#rhys is so down bad for feyre omg

[potatoplace]

Omega Needs - Chapter 6

Feylin, eventual Feysand

chapter 5 | chapter 7 | series masterlist

Story Summary: Feyre presented as an omega after being changed into a high fae Under the Mountain. Her heats have been hellish, and Tamlin has neglected certain aspects of her presentation. After the disastrous wedding ceremony, how will Feyre’s omega handle being away from her Alpha?

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, not proofread

Words: ~6.3k

Author's Note: this came out sooner than I expected! It is only covering another day and a half, but there will be another chapter before Tuesday for the rest of Feyre's first week in the Night Court. I hope you all like it!

18+ only pls

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Feyre was awoken a while later by Cerridwen knocking on the doorframe of the bathroom.

“Feyre? Lunch is ready,” She said gently, her eyes considerately avoiding her naked form, still in the bath.

“Oh, thank you, Cerridwen. I’ll be out in a few minutes, you can leave it there, for me,” Feyre replied, a sleepy smile on her face. The shadow wraith nodded her head, then turned and walked away.

Feyre got up once she heard the snick of the door, wrapping her body in a fluffy towel. Her skin was pruney, but she felt more refreshed than she had before getting in the bath. She returned to the main room and got into her wardrobe, looking for something to wear until it was time to sleep.

She rummaged through the drawers at the bottom that she had yet to look at, and pulled out a soft set of matching shorts and a tank top in a pale, minty green. The color reminded her of Spring, and she quickly dried her body off and slipped the items on, along with a pair of socks that went up to her mid calf.

Feyre then moved to the table, where Cerridwen had left a tray holding a soup, tomato, she would guess, and a grilled sandwich filled with cheese cut into two triangles. Feyre tucked in, loving the basil and slight creaminess the soup had, and the sandwich went perfectly with the soup.

She had just sat down in the plush armchair with one of the novels she had picked out earlier when Cerridwen returned for the tray.

Before Feyre could second guess the request, Feyre blurted “Would you be able to get me a sketch pad and some charcoals, Cerridwen?”

The wraith turned around, tray already in her arms. “Of course, Feyre. I’ll be back in just a moment with it.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said, grateful that the other fae hadn’t questioned her on her request.

Cerridwen returned a few minutes later, three differently sized sketch pads and an assortment of charcoals, blending stumps and erasers in hand.

Feyre stood up and excitedly took the items from the other fae. "Thank you so much, Cerridwen, these look perfect!"

"I'm glad you like them, Feyre," she said with a warm smile, one of the few Feyre had seen from her.

Feyre set the supplies down on the table as Cerridwen left the room, closing the door behind her. The only thing missing was...

Quickly, Feyre dragged the armchair she had just been sitting in next to the table, close enough that she could reach the extra charcoals and supplies. She moved one of the smaller chairs in front of the armchair so that if she was here long enough, she could put her legs up without needing to move anything or risk getting charcoal on the fine furniture.

Feyre sat down and grabbed the smallest sized sketch pad and a piece of charcoal. Then, she began to draw the glorious view that had been calling to her the past three days.

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Feyre had completed three renditions of the mountains in front of her, one on each of the differently sized pads of paper. With each one, she became more and more confident.

She had thought any ability to create, to make something new in this world instead of just taking away from it had been taken away from her when her neck snapped.

But that wasn't the case. With her fingers covered in black dust, she had made something beautiful again- Feyre had just needed some inspiration, something out of the usual dullness of her life in Spring.

She was happy with Tamlin, that was true, but the constant season and Ianthe's hounding of every move she made had made her rather tired. But seeing another court, the other beauty that this world had to offer had rekindled the spark in her, the part of her that she had thought so useless as a starving human.

Feyre might even paint when she gets home- she did have a lovely set of paints from Tamlin that he had given her last Winter Solstice for her birthday.

She was brought out of her thoughts by a few gentle knocks on her door, and Mor's voice came from the other side. "Feyre? Can I come in?"

"Yes, come in Mor," Feyre replied, standing from her place on the chair and turning to face the door.

More breezed in, her striking golden hair in soft ringlets and dressed in a flowy white dress. "Dinner is ready, I thought I would walk you down there!"

"That would be nice, Mor. Let me just change," Feyre said, looking down at her attire. She was definitely not going to eat dinner with Rhys and Mor in pajamas.

She pulled another matching set in the same cut as the one she'd worn this morning from her wardrobe, this one in a shade of pale blue. Feyre went into her bathroom and quickly changed, folding the pajamas and setting them on the counter for tonight.

Once she was done, the two of them made their way down to the table they had been eating at while Feyre was here. Rhysand was nowhere to be seen, and they took their seats.

On the table was a bowl of salad, a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and a small plate holding butter, as well as their place settings. There was an empty space in the middle of the table, and Feyre assumed that there was another dish that had yet to be put out.

Mor took to pouring them each a glass of wine, which Feyre gladly take a sip of. It was sweet, the flavor bursting across her tongue, far better than the usual wines they had with dinner in Spring, all chosen for their scents rather than taste. Why, Feyre could not fathom.

"Rhys brought out the good stuff, thank the Mother!" Mor exclaimed as she took her own sip. "I like the taste of wine and all, I just enjoy it even more when it tastes like there's no alcohol in it."

"I'll agree with you there," Feyre laughed. "Speaking of Rhys, where is he?"

"He's just bringing out the main dish," Mor replied, and as she did Rhysand came out of the darkness of the hallway leading to the kitchen. "Good thing you're here, Rhys, I'm starving."

Without saying a word, Rhysand set the bowl on the table and took a seat, dishing out food for all three of them.

"Thank you, Rhys," Feyre said gently after he had given her a piece of bread, her plate now loaded with salad and the creamy pasta dish he had brought. The pasta had mushrooms, onions, chicken, and pieces of crumbled bacon in it, and was absolutely delicious.

Rhysand said nothing, merely nodding his head in acknowledgment as he poured his own very full glass of wine, downing half of it in one gulp.

"So, Feyre, I saw you had some sketch pads...?" Mor prodded gently after a few minutes of tense silence.

"Oh." Feyre blushed, she wasn't quite prepared to talk about art yet, but she supposed now was as good a time as ever to start again. "I asked Cerridwen if she could, I hope that was okay."

"Of course, Feyre! Again, you can ask for pretty much anything you want and we will get it for you, it's no trouble to us at all," Mor interrupted with a sweet smile, and that combined with her scent, still calm, soothed Feyre's small bit of panic.

"Well, thank you. I just... the view out of my bedroom is so spectacular, I needed to commit it to memory."

Mor nodded, that smile still on her face. "I can understand that, our court is so beautiful. I wish I was any good with the arts, but I am rather dreadful at everything I’ve tried," Mor chuckled.

“Oh, I’m sure you aren’t that bad Mor. Maybe you could try again? It does take practice after all.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll leave it to you and the other creatives,” Mor said lightly. She looked over to Rhysand, who was still silently eating his dinner and on his second glass of wine. “Is there anywhere else you’d like to sketch, Feyre?”

Feyre thought about it for a moment before answering. “There’s nowhere specific that I can think of. Right now, at least. But I haven’t been able to explore much of the Spring Court, I’ve been constantly busy this past year. But maybe you’ll be able to show me a few of your own favorites here?” She asked, hopeful for the idea of more glorious view to put on paper.

“I’d love to do that Feyre! Between that and our Dawn Court trip, I am going to have so much fun planning!” Mor clapped her hands together in excitement.

The blonde was definitely living up to Feyre’s first impression of her. Very bright and friendly, just like her personality.

Rhysand stoop up abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone beneath them loudly. He grabbed his glass of wine and stalked off.

Feyre stared after him, confused. “What was that all about?”

Mor sighed, and it was the first time had heard her sound tired. “One of our temples was attacked a couple of hours ago, we lost some of our citizens. He’s taking it rather hard, after all of the losses from… well, you know.”

Feyre grimaced. “That’s awful… Have you caught who did it yet?”

Mor pursed her lips, eyeing the hallway Rhysand had disappeared down. “Promise you won’t tell anyone about this?” Feyre nodded, she wasn’t sure what use the information would be to her or anyone she knows anyways. “We caught the actual people who went through with the act, but we believe it to be the work of Hybern.”

“Hybern?” Feyre had never heard of such a place, only Prythian and the Continent.

“It’s a large island kingdom to our west… Amarantha was one of their generals, and we believe they might be planning something. What, we aren’t sure of, but Rhys’s goal is to unite Prythian to stop whatever conflict is brewing. But… Today hit him hard. None of us were expecting a seemingly random loss of innocent life.”

Feyre frowned, looking to where he had exited the room from. “I am sorry. I can’t imagine what it must feel like, losing people again, so soon after everything.”

Mor loosed another sigh, slumping back in her chair. “It is difficult, for sure. But seeing you- seeing someone be able to create good in this world reminds me that it’s worth it. No matter what comes, we will need people like you, more than ever.”

“People like… Me?” Feyre asked, unsure of what she meant.

“Dreamers, Feyre. People who can look at the world and see the good in it, no matter what they’ve been through. It might take them a week, a month, a year…” Mor paused and smiled at Feyre knowingly. “But people like you always come back to what’s beautiful and worthwhile in the world.”

The words brought a smile to Feyre’s face. “Dreamers, hmm? I like the sound of that…”

Mor jumped up from her chair, startling Feyre. “Dreamers deserve cake, don’t you think Feyre?”

“Oh, they do Mor!” Feyre hopped out of her chair was well, loving the idea Mor had suggested.

Mor dragged her down the hallway to the kitchen, the two of them giggling all the way like children sneaking food in the middle of the night. They slid to a stop in front of the massive fridge, and Mor swung the doors of it open wide.

“Cake, cake, cake,” Mor sang, pulling out a beautifully decorated cake. It was wrapped in a lovely blue-grey frosting, which nearly matched her eyes, Feyre noted, and topped with blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries.

“It’s beautiful,” Feyre breathed, surprised by how lovely a cake could be. None of the wedding cakes she had tasted in Spring had drawn her attention like this one did.

“It tastes as amazing as it looks, Feyre, I promise,” Mor said as she grabbed a large knife, two forks, and two plates out of a cabinet. She cut two generous slices for the both of them and led Feyre over to the breakfast bar on the other side of the island counter.

They both let out a groan at their first bites, the simple but perfect vanilla cake and sweet berry filling was absolute perfection.

“So, Feyre… I didn’t want to ask when Rhys was around in case it made you uncomfortable, and you are in no way obligated to answer me… But how’s this past year been for you? How’s uhm… How are things with Tamlin?” Mor asked hesitantly.

Feyre smiled awkwardly, swallowing her bite of cake. “It’s been… it’s been tough, for sure. There’s been a lot for me to get used to, not even just with preparing to be Lady of Spring, but… I have a new body too.”

Mor grimaced. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, Rhys said you had grown a couple of inches, right?” Feyre nodded her head. “That must have been so disorienting to get used to.”

“It was, it took me a month to stop stumbling around everywhere, and two months for me to stop mangling the silverware at dinner,” Feyre laughed, Mor joining her. “And as for Tamlin… well, it would have been nice if the ceremony had gone as planned but I… I had a panic attack, and well… Rhys stepped in at just the right time to not ruin our relationship entirely. I am looking forward to going home, though, and seeing him again. I… I miss my alpha,” Feyre admitted in a small voice.

“Oh, Feyre. You’ll be back to him in just a few days, there’s no need to worry. I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you too,” Mor comforted her, rubbing a soothing hand on her back.

“I know, I just wish we had been able to talk before I left for a moment… But there’s no point to worrying now, I can’t do anything from here.”

“Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable? Rhys mentioned… He mentioned that you might go into heat, or the beginnings of it during this week.” Mor was looking at her with soft eyes.

“I’m not sure,” Feyre said, biting her lip. “You mentioned there’s a catalog with nesting materials?”

Mor’s eyes lit up. “Yes, there is Feyre. Would you like me to show you which one it is?”

“Yes, please.”

The two of them ran with their half eaten plates of cake into Feyre’s room, Mor giving her plate to Feyre and rummaging through the catalogs before pulling out the one they were looking for.

“Can I help you look?” Mor asked with puppy dog eyes, and Feyre couldn’t resist.

“You can help me make sure I get colors that mostly go together.”

“Yes!” Mor jumped onto Feyre’s bed, patting the spot next to her.

They spent the next hour going through the entire booklet, Feyre picking out a plethora of different blankets, pillowcases, and cuts of materials that she knew would look and feel perfect in her nest from the illustrations and descriptions. She insisted on only getting items in varying shades of purple, blue, and pink, making sure to get pastels and darker versions.

Feyre could almost see her nest now, the top of it colored like the sunset and the bottom resembling the sunrise. She fell back into her pillows, letting out a happy sigh as she did so.

“You good, Feyre?” Mor giggled at her.

“Mhm, I’m just excited to have all of it…”

“Well, you won’t have to wait long. I’ll go right after breakfast tomorrow. Did you want to look at any of the other catalogs?” Mor suggested, already getting up to grab said catalogs.

“I don’t see why not,” Feyre said as she caught one- seemingly for clothing- from midair.

Feyre found a few dresses that she wanted- all in the same color scheme as her nesting materials. One of them was absolutely gorgeous, it was colored like a soft pink sunset, lighter at the top and fading into a lovely violet at the hem. It was something Feyre normally wouldn’t wear on an average day, but she figures that her time here hasn’t exactly been average, so she might as well go all out when she feels like it. She also picked two skirts and their matching long sleeved tops, both in deep jewels tones. The description promised them to be silk, one of Feyre’s favorite materials for clothing, and the beautiful sapphire and amethyst colors were too tempting to resist.

By the time they had gone through three more clothing booklets, the sun had long since set and the two of them were laughing, slightly delirious from tiredness.

“Feyre, dear, I think I’m going to head to bed,” Mor said, finally pulling her body off of Feyre’s bed. “I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast, alright?”

Feyre smiled, a bright and genuine thing, and nodded her head. “I’ll see you then, Mor. And thank you, for this. It was fun.”

“It’s no problem at all, Feyre, I had fun too. Sleep well."

And with that, the Alpha left her room, shutting the door behind her softly. Feyre got up from her bed, stretching her limbs before walking to the bathroom. She changed into her green sleep set from earlier, then tucked herself into bed, staring out at the stars over the mountains.

A few minutes later, the excitement and sugar wearing off, Feyre fell into a deep sleep.

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Feyre woke when a knock sounded on her door. She didn’t move.

“Feyre, darling? Breakfast is ready.” It was Rhysand.

Feyre merely rolled over in her bed, pulling the covers over her head. She heard the door open, and soft footsteps crossing the room.

“Feyre.”

She stayed still, trying to breathe as little as possible.

“Feyre.” Rhysand’s hand wiggled one of her feet, and she reflexively pulled away from his grasp. “Fey-ruh,” he said in a sing-songy voice, grabbing her other foot.

“I don’t want to get out of bed,” She finally whispered when she pulled her feet in towards her body.

“You only need to get up for breakfast, darling, we can do your training in here if you still want to be in bed afterwards,” Rhysand offered. Feyre groaned, but moved the blankets off of her face to look at him.

“You promise?”

Rhysand beamed at her. “Of course, Feyre. I promise. Now, will you change and meet me outside?”

“Fine,” Feyre huffed, waiting until he had left the room to throw the covers off of her body. She got up and went to her wardrobe, picking out a soft pair of leggings and a dark green sweater, then pulled on a pair of matching green knee high socks.

She felt nice and cozy, a decent enough substitution for her bed. Feyre joined Rhys in the hallway, and they made their way down to the dinner table.

Mor was already seated, pouring orange juice and some kind of sparkling wine into glasses for all of them, and on the table there were omelettes already on their plates, as well as a bowl of diced melons.

Breakfast was delicious, as Feyre was coming to expect from her meals here, and the bubbly mimosas Mor had poured made all of them relaxed and the time fly by.

Soon enough, Mor was leaving, heading off to go do Feyre’s shopping.

“Don’t worry, Feyre, I’ll be buying things for myself as well,” Mor reassured her when Feyre had voiced a concern about Mor spending her day shopping for her.

“Mor is fantastic at finding new things she needs, especially if you two looked over any clothing booklets last night,” Rhysand chuckled, and Mor flipped him off before she vanished. “So, Feyre, did you want to get back in bed or go to the training room?”

“Uhm… the training room should be fine, I was just so comfortable…” she trailed off.

“If you change your mind, just let me know, Feyre.” She dipped her head in agreement, and the two of them made their way to the training room, sitting in the same chairs they had yesterday.

“Let’s start with shielding again. Your shield from yesterday was wonderful, you might try adding in some defenses to ward away intruders before they try exploring the waters of your mind,” Rhysand suggested.

Hearing that she had done well again, Feyre beamed at Rhysand. “I’ll do my best.”

She thought of what might be able to protect her in the water. Feyre had never seen the sea, though her father had told tales of great beasts that would take bites out of a ships hull. She couldn’t picture what that might look like. Though… she did have one idea for a defensive mechanism.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Rhysand entered her mind, finding some resistance in the initial push inwards. He attempted to dive below the water, but it was solid this time, as though an inch thick layer of ice had covered it- so he smashed his way through, plunging beneath the surface. He made it a few yards down before her defenses found him.

He was face to- well, maw- with the Middengard Wyrm- the beast Feyre had nearly died slaughtering. They weren’t able to swim in the physical world, but the one in Feyre’s shielding was a vicious swimmer, propelling itself towards Rhysand’s power at a rapid pace, and just before it swallowed him whole, he backed out of her mind, breathless.

“Feyre- that was brilliant! I’m so proud of you, it takes most fae months to get to the level you’ve already achieved.”

“Rhys, stop it, you’re just saying that,” Feyre countered.

“I am being serious, Feyre. Most fae have trouble coming up with anything but a literal wall for their mental barrier, but you’ve already created an ocean and have a terrifyingly realistic Wyrm to serve as both protection and a warning to daemati that do manage to breach the initial barrier of your mind. It is amazing how well you are progressing already.”

Feyre looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes were eager and truthful, and his expression was softened by them.

“Are you… okay?” Feyre finally asked the question that had been at the back of her mind since he had woken her for breakfast. “Mor, she told me some of what happened yesterday.”

