting the silence blanket us. My thoughts went back to Feyre and how lonely and afraid she might have been feeling. The anxiousness she might be feeling thinking that I’m dead. She was already falling apart while I was there, Tamlin happy to let her wither away. I closed my eyes and tried to level my breathing. The new month was approaching, and I would be able to see her. Would she be angry that I wasn’t dead or think that I ran away and abandoned her. What if she thou-

I blinked once, twice, and was able to acknowledge that a scarred hand over my clasped ones. The softness of them going against the raised skin covering them along with the warmth they provided. The warmth contrasted with the cool kisses his shadows skittering over my cheeks I finally met the Hazel eyes of Azriel that were so much like Cassian’s but different he had more flecks of green. “Your heartrate spiked; you were thinking so hard It was as I could see every thought that appeared in your head.”

Slinking one hand out of his grasp keeping one hand in his deciding the intertwining my fingers with his. There is a silent moment before he weaved his fingers through mine.” I smiled looking back at our entwined hands. “You remind me of Cassian you know.” My head snapped back to the Shadowsinger and he smiled, “When Rhys and Cass found me, and then tormented me like the pricks they are. Whenever I was stressed or scared, Cass would always put a hand on me should or bump shoulders with me. Especially In those first few months when I was free from my imprisonment. He always wanted me to know that he was there and that he had my back.” He gave me another small smile, “Because he knew that I didn’t talk especially big messy feelings.” I smiled as he threw my words back at me.

I leaned my head on his shoulder, “He’s a good male.” I whispered.

He pressed his cheek against the top of my head, “You’re a good woman, Y/N.” I felt the shadows swirl around our entwined hands, “You’re a good sister.”

I closed my eyes for a breath moment and let his scent calm me. “I wish that were the truth, Az.” I lifted my heads and gave him a small smile, “What kind of sister lets her twin get her neck snapped?” I yawned and was met with his concerned look, and I waved him off. “So, Mor’s pretty huh?”

Az groaned and leaned his head on the back of the couch, “Have you always been a busy body like this?”

I smiled at him, “For as long as I can remember, Shadowsinger.” I threw his words back at him. “Don’t worry. I won’t press you on it. She is gorgeous but that’s coming from a plain human girl. Everyone here is extremely pretty.” He rolled his eyes but gave her a smile. “I’m heading to bed, the last thing I want is for Cassian to make me run for being late.”

“Or have water splashed on you in bed. He’s notorious for that.” I snorted to myself, “I’ll be joining you guys tomorrow. Not that you mind the alone time with our general.” Heat crept in my face, “I just want to get some training in before I’m heading out again.”

“You’ll be a nice addition.” I bite my lip, “Do you like your position, Az?”

Azriel furrowed his brow, “I do. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged, “It just seems like being Spymaster can be lonely. I know you have known the Inner Circle for centuries, but if you ever want to talk, I’m around.” I blow him a kiss, “Good Night, Spymaster.”

“Good Night, Y/N.”

***

The next morning, I stepped out in the blazing sun to see the two Illyrian’s shirtless and sparring. Sweat coated both of their brows. Two predators were circling around ready to strike and I could not help but stare in awe. Azriel’s eyes flicked to me and back to Cassian whose back was to me his wings tucked back tightly, hair up in a bun. Azriel shifted his features into one of worry and Cassian spun in my direction and he immediately recognized his mistake. Azriel took the opportunity to strike fist hitting the middle of his back, Cassian barely flinched in pain.

He turned back to the Shadowsinger and went in straight for an attack. Punch. Dodge, sweep of the leg, The way Cassian fought was like the way Nesta would dance on the ballroom floor and there was a pang of sadness that hit my chest at the thought of my sister. I wondered if either of them missed me or Feyre. I honestly doubted it as they never really cared of my presence before so my absence would not make a difference doesn’t mean that I didn’t miss them and wished for Elain to brush my hair or Nesta to read me a story like they did when we were small.

A grunt pulled me from those thoughts to find Cassian putting Azriel in a chokehold, Cassian’s wings flared in triumph. “You gonna tap, Az.”

Az smirked and gave me a playful wink, “Not a chance.” Quickly Az stuck his leg and wrapped it around Cassian’s knee and twisted his body and Cassian found himself on his back and Cassian had just enough time to tuck his wings so that it wouldn’t scrape going down. Az in a snap had his hand to Cassian’s throat keeping his wings tucked.

Cassian’s eyes shifted toward me ever so slightly and an idea bloomed in my head. I gave him a wink and made a show of stumbling causing. Azriel didn’t take his eyes off his prey, and I let the world tilt on its access and collapse on the floor the sun blazing on my cheeks and behind my eye lids. I could hear feet shifting and shuffling. A scarred hand grazed my cheek, “Shit, Y/N” Panic laced in his voice, and I opened one of my eyes to see Azriel flaring his wings to block the sun from my face.

Azriel gazed back at me in a daze and Cassian placed him back in a headlock. Azriel eyes shone shock. “Do you yield, Shadowsinger?” I teased a playful smirk gracing my lips.

Azriel reluctantly tapped Cassian’s arms and the General released his friend. “You’re an evil little thing, Archeron.” Azriel rose and walked over to the water station. I remained lying down and enjoyed the sun on my face.

Shadows blocked my sunlight and then Leather and Sandal wood wafted over me. “What a clever little stunt you pulled, Princess.” I opened my eyes to see Cassian, basically touching his nose to mine. His eyes gleamed brightly and there was a sense of pride in his face, a smile wide across his handsome tan face. “Clever wicked, Woman.” He whispered, nudging his nose with mine and I smiled placing my hands on his chest and lightly pushing so I could sit up. He got to his feet and held out a hand,

I placed my hand in his and he hoisted me up and I stood up with such speed I ran into his chest. He wrapped an arm around my waist, to stabilize me, “You, okay?” He asked concern worn on his features.

I nodded and the General released me from his grasp. “I have to say I was hoping you would get what I was trying to do.” He chuckled as he put his shirt back on.

“Oh, he got it alright, He will always find a reason to cheat. Since we were children.” Azriel grumbled. Handing some water to his brother.

Before Cassian could argue Mor ran through the door with urgency, her eyes scouring until her brown eyes locked on mine, “Y/N we have a problem. Tamlin locked Feyre in a manor, she freaked out. Rhys could feel her pain, her fae power erupted. I brought her to Rhys.”

A hand slid around my waist, as the words sank in. “Is she okay?”

Mor’s lips formed in a tight line, “She’s unconscious but we got her out of the manor.”

My hand slid over the one on my waist to ground me. “Where is she?”

“Rhys took her to the House of Wind.”

“Cassian.” I whispered.

Cassian had me in his arms in an instant, “Hang on.” He instructed me and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he shot to the sky. My grip on him tightened and I closed my eyes as the speed we were going made my eyes water.

Time moved slowly even though Cassian was flying at rapid speeds. Feyre was alone when she was abandoned by Tamlin, and I wasn’t there. I am no better than Tamlin leaving her on her own. “Stop.” Cassian gritted. I opened my eyes, “Its not your fault.” He said as he landed on the balcony of one of the rooms. He placed me down and I was about to run find Rhys when his hand gripped my arm, “Princess, listen to me.” I paused, “This. Is. Not. Your fault. Tamlin did this, not you. You don’t need to shoulder this burden.”

I bit my lip and gave him a curt nod; the General released my arm and I darted to go find Rhys. I ran through the hall and followed the pull that I always have for my sister. I slammed open the door and Rhys stood his eyes rimmed red. “Y/N.” His voice was drowned out by my sister’s unconscious body. Her breath rising and falling.

Y/N, she’s fine. She had a major panic attack. She’s just sleeping it off.

I sat at the foot of the bed and gripped my sister’s ankle and rubbed my thumb. Her chest rising and falling in even Rhythm.

“Y/N did you eat?” Rhys asked, his voice hoarse.

“Rhysand.” I whispered and his hand gripped my shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze, “Shut up. I just want to be with my sister.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Stay.”

Rhys moved a chair next to the one he was sitting on, a purple lounge chair a chair that could accommodate wings. “That chair is yours when you want to move. I’ll go bring you some food.” I nodded as he walked out and shut the door behind him.

Once the door closed, did I let the tears fall as I squeezed her ankle, “Feyre, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

I sighed and moved to the chair and sat there while I watched her chest rise and fall afraid if I look away she’s going to stop.

