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tadpolesonalgae · 7 months ago

Text

Love Fool

Nesta x reader

a/n: This didn’t go in the direction I was expecting, but oh well

Day 2 for @nestaarcheronweek : Metamorphosis

Warnings: mention of sexual assault, Nesta having ptsd from the cauldron, kind of hurt/comfort?

word count: 3,955

Sharp, grey eyes cut across the tavern, picking her out with ease, adorned in a dress of such deep purple it almost appears as an inky blue, velvet warm and inviting as it wraps around her body. Golden clips hold her hair back, thin and golden chains of jewellery sitting around her wrists, hanging from her pointed ears, mouth painted in a shimmery purple and gold.

Horrific beauty that never fails to reel in her attention, luring Nesta’s eyes over no matter who else may be in the room.

She feels bewitched, her heart not her own, her pulse heating whenever the female enters her vision, lips parting to allow air into her lungs. A few times her nails have grazed the pale skin of her chest, assuring herself she is still breathing. That the life hasn’t been pulled from her body without her knowing.

Grey eyes return to her cards, swiftly growing bored of the game. Her drink has been empty for a while, and none of the males hold even a suggestion of the blissful pleasure she’s searching for tonight. The kind that will take her away from the strange tightness in her chest whenever the female manages to pull another glance form her.

The game concludes, but Nesta gives no sign of choice between the males, each in silent competition with the other for a chance to bed her. And yet as they try to initiate conversation, eager to prove themselves worthy, already Nesta can feel that phantom presence shifting through the tavern, fighting to keep from looking—to affirm what she already knows.

Warmth settles at her side as the female slides into the booth, the proximity closer than anyone else has dared risk with her, a distance shared between women, then men have no access to. At least, not without effort.

There’s an intangible shift over the table, the atmosphere changing with the presence of fresh fruit pressed so appetisingly to an already appealing meal. Tantalising and irresistible to any male with hot blood in his veins. Nesta doesn’t believe the female at her side is oblivious to the change she’s caused with a simple movement, believes it was intentional to a degree. Her thoughts are confirmed when one of the males attempts to bring the fluid-bodied female in, switching his approach to what appears to be an easier catch. Unaware of the honey trap.

Remark after remark slips from his lips, accumulating into the suggestion that’s doubtlessly on all their minds, the nature shared between them, fallible and easily redirected with the allure of a hunger being satisfied, greed sticky and oozing from their rough features. It isn’t the first time Nesta’s overheard a proposition like this, but it’s certainly the first she’s so directly been included in, the male making little effort to conceal the explicit fantasy he already drools over.

And while the female at Nesta’s side has no obvious reaction other than a suggestive smile, eyes twinkling with sultry implication, Nesta catches the slight wrinkle to her nose as she returns “I doubt you have the coin to pay for a show like that”, and puts an end to the conversation.

————

You watch as the males depart, understanding they are no longer welcome at the booth you’d commandeered.

Nesta’s empty glass twinkles in the low light, and you call someone over for a refill, enjoying how the liquid splashes in the hold, swirling around like a stormy sea until full. Instead of passing it to her however, you raise it to your own lips, drinking deeply to wash away the grubby looks the males had been trying to glue the two of you together with. Trying to wash away the foul taste in your mouth.

How Nesta finds the conviction to put herself through this each night is alarming to say the least. Her determination to punish herself is indeed remarkable, if not disturbing. But she makes no move to retrieve her glass, sitting alert at your side, cornered and confined to the darker parts of the booth.

The glass clinks on the table as you set it down, at last glancing to her, pinning her with your attention. Her grey eyes ice over, sharp and piercing as they search for a way in, to penetrate past your exterior. To find a soft spot to pry open with bladed words, jamming in the steel she holds within to fracture you, to push you away like every other person in her life.

“How was dinner last night?” You ask neutrally, the painted nails of your fingers grazing along the cold ridges of the glass, tracing the bumps and dips. “The usual,” she replies, quicksilver eyes darting between your own set at the amber liquid at the bottom of the glass. “Really?” You remark, with sarcastic surprise. “You know, that’s quite odd, because Mor tells me you haven’t been a single time in the last six months, so it really is quite impressive you’ve managed to elude her so thoroughly.”

Nesta’s lips purse, silver eyes glinting with something slightly other. “I didn’t realise it was any of your business—what I do in my personal life,” she replies coldly.

“It isn’t really. But you’re making it. You aren’t exactly subtle about your interests.” Her gaze shutters, a sure sign the comment had hit close to a nerve. “You can’t honestly tell me numbing yourself every night with sex and alcohol really works, Nesta,” you continue, speaking while you have her attention. “Whatever problem you’re running from won’t shrivel up and die if you leave it long enough. It’ll be waiting for your return.”

“You don’t know what you’re taking about,” she replies lowly, the edge of a snarl to her voice, and you flick your gaze over her, marking that while she makes no attempts to hide herself, a certain stiffness follows the sweep of your attention. Fighting to not shrink away. “I know grief when I see it,” you reply, taking another drink from her glass. Silvery eyes track your motions acutely, feeling their weight on your mouth as you take what she probably considers the last of her absolution.

The glass thunks upon the wooden table, a clear end to the conversation as you stand, gazing down at her. “It’s already been a long night,” you say idly, watching her from your higher position. “Retire with me. The dark can be dangerous, even in a city of starlight.” Her expression sours at the mention, resentment tucking itself between the slight dip of her brows, the subtle disgust shown in the crinkle around her pretty nose.

“Oh-so-powerful Rhysand can’t keep the streets tidy?” Nesta remarks, but it’s clear she’s trying to rile you. “Worry about yourself before speaking from the gutters,” you murmur softly, low enough fo no one to hear, vicious enough to put an end to her poisonous games. “I think you’re forgetting you’d be included in that cleanse,” you speak quietly, pausing, “at least, as you are.” Unless you change.

Nesta bristles, mercury swirling in her glacial eyes, glittering with something stinging and wrathful, before it’s smothered with self-destructive efficiency. But then she settles in her seat, pressing comfortably into the booth, gazing up at you. “And yet here you are, in these gutters too. A little hypercritical, don’t you think?”

“I will wander worse places if necessary.”

“How noble of you.”

You sigh, feeling fatigue beginning to weigh on you—a buildup of late nights spent keeping an eye on her, subtly, always finding your own company to make it less glaring. Shaking your head, you pin her with a cold look, one that thaws out against her own ice. “Aren’t you tired, Nesta?”

She’s quiet, features unmoving; unyielding. Growing colder, if possible.

“Come back with me,” you say, “start tonight, and by tomorrow you’ll have already taken the first step.”

But she allows herself no reprieve. No relief from the numbing poison.

Soaking in her nest of self-imposed sickness.

————

After that initial confrontation, Nesta only becomes more aware of her presence. How she shines in the middle of rooms, sending shockwaves of laughter crashing down upon her own dim and quiet corners, so raging and wrathful they’re an effort to withstand. To weather.

Night after night she appears, without fail, stalking Nesta’s steps relentlessly with a drive that has her own conviction both growing stronger; more impenetrable, and pausing. On the verge of collapse.

There have been more times in the past month the female has approached her, trying to lure her away from the blissful deadening of her mutinous senses. Usually it’s a subtle dismissal of whatever group Nesta has aligned herself with for the night, a quiet send-off that leaves Nesta with the choice of either integrating herself into a new setting, or to leave for her cold, smelly bed. Usually though, she forges onward, a creature of habit that persists relentlessly, rotting in the dark, grimy corner of whatever establishment she’s chosen.

Nesta worries about that pull, though.

Every step echoes through her mind, every word reverberating through the numbed halls of her memories the next day.

Then there are the rare moments the female will make her intervention more blatant, more difficult to ignore. Her tone sharper than usual, her proximity closer, as if trying to physically force her way through the barrier Nesta has spent years carefully engineering.

On the worst nights, deep in the darkness after at last returning home, having stubbornly protested against leaving, her thoughts wander. Wonder what would happen if she allowed herself to be swept away. Wonder at the tension that warms in her chest with the female’s presence. And in the darkest, most liminal hours, in the utter silence of her small apartment, she sometimes wonders what it would be like to leave with her.

But leaving…going with her…

She would have to return here eventually, and she doesn’t want to crumble.

————

You’re sipping on your drink, leaning against the wall of the tavern facing the street, when you hear a snarl louder than the others, loud enough to reach you despite the carefully thought out distance.

A male growl follows quickly, starving and angry, hissing with aggression, and your skin prickles with awareness. Attention sliding toward the alley Nesta had disappeared into a while ago.

Something thuds on the floor, like a barrel being pushed over, and the sounds of commotion follow, echoing off the brick walls. You turn into the alley, magic swelling at your fingertips, warming your skin as you pull it to the surface.

Nesta steadies herself, trying to dig her nails into the male’s face as he forces himself closer. Your blood pounds around your ears, picking up to a debilitating roar as muscle seizes, fury so cutting you’re nearly swept away in the current. But then your hand settles over his shoulder, and he’s vanished away, displaced to somewhere else. Somewhere you know he’ll be treated well.

Fear-dilated pupils meet your gaze, and you can hear her heart thundering against her ribs, the ragged huffs of breath as her chest rises up and down, the front ties of her dress disturbed, revealing more of her cleavage than usual, and that roar returns to your ears, fighting to calm yourself, to be steady for her.

“Are you okay?” You ask flatly, knowing what will happen if you allow a slip of emotion out. Nesta pants deeply, gaze flickering between you and where the male had been, eyes shuttering, pupils shifting and contracting with fear as she swallows. Then manages to nod.

Your lips purse, fury beginning to abate. Refocusing on the female before you. “You’ll probably stay in shock for a little,” you say quietly, keeping your voice even. “You might start to shake in a bit. Maybe a little nauseous too, but you’ll be okay. You’re safe now.”

Nesta swallows thickly, your attention marking the roll of her throat acutely, noticing the bite on her shoulder, your eyes lingering a little longer than is wise, emotion stirring in your chest. But again you push past it, inclining your chin a little. “Let’s get you back.”

Silver eyes dart about the alley before settling on you, assessing warily. But then she dips her head, pushing up from the wall, hands raising to the roughly tugged-free ties of her dress.

“I’m going to winnow us,” you tell her, keeping your statement clear and steady, speaking so she can process what you mean. She nods her head. “Okay.” Her voice is thick and slightly raw from panic, but mostly together.

Your hand encompasses her own, and darkness wraps around you, icy and startling as wind howls in the background before you’re delivered to the door of your own house, silently bringing her up the steps and guiding her inside. You take your time removing your outer layers, untying your shoes to give her time to process, before copying your actions, remaining quiet. Likely still in shock.

“Why are we here?” She asks at last, a shard of ice creeping back into her slightly shaky voice, “this isn’t my home.”

“It isn’t,” you reply calmly, turning to face her where she’s removing her shoes. It’s a good sign, at least.

But then she stands straighter, raising her gaze to yours, blank and unreadable. “I want you to take me back,” she states, “to my house.”

The two of you watch each other, wills pushing against one another, holding their ground.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you say at last, a touch quieter. “You should stay here for the night.” Nesta manages a shake of her head, slowly walling herself off. “Take me back to my house,” she says firmly, and you glare at her, hard.

When you don’t answer, she turns, making for the door, and panic jumps in your chest, making to reach for her before forcefully tugging yourself back. “Nesta,” you call sharply, having her stop, and you catch the tightness of her shoulders, the slight flinch of her body at the tone. But when she turns to face you, her features are cold and unreadable as ice, already withdrawn and harsh.

You gaze at her silently, brow furrowing a little. “Stay here,” you ask quietly, “just for tonight.”

Her eyes narrow a fraction, and you sense she’s about to speak.

“Please,” you murmur, watching her. “Please, Nesta. One night.”

Her icy gaze shutters, lips tightening.

But, “fine,” she mutters, turning away from the door.

Staying the night.

————

“You can stay here,” you say, guiding her into the room adjacent to your own, a guest bedroom for people you’re more acquainted with. “There are clothes in the wardrobe over there, and a bathing room just through that door. You are the only one with access to it, so you’re more than welcome to use it.”

Nesta steps in behind you, entering the clean space, taking it in with clinical scrutiny as se analyses and examines each trunk, the wallpaper, the ceiling and windows, the rugs over the hardwood floor. “Is that everything?” She asks, turning to you.

“Do you need anything else?” You reply, leaning your back against the for frame, legs crossing at the ankles.

Her nose wrinkles, but instead of irritation rising up at the action, relief again cools your spine. She seems to already be returning to normal.

“I’ll manage,” she responds, a clear dismissal.

One you don’t follow, watching her a little longer.

Then you nod, glad she’s at least accepting help. “Okay.”

————

You’re pulled awake, something tugging in your lower stomach, an urge to see her, to find her, to make sure she’s okay after the night.

But she’s probably asleep by now, so you don’t go. Judging by the colour of the sky, it’s been a few hours since she came back. She probably wouldn’t appreciate you checking in on her, either.

So despite the tension, the prickling of your skin, you abstain from checking on her.

Yet it seems like you’re being drawn to her room. Especially when a crackling shockwave passes through your lower body, skin tingling like water that’s been struck by lightening, oil frying in a pan, and you’re swiftly heading for the door, not bothering to even grab a night robe as you cross the hall for her chambers.

“Nesta?” You call, knocking, listening for noise. Another wave sizzles through you, and something thuds from behind the wood. You try for the handle, but she’s used the latch on the other side, locking herself away, and you knock again, louder. “Nesta, can you hear me?” You call, for the most part succeeding in keeping the panic from your voice, remaining calm.