Rhysand sighed, holding his chin in his hand. “I am not okay, Feyre, but I hope to be soon. It will take a while for the loss of my people to leave my heart. Thank you, for asking Feyre.”

Feyre merely nodded, then asked, “Again?”

They practiced a few more times, each time Rhysand pushed Feyre to make the initial barrier of her mind stronger, thicker. Harder for his power to seep or crack through. By the end of the second hour, Feyre was sweating and tired, her mind feeling a bit fuzzy at the edges.

“We’ll stop here for now with the shielding, Feyre. Here, drink this,” Rhysand said, procuring a glass of water with a straw from nowhere, and handed it to Feyre. She gulped it down, feeling more present and alert after finishing the glass.

“Thank you, Rhys. Are we going to work on my magic now?” Rhysand bobbed his head in confirmation.

“I’d like you to locate your magic again, and then attempt to draw it out, a good place to start with that is through the hands, they give more of a physical point to lead the magic to.”

Feyre did as he asked, closing her eyes and finding that slowly writhing mass of cold energy within her chest. It seemed more active today, wiggling in time to her heartbeat instead of every other beat. She tried to stretch it out, move it towards her arms, but it wouldn’t budge. She let out a frustrated groan and opened her eyes.

“It’s stuck.”

“Keep trying, Feyre. You’ll get it,” Rhysand encouraged her, and she shut her eyes and tried again.

She tried to move it more gently this time, in time with its natural pulsing. It expanded slightly in the direction of her arm before snapping back into place. Feyre brought a hand to her heart, soothing the ache the sensation had left behind.

“I got it to move, but barely,” Feyre grumbled, feeling discouraged.

“That’s great though, Feyre, just a few minutes ago you couldn’t get it to expand at all. Keep trying, practice will make it looser and able to expand more quickly and with less intense after effects.”

Feyre sat trying for the next hour, and managed to get the magic to expand through most of her chest and able to hold it there for around three seconds. She was exhausted, though, and drenched in sweat.

She went to try again, grasping at the power contained within her once again, before Rhysand placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Feyre, you should rest for the day.”

“No, I can keep trying Rhys, I’ll be fine-” Feyre protested before Rhysand cut her off.

“I know that you can keep trying, Feyre, but there is no need to exhaust your body any further today, it will most likely do more harm than good. Your progress in both areas today has been fantastic, you should be proud of yourself! I know that I am proud of you, Feyre,” Rhysand said in a caring tone, and the words of praise made Feyre’s omega so happy she was on the verge of purring aloud.

“Thank you, Rhys,” Feyre responded with a blush high on her cheeks. She stood from her chair and stretched her sore, aching muscles. Rhysand followed suit, and walked Feyre back to her bedroom just as he had yesterday.

“Mor will be back in around a half hour with lunch for you and multitudes of shopping bags I’m sure she is going to bring home,” Rhysand informed her with a chuckle once they were by her door. “Make sure you’re eating well when you practice, Feyre, magic eats through out energy stores very quickly, especially at the start of learning to wield it.”

“I’ll pay attention to that, Thank you Rhys,” Feyre said. Rhysand smiled and turned around, heading back in the direction they had come from, and Feyre slipped into her room.

Like yesterday, she made her way to the bathroom and stripped herself of her clothing, tossing it in the laundry basket before sinking down into the water. She relaxed for a few minutes, letting the hot water soothe her aching muscles before she began to wash her hair, then moved on to her body.

In about twenty minutes, Feyre had just dried off and slipped on a soft black sweater dress when a knock came on her door. “Come in!”

The door busted open, revealing Mor carrying at least ten different bags, all stuffed to the brim with various colors and types of fabrics. “Today was so much fun! I got everything you asked for plus a few things that I thought might be nice that weren’t in the catalogs.” She dumped the bags on the floor, before going back out to the hall and grabbing a few more bags, one of which was giving off a deliciously spicy smell. “I also brought lunch, it’s from my favorite restaurant, I think it’s some type of curry but no matter what it will be amazing!”

Feyre moved to the bags on the floor first, instantly spotting an amethyst fabric that she snatched away, bringing it to her face and nuzzling into it. Mor dropped the bags that didn’t hold food on the ground with the rest and moved to the table, unpacking the food as Feyre continued rummaging in the bags.

“Oh!” Feyre exclaimed as she pulled out a pair of violet thigh high kitted socks, thick and soft and everything Feyre needed right now. She slipped them on quickly, and returned to her post of sorting through the massive amount of materials in front of her.

Before she could do much sorting- into piles of blankets, pillow cases, hemmed pieces of fabrics, pillows, and clothes- Feyre was interrupted by Mor.

“Feyre, you need to eat lunch.”

Feyre ignored her, continuing to pull item after item out of the bags, rubbing each one against her face before placing them in the correct pile.

“Omega.” That got Feyre to stop and turn towards the alpha who was already seated at the table, dishing food out for the both of them. “You need to eat, Rhys said you did a lot of training today. Be good and follow his instructions, okay?” Feyre bit her lip, gaze moving back to the still unsorted bags. “Omega, everything will be there when you finish eating, I promise. You can even sit and stare at them while you eat, if you’d like, but you need to eat, Feyre.”

Feyre finally got up from the floor, a pout on her lips as she took her seat. It was quickly erased when she smelled the food again, that wonderful spiced aroma filling Feyre’s senses. She sat so that she could see the bags out of the corner of her eye, but was still able to look out at the mountains if she wished.

“How’s the training going?” Mor asked a few minutes after Feyre had begun eating the creamy yellow chicken curry and rice.

“Rhys says it’s going well, but I have my doubts…” Feyre confessed. “I haven’t been able to summon anything, let alone move my magic into my limbs.”

“That’s true, you are in the beginning stages of learning to use your magic. It is the hardest part, I promise you, but from the few details Rhys has told me that you are progressing quickly, especially in the mental shielding aspect.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Feyre. And if I’m being honest, being able to keep Rhys out for any amount of time is impressive, even for someone who has practiced for years. The fact that you’ve been able to shows just how capable you are for magic. I think you’ll get the hang of it faster than you think,” Mor said sweetly, and every word from the alpha’s lips soothed the tension that had built inside of her body since this morning.

Hearing it from Rhys was one thing, he seemed to prefer training with a gentle hand for the moment, but hearing assurances from someone else was helpful. Calming, even. Feyre shook her head.

“I can’t believe I was so worried about that, it’s such a silly problem.”

“Feyre, it’s not silly. You’ve been given magic after being a human all your life, I think it would be more strange to not worry about it.”

“I suppose you’re right, Mor.”

Mor flashed her a smile. “I know I am, Feyre.”

The two of them finished their lunch, staring out at the passing clouds. As soon as Feyre was done, she washed her hands in the bathroom and returned to the bags to continue sorting them.

“Do you want me to help, Feyre, or are you fine on your own?” Mor asked from where she was still sitting at the table.

“I can do it on my own, but you can stay if you’d like. Or are you busy?” Feyre looked up at the other fae then, worried that she had taken up to much of the blonde’s time.

“No, no, I have nothing else to do today. I can stay for a while,” Mor said soothingly, and Feyre relaxed. “I’ll try reading one of those romance books you have over there, if that’s alright?”

“Oh, of course,” Feyre said, already focused on sorting everything again.

In a few minutes, all of the bags were emptied and everything sorted, and Feyre sighed. That part was done. Now, to arrange it all on her bed and around the room.

Feyre began to assemble her nest, carefully choosing which spot each item rested in to make it as perfect as possible. Her sunset to sunrise pattern was stunning, if she had to describe it in any way but perfect.

Her nest is perfect.

Tears fill Feyre’s eyes as joy bubbles in her chest.

It’s the first time her nest has felt right to her; every time in Spring something had felt off, like she didn’t have the right materials or patterns to satisfy her omega.

But now? Staring at the beautiful nest, with fabrics piled around the bed on the floor continuing the pattern she had created, her nest felt so welcoming and lovely.

Feyre slid onto the bed, rolling around on it and relishing in the soft slip of fabrics against her skin.

The door clicked shut, and Feyre’s head swung towards it, then back to the table where Mor had last been.

She was gone, as were the containers from lunch and the shopping bags.

Oh mother, did she see me rolling around in my nest? Feyre thought, color creeping up her neck.

But in a few moments, Feyre was back to basking in the happiness of her newly completed nest, her omega feeling the most at peace she had since Feyre had been turned into one.

Feyre pulled a violet body pillow into her body, wrapping her arms around it and stuffing it between her thighs. A series of deep breaths left her as her body relaxed into the nest, and she fell asleep just a few minute after curling up.

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

“Feyre, darling, wake up,” came Rhysand’s voice, soft and comforting and oh so alpha.

She opened her eyes, met with the sight of Rhys standing in front of her nest before the fabric starts on the floor, holding a tray.

“It’s time for dinner, and Mor said you might not feel like leaving your room again today, so I brought dinner to you,” he explained with a smile. “Is it alright if I set the tray down in your nest, Feyre?”

Feyre nodded, and he placed the tray down in front of her as she disentangled herself from the body pillow and sat up.

He then dragged a chair over to the side of her bed, being mindful to not interfere with the boundary of Feyre’s nest, for which she was grateful.

In Spring, most of the maids had been mindful of her space, but Ianthe had never shown any care to keeping Feyre’s nest intact. This was a welcome change. Maybe she should stand up to Ianthe when she gets home…?

“How are you feeling, Feyre? Not too tired, I hope.”

Feyre blinked at him, the violet of his eyes catching her gaze. “Oh, uhm, I’m fine, thank you Rhys. A short nap helped, and the food Mor brought me for lunch was so good.” She turned her attention to the tray Rhysand had set in her nest and pulled it towards her. “This looks amazing too,” Feyre said, and started eating the thick slice of lasagna and roasted vegetables. “It is amazing.”

Rhysand chuckled. “It’s one of my favorites, lasagna was always a special meal for my brothers and I growing up. It meant we had done a good job that day, good enough for my mother to spend a few hours preparing the dish, all to put a smile on our faces,” he reminisced, a wistful look on his face.

“That was very kind of her, she must have cared about the three of you a lot,” Feyre said, thinking back on her own mother, who had hardly lifted a finger for Feyre’s well-being before she passed.

“She did. She did.”

The rest of their meal was spent in a comfortable silence, with Feyre still brushing her fingers against her different nesting fabrics every few seconds.

“When did you want to return home, Feyre?” Rhysand asked after they had both finished, a serious look on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re obviously nesting, I want to make sure that you still feel comfortable being away from Tamlin.”

“Oh. Normally I… don’t actually go in to heat for at least three days, I should be able to make it to the end of the week.”

Rhysand considers it before adding, “Let me know if you do feel it starting, either Mor or I can take you back to Spring immediately. And there no need to worry, I won’t add any extra time to your future stays, Feyre.”

“Thank you, Rhys,” Feyre replied with a smile.

“Now, I think I’ll leave you to sleep, I’m going to head off to bed myself,” Rhysand said as he stood, gathering all of their dishes together and heading out of the door. “Goodnight, Feyre.”

“Goodnight, Rhys.”

The door snicked shut, and Feyre stood from her spot in her nest.

Pajamas. Then she can go to bed. She rifled through the wardrobe before pulling out a pretty purple nightgown that matched the soft she was wearing, made of a smooth satin that Feyre was dying to have on her skin all night. She removed her dress and slipped her nightgown over her shoulders. The fabric felt just as lovely as she thought it would.

Feyre stumbled back to her nest, falling into the middle of it. She pulled the body pillow back to its previous position and wrapped a soft, pink blanket around herself.

Between the food warming her stomach and the soft fabrics surrounding her, Feyre fell asleep in just a few minutes, floating on a sea of clouds in her dreams.

Series taglist: @icey--stars

[danikamariewrites]

can i please request one where reader has a tramp stamp/ hidden tattoo ? like in one tree hill hayley has the number 23 as a tramp stamp for her man nathan, maybe something symbolic for the acotar men. maybe Truth-teller for azriel, cassians wings, rhysands name maybe? a flame for eris and a little fox for lucien?🧎‍♀️

Secret Tattoo

Acotar men x reader

A/n: they would be so turned on omg. I won’t lie I have literally thought about a tramp stamp as a joke and then I was like nnaaaahhhh that would be bad 😂

Warnings: some smut

Cassian

You always made sure to hide it from him. You got it while drunk and out with Feyre and Mor. They both got one for Rhys and Emerie too but Rhys found Feyre’s pretty quick. You and Cassian were having a heated makeout session which brought you to your bedroom. Once you were both bare Cassian flipped you on your stomach and started to take you from behind. Lost in the heat of the moment you forgot about the tattoo. Cassian finally seemed to notice and stopped thrusting. “What? What’s wrong baby?” You were worried something happened. He started laughing and tracing his finger over the tattoo. “And what do we have here?” He laughed out. You pulled off him and scrambled to lay on your back. Cass was staring at you with a shit eating grin. “A tramp stamp huh? All for me too.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yes.” You spat back. “I like the wings. You got the wingspan right, nice and big. What’s in the middle?” “A red gem for your siphons.” You say shyly. Before you knew it he was back on top of you, pulling you into a bruising kiss. “Mother above baby that’s hot. You’re all mine and have the ink to prove it. Fuck.”

Rhysand

Rhys would notice while you were still asleep. You both occasionally sleep naked, especially during the summer months with the windows open. Rhys was getting ready for the day and went to give you your goodbye kiss when he saw little swirls on your lower back. Just the top poking out of the top of the covers. He slowly pulled the duvet back so he wouldn’t wake you. When the tattoo was fully revealed to him, Rhys couldn’t stop grinning. It was his name surrounded by swirls to mimic his Illyrian tattoos. Rhys was so turned on he wanted to wake you up and fuck you into the mattress until all you could say was his name. He wanted to just look at the tattoo while going in and out of you. But he decided to wait. Maybe tease you about it a little.

When you waltzed into his office later on that day Rhys smiled and acted like everything was normal. “Come sit with me darling,” he held his arms out for you and hugged you to his chest once you sat down. “How has your day been so far?” While you talked he rubbed circles over your sweater where your tattoo is hidden. Rhys snakes his hand under and lifted it a little. You didn’t jump away from him bc you didn’t want him to get suspicious. You move to leave and Rhys held the back of your sweater lifting it a little. You froze. “Well,” he drawled, “it looks even better when you’re awake.” Your jaw dropped as you spun to face him. Rhys winked at you.

Azriel

You’d try to hide it from Azriel but simply couldn’t help yourself. You had gotten Truth Teller with his shadows around it as a tramp stamp. Usually you’d need to be drunk to go anywhere near a needle, especially something permanent. But Nesta, Feyre, and Mor were all getting tattoos and you wanted one so you had to join in on the fun.

Azriel was relaxing in bed reading when you came out of the bathroom, leaning on the door frame, practically undressing him with your eyes. He stared back at you with a mischievous smirk. “Hello, my love.” “Hi Azzy.” You push off the door frame and plop yourself down on the bed in front of him crossing your legs. Azriel leans forward and starts playing with the ends of your hair. “You look like you have something to tell me love.” You giggle and nod innocently. When you turn around he’s confused. Then you lift your sleep shirt up enough for him to see. Azriel’s jaw drops when he sees it. He thinks it’s a beautiful piece of art on your body. But then something in his mind snaps. You did this because you are so in love and devoted to him. It shows him that you’re his forever. Then he goes feral. He pulls your shirt all the way off and starts whispering his dirty thoughts in your ear.

Lucien

He would find it when it’s fresh and new. Lucien could smell the ink on your back. He knew you wouldn’t tell him about it so he’d have to coax it out of you any way he could. Every time Lucien went to touch your back you’d side step away from him. He’d start to tease you about hiding something and you’d get flustered because he’s so smooth and charming your cheeks always turned pink.

Eventually he had enough and said, “I know your hiding something just show me.” You shook your head not wanting to give in. Lucien could see it when you were good and ready to show him. When he got on his knees and begged you, you gave in and turned to let him lift your shirt. “Wow.” He breathed out. “It’s beautiful, sunshine. Is it for me?” “Yes.” You say, turning to hold his jaw in your hand while the other strokes his long auburn hair. It was a fox running surrounded by wildflowers for him.

Eris

Eris not thought about a tattoo for himself or one for you. But the more he thought about it after you brought it up the hotter he thought it would be. Matching tattoos with you would be perfect. Showing that your bond is physical. More than your scents intertwined and more than that primal need for each other. When he went to go talk to you one day he smelled that your scent was a little different. The metallic scent of blood and ink embedded into your skin. “Darling, did you get a tattoo?” You looked down shyly “would you think differently of me if I did?”

“Not at all. I want to get a matching one with you.” You looked up at him with love on your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. “Can I see what you got?” You nodded and turned. “It’s on my back will you…” “oh yes,” Eris starts to untie the ribbon on the back of your dress and you shrug it off, still covering your breasts. Eris’s breath catches in his throat. He lightly traces the skin above the still sensitive ink. It was two foxes circling each other, Autumn leaves in a whirlwind surrounding them. “It’s beautiful darling.” “It’s supposed to symbolize us. And how we danced the first night we met.” Eris was speechless.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, The Moon Will Cower: Chapter 2

A/N: Omg, we're back again! Apologies for the delay in this chapter. The holidays and my fic exchange fic took priority and then this chapter just really got away from me. Like really got away from me. Like almost 7k words got away from me 😅 But! I hope everyone enjoys! This chapter includes Nessian properly interacting and smut! As a warning, due to the arranged marriage aspect of this fic, I've tagged this as dubious consent, so please do read with care.

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Cassian

Cassian straightens out the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling his shoulders back. The formal attire feels tight and constrictive against his skin, and the urge to tug at the fabric more gnaws at the back of his mind, has his fingers flexing and twitching. He’s always hated this sort of pomp and circumstance, always felt this sort of frivolity was better suited to Rhys and his vampires.

He’d give anything to shed the black shirt and jacket, to escape this too small building and the pressures squeezing in around him. He’d give anything to escape back to the woods that surround the pack village. To tip his head back and take a deep breath of the sweet, earthy scent. To feel the wind whispering between the trees and across his skin. To feel that peace he’s only ever found in that space.

But that’s simply not possible. He’s the alpha. He has to think of his pack, has to shoulder these expectations for them, for the war he knows is coming to their door.