***

I was sitting on the large chair Rhys left for me, my knees tucked to my chest watching the rise and fall of Feyre's chest. I hadn't kept track of the hours and meals missed, just the even breathing of my slumbering sister. I could feel Rhys behind me he had not been able to sit down, and they came back from the Spring Court. I lifted my arm out of my palm open. Rhys slid his hand into mine. "She'll be okay, Rhys."

 "I know," His voice was hoarse. I felt his lips abnormally dry on the top of my hand, "Get some sleep. She's not going to wake up anytime soon."

"I'm fine." I leaned my head on the back of the chair.

There was a prolonged silence, Rhys's thumb swiping the top of my hand when there was a knock on the door, and door creaked open and a familiar deep voice filled the room, "Y/N, can I steal you?"

 I didn't look at Cassian focused on Feyre's pale gaunt face guilt overriding my system, "No, I won't leave her." The door shut, and Rhys released my hand. Boot thudded on the tile, and I could feel the General's gold flecked eyes on me.

"Princess, you need to sleep."

A tan hand tucked a strand of hair behind me, "I can't leave her. Not when this is my fault." My voice was hollow to my own ears as I reached out and stroked my sisters, overheated cheek and leaning back.

 A sigh rang in the room, and strong arms lifted me from the chair, and before I could protest, Cassian was sitting where I was adjusting his wings in a comfortable position and placing me on his lap. “What are you doing?”

His toned, muscled hands tucked me close, and he maneuvered his wings to provide warmth “I know when I’m not going to win a battle. So, I’m compromising.”

The comforting smell of Leather and Sandalwood flooded my nose, and calm and exhaustion ran through my bones. I stilled and whispered, “Why?”

 Cassian pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “You take care of all your loved ones. Someone needs to take care of you. Someone to remind you this is not your fault, and you shouldn't punish yourself because of what happened. Rhys is here. You are not the only one who wants and can take care of your sister." He pulled away, and I finally met his gaze. He patted his shoulder, indicating where I should lay my head, and I obeyed the silent command. "Good, now close your eyes, Princess." I did and let the sounds of the fire pull me under, and I swore I felt gentle lips upon my forehead.

***

Cassian POV

The steady heartbeat of Y/N's chest almost lulls me to sleep when Rhys softly speaks, "I'm going to need you to go to Windhaven."

I softly swore working hard not to wake up the sleeping woman in my arms, "Are you kidding me?"

Rhys looked exhausted and rubbed his face, "We are going to need the Illyrians you'll need to spend some time there to make them more willing to join the cause." I formed a tight line on my lips. "It's bad Cass."

I adjust my arm so that I could cradle Y/N's head as she adjusts and sighs contently. "What about Y/N and Feyre?"

Rhys looked at the woman in my arms, "Y/N will be training with Az he's coming home tomorrow. Feyre, will need time and I'll take care of her. Though Y/N is going to fight me on it."

I chuckled, "Probably. She loves fiercely and she's so protective of the people she loves."

Rhys gives a waned smile, "Just like someone else I know."

"Prick."

"You love me." Rhys leaned against his chair. "Rest Cass, you'll need your strength"

"You too, Rhys." and I took in the sweet Jasmine scent of Y/N and placed my head against the head rest and fell asleep, with Y/N tucked tightly in my arms.

Chapter 6

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @chessebookgirl

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Saving Grace | Rhysand x Reader

Summary: The war between humans and Fae is about to happen, and you, desperate to save Autumn Court, your home, from the destruction to come, are going to attempt a political alliance with the current High Lord of Night Court’s son, Rhysand.

Word Count: ~ 2k

Warnings: toxic family, political marriage, Beron being annoying, nothing too bad

A/N: the notes you see in the beginning are from another outside character you will meet more later, not me. im trying out something new for this series, so lmk what you think and how you’d want it to go in the future (FOR ALL THE RHYS GIRLIES I SEE YOU) hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

It starts anew, as any other tale would.

It is only fair for me to warn you now, that even as I write to you from the box of my new home, the solitary walls pushing in on me until I turn into something else, something new and changing, that you should not proceed.

Our doom was set into place the moment we opened that letter, and so I’ll give you another warning, my dear reader.

You have more power than you think. Be careful how you use it.

~

“I believe you’ll enjoy the letter on your desk, sister.”

Eris spoke in a dry tone, only a hint of his hidden flamboyance underneath the snake's skin he wore most of the time. He had just passed by you in the hallway of the grand palace we called our home in the Autumn Court, something most of the royal family took for granted, even I did to an extent.

Even makeup and magic couldn’t hide the effects that the looming war had on him, the bags under his eyes slightly visible, and the usual cunning spark in his fiery gaze dimmed to some degree. All of your brothers had experienced the same thing to some point, even Lucien.

The rumors were getting worse, and word breaking free everywhere if the human slave revolts. You saw the glimmer in the eyes of the humans that your father enslaved and forced to work here, and even though you could never say it, lest you be beheaded or worse, you thought it was about time their species stood up. You couldn’t imagine being forced into such cruel conditions and not doing anything about it.

Submission never came easily to you, though.

It still doesn’t.

You tried to smile up at Eris, even as he strode past without another word. Relationships in this family were rough, considering how the males just tried to take each other out with every given opportunity. Had you not been born a female, you might’ve suffered the same fate.

You couldn’t help but wonder what the letter on my desk could be, even as you walked to my room. It could be anything, from lunch with a friend, to an opening for a job opportunity anywhere you could help. You wanted to help people, help your struggling Court pull itself together with war on the horizon. Rumor had it that the mortal king, Hybern, was gathering his forces still and that he wouldn’t let go of any of his slaves. Not even one.

Pushing open your already ajar room door, you strode quickly over to the desk, still a bit cluttered from all the different things our mind was trying to think about at the same time while working and writing letters to friends and allies in neighboring courts.

A letter lay on your desk, and not just any letter, but a valuable one, based on the stamp and rich, violet wax that shimmered slightly.

A Night Court stamp.

Considering Night Court wasn’t the closest ally, if an ally at all with Autumn Court, you weren't exactly sure what it meant at the time, or why Eris thought you might be excited about it. How would he even know what was in it, now that you thought of it?

You grabbed the cold metal letter opener, sliding it neatly under the wax, and popping it off satisfyingly. Sliding the warm parchment from its sheath, you unfolded the letter, the details of it surprising you.

The High Lord of Night Court had delivered a letter personally to you, and the contents of it? Nothing but strange.

In short, it was a formal invitation to a Solstice Party, a night where you’d heard that supposedly other spirits would cross over the night sky, making a beautiful scene for all those able to witness it. However, the true reason became apparent at the bottom, where a single sentence blasted holes through all of the male’s fake formality and politeness in the previous statements.

“I’m certain that you and my son would get along quite well.”

An alliance. A political marriage.

That was what he wanted.

To strengthen his alliances while he could before the war began, and to blast away any humans standing in their path. His son might as well have been in on it for all you knew, probably willing to marry you and produce an heir, treating you like breeding cattle. You’d heard rumors of Illyrians before, and they weren’t pretty. Especially not the ones who lived in the mountains.

But the real question was, why would he send it to you, and not your father?

Was it a test? A way to test the boundaries and see if you would go tattle to your father at the littlest prod? Or maybe a way to see how far you were willing to go to ensure the safety of your court during this war.

You didn’t believe in slavery. You never had. But for your court, your home, and all the other courts as well to possibly be destroyed by unruly humans? That would be disastrous. Their species didn’t stand a chance, anyway. Not when they had inferior strength, weapons, and not a lick of magic.

But still…in the case that they did manage something, the reassurance of an alliance between your courts could help.

The only question was whether to involve your father or not. If you did, he would probably refuse to trade you away for an alliance with Night Court, waiting for a better deal from a people that had more items to trade or land to offer. Sure, Night Court had the most land and soldiers, but there were little to no trade routes running openly through the area, leaving little economic profit other than what they earned on their own. The Illyrian Steppes were too harsh for anyone to handle, and Hewn City could barely be counted as an economy it was so small.

In that small moment, you made a decision that would change both of our existences, the decision to hide it. Your father wouldn’t understand, and you were doing this for the better of your court. You were doing it to help him, to save your people from what you suspected to be carnage ahead.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring at the letter for so long until you heard your door creak a bit wider open, and you immediately whirled, putting the letter face down onto your desk. Lucien cocked a brow, his hazel eyes immediately going to the letter in what looked like suspicion.

“Hiding something?”

He asked, and you rolled your eyes, biting your lip slightly in what looked to be an expression of a flustered female.