Your sharp ears pick out a low, muffled groan, and your pulse spikes, winnowing inside.

“Nesta?” You call gently, scanning her borrowed chambers, eagle-eyes picking out how the bathroom door is ajar. You make for it swiftly, carefully opening it up as you again look around the room.

She’s hunched over the latrine, the floor wet, an empty bucket tipped over and on its side, the tap to the bath dripping as if hurriedly shut off.

She groans again, and you move forward, nimble fingers slipping beneath the burnished gold of her hair, pulling it gently from her face as she heaves, body convulsing as she retches, knuckles turning white as she grips the seat, muscles shaking. Your brows narrow in concern—nausea might have been expected, but not regurgitation.

Slowly, quietly, you crouch beside her, one hand holding up her hair, the other soothingly stroking down her back—gentle but firm motions, applied to calm and soothe. The trembling begins to fade, and she groans again, spitting out the foul taste, moving to wipe her lips on the back of her palm. You grab some of the roll, pulling away two sheets and offering them to her. Shaky fingers brush against yours, and she dries her mouth on the roll, getting the corners clean.

“Feeling better now?” You ask, releasing her unbound hair, soothing her shoulder. She tries to shrug you away, moving to sit upright, but her muscles give out, falling back against you. In the same moment you discard the roll, supporting her as she collapses, limbs too weak to hold herself up. She struggles, trying to move, but you wrap your arms more securely around her. “On three, okay?” You ask clearly, knowing how she’ll flare up if you allow even a tinge of concern into your voice. “One. Two. Three.”

The two of you manage to stand, stood close together, and another shudder passes through her. You increase your hold, making sure she won’t fall, keeping her nearby. “Careful of the water,” you murmur, helping to guide her out of the bathroom on her unsteady feet, aware of her light grip on you, nearly falling away with every step.

You sit her in one of the comfortable armchairs in the room, feeling as she gives a sharp breath, another shudder passing through, wracking her chest. Her arms make to wrap around herself, but they’re too weak, too tired, so she ends up placing them in her lap, leaning to one side of the seat.

You move, getting the faelights to turn on, then making for the bathroom. You refill the bucket, vanishing the water with half a thought, before taking a washcloth with you, returning to her.

“Have enough energy to clean?” You ask, setting the bucket down before moving to the wardrobe, retrieving a fresh nightgown for her to change into. You can smell the cold sweat on her.

She makes no move to change into the clothing you’ve given her, or even to grip them. Simply remains to one side of the chair, watching them vacantly. “Nesta?” You call, a touch quieter, moving to be at her side, wary of touching her.

Her silver eyes are rimmed with red, nose tipped in a similar colour, the tops of her cheeks and her upper lip gleaming faintly as you realise she’d been crying. The shudders the result of trying to keep quiet. Your shoulders slope, and you move slowly as you settle your hand over hers, letting her see the movement and choose whether to allow it. You squeeze her hand lightly, watching her silently.

“You’re safe, Nesta,” you say quietly from her side. “Nothing’s going to happen to you here.”

Her thin brows narrow, lips cutting down in the corner as her eyes take on a new gleam, looking wet.

“Where did he go?” She asks, voice raw and faint. Scratchy sounding.

Your lips press into a flat line, looking away briefly before returning to hers.

“Azriel knows what to do with people I send his way,” you answer quietly, marking the thick roll of her throat.

“He won’t be finding you again.”

You wait for some sort of reaction. For her skin to whiten, for a fresh wave of sickness to rise up her throat. But she just swallows, dipping her head in a slight nod, eyes moving to the clothing. “Will you help me?”

You nearly miss a breath, but manage to nod, still watching her. “I—… Yes. Yes, of course.” You turn, reaching for the washcloth, but she makes a noise in her throat, having you look at her, unable to conceal your concern. “I don’t…” she struggles, pupils dilating as she glances toward the pool of water, fear tinging her scent. “I can’t manage bodies of water,” she manages quietly, not meeting your eyes. “They remind me of the Cauldron.”

Your lips part on a silent breath, but then you nod, memorising the small piece of information. You should have realised. It looked like she’d been trying with the bucket before…maybe that’s what caused her stomach to upturn itself. That and the intense events of the night.

“Right,” you manage thickly, getting to your feet. “Do you…” You trail off, suddenly unsure in yourself. She swallows again, “can you just…just sit on the bed. While I change,” she mumbles.

Nodding, you move to the bed, sitting with your back to her. You aren’t foolish enough to offer aid with undressing her. She needs the reminder of her own autonomy right now, to known she can do things on her own.

The material rasps, and you’re unable to help the way your ears pick out the noises, assigning actions to each of them. Pale palms pushing her hair out of the way, trembling fingers undoing silky buttons, clammy hands pushing soft but now-dampened fabric away.

“Okay,” she manages, some strength back in her voice. You turn on the bed, seeing her stood the other side, dressed in fresh new clothes, crisp and clean, unbound hair cascading over her shoulders, down her front.

Nesta moves to take the bucket back to the bathroom, but you shake your head, standing. “Just settle into bed for now,” you say, already moving, “it’ll be morning soon, anyway. You should get as much rest as you can.” You think she might protest at first, but she nods after a pause, moving to the bed, pulling back the sheets and laying down.

When you return from the washroom, she’s tucked under the duvet, hair bundled beneath her head like a halo to prevent lying on it during the night.

You turn the faelight off, opening the locked door to let yourself out, pausing on the threshold. “I’ll see you in the morning, Nesta.”

She doesn’t make a sound, but you can clearly see her open eyes watching you from the dark.

“Call if you need anything,” you murmur, stepping away, bringing the door to a close.

“Sleep well.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

#nestaweek2024 #nesta x f!reader #nesta x reader #nesta archeron #nesta fic #nesta fics #love fool

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rowaelinsdaughter · 9 months ago

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THE MEMORY OF YOU

a/n;; i dont know how, but i have managed to finish tis fic, ill try to write the requests i have but i dont promise anything. school sucks. also, first time writing nessian :)

artist;; lotrgirl

WARNINGS;; angst!! to fluff, mentions of blood, car accident, MODERN AU.

“she should be here already” nesta said, glancing again at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall of feyre’s house. her sister placed a hand on her shoulder, “she will, maybe the traffic was bad.” nesta sighed. cassian entered the kitchen, walking directly to her mate. his hands grabbed her by the waist, his thumbs massaging it. he searched her gaze. “she’s okay nesta” he rested his forehead with hers, his hands moving upward to her face, caressing her cheeks.

she nodded, grabbing the plates left and they went to the living room where the rest of the family was gathered. they were talking when the news reported a last minute news.

“we have breaking news. 30 minutes ago, a large truck collided with a car. apparently the truck driver was under the influence of alcohol and he veered off the road until colliding with the car that was going in the opposite direction. we passed the connection to our reporter.” the reporter showed and behind her, the truck was turned over and the car… the car was demolished. the paramedics were attending to the driver of the car. there was blood all over the road… but nesta knew the owner of the bracelet, knew who the driver was.

one moment she had the dishes in the hands and the next time they were on the floor. everyone was holding their breath, elain had a hand on her mouth and feyre approached her sister placing a hand on her shoulder. nesta looked at cassian behind her, fear was written on his face. pure fear. he was the first one to broke the silence. “we need to go. now.”

none of them could drive, so rhys was the one driving. cassian in the passenger seat, and feyre and nesta were in the back seats. after 15 horrible minutes, they made it to the accident just in time to watch the ambulance go away to the hospital. “we need to follow the ambulance” rhys said.

so the follow her.

when they arrived to the hospital, they watched as the paramedics lowered the stretcher from the ambulance . she was covered in blood, so much blood they didnt know if she was going to survive. nesta and cassian runned after the medics, and they watched her enter the surgery room. a doctor stopped them.

“sorry but you cant enter”

“shes our mate, shes our wife!” cassian raised his voice.

“i know sir, but we need the doctors to do their job. please, just wait here.” and she entered the room.

cassian sighed and looked at nesta. her eyes were distant, as if she could watch her mate.

please mother. dont take her away from us. please.

he hugged her. both praying she could make it alive.

4 hours later, a doctor left the surgery room. they all stood up, nesta and cassian approaching her, while feyre and rhys waited behind them.

“how is she?” nesta asked. her hands trembling with fear.

she sighed “she’s alive”

her knees buckled and cassian reached for her, both laughing and crying. feyre was the one to ask, her face stained with tears. “where is she?”

“she’s in room 146, in the intensive care unit zone. a nurse will guide you”

wires were attached to her, too many wires. beep. beep. beep. beep. that was the only sound, and it was killing them. she had not moved or awoke.

cassian watched nesta laid down beside her, she had fallen asleep the moment she touched the pillow. but cassian couldn't sleep, so he watched them, waiting for his mate to wake up. to see her beautiful eyes again. to kiss her. to hug her. to hear her laugh.

her entire body hurt.

that was the only thing she knew.

she didn't know where she was.

the last thing she remembered was the truck crushing her car and then nothing.

but know…

slowly she opened her eyes, blinking due to the light. something was beside her or someone, she didn't know. but someone was watching her. she looked beside her and met nesta’s eyes. her blue-grey was dull. black bags under them. messy hair. she lifted a hand to her face and nesta started crying. she had never seen her cry like this. she noticed someone was on the other side of the bed. cassian. he was also here.

he took her hand. his much bigger than hers. she loved that.

he was also crying, but he managed to speak “hello, angel”

a small smile.

“hi”

tags;; @throneofsapphics @thehighladywrites @vanserrasswife @shadowdaddies @loneliestluvr

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kataraavatara · 8 months ago

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Those the Stars Cannot Hear

Here's the first chapter of the Nesta fic I mentioned!

"To the stars that listen-and the dreams that are answered." How can stars hear the prayers of a young girl trapped under a mountain?

"I prayed that it meant no male would take me for a wife, that I would escape what my elder cousins had endured: loveless, sometimes brutal marriages." -Morrigan, ACOMAF

What happens when Mor makes good on her threat to send Nesta to Hewn City and Nesta runs into one of the cousins Mor spoke of, another dreamer trapped in the Court of Nightmares left behind by the inner circle?

(I'm going to tag the people who showed interest under my original post: @1800naveen @watcherintheweyr @christeak)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54735361/chapters/138723208

Nesta thought Mor was an exhaustion-induced hallucination. The female had appeared out of nowhere, her flowing blonde hair and customary red dress starkly out of place with the harsh landscape. “Rhysand has other plans for that one,” she gestured at Nesta, spitting out the words “that one” as though she couldn’t even bear to say her name, “The hike is over.”

The hike is over. The hike couldn’t be over, Nesta thought, in an eerie, detached sense.

Nesta looked down at the ground. She was vaguely aware of Cassian saying something in response, Mor snapping back, and the conversation getting heated. She was vaguely aware of Mor’s red tipped fingernails closing around her forearm in a bruising grip. Only vaguely aware of the world spinning away from her as she winnowed.

But the hike can’t be over. I was going to jump. How will I jump if the hike is over?

The place they arrived at was cold and dark and damp and terrible. Exactly what Nesta deserved, she supposed. The sun was too good for her. Mor shook her and she looked up at her sneering face.

“How dare you hurt Feyre like that?” She hissed, arm tightening around Nesta, “Haven’t I told you to keep your forked tongue between your teeth?”

Nesta just stared at her blankly. Mor glanced around, curling a protective hand over her abdomen before saying, “You’re exactly like everyone here. I know what sort of person you are. This is where you belong. This is what you deserve. Don’t you have anything to say? Are you proud of yourself, for hurting Feyre and Rhysand like that, you viper? Well? Are you?”

Nesta shook her head.

Mor scoffed. “You won’t even apologize, will you? I bet you think you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nesta wanted to open her mouth, wanted to say she was sorry, more sorry than she had ever been for anything, but she hadn’t had water in so long her lips felt fused together and her throat was too dry to produce anything more than a croak. And Mor was already pulling away from her, looking at her with a look of disgust, of hatred, that Nesta couldn’t bear. The venom in her voice was unbearable as she spat,

“Enjoy your stay, Nesta. You'll thrive here.” Then she was stepping back, winnowing away, leaving her behind, and Nesta was alone in the Court of Nightmares.

The confrontation, if it could even be called that, had not gone unnoticed. Might as well see if there’s a tavern that’ll serve me. Nesta began wandering aimlessly, peering at the city carved from stone. The fae here weren’t happy and carefree like those in Velaris. In Velaris the children played freely. Here there wasn’t one in sight. Instead of strolling the streets casually, fae walked with purpose, casting harried glances behind them; Nesta didn’t spot a single female without a male escort. She thought she heard one of them hiss at her. She began walking, overly conscious of the eyes that followed her everywhere. Even the eyes of the lurid carvings of ancient beats seemed to track her as she made her way through the city of the damned. She nearly lept out of her skin as one of the rocks moved, realizing it was a camouflaged guard a second too late. She unbuckled the straps of her pack and dropped it. The citizens of the Court of Nightmares could have her hiking supplies for all she cared. The guard began walking towards her, and she picked up her pace. So maybe a tavern wasn’t the best option.

Nesta felt a touch on her hand and turned.

“My name is Aiofe. My mistress wishes to shelter you. You must come with me. You aren’t safe here.” The female had black hair and big brown eyes that reminded her painfully of Elain, along with the pointed ears and preternatural grace that marked her as High Fae.