With a soft sigh, Cassian steps over to the mirror leaning against the wall in the small room. His hair is still a bit damp, but at least it falls in neat, soft curls around his face and down to his shoulders. Adjusting the collar of his shirt one last time, he can almost say that he looks respectable. He supposes that’s good enough for a wedding.

Especially a wedding he didn’t particularly choose.

Turning on his heel, Cassian pulls open the wooden door to the room he’s been sequestered in, stepping out into the hall beyond. If he pricks his ears, he can just make out the sounds of feminine voices bouncing off the stone walls, hushed but urgent in their tone. He follows the voices three doors down, but he barely raises his fist to knock before it’s yanked open and he’s met with a pair of blue eyes brimming with open defiance and stubborn disapproval, a nose smattered with freckles and scrunched in disdain. Rhys’s soon to be wife, Feyre.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Feyre informs him, her tone daring him to disagree as much as her expression begs for an excuse to take a swing.

“Good thing we wolves don’t believe in such superstitions,” Cassian offers simply with a shrug.

Feyre doesn’t even bother tamping down the expression that stretches across her face, the unimpressed look she settles him with. She tries to close the door firmly in his face, but Cassian is faster, sliding his foot between it and the doorjamb. Feyre glares down at his foot as if it personally offended her before lifting her eyes again and turning that anger back at him. Rhys will certainly have his hands full, Cassian knows that for sure.

“Do you mind?” Feyre drawls, closing the door on his foot again for extra good measure.

“It’s fine, Feyre,” Nesta’s voice reaches him from further in the room.

Feyre turns her head over her shoulder, having some sort of silent conversation with her older sister. Although Cassian is only privy to half of it, to the various eyebrow raises and wide eyed looks from the youngest Archeron, it’s not hard for him to guess what’s being said. Eventually, Feyre let out a quiet huff, finally opening the door fully.

Cassian steps properly into the room, and getting his first sight of Nesta has him forgetting why he’s even here. Has him forgetting how to breathe for a moment. The black fabric of her dress plunges deeply down her chest, drawing emphasis to the tantalizing line of skin on display. It clings to her every curve where it falls in graceful layers down her legs, and lace stretches down her arms in a subtle design that almost looks like flames.

But it’s Nesta’s hair that Cassian really can’t look away from. Every time that he’s seen the Archerons, Nesta has always worn her hair in an intricate updo, braided back without a single strand out of place. And yet right now, her hair is down, cascading in soft waves around her shoulders and down her back. The golden brown of those strands seems to burn, and Cassian’s fingers twitch with the sudden urge to be buried amongst them, to discover if they’re as soft as they look.

“We’ll be alright,” Nesta continues to her sisters, but something burns in those stormy blue eyes of hers that has Cassian suspecting she’s speaking about more than just leaving him alone with his soon to be wife.

Feyre steps closer to her eldest sister, dropping her voice but not low enough for Cassian’s wolf ears. “If you change your mind…”

“It will be alright,” Nesta repeats firmly, taking Feyre’s hands in hers and giving them a squeeze.

Feyre sighs softly, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t argue anymore. She accepts the hand that Elain holds out, allowing her older sister to lead her around Cassian and toward the door. Cassian doesn’t miss the look that both sisters offer him, the promise, or more aptly the threat, clear in both their expressions.

The door closes behind them with a soft snick, and then it’s just Cassian and Nesta. Despite it being just the two of them, despite the fact they’ll be husband and wife within the hour, she still holds her spine straight as steel. She keeps her chin raised, somehow looking down her nose at him even though Cassian has a whole head on her. And yet she holds him captivated, keeps him pinned in place as her eyes sweep over his frame.

“Who knew you could actually clean up so well,” Nesta comments, raising her gaze back to his own.

“I even bathed and everything,” Cassian offers back. He doesn’t bother biting back the smirk that tugs up his lips, making a big show of sketching into a dramatic bow. “Just for you, princess.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at the gesture, the reaction sparking a flame in Cassian’s chest. “Cute.”

“I thought you’d appreciate that, looking down from your little witchy, Archeron throne.”

“Fuck you,” Nesta snaps, stepping forward until they’re toe to toe, until she has to tilt her chin higher to hold eye contact with him.

Her lips curl back in a snarl, a fire of her own beginning to blaze through her eyes like a churning sea. He can see her magic beginning to creep into the corners, wisps of silver swirling like tendrils of smoke. Can see the way her pulse has started to jump like a raging beat just beneath her skin. It has that fire flickering in Cassian’s own veins roaring higher still, rising to meet her.

Witches, including the Archerons, are always so prim, so proper. So boring and pretentious. Cassian wonders how far he can push her now, how much he can tug on those fraying edges on display now until she’s fully unraveling before him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cassian drawls easily. “It’s me that will be fucking you soon. Wife.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Nesta seethes, jamming a finger into the center of his chest. “I know this marriage is a sham. You know this marriage is a sham. We’re both doing this out of duty and nothing more, so there’s no use pretending otherwise.”

“Don’t worry. There's no pretending here. I know exactly how you witches feel about wolves.”

“Is that so?”

“And I can assure you,” Cassian continues, leaning in until he and Nesta are practically nose to nose. “The feeling is mutual.”

Nesta shifts her hand until her palm is pressed firmly to his chest, shoving him hard. She has more strength than Cassian expects, the gesture taking him by surprise enough that he stumbles back a step. The shock quickly wears off at the victorious gleam that flares in Nesta’s eyes, but before he can say or do anything else, she turns on her heel, stalking toward the door and yanking it open.

Cassian sighs softly, following behind her. Unsurprisingly, Nesta doesn’t bother holding the door for him, Cassian needing to catch it before it closes on his face. He slips out and into the hall with ease, long legs catching up to Nesta and her own strides quickly. When he reaches her, he holds out his arm in offering, delighting in the eye roll and scowl it earns him.

“You can’t be serious,” Nesta comments dryly, her steps never faltering.

“Sham or no sham, don’t you think it’s important to present a united front, Nes?”

Nesta’s steps stutter to a stop then, annoyance raging across her expression as she whirls around on him. “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian watches in real time the moment Nesta realizes what she’s said, what she’s given him. Her scowl twists tighter, eyes narrowing as if daring him. The smile that tugs across Cassian’s lips is slow, all teeth. The nickname curls around his tongue, grinds between his teeth, poised and ready. He swears he can see the fire churning just beneath her skin in the pink that starts to spark across her cheeks. His gaze traces that color down her neck, curious to see if it spills across her chest too.

Before he can find the answer, Nesta continues storming down the hall toward the large double doors at the end. She turns back to look at him expectantly, but for once, Cassian can’t quite get his feet to move. Their fate is waiting on the other side of that door. Once they step through to what’s waiting beyond, there will be truly no turning back. No taking back the words spoken. No going back on the vows that will tether them together forever.

It’s certainly not the Mother blessed match he had hoped for one day. Not the type of love that Enalius had in the stories his mother told him as a child. Not a mate that would wrap that sacred golden thread as tightly around his heart as he hoped to secure their own.

“Cassian,” Nesta hisses and draws him back to the present, her tone dripping with exasperation.

“No need to get your panties into a twist, sweetheart,” Cassian mumbles, finally striding forward to meet her.

Cassian takes a moment to roll his shoulders one last time, clearing his throat and offering Nesta one final bland smile. It earns him another narrowed eyes look from her, one that Cassian is beginning to suspect means she intends to cut him down where he stands. His wolf wants to see her try.

He pulls open one of the double doors, stepping inside the large room beyond. All of the factions have kept their guest lists to just their respective inner circles, but it’s still a decent size group awaiting on the other side. And with Nesta being the eldest, it means their wedding is to be the first. He can spy Elain and Feyre sitting in the front row with the Archeron matriarch, unmarried still at least for the next few hours.

Despite being sequestered to the front row, the distance doesn’t seem to deter Rhys, the vampire male openly smiling with his canines on full display toward his soon-to-be wife. The distance doesn’t seem to stop Feyre either, nor her mother a mere two seats away, the youngest Archeron glaring over her shoulder right back.

Lucien Vanserra also seems set on staring at his future wife; although, Elain is intent on not meeting his gaze. Cassian still doesn’t quite understand how Eris got away with pawning this alliance off on his youngest brother rather than shouldering it himself. Then again, despite how inconspicuous the Vanserra Coven’s leader thinks he’s being, Cassian doesn’t miss the sidelong glances Eris makes toward the male sitting to Rhys’s left as he walks past.

Cassian’s steps take him to the front of the room and to the priestess standing there. She’s young, copper hair tumbling in long strands around her robes. She offers Cassian a small, friendly smile, but he can’t muster up the will to reciprocate the gesture. He’s sure this is the first of three very solemn weddings this poor priestess will officiate. Thankfully, the awkward air doesn’t last long, as the double doors to the room open again, and everyone turns their attention to the female now stepping inside.

This is it.

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta stares out the carriage window, eyeing the gray stone of the temple. It almost feels odd how unassuming it looks, just an ordinary temple with no idea what just took place behind the large oak door. She had almost expected wrathful, stormy clouds to roll in today, for lightning to crack across the sky as surely as Nesta’s world has felt cracked apart. Had expected thunder to clap as though the Mother herself protested as the priestess wrapped the black rope around their joined hands.

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her shudder as she remembers that moment they were truly bound together forever. She had hated it. Hated how large his hand was compared to hers. Hated the slide of callouses against her skin and the shiver it had sent up her spine. Hated the warmth of it as his fingers curled around her own.

The carriage jolting forward tugs Nesta out of her thoughts. She turns toward the other side of the carriage, finding Cassian already watching her. He’s already discarded his jacket, unlaced the fastens at the collar of his shirt so that a sliver of golden skin is on full display, the barest hint of dark swirling ink twisting along his collarbones.

Despite the darkness around them and in the carriage, his hazel eyes still seem to glint as he stares at her. Nesta isn’t sure if it’s part of him being a werewolf or just how the male in question is, but she swears he can see right through her. Swears that any mask or wall she’s carefully curated and mastered through her years is now a useless defense. It doesn’t stop her from straightening her spine, from raising her chin.

“Is it a long journey?” Nesta asks, forcefully shoving down the urge to twiddle with the cool, metal weight now on her left hand.

“The village the pack calls home isn’t far.”

“And yet you didn’t want to stay for the celebration?”

A large banquet had been prepared for all the guests in attendance, and yet, Cassian had rounded up his wolves and announced they were returning to the pack. Nesta supposes she should be grateful he at least allowed them to stay to watch both her sisters have their own ceremonies, but the command had still taken her by surprise.

His second and third hadn’t even argued. They merely went on ahead, shifting and going on foot the preferred mode of transportation for wolves apparently. A carriage had been readied for Nesta, her new husband opting to join her for the journey rather than shifting himself, and then they were off.

“Why would we stay?” Cassian fires back, offering one of those slow cocksure smirks that Nesta is beginning to hate. “So you could have ample time and distraction to slip something into my drink?”

“Could you blame me?” Nesta hisses, leaning forward in her seat to glare at the male across from her.

“Now, now, Nes. Is that any way to treat your husband?”

“Haven’t you ever heard the saying happy wife, happy life?”

Cassian snorts, settling back comfortably against his seat. His hazel eyes seem to flare, his smirk twisting and growing at the remark. It’s certainly not the reaction Nesta is used to receiving when she dares to bare her teeth. When she gives in to that fire that always seems to thrum and burn beneath her skin, raging to be released.

Cassian’s lips part, but before he can get another jab in, the carriage pulls to a stop, the alpha glancing sidelong out the window. “We’re here.”

Cassian pushes open the carriage door, ducking down and stepping out with ease. Nesta waits for Cassian’s hand to reach back inside for her, but it never comes. With another roll of her eyes and a huff, Nesta slips out of the carriage herself. She takes a moment to straighten out the skirts of her dress before finally looking up and around her. The sight almost takes her breath away.

Large trees stretch far around them, their branches reaching up toward the stars and the sky beyond. The night air whispers of pine, of crickets and critters that call these trees and forest home, and through the trunks of trees, Nesta can spy what appears to be some sort of lake, the moon’s light glinting off the ripples of water.

The ground has been worn and covered with small rocks beneath her feet, creating a path that winds between the trees and leads to a whole village. Homes have been built into the hills and the rocks, between the trees. Made of wood and covered in moss, they blend in almost perfectly with the woods around them, a living, breathing part of the forest. The whole village is almost mystical, the melody of a wolf’s howl somewhere deeper in only adding to her new surroundings.

“Come on,” Cassian orders gruffly, already making his way down the path and further into the village.

Nesta hurries after him, trying to keep up with his long legs and longer strides. He leads them to the other side of the village. Wooden planks have been worked into the side of the hill to create stairs, the largest cabin that Nesta has seen yet sitting at the top. It’s clear this is the alpha’s home, built so it looks out over the other cabins, over the rest of the pack.

There’s a male Nesta has never seen before waiting by the front door when they reach it, along with the trunks and bags Nesta had packed earlier this morning. It’s a stark reminder that her whole life is somehow contained within them, that her whole life is here now. Cassian offers the male a nod in greeting that’s reciprocated, but nothing is said.

The other wolf starts to make his way back toward the stairs, but Nesta is quick to call after him, “I’d like my things moved to my room.”

The male blinks a few times at the request before turning his attention toward Cassian, clearly asking for permission. Nesta doesn’t even bother holding back her scoff. She may be married to the alpha of the pack now, but it means nothing, gives her no power or standing here. She’s still just as powerless as she was beneath her grandmother’s thumb, her mother’s thumb. She’s still just a witch, just an outsider.

Cassian must give whatever acquiesce is needed because the male returns to Nesta’s things, hefting them up into his arms. Nesta follows him and Cassian inside the cabin. There’s a kitchen to the left, large windows with curtains currently drawn above the sink, and to the right is a large living space. A gorgeous, stone fireplace sits in the center of that space, a large sofa and comfortable armchair arranged around it. A set of bay windows covers the wall on the other side, a seat built in below it and shelves beside it.

Following the male down the hall, Nesta steps inside a large bedroom. She watches him set all of her things down, and only when the door closes behind him, does Nesta finally breathe. She closes her eyes and rolls her neck, breathing deeply in and out until she finally feels centered again. Only then does she open her eyes again, and look around.

The furnishings are fairly simple, a bed taking up the majority of the space at the center of the room, tasteful rugs, a dresser sitting against one wall and two armchairs and a small table set by the windows. The only personal touch is a painting hanging on the wall, pine trees and a large mountain, a galaxy of stars above.

When Nesta tries the door at the far corner of the room, she finds the bathing chamber, just the sight starting to tug relaxation through Nesta’s muscles. She spins on her heels and digs around in her trunk until she finds a silky sleeping gown and some of the oils and soaps Elain had given her, deciding to take advantage of the abnormally large bathtub to soak. The warm water and sweet floral scents are everything she needs, and she sighs softly as she sinks in up to her chin.

It isn’t until the water starts to go cold that Nesta forces herself up and out of the tub. She takes the time to brush out her hair, using a towel to squeeze out the excess water, and tugs on the sleeping gown. She steps out of the bathing chamber, mind already dreaming of sinking beneath the soft looking blankets of the large bed, but her steps stutter to a stop when she finds Cassian sitting in one of the chairs by the window.

Cassian’s gaze rakes over her, drinking her in. Those hazel eyes take in her now exposed legs, tracking across her collarbones, straying just a moment too long on her hair where it falls around her shoulders and down her spine. Nesta swears she can feel the weight of his attention like fingers sliding across her skin. Goosebumps erupt and prickle, but Nesta blames it on her current lack of dress and the cold air in the room.

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly, finally tearing his eyes away and pushing a hand up and through the tangled mess of his curls, his own wedding band glinting in the low light of the room. “Do you… have a preference for how we do this?”

“Excuse me?” Nesta asks, crossing her arms to cover herself and raising her chin. Here he is, barging into her room, and now he’s speaking in cryptic phrases.

Cassian sighs, shaking his head, and when he meets her gaze again, there’s a coldness to his expression. “Do you care how we fuck?”

“How dare you.”

“Did you forget the magical bonds we just made? It demands consummation.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, no matter how true the words may be. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You think I want this?” Cassian demands, pushing up to his feet to glare right back at her. “You think I want to be married to some prissy, spoiled brat of a witch?”

Nesta lets a slow smile pull across her face, one that’s all teeth and mocking saccharine. She steps closer to him until they’re almost toe to toe, tilting her chin up and looking down her nose at him despite the height difference between them. “Should I get on my hands and knees then? Isn’t that how you dogs like it?”

Cassian growls, his hand snapping up and curling around her throat. His fingers squeeze, Nesta’s breath hitching in her chest, but she doesn’t back down. She can see the fire blazing in his hazel eyes, the barely held back restraint, and she meets it head on.

“Do it,” Nesta spits at him. “I dare you. You need this alliance just as much as I do.”

“Exactly. So be a good girl.” A shudder crawls up Nesta’s spine of its own accord, and with the way they’re pressed together, Cassian clocks the reaction with ease. “Why am I not surprised…”

Nesta shoves hard at Cassian’s chest until he releases his hold of her. Shoves hard until he stumbles back a few steps. Shoves hard until he’s tumbling back onto the bed and she can climb over him and straddle his hips. She skates her index finger up his arm, over his bicep, across his shoulder. Her fingers card up and through his hair, and then she curls them, yanking hard.

“No kissing,” Nesta informs her, her voice low and harsh.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Cassian's hands settle on her hips, fingers spanning wide and gripping tightly, and he flips them over with ease, pressing Nesta back against the mattress. He leans back enough that he can fist the back of his shirt, tugging the fabric off and tossing it away.

All her feelings toward her new husband aside, Nesta can't deny that Cassian is attractive. His wide shoulders almost completely bracket her in, biceps shifting and bulging as he places his hands either side of her head. Black ink swirls across his golden brown skin and twists down his arms, daring Nesta to trace those lines with a finger. With her tongue. Her eyes follow the hair on his chest down his stomach, down over the hard lines of muscles, down to where that trail vanishes beneath his waistband.

Cassian leans back into her, burying his face against her neck and sliding his nose over her skin. Nesta feels him inhale deeply, goosebumps pebbling across her skin. His hand slips up her calf, over her knee, along her thigh, sliding the hem of her sleeping gown up with the movement. Already, Nesta’s heart begins to thunder between her ribs, her blood heating at just that small gesture. Cassian’s hand moves, his fingers tracing up the inside of Nesta’s thigh, and her own hair buries into the long, curly stranding of his hair, tugging as those fingers reach higher and higher.