“I don’t think you’d like to read the letters of my most recent lover, Luci.”

His expression immediately changed, going to being a bit caught off guard himself, before he shook his head. He gestured for you to follow him, and before you did, you slipped the letter between the small crack of the shelf and the desk itself. He only gave you a withering glance at that, and you glared back.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else finding it. Imagine if Beron found it.”

You said in a wry tone, and Lucien let out an undignified snort at that while he led you down to the dining hall, the first bit of laughter you’d managed to coax out of him in a while. You must’ve lost track of time while thinking, a common habit of yours.

“Yes, I don’t think he’d appreciate a letter from one of your notorious lovers.”

He said in a quieter tone, probably not wanting anyone else to overhear. Rumors of the royal family spread too quickly for their good, especially when the human servants were paid by others, sometimes journalists, to spill the drama.

Most of it, of course, was made up simply to get money, but sometimes…the rumors were true enough to make you be a lot more secretive with what you did and displayed in public, and even behind closed doors. Eyes and ears were everywhere, after all.

“Notorious is a strong word.”

You mumbled in an amused tone, right as you entered the dining room, your father at the head of the table, your mother to his left, Eris to his right, and all your other brothers seated miscellaneously. Lucien sat down in his spot, and you sat in yours that was beside his, your other brother to your right.

“I’m glad you finally decided to join us, Y/N.”

Your father’s monotonous but still annoyed voice rang out from the head of the table as he began to eat, signaling everyone else could as well. You stabbed a potato with your fork, taking a small bite to give yourself time to formulate a coherent response to it, something that you could use to distract from the letter you’d gotten. Unless…

Swallowing your food, you spoke.

“I received a letter.”

The sentence alone was a challenge. The normal response would be a formal apology for your tardiness to dinner, which was more like an event you had to attend than any family activity. You didn’t go on, another challenge. Making him wait for you to speak.

The silence grew oppressive, and you continued eating. Your brothers watched, some openly staring in confusion, Eris only glancing once with something of a warning in his eyes, and Lucien stared down at his plate, probably already having figured out that the letter he’d seen you hide hadn’t been one from a lover.

Your mother then pinned you with her sharp gaze, the intelligence behind her submissive figure clear in the moment. Even if your father wasn’t smart enough to see it like you did.

“What did it contain?”

She asked, intervening between you and your father. Your father didn’t so much as glance at her, now scowling and staring at you. You put your fork down on your napkin, swallowing a mouthful of delicious food before speaking again.

“I’ve been invited to Night Court.”

You spoke, looking up to meet your father’s gaze, unwavering. He seemed to tense at that, and the news you’d shared with him.

“Why.”

He demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“For the prospect of seeking out an alliance in your stead. Though with the coming war, it might be my last chance to see Night Court at all.”

Everyone tensed at that, your casual but realistic words hitting right where they should’ve. Reminding everyone of the insecurity in the court, that the coming war could kill you, or take out Night Court. The latter Beron wouldn’t mind, but the former…you were a valuable trading piece for him, one that he didn’t want to dispose of through your possibly untimely demise.

Beron swallowed, sighing through his nose as he broke his stare to glance down at his plate, clearly considering it. Eris then spoke up.

“If I may, she has a point, father. An alliance with the Night Court and their considerable armies could prove useful during the battle to come.”

He spoke, glancing over at you with a clear look of “You had better know what you’re doing.” You didn’t know why he was helping you, considering he’d probably looked inside the letter. His words to you, that you would enjoy the letter, only supported that theory. For whatever reason he wanted you to go into Night Court wasn’t clear, but he was helping you nonetheless.

Beron finally spoke, everyone holding their breath.

“Very well. You will remain there 2 months at most, but at any hint of attack, you will return here immediately.”

You gave a dip of your head in obedience and appreciation, before going back to your dinner as the tension remained in the room. You had told your father of the alliance prospect, but nothing of a political marriage. A half-truth at best.

You were going to Night Court, to woo the heir to the throne and convince him to marry you for an alliance, all in time to save your Court before the first attack came.

The real question was, would you be quick enough?

We’ll see.

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | seven

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: I think none, just some bantering and fluff towards the end

A/N: here is where the good shit starts...

Nimue had started spending more time outdoors. She sat on the balconies of the house, in the garden, in the outdoor patio, and she enjoyed the fresh air. She loved feeling the wind on her skin, in her hair, the chill as the sun set.

However, there was a shadow looming over her.

She was enjoying her new life, her new freedom, but she knew that at some point all of that would have to change, that she would have to return to reality.

She was sitting in the garden, in a chair, with her eyes closed and letting herself be carried away by the sensation of the sun on her skin when suddenly she felt it.

She felt something in her mind open up, and her vision was blinded from inside her skull. When she opened her eyes, she didn't see the trees and rose bushes in the garden, she only saw white.

She didn't panic, as that light was the same one that surrounded her when she was inside the Cauldron. It was him, trying to tell her something, to teach her something.

So she clung to the chair's armrests to stay anchored to the earthly plane and let herself be carried wherever the Cauldron was dragging her.

She saw herself in the middle of a path. In front of her, green meadows and lush forests. There was something there that made the greens of the leaves seem livelier, that made the blue sky shine brighter.

When she turned around, trying to take in all her surroundings, she found a beautiful mansion behind her, where the path she was on ended. The house was neglected, but still, its charm made Nimue feel drawn towards its interior.

She supposed it must be the Spring Court, as it matched the brief descriptions Feyre had given her when telling her story.

And then she saw it.

Under the huge entrance gate, she saw them, all of them.

She saw Jurian, she saw Dagdan and Brannagh, her hateful cousins. There in the midst of all that splendor and springtime radiance, the human and the two twins exuded a poisonous and black aura that tainted the air around them.

She wondered if that's how Azriel and the others saw her, and she felt a pang of disgust towards herself in her chest.

Azriel, standing in the middle of the kitchen with a cup in his hand, felt the same pang in his own chest.

He immediately became alert and pulled and pulled on that invisible thread. He felt Nimue's presence on the other side, but there was something strange. As if she also wasn't there.

He set the cup aside, not caring if it fell to the floor or not, and hurried out of the kitchen. He first looked in the library, where he knew she spent most of her time.

He knew, clearly, because it was his duty to watch over her and make sure she didn't have any hidden intentions.

Just because of that, nothing more.

When he decided to peek into the garden, there she was.

The princess, taking one last look to identify Tamlin and Lucien, let herself be dragged back to Velaris, to her new home.

She came to her senses, and in front of her was Azriel.

"Hello."

Azriel didn't say anything. He just looked at her, in silence, watching as the girl got up from the chair and walked towards him under the sunlight.

There, in the light, she seemed to shine with her own light.

He took a couple of deep breaths and tensed his body completely. Involuntarily, his wings spread behind him, and he could see his own shadow projected on the ground.

Alright, perfect. We have to impress her.

He wanted to smack himself.

After what had happened the other day at the training ground, after letting himself go so unconsciously, Azriel's shadows had completely betrayed him. They spent the hours of the day chasing Nimue around the house, whispering in his ear everything the princess did or didn't do, telling him that she wore a very pretty dress, or that she had perfumed herself with a small bottle of cologne that Feyre had given her.

He had been avoiding her for days, now more than ever, after the ridiculousness he had made in front of Cassian.

Oh, Cassian. He had made sure everyone in the house knew, and he had also made sure to embarrass Azriel on the subject.

And now, after days, their encounter couldn't happen any other way, with his body disobeying him again, his wings spreading like a bird's, his body tensing every muscle to pretend.

He looked like a foolish teenager trying to impress the girl he liked.

Nimue gave him a warm smile, so warm that Azriel could swear his heart was melting in the middle of his chest.

"I haven't seen you in many days."

Nimue knew he had been avoiding her. Nimue knew Azriel's shadows followed her around the house. She also knew that something had changed within the male, because she felt it through the bond. She felt a small burning spark, amidst all that anger and rage boiling inside him.

"I've been busy. I have a job, even if it doesn't seem like it."

Azriel reconsidered the option of smacking himself.

Why was he like this with her? Why couldn't he manage to give her a kind word, a good look, a nice smile? Just like everyone else in his family did.

However, Nimue's own smile didn't falter.

"I know," she simply said. She continued to look at him a little longer, with all that curiosity in her face that only made Azriel soften even more.

And so they stood, in silence, facing each other for a while longer without really knowing what to say. Simply internalizing each other's presence. Until Nimue remembered the pressing matter.