You aren’t safe here. Nesta didn’t deserve safety, not after what she’d done, but she realized she was letting herself be led through the city and didn’t care enough to stop it. She was vaguely aware of whispers and oblong stares but couldn’t bring herself to care. I deserve it. I deserve death. I deserve all the pain that comes with being trapped down here.

A male made eye contact and began walking to them, but Aoife turned so sharply into a hidden corridor Nesta nearly lost her footing. Her training with Cassian was the only thing that allowed her to remain upright and keep pace with the mysterious new female. The sound of a door swinging shut rang out behind them and what little light came from the fae lights outside was cut off, casting the two females in total darkness until Aoife held out her hand and summoned a small ball of purple light. She heard shouts and clanging outside; she didn’t care. Aiofe did, by the worried look on her face, as she tugged Nesta along the corridor.

“The door should hold,” she told Nesta, sounding like someone who had no faith in the door actually holding.

The purple fae light bobbed with the movement of Aoife’s hand, casting eerie shadows along the walls, creating the illusion that the beasts carved into the walls were moving along with them. Or perhaps they were.

“Lady Archeron, are you…well?” The female’s voice was hesitant but worried. Lady Archeron is my mother, Nesta wanted to say, not me. But she didn’t have the strength to answer, only shake her head as she was led down. The air grew icier, the wind louder, the stones a darker gray. They were traveling at a decline. Down into the maw of the beast. Good.

“Were you…tortured?” Aiofe’s voice was hushed.

“No.” Nesta managed to croak out.

Aiofe didn’t seem convinced. “Can you walk much longer, do you think?”

“Yes.” She had braved the stairs, she had been on that hike forever. She had walked, and walked, and walked. She could walk some more.

“My lady will offer you shelter, ma’am. Healing. She’s done it for many other females down here. You’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

Nesta shook her head. Aiofe just pursed her lips at that and continued leading her down the hallway. Eventually, Nesta saw a door in the distance, but as they approached she could hear raised voices coming from the other side. Aiofe frowned. “That’s not good.”

That was great. Perhaps one of the fae yelling had a sword, and they could drive it through her and be done with this mess. Would it be terribly painful? Not if they got her through the heart or the throat, she decided. That would be a good way to go. Maybe a few moments of pain, and then…nothing. Peaceful nothing. Oblivion. Freedom.

Aiofe putting a finger to her lips and shushing her snapped her out of her fantasies, and she realized with a start they had arrived at the door. Aiofe pressed her ear to it, murmuring, “I can hear Aethan. That’s a good sign.”

Nesta had no idea who Aethan was and didn’t particularly care, but nodded anyway. Aiofe said brightly “Sounds like our males outnumber the others. I can recognize their voices. Shall we make a run for it?”

Nesta shrugged. Sure. Why not? Run for what, exactly? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Aiofe said, “Lady Mag Aedha will figure it out.”

Nesta didn’t know who Lady Mag Aedha was, and didn’t care. But Aiofe was already throwing the door open and pulling Nesta along with her.

#hewn city acotar #hewn city #nesta deserves better #nesta fic #nesta archeron #pro nesta archeron #morrigan critical #night court critical #anti nessian

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highlordofdeeznuts · 5 months ago

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The Usurper — Mortal Lands of Prythian Worldbuilding

*Note: This post may be updated alongside the fic.

The Usurper can be found on Ao3 using this link here.

Mortal Lands of Prythian Worldbuilding

Mortals in Prythian live in environments closer to European medieval standards (however they have better hygiene) due to lack of resources and currency

Most mortals in Prythian live off the land and barter systems

Currency is still used but less so in more sparsely populated areas

The closer a town is to the Wall of Mist, the poorer the living conditions are

Mortal realms on the neighboring continent are better because they actually have established kingdoms there

Kingdoms trade with Prythian mortals via one seaport in the south of the island

After the war, the six mortal queens who established the peace treaty also tried to bring back as many mortals as possible

But the journey is long and expensive, and thousands of people lost their lives at sea due to storms and sea monsters, so the mortals left behind on the island chose to stay despite the poorer conditions

Mortal lands in Prythian do not have indoor plumbing because no access to running water

Mortal lands on continent do have plumbing

Full baths are a two-person job and happen once a week

Bath house and privy are two separate buildings (usually one-room shacks)

Privy is wooden bench with hole built over a large tin bucket

After doing their business, the person brings the bucket outside and uses a shovel to dig a hole out in the woods and dispose of the waste

Bath house has a small fire pit, a tub, bowl full of soap bars, racks for clothes and towels

Large water bucket/pan is heated over the fire and dumped into the tub for the person bathing to use

Usually someone is heating the water and then pouring it in the tub while other person is bathing

One person can do it for themselves but it’s easier with two people if you want hot water

Tub holds 3-4 buckets of water

Full baths are done once a week

These include full body washing and hair washing

Partial baths are done every 1-2 days

These are just using 1 bucket of water to wash important areas (face, armpits, chest, groin, feet)

Archeron family water supply

They have a small well behind their cottage that is mostly used for drinking water and laundry

There is a creek nearby that they use to bathe and collect water from during the summer

They also have rainwater barrels stored outside the bathhouse that are used during spring/summer/fall

Snow is collected during winter and melted down for water

All water must be boiled (for at least one full minute) before use

This is standard in the mortal lands

Plants found during winter – can be grown even in snow

Spinach

Onion

Garlic

Leek

Rhubarb

Broccoli

Kale

Cabbage

Radish

Turnip

Apples

Oranges

Lemons

Cranberries

Pomegranates

Pears

Plants found during winter – can be foraged from the forest

Pine bark, pine needles

Used for tea

Persimmons

Rosehips

Used for tea

Cattails

Starch from rootstocks can be turned into flour, sprouts can be boiled and eaten as vegetables

Maple sap

Hickory nuts

Black walnuts

Acorns

Herbs used for cooking

Basil

Chamomile

Chicory

Chives

Dill

Fennel

Garlic

Lemon balm

Mint

Oregano

Parsley

Rosemary

Sage

Thyme

Tarragon

Herbs used for medicine

Chamomile – headaches

Dittany – stomach pain, poultices

Hemlock – painkiller

Lavender – disinfectant

Mint – stomach pain

Sage – helps with colds

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar fix it fic #ao3 #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #the usurper fic #the usurper acotar #queue: the usurper #nesta fic #nesta acotar #nesta archeron #fanfic lore

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zoyaofthegardvn · 2 years ago

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Since it hasn’t been done yet, I was wondering if you were down to write a Nesta/reader fanfic where the two get into an argument and Nesta blurts out something that leaves Y/N in surprise

Just a random idea ^^

Because I Love You, Idiot

A/N: Yay! Love getting a Nesta request! This is great, thanks so much anon :)

CW: None that I can think of! Angst to fluff!

---

You're fuming. Your skin is flushed, you're seeing red, your hands are shaking. Yet again, Nesta, your best friend, the woman you're in love with, has chased away your date.

You've been trying to come to terms with the fact that she'll never want you the way that you want her. You've been trying to move on. You've asked and been asked by several males and females to go on a date, and you've pursued nearly all of them. Yet, every single time the date rolls around, Nesta butts in and ruins it.

At first, it seemed unintentional. You told her one morning that a male you'd met at the library was going to swing by your shared apartment and take you out for dinner. Though she'd been fine all day, she'd suddenly come down with an illness. Bedridden, she absolutely needed you to take care of her. You weren't that into the male anyway, and Nesta rarely admits when she needs help, so when he arrived, you apologetically sent him away, explaining that your best friend was very ill and needed someone to be home with her. She was fine the next morning.

And one day, a female flirted with you at the bar, and you made plans to meet her for coffee the next morning. But oddly, your alarm never went off, though you distinctly remembered setting it.

Another male offered to walk you home after you'd met him in a shop and had hit it off, but then Nesta was linking her arm with yours and pulling you away, calling that the two of you were running late to lunch plans. You didn't have lunch plans, but Nesta insisted that you did and you'd just forgotten.

So, you stopped telling Nesta about your dates. You started hiding them. You made it as far as the restaurant with one male before Nesta strolled in, telling you that there was an emergency at home and you needed to leave now. You gathered your things in a haste, shooting the male an apologetic smile, only to learn that the emergency was that Nesta was bored at home. This was the first time you had gotten mad at her about the date-ruining, and she just shrugged, saying, "I'm sorry if I'm missing my best friend lately. You've been neglecting me for these dalliances!" You had just sighed and locked yourself in your room, as if you didn't live with her and see her every damned day, as if none of those dalliances even happened because of her. You weren't able to stay mad too long, though, unable to calm the fluttering in your belly at the idea of Nesta missing you.

And another time, she'd shown up to your park date with a lovely female, tugging Emerie and Gwyn along with her. "What? How was I supposed to know it was a date? I thought it was just a girl's day?"

But tonight, you had finally had enough of her interventions. You were out for drinks with a beautiful female, though not nearly as gorgeous as Nesta, when Nesta actually confronted the poor girl. She stomped up, pointed a finger in the female's face, tugged you to stand behind her, and said, "You! You're a cheater!" the female looked confused, and you kept trying to get Nesta to stop, to leave, but she wouldn't. "You cheated on Emerie 30 years ago! She told me about you!" and at that point, you were humiliated. "I am so sorry," you said over Nesta's shoulder, then stomped out of the bar and bolted home.

Now, she's been trying to get you to open your bedroom door for the past half hour, but you've refused, yelling at her to go away, to leave you alone. But she just kept banging, telling you that you were overreacting. "Are you really mad at me for trying to protect you? Wow!" she says, and that you sets you off.

You rip the door open, yelling, "Excuse me?!" into her face, eyes narrowed and mouth in a sneer.

She merely shrugs, and pushes past you into your room, sitting on the bed. "You seriously want to date a cheater? You deserve better than that."

You scoff, "I deserve a best friend that doesn't try to ruin every single chance I get at finding a partner!" you throw your hands up, shaking your head at her in disbelief.

She looks at you, feigning confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

You laugh, humorless and dry. "Oh please! Don't act dumb, Nesta," you spit her name like its a curse, "Every single date I've tried to go on in the past year, you step in and ruin it! At first, you were so fucking slick with it, and now, you don't even care! Behaving like that in public!"

Nesta stands, angry now. "Bullshit!"

"Oh my gods! You are lying to my face! My own fucking best friend, lying to me right now!"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not lying, you're seeing things!"

You step closer to her. "Stop trying to convince me, I know you've been sabotaging me! I'm not stupid."

She remains silent. She narrows her eyes, grits her teeth, crosses her arms. But she says nothing.

You step even closer. "Tell me, damnit! Why do you so badly not want me to be happy!"

"I have never wanted you to be unhappy," she says, voice low and dark.

You nearly want to give up at the sound of her not fighting back. It's frustrating, and it feels like you're getting nowhere. "Then tell me, Nesta. Why are you doing this to me?" you whisper, feeling too defeated to continue yelling.

She scowls, her gaze dropping to the ground. She chews on her lip and begins pacing around the room.

"Nesta..." you say, eyes watching her anxious movements. Still, she doesn't reply.

"Nesta, just fucking tell me! We've always been honest with each other." Yet still, she does not reply. You sigh, you shake your head, you run a hand down your face in exhaustion.

"Nesta... our friendship is at stake here, and you really won't talk to me?"

And that stops her in her tracks. She turns slowly to look at you, her face distraught. Clearly, she never thought you'd threaten your friendship. But you're fed up, and you can't take it anymore.

"You wouldn't..." she says, voice near a growl. She walks closer to you again, her steps heavy.

"I would," you say, absolute, though your voice wavers with emotion.

She says nothing. She just stares.

"Nesta, all you have to do is tell me why you keep doing this to me, and we can figur-"

Nesta groans and throws her hands in the hair. "Because I love you, idiot! It's so fucking obvious!"

And then it's your turn to stare, stunned into silence.

She looks down in shame. "There, I fucking told you for the sake of our friendship, and I still ruined it anyway."

Still, you say nothing. You gape at her. You blink a few times, you try to think of something.

Nesta sighs, defeated and heartbroken. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. You won't have to worry about me anymore, huh?" and then she starts to walk off, out of the room, what she assumes will be out of your life.

When she walks past you, her perfume in the air, her arm just barely brushing yours, you stop her with a quick hand around her wrist. She jumps at the suddenness of it, staring at you in confusion.

"You love me?" you whisper, trying not to get too optimistic about the drastic change in the argument.

She's silent for a moment, then she nods her head, once and sure. "I love you."

You huff a laugh, tears gathering in your eyes. You shake your head, and put a hand to your forehead. "All of this, because you love me!"

Nesta looks ashamed. "I said I was sorry, and I am, but I can't talk about this," and then again, she turns to leave.

"Nesta, wait!"

She doesn't stop, making it out into the hallway of your apartment before you're trailing after her.

"Nesta!" you call, gripping her arm. You whirl her around, and you're startled by the tears running down her face. She doesn't make eye contact, instead, she looks to the ground.

You grip her cheeks with your hands, forcing her to look up. "You're the idiot, Nesta! For cauldron's sake, I love you too!"

Nesta's eyes widen, and you nod your head, smiling at her, proving to her that this is real.

"You love me?" she whispers, mimicking you just moments before.

"I've loved you for a long time. I only ever went on those dates to get over you."

She giggles, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her forehead against yours. "We're both idiots, huh?"

You nod, and finally, like you've wanted to do for so long, you lean in and kiss her.