“Already so responsive, Nes.”

“Don’t be so fucking cocky.”

Cassian’s hand shifts fully between her legs, sliding two fingers over the fabric of her panties teasingly. Try as she might, Nesta is unable to swallow down the moan the touch pulls from her throat. There’s no stopping her body’s reaction, the heat and dampness that starts to flood her core as Cassian finds her clit with ease. Judging from the smirk tugging up Cassian’s lips, he knows it.

“And already so wet for me,” Cassian continues, adding more pressure to his fingers over her clothed center, both a teasing and a promise.

“Less talking, more putting yourself to good use,” Nesta tells him, placing her hand on his shoulder and shoving in hopes he’ll understand what she’s suggesting.

Cassian pulls his hand back, Nesta frowning at the sudden loss, but then he uses his hand to gather both her wrists, pinning them back above her head in that single grip. “But don’t you want to be a good girl?”

Cassian leans back slowly, settling on his haunches, watching, waiting. It would be so easy for Nesta to fight back, to move, but she keeps her hands exactly where he pinned them. Seemingly satisfied, Cassian returns his hands to her thighs, fingers curling around the hem of her sleeping gown and tugging it all the way off. The fabric has barely hit the floor before Cassian his body pressed back down against hers.

His mouth closes around her breast, and Nesta tosses her head back, arching up into the warm heat. His tongue moves in languid circles around her nipple, his teeth just grazing the skin in a way that’s both obscene and feels too good. His free hand comes up to her other breast, the span of it large enough to fit the whole thing in his palm with ease. He kneads and squeezes before switching his mouth’s attention.

“Cassian,” Nesta moans softly, her hips bucking up in search of friction.

Cassian pulls his mouth back with a soft pop, offering her one of his cocksure smiles. “Who knew my name could sound so good falling past a witch’s mouth.”

Nesta rolls her eyes, a well placed retort already poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, more than ready to put this wolf back in his place. But before she can, Cassian slides further down the bed, pulling off and discarding her panties as he goes. His hands curl around her thighs, fingers digging in against her skin until she’s sure she’ll have bruises. He pries her thighs apart, settling her legs over his shoulders.

“Now let’s see what it sounds like when I make a witch scream.”

He leans in, licking a stripe all the way to her clit. The groan he lets out sends vibrations echoing through Nesta’s whole body. She drops a hand to his head, threading her fingers through the dark strands of his hair, as he starts to devour her. He alternates between swirling his tongue over her clit and teasingly fucking the tip of his tongue into her.

Nesta tries to shift her hips as best she can, trying to meet him stroke for stroke, chasing the heat pooling low in her gut, but Cassian’s grip tightens, holding her still exactly how he wants her. Nesta wants to be annoyed, but the display has sparks firing through her every nerve ending, has another low moan of Cassian’s name tumbling past her lips without her control.

Cassian pulls back, the sight of him licking his lips as indecent as it is attractive. “I was so sure that if I ever heard you chanting my name, it would be you cursing me, but I much prefer this.”

“I will curse you if you don’t finish what you started,” Nesta pants out, tugging tighter on his hair.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Cassian tells her, suddenly sinking two fingers into her and drawing a gasp in response. “We’re just getting started. Have to get you ready to take my knot.”

The words draw Nesta out of the moment. She knew knots were a part of werewolves’ anatomy, had made sure to do her research once the marriage and plans had been finalized. But hearing the words from Cassian suddenly makes them real, makes Nesta realize she may be more out of her depth than she initially thought.

All thoughts eddy out of Nesta’s mind, though, when Cassian curls his fingers. She clenches down hard around them, her hips bucking against his hold. He sets a hard and fast pace, the wet sound of his fingers working her open swirling and filling the room, mixing with the soft sounds of her moans. He leans down, not pausing or slowing down his hand as his mouth finds her clit again, sucking the bud between his lips.

The extra stimulation sends Nesta flying over the edge, her orgasm tearing through her like a wildfire. She’s half aware of her thighs squeezing tight around Cassian’s head, of the very unladylike shout she lets out, but that fire burning through her veins feels too good, daring Nesta to drown in it. Cassian continues to move his fingers, his mouth unrelenting, dragging her orgasm out with aftershocks until it starts to teeter into pain.

“W-wait,” Nesta gets out between pants, reaching down and curling her fingers around Cassian’s wrist.

“You can take it,” Cassian pulls back enough to murmur. “Besides, I told you, we have to get you ready to take my knot.”

Nesta whimpers, but already, he’s stoking those embers and building her higher again. He scissors and curls his fingers, squeezing in a third digit. The stretch is somehow too much and not enough at the same time, Nesta’s toes curling against Cassian’s shoulders as she starts to rock against his hand.

“That’s it,” Cassian praises, his own voice breathless. “That’s a good girl.”

The words have Nesta tumbling closer to that edge again dangerously fast. When Cassian leans back down, his mouth finds home on her breast this time. He gently tugs her nipple between his teeth at the same moment his fingers curl deep inside her. Before Nesta knows it, before she can stop it or warn him, her second orgasm crashes through her. The force of it is enough to bring tears to the corner of her eyes, a choked off gasp tugging free from her lungs.

Cassian finally pulls back, and Nesta slumps back against the mattress, catching her breath. He slides off the bed, reaching for the waistband of his pants, the dark curls of his hair tumbling forward across his temples, his shoulders, at the movement. Nesta presses up onto her elbows, watching the way the muscles in his arms, his chest, shift and move as he works his pants and undergarments down his legs and kicks them aside.

It leaves his thick thighs on full display, but even more than that, Nesta can’t help but stare at his cock. She hasn’t seen many naked men in her life, but she knows he’s larger than most. It hangs hard and long between his thighs, his large hand fisting the girth of it. She can see the tip already glistening, the thick vein that runs along the underside on display each time Cassian works his hand up and down. The sight has Nesta’s breath catching in her throat, has her body already clenching in anticipation despite the two orgasms Cassian has already wrung from her.

Cassian kneels back onto the bed, settling between her still spread thighs. He rubs the head of his cock against her, gathering the wetness and working it over himself. Every catch of the head of his cock against her clit sends a shudder scraping up her spine, her fingers fisting in the blankets.

“I’m not going to beg if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Cassian chuckles, pressing his hips forward enough that just the head of his cock slips into her, just that stretch leaving Nesta hissing. “Oh, I have no such notions of that. Yet.”

Any retort Nesta has dies in the back of her throat when Cassian snaps his hips forward, sliding the rest of the way in in one smooth thrust. She feels stretched and full in a way she’s never felt before, his cock somehow reaching deeper than she thought possible. Tentatively, testingly, Nesta clenches down around him, pride swelling within her at the groan it draws out of Cassian.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Cassian pushes out between his teeth, burying his face in Nesta’s neck.

Nesta wraps her legs around his hips, pressing the heels of her feet against his ass. “Fucking move.”

She half wonders if Cassian truly will make her beg, but he must feel just as desperate as she does because he pulls his hips back. The drag of his cock against her walls has Nesta throwing her head back against the pillow with a long low moan. He sinks back into her, pressing deeper still, but the slow thrust is merely a tease. He sets as brutal a pace as his fingers before, snapping his hips hard against her own, cock driving and burying into her as surely as it steals the breath from her lungs.

Nesta can do nothing but hold on as Cassian uses her body, dragging her along with him. He’s turned her into a moaning mess, a puddle of pleasure, as he plays her like his favorite instrument. She clenches with every inward thrust, her fingernails dragging down Cassian’s back. She’s worried at just how fast she’s started to crest higher and higher again, her blood singing with liquid fire and threatening to send her spiraling through yet another orgasm, but then she feels it.

His knot.

The bulbous swell of it slaps against her with every hard thrust, promising to lock them together. She already feels so full, already feels split open on his cock, that she has no idea how his knot is going to fit.

“It won’t—”

“You’ll take it,” Cassian growls, his hands sliding under her ass and lifting her hips higher.

The new angle has Nesta letting out a broken sob, her every nerve ending feeling like a livewire seconds away from catching fire and dragging her into the flames. One more hard thrust from Cassian and his knot notches within her. The combination of pleasure and pain has Nesta’s whole body tensing. She clenches down hard against the knot, all but screaming Cassian’s name. She’s half aware of the warmth of his seed filling her, the way his hips continue to rock against her with every spurt of his cock.

Despite the way she’s dripping, the slippery wetness between her thighs, Cassian’s fingers still find her clit. It barely takes two tight circles of his fingers before she’s coming for the third time tonight. She arches up against Cassian, her whole body shuddering and shaking through it. She squeezes even tighter around his knot, Cassian groaning and his cock twitching and filling her even more in response.

It feels almost strange coming down and catching her breath while still feeling so full, her cunt fluttering around Cassian’s cock and knot with the aftershocks. Her hand slides up to her neck, fingers skating across her sweat slicked skin, but there’s no stickiness of blood, no soreness, like she expects to find.

“You didn’t bite,” Nesta comments quietly, frowning in confusion.

Cassian lifts his head enough that he can peer down at her. “What?”

“I thought werewolf tradition was to bite to seal the bond between a pair.”

“I didn’t know you were suddenly an expert in our traditions.”

“You think I didn’t do my research? To know what I might be walking into?” Nesta snaps with a roll of her eyes. She hates that the fact they’re still joined together means she can’t shove at his chest, can’t escape the heat radiating from him and encasing her. But it doesn’t stop her from raising her chin regardless, from narrowing her eyes at him. “Was it wrong then? Is that not the tradition?”

“It is our tradition.”

“But you didn’t—”

“Did you forget that I didn’t choose this? Choose you?” Cassian cuts her off, his lips pulling back in a sneer, hazel eyes practically blazing. “Biting a mate, claiming them, it’s sacred for wolves. Mates are precious, and it is a blessing to be bonded that way. A mate is someone you fully give your heart over to. Someone you would gladly lay down your life for. And you are neither of those things to me.”

His knot has gone down enough that Cassian is finally able to pull out, Nesta still wincing at the drag, the soreness she can already feel between her legs. She swallows hard at the stormy, hard expression still on Cassian’s face, watching him shift to the other side of the bed. With a huff, she tugs herself off the bed, holding her head high, her spine straight, and refusing to allow Cassian to see their romp in the sheets or his words having an effect on her. Only when the door to the bathing chamber closes firmly behind her does she allow herself to slump and deflate.

She takes her time scrubbing herself clean again, washing away the feel of Cassian against her skin. But she realizes belatedly that she forgot to grab a fresh sleeping gown to change into. Sighing softly, she pulls back open the door, padding across the room and toward her trunk of things. She nearly jumps out of her skin in surprise when she spies Cassian still in the bed, now casually lounging beneath the blankets.

“What are you doing?” Nesta demands, snatching up a clean sleeping gown and quickly tugging it on. “You’ve completed your duty, so you can get out of my room now.”

“I think you mean our room, wife,” Cassian offers back, smirking openly at Nesta.

Nesta scoffs, but she doesn’t do much more. She’s too exhausted, her body too wrung out, from this too long night to fight. She makes her way over to the bed, yanking the blankets back and slipping beneath them. “Who knew you were such a traditionalist.”

“What can I say, I don’t want you getting any ideas. Like slipping out the window.”

Nesta punches her pillow, simply because she knows she can’t punch her new husband in the face. She curls up on her side, her back to Cassian, and tucks the blankets up to her chin. She’s never been particularly religious, never truly believed in a higher power blessing her family with their magic the way her grandmother claimed, but Nesta still finds herself sending a silent prayer to the Mother. Praying and hoping that at least her sisters are having better luck with their own husbands.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise

[shallyne]

The Diary of Feyre Archeron Ch 4

CHAPTER FOUUUUUUR! YAY!!! All chapters on A03

Words: 1.6k

TW: signs of a panic attack, death, implied murder

July 19th

It's barely daybreak and we already got bad news. Mom had a stroke last night, so severe that she's now in a coma. I tried talking to Nesta but she didn't reply and just left, Elain still seems in shock. I don't know how I feel, it all just seems going downward right now and there is no way to stop it. Is it possible to feel nothing about mom's stroke? Maybe I am in shock but I don't feel like I am in shock, I just, I feel nothing. Does that make me a bad person? Maybe it does, maybe I am a bad person but if I am a bad person, then mom is a bad person, too.

I'm trying not to think too much about it, Elain and Nesta are more important right now because they do feel something, and I want to make sure that they know I am there for them if they want to talk. I doubt they will but it's always nice to know that there is someone, right?

Also, should we tell dad? Should we tell him soon or wait for some news? He's going to be devastated, like we were when we lost everything because of his antics.

I shouldn't go down this route right now, maybe another time.

Well, I guess it's time now to get ready for school, maybe Rhys will distact me from this shitshow my family is right now.

July 20th

Rhys told me today that he needs to talk to me soon about something important, whenever I have time. I only have time next Saturday and he was okay with meeting in the little park close to school then, so it can't be urgent.

OMG, maybe he's asking me on a date? That MUST be it!! I don't know how I am just thinking about it. Maybe I can borrow a dress from Nesta for Saturday and wear a little makeup. I don't know much about makeup, maybe Elain can help me. This is so exciting. FINALLY!! I'm totally saying yes but not instantly, he took long enough to ask me on a date.

I'll let my hair open, I know he likes it. I did it once and he told me I looked pretty, so that's a given. I also have this perfume I'm only wearing for special occasions, I'll use that, too.

Maybe I can get some details about it in the following week.

This is the best day of my life!!!!

Also, Ianthe has been a bitch to me. Rhys had told me she kept flirting with him after he rejected her a bajillion times and I told her to go away after she tried AGAIN. Unbelievable, right?

Such a shame she smashed her hand in her locker door in the PE changing room where no one could see us her.

I hope it heals just fine, would be sad if it didn't.

July 21st

I'm trying to draw and I just can't. Everytime I try I'm staring at a blank canvas, which is just as blank as my mind. I thought the maybe-date with Rhys would inspire me at least a little but it's impossible. I have a creative block. Even thinking about picking up a pencil or a brush takes all my energy, I never felt this way about painting. Painting was always my escape, I was always good at expressing any feeling through art. Now, I just get angry. I want to take the canvas and throw it away. I like having this diary but it's not the same as painting, I can't express myself in words like I do in sketches and paintings, or even scribbles. That part of me just feels empty now, like someone stole all the colors, all lights and feelings and shapes. It's a void.

Elain looked at my canvas and told me to give it a few days, maybe she's right. It's a stressful time for us all. We will get through this and then we go back to our normal lives because everything will be okay.

I'm trying to tell myself that at least, like Elain does, but there is always a little voice in my head that doubts any happiness will come our way.

The feeling of impending doom is still there, gripping me everyday, reminding me that all is not okay. Maybe it's just a puberty thing, I'm sure Nesta and Elain went through the same thing. I wouldn't know, talking about feelings in the Archeron household is like eating a steak as a vegan. You don't do it.

July 26th

Rhys is dead to me.

He and his stupid father don't exist anymore, not in my world. They are dead. DEAD.

Rhys hadn't invited me to ask me on a date, I didn't get ready, borrowed Nesta's dress, let Elain do my makeup, use my good perfume, because he wanted to ask me on a date. No, he invited me to tell me that he is the reason for ruining my life. My whole family's life. That we have NOTHING! Okay fine, it's his father's fault but what's the difference? I AM SO ANGRY. He just moved here to ruin my father's business because of some stupid deal my father broke. Speaking of father, my father is just as dead to me. He can rot in hell, I hope he rots in prison. My sister's are suffering because of HIM. Because of his decisions, because of Rhysand's family. I hate my father, I hate Rhysand's father, I hate Rhysand.

I must have looked just as distraught as I feel because Nesta knew instantly that something happened when I came home. I told her everything, her and Elain, and she is seething.

I can't believe I fell for Rhysand, I can't believe I fell for a fucking lie.

I'm just so angry I can barely breathe. I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe.

How am I supposed to see Rhysand everyday at school and not scream at him, at the unfairness of it all. How can I ever look at myself, live with myself, for falling foe his tricks to get close to me like a fool.

It was all a lie.

Dad's business was a lie.

Our life was a lie.

Rhysand was a big fucking lie.

I can't breathe.

July 31st

I'm sitting in a train.

The last twenty-four hours five days felt like a bad nightmare, one I just want to wake up from. But it's not a nightmare, is it? It's real.

Mom is dead. They said it was the stroke. Rhysand said it wasn't. I don't know why I believe him but he looked genuine. Maybe I am a fool for trusting him in this but Nesta seems to believe him, too.

Ruining my father's business wasn't the last of Rhysand's father's plans for my father. My father ruined a big deal, now Rhysand's father ruins his life. Meaning that he sends out his men to kill the people my father loves. Which includes my mother. And his daughters.

I think this is how shock feels, feeling like an empty shell. Every movement feels robotic, only muscle memory making me move.

Nesta told me that Rhysand's brothers knocked like crazy on the front door, the tall one was even short of breaking the freaking door down, to warn them about the threat on their lives. Meanwhile Rhysand dragged me out of that diner, kicking and screaming. I didn't want to listen, I didn't want to touch him, but he didn't budge. He brought me to my sisters. Telling me the plan.

The plan to send us away, to a friend who can help us. I think his name was Jurian. We are traveling to him now, he lives in a little city near Austin.

After that we won't be the Archeron’s anymore, we will live under another name, in a city far away.

I don't even know why Rhysand helped us, why would he care. He used me as a pawn for his father and now he helps us running away? I know that he said he never used me but the timing of befriending me seemed convenient. He also said he wouldn't track us after we got our new identities in Austin, but I don't know if I believe him. Maybe his friend will rat us out.

I made a promise to myself when we entered the train station this morning. I promised to keep Nesta and Elain safe, whatever it takes. They used me, they got my mom but they won't get my sister's.

Also, dear diary, this will be my last entry. Nesta wanted me to burn my diary, so it couldn't be tracked to us, but we compromised and I would keep it hidden wherever we end up. Never touch it again.

It was nice to have you as a silent companion as long as it lasted.