"Oh, I have to talk to Rhysand. Things are moving fast in Spring.”

"Wonderful. So now it's not just Tamlin, as if that wasn't enough, the damn Jurian is with him in Spring too. And you're telling me you have two sadistic and psychopathic cousins there as well?"

Rhysand immediately wanted to tear his hair out. Everything was slipping out of their hands. They had found a quick and discreet solution to all of this, to prevent a greater evil, and things had gone awry. He was grateful for the help Nimue had unconditionally provided, but welcoming the princess into their home had only put a target on their backs for the King of Hybern.

"I can help, Rhysand. Let me go there, and I'll take care of slowing down all their plans."

The High Lord hesitated. He could feel Feyre's gaze on him, the expectation she placed on his decision.

"Nimue..." Rhysand didn't know how to say it tactfully.

He glanced around the room, where everyone had gathered to hear what the princess had to say. He observed Azriel carefully, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking as though he might bore a hole in the floor with his restlessness.

Azriel didn't want to let her go to Spring. It was suspicious, too risky. The perfect opportunity for her to betray their trust, to join forces with her cousins and the traitor Tamlin and end everything in Prythian, just as her father wanted her to do.

He wanted to trust her, but her eagerness to convince them to let her go, to let her go with the enemy...

"No," said Azriel. He stepped forward, imposing himself in the atmosphere of that meeting, and everyone looked at him. "We can't let her go, it's risky and dangerous. We still don't know what her intentions are or what will happen if her family convinces her to return.

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here in front of you." With her sharp teeth fully visible, ears laid back and pinned to her skull, Nimue looked like a stray cat about to attack. The embodiment of rage. "I've been in this house for almost a month, living with you all and earning your trust. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it in Hybern to save myself all this time, I wouldn't need to convince you of anything if my goal was to win the war for my father. I would simply kill you, and there would be no war to win."

Everyone remained silent and surprised at the princess's sudden outburst of fury. The sweet and innocent girl they had come to know over the past month had disappeared, and in her place, a furious beast stared at each of them one by one.

"I made it clear from the beginning. You need me. Let me fit into your plans and help you, or I'll burn everything down regardless of what stands in the way: High Lords or kings of Hybern."

Rhysand immediately became alert, ready for anything, as did the entire Inner Circle.

"Calm down."

"I'll calm down when you understand that I'm not a helpless child, nor a mere spy. I'll calm down when you understand that I'm a weapon made for war and that I have no reason to wish you harm," Nimue breathed. She did her best to dissipate her anger, to let it flow and evaporate through every pore. "Unlike the father who imprisoned me for twenty years and intends to ravage the entire world, I wish no harm upon you."

Azriel, with his hand on the hilt of his dagger, felt the heavy atmosphere of the room dissipate slowly, as Nimue glanced at each of them one by one, pleading for a vote of confidence. He felt the sorrow of the female in his own chest, raw through the bond.

Sorrow, because even though Nimue believed she was finding her place, she felt so hard to love, so hard to accept. They saw her as a monster and a threat wherever she went, and there were times when, despite her efforts to fight against that stigma, she only reinforced it. Like at that moment, when faced with the rejection of these people, she had reverted to her old self, the one who bared her teeth and threatened others.

In a final desperate attempt, she turned to Azriel, "Please, I beg you. Give me this chance and take action against my father and his madness."

Azriel looked at her, holding his breath and fighting against the instinct to fall to his knees and give the pleading female whatever she wanted. It was so difficult for him to fight against his instincts that he had to close his eyes and then look at the ceiling, avoiding Nimue's eyes, who knew what she was doing with all the rationality Azriel could have.

Rhysand broke the silence with a long sigh.

"Okay," sighed the High Lord. There was a moment of silence in which Azriel supposed he would be speaking mind to mind with Feyre. "The only condition is that Azriel goes with you and ensures that everything goes well."

"Okay. When do we leave?"

Azriel gazed enraptured at his lifelong brother, his High Lord.

"Pardon?”

She was sitting in one of the armchairs in her room, her gaze fixed on the stars shining in the sky. She counted them, searching for the constellations that Amren had taught her in those books, memorizing their names. She felt nerves on edge, anticipation for the next day, for her parting to the Spring Court boiling deep within her.

Finally, she felt useful. Finally, her twenty years of waiting were leading her somewhere. Although she found herself on the opposite side of the fight than she had imagined, she felt that was where she belonged.

In her reverie, she felt a tug in the middle of her chest. The door to her room opened on its own, as if a gust of wind had pushed it, as if the house itself were urging her to go. Nimue shivered and decided to follow that pull, that sensation she received with open arms even if she didn't want to, even if she tried to resist it.

Azriel.

She followed the bond through the corridors, blindly, opening doors and ascending to the attic of the house. There, she climbed out of one of the windows and onto the roof of the house.

In the darkness of the night, illuminated by the half moon, Azriel was sitting on the black tiles, his face tilted towards the sky and his eyes closed.

Nimue didn't utter a word, didn't move a muscle, by the Mother, she didn't even breathe. She stayed still, observing every angle of that male's face, how the pale light of the moon illuminated his dark skin, how his raven hair shone like the purest of onyx. She remained silent, afraid he would notice her presence and chase her away barking, as the only communication between them was usually to insult or annoy each other.

Nimue looked at him and looked at him. She looked at him so much that she thought she was going to cry, until Azriel let out a sigh.

"Are you going to come closer or are you going to stay there all night?"

Nimue flinched, but quickly crawled over to where he was, sitting beside him at a prudent distance and pulling her knees to her chest. She felt her nose and cheeks reddened by the cold, her fingertips growing numb. But she didn't mind, as that made her feel alive.

"Are you nervous?"

She mulled over the response for a couple of seconds, still gazing at the stars.

"Yes," she turned to look at Azriel only to find the male's gaze already fixed on her, a relaxed expression on his face. "And you?"

"Only a fool wouldn't be."

They fell silent for a while longer, Nimue's gaze on the city below, Azriel's on the beautiful female beside him.

He couldn't stop looking at her. When he tried, his gaze involuntarily returned to her figure. He focused on every little thing, every tiny detail he could see: the waves of her white hair, the messy half up she wore, how the smile seemed so natural on her face that even though she tried to hide it, it always came back.

His shadows seemed awfully and suspiciously quiet that night, leaving room for his not so quiet thoughts.

Suddenly, she raised her hand, pointing at something in the middle of the sky.

"I never knew what that constellation was called, but it's the one I observed from the few windows I saw in the Palace. Every night I looked at it, counted the stars, drew it on every piece of paper I laid my hands on."

Azriel followed her finger, unable to contain his smile when he saw what she meant. He leaned back, lying on the tiles and letting his weight fall on his elbows. Nimue turned to him, that curiosity and fascination typical of a child discovering the world shining in her eyes, and Azriel felt a stab of anger.

His mate, who had spent the twenty years of her life locked in a Palace, was nothing more than the puppet of a bad man. And only now she was lucky enough to see the world, to be fascinated by all those things that he considered so mundane and ordinary that he overlooked them day after day.

"Here we call it the Promise constellation, but in other courts they call it the Lovers' constellation. Under it, many couples in Prythian swear eternal love. They celebrate their weddings and engagements at night and swear their vows under the light of those stars." Azriel looked at her cautiously, waiting for any reaction from her.

But Nimue only turned her gaze back to the stars, a lump in her throat. It was beautiful. Swearing eternal love to someone...

In all her existence, she had never imagined that there would be room for love. But she allowed herself to dream for a second, just one second, about how it would feel to love and be loved.

Azriel felt his emotions mix with Nimue's, felt so many things at once that, careful not to let the female see him, he brought his hand to his face to wipe away the tear that was sliding down his cheek. It was brutal, feeling all those things as if it were the first time, because it certainly was the first time Nimue felt them.

"How beautiful..." the princess whispered.

"Yes, it is. It's beautiful."

Nimue looked at him again, the purest of smiles on her face, and with a quick movement, she took Azriel's hand between hers and brought it to her lap, causing Azriel to be surprised by the gesture.

"You must learn to trust me, no matter what it costs. From my heart and under this constellation, I swear loyalty to you, I swear I will do everything I can to win this war and make sure nothing goes wrong. I swear with all my soul that you can trust me, that I am worthy of your trust."