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smuttydreambarbie · 2 years ago

Link

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Silver Flames - Fandom, Nesta Archeron - Fandom Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Nesta cassian Characters: Nesta Archeron, Original Nesta Archeron/Cassian Child(ren), Feyre Archeron, Elain Archeron, Cassian, Rhysand, Morrigan, Azriel, Amren (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Carynth Additional Tags: Inspired by A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Breeding, Nyx - Freeform, Rhysand - Freeform, Cassian - Freeform, Book 4: A Court of Silver Flames, Nesta Archeron/Cassian Fluff, Soft Nesta Archeron/Cassian, POV Nesta Archeron, Nesta Archeron/Cassian Smut, Domestic Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Bisexual Nesta Archeron, Nesta Archeron Deserves Better, By Carynth's Light, Elain Archeron/Azriel Fluff, Minor Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome, Nesta Archeron Appreciation Week 2022 | Tumblr: nestaarcheronweek, Soft Nesta Archeron, Wingplay, Illyrians (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Illyrian Wingplay Series: Part 1 of By Carynth's Light Summary:

A COURT OF SILVER FLAMES SPOILERS!!

Chapter 1 begins five years after ACOSF on Little N’s birthday.

My idea was to show what I imagine is a bright future after Silver Flames for the inner family, and what that looks like for everyone from Nesta’s POV. Blissful normalcy, family bonding, love, discussions of children, and moderate amounts of spice after a long day. Eventually I plan on world-building off of an OC Nessian child, and exploring where my mind thinks it should go. All practice and good vibes :) Chapter 1 was my 2nd writing project in ten years, so don't take anything too seriously and if it needs edits just pretend <3 <3

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kataraavatara · 3 months ago

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THIS ATE DOWN

@nerisweek is over for most of you but it's actually still Friday somewhere so I'm still posting this 😗

This was supposed to be for Day 5 but I'm late so here, damn.

Title: The Divorce Trap Rating: E Word Count: 6.4K Summary:

If Rhys’ father wouldn’t have him killed for it, Eris would’ve strangled his client then and there. The truth was he was so busy with work that he hadn’t considered who Rhys was divorcing when he agreed to represent him. He also hadn’t considered that Feyre, on her elementary school art teacher salary, wouldn’t be able to afford as good of a lawyer as her future ex-husband and would have to ask her older sister for help.

#delicious food #neris #so perfectly in character for everyone #nesta archeron fic #nesta fic #eris vanserra #fic recs

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dawneternal · 1 month ago

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now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

#relieving someone else's pain is strangely intimate???#idk what this is honestly #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #platonic cassian x reader #Rhysand #Azriel #cassian #madja acotar #Gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #disabled reader #chronic pain #hurt/comfort

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really-fanny-longbottom · 6 months ago

Text

only in my dreams

summary: love has two sides. it can be pure, beautiful, and exciting, but it can also be lonely, painful, and the worst of all — unrequited.

warnings: mentions of heartbreak, unrequited love, alcohol, death and a curse word.

pairings: azriel x reader

words: 3.4k

you should have stayed at home.

you knew you shouldn't have come.

you knew it was a bad idea from the moment you walked through the threshold of the balcony of the house of wind.

it was sad to know that this house used to be your safe haven — a place where you were happy and felt safe, where you could be yourself.

but now it makes you want to leave as quickly as possible and never come back.

because that was the only solution to not having to see the scene that was unfolding in front of your eyes.

your eyes — the same ones that used to contain love and happiness, were now sad and empty.

the same ones who used to shine with excitement every time you entered a room looked now absent — as if something had sucked away their vitality and left nothing behind.

even your kind and warm smiles had started to appear less frequently until they disappeared completely.

that's how you looked now — no sparkles in your eyes and no smile on your face as you moved the food on your plate with a fork from side to side.

you stopped listening to the conversation a long time ago.

it was another dinner night with the inner circle at the house of wind. you were sitting between rhys, who was at the head of the table on your right side, and nesta on your left side.

you were trying everything to keep your eyes on your plate so you didn't have to watch elain being courted by azriel — the owner of your heart and the reason it was breaking little more day by day.

he wasn't to blame and you didn't blame him for his feelings towards the middle archeron sister, afterall, no one has the power to choose who they like or love — but it didn't make it any less painful.

pain — you were feeling it a lot now.

every time elain laughed at something azriel whispered to her made it hurt even more.

your power wasn't helping you at all right now.

Being an empath had its advantages — it allowed you to feel and understand the emotions and feelings of others and increase and decrease their intensity. it also allowed you to know when someone is lying or telling the truth and to control and manipulate them, despite not using the last two (unless it was necessary) because you believe it to be incorrect.

but the thing most people didn't know about being an empath is that it affects your emotions and feelings, too.

it makes you feel everything more intensely — meaning that you felt everything ten times more than everyone else.

a good joke that made others laugh until their stomachs hurt — made you cry with laughter.

simple things that made others happy — made you jump with joy.

and when others felt passion — you felt love.

you loved with more strength and intensity than everyone, but you also suffered in the same way.

and when you suffer, it's like your light has been turned off.

a hand on your knee took you out of your thoughts — nesta.

she was the only reason you were here — literally, she dragged you from the library when you told her you wouldn't be joining them for dinner.

the older archeron sister had become one of your favorite people.

nesta was the one who had the most difficult time in adjusting and accepting this new life, so instead of ignoring her as some did, you decided to be the first to extend your hand to her.

it all started with your mutual interest in books. it started with book recommendations, then exchanges and finally reading them together.

by the time you noticed, you were training together, sharing meals, and adventuring in the city.

your friendship was not easy — nesta made sure of that.

at first, she tried to push you away with cold stares and nasty comments, but you knew better than anyone that it was nothing but a defense mechanism.

you knew that when she said she was better off alone, she really just wanted someone to hug her.

so, knowing better than anyone, you fought for her.

you ignored the cold stares and faced her nasty comments, and when she tried to push you away, you stood your ground and didn't let her.

little by little, she let you in, and you got to know her — the real nesta.

over time, the staring stopped, the comments disappeared, and instead of trying to push you away, she started looking for your company.

your friendship turned into a sisterhood, and now, Nesta would fight for you just as much as you fought for her.

your sisterhood grew, and short after that, you were welcoming emerie and gwyn — your girls.

quickly, a friendship was formed between the four of you, and there was no one you trusted more than each other.

they told everything about themselves, their past, their fears, and even their secrets.

so, you did the same — except your feelings for the shadowsinger, nesta was the only one who knew about that.

you joined the inner circle one hundred and fifty years ago when you moved to velaris to live with your great-aunt madja.

despite being an empath, you also inherited a natural talent for healing just like your aunt.

that's how you met rhysand and his family.

there was an enemy attack in windhaven with several fatalities and many injured illyrians, which required all the healers who worked at the clinic, including you and madja, to be winnowed there by morrigan.

as soon as you arrived, it was total chaos. the soldiers who were not injured, and even some who were, did not stop running from one side to the other, nor did they stop shouting or grabbing weapons and demanding to go after those who fled making it impossible for the healers to help.

the enemy had already been defeated before your arrival, so you were not in danger and for that reason, you did not hesitate to use your powers.

you made your way so you could stand right in the middle of the soldiers.

you raised your arms to the sides and closed your eyes, and with a little bit of focus you let the soldiers' emotions start to invade you from head to toe.

then with a long sigh, you took control of their emotions and released your power.

the soldiers immediately stopped in their places and went limp before starting to fall to the ground unconscious.

you put them to sleep.

it was the only safe way for the healers to be able to do their work even though you didn't like having this kind of control over someone.

the only ones who were not affected were the high lord, his brothers, and his cousin.

their eyes were fixed on you, who remained standing among the sleeping soldiers.

and when they turned to you for an explanation of what had just happened, they were even more shocked when you revealed to them what you were and what you had just done.

they had never met anyone with that kind of power, and so they were having a little trouble getting their faces back to an expression of neutrality.

impressed wasn't enough to describe how they were feeling at that very moment.

qs a thanks, rhysand offered you a position in his inner circle. after some hesitation and several lectures from madja about how it would be a bad idea (and lack of education) to refuse such an offer, you accepted.

moving to the house of wind, you established friendships with all the members, but azriel was the one you became closest to.

you became best friends over time, and before you could stop your heart, you fell in love with him.

even when he was already in love with mor.

despite knowing about his affections towards the blonde female, it hadn't hurt as much as it does now because azriel had never acted on his feelings for her.

but you decided to wait. you believed that one day the mother would smile upon you, and she would grant you the wish you carried in your heart every day.

therefore, during that time, you were content to love him from afar — and in the shadows.

you thought that day had finally arrived after noticing the change in azriel's behavior towards mor after the arrival of the archeron sisters.

you couldn't be more wrong.

you couldn't help but find this whole situation ironic. after decades of seeing azriel in love with mor and hoping that one day he would notice you, he was now courting elain.

the archeron sisters came into your life and turned everything upside down. you were grateful that feyre and nesta's path led them to you, but you couldn't feel the same way about elain.

before you could wander in your thoughts even more, nesta squeezed your knee, getting your attention again.

you looked at your best friend and noticed the worry on her face, so putting your hand on top of hers, you murmured to her a small "i'm okay" and gave her a small smile.

"are you sure?" she murmured too, so no else could hear it.

you nodded your head at her and returned your attention to your plate.

rhys' voice made you look up, and you regretted it immediately because in that exact moment, you saw azriel and elain's hands intertwined on the top of the table.

you shook your head and looked at your high lord — who had become a very good friend of yours.

"are our plans at rita's still on for tomorrow night?" rhys asked.

everyone — but you — said their agreements before azriel spoke, "actually, elain and i have plans for tomorrow night."

your breathing got caught on your throat, and nesta's hand flew immediately to yours, grabbing it gently.

it was Feyre who asked, "where are you going?" you could've sworn there was a hint of surprise in her voice.

"to the new restaurant that just opened by the rainbow. it's supposed to be very good," elain's eyes moved from her younger sister to the male sitting next to her, "so we decided to try it."

cassian cleared his throat, and he looked in your direction before looking at the people in front of him. "it's that a date? are you going on a date?"

azriel chuckled and squeezed elain's hand. "i guess we can call it that."

you stood up abruptly, attracting everyone's eyes, "sorry. i just remembered that madja needs my assistance to visit a patient tomorrow, and i forgot to prepare the medical bag."

you excused yourself before leaving the dining room and making your way towards the stairs.

you heard cassian and nesta calling your name, but you didn't bother to turn as you started to descend the ten thousand steps.

through your power, you were able to realize that no one — with the exception of your best friend and her mate — noticed your lie.

Just as they didn't notice the tears that filled your eyes as soon as you turned your back on them and left the room.

•••

you went to your aunt's house.

the last thing madja expected to find at her door at that time of night was her niece with red eyes and tears running freely down her cheeks.

she barely let you walk in before she wrapped your figure into a tight embrace.

she had noticed the change in your mood recently but decided not to comment because she knew very well that as soon as you were ready to talk, you would tell her everything.

and that's what you did.

you told her everything as you both rested on her pink couch with your head in her lap while she caressed your hair, listening to your words attentively.

you ended up falling asleep with your cheeks stained from the tears, and madja didn't dare to move. she refused to awake you from your peaceful slumber.

she bent down to kiss your head, and when she raised again, she saw a piece of parchment on the top of the table next to the couch, reaching for it.

it was rhysand asking where you were.

madja answered for you, saying that you were with her and spending the night at her house.

it didn't take long until your aunt joined you into your slumber.

the following night, you made your way towards the House after a hard day at the clinic.

the day got worse when the patient you went to see at his residence didn't make it.

sometimes, you hate your job, especially because of your powers. when things got too much for you to handle, you had to put a shield around you to prevent you from feeling your patients worries or pains.

the patient you visited was heavily sick. it was too late to do anything medical, so you did the only thing you could.

you used your powers. let his emotions invade you, and then, with a long sigh, you took away his pain and transferred it to you.

that was the only thing you could do for him at that moment, and you are more than relieved that you were able to provide him comfort while he left this world, making his passing easier for him and his family.

you climbed the ten thousand steps, but it didn't even bother you. you were too busy thinking about your patient and whether his family would be okay.

you made a mental note to visit them the next day and help where you could.

you pushed these thoughts away as you opened the door and entered the House.

all you needed right now was to be with your friends and forget about this awful day.

when you walked into the living room, you remembered that everyone went to rita's.

well, everyone, but you, azriel, and elain. the two of them were on their date tonight.

and like a snap of a finger, all your emotions and feelings from the last few months and days came flooding back.

your eyes fell on rhys's expensive drinks cart.

you wiped your tears and everything you felt turned into anger.

"fuck it."

you went to the cart, grabbed the first bottle that was in your reach, removed the cork and drank, sinking the drink down your throat and your sorrows with it.

three hours later, cassian, nesta, rhys and feyre finally arrived at the house.

amren had departed to her apartment after they left rita's and mor stayed behind saying that her night wasn't over yet.

the two couples had come talking about you on the way. they had waited for you but when you didn't show up, they assumed you were with madja or still at the clinic.

rhys had sent a letter to madja a few minutes ago asking for you and when your aunt said she was looking for you too, they left hoping to find you here.

they just didn't expect the state they were going to find you.

as soon as they passed the threshold of the balcony and into the living room, they saw you.

you were laying on the couch with your legs off of it, an empty bottle was in your hand, and another on the floor by your feet.

"oh my god," the high lady whispered.

cassian moved and kneeled next to you by the couch. his hand made its way to your arm and tried to awake you.

"y/n." he shook you lightly.

after a few seconds, you opened your eyes and were faced with the General looking at you.

"cass," you said with your voice dragging, "you're here." you moved to sit and wrapped him into a hug, one that he didn't hesitate to reciprocate.