Bye

Excerpt from a group chat between Rhysand, Morrigan, Cassian and Azriel

Azriel: They just left Jurian’s house.

Cassian: so, that's it?

Morrigan: no contact anymore, it's to keep them safe, Cassian

Cassian: I know but how sure can we be that Aamon’s men won't track them down?

Rhysand: they won't

Cassian: but can we be SURE

Azriel: yes

Morrigan: Rhys, have you told Feyre?

Rhysand: no, it wasn't the time

Morrigan: there will never be the perfect time to tell someone you love them but it was your last chance

Rhysand: I know

Cassian: maybe it won't be forever

Rhysand: maybe

Morrigan: maybe

Azriel: maybe

Feysand Taglist:

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @starfall-spirit @rhysiedarling @corcracrow @sydney-fae25 @tothestarsandwhateverend @aayo-whatt @dreamlandreader

[shi-daisy]

Clare Beddor bansee...Girl you are galaxy brained omg!!! Please tell me we're getting Clare and Nesta friendship and Feysand dunking!

I love how you didn't have the others hide the fact that Feyre was the one to give Clare's name but they didn't vilify her either even if they could've and all hate what she's done. Same thing with Rhysand. They tell Clare everything and she's the one who's allowed to be angry or grateful, and she's very angry! Love it so much and I can't wait to see her confront them.

Also Azalea x Tarquin is new otp those two would look soooo good 👀 I need more

Thank you anon! I'm so happy everyone is loving banshee Clare. Justice for my baby girl she literally did nothing wrong!

Yeah I've already had Feysand creepers arguing everyone is taking the Night Court in bad fate which like...They're allowed to?! Feyre destroyed Spring, indirectly caused Daphne's death and didn't stand up for Nesta, then Rhysand wants to be High King (hahahahahahahaha no), almost causes Tamlin to kill himself and locked Nesta up and forced her to help with his bullshit schemes. They're allowed to hate them and worst. But ya know if this was Sarah's book she'd say Spring are the villains for being mad. Though luck dudes my name ain't Sarah and I'm not excusing them.

I had the squad tell her everything upfront not only because she deserves to know but so that the Feysand crowd can't say they didn't tell her the truth that Rhysand 'helped' (would've helped more if you didn't tell Amarantha anything but you stupid fuck) and that Feyre didn't she would die. Clare gets the whole truth but she's still allowed to be mad and say 'Nah fuck them, their little oops cost me my human life and my entire family. They going down'

Confrontation will take a while but we shall get more Clare, both her being besties with Nesta learning about fae life and coming to terms with everything.

Oh glad to hear you like Azalea and Tarquin. It's one of my fave plot threads and I'm looking forward to writing them more. Sarah really made this gorgeous yet shy dude and did nothing with him because she was busy thirsting over Rhys *gag* I wanna change that, plus I feel he'd vibe with a smart yet flirty wife.

[stargirlfeyre]

“Thank you so much for this. Lucien is my favorite, I’m waiting for his book. I get that Feyre felt betrayed by him for not stepping in more, but he was trying. He really did try to steer Tamlin in the right direction, but he was walking a fine line between her and his best friend who was really the only family he had. The mistrust they treat him with in WaR and then Feyre’s ugliness toward him in ACoFaS really made me not like her. This poor guy can’t catch a break.”

“There are many reasons that Feyre is my least favorite character now, but my number one reason is the way she treats poor Lucien. That just sealed the deal for me in this run through. I would never expect for someone I knew for .2 seconds to sacrifice themselves for me after I murdered and skinned their friend, much less get MAD at them for not doing it. Ugh.”

“Omg YES I'm sorry but he experienced horrific trauma, had his friend murdered, risked everything to help Feyre UTM, was tortured for helping, and then was for whatever reason expected to put his life and world at risk to get her away from his best friend?? All for someone he BARELY knew. And now, his whole life is in shambles, he was taken away from the place he knew, and is treated like crap for what? Not sacrificing his life for some a girl he owed nothing to? I'm just over the Lucien mistreatment 😭😭 I wish I didn't reread this bc now I dislike Feyre and Rhys”

“I forgot about the Andras part but that makes it even worse!! He knew Feyre for like 2 seconds before UTM and he STILL tried to help her even tho she killed and skinned one of his friends. Rhys mentioned before how some of his questionable actions were for the sake of his court and people melt over it but for some reason, Lucien can’t do the same. Even when, in my opinion, he hasn’t done anything nearly as bad. It’s just ridiculous how people will absolutely love one character and hate the other when they’re all morally grey. I’m personally not a fan of Feyre or Rhys after SF but I can understand why they did most of the things they did but I will never forgive them for the way they treated and continue to treat Lucien”

“I definitely agree, I made a post a couple days ago about Tamlin because I think even he is treated unfairly by Feyre, Rhys and everyone in the IC. And if I were Lucien, I wouldn't betray the one person who saved my life and took me in for someone I barely knew, for someone who killed my friend and hated everything I was just a couple months ago. Not to mention, he did try to help at one point and got shut down by Tam immediately. Idk why he was expected to give up everything for somebody he wasn't even friends with, let's be real.”

Just a little taste of why I could give 0 fucks about Feycien..His whole fanbase is trash minus the few Tamlin and Feyre stan’s that still simp for him. This is a new post full of comments JUST like these ones. This is a daily thing for Lucien stan’s just like Nesta & Tamlin stan’s Feycien girlies..Like him no matter what but his fans could give two fucks about Feyre

“Feyre’s ugliness toward him in ACoFaS really made me not like her. This poor guy can’t catch a break.”

“but my number one reason is the way she treats poor Lucien.”

“then was for whatever reason expected to put his life and world at risk to get her away from his best friend??”

“I made a post a couple days ago about Tamlin because I think even he is treated unfairly by Feyre, Rhys and everyone in the IC. And if I were Lucien, I wouldn't betray the one person who saved my life and took me in for someone I barely knew, for someone who killed my friend and hated everything I was just a couple months ago.”

Oh these people are fucked in the head. They can’t be serious. For all their talk of “not babying the inner circle because they’re centuries old and they should have been more knowledgeable about how to handle Nesta” they sure do love to blame a 19 year old girl for the actions of centuries old men. These are the same people who say anything Nesta says or does to the inner circle shouldn’t be taken seriously by them because “she’s a 25 year old child🥺”

“Poor Lucien” this nigga isn’t a baby. What’s this obsession with infantilizing him? They say we infantilize Feyre by calling her Nesta and Elain’s “baby sister” (even though she is. Feyre is the youngest making her the baby of the family) but they’re out treating this 300+ year old man like a child who’s been wrong by the world.

“And if I were Lucien, I wouldn't betray the one person who saved my life and took me in for someone I barely knew” do these people realize that they’re admitting that they would sit back and watch someone be physically abused if they’re friend was doing it? They’re seriously it a “betrayal”?

The saddest thing about this is I know a lot of the people behind the accounts saying this are women. Grown ass women at that.

[watcherintheweyr]

They also never look at the truth of anything- only how Rhysand perceives them.

Lucien and his trauma (but omg Rhys slayed so hard when he mocked Lucien's abused mother and murdered lover hut he's SUCH. A FEMINIST!) and how he (Lucein) tried to help Feyre after UTM but was also being abused by Tamlin so wasn't able to accomplish much, despite his efforts. (he dIDnT do eNoUgh!) But Rhys who terrorized and assaulted Feyre UTM takes no accountability for what he did to her or for how HE terrorized and abused her for his own gain and purpose. But he's content to imprison and or use Lucien as he like whenever it serves his purposes.

The way the NC takes Eris entirely at face value and condemns him even when the text makes it obvious - Eris is what Rhysand was 'intended' to be- an anti hero/morally grey character who play acts at being horrible without actually BEING horrible in the core. Unlike Rhys who was only 'pretending' to be terrible- but he takes pleasure in rubbing others' trauma in their faces, and neglects and ignores the abuses and atrocities happening in 2/3 of his Court, and spouts genuinely sexist ideals and perceptions of the women around him, but is excused. Eris makes no excuses for himself- but every time Rhys is confronted with the terrible things he's done, he uses his trauma as an excuse to escape accountability- such as when Feyre tried to call him on what he did to her, he had a panic attack and just... moved on.

Rhys empowers and celebrates Mor- who always has a drink in hand, who glories in her sex life and sexuality and has a strange and intense toxic possessiveness over Az and Cass- but condemns Nesta for drinking and using sex to heal, all because it makes him look bad- and encourages Cassian to basically use Wilderness Therapy tactics to break down and isolate Nesta until she's compliant to be a tool for the NC's schemes and will only have sex with who they approve of- Cassian. He hates and cannot forgive that Nesta 'let' Feyre hunt and provide for their family, nevermind that Nesta was also a child- and was the one to keep the house clean, chop firewood, and cook, because Feyre did not do those tasks, and in some cases could not. He cannot forgive that Nesta was 'mean' to Feyre and other people- whilst Amren and Mor are routinely straight up nasty and cruel, both to those deserving and undeserving, and he adores and empowers them both.

Rhysand's perception in the fandom at large is... exhausting.

Grown ass women in this fandom: uwu Rhysand has so much trauma he did nothing wrong and if he did the people probably deserved it 🥺👉👈

Also them: Nesta is the worst like how can you as a fourteen year old make your sister hunt and she is so abusive how she called feyre a wild animal and she should suffer more because she told feyre about the pregnancy that will k*ll her 😡😤

[potatoplace]

I'm watching Greys Anatomy and I swear to god if I knew anything about surgery besides from this show I would make a Feysand AU of it because FUCK Feyre is Meredith and Rhys is Derek like. In every scene that they interact I can't help but think that.

They would be so damn cute as surgeons and Rhys being a neurosurgeon would be perfect, and Feyre a general surgeon because she has all 7 courts powers omg. I need my lil surgeon babies soooo bad.

I might end up making it at some point... if I dedicate myself to getting the surgery shit down lol

[danikamariewrites]

Can you write dd/lg az scolding reader for something and she cries over it and he feels really bad and apologises and comforts reader?🥹

I'm SOOOO obsessed with ddlg az I want him so bad

Scolding

Ddlg!Azriel x reader

A/n: omg he’d be horrified with himself

Warnings: slight angst, fluff

Azriel let out a frustrated sigh. You had broken a rule, a rare occurrence that he hated. You didn’t tell him you were going out which sent him into a frenzy looking all over the house for you. It wasn’t until he reached out to Rhys asking if he knew where you were that he slightly calmed down.

Feyre had asked you to take walk into town with her and you left without telling Azriel. He doesn’t mind you going places, he just wants to know you’re safe.

You rarely broke rules. You always listen, especially when Azriel is serious with you. “Y/n!” He calls out once he hears the front door shut. Turning, he watches you timidly enter the sitting room. Your hands suspiciously behind your back. Placing one hand on his hip he used the other motioning you to come to him.

Approaching him you keep your eyes glued to the carpet. You knew that tone. You had clearly done something wrong but didn’t want to admit it.

He lifts your chin with a scarred finger. “Did you forget to tell me something?” You were looking at him with those big innocent doe eyes. “You were busy and I didn’t want to bother you, I left a note.”

He let out a huff, letting go of your chin to rub at his eyes. “Princess, it doesn’t matter if I’m busy. I need you to tell me these things so I don’t worry. You could’ve been anywhere! Do you know how much you scared me?”

You didn’t mean to not tell him. You could’ve sworn you left a note for him. Looking at the foyer table you saw nothing but the flower vase. And he definitely checked for it. You look back at Azriel, silver lining your eyes, your lower lip wobbling. “I’m sorry daddy. I didn’t mean to.”

Azriel felt the anger leave his body. Regret and heartbreak taking over. Tears started falling fast down your face. A small sob escaped your lips. Azriel’s face fell into a worried frown. “Oh Princess, I’m sorry.” He pulled you into his chest, letting you put all your weight on him.

“I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’m not mad I promise.” After a few more minutes you pulled away from him and wipe your eyes. “Really?” You mumble out. “Really really. I’m just happy you’re safe.” You nod at him still wiping your eyes, unable to look at him yet.

Azriel finally notices the small bag hanging from your wrist. You hold it out for him to take. “I got you something.” His heart strains even more. Now he felt extra guilty for yelling. “Princess you didn’t have to do that.” He coos at you.

“I wanted to.” You give him a sad smile. Azriel couldn’t bring himself to look at what you got him right now. He needed to comfort you, reassure you that you weren’t in trouble. He scoops you into his arms so he’s holding you chest to chest. You wrap your arms around him and lay your head on his chest.

Good. This is good. You’re not shying away from him. Azriel brings a gentle hand up to rub your back. “How about we have some hot cocoa and cuddle. You can tell me all about shopping with Feyre.” “Ok daddy.”

[anyoneseenadam]

omg can u do smth about the inner circle finding out about reader and azriel’s relationship? maybe they’ve been like secretly dating for a while! ily <3

pairing: Azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: butt ton of fluff

a/n: i made this a part two to this fic! but it can be read separately, i love az sm so i hope you enjoy!! (this has not been proofread sorry lol)

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

A week later you were invited up to the house of wind. Azriel was swamped with work and missed you, and since he stayed there most the time he had dragged you in with him.

Currently you were lying in his bed, curled around a long pillow, and sleeping, wearing one of his shirts and your panties while he trained. He had promised you he would introduce you all soon but so far you had been sneaking about the house. A task that was easy for the spymaster, but less so for you.

He had tried to treat it like a holiday. Sneaking you down to the kitchen to bake cookies at midnight and spending nights on the roof, pointing out constellations.

When you had first arrived Azriel had explained what was going on with Nesta and Cassian as he snuck you in. While you were walking up, giggling behind one hand, the other tightly clasped in Azriel’s warm calloused hand, you had run into Nesta. Your eyes had widened meeting her, stomach dropping as she sized you up and down.

“Nesta,” Azriel’s voice calmed you slightly as you wrapped both hands around one of his, moving behind him ever so slightly. “This is my girlfriend; we’ve been dating for about six months and you cannot tell Cassian.”

She had smiled then and reached a hand out to shake yours, “am I the first to find out then?” she asked and you nodded.

“I’m (y/n).” You muttered, some confidence coming back.

“Pleasure to meet you, if you ever need someone to bitch too about him come to my room,” she left with a warm smile and you laughed, turning to Azriel.

“I like her,” you said, and he looked down at you frowning.

“Why would you need to bitch about me?” he asked, and you kissed his pout away, pulling his hand to continue onwards.

“Probably cause you smell.” He jabbed your side before picking you up and carrying you over his shoulder into his room, dumping you on the bed and crawling over you.

“Horrible girl,” he muttered, pressing kisses into your neck as he ground his hips down into yours. You giggled into his mouth; the rest of the day spent tangled up in him.

The next few days after that were relaxing. He was always away first thing to train, but you weren’t going to complain when he came back stripping of his clothes, sweaty and flushed but always holding a coffee for you.

The rest of the day would be spent either flying out to walk around shops and see markets in other courts, or sometimes flying over mountains, safe and secure in Azriel’s arms. The day before he had prepared a picnic and taken you to a beautiful field, smiling as you pointed out different kinds of flowers, before he picked a gerbera daisy and pushing it behind your ear, then kissing you so hard you almost fell over.

You woke slightly when Azriel returned, his heart warming when he saw you dozing, engulfed in his scent. He put your coffee next to you and you muttered something inaudible to him, snuggling further into his pillow and smiling sleepily when he pressed a kiss to your head, eyes never opening. He sat by you for a minute and pushed the hair away from your face before deciding he was going to bring you breakfast.

He pressed another kiss to your head before standing, quickly replacing his sweaty clothes, and leaving the room, letting you sleep in. His mind so filled with thoughts of his pretty girl and the smile she would give him when she woke up that he didn’t notice that Cassian wasn’t in the kitchen at his usual time.

You on the other hand noticed it pretty quickly, waking suddenly when the door slammed open, a man’s voice that you didn’t recognise asking your absent lover a question.

The well-built man stopped suddenly when you sat up in bed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to work out what to say.

“You’re not Azriel.” He stated, realising that the strange girl he saw was covered in his brothers’ scent. And was wearing his brothers’ clothes. And drinking coffee from his brothers’ mug.

“Yes I am.” You said on impulse, shaking your head at your own stupidity but relaxing when the man you presumed was Cassian relaxed.

“Who are you?” he asked, a smile breaking out on his face when he realised who you were.

“Umm I’m (y/n), Azriel’s girlfriend.” You sat up straighter, pulling the covers tighter over you as you realised you were half dressed.

Cassian’s eyes lit up and he ran to your side, sitting in front of you and cheering. “Tell me everything! How did you guys meet? What do you do? How long have you been together?” he bombarded you with questions and you laughed nervously, silently preying that Azriel would return soon.

“Uhh we’ve been together for about six months and I own a flower shop, that’s where we met,” you explained to him when the door flew open again, another tall, dark haired man running in with three women. You recognised your high lord and lady and blushed bright red as they stared at you, smiling so widely.

“We came as fast as we could.” Rhys explained, introducing himself, his wife and Amren and Morrigan. They all crowded you and you moved back slightly, feeling the panic rise in you as they all asked you a million questions.

They were all kind, but so excited that their friend had gotten a girlfriend they were acting slightly insane. You tried to answer their questions, but they were coming so fast that your breathing began to pick up slightly, insecurities rising as you realised that you had just woken up. Your hair was probably a mess, and you hadn’t even washed your face, and you were in an old t-shirt and probably smelt bad.

You looked up when Azriel walked in, his eyes widening at the sight of his entire family in your room.

“What are you guys doing?” he asked as his family turned to him instead, asking him a million questions, Cassian practically in tears that he hadn’t been told.

You jumped when you felt a hand on your arm, turning to see Feyre smiling at you, “I’m sorry if we freaked you out a bit,” she said and you went to deny but she continued, “it can be a but much I know I went through similar, except for me it wasn’t eight in the morning!” her voice raised at the end and Rhysand turned around sheepishly.

“You’re right, my deepest apologies,” he said, still unable to keep the smile off his face, “Come to ours for dinner this evening.”

You smiled at him, nodding as your knee bounced to get rid of the anxious energy, muttering goodbye as Feyre and Rhys dragged their family out the room.

“I love you!” Cassian called over his shoulder and you laughed, eyes filling with tears you were trying to hold back.