Azriel was stunned, speechless, a look of complete surprise uncommon on his face. With his gaze lost in their joined hands, he couldn't help but notice the scars contrasting against Nimue's pale skin, and how well their hands looked together. So contrasting were their skin tones, yet so accomplice in the marks of their past. He sat up, and with his other gloved hand, he embraced Nimue's.

"And I swear I will learn to trust you, blindly."

Intertwining between their fingers, a tattoo in the shape of thorn branches began to stain their skin, bearing witness to the promise they had just made.

And with only the stars as witnesses, Azriel and Nimue held each other's hands, looking into each others eyes, staring into each other's souls.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @krowiathemythologynerd @donttellthecats @annblvd @annamariereads16 @crazylokonugget @smoooothoperator @bookwormysblog

[imsandra]

The Great War

Pairing: Lucien x Female Reader

Summary: If they survive the great war, will they dare to love each other?

Warning: Angst, tension, death, but nothing graphic. I think that's all, let me know if something is missing.

Word count: 3625

Notes: I hope you enjoy this story about our favorite redhead. As always, feel free to leave your comments, suggestions, everything is welcome as long as it is respectful and with the aim to teach.

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any spelling or grammar issues.

This is an original story, written by me. Please do not copy or plagiarize my work.

I appreciate any comments, reblogs, and likes I receive.

Happy reading!

Master list

“Elain, where is Lucien?” Y/N asked, gasping.

Things had gone wrong; the war was unfolding too close to both women, and their friend had disappeared.

“I don’t know,” she replied, in shock.

Elain had killed the king of Hybern; she still held the Truth-Telling in her delicate, blood-covered hands. She had been very brave to plunge the dagger into his heart. So she thought her favorite redhead would be with her.

The Illyrian scanned the battlefield, straining her vision as much as she could, trying to distinguish among all the heads that made up the war legion led by Cassian.

But that red spark was not among them.

A sense of panic began to engulf her body; her fingers started to go numb, and her breathing quickened.

She heard footsteps approaching, crunching the fallen leaves that covered the forest; she turned too quickly when the noise reached her ears, but disappointment crossed her eyes.

It wasn’t Lucien; it was Nesta.

“Have you seen Lucien?” she asked again, hopefully.

Nesta arrived beside Elain, checking on how her sister was doing.

“No,” she replied coldly. “The last time I saw him, he arrived with the ships. He’s probably among the dead,” she added. She only cared about the well-being of sweet, delicate Elain—only her and her own.

Hearing that, with the breath she had left, she dashed into the center of the battle, praying to the gods that the harsh words of the older Archeron wouldn’t come true.

With her sword in hand and senses alert, she ran and ran, shouting the redhead’s name.

“Lucien! Lucien!” she cried desperately over and over; a knot was beginning to form in her throat.

She killed the enemies who crossed her path, stabbing and pulling the sword out of each body and its clothes, getting more and more covered in blood.

One blow, then two, the steel ringing in her ears. And there was no sign of the fox.

Fatigue was beginning to take over her body, her heart racing. A few meters away, she saw the body of the general, exhausted like everyone around him.

“Cas… Cassian!” she shouted with a hoarse voice.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” he said, surprised to see the healer in such a dangerous place. “Are you crazy?” he yelled, frightened upon seeing her tunic stained with red liquid and the sword in the same state. “You could’ve been killed. You need to go back with the others. This place isn’t safe, and where did you find that?”

“Have you seen Lucien?” she whispered, exhausted, ignoring everything her brother had said.

“Did you hear what I said? You’re going to get a sword through your heart; go back to the healers’ camp right now,” the warrior ordered.

Just then, a man appeared behind the Illyrian, trying to kill him. And as if she were the wind itself, she moved as quickly as the desperation coursing through her veins. With the agility of a hawk, she cut off his head, and the general could only watch in shock.

While her sister had been training for years, he never thought she would possess such skill, let alone put it to the test.

Until now.

“Damn!” he whispered softly to himself. “Who taught you that?” he asked, curious and a touch proud.

“Tell me if you’ve seen Lucien Vanserra,” she insisted to her brother.

“The last time I saw him, he was near the other side of the forest, with Vassa,” he informed her, sweat and dirt covering his face. “And have you seen Azriel?” he questioned.

“I thought he was with you,” she replied.

Now two males were missing.

“Great, we’ll have to search for them among all the bodies,” he said, exhaling and praying not to find them among the lifeless limbs.

Both headed toward the place where they last saw Lucien, hoping to find the Shadow Singer with him.

The line between saving and killing began to blur as the battle continued.

The two moved quickly through the chaos, the sound of clashing swords and screams filling the air. Her heart raced, her eyes frantically scanning the battlefield for any trace of the fox or the Shadow Singer.

In the distance, they saw a red flash among the tangle of warriors, and Y/N immediately recognized Lucien's unmistakable hair.

He stood fighting with a ferocity she had never seen in him before. His movements were precise, lethal, and his skill with the sword was evident as he took down one enemy after another.

The healer felt a mix of relief and awe. She had run through the battlefield, convinced that the redhead was injured or worse. But seeing him in action, fighting with such skill, ignited a new spark of hope within her.

However, not everything was in his favor. Despite his prowess, he was surrounded, outnumbered by several enemy soldiers.

Y/N and Cassian exchanged a quick glance, knowing they had to intervene.

“Cassian, to the left!” she shouted as she charged toward the enemy's right flank, her sword gleaming in the air.

The warrior nodded and moved with the speed of a predator to the other side, attacking the soldiers surrounding Lucien. She arrived just in time to block a strike that would have injured her friend.

Lucien cast her a quick look of acknowledgment, a spark of gratitude in his eyes, but there was no time for words. Together, the three of them fought, forming a small but impenetrable barrier against the enemies.

After a series of deadly blows, the enemies began to retreat, leaving them standing, breathing heavily amid the chaos. The fox lowered his sword, his face covered in sweat and dirt but unscathed.

“Y/N…” he began, his voice hoarse from exertion.

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and anger.

“I was about to lose my mind looking for you!” she exclaimed, though the relief in her voice was undeniable.

Lucien felt the tension in his battle-worn muscles ease at her words.

He took a step closer, closing the space between them, and wrapped her in a firm, swift embrace filled with intensity. It wasn’t the gesture of a friend or someone merely grateful. It was something deeper, something that had been silent for too long.

When they pulled apart, his hands lingered on her waist for a second longer, as if he didn’t want to let her go so quickly.

Cassian also chimed in, a crooked smile on his face.

“Well, now that the fox is safe, has anyone seen Azriel?”

The general had already begun scanning the area, as if expecting to spot his winged brother in some corner of the battlefield.

“He can’t be far,” he murmured, a mix of hope and urgency in his voice.

Lucien was alert too, his gaze focused on the chaos around them.

“The last time I saw him, he was facing a group of soldiers near the river,” he added, wiping the blood from his sword into the fabric of his pants.

They barely had time to recover before the weight of worry for Azriel hit them again.

Without a second thought, Y/N began to move in that direction, her heart pounding in her ears. The ground was littered with bodies, both allies and enemies alike, making every step more difficult.

The sounds of combat still echoed; as they approached the area Lucien had mentioned, they found remnants of a fierce battle. The marks on the ground and the fallen bodies made it clear that a strong fight had taken place there.

Then, Y/N spotted one of the daggers from the Master of Spies, embedded in a soldier’s chest.

“This is Az’s,” she announced softly, picking up the bloodied weapon.

The two males quickly moved closer. The trail of blood continued, leading toward the thick underbrush near the river. They began to follow it, their hearts filled with fear for what they might find.

Among the trees, she distinguished a fallen figure among the branches and leaves.

“Azriel!” she shouted, running toward him.

The Illyrian lay on the ground, his wings spread out with a deep wound in his side. His breathing was irregular, but he was conscious. Around him, several fallen bodies indicated that he had fought to his last breath.

With evident effort, he tried to sit up upon seeing his friend approach.

“No… I’m…” he tried to say, his voice barely a whisper.

The healer fell to her knees beside him, her trembling hands assessing the severity of the wound. Lucien and Cassian arrived a moment later, watching with concern.

“Stay with us,” she murmured, trying to contain the wave of relief she felt at finding him alive.

“Y/N,” Cassian interjected, looking around, alert for more enemies.

She began to work immediately at the urgency in her brother’s voice. Her healing magic started to flow from her hands into Azriel’s body, but it wasn’t easy. The wound was deep, and while the magic could stop the bleeding, the Shadow Singer needed more time to heal completely.

Azriel looked at her with those eyes full of gratitude, though he could barely speak.