"are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked you while caressing your back.

"i am now that you're all here," you released a breath. "my dear friends", you looked at your other three friends who were looking at you with concern. "you're so beautiful. all of you. did you know that?" you giggled.

it was rare for you to drink and when you did, you never got drunk.

nesta sat down next to you and put an arm around your shoulders. you took the opportunity to rest your head on her shoulder, finding comfort in your friend's embrace.

"what happened, y/n?" she asked you.

You started laughing before replying with irony in your voice "what didn't happen?"

you pushed away from her and stood so you could face all your friends "my patient died. the male I've been in love with for decades won't even look at me and this house that used to be my safe haven, it's now the stage of my pain."

"hh! not to mention that elain is mated but does she care? no! does azriel care? of course not. i've been in love with him for decades. decades! and he doesn't even look at me." you started laughing, "by the cauldron, u'm pathetic."

your family didn't seem surprised by your revelation.

cassian pulled you into a tight hug and rhys and nesta moved to do the same.

if it weren't for this situation everyone would've thought that the world was about to end from seeing rhys and nesta hugging each other.

morrigan arrived in the moment you were in the middle of your friends with tears in your eyes.

"what's going on?" mor whispered to feyre who was still in the same spot since she arrived.

feyre explained everything and by the moment she finished, both females had tears in her eyes at the sight of her friend being hurt.

"what's wrong with me?" you asked them, your voice breaking.

"nothing is wrong with you. nothing." that wasn't your friend speaking — it was your high lord.

feyre and morrigan joined the hug in the moment you said, "i'm never going to be good enough for him. i'll never be her."

tears rolled down feyre and mor faces, and both females were asking the same question in their minds "how long has she been feeling like this?"

your high lady spoke this time, "y/n, what can we do? what do you need?"

you hugged cassian tighter before locking eyes with nesta "i just need my girls."

nesta nodded her head at you and looked at the blonde female "can you take us?"

mor didn't hesitate in agreeing.

anything to make you feel better.

•••

two hours later, you were in the middle of the bed with nesta and gwyn on one side and emerie on the other, all of them with their arms around you.

the three of them had fallen asleep a few minutes ago after one hour of you telling them everything about azriel and a lot of cups of tea and tissues.

you thought they would've been mad at you but they didn't.

they reassured you several times that it was okay and that you could take all the time in the world until you were ready after you tried to apologize too many times.

now you were staring at the ceiling thinking about your options.

you couldn't live like this anymore, knowing that azriel would never love you back.

so you were going to do the only thing you could in order to protect what was left of your heart.

there was something about your powers that no one knew. something that you never had shared.

you had a switch.

one that you could turn on and off whenever and wherever you wanted.

in the same way that you could feel everything, you could also feel nothing.

the only problem? everything that made you, you, would disappear.

but it was also your solution to your situation.

you closed your eyes and gave a deep breath.

you focused on your breathing for a minute and then. . .

no more emotions.

no more feelings.

no more love.

no more sadness.

no more pain.

no more tears.

you turned it off.

when you opened your eyes again, you were numb.

you didn't feel a single thing.

good.

a/n: Thank you for reading!

[masterlist]

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

#acotar #acotar fandom #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #inner circle #cassian #rhysand #nesta archeron #elain archeron #feyre archeron #emerie of illyria #gywneth berdara #morrigan acotar #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic

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danikamariewrites · 2 months ago

Note

For Nessian maybe something cute and fluffy with fem reader where the decorate for winter solstice or halloween. And the girls just want to make it extra special for Cass. Maybe the reader also takes the chance with the holiday to tell them she's pregnant 🤔

New Traditions

Nessian x reader

Notes: I love fall but Christmas is my fav and I’m ready for the holidays. Also I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t include the pregnancy part. I feel like a lot of my Nessian x reader stuff is pregnancy so I wanted to give that a break.

Warnings: none

Cassian heaves the last box labeled ornaments on to the couch. Clasping your hands in front of your chest you smile. The sitting room looked like a mess, to you it was organized chaos. Nesta, who was picking through boxes, called it a mess.

When you moved to Night from Winter you absolutely had to bring your solstice decorations. You knew they didn’t decorate like those in Winter and were worried you wouldn’t find anything new in Night. After moving in with Cassian and Nesta they were shocked that everything took up an entire spare bedroom at the House of Wind. To them it was worth the space if it meant your mats got to see that smile on your face.

“What do you want to start with?” Cassian put his hands on his hips, surveying the room and forming a battle plan in his mind. Getting the boxes efficiently unpacked and their contents into piles was the General’s specialty. You hum, tapping your chin in thought.

“Let’s do lights and greenery first. Then the wreathes and tree.” Cass nods in agreement and Nesta starts ripping open boxes. It’s been four years of this. Living and decorating with your mates. In those four years you were hoping to find a special ornament for them to put on the tree. No shops in the city had any and when you visited home you could never find one perfect enough.

It frustrated you to no end. All the ornaments were yours, consisting of ones your mother gifted to you or were family heirlooms. It wasn’t fair that they didn’t have one.

Letting the thought go you get to unpacking the wreathes, handing the big one to Cassian to hang over the mantle.

You and your mates rush around the room, only pausing for quick kisses, as the symphonia plays softly. Two hours later you were down to one box. Ornaments. Giving the box a sad smile you gently pull the lid off. With two of your favorite ornaments in hand you turn to your awaiting mates. Their excitement to hang the baubles on the tree infectious. You hand the first one to Nesta who practically skips over to the tree. Handing Cassian the second you grab another and follow him to tree.

Getting through the box and hanging the last ornament you let out a sigh. “What’s wrong?” Nesta rests a comforting hand between your shoulder blades. You lean into her side you wrap your arms around her waist. “I just feel bad that you and Cass don’t have any. It’s been four years, I just feel like a bad mate.”

Nesta clicks her tongue at you. “Nonsense, my love. And if you haven’t noticed we haven’t gotten one for you either.” That doesn’t make you feel any better. You bury your face in the crook of her neck and sigh.

“Wait, there’s one more,” Cass pulls one wrapped in tissue paper from the box. Tilting your head you give him a curious look. You catch Nesta’s smirk out of the corner of your eye. “What did you do?” She shrugs nonchalantly. Cassian holds the object out for you to take.

Ripping the tissue paper you find an ornament of three figures, one a male in a black suit and two females in gowns. A closer look shows you that the figures under the arch resemble you, Nesta, and Cassian from your mating ceremony. Tears form in your eyes as you hug the ornament to your chest. “It’s perfect.” Grabbing your mates you pull them into a hug. They hold you close, each kissing the top of your head.

“You’ve shown us new traditions and brought a new light into our lives we didn’t know we needed. Now we want to add to this one.” Cassian says, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “We love you, y/n. So much.” “I love you too.” You wipe at your eyes looking back down at the ornament.

“Why don’t you go hang it,” Cassian suggests. You nod, placing the ribbon on one of the top branches, making sure the figures face the room. Stepping back you smile to yourself, deciding that this Solstice was going to be the one where you gift Cassian and Nesta the perfect ornament.

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talibunny30 · 5 months ago

Text

Echoes of Resilience

Chapter Three - To Court a Duke

In the shock of her father's ill-timed news of her betrothal, Nesta recalls her first official ball when she became of age

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I know in canon it is framed differently in ACOSF, as if Nesta was the one to charm the Duke, but I wanted to approach it differently for my story.

Thank you to @shadowsandlint & @somnolentsoul for being my betas on this story. I am so grateful that you are willing to give up your free time to help me with my silly little story *hugs*

Read on AO3 here

Chapter begins after the cut 🖤✨

This could not be happening. For the last eight days, Nesta fretted through sleepless nights over Feyre’s abduction while her useless excuse for a father planned a betrothal? Why she was surprised at this new unbelievable turn of events, Nesta could not know. What part of her three and twenty years had led her to believe that life would be simple, or that it would go her way?

Regaining the use of her limbs, Nesta all but ran through the door of her father’s study, grappling with the memories that flooded her mind.

~-~-~-~

She never understood the practicality of a corset. One could hardly take a full breath when laced into the cage-like garment. Her maids had always said that it helped to keep posture, but Nesta had already mastered the perfect posture through the most gracious lessons her grandmother provided. Her mother had insisted that tonight, with this being Nesta’s first official season as a Lady, she was to appear perfectly poised, unblemished, and most importantly, ready for marriage. At 13, the idea of marriage seemed like an inevitability to Nesta. All women became wives. In shackling themselves to a husband, a different kind of freedom could be found. For Nesta though, it was only freedom from her mother that mattered.

The annual Archeron ball was to be hosted, as always, at their seaside home. All of the who’s-who of the upper echelon would be in attendance, and for the first time, Nesta would be front and centre of their attention. That was perfectly alright with Nesta… Or so she told herself.

In the years past, Nesta and Elain would sneak onto the stairs once the ball had begun; for totally different reasons, of course. “Oh, Nesta, isn’t it so romantic?” Elain sighed dreamily as she rested her head in her hands. “I cannot wait for my first debut at our ball. To dance with a dreamy suitor all night, sip lemonade, eat such wondrous food; I am certain it will be magical.” Nesta hummed non-committedly in reply. “Elain, you must remain quiet while I listen. I do not want to be distracted thinking of the consequences should we be found.”

At this, Elain laughed softly. “You are so serious, Nesta. Father would scold us half-heartedly and tuck us into bed. Nothing more will be said of it, and you know it.” Nesta inwardly cringed at Elain’s warped perception of their lives. It was laughable that these were the things Elain believed to be true. Ever the optimist was Elain, but Nesta supposed that was her doing. If all she accomplished in this life was protecting her sister from their mother’s ire, then she had lived a noble life indeed.

“You are too young to understand. Now hush, if I am to be wed one day, I should like to know what truly happens at these balls. One can never be too prepared, and I intend to find the most suitable husband when the time arrives.” Nesta knew that anything less would bring about a fire she did not wish to stoke in their mother, lest the entire world burn.

—

As she stepped out of her room, Nesta hoped that the notes she had taken from the bygone balls would serve her well tonight. As far as she was aware, her mother would already have her sights on who Nesta was suited to, and who to allow on her dance card. If Nesta played her cards right though, perhaps she could make her mother proud. “Childish,” she muttered ruefully.

Her father was dutifully planted at the side of his Lady wife as she began the evening.

“My Lords and Ladies, welcome to our humble home. Thank you for joining us on this most notable occasion. As you may already be aware, tonight marks Lady Nesta Archeron’s debut. Should you so wish, please make your requests for a dance to myself, and should time allow, Lady Nesta would be delighted to make your acquaintance.” If it was odd that the Lady of the house was leading the official welcome to these esteemed guests, no one showed it.

Nesta could hear the praise her mother received as men of all ages made their way to greet the hosts while simultaneously throwing their hats into the proverbial ring to contend for her hand. Her skin prickled as she heard the words of the next suitor, “Augusta, you have truly outdone yourself once again. Everything looks marvellous tonight, but of course, not as beautiful as Lady Nesta. You have raised a fine young lady and I would be honoured to be considered a dance partner this evening.”

If it was allowed, Nesta would have gagged. He could not be serious, surely? This grovelling man could be her father, what with his greying temples and sagging skin. Besides that, as Nesta focused her attention on the would-be suitor, she could not help but notice a flash of yellowing teeth as he bent to place a too-wet kiss on her mother’s hand. This could not be the best this night had to offer. It just couldn’t.

In that moment Nesta would have sworn the Mother heard her thoughts. The room stilled, and all attention pivoted to the entrance of the ballroom as an unknown man - although undeniably handsome - flanked by two men on each side, strode confidently into the space.

Nesta could feel the cold burn of her mother’s gaze, and turning to meet her eyes, her mother imperceptibly nodded toward the latest guest to arrive. Permission, but - more importantly - a command. “Well, it could be worse,” Nesta thought as she made to place herself casually within the stranger’s line of sight.

What Augusta Archeron wanted, Augusta Archeron inevitably obtained, so if her mother wanted Nesta to focus on this man that is what she must do. Unfortunately, due to the late arrival, this meant that there were already those who had been promised an introduction or a dance. While the introductions were not as bad as Nesta feared, the dancing was a different sort entirely.

Her feet may never recover after how many times Lord Beasley had stood on them as he led her through the most basic of steps.

Lord Farlington had just begun his approach as she hurried to the lemonade table, using the need for refreshment as an excuse to escape the no doubt long-winded retelling of his latest hunt.

Thankfully, the handsome stranger held no qualms for the evening proceedings. He appeared at Nesta’s side, took her hand, and promptly led her to the dance floor.

It was impolite to share more than one dance with a potential suitor at a formal ball and Nesta could not be party to any further rule-breaking, so she curtsied, looking up through her lashes with a practised demure smile on her lips, then returned to her allotted position at her mother’s side. Thinking herself victorious, Nesta turned to face her mother with hope in her eyes, only to notice the downturned corners of her mouth and slight flare of her nostrils.

What had she done wrong? She replayed the evening in her mind, cataloguing each interaction she had, each word she had spoken, but could not identify what would have caused her mother to find her lacking. Intent on avoiding any lessons come morning, Nesta resolved to have a proposal from the handsome stranger by the end of the night.

With feline grace, said stranger made his way to greet her father, “Lord Archeron, you are a most gracious host. I apologise for my tardiness, but the carriage ride from the family home is an arduous one.” Without turning, he muttered an obligatory “My Lady” to her mother and continued, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Timothy Haswing, Duke of Eredale.” The speed with which Augusta snapped her head up made Nesta worry for her neck, but these thoughts were cut short as the Duke turned to address her.