“Cauldron baby I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Azriel asked and you nodded at him laughing at yourself as you cried.

“I’m okay, really. They were all so nice.” You assured him as he put down the tray he was holding and wrapping his arms around you.

“Then why are you crying?” he asked, his hands gentle as they wiped the stray tears.

“I cry at everything, the other day I cried because someone said they liked my dress,” you laughed and he shook his head, laughing with you.

“You’re in touch with your emotions,” he reasoned,

“I’m a baby. A baby with no social skills that gets overwhelmed very easily,” His shoulders shook with laughter as he lay the two of you down, “I haven’t even had my coffee yet and that was so much social interaction.” You complained, wiping your eyes as you calmed down.

He smiled down at you, kissing your forehead gently, “Are you up for seeing them properly tonight?” he asked, holding you so gently.

“Yeah it’ll be nice,” you assured him, “plus I do think me, and Cassian have to discuss our shared love for you. I think we might start a fan club.”

Azriel laughed, “If you say so.”

“I really do by the way. Love you I mean. Like I love you so much it makes me stupid, when I’m bored I just think about you and things we could do, and it makes me so happy.” You raised yourself up to look down at him as you spoke, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as he smiled dopily up at you.

“I love you so ridiculously much too.” You sat up together, your back pressed against his chest as he passed you your coffee and the breakfast he had prepared the two of you.

The stress of tonight could come later, you were just content to spend the rest of your morning in his arms.

[velidewrites]

GOD I have to put this under the cut because I have so many FEELINGS about this chapter. My eyes were glued to every single word and it feels like my brain has been entirely rewired

The chain attached to his wrist went taut for a moment as if she’d pulled it and Rhys resisted coming any closer. He wasn’t her pet.

We're only a few paragraphs in and I'm already losing my mind. And, Rhysand - I, on the other hand, think you would make an excellent pet.

Gods, he needed to close his eyes, preferably somewhere he didn’t have to share the same air with Feyre damned Archeron, and try and clear his head. 

Love how he can't think straight when she's around

Feyre’s moon bright eyes blinked, too, drinking in the rustling forest that now surrounded them.

OBSESSED with this imagery. It feels like it's happening right next to me

It would have been a lie to say he hadn’t noticed she was beautiful. He’d also noticed how annoying she was, and utterly self-satisfied.

He's so obsessed with her AS HE SHOULD BE

Rhys hummed in agreement. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, darling. Ladies such as yourself clamor to have their face where yours was.”

IT'S ME I AM LADIES

Rhys’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, his thoughts shifting to his mother and father. How often had she warned a young Rhys to be careful not to upset his father, as he was in one of his moods?

The parallels between them are so heartbreaking, I feel so bad for them both

“Dead,” she said flatly. Rhys didn’t dare ask if she had been the one to kill him.

God she's so sexy

“Well, well, well,” came an echoing voice.

ERIS??????

Amber eyes glittered with amusement as he beheld two humans traipsing through his lands.

ERIS!!!!!!

Excellent. Here—a room, on me.

ONE ROOM????

Despite his pounding heart, Rhys forced himself to relax. “Harder, Feyre darling.”

This is hands down the best line I've ever read. Don't mind me screaming in the background for the rest of this

“This thing, all things devour- birds, beasts, trees, flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hard stone to meal. Slays kings, ruins towns, beats high mountains down.”

These riddles are so clever omg??

Eris Vanserra had materialized before them, crowned in burnished leaves and all but glowing with power.

Love to see Daddy stealing the spotlight every time he arrives!!

This chapter was a literal MASTERPIECE. The banter, the action, the Eris cameo. Once again, I am on my knees and in awe of your talent.

The Other Side Of The Apocalypse

What would you trade the pain for?

Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.

Note: WE'RE BACK WITH MORE CHAOS BOIS

Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter

Chapter 3/10: A Hammer To the Statue of David

They should have slept. Rhys kept glancing at the dark hollows on Feyre’s face, betraying her in spite of the words she forced from behind her teeth. I’m fine, stop staring— Rhys couldn’t help himself. He knew he likely looked no better, forcing himself to follow her further and further into the dark. He kept one hand on the earthen walls, drinking in the loamy scent of the world. What would happen to Spring, he wondered? Would they know it was two humans that had freed them?

Would it stay their hands the next time they crossed paths with one? Or did the fae have short memories? Rhys wondered this endlessly, forcing one foot in front of the other until he slammed into Feyre’s unmoving body. She grunted, hands flung out before her to keep her from hitting the rough, stone-hewn ground with her face at full impact.

The sound was satisfying. 

“Do you mind?” she hissed, a mere shadow in the dark. Rhys knew she couldn’t see the grin that spread over his face, even as he feigned innocence.

“I can’t see in the dark, darling.”

She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like prick, but straightened herself all the same. The chain attached to his wrist went taut for a moment as if she’d pulled it and Rhys resisted coming any closer. He wasn’t her pet. 

“Why did you stop?”

Coming closer, Rhys could see the indecision on Feyre’s face. Their tunnel had branched into two different directions, neither discernable to him. Rhys stepped around her, ducking his head into one and inhaling, and then the other.

Smelled like dirt. 

He took pity on Feyre and said, “This way,” before striding with more confidence than he felt. 

“Rhys,” she protested, but this time it was him dragging her by that cursed chain. Rhys wouldn’t pretend he didn’t derive more than a little satisfaction from that, either. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, scuffing his boot on a protruding rock. Beside him, Feyre’s shoulders seemed to slump a little.

“Autumn, I think.”

“How do you know?” he asked more forcefully than he meant. 

Feyre scoffed in the dark. “You knew we were going to Prythian and didn’t look at a map?”

Fair. Rude, but fair he supposed. 

“Can we expect…” Another insane Lord, he wanted to say, but that didn’t seem quite right. Feyre seemed genuinely grieved to destroy that beast and Rhys didn’t know how he felt about that, either. Gods, he needed to close his eyes, preferably somewhere he didn’t have to share the same air with Feyre damned Archeron, and try and clear his head. 

“I don’t know what to expect of Autumn,” she finally said. Rhys thought of the beasts warning—six other lords.

“Who is the High Lord here?”

Feyre grunted in the dark, her breathing just as labored as his own. The tunnel had begun to climb and Rhys suspected they would be deposited right in the middle of where they needed to be. 

“His name is Beron” she finally told him, chewing on the name. There was a mix of emotions Rhys couldn’t quite read, though revulsion seemed to be the strongest. Perhaps, beneath it, was fear? Rhys rubbed at his eyes, sighing loudly. 

“Well,” he finally said, forcing himself to continue. “He can’t be any worse than the last.”

“Of course he could be. A lot of things could be worse than that.”

Rhys was too tired to argue. 

Feyre reached the rounded wood door first, her fingers curling over the knob. The sight that followed was disorienting. Had they been walking for so long it was now night? Or did time work differently from territory to territory? Feyre’s moon bright eyes blinked, too, drinking in the rustling forest that now surrounded them.

“Maybe we should sleep in here tonight,” she whispered, hesitating just enough to send Rhys plopping to the ground. 

“Works for me,” he grunted. Rhys would have done just about anything to rest his eyes. Feyre settled against the wall across from him, gingerly stretching her legs. He rifled through his pack for something to eat, passing her some dried meat and stale bread ruefully. 

While he fished around, Feyre tended to the wound on her head, carefully dabbing the blood with a strip of cloth. Using precious water from their canteen, she cleaned it the best she could before leaving it entirely. 

“We’ll need more provisions soon,” she said as Rhys ripped a hunk of the well-seasoned deer jerky apart with his teeth. He thought of the Spring village and their argument—well, Rhys thought of Feyre and her pretty, golden brown hair. 

He kept his eyes on his hands and reminded himself he didn’t care about her. He was still a man, wasn’t he? It would have been a lie to say he hadn’t noticed she was beautiful. He’d also noticed how annoying she was, and utterly self-satisfied. Rhys looked away, adjusting his back against the stone until he’d found a mostly comfortable position.

There was nothing to say to her that wasn’t cruel, and Rhys needed sleep. Briefly, he wondered if his father had discovered his deception and was apocalyptic with rage or if Rhys was still safe. Well, safe enough. Safe, despite being dragged about on a leash by a woman with a death wish.

Rhys woke with a start to dappled sunlight and the wafting scent of pear. It took him a minute to realize Feyre had her head in his lap, a cloak draped over them both. When had she gotten there? 

He was tempted to stand and let her head bounce off the hard, earthen ground. Was he that kind of man? Rhys sighed, and settled for poking her in the cheek instead. And when she didn’t rouse, it gave him a small amount of satisfaction to flick her hard in the nose.

She frowned, opening one bleary eye at him. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when she realized her position. “You were shivering,” she said defensively, pushing herself up by her palms.

Rhys hummed in agreement. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, darling. Ladies such as yourself clamor to have their face where yours was.”

Her eyes hardened. “Get up.”

He couldn’t help himself. “I’m already there. Why don’t you—”

“Shut up.”

Rhys stood with all the grace he could manage, stretching his sore muscles. Feyre crouched at his feet, rifling through his pack until she procured the last of their jerky. He assumed they’d be walking and eating which suited him just fine. The sooner they got through this, the better. Rhys ripped a chunk of spiced meat with his teeth while Feyre quickly rebraided her tangled hair. 

She set a silent, bruising pace. Rhys was flustered, too warm despite the chill of the loamy scented air. Leaves fell round them like confetti, making it impossible for them to creep quietly  through the woods. His mind kept returning to Feyre crouching at his feet, her golden brown hair a curled mess down her slim shoulders and how she’d looked up at him with those bright blue eyes.

He couldn’t help the next image, though he wished he’d never allowed it to linger the way it did. Feyre, still on her knees, her full lips curved sensually as she untied his pants. Mouth parting when he sprang free, eyes on his face with a mix of surprise and lust. Tongue out, sliding along the length of him until she sucked him root to tip into her mouth, gagging ever so slightly. He could picture how soft her hair would be tangled between his fingers and how he’d moan, back against one of the trees as he helped guide her into a steady rhythm. 

Rhys was grateful when Ferye, her own mind lost to him, eyes glassy and unseeing, stumbled over a rock just as he pictured her swallowing his release. His pants were uncomfortably tight—this was a daydream he had no right indulging in, given how little he cared for her. Feyre looked up at him, eyes narrowed as if she’d guessed what he was thinking. Rhys lowered his own, not bothering to smirk and prove her right. That, he decided, was something best forgotten entirely. 

“So,” he managed once his cock had deflated and he could fill his burning lungs again. “How did your sisters come to be here.”

Feyre exhaled. “It’s too long of a story?”

Surrounded by nothing but an endless expanse of jewel bright leaves and trees, Rhys getured outward. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes fell to the iridescent chain holding them together. “Some of it is…personal. I…” Her eyes went glassy again. Rhys felt genuine curiosity as he stared down at her. “I fell in love with the wrong male.”

Rhys couldn’t picture that, though he kept his opinions on Feyre’s emotional capacity to himself. Perhaps she had once been the sort who fell in love easily—vulnerable and soft and sweet, only to be made hard by an unforgiving, cruel lover. 

Feyre’s hair seemed to gleam like rich chocolate copper beneath the filtered morning light and when she tilted her face, he swore the freckles dusting her nose were an exact match for the night sky. 

“I agreed to marry him before I knew the full scope of…who he was. He could be so loving and kind—but also cruel and capricious in equal measure. It was like walking on eggshells. I never knew who I’d get that day, or what might set him off.”

Rhys’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, his thoughts shifting to his mother and father. How often had she warned a young Rhys to be careful not to upset his father, as he was in one of his moods? The atmosphere in the house would change and everyone could sense it—and his mother always bore the worst of it.

And once it passed, his father would become doting and loving again. He empathized a little with Feyre, who seemed young and likely working through her very first relationship in a place that didn’t prioritize women to begin with, and would have sided with her lover if he wanted to keep her. 

“Anyway, I left him. I said it was over and, without a lot of details, he took it poorly. He went to a fae king for assistance and made a deal and when it wasn’t honored properly, my sisters became collateral damage in this war between us.”

“Where is this man?” Rhys questioned. He wanted to know who he was, as well—was it a man he socialized with? Someone he often drank with that had turned around and betrayed a fellow human to the brutal fae? 

“Dead,” she said flatly. Rhys didn’t dare ask if she had been the one to kill him. “Magic like the deal he made comes with a price. He wasn’t able to pay it.”

“If he’s dead, aren’t your sisters free?” Rhys asked, unsure how fae magic worked to begin with. 

Feyre shook her head. “No.”

Rhys thought of the beast, and her insistence they kill it. He almost demanded to know if this was the price demanded by that king to free her sisters—kill the creatures and her sisters could return to the wall.

But why would a faerie demand the payment of its own kind in blood? And why oblige him at all when they weren’t bound to fae whims, fae laws? She could simply stroll into this Night Court and take her sisters back. Rhys was certain Ferye was keeping secrets from him, had chosen not to divulge the full truth of what had led to him being leashed to her.

Demanding she tell him would only start another fight. He’d keep his eyes open and his wits about him until he’d pieced it together himself. He didn’t trust her even if she was honest—she was little more than a betrayer and a thief. 

Trying to untangle the mess unfolding around him rendered Rhys silent. Frustrated, and pulling absently at his wrist without even realizing what he was doing. If he spent too much time looking at his hand and those markings, he got angry all over again. Marked by this place—if he couldn’t remove it, he could never return home. 

Agreeing to help her was the worst decision he’d ever made. Rhys thought he would have preferred marriage to someone of his fathers choosing over this adventure. Rhys would have taken a hoard of children over this—inked like one of those faerie loving whores ringing bells all through town. 

“Well, well, well,” came an echoing voice. Feyre stilled, looking around the dense trees for the source. Rhys’s heart sped at the mocking sneer carried in that tone and the lilted accent that could only belong to someone of Prythian. 

It was no beast who sauntered into view. The man in question looked as if the forest itself had materialized him, made him whole from the leaves and bark and sky itself. Auburn hair the same shade of the treetops was neatly pushed off a face that was both elegant and cruel in equal measure. Amber eyes glittered with amusement as he beheld two humans traipsing through his lands.

It irritated Rhys to see this man drag his eyes up, and then down, Feyre’s form. His smile widened as though her mere presence amused him. Rhys had heard the stories of what fae men liked to do to human females and consciously wedged his body between them, forcing the creature to look at him.

Nobility. Sneering, self-satisfied nobility radiated from every inch of the man before him. Rhys had the same blue blood and felt no fear—though perhaps he should have—when he stared the faerie down. He was a good inch or two taller and Rhys utilized it, crowding closer to keep Feyre from being subjected to its cruel, perverse whims. 

“You should know better than to come here,” he said, crossing his arms over an elegant gold and green jacket. “Don’t you know what happens to little humans lost in faerie woods?” “Save it,” Feyre spat, her eyes shining with hatred. 

The man clicked his tongue. “So rude. Don’t they teach your sort manners?”

Rhys withdrew his blade, letting the tip hover an inch from the fae’s chest. “Don’t speak to her.”

That smile grew. “Have you come to challenge the High Lord of Autumn? We all felt your actions in Spring.”

Rhys pressed his blade against the man's chest. “You seem easy enough to kill.”

That smile became razor edged. “You should let her talk. Tell him what he’s too stupid to see.”

“He’s not the High Lord,” Feyre ground out. 

“Get the pretty female a prize. How clever—”

“Are you going to let us pass?” Feyre interrupted, casually pulling a knife from the baldric across her chest. The faerie cocked his head, eyes tracking that blade with a guarded expression.

“I might be persuaded to offer you safe passage through Autumn. If you do something for me, of course—”

“No deals,” Rhys barked, irritated at how sensual that man watched Feyre. He didn’t trust him. “What do you want?” Feyre asked, obnoxious and difficult to the end.

“There is a curse on this land, too. As you well know,” he added, those eyes sliding down her body again. “A High Lord terrorizes us just as he did in Autumn. Dispatch him for me, and I’ll send you on your merry little way.”

Feyre’s eyes hardened. “You ask too much.”

“Oh, I don’t think I ask enough. What is your death worth, I wonder?” he took a step toward her and Feyre, finally displaying some sense, stumbled back. It made the faerie laugh. 

“There’s that famed human courage. Come, now. With your handsome warrior, surely this is an easy feat? One more High Lord in exchange for a little magical assistance to…?”

“Night,” Rhys offered when Feyre pressed her lips together. They were destined to be at odds, too helpful when the other remained silent. The faeries eyes lit up with delight.

“Night? Well, if you plan to face the winged nightmares of that land and the fearsome creature who sits upon their throne, Autumn will be good practice.”

Feyre’s scowl made her usually lovely features ugly in turn. “Is this the only way you’ll let us pass?”

The faerie pretended to think before nodding. “Yes. I think you’re much better sword fodder than myself, pretty as you are. Stay in the nearby village today and rest. See what this curse has done to my people—”

“We don’t care about faerie trash,” Rhys snarled, tired of the monologuing fae. 

“No,” he sneered, eyes sweeping over the pair of them with disdain. “I would imagine not. Still, this is the only way you leave Autumn alive. Shall I give you a moment to think it over?”

“Fey–”

“We’ll do it,” Feyre said before Rhysand could stop her. His eyes traveled skyward, fingers clenching to angry fists. He heard the hiss of air escape that fae lord, could all but taste his delight.

“Excellent. Here—a room, on me. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early. I hope they teach humans how to read,” he added, drawing Rhys’s attention back to his form. He was grinning sharply, his amusement plain. “Our High Lord is a little less brutish.”

And then, with a snap of cold wind, he was gone. Rhys had to blink his eyes to adjust to the magic, wrinkling his nose against the metallic stench. Only then, alone in a blanket of leaves, did he round on Feyre Archeron.

She was faster. Blade in hand, she pressed one hand to his chest, slamming him so hard against an ancient oak the whole thing shook a rainbow of foliage around them. Rhys bared his teeth as the jagged end of her dagger pressed against his throat. Knee against his balls, Rhys felt as if he was losing his mind. She smelled of pear and lilac and her hair caught copper beneath a soft shaft of sunlight.

Her eyes swore she hated him. “How long will you continue to contradict me?” she demanded. 