“It’s… nothing. Just… another wound,” he said with a weak smile.

Cassian and Lucien had kept watch around them, protecting them while Y/N worked. At that moment, there was only one thing on her mind: keeping Azriel alive.

“He’s stable,” she announced, her hands stained with her friend’s blood. “We need to move; we can’t stay here any longer.”

Lucien stepped closer to Y/N and helped her up. Meanwhile, Cassian moved closer to his brother.

“You did well,” he whispered to her.

She relaxed her shoulders, if only for a moment. Her body was growing weary. They needed to reach the healer camp soon.

He prepared to help the general move the Master of Spies. The four of them headed toward the camp.

Along the way, they dispatched more soldiers, the three of them taking turns to protect Azriel. The war lord had his brother’s arm around his neck, while his sister and the male who would soon become his brother-in-law— or so he hoped—fought against every enemy. The two moved in perfect sync, a well-executed dance.

They were only a few meters away; soon they stopped when the sound of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded began to fade.

The echo of war drums, which had resonated loudly across the battlefield, slowly quieted into a distant murmur.

In the distance, the remaining enemy forces retreated. Victory was theirs, but there was no celebration on the faces of the survivors, only exhaustion and pain. The silence that followed was deafening.

After so many hours of chaos, the calm felt surreal.

Cassian, still breathing heavily, raised his sword in a sign of triumph, though his eyes filled with sadness at the sight of his army's losses. The remaining Illyrian warriors raised their fists in the air.

The end had come, but at a cost that would resonate within them for a long time.

Y/N looked around, searching for her friends. In the distance, she saw Feyre embracing Rhysand; her gaze located Mor not far away, Amren, and the rest of the High Lords.

“It’s over,” she murmured, almost in disbelief. The words felt strange on her lips, as if the idea of peace were foreign after so long of fighting.

“Yes, we did it,” Cassian said, his voice deep but tinged with relief. However, there was no smile on his face, only a glance toward the fallen, those who would not see the end of the war.

The air smelled of ash and blood. The rays of the sun began to break over the horizon, bathing the battlefield in a golden light, as if the world wanted to forget the darkness it had just witnessed.

With one last look at the field, the general gestured to the few remaining warriors, ordering them to return to camp.

The group began to walk back as well, helping Azriel to stay upright.

The three entered the tent that the Master of Spies occupied; Cassian carefully placed Azriel on the makeshift bed.

The healer searched for some water to bring down his fever. The effort her friend had put forth during the journey was taking its toll on his body. She placed a cloth on his forehead and let him rest.

“I’ll go attend to the other wounded,” she told the general, leaving some tea on the table. “When he wakes up, make sure he drinks it. I’ll be nearby.”

“Your father would be proud of you,” he suddenly said, his gaze fixed on his brother’s body.

Her heart began to race. It had been a long time since anyone had mentioned her father. Her father, who had given his life for her; she couldn’t remember anything about him. He had left centuries ago.

Lucien felt the tension in the air, so he quietly slipped out of the tent.

“And Mom would be proud of you,” he replied; her eyes met her brother’s.

Cassian approached her and wrapped his arms around her. His heart raced with fear at having seen Y/N with a sword in hand and blood staining her clothes. He hugged her tighter, and she returned his affection.

“Next time, let me know you’ll be with us. I almost went to the Mother when I saw you running to your lover. Very romantic,” he whispered in her ear, his voice breaking, and kissed her forehead.

No matter what, she was his little sister. The one he had watched grow up and had tucked in a few times; he would always protect her.

Her cheeks flushed; she was sure he would never stop teasing her about it.

“Enough! I have to go; take care of Az.” A smile spread across her face.

The general only chuckled, a low laugh. A sign that things would get better soon.

Lucien had settled under a tree near the camp where Y/N was working. He watched her move skillfully among the bodies, just as she had on the battlefield. He hadn’t seen her wield a weapon in years.

And when he saw her saving a life, his mind flooded with the first time he met her; she had pointed a dagger at his throat, and today, she had thrust a sword into someone else's throat.

For him.

The fact that she, so strong and brave, had traversed the chaos of the battlefield with him in mind left him momentarily bewildered. A mix of warmth and vulnerability settled in his chest.

It was different from what he had felt with Elain. With her, there was an inevitable, mystical connection dictated by the bond. But this, what he shared with Y/N, felt real. Human.

It wasn't based on ancient magic or a predestined tie, but on something more tangible, more painfully beautiful. For a moment, he wondered if he deserved that concern, but seeing her face, he knew it didn’t matter.

She had done it. And that changed everything.

The female smiled at him from afar. He could see her eyes shining with adoration when he returned the gesture.

His heart raced with the intensity of an electric jolt; he felt his cheeks heat up, and his soul flooded with warmth as she approached. For the first time in his life, he felt very nervous. The palms of his hands began to sweat, and his breath quickened; that was the effect she had on him.

“How are you?” she asked; he didn’t know what to say. Lucien’s mind was occupied memorizing her face—her eyes, her lips, the shape of her nose, every detail he could absorb from her.

“I’m fine,” she said, laughing at seeing her redhead distracted.

No one could lie to Lucien Vanserra; he could see through her that she was tired, exhausted. Even though she smiled, he knew her perfectly.

The redhead stepped closer and embraced her. Y/N leaned against his toned body and sighed. They both needed that, to be in each other’s arms.

He held her while stroking her back slowly and soothingly. He inhaled her scent. Despite the blood, mud, and sweat, Lucien felt at home.

He had grown accustomed to being the outcast, and he had finally found his home.

She was his home.

She always had been, and it was time to accept it.

With a gentle motion, he pulled her away from his body; he held her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks.

She focused her gaze on Lucien's eyes, a beautiful golden color and another mechanical reddish hue, so lovely. In her eyes, he had always been beautiful; she could spend hours admiring his beauty. Perhaps a whole lifetime if they were allowed.

But maybe that would never happen. The mere thought made her chest ache.

Lucien kissed her forehead, and instinctively she closed her eyes. The redhead moved and leaned against the tree, making space between his legs and gesturing for her to sit. Y/N's back met Lucien's warm chest, and a sigh escaped her lips.

Their breaths intertwined as he pulled her closer with his strong arms.

“One of the wounded didn’t make it,” she whispered, his voice breaking, “and his wife will be waiting for him to come home…”

The dam broke, and the weight of guilt settled in the air. Tears flowed freely, and Lucien wiped each one away, holding her close and sharing her pain; his Y/N had been so brave. And he could never blame her for that.

“You did the best you could,” he murmured, kissing the crown of her head. “My beautiful and brave Y/N.”

She turned; her gaze roamed his face, and she could see his eyes shining with deep affection. Y/N leaned in, their foreheads touching, debating whether to cross the line.

Lucien placed his hand on the woman’s neck, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. Closer and closer, their lips brushed together, and he couldn’t resist any longer. He gently drew her in, giving her the chance to pull away; but she closed the space, and their lips met in a kiss filled with all the affection they held.

They separated, breathing heavily.

Lucien kissed her nose, and she embraced him, burying her head in his neck.

“I would run into every necessary war just to be in your arms,” her voice muffled against the redhead’s shirt. “I will always find you.”

The redhead's heart stopped for a second upon hearing those words. He felt the intensity of the moment, the warmth of the healer's body enveloping him like the only thing keeping him standing after the battle.

He slowly released the embrace; but without stepping away, their chests were still pressed together. He gently stroked her hair and tucked a strand behind her ear. He softly traced the base of her neck until his hand rested on her cheek.

He looked at her, and the world made sense again.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said quietly, his gaze deep and warm. “I don’t know how to make grand promises or beautiful speeches, but… Every time I close my eyes, it’s your face I see. Every time I think about what I want… it’s always to be with you.”

He paused for a moment, as if the words were a weight he had finally decided to bear.

“You’re the reason I keep going,” he added, his voice soft yet firm. “And I don’t care if the world changes or if everything collapses around us. My heart will always find its way back to you.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened. She felt the heat of his body, the way his words wrapped around her like a dangerous promise, impossible to ignore. Lucien's eyes, the golden and the metallic, looked at her with an intensity that made her hold her breath.

“But… Elain. She’s your mate,” she interjected.

“She’ll be fine.”

He knew that Elain and Azriel spent too much time together, and she would be okay in the arms of the Master of Spies.

“And you, will you be okay?” she asked curiously, wishing for him to stay with her.

Lucien chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the woman’s chest.