“Lady Nesta, would you do me the pleasure of joining me for another dance?”

Nesta internally scolded herself as she hesitated, “Control yourself, you twit”. With a quick glance at her mother, Nesta took the proffered hand and was swept up into the slow movements of a waltz. She could do this, she was trained for this. Maybe not a Duchess, but she had to succeed. Failure was simply not an option for her.

—

Five dances. Timothy - the Duke - had all but commandeered Nesta the entire evening. She can’t remember ever having felt so weightless and free. Perhaps that is what it felt like to truly enjoy oneself. At one point during the evening, Nesta was almost certain she had laughed. She had been led effortlessly around the dance floor, sharing small pieces of herself in shy smiles and lingering glances, complimenting the Duke on his midnight blue justaucorps and how the gold thread gleamed in the candlelight. All this should have resulted in something more, but to her disappointment, the Duke had thanked her for the evening and bid her goodnight with a chaste kiss on the back of her hand.

As Nesta made her way up the stairs of their home, she hoped she had waited long enough to avoid the unending list of shortcomings she knew her mother had already planned to deliver.

As always, luck was not on Nesta’s side. She froze as she was met by her mother waiting in the dark of her room, the light of the moon made the sharp lines of her mother's face appear to be forged from the strongest steel.

“Take a seat immediately,” her mother all but seethed. Nesta sat. “I specifically instructed you on how to portray yourself tonight, Nesta, and as expected, you failed to remotely resemble a Lady of stature. All my efforts to appropriately match you were for nought. The manner in which you conducted yourself was unseemly, and no daughter of mine would be so naive as to imagine herself above the attentions of any man in polite society.”

Nesta's shoulders fell at the words, but her mother uncharacteristically made no notice of this as she asked with an icy tone, “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

How could Nesta begin to respond when she could not see the path to absolution? Surely, she should not have denied the Duke? Would that not have resulted in this conversation with her mother, only with a different reason as to what caused her disappointment?

“I-,” Nesta began, but her mother had already turned to leave. Pausing in the doorway, Augusta delivered her final words for the evening, “Had I known you would cause me such embarrassment tonight, I would have kept you on a tighter leash. You will be better. Lessons start promptly after breakfast. Do not keep your grandmother waiting.”

At the mention of her grandmother, Nesta began to shiver, her gaze remaining steadfastly on her feet. “Yes, mother. Goodnight,” she replied.

Between greeting the guests, dancing with Timothy, dinner, and the arranged entertainment of the evening, Nesta could not find a moment to focus her attention on any other possible suitors deemed worthy by her mother.

“Pity is for the poor. Wallowing begets weakness. Only betterment leads to success.” – the familiar phrase flittered through her mind as Nesta rose to her feet to ready herself for bed.

As she rested her weary head on her pillow, Nesta came to a realisation she had fought so hard to ignore, “I will never please her. I will never be good enough for her love.”

~-~-~-~

I resonate with Nesta on a deep level, so much so that I find I constantly remind/lecture myself not to put too much of "me" into this story... That could be the whole point of me actually writing this, as a healing situation for what I experienced in my own childhood with the expectations that seem to have been placed on Nesta and me while growing up.

Let me know your thoughts on this :))

~-~-~-~

Echoes of Resilience tag list:

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@shadowsandlint

@achaotichuman

@c-starstuff-man0

@dawneternal

@jules-writes-stories

@the-darkestminds

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@secret-third-thing

Let me know if you want on or off the tag list :))

#Echoes of Resilience #nesta archeron #nesta archeron supremacy #nesta fanfiction #nesta fic #nesta my queen #nesta acotar #pro nesta #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta archeron #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar #my first fic

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utterlyotterlyx · 7 months ago

Text

Sweet Creature

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - The bond snaps after a rather brutal breakup, and after witnessing you with another Vanserra, Azriel is trying to find a way to avoid being hurt once again.

Warnings - fluff, angst, pining, swearing, unrequited love, heartbreak, sad Az, happy ending (yay!)

Word count - 8.4k (oops)

Based on this ask

It had become so intense in the House of Wind that you had little to no choice in moving yourself to the River House. Between Nesta and Cassian's bustling sex life and the constant bickering arguments between Azriel and Elain, you decided that you needed some peace.

And fast.

Rhys had welcomed you at the door that day, his sort-of sister in arms surrounded by brown leather bags that he could almost envision you launching down the House of Wind steps just to escape as fast as possible. Flipping him off and smirking at his chuckle, you slipped around his form stood in the doorway and headed right to Nyx who was more than thrilled to see you, babbling incoherently and grabbing for you the moment you were in eyeshot.

"I take it that it's getting a bit loud over there?" Rhys turned to you, his shirt half unbuttoned and hands burrowed into his pockets. He was lucky. To have a mate and a child. To not have to live with the band of animals currently residing in the Night Court's most opulent residence.

"How am I supposed to get anything done wedged between that lot?" Nyx smiled at your cooing, lapping up all of your love and affection, "I'd much rather be here with my favourite prince."

Within minutes, your bags were taken upstairs by Rhys who was grumbling to himself about never being able to have any peace to which you blissfully quipped that you'd be out of his hair the moment he bought you a lavish apartment in the city. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it after all.

Your position within the Inner Circle was irreplaceable. Not only were you Rhys' childhood best friend, the only one he could truly depend on before Cassian and Azriel flew into the picture, but you were also known as a witch. A powerful celestial being that had the capability to destroy and create as you saw fit with an affinity to sky and water magic.

The scales could have tilted in the wrong direction had you truly taken up Amarantha's offer to be her pet, the only reason you had confined yourself to that chamber Under The Mountain was to make sure that Rhys survived, and you played your part well, just as you always had.

A break was needed, the air in the House of Wind was almost suffocating, and no amount of your power was able to drown it. Elain was spending more time with Lucien, her mate, and Azriel was not happy about it considering that they were meant to be in a committed relationship. The barking insults and shouting had become too much to bare, so intense that your own power was itching for release in order to silence them for at least a couple of minutes.

"They're going to break up, aren't they?" Rhys certainly wouldn't be the first to tell Azriel I told you so, but he'd certainly be thinking it when the Shadowsinger would inevitably return to the River House just like you had to escape the nightmare of his life.

Humming softly, sadly, you looked up at Rhys, your godson in your arms resting his head on your chest, "I think so. Az hasn't been himself lately."

It was true, your friend had become a shell of himself, wallowing in self-loathing and doubt, and you cursed Elain eternally for turning him into such a thing. How anyone could hurt Azriel was beyond your scope of realisation, he was perfect in every way, devoted, kind, caring, and definitely a force to be reckoned with in the bedroom if your ears served you right.

Being attracted to Azriel was a natural bodily response, you had told yourself at least, it was difficult to not want to jump the bones of the illustrious Shadowsinger who kept a watchful eye on your every step. Like he was waiting for his moment to swoop in and save you.

But you had never needed saving, and you never would.

Elain and you had never really gotten along, it wasn't as though you hadn't tried to be friendly with the Made sister, she just couldn't stand to be around you. Maybe her own abilities clashed with yours, perhaps she was terrified of you. You couldn't blame her, the idea of you was one that stalked travellers and gifted nightmares to the young.

A celestial witch. In the flesh.

Anyone who knew you well enough would be able to dispel any wrongful intent, but Elain was not one of those people.

"I did warn him," Rhys' finger drifted to hook itself around Nyx's outstretched hand, and he shook it gently as he continued on, "A mating bond is not something to get entangled with."

"Az needs us to be his friends right now, Rhys. A breakup on its own is awful, but when it's so close, when he's been waiting so long for it, it's bound to hurt."

A firm hand on your shoulder comforted you, you knew how tough it must be for Azriel to go through it, after how painful it was to hold out hoping that he would be enough to suddenly not be, "I know, Witchling," you scoffed at the nickname as you always had and always would, Rhys pressed a dainty kiss into your hair, like a brother to a newly born sister, "Whatever he needs, I'm here, and so are you."

If you had known what awaited you that week, you'd take the telling words back in a second.

Like you had guessed, Azriel moved back into the River House, residing in his own room across the hall from your own. And boy, was he a raincloud if you ever did see one. Even his shadows looked solemn, and they didn't have faces. Azriel looked positively awful, constantly messy hair, large bags of onyx that imprinted onto the skin beneath his usually warm hazel eyes that had turned into nothing but dark pools of heartbroken sadness.

In the night, you had heard him crying, you'd stood outside of his door, not saying a word, but hoping that he knew that someone was there for him even if he didn't want them to be.

You had tried to talk to him, to coax him out of his haze by offering to train with him, or walk with him along the banks of the Sidra, you'd even asked him if beating your ass whilst you wore a mask of Lucien would bring a smile to his face. Unfortunately, everything you had tried had failed you, and you were at a loss as to help your friend.

"Honestly Rhys, how do you reach anything in here?" Rhys was hovering in the doorway, eyebrow raised with delight as he watched you try and scale the countertops to reach the top shelf of the cupboard.

There were chocolate chips for your cookies up there, and they had your name all over them.

"It's not my fault you're not Illyrian," his eyes darkened into a smirk, "Why don't you just hop onto your broomstick and fly?"

Even a silent Azriel emitted a gasp from his place on the opposite side of the centre island. If there was one thing you hated, it was being likened to the witches children sang about in their storybooks. It offended you how utterly unalike you were, and it made you seethe when someone, usually Rhys or Cassian, would use that hatred to rile you up.

"Oh," you stood on the countertop, towering over the High Lord by a few mere inches, "Is that why all of the doorways are so wide? Because your fat fucking head needs all the room it can get?"

Rhys stood speechless before you, the room fell silent.

Then a laugh.

Not yours of Rhys', you had to check it wasn't you making any noise before your eyes landed on the owner of the most joyful thing you'd heard in weeks.

A smile. Curled parted lips as a howling laugh ripped through them. Azriel's shadows danced to the sound, and his body shook with it. You could have cried, but you kept it together, you choked down your happiness to witness the momentary return of the one who meant the most to you.

It was no secret that you used to be Azriel's favourite. There was nothing that the two of you wouldn't do together, even if it was a medial task like taking you to the bakery or finding you a new Starfall dress that would make Mor dim in comparison. Azriel was always happy to come along. Until Elain, and then you had stopped seeing another, you'd drifted so far apart that he didn't even properly greet you anymore, all you were adorned with was a curt nod and tight lipped smile before Elain would whisk him away.

The male in front of you was nothing like that one, not in that singular glimmer of hope at least. Once his laughter died down, and a serene smile planted itself on his lips, Azriel opened his eyes and moved them to you, they glowed with something you couldn't quite understand, and then they widened. His eyes faltered. His smile faded.

Azriel gasped.

"Mate."

Darting your line of sight to Rhys, you pointed at him, flickering your gaze back to Azriel who had rose from his seat "Him?"

Rhys swatted your finger away, "I'm mated, y/n," Rhys glanced between you and took a step backward.

"So?" It couldn't be. Not right now. Not now.

"I can't do this," Azriel was struggling to breathe, his chest was rising and falling rapidly, sweat beaded at his brow and his skin had paled.

Scrambling down from the worktop, you went to take a step toward him, one that he mirrored in the opposing direction, furling his wings behind his back and clawing his shadows into submission, "Don't, Az. I can go."

The visible wince of pain that shot through you was enough for Azriel to suck in a breath and disappear from sight. The bond was dull, a golden thread soaring across the night sky to meet a shield of inked darkness. Azriel had closed you off. Shut you out.

Silence befell the kitchen, the chocolate chips you had gotten from the top shelf now scattered across the dark oak wood beneath your bare feet. Rhys had never seen you cry, he almost thought it impossible, but then he saw that single tear roll down your cheek, he could feel the pain radiating from you from finding your mate for him only to run from you.

"Hey, it's alright," he wrapped you into his arms, shushing you softly as he ran his fingers through your hair to soothe the quiet sobs rattling your shoulders, "It's going to be fine, y/n. Azriel's just confused, he'll be thrilled soon. Just you wait."

The snap had been gentle, like you had just come home after a long day, like you'd stepped through the door to see everyone you had ever loved all in one place and he was at the epicentre of it. Safe. Warm. Perfect.

Being a witch, you were never sure how life would look for you. Not even the cauldron understood your kind, you had always thought that perhaps the cauldron overlooked your species for the things most pure, like mating bonds and children. Witchlings were rare, you were the lone example of it, perhaps a part of you thought that you weren't allowed to have any love or joy, that you weren't good enough for it.

And there it was right in front of you, with the male a part of you had always yearned for, dancing in ash.

In the weeks that followed, Azriel did all he could to avoid you. No reason was good enough to make Azriel even glance in your direction let alone utter anything to you.

It had gotten to the point where you had asked Rhys for the keys to the cabin, you packed up your things and stepped through time to stand on that cold wooden floor with moonlight drifting through the small square windows.

You’d never thought that you could ever feel so alone, but as you stood there in a cabin so cold that you could see your own breath, the loneliness certainly began to set in.

There was little else to do other than light a fire to warm the little cabin on the outskirts of the city and run a bath; the tub was surrounded by candles, the ottoman at the foot of it was full of scented oils and salts which made your heart flutter. At least if you were to wallow in your own heartbreak you’d be able to do it smelling like the ocean surrounded by candlelight.

Bubbles crept up your neck as you sank into the wooden tub, it should have been a tranquil moment for you, but it was far from it in reality.

Az, please. Just talk to me. I'm still y/n, I'm still your friend. Things don't have to change.