Despite his pounding heart, Rhys forced himself to relax. “Harder, Feyre darling.” She pulled away with a disgusted sound, sheathing her blade. Rhys could still feel the heat of her body, could still feel the threatening kiss of her knife. He raised his wrist before she could go too far, jerking her roughly with their shared chain that she fell backwards to the ground.

“If you kill me, you’ll be dragging my dead body to your precious sisters,” he snapped, striding toward her to press his booted foot against her stomach. He supposed he was a little angry with her, after all. “Aligning with that faerie was a mistake.”

“I know it was,” she snapped, shoving him off her. “But he wasn’t going to let us through if we didn’t agree. You don’t know how ruthless the Vanserra’s can be.”

“And you do?”

Feyre’s eyes burned like falling stars. “I do.”

Rhys turned away. “I wish I’d never met you.”

Feyre said nothing at all, though Rhys suspected she felt the same. Silence settled heavy and furious around them, which made their walk through the woods all the more terrible. Rhys itched to yell at her, to scream in her face until—until what? The light went out? Until she stopped fighting him and did what he was told? Until he couldn’t tell the difference between himself and his father? 

He swallowed, forcing himself to count his breaths. So, she’d tricked him. No one had ever done that before and it wounded him a little. Okay, it wounded him a lot. He’d spent too much time trying to fight her, and not enough time being smart. If he wanted out, he’d need to focus on something other than how much he hated Feyre Archeron. 

He did take some comfort in the thought of abandoning her in Prythain. Leave her to the fae she knew so much about—that she’d foolishly made a bargain with in the first place. He didn’t care about the elder Archerons, and at that point in their walk, Rhys was willing to go home, cap in hand, and apologize to his father. 

Well.

Almost. 

They found the village almost by accident. Rhys expected to find it on the outskirts of the forest, built by a river he swore he heard gushing somewhere in the distance. Instead, the two merely stumbled onto the cobblestone street from the forest itself. Built among the trees, the thatched, pointed rooftops and rambling carriages felt so enchanted that Rhys had to take a step backward. Loamy earth mixed with the scent of hot metal and cooking bread wound around him, threading into his chest where it settled beside his beating heart. 

“Come on,” Feyre grumbled, tugging him forward. She didn’t bother concealing the chain between them, which drew more than a few curious looks among the peasants. In some way, he could have been back in his own village. He recognized the nicer, larger homes set slightly apart from the main road. He saw underfed children with big, glazed eyes and men with twisted spines hobbling toward whatever job they’d work until they died.

It was nothing like the village they’d visited in Spring. 

What a terrible way to spend immortality, he thought. 

Feyre’s expression was hard, likely thinking of her own life back home. She was no stranger to hunger, to the kind of poverty that existed even among the beautiful faeries Rhys detested so much. And though he wanted to hate them, he found himself pitying them, too. They were no better than his own people, who were too exhausted and broken to ever consider revolting. 

This was worse, he supposed. At least the Queens who appointed the ruling governors were human. Whatever ruled these people was a monster—enough so that his own son was willing to beg humans to kill him.

No one dared to come close, eyeing the sword over his shoulder and their distinct, human features. Feyre’s eyes swept over them, her lips pressed in a thin line. He understood their wariness of him—he was tall, he was broad, and he was built to slaughter their kind. Feyre was slight and looked, in his opinion, easy to kill. 

It was their humanness that bothered him, he realized. They’d checked into the inn Vanserra had promised them while the faerie at the counter tried very hard not to meet their gaze or touch them. 

“Filth,” the faerie hissed when Feyre took the key. Feyre winced in response, her shoulders sagging. Rhys reached for a dagger strapped to his thigh and slammed it to the wooden counter in warning. He’d intended to tell that faerie to take their words back, but the creature scuttled out of sight, soaked in fear. 

“Coward,” he grumbled, sheathing his blade.

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Feyre whispered, turning her back to the crowded room of patrons drinking and eating among the wooden tables and booths. 

“They should be grateful we’re here,” he disagreed. “Maybe their lives won’t be so miserable once their monstrous High Lord is dead.”

“Or maybe we trade one monster for another,” she mused, stopping at the door with a silver seven on it. 

Rhys had been about to ask her what she knew about the eldest Vanserra when that door swung open. 

One bed.

A small bed, the sort that would force the two of them to sleep close. Neither of them moved for a whole moment, both thinking the exact same thing. 

“I’ll take the floor,” he told her, not thinking about the chain around his wrist until Feyre raised her arm.

“Like this? All night?”

He opened his mouth to say, better than sleeping beside you. But he remembered how she’d been called filth, how people were too afraid to say it to him, but unafraid to say it to her and he stopped. 

“We need to just…” Feyre took a breath. “We need to get used to being close to each other.”

“Great. Shall we bathe then, darling?”

A scowl slid over her features. “We can bathe in the river.”

“And pass up hot water?” he replied, unwilling to let this go. “You can bathe in the river, but I’ll be using soap and maybe even bubbles tonight.”

“You will not—”

“You can sit beside the tub…or climb in with me—”

Feyre shoved him hard in the chest. “You made your point, Rhysand.”

“I’m being serious. You don’t want to sleep next to me without a bath.”

“I don’t want to sleep beside you at all!” she snapped. “Must you make everything so awful?”

“We could have been friends,” he lied, certain Feyre had never had a friend a day in her life. “You’re the one who put a leash on me.”

She had no rebuttal to that. 

They came into the room silently, disarming themselves while trying their best to ignore the other. Rhys hadn’t been lying about the bath, hidden behind a door that didn’t lock all the way. Feyre kept her back turned while he stripped to nothing. His armor unclipped easily, but the shirt beneath hung between the chain, which he supposed meant he’d be wearing until he was free of her. 

Maybe he’d taunt her with a day of washing it, parading around shirtless just to piss her off. He did groan when he folded his body into the small, claw tub. The hot water was a different sort of magic. Rhys almost felt human again, like his own man as he settled himself beneath the gushing tap. Feyre sat on the floor, wrist propped behind her while she faced the wall so she didn’t have to look at him.

Rhys flicked water at her cheek. “Are you always so serious?”

“What’s the alternative? Cracking jokes while we plan to kill a High Lord?”

“It is a little funny, when you think about it,” Rhys said, back against the cool porcelain. “They hate us and yet they need us.”

“Hilarious,” she said dryly.

“Oh, come on,” Rhys tried, sinking lower into the water to soak his hair. “Tell me something you do think is funny.”

“Why don’t you tell me why you wanted to be here so badly to begin with,” Feyre said instead, almost twisting to look at him. She seemed to realize at the last moment that he was naked and in the bath, which was for the best. It had been all fun and games to suggest she sit in here while he bathed, but the reality was Feyre was beautiful.

And Rhys was stupid.

“I preferred the silence, actually–”

“Let me guess,” Feyre pressed, tapping her pointer finger to her chin. “Your father wants you to get married, right? And, stop me if I’m wrong, you’ve decided you’d rather hunt faerie than take a wife.”

“That’s hardly a guess. The whole village has been discussing it,” Rhys snapped, running soap through his hair. “And so what if I don’t want a wife? I don’t imagine you’d enjoy having someone announce you were going to be married, would you? Or just deciding who that person would be without a care about your own feelings?”

“It’s just a little cliched, don’t you think? The handsome lord doesn’t want a wife—”

“Handsome lord?” he interrupted, leaning over the tub so water dripped beside them. Feyre looked up, skittering away when she realized how close his face was. “Tell me more about how good looking I am, darling.”

“Get fucked, Rhysand.”

“Maybe I will,” he said with a smile, settling back into the bath. “We’re in the same bed tonight, after all.”

“I’d rather die.”

He hummed in response. 

Hating himself just a little, for liking that Feyre Archeron thought he was handsome. 

Rhys did not get fucked that evening. He also just barely got any good sleep. Sharing that small bed was miserable given they had to either face each other or lay on their backs, which wasn’t possible. Rhys couldn’t sleep, thinking Feyre was staring at him. He woke himself up constantly, surprised to find her so close, her nose scrunched from whatever terrible dreams plagued her. 

Neither one of them spoke when the sun rose. It was awkward, he thought, and for the first time in his life, Rhys didn’t know what to say to Feyre. He strapped his weapons back to his body before making his way back into the open tavern.

“Eat,” he told her, eyeing the faerie doling out food until he held two plates, along with a decanter of tepid water. 

“Rhys,” she murmured, eyes darting around that stifling room nervously. 

“It saves us rations,” he said, digging in despite his own concerns about the food. He’d been warned his entire life not to eat the fae’s food, not to drink their wine, and to never trust them.

Too late, he supposed, taking that first bite. He had to suppress a groan. It was good. It was possible Rhys was just starving and exhausted of dried meat and fruit, but fuck that morning meal of sausages and beans and eggs and potatoes was the best thing he’d ever tasted. 

Feyre inhaled her food like he did, eyes on her cutlery. 

She was also the first to rise. “Ready?”

No. Rhys offered her a lazy smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

But he was nervous. They’d just barely escaped Spring. What, he wondered, were the odds they survived six more monsters? Something told him that like the territory from before, the beauty of Autumn was deceptive. At least there were no spring flowers, no pretty people. The exhaustion on the villagers faces mingled with the smell of rotting leaves, prickling over his skin. It was a warning he would have been smart to heed. Walking out of the village felt very much like a death march. Even Feyre was more somber than usual, her fingers constantly reaching for the bow slung over her shoulder as if to reassure herself it was still there.

The red haired bastard was waiting in the same place as before. He didn’t look so slick today. Eyes only for Feyre, his fair skin seemed sallow and there was a fresh bruise darkening one of his sharp cheekbones. Some of his auburn hair was standing askew, which could have been from the blustery wind around them, though Rhys suspected it was from raking his fingers through it nervously.

“Eris,” Feyre said coolly. He nodded, clenching his jaw before plastering a smarmy smirk against his features.

“Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Rhys lied. Eris’s amber eyes flicked in his direction. He snapped his fingers, calling up a quiver of arrows.

“Faebane,” he told Feyre, taking a step toward her. Rhys angled his body before her, forcing Eris to hand him the arrows.

“Your dog is protective.”

Rhys only smiled, matching that look on Eris’s face. “Any other words of wisdom for us?”

Eris’s expression turned flat. “Don’t die.”

Rhys turned to hand Feyre the quiver of arrows as Eris lunged, fingers gripping them both. Rhys might have shoved him back, but a rip in the world yanked them both forward. Feyre gasped a moment before crushing blackness threatened to crush them both. He reached for her blindly, drawing her against him.

It was over with a breath, depositing them both before a sprawling estate cut into the hilly landscape. Eris remained on his feet while Feyre and Rhys lay against the dewy grass, Rhys’s arm still flung around her. 

“Prick!” Feyre hissed, and Rhys was mostly confident, though not entirely, that she was speaking to Eris. 

“I can’t go any further,” he told them, his face leached of all its remaining color. “But Beron is inside. You’ll have to solve his puzzle in order to reach him.”

Rhys rose to his feet, helping Feyre as well. 

“I’ll be waiting,” Eris added, some amount of earnestness crossing his features.

“Don’t betray us,” Feyre warned. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, cursebreaker.”

And then he was gone. Rhys had the sense Eris didn’t go far—he swore he could feel those unnaturally bright eyes watching from the trees in the distance.

“Maybe we should kill him, too,” Rhys grumbled. Feyre was too busy staring at the palace before them, built both long and tall. The gnarled wood made it seem as though it were made of the very forest they’d just been ripped from, though it spidered into nothing at the top, devoid of the vivid colors that might have made it feel alive. 

Rhys wondered if the ankle deep sea of leaves had once belonged to the palace. Feyre took a breath, swallowing hard. Rhys had to stop himself from grabbing her hand, unsure where the urge even came from.

They made their way up a path to a massive, curved door carved with the effigy of a vicious, scaled dragon. Rhys reached for the iron ring, intending to push inside, but the beast blinked open jeweled eyes. 

His heart took off in his chest as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. It wasn’t real, and yet its fanged mouth opened as the ground beneath them rumbled. Spears in door frame slid forward, glinting under the midmorning sun.

“Don’t move,” Feyre warned, her eyes sliding to their feet. They’d sprung a trap without even meaning to.

“Answer my riddle,” the beast began, those unseeing ruby eyes fixed somehow on both of them at once. “And I shall let you pass.”

The creature did not need to explain what would happen if they failed. Feyre squared her shoulder, chin lifting.

“Tell us.”

“What is always old and sometimes new? Never sad, but sometimes blue. Never empty, but sometimes full? Never pushes, always pull.”Silence settled over them. Rhys glanced at Feyre, who looked up at him. Did she know? How long did they have to answer? He took a breath.

“The moon.”

There was a grinding of stone that did make him reach for her, gripping her wrist as he waited for whatever came next. The spears in the archway retreated back into the wood, and the door creaked open of its own accord. 

They both exhaled, swallowing hard. 

“Do you think that is the worst of it?” Rhys asked her, certain these little tests would make him insane before they ever found the creature that was waiting for them. 

“No,” Feyre whispered, looking around the palace with wonder. Rhys imagined it had once been beautiful. Chandeliers and sconces that had once likely illuminated the palace were unlit and gathering cobwebs. Arching stairs and snaking halls splintered off in new directions, while their shoes betrayed the path they walked from accumulated dust. 

He could have spent a week exploring that place and likely never seen everything. Feyre did pause at a portrait of a beautiful, auburn haired woman staring blankly back at them. Rhys thought there was something distinctly sad about her russet colored eyes, though maybe that was his own fear reflected back at him. 

“Where are we going?”

“Down, I think,” Feyre murmured, turning from that portrait to another door. Another dragon, another iron ring.

Another puzzle. This time, when ruby bright eyes opened and a mouth filled with sharp teeth opened, Rhys wasn’t so afraid. Even when the ground shook and spikes from the ceiling began to inch themselves lower, he didn’t shrink, if only because neither did Feyre.

Though his heart was still racing. It made it harder to concentrate as that dragon offered to let them pass so long as they solved his riddle.

“This thing, all things devour- birds, beasts, trees, flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hard stone to meal. Slays kings, ruins towns, beats high mountains down.”

Feyre glanced at the spikes overhead. “Time,” she said, clenching her fists at her side. 

The spikes retracted and the door opened. He’d expected it to lead them down into a damp dungeon where whatever horror was hopefully chained to a wall and easy to slaughter. He certainly didn’t expect a sun bathed corridor crusted in topaz and emerald. Yellows and orange and green spilled over the buckled floor beneath them, tracing the path of giant, ancient tree roots that had begun to reclaim the palace. Glass from the wall of windows was long gone, allowing the nipping chill to pour around them, enveloping them both like a cloak.

Rhys might have reveled in the chaotic beauty had he not found that weathered pile of bones. Someone had been here before them—and someone had made it just across the long hall before whatever killed them did so with crushing force. 

Feyre had seen them, too. Splintered and bleached from years—maybe decades—laying in the sun.

Another door, another dragon with ruby eyes. Rhys’s mouth was dry, his boots mere inches from the bones. Feyre, too, was so, so pale. Like she didn’t expect them to survive this test. Rhys took a breath and waited.

“A thing there is whose voice is one; 

Whose feet are four, and two, and three. 

So mutable a thing is none, 

That moves in earth, and sky, and sea.

When on most feet this thing doth go,

Its strength is weakest and its pace most slow.”

Rhys turned to Feyre, eyes wide as he repeated the words in his head. Ignoring the grinding beneath his feet, Rhys closed his eyes and tried to imagine this creature. To swallow his own nerves and focus on the words.

Feyre screamed. Overhead, ground stone rained down on them, betraying what had happened to the bones at his feet. The ceiling was slowly making its way toward them. Rhys had a vision of their bones laying among the pile, snapped and shattered as a new adventurer, sent by the terrible Vanserra son, came to die just like they did.

“Rhys—” she panted, reciting the riddle to him. Focus, those moonbright eyes demanded. It was hard when he could feel the ceiling brushing his hair, could feel the impending weight of his own death. 

“I—”

They were both panicking. Rhys pressed his hand to the ceiling, thinking he could slow it with his own strength. He groaned, knees buckling against the sheer force of that driving wall. 

“Four, then two, then three?” he asked her when Feyre grabbed his face. 

“Four, two, three. What beast…?” she breathed, clearly counting every animal she knew that might transform itself, hunching like he was as the wall crept closer and closer to the ground. All Rhys could think about was his grandfather, hunched over a cane. As Rhys came to his knees, Feyre’s eyes went wife.

“Humans, it’s human!” she screamed, turning toward that sightless dragon.

The ceiling paused and then, with a scraping sound, began to draw itself back up. 

“Oh, thanks the gods,” Feyre whispered, reaching for him to help him to his feet.

He only nodded, swallowing the urge to pull her against him. He just—Rhys just needed to touch someone. It didn’t matter who it was. Feyre was just there. Rhys didn’t, if only because the door swung open and this, he suspected, was their final test.

“I think I preferred being hunted by a monster,” he whispered, following her into the open, arching throne room. It had likely once been majestic, a regal seat for the creatures who ruled here. It was a scorched wreckage of melted iron and gold and wood. Fire had so clearly claimed the vast majority of the interior, twisting the throne against a raised, dark platform. Windows had been blasted from their panes, frosted beneath their feet. Rhys was careful to avoid more protruding tree roots as he surveyed the great, cavernous space. 

“Rhys,” Feyre whispered, grabbing his wrist. He turned to look, surprised she was touching him, only to find her head tilted toward the ceiling. Dread swept through him as he, too, turned to look. 

He should have known.

“RUN!” he ordered, but the door was locked behind them. A bellow of fury betrayed what had happened to the windows, while beating wings blew burning air in their direction. A massive orange and gold dragon was perched among the rafters, watching them with flame red eyes. All those riddles for this? Why not lead with the dragon, which was far more terrifying? 

A burst of flame would have taken Feyre out had Rhys not grabbed her around the waist, using his back to shield her frame from the blast. The heat was the worst thing he’d ever felt, burning the back of his neck as they made their way toward the walls. They were going to die, and it wasn’t going to be heroic, or even particularly clean.

It would be fast, though. Eyes smarting against his burning flesh, Rhys drew his sword. Feyre had the arrows Eris had given her. There was more than just faebane laced on the shimmering gold feathers, though Rhys couldn’t say what kind of magic they’d been imbued with.

In that moment, he didn’t care.