“My soul is right where it wants to be, by your side, darling,” he said. He gently drew her in, and their lips met in a sweet kiss.

In the air vibrated a promise: together, they would face every battle to come. They would make the world burn for each other to be together again.

At the entrance of Azriel's tent, the general saw how two of the most important people in his life were with the ones they belonged to. 

The seer was stroking Azriel's hair, and the fox was smiling at Y/N as if she brought forth the sun each morning.

The sunset gave way to night, and Cassian knew that tomorrow would be a better day.

*divider by @tsunami-of-tears , thank you <33

A/N: A/N: It took me a while to write this one shot, it may not even be perfect and it may have some spelling mistakes, but I didn't want to waste any more time lol. You can always tell me what you think about this. I hope you liked it. I love you guys.

[thecowinblack]

Broken promises pt.4

Moodboard Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

Reader x Eris

Summary: New inhabitants in the Autumn Court and some real explanation to the last parts ending...

Warnings: Fluff

A/n: Hi everyone! I'm soooo sorry this took so freaking long to make. I've literally had no inspiration for this universe but I decided to write a short part and see if it comes back! I love you all /Thecowinblack💕💕💕

A/n 2.0: Oh and imagine that Nesta hasn't yet been forced to live at the house of wind, for the sake of my story line.

The realization hit you hard.Your whole childhood had been a lie. Everything from your moment's with your mother, no adopted mother to the moments with your brothers back in the war camps. Nothing had been real, because you weren't his sister. You didn't have a brother. You didn't even have real parents, The Mother obviously didn't count. Not more than the King of Hybern counted as Elain or Nestas father. Everything was like a long forgotten memory, a memory that always existed in your brain, just blurry. And now it was totally clear.

You'd been created by the Mother. As a tool on earth. You could see things, like a seer but instead of seeing the future you could see your creator's wishes. But still. There was something that still was blurry, something about your powers. The one's that even frightened Armen.

You realized that you'd arrived at your door. The door to the room that you and Eris shared. You opened the door. Wondering how the hell you were supposed to tell Eris this. Walking in you could see him spread out on the couch, reading something.

“Eris, I need to talk to you about something.”

__________________________________

You and Eris had arrived back at your estate a couple days ago. Everything that you'd learned you'd told him. From the fact that you weren't Rhysands sister to your powers. All of it. And somehow he hadn't been confused, he had understood.

“Y/N come on, I'm dying of hunger!” Eris called out from the staircase.

“I'm on my way!” You shouted back.

Running down to the dining room you saw Lucien and… Nesta. You quickly pulled her in for a hug.

“What are you two doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in the Night court?” You asked them.

“Fayre and Rhysand made an ultimatum, stay in the House of wind with no alcohol and train and work in the library, bla bla bla or move out of the court. I thought of what you said at the meeting so I decided to come here.” Nesta said to you.

“I couldn't deal with Elain and Azriel anymore so I just decided to leave. You guys are okay with us staying here right?” Lucien told you and Eris.

“Of course, let's eat and then I can show you around Nes!”

Dinner was amazing and you later pulled Nesta with you, leaving your husband and his brother to talk alone.

“Do you want to see the library?” You asked her. Nesta nodded and you opened the large oak doors behind you. The walls were covered in bookshelves with books in all colors. You could see Nestas eyes lit up. You knew this library was bigger than any in the Night court, and filled with romance. You guided her over to that section and she quickly grabbed a couple books.

“Can the rest of the tour wait until tomorrow?” She asked you and you started to laugh and to your surprise did too. A big smile painted your lips as you grabbed your own book and the two of you sat down on the closet couch, just reading.

__________________________________

A/n: I know that this one was really short but I'll probably write another really soon! Bye byeee!

Taglist: @queerqueenlynn @se7enteen--black-blog @mybestfriendmademe @cleverzonkwombatsludge @myromanempiree @st4r-girl-official

[lovemyromance]

Ok so during Gwyn week, we're cool with Gwyn x Tamlin, Gwyn x Lucien, Gwyn x Beron, Gwyn x King Hybern, Gwyn x Koschei ships and fanart being accepted right?

No?

"It's different"? "That's messed up"? "The mods are against that" ??

But I thought they were fictional characters and we're allowed to ship whoever we want because of "freedom of speech"?

She's supposed to be the one "accepting Azriel's darkness" right? And now you're telling me I can't even ship her with a clear villain just to explore her "dark side" even further? What do you mean? Why ever not?

That's what you people sound like, btw.

The issue isn't even you people wanting to ship these crack ships. It's the fact that a mod set a clear boundary for whatever reason (perhaps it personally affects them, have you ever considered that?), and you are disrespecting that boundary. No means no.

[theladyofbloodshed]

It's been an age since I read the series, but I do think Rhys was intended to be one of the villains for the trilogy:

SJM scrapped her original plan for ACOMAF and wrote the current one. ACOMAF is touted as a hades x persephone retelling but it isn't really that at all. On her second (?) visit she decides to stay.

Rhys very much is the villain in book one but the end scene when they talk and the bond snaps was a different tone entirely - which makes me think it was a last minute edit to set up the new sequel

There are no mentions to Illyrians in ACOTAR - despite later finding out they did serve alongside Amarantha and were executed for it - the attor is the only one described as having leathery wings

There are also no mentions to Darkbringers who did also serve

Why would they serve Rhys if they hate him? It's explained as them being SO evil that they revel in Amarantha's punishment, but they would still need to follow his orders so it makes no sense that they would listen to him when they could bypass Rhys and bend the knee to her

It is retconned that with his single drop of leftover magic, he is able to shield Velaris and remove Amren, Mor, Cassian and Azriel from the memories of every single person in Prythian - which includes Mor's family, every Illyrian, the Vanserras, and Tamlin (in book 2, Tamlin and Lucien comfirm they know Cass & Az, Eris was engaged to Mor, Lucien calls Amren a scary story they tell children, the CoN apparently knows about Velaris) If Rhys wasn't the originally intended villain then...

Why does the king of Hybern who trained Amarantha - she uses his book of spells - do nothing for fifty years? The Suriel states that a hundred years earlier he sends spies to Prythian but Amarantha betrays him and traps the high lords and he then just chills

Why does he wait until the high lords are back to full strength to start a war to take over Prythian? He had fifty years to take over prythian when all of the high lords except one were trapped - but what? He was too scared of Amarantha? He needed an extra 8 months to launch his war?

Amarantha is his student so it stands to reason that he is stronger than her and could quite easily take over her coup with the army that was seemingly ready to go at any time. There's even a part in acotar where one creature questions the attor over whether amarantha thinks she's above the king. It's also stated that her revenge on jurian cost him the war because she didn't march with her section of the army, but he's benevolent enough to let her rule for 50 years

Hybern is made out to be this ghoulish country where they're all evil (just like Illyria and the Hewn City) with no variance amongst the people; they're all warriors too, clearly no children or farmers or smiths or matronly women. They're all nameless and faceless cannon fodder. There is no concern for the state of post-war Hybern or who rules in the king's stead, for the orphans and windows. It is underdeveloped as is the nameless king who is foolish enough to try and take over prythian only *after* its high lords have all had their power restored and are fortifying their courts

[shadowqueenjude]

Lucien x Nesta friendship drabble

Nesta introduces Lucien to her chosen family! @sonics-atelier I wrote it :)) Nesta surveyed the Autumn Court male coolly. She could see the similarities between his face and Eris’s. Her sister had not overstated his cruel beauty. Since she was now married to his brother, and he was in turn mated to Elain…she supposed she would have to get to know him now. That didn’t mean she was going to make it easy on him. She let pure dismissal freeze over her stare as she looked him over. Lucien Vanserra did not balk from her stare. A ghost of a smirk flitted across his face as she continued to stare him down. “Are you admiring my metal eye, or just contemplating killing me, Nesta Archeron?” Nesta couldn’t help the small smile that spread over her face. There were few who could tolerate her spiciness. Cassian had been unable to; he had loved her spiciness, sure, but only when it was directed at others. Not him. But both Lucien and Eris loved it. It must be those Autumn court genes.

“I was just wondering…” She gestured to that eye. “I forgot who made that for you. Or did you make it yourself?”

Lucien laughed. “By the Cauldron, no. I have a very dear friend in the Dawn Court who specializes in this sort of thing. She herself has a metal arm, you know.” Nesta straightened. “What is her name?”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just for a friend,” Nesta said evasively. Lucien snorted. “You’re going to have to give me more than that horseshit if you want me to reveal her name.”