Instead of enjoying the alone time like you should have considering that it was rare to have a minute of peace in a city full of needy children, you sat and let your mind wonder just how everything had gotten so messed up. You understood his confusion, really, you did, you understood how conflicting it must have been for him to separate with Elain, the female he was ready to spend the rest of his existence with, to then find out he was mated to you, not just you as his friend, but you as a witch.

Talk to me.

Too many tears had been spilled, you couldn't stop them from flowing from your eyes each time Azriel would fumble some excuse to get away from you. The bond was cold, it was like trying to break through a shield, an icy 10 foot deep floor that wouldn't even crack under whatever you would throw at it.

If you need me to leave then I will, Az. I'll leave for you, so you can have space, so you can think.

In the weeks that followed the revelation, you'd done all you could to try and get through to him, to let him know that you weren't expecting him to accept it, that he could take all the time he needed to process everything before speaking to you, all you needed was a sign that he was listening to you, that you mattered. It didn't surprise you that Azriel hadn't exactly thought about you in the predicament, of what it had done to you, and you couldn't even be angry at him over it because you'd be the same.

It didn't mean that it didn't hurt though.

Dark skies littered with blinking starlight was cast overhead, too beautiful to be real, too beautiful that you were sure that it was some kind of abstract painting on a black canvas. The cabin used to be one of your favourite places, Azriel and you used to escape there frequently, spending nights upon nights drinking Rhys' best wine and talking about everything and nothing.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from the memories, your eyes drifted to the clock softly ticking on the wall and you frowned, it was quite late. Lifting yourself from the tub, you wrapped a towel around your frame and padded over to the door, your wet footprints embedding themselves in the wood below. Slight disappointment sliced through you when you opened the door to see Mor, Nesta and Feyre on the deck shivering in the brisk breeze.

"We brought supplies," Nesta pushed past you, placing a wicker basket on the table and shrugging off her coat, "By supplies I mean wine, wine, and more wine."

Mor and Feyre entered, sniffing the air with soft smiles, they had always loved your scent, it was peaceful, like ocean waves lapping against the side of a mountain at dusk, airy, blissful, fresh.

The news had spread around the Inner Circle rather quickly thanks to Rhys, he had told Cassian, and well, Cassian wasn't exactly known for holding his tongue. The Lord of Bloodshed had apologised to you, feeling guilty for making things worse between you and Azriel, but you didn't mind. All you wanted was for the Shadowsinger to simply look at you. Anything else was a pointless worry. Not worth your time.

Tugging the towel tighter around your frame, you forced a smile, "This is really nice. Thank you."

Strangely, both Nesta and Feyre had been surprisingly supportive of the bond between you and Azriel. To them it made sense, you had been friends for over 500 years, you both struggled with fitting in, and you only felt truly comfortable to let your walls down around one another. To them, the bond had been there for a long time, waiting for the perfect moment. Too bad that the perfect moment had ended up making feel like the most worthless creature on the planet.

"Has he let you in yet?" Nesta rested her hand on your shoulder, her other hand was busy handing you a goblet of wine which you hugged closely to your chest and shook your head, "I'm sorry y/n. I really thought he would have by now."

"Give it time. He'll come around," Feyre draped her cloak over the arm of one of the dining chairs, smoothing out her skirt. It had always astounded you just how perfect they all were, the Archeron sisters that is, it was hard to understand how any male couldn't be attracted to them. They were quite heavenly.

"You've all been saying that for weeks," you shrugged off Nesta's hand, exasperated, "If anything he's become colder. Azriel doesn't acknowledge me, he looks right through me, he finds any reason possible to not be in the same room as me and when he sees me in the halls he turns on his heels and runs."

"I'm now living in this damned cabin hoping that some space will help him," your shoulders dropped, "I've waited my entire existence for this, I started to think that I wasn't worthy of it, and when it happened and the bond snaps with the one person I know that I could be truly happy with," your bottom lip wobbled slightly, but you choked it down and swallowed hard, "He ran."

Mor leaned forward in her seat, wide eyes under her perfectly sculpted furrowed brows, "It has nothing to do with you, y/n."

"How am I supposed to believe that when he won't even look at me?"

Something thick and fluffy draped over you, Nesta's robe that you always eyed was resting on your shoulders, "Go and get in your comfy clothes, then we can talk and bitch until all you feel is anger."

Amongst the chatter, you spied the three leather bags full to the brim of differing clothes and cosmetics, and then you realised that you weren't alone, not really, not when those three bags of clothes and trinkets belonged to the three females in the cabin with you, clearly ready to move in and stay with you until you were ready to face life again.

Who needed a man when you had three raging bitch queens?

Nesta was right, you just had to get back to work.

If anything was going to be able to distract you from that aching in your chest, then it would be work.

Luckily, Rhys, whilst he loved your abilities greatly, saw you as much more than just a celestial witch residing in his court, he likened you to a sister, blood family, which meant that he trusted no one more than you to act on his behalf when it came to court politics.

Holding such a position meant that you were rather close with the High Lords, they never saw you as Rhys' lackey at all, they saw you as a being that cared greatly about the continent who would stop at nothing to ensure harmony in all jurisdictions. Such a role meant that you were also required to entertain the High Lords whenever they visited Velaris, a place you had extended to them after the war to aid their research and better their own courts, with your help of course.

That particular evening, Rhys had asked you to entertain a certain High Lord of Autumn, Eris Vanserra; he was visiting Lucien and his new mate, Elain, and the entire visit was putting Azriel on edge. So, naturally, you couldn't say no.

"I always love our dinners, y/n," Eris' whisky amber gaze burned into you, searching the supernatural speckles in your own.

It was no secret that Eris had a flame for you, a being he found intriguing beyond belief, in the grasp of the Night Court when Eris knew how much you would thrive in Autumn by his side. The High Lord had offered Rhys pretty much everything he could to try and convince him to let him near you. All attempts had been swiftly denied.

Plates were littered with blotches of sauce and chicken bones, two empty bottles of red had been disposed of long ago, and you were just about to order that sticky toffee slice that made your toes curl when Eris asked, "When were you going to tell me about you and Azriel, hm?"

Candlelight drifted over the side of his face, illuminating his eyes against the darkening backdrop. "What are you talking about?"

Eris smirked, swirling the second glass of your third bottle that evening in perfect circles in his palm, "Come on, y/n. You reek of him, that cedar scent that even I have to admit is rather interesting."

In all of your self wallowing and sudden busyness you hadn't realised that the scent of the mating bond lingered on you, entwining with your scent of blissful oceans to create something new, something drowning. Something suffocating.

"I can admit that the news did hurt me, just a little bit," Eris, since the war, had allowed his hair to grow out. It sat just below his shoulders, layered and playful, he had it lazily pulled back low on his head. Something about that hair and those eyes made you question everything you knew, and you did know that you weren't the only one who felt like that when around the High Lord of Autumn.

Fluttering your lashes at Eris, you ran your fingers across the line of your bodice, "I apologise. It seems that fate wanted to lead me elsewhere."

Eris dismissed the waiter, eyes grinning at you through his lashes, "Let's go to Rita's. I need to drink some more, and you," he pointed to you, knowing that he was interrupting a rather important date with a rather important pudding, and said, "Need to loosen up, Witchling."

That fucking name.

You were sure that steam was emitting from your ears, but you couldn't deny that he was right, you couldn't really remember the last time you let loose and danced the night into oblivion. So you grabbed your purse from the table, a ornate gold cage that matched the intricate details of your skirt, and rose from your seat, "I hate how right you are, Vanserra. Let's go."

The High Lord towered over you, like all of them did really, stupid high fae and Illyrians and their stupid perfect genes making them so handsome and mysterious and utterly fuckable.

Stumbling from the restaurant at the edge of the Sidra, you looped your arm through Eris' and he practically had to pull you along the streets of the city or else you'd go and do a ritual in a field or something. Despite his crush, Eris found that part you a bit odd. In a way, you did too.

"When are you going to come to Autumn, Witchling? You know you'd love it there."

Eris propositioned you with the notion every time he saw you, he clearly thought that if he pestered you about it enough then you'd agree to it one day. Even just a fleeting visit would be enough to satisfy him. Just a day or two. You couldn't deny that Autumn piqued your interest, and with everything going on, perhaps a little break would do you some good.

"Maybe sooner than you think," despite the shameless flirting, you were glad that you could call Eris your friend, underneath that mask of loathing, you found the High Lord to be complex, and he appreciated your understanding. You were the only being that had ever approached him with kindness and treated him for who he truly was and not what he displayed. "All of this stuff with Azriel is spinning my mind. I feel like I'm going insane."

Eris hummed, tugging you a bit tighter into his side as he draped his arm over your shoulder, something completely platonic that you knew would send a certain someone spiralling, "That's what mating bonds do, y/n. I know that everyone keeps on telling you that he'll come around, I hope he does. Truly." It was the first time you had seen him say something and know that he was sincere of it "But, for tonight and tonight only, you are mine and we are going to drink and dance until we physically can't anymore, alright?"

Inhaling deeply, you met his gaze, "Alright."

Rita's was packed to the brim, you could feel the music thumping through the air so intensely that the ground beneath your feet was vibrating in time with the bass. Suddenly, you felt overdressed, but Eris commanded that you not think of it as he pulled you through the doors and past the guards who nodded at you with a curt smile as you clicked by.

In Velaris, you were quite known for being the wild one, the entire city was in awe of you and the powers you displayed so beautifully. More often than not, you would be found in the poorer parts of the city enchanting the children with your magic, curls of water would dance along their cheeks, and they would gasp when you would pluck a star from the sky and rest it in the palm of your hand. You knew what it felt like to feel alone and forgotten, being the last existing witch in your coven and all, and you didn't want anyone else to feel like that. So, if some water and a star would bring some form of happiness to those children, then you'd spend the rest of your life bringing them that wonder.

Eris tugged you through the grinding bodies, some of which parted as soon as they saw your eyes glistening in the lights, and stopped at the bar, shouting over the music to order drinks for you both before he turned, handing you a glass of what you could only assume was straight liquor, "To stealing you from the Night Court, Witchling," Eris raised his glass, rolling your eyes, you met it with a clink and wasted no time in downing the liquid, relishing in the burn that travelled down your throat and chest.

"Keep dreaming, Vanserra."

Hand on heart, Eris swayed into you, "Oh believe me, y/n, I do."

If you had known who was staring at you from across the room then you would have taken a step away from Eris, much like if you had seen the shadows followed you since you left the cabin that evening you wouldn't have agreed to go to Rita's. It was too late to do anything when your eyes connected with his, yours widened in surprise and solemn shock as his own narrowed, flickering between you and Eris before softening.

Of course, the first time Azriel actually looked at you was when you were stood beside Eris Vanserra, a High Lord, the brother of the one now laying with Elain.

Fuck.

It was like he didn't even see you really, he only saw Eris standing far too close to the one the cauldron had decided to be his mate. There was no way to be blind to the hatred between them, and with Azriel's temper and Eris' flare for the dramatics, you weren't surprised that Rhys had asked you to entertain the latter for the evening.

Noticing how your body froze, Eris frowned, he followed your line of sight to the Shadowsinger perched at a booth across the room ignoring both Cassian and Rhys who were trying to speak to him, to keep him calm.

Rhys. I didn't know.

I know, y/n. It'll be fine. We can handle Az if you can handle Eris.

Stiffly nodding, you turned to speak to Eris, to convince him to leave and find another place to drink, but he was gone. Then you saw his red hair moving through the crowd and you cursed, colourfully, and you scrambled through the crowd to try and reach him before he did something stupid.

Rushing up the steps to the usual booth reserved for the Inner Circle only, you stopped in your tracks as Eris' voice sliced through the chilled air, "When are you going to give our sweet y/n a break, Rhys? I keep on asking her to come to Autumn but she keeps on refusing."

Stop talking.

"It seems that she could use a break now more than ever."

Stop fucking talking.

"Especially since the bond is unrequited and she's sat in that little cabin day in day out wondering what her fate will be."

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you tugged on him, harshly, like you were reprimanding a dog on a leash, "Stop talking."

Little did you know, that one touch alone was enough to make Azriel visibly flinch and shudder with pain. That one act pierced his heart deadlier than Elain ever had or could, the way your fingers rested just over Eris' pulse, the way you looked at him with flame in your eyes, it was too much.

Eris wouldn't hurt you, you were the closest thing he had to a true friend, bit his loosened lips would be the end of you, "You both know that this isn't fair on her. Why is she the one who has to sit in misery and move to the outskirts of this city in order to make your poor Azriel more comfortable?"

Tension bubbled, Rhys was slowly rising from his seat whilst Cassian angled himself in front of Azriel, probably to stop the Shadowsinger from doing something he would come to regret, "Eris, you're making it worse," he finally gave you his attention, "Just wait outside for me, we can find somewhere else to drink, okay?"

It took him a moment, but your pleading eyes convinced him to listen, and Eris moved from your side, disappearing from you and leaving you stood before three Illyrians, all of which you were sure didn't wish to be around you in that moment. Fiddling with your fingers, you looked up from the ground at them, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were going to be here. You told me to keep him entertained, I'm sorry."

Rhys froze, his breath caught in his throat, and Azriel was glaring at him with such intensity that it made even you shrink, and you didn't shrink away from anything or anyone, "I'll go. I'm sorry," your chest ached when Azriel didn't even glance in your direction, instead keeping his gaze trained on his High Lord who simply nodded once at you.

Then you left, you grasped Eris by the lobe of his ear and dragged him away from Rita's before Azriel could make him pay for his words, or even worse, Rhys. It took only a few blocks for Eris to swat your hand away, "I'm not a child, y/n." Eris rubbed the red tinged patch of skin at his ear with a pout.

Velaris watched on as you bundled down a cobbled path toward the bank of the Sidra, a place you went to often to channel your magic, it was serene and beautiful, and had been the perfect place for you to find your calm in the midst of such brutality, "That is my mate, Eris. Do you understand that? Azriel is going through so much already, he lost Elain to Lucien," Eris cocked his brow in warning but you continued, "Elain was meant to be the one for him, and as long as Az was happy then I could choke down everything I had ever felt for him because he deserved all of the happiness possible after everything he's been through. I could live alone for the rest of my days as long as he was happy. Then it turns out that he's mine, that he was always meant to be mine, it should have been the best day of our lives," tears pooled on your bottom lids and you were sick of it, of crying, you had never cried, it wasn't in your nature but it was all you could do these days.

"Azriel can't even look at me, I had to move out of the River House and isolate myself from everyone I love just to give him a moment to think and process everything," you turned to Eris, "You just had to prod him, didn't you? You just had to get under his skin. Do you know how this looks? Elain chose Lucien and then he sees me drinking with you?"

Eris ran a hand over his face and sighed, "I didn't mean to make things difficult, y/n. I just want what's best for you, what you deserve."

"I know and I appreciate that, I really do. I just wanted things to get better, not worse."

It astounded Eris how Azriel wasn't over to moon to have you as his mate, you were elegant and graceful, a formidable opponent, tactical and sharp, and one of the most beautiful creatures to ever walk under the skies of Prythian. Perhaps he could have been a touch more sensitive to the situation at hand.

The moonlight waltzed over the rippling waters of the Sidra which acted as a mirror to the sky above, clear and bright, full of possibility.

The bond strained in your soul, empty and unrequited, a lone dying ember searching for its flame, and you knew then that Azriel was going to pull away from you more than ever.

"You should go back to the House of Wind," your voice was small and weak, "I'll see you before you leave tomorrow."

Eris took a step toward you, fumbling, knowing that he had messed up, "Please, y/n."

"Eris," he paused his movements, "Just go. I'll see you tomorrow."

Knowing that nothing was going to change your stubborn mind, Eris retreated up the embankment and down the cobbled path, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

Pebbles brushed together under your weight, moving flat to accommodate your position. You hugged your knees to your chest, unclasping your heels and tossing them aside, rubbing the skin on your ankles softly to alleviate the pinching that was once there.

How long could you go like this? How long would be able to deal with the rejection before it broke you? How long until you took Eris up on his offer and left Velaris forever?

You didn't have much time to think of an answer, not when a familiar cool pressure coiled at the small of your back, travelling up your spine and over your shoulders. The shadows drifted through your hair and you smiled sadly at them, at the sweet sign to tell you that you weren't alone.

"How did you find me?"

A shuffle sounded from behind you, shoes scraping along the pebbles, "This is our place. Where else would you go?"

You turned then, peering over your shoulder at him, examining him for a moment. Azriel certainly looked better, his eyes had lightened by a couple of hues and his skin was healthy an tanned to perfection, though, sadness and doubt still lingered in his eyes.

Silently cursing yourself, you turned back to the water. It was yours and Azriel's place, it always had been, until Elain came along that is and then it became your place. Whenever either of you had a bad day, the other would bring them there, to listen to the water rushing up on the rocks and watch the stars, and you'd talk, about anything that was bothering you and causing you any pain, and then suddenly you'd be alright again.

You rose from the ground, brushing little fragments of twigs and dirt from the golden swirls of your skirt, and Azriel gazed at you as you did, wondering how his best friend had become a stranger so quickly, "If I had known you were there tonight I wouldn't have taken him."

"I know," Azriel had his hands bundled into his pockets, afraid that if they lingered at his side then he would reach for you and risk a whole other world of pain, "I think we need to break the bond."

The world stopped moving.

"What?"

Azriel repeated, "I think we need to break the bond."

Break the bond.

It writhed in your chest, it writhed in pain and sorrow, striking you so deeply that you thought you may stop breathing, "I can't do it again. I can't be broken like this again, not with another Vanserra, not with anyone."

Thumping in your chest, your heart cried out, lurching around in its cage, and you struggled to form any words, "Az-"

"It's what's best for us, y/n."

No. No, no, no.

"How can you say that?" Azriel frowned, his hazel orbs softening, like he too was in pain, "I have done everything I can to give you space to process this, I moved out of our home, twice, to give you space to process whatever you need to process and feel whatever it is that you need to feel. I have gone 500 years being perfectly content of being your friend and that alone, because that was better than not having you at all. I stood by and watched you pine for Mor, and then her, the one who put such a wedge between us that I was reduced to polite hellos and nods. But I dealt with it, for you and your happiness. I dealt with all of the comparisons and pain, I dealt with the punishment of your feelings for her. I would deal with every ounce of hatred you throw at me if it meant that you would feel better, hoping that one day you'd realise that I have always been here for you, that I have always loved you in ways that no one else ever could."

You were pacing up and down the riverbank, pebbles knocking together as you walked, and Azriel stood before you unmoving, unknowing of what to say and only knowing that he needed it to end, "You never even gave it a chance," your choked whisper put him on edge.

Azriel had never seen you cry, had never heard of it happening, clearly Rhys had negated to tell him just how deeply the last few weeks had impacted you. To the point where you had actually cried. Tears gathered at your bottom lids and he noticed how you looked up at the sky to prevent them from falling.

"You never let me in."

Everything within Azriel was screaming at him to reach for you, the bond that he had frozen in place behind a wall of shadow was battering against the shield like a ram to break free and comfort you.

You were right, you had been his best friend, one of the few he could ever really depend on for everything. Elain had never liked you, she had always blamed it on her abilities not being able to harmonise with your own, but Azriel had always known it was deeper than that. Elain was a seer, and somehow it hadn't dawned on Azriel just how much she could have been hiding.

Elain hated it when he spent time with you, and being as in love as he was, he believed that it was down to some strange jealously that lingered on the surface. No one would have blamed Elain for her jealousy, you were truly a sweet creature, the other half to his marred coin that he had so carelessly tossed away. What if Elain had seen something and had chosen to lead Azriel away from you in order to preserve what she wanted them to share?

"I've given you everything I can," you sounded utterly defeated, "I don't know what else to do, Azriel."

His name was like a sonnet on your lips, one of heart-breaking sadness and longing, and he stepped to it, his shadows swirled around his body and drifted out to you. They had always adored you. They had always sought after you, a stark difference to their hiding from Elain.

"I would ruin you, y/n. You deserve so much more, so much better than me," his fingers twitched for you, he was so close yet so far from holding you, from inhaling the coconut scent of your shampoo and the scent of your soul, of soft salted breezes and jasmine, "I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted you to feel like you weren't worthy of love, and I'm so sorry for making you think that you were alone in the world," you had cocked your head to the side in question, "Rhys told me."

Azriel took another step forward, exhaling with relief when you didn't make a move to get away from him, "Love scares me. Elain had my heart in the palm of my hand and then crushed it, and then the bond snapped with you, with the one person I know would never hurt me, and I just couldn't risk it. I can't risk it. I can't risk being broken again, I can't risk hurting you."

All this time, when Azriel had been wallowing in the loss of Elain, of having to deal with her and Lucien's bond, he had completely neglected you, and your feelings. It was something you had never done to him, something you never could.

A gentle breeze flowed through the air, it carried your scent to him, and on inhaling it, he felt his entire body relax, he felt his aching disappear, and it was as though the world had gotten clearer. You turned away from him, hands folded over your chest and facing the river so that he couldn't see your tears, "I thought I was destined to be alone. The rules of your kind and the fae have never really applied to me, even the Cauldron doesn't understand me. I thought that it took the chance of love from me, but now I see that it was just some cruel joke."

Let her in. Feel her.

The shadows cooed to him, faintly, like a lullaby to a new-born babe.

"If it'll bring you peace," your voice broke, "Then break it. Break the bond. I'll find some other place to be."

Don't let her get away. Mate. She loves you. Love her. Let her in.

As though the world was tilting, Azriel let down that wall, he felt that bond slither over the seam of it to reach you, and then what he felt brought him to his knees.

Love. Wanting. Hope. Pain. Sorrow. Longing.

It consumed him with light, fighting off the demons that had been left to plague him, decimating them with the most pure substance in Prythian. Love.

When you heard his knees hit the ground you had turned and ran to where he knelt on the pebbles, meeting him as you slid onto your own, ignoring the stabbing into your skin, "Az? Are you alright? What's wrong?" You cupped his face in your hands and he felt each one of your fingertips flow life back into him.

The two tethers to the bond were dancing with one another, meeting in the middle and thrumming as two became one, turning dark skies into ones of bright sun and opulent warmth.

It was you. Sweet and fierce you. You who had always protected him, you who had always put him first even when he couldn't return it. You.

"Az? Talk to me, tell me what's happening. Do I need to call for Rhys? I'll get him right-"

Azriel stopped you before you could rise to your feet, the act of wrapping his fingers around your wrists enough to make your words vanish in your mouth, "You love me."

Settling into the space before him, knee to knee with him and his shadows itching to pull you closer, you didn't remove your hands from his, the feeling of it so powerful that it wiped all of your pain away, "I always have."

Walks along the Sidra. Visits to the bakery. The countless thoughtful gifts for Winter Solstice. The nights spent locked away in the cabin talking about dreams and fears.

Azriel's fingers drifted along your cheek before resting there, his thumb softly soothing the tightness in your jaw, "Why did you never say anything?"

"Because you deserve to be happy, even if it isn't with me," Azriel watched your bottom lip wobble, and that stream of love within him rippled with upset. His thumb moved to it, dragging across that plump flesh that he had always wondered of the taste.

Would you taste sweet or of lightly salted oceans? Of the air at dusk perhaps?

All he had ever chased was happiness, how foolish of him to be blind to the fact he had always had it within you.

"I think the only time I've ever truly been happy, at peace, has been with you. You've always felt like home," your eyes met and he offered you a small, genteel smile; his fingers moved to your hair, raking over your scalp and floating to rest on the small of your back, "I've missed you so much."

"You have?"

Azriel hummed in admittance, "The worst part of all of this was that I left the House of Wind to be near you, because I could be, nothing was in the way of us anymore, and I knew you'd be the only one patient enough to deal with me. It was selfish, but you've always been the rocks on which the ocean crashes, you've always been the one I can turn to without fear of judgement. You understand me."

"I can still be that person, Az. I can still be your friend."

Resting his forehead against yours, Azriel spoke lowly, like he had just awoken from slumber, "Do you know how hard it is for me to not take you back to that cabin right now and make you mine?" The carnal desire was dwelling within him, a rabid need that begged to be satisfied, "But you deserve better, y/n. Better than what I've done. So if you'll let me, I want to do this properly. I want to court you and make you feel like you're the only woman in the world, and when you're ready, not me, you, then you can accept it for the both of us. Because you deserve the magic of the bond more than me, you deserve this happiness."

"And if you don't want to, then that's fine. I can live with what I've done, and if you want to move to Autumn and find happiness there then I won't stand in your way. In no world would I ever stop you from finding love and passion and joy, because you deserve it y/n, you are everything that is beautiful in this world and then some. Every single part of you is destined for greatness, for a love so powerful that people drown in it."

"I hate what I've done to you, I hate that I've made you feel unworthy of a mating bond and I'll never forgive myself for it. But if you let me, I'd like to show you that I want this, that I want you, and you can decide for yourself if a life with me is something you want."

Silence fell between you but you didn't make a move to pull away, you knelt in place, peering up at him with your hands resting on his biceps, channelling the pulsing energy of the Sidra as it ebbed and flowed downstream, "A life with you is all I've ever wanted."

The bond glowed, golden and blinding, and Azriel was struggling to keep himself together as he basked in the ocean of your love and devotion, "Can I kiss you? Please?"

If he wasn't searching for it then he wouldn't have even noticed the tiniest hazed nod directed at him. Even the stars had stopped their flickering to focus on you, their most prized possession, the only one capable of harnessing their power and turning it into something blissful and good. It was why they chose you.

Closing the gap, Azriel tilted your head upward to give him better access to the lips that had often haunted his dreams; the scent of jasmine entwined with his own and he felt himself hold his breath as he closed that gap between you.

Your lips were as soft and warm as he had imagined them to be, they tasted of fresh saltwater and some kind of sweet fruit from the gloss you always wore that made them shimmer in any light. It stopped the world from turning for a moment, the universe watched on as Azriel sealed your fates. Moving his fingers from the small of your back to your neck and deepening the embrace of your lips, Azriel relished in the taste of you, in your warmth, in the way his soul sang and his shadows pulled you in closer to him. It was a feeling he had waited his entire existence for, one you had also yearned for.

Utterly magical. Soul consuming.

Everything made sense then. How everything you had both endured was meant to be, just so that you could end up entwined in that moment. All of the pain and sorrow, all of the false love and distance, all of the laughter and sweet memories, it was all worth it. It was worth every morsel of agony.

"Such a sweet creature. My sweet creature."

"Yours?" Azriel hummed, pressing dainty kisses to the tip of your nose and cheeks, and you closed your eyes to consume his touch and shuddered when his lips landed on your collarbone, caressing the skin there, "I think I could get used to that."

Authors Note

Hey besties!

I got very carried away with this - sorry if it's not great, these pain meds are really kicking my ass right now so I haven't even properly proof read this yet xo

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