“What’s the big deal?” Nesta snapped.

“I don’t know you,” Lucien said simply. “I’d like to know why you want to know. You’re married to a brother I haven’t had a proper relationship with in centuries and possess incredible powers in the Dread Trove and that death magic you got going. Forgive me for being cautious.”

Nesta sighed. She wanted to argue further, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “Fine. One of my friends, Emerie, is an Illyrian. The Illyrians have a barbaric practice of cutting their women’s wings. So… I was wondering if this friend of yours could possibly make her metal wings.”

Lucien gaped. “Are you fucking kidding me? How is such a practice still occurring after all this time? Hasn’t that stupid Inner Circle done anything about it?”

“Apparently not,” Nesta said. “But about the wings…”

“This seems within her ballpark. Why don’t I take all of you to see her? Nuan will be able to judge better than me.”

Nesta nodded. “Let me talk to Gwyn and Emerie and get back to you.”

Later that day, Gwyn and Emerie arrived in tow with Nesta. “Do you really think she’ll be able to make the wings?” Gwyn asked. Her teal eyes were as large as saucers and filled with hope. Emerie was taut as a bowstring by her side, not daring to voice the hopes in her mind. Lucien only smiled gently at Gwyn. “Nuan hasn’t failed yet.” As if in emphasis, Lucien’s metal eye whirred to focus more fully on Gwyn. Emerie jumped away, cussing, but Gwyn grinned. “That is so cool.”

Lucien smirked. “It gave me the ability to see things that nobody else can see. So, in a way, losing my eye was a blessing.”

“How did you lose it?” Nesta asked.

Lucien turned to her. “You probably know that Prythian was ruled by that tyrant Amarantha for fifty years.” Nesta nodded. “Well, I told her to go back to the shit-hole she crawled out of. So, she clawed out my eye.” Emerie’s jaw dropped, and Gwyn murmured noises in awe. Nesta raised her brows, impressed against her will. “That’s exceptionally brave of you.”

Lucien shrugged. “I don’t respond well to threats or tyrants.” Flame sizzled in his brown eye. Nesta smiled. “Neither do I.” Lucien laughed. “I figured as much when you made a death promise to the King of Hybern.”

Nesta smiled at Lucien. She didn’t know him well, but she had already decided she liked the male.

“I’m not sure I can winnow all three of you,” Lucien said. “You should probably bring my brother, Nesta.” Nesta nodded and came to get him.

Lucien was left alone in the room with Emerie and Gwyn. “Who cut off your wings?” Lucien asked. Ok, maybe not the best icebreaker, but they’d asked about his eye so it was only fair. Emerie grimaced. “My father.”

Lucien swore, low and vicious. “Asshole father. I can relate.”

Emerie scoffed. “Wonder what it’s like to have decent parents?”

“Beats me,” Lucien said. He turned to Gwyn. “Do you know?”

Gwyn shrugged. “I barely remember mine.”

“That’s a step up from being traumatized by them, I suppose,” Lucien said, and the three of them laughed.  Nesta returned to the room with her husband in tow. “Lucien, can you take Gwyn and Emerie?” “Yes,” Lucien said. He avoided speaking to his brother. “Hold on tight, my ladies,” Lucien said softly to Nesta’s friends. Gwyn was positively beaming at him, and Emerie was little better. Nesta wasn’t sure if she should be glad the two of them were so comfortable in another male’s presence, or irritated that they’d fallen for the Vanserra charm so quickly. Not like she could talk, though. Eris had a shit-eating grin on his face as Nesta faced him. “Looks like my brother might just steal your friends away from you.” “That would only make me as friendless as you, Eris.”

Eris chuckled. “Why do I need friends when I have you, Nesta Archeron?”

Nesta blushed as Eris winnowed them away.

The dawn court was exquisite. The colors in the sky were so soft and comforting, like honey. It wasn’t quite as beautiful as the Autumn Court, but it had its own charm. It was a little chilly, and Lucien was about to offer Nesta his cloak when Eris beat him to the punch. He shrugged, offering his cloak to Gwyn instead, who gladly took it. He led the way to the metal workshop he had frequented countless times to hang out with his good friend. Nuan squealed in delight when she saw him, running over to hug him. “Lulu! I missed you!!”

Nesta turned to Lucien incredulously. “Lulu?”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “She earned the right to call me that after she made my eye.”

Nesta and Eris wore identical smirks on their faces, and Lucien was about to roast the shit out of them when Nuan spoke again. “Are we here for the Illyrian?”

Emerie stiffened ever so slightly. “I stopped being Illyrian the moment my father cut my wings. I am a Valkyrie.”

“As you say,” Nuan said.

“Yes, Nuan. We were wondering if you would be able to make prosthetic wings for her.”

Nuan inspected the shredded wings. “This has been cut highly unevenly,” Nuan said. “I may have to cut a little bit more off to make it more even. Under a faerie drug, of course, so she wouldn’t feel anything.”

Nesta said, “Emerie? Are you ok with that?”

Emerie was staring at Nuan. “If I let you do that, would you be able to make wings for me? Would I be able to fly again?”

“You would need to relearn how to fly, of course, but yes, I can perfectly make usable wings for you.” Silent tears poured down Emerie’s face, and Nesta and Gwyn moved to embrace her. Lucien’s heart strained at the camaraderie, the easy acceptance and understanding. Something he had had himself, once upon a time. He shut down the thought.

“How much would it cost?”

“Seventy faerie bits, but for my favorite customer, I’ll give you a 15-bit discount,” Nuan said, swatting his arm playfully. Lucien grinned. “You honor me, my lady. And how long will it take to make?”

Nuan thought. “I was actually halfway into a wing project, which I think I can perfectly mold to fit her wingspan. Overall, probably a day?”

Lucien turned to his companions. “Are you all fine with staying?”

Nesta arched a brow at Lucien. “And do you have a place where we can stay?”

Lucien gasped in mock horror. “Of course I do! What sort of male do you take me for, Lady Death?”

“Certainly one with a death wish, foxy.”

“I’m perfectly happy to stay if everybody else is,” Eris said. “It’s not like I had anything specific going on today.”

“Same,” Emerie said. Gwyn nodded in agreement. “Then come with me, everyone.” “Are you ready?” Nuan asked Emerie. The jagged edges of her ruined wings had been evened out so that Nuan could attach her new microfiber wings. “They’re not quite bat wings,” Nuan admitted. “They’re closer to Peregryn wings, but that just means they’re softer and more flexible. And more colorful, if you’d like.”

Emerie’s eyes widened. “You mean I can make them whatever color I want?” “Of course.” Emerie grinned at her companions. “How cool would it be if I had purple wings?”

“It would match your friendship bracelet,” Nesta said.

Lucien snorted. “You guys have friendship bracelets? And you were making fun of my friend’s nickname for me.” Nesta grinned at Lucien. “Yes we have friendship bracelets, and we are not ashamed, foxy.”

Lucien shrugged. “If you say so.”

Later, Nuan carefully approached Emerie with the purple wings. “Hold still,” she commanded. The wings were very complicated, with many interlocking pieces, but finally Nuan got them on.

“Flap,” she ordered. Emerie obeyed and was stunned to feel the wings obey her. Nesta and Gwyn were squealing in the background, Eris’s hand squeezing Nesta’s tightly. Emerie sobbed over and over again, thanking Nuan for the gift, and Nuan hugged her. “It’s no better than you deserve, Emerie.”

Later, when Emerie, Gwyn, and Eris had all left, Nesta and Lucien were left alone together.

“You’re not bad, for a Fae male,” Nesta said. Lucien laughed and shook his head. “A glowing recommendation. I’m going to tape that to my wall. Nesta Archeron said, and I quote, ‘you’re not bad.’” Nesta smiled. “You must be very well-connected, if you know a tinkerer like Nuan.”

Lucien shrugged. “As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.” “That sounds far more High Lord-like than people like Beron or Rhysand ever will be.”

Lucien let Nesta see all the power simmering in his veins. “That’s why my brothers tried their very best to break and kill me.” Nesta smiled. “Perhaps you could take over the Spring Court from Tamlin. Or rule over Hybern. There’s a power gap there, isn’t there?”

Lucien nodded. “I don’t know you very well, but I can’t think of anyone more suited to rule,” Nesta said. Frank. Honest. “You’re not so bad yourself, Nesta Archeron.” They may not be friends just yet, but there was a budding relationship there. It hadn’t taken long for both to grow to respect the other immensely.