“The wings, Feyre, shoot his wings!”

Feyre winced, sending an arrow flying into the air. Faster than his eyes could track, she had embedded one of those ash arrows into the soft leather of the dragon's wings. It roared, sending flame raining back down on them. He needed Feyre to damage that other wing, to bring the beast to the ground where he might embed his sword into its soft underbelly. That was the only reason he covered her with his body again, groaning loudly under the burn against his neck and scalp. Feyre leaned over him once the blast stopped, back pressed to the scorched wall behind them. Red cheeked, Feyre let another arrow fly.

“Get up,” she ordered, though Rhys didn’t particularly want to. Not when he heard the beast roar in pain before slamming so hard to the floor it made his teeth rattle. Feyre had already notched another arrow, holding it against chapped, raw lips as her eyes darted between the High Lord and Rhys.

Terrible, world-ruining laughter erupted from that thing. “Pathetic humans,” he growled, talons ripping into the floor beneath her. The dragon tried—and failed—to lift his terrible, glittering wings and take flight again. Blood dripped around him in viscous black puddles that threatened to turn Rhys’s stomach. It was nothing like the gash on Feyre’s forehead, reopened from their first fight to streak down her face a bright, wet red. 

This was twisted, ugly and rotten just like the creature in front of them.

Rhys spun his blade in his hand. At the same time Feyre loosed an arrow into the creatures eye, distracting it just long enough for Rhys to surge forward.

“The neck, you need to—”

“Don’t scream it at me!” Rhys shouted back, well aware she was telling the monster exactly what he meant to do. Feyre unleashed another arrow, hitting the writhing dragon squarely in his smoking snout. Rhys ached, was certain this was the moment he’d be eaten even as he raised his blade. Another arrow hit the beast in the face, splattering Rhys with more of that thick, warm, inky blood. He spat, fingers bruised around the hilt of his blade, and plunged it into the gold scaled neck. 

It wouldn’t be enough, though despite Feyre having screamed their plan, he did manage to still the monster just long enough to twist his blade. More blood poured to the floor, drenching him until Rhys was all but coated. 

“Keep going!” Feyre screamed from somewhere in the distance. Rhys was only half present, choking in the foul stench of the dying beast. He understood he needed to take the head entirely.

Pulling out his blade, Rhys watched that limp neck flop to the floor, still attached to the High Lord who had once been so wholly unkillable.

Feyre had come into view, another arrow notched on her bow. 

“You,” the creature gasped, dull eyes sliding from Rhys to Feyre. “You will not survive this.”

The warning of the first monster settled back in Rhys’s mind. 

Two down. Five to go. 

With a roar, Rhys brought his sword up over his head, severing the dragon's head from its neck. It was not a clean death. The creature gurgled in pain, choking on its own foul blood before it finally perished. Rhys had to cut through sinew and bone, all of which took an immeasurable amount of strength. 

He was exhausted when he managed to pull his blade away, staggering backwards only to nearly slip into more blood. 

“I need to get out of here,” Rhys said, certain he’d vomit if he had to breathe in the rotting smell of faerie filth for even another moment. Feyre came with him, slinging her bow over her shoulder with one hand while the other reached for his arm. They came out together—no riddles, no pressing walls or monsters. Just crisp, fresh air and a tingling against his hand that told him the mark that had been inked when he’d killed the beast of spring had expanded. 

He’d look at it later.

“I take back what I said,” he groaned, eyes sweeping over the undisturbed landscape. 

“About?”

“I think I would like a bath in the river.”

Feyre cracked a smile, the first he’d ever seen. Rhys was given no time to appreciate it, or the fact that, improbably, they were both still alive. Eris Vanserra had materialized before them, crowned in burnished leaves and all but glowing with power.

He smiled, though there was little warmth to his gaze. Rhys was still clutching his bloodied sword in hand, primed to kill this faerie, too. 

“Well, well, well,” Eris purred. “Look what you’ve done.”

[mmvalentine]

I don’t want to overwhelm you with asks and fics ideas, so feel free to ignore this. But as soon as I heard Bad Habits by Ed Sheeran I was like this is such a Feysand in a Ritas, rhys seeing feyre owning the dancefloor, when they haven’t accepted the bond, but they feel the tension, slight hook up in the alley outside, them being slightly drunk.

As I said, feel free to ignore this and yeah, I love your Feysand fics you area a brilliant writer! Whatever you write I will read.

Omg this prompt is literally from July! I thought I wasn't going to do it but for some reason also couldn't bring myself to delete it so it's just sat in my inbox this whole time... Anyway I'm feeling quite mediocre about it but also I thought I should follow up Two of Us so you don't think I'm a merciless tease x

Bad Habits

Feyre's back hit the bricks with a force that might have hurt, had her every inch of skin not been starved for stimulation. She didn't know how much of it was down to the drinks Mor had been pushing her way all night, and how much of it was that Rhys's hands were now finally, finally on her and he couldn't touch her enough. His mouth moved on her neck and he cupped her jaw, thumb stroking her lower lip and palm just under her ear. The silver rings on his fingers were surprisingly warm on her skin. Feyre shuddered, and dragged his face back up, as if she couldn't stand to have his lips off hers for more than a minute. Rhys loved every second of it.

*

Feyre tugged the sparlking black dress over her head and made a face as the hem hit her mid thigh.

"This is a shirt," she told Mor. "Are you giving me a skirt, too?"

"On me, sure it's a shirt," Mor called back from the depths of her walk in closet. "You're so petite though, it looks better as a dress."

"I can't go out in public like this."

"Darling, you're in the Night Court now. Put that scandalised look away and try the shoes."

"I do have my own clothes, you know."

"Yes but Rhys has seen all of them and quite frankly, we're bored."

Her statuesque friend popped out wearing her signature red, a dress that wrapped round and around her from the nape of her neck to her ankles and somehow only covered only the bare minumum.

"Besides," Mor continued. "Next to me you'll look like a priestess."

Feyre rolled her eyes, and put on her own shoes. Achieving Mor-level glamour was not worth breaking an ankle.

*

Rhys's tongue licked over Feyre's lip, and it was all the asking he needed to do. The urge to devour him whole was overwhelming- and if she wasn't so light headed, from ale and from kissing him, the thought might have scared her. This wasn't like her at all, this... this desperation, this hunger... then Rhys's tongue on hers made her mind go blank again. Her hands pulled at his shirt, looking for skin she could touch. After all these months of watching the golden brown satin of him, it seemed wholly unfair that she couldn't find any now.

Especially since Rhys was having no such problem- his hands traced down the side of her thigh, pale and bare in the moonlight. Curved to the underside and the squeezed just above her back of her knee. Feyre finally managed to tug the hem of Rhys's shirt free from his trousers, and his skin was hot to the touch.

*

When they got to Rita's, Rhys and the other boys were nowhere to be seen. Feyre didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved- it was getting harder and harder to be around Rhys lately. Worse, it was getting harder and harder to be apart from him.

"Come on," Mor said near her ear, shouting over the noise of the crowd. "Let's get drinks."

Half way through her third tankard, there was still no sign of Rhys. Feyre looked toward the door for the hundredth time, and then scowled in frustration. Since when was she dependent on a male to have a good time? She threw back the rest of her ale, and resolved that she would stop expecting him to come.

Feyre looked around for Mor, and spotted her in a dark corner, laughing loudly at someting a dark haired female had just said. Deciding not to bother the pair, she leaned on the bar and ordered another drink.

"Feyre Cursebreaker," said a voice. Feyre turned to see a handsome fae with gleaming white tusks watching her. "Not here alone are you?" he asked.

"No," Feyre replied. Then, "well, yes." She laughed. "I'm here with a friend who is otherwise occupied."

The fae followed Feyre's gaze, and his eyes twinkled.

"Ah," he said. "In that case, might you be in need of a dance partner?"

"I might be," Feyre smiled.

*

"Do you know," Rhys murmured against her collarbone, "I hate watching you dance with other males."

"Since when?" Feyre gasped, as his hands pulled into fists in her hair. "You've seen me dance with many people."

"Since always," Rhys replied, moving his tongue in the hollow of her throat. "I just try not to show it, as a general rule."

"Why?" Feyre asked, eyes closing and nails scratching over Rhys's shoulder blades. Fabric tore as talons appeared and disappeared from her fingertips.

"Because jealousy is not a good look on me," he said, before sliding very sharp teeth back up the side of her neck. "Especially because you're not actually mine."

His voice dropped to a growl over the last word, and before she could think to reply, Rhys was kissing her again.

*

Feyre tossed her hair back and laughed as the tusked fae twirled her around. She was having fun, actual fun, and it seemed a precious commodity these days.

The fae slid his hands over her hips, and Feyre let him. For once, it felt good to feel attractive. With Rhys, there was always this strange tension of wanting- but not wanting to want. After nearly marrying Tamlin, sometimes it was too much. Too intense. But here, out dancing... it didn't seem like such a bad thing to be lusted after.

Several pairs of eyes had stopped to watch them, and Feyre knew it. Usually, she was surrounded by the Rhys's inner circle, and so people kept their distance. A few more brazen guests always approached Rhys- but of course everyone else paled in comparison to the beauty of the High Lord.

Feyre lifted her arms in the air and moved her hips with the music. She had never, ever been like this in the Spring Court. Tamlin would have a conniption. The beat thrummed through her and on her immortal feet, she could have danced forever.

She almost stopped dead still when she turned and found herself staring into a pair of violet eyes, on the edge of the dancefloor.

*

Feyre was burning properly now, and pushed Rhys's jacket off his shoulders. He let go of her only long enough to shrug out of it, the beautiful fabric falling to the alley floor. Then his hands were on her again, shaping over her hips and then curving over her backside. She thudded against the wall once more. Feyre whimpered in his mouth, and his fingers dug into her.

"Well," Rhys murmured, "this is certainly not the place I'd imagined kissing you for the first time."

"Technically," Feyre argued, "the first place you kissed me was in there."

"Still." Rhys's hands wandered up toward her waist, but Feyre pushed them back down. He grinned and squeezed. "I hope you know that back alley is not usually in my repertoire."

"I don't care where we are," Feyre whispered. "Just don't stop touching me."

Rhys lost the grin and kissed her again, every bit as feverish and frantic as she was. Feyre's absurd little dress rode further up her thighs, and it was too easy for Rhys's next pass to take his fingertips skimming over her rear to graze the cotton of her underwear.

*

Feyre forced herself to keep moving. She wanted to feel this light always. She wanted Rhys to see her being light, and carefree. There he stood, one hand holding a mug of ale and the other in his pocket. She closed her eyes and kept dancing. When she opened them again Rhys was no longer standing on the edge of the crowd.

Feyre turned, and found herself eye level with the High Lord's chest. She looked up in surprise. The fae with the tusks nowhere to be seen.

"Mind if I cut in?" Rhys hummed in her ear, and when she put her hand in his, he took both of her wrists and placed them around his neck.

"Where have you been?" Feyre asked him. She went for an accusatory tone, but it came out giddy. Despite everything, she was happy to see him.

"Got held up at one of the Illyrian camps," Rhys told her. "What have I missed?"

"Well, you're four drinks behind," she said.

"Three," Rhys corrected.

"Two," chimed a voice, and suddenly there was Mor putting a tiny glass in his hand. Rhys laughed, raised it toward Feyre and downed it in on gulp. He made a face.

"Mor, what is this?"

"Okay, technically one, this stuff is very strong," his cousin said, dodging the question. "Now drink this and we'll all be even." She replaced his glass with an identical one, which Rhys rolled his eyes at but still swallowed.

"It's a real talent of hers, huh?" Feyre said.

"What?" asked Rhys.

"Getting her friends drunk!" Feyre told him.

*

Feyre moaned softly at let her head hit the wall behind her. Her hands tightened on Rhys's arms, and he shuddered. His fingers moved again, more surely this time, a little way up and then back down the seam of her. He ducked his head and kissed the swell of her breast, and pressed the pads of his fore and middle fingers against the damp spot they found in her underwear.

"Rhys," she sighed. He glanced up, looking for any sign that might not want this. But she simply watched him, eyes hooded and lips slightly parted. He rubbed his fingers against her again, and she made the sweetest little sound.

"You look so divine like this," Rhys whispered. He kept his fingers moving, his free hand sliding up her back and massaging gently behind her neck. "I wish you could see yourself."

Feyre only moaned again in response, and her blue-gray eyes slid closed. The corner of Rhys's mouth quirked up, and he floated an image toward her. Of her flushed and panting against the wall.

Feyre's eyes flew open.

"Now tell me that's not sexy," Rhys growled.

"Prick," Feyre muttered. "Shields are down..." she trailed off, her eyes rolling back again as Rhys moved her panties to one side and was now sliding his fingers against her bare pussy.

*

It did not take long for Mor's mystery drinks to fizzle into Rhys's bloodstream. Feyre watched the change with delight- how his eyes unfocused slightly, how he pulled her a little more firmly against him.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you drunk," Feyre told him. Rhys frowned.

"I shouldn't do it around you," he said.

"You most definitely should," Feyre argued. "It makes me feel like we are on at least slightly more even footing." Rhys shook his head.

"I feel like we're equals when we're sober."

Feyre snorted. "Well that makes one of us."

"And I get into bad habits when I'm drunk."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm not as careful with you as I should be."

"And those are the words of an equal?" she challenged.

"No," Rhys said. "Not careful like I think you're breakable. Careful like..."

"Like what?"

"Like I want you so badly." His words came out all on a rush, his forehead knocking against hers. "I want you all the time, and I'm only just managing to hold myself back."

Feyre stared at him. He stared back, and neither of them quite realised they had stopped moving.

"So don't," Feyre said quietly. Rhys heard her like there was no one else in the room.

"Don't what?" he asked slowly.

"Don't hold yourself back. Not from me."

*

Rhys buried his face in the crook of Feyre's neck. It was too much to look at her and touch her at the same time- he might combust from the wanting.

She was hot and silken against his fingers, and so wet that he was sliding inside her before he had thought about what he was doing. Feyre's hands curled in his hair, and she lifted her hips to him.

"Gods Feyre..." He pulled back, circled twice around her clit before pushing back into her. Feyre's back arched and the sound that slid from her lips was to die for.

Rhys hovered his thumb over her clit while he worked his fingers inside for her, and she began to drip down his hand.

"Fuck." Rhys sank his teeth into Feyre's shoulder, and breathed in the scent at her pulsepoint. It was headier than the drinks Mor had given him. He moved lower, put his mouth over her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. It peaked gorgeously, and Feyre's hands tugged sharply at his hair.

"Is that what you like, Feyre darling?" he asked her. "Being bound this tightly to me? Hands in your panties and teeth on your nipple?"

Feyre nodded wordlessly, mouth moving but no sounds escaping.

"Can you come like this?" Rhys said.

"Yes," Feyre breathed.

"I'd love you to do it," Rhys told her. "I'd love you to come on my fingers, right here."

Feyre's moans got higher, breathier, and Rhys moved his fingers faster.

"Do it," he whispered at her jaw. "Come for me, darling."

And then she did, and Rhys clamped his free hand over her mouth while she broke apart on his fingers. As much as he wanted to savour the sound of it, this was not a moment he was keen on sharing with any passers by. So he muffled the scream and kept his fingers moving until she started coming down. And then he let go of her mouth and kissed her instead, over and over and pushing her back into the red bricks of Rita's wall.

*

It was in slow motion that Rhys kissed her, the first time.

Dancing bodies jostled all around them but somehow no one touched them, as they leaned into one another, and into one another, and into one another until finally their lips met and the only thing Feyre could hear was her own heartbeat filling her ears.

The first kiss glided smoothly into the second one, as Rhys's fingertips touched her chin, and then her jaw. Feyre stood up on her tiptoes, and the kiss deepened.

Was kissing always like this? Feyre didn't know. Couldn't remember kissing anyone else, ever, not in this moment.

Rhys's hands came around her waist, and she pressed closer to him, tasting orange and jasmine and salt on his lips.

After a moment, Rhys pulled back with a lopsided smile.

"See?" he said. "Bad habits."

Feyre knocked him with her shoulder. "I thought you weren't so bad."

Rhys grinned, and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. He slid his nose down hers, and very nearly kissed her again.

"Come on," he said. Reluctantly. "Let's get some fresh air. Cool down a little."

Feyre exhaled and nodded. She didn't want to stop kissing him... but she supposed they had been drinking, and it might not be the best time to be making relationship-altering decisions right now.

"Right," she agreed. "That'll help."

***

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @achernarlight @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @hopefulacademia @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl @whoever-you-choose-to-love @endlessdaydream @themoonthestarsthesuriel

[bookofmirth]

controversial opinion: the way sjm didn’t let nesta grow into her powers and train them even though nesta had that whole arc of never wanting to be weak again and never wanting to be at someone’s mercy is very strange to me. nesta is smart. she knows cassian is the strongest warrior and still saw him almost die on the battlefield. so i’m not sure why she thinks she can protect her and her friends from everything with just knowing how to throw a punch. it feels like she should understand that training and mastering her power is the only way to become unbeatable and to save herself and her friends from being hurt by anything.

obviously nesta doesn’t want anything cauldron given but her mating bond to cassian is cauldron given and she has no issues accepting that pretty quickly. and obviously sjm definitely has some bias to making sure rhys is always the most powerful (amren losing her powers, nesta losing hers, feyre never being described as stronger than him) and honestly i rather rhys gave up his own powers to save feyre and fix his own mess for once

but the other thing about nesta and not training her powers but rather physically training is that it puts her on the same playing field as cassian. this way nesta can never be more powerful than cassian. she will never be a better warrior than him so she’s always going to be inferior to him. she doesn’t have her otherworldly powers anymore so she’s just gonna train everyday and sjm is gonna do the same shit to nesta that she did to feyre. after their respective books, they’re gonna sit in a corner until they have babies

honestly i rather rhys gave up his own powers to save feyre and fix his own mess for once

This would have been AMAZING OMG. That would actually be a really interesting fanfic.

I feel like Nesta's internal journey was well done, I really do. Watching her struggle with her negative thoughts and knowing that she's doing shitty things and feeling bad about it, but almost being unable to stop herself. And the way that she internalizes a lot of the things that people have said, or the way that she misconstrues others' actions (e.g. thinking that everyone "chooses" other people), it all made sense to me and made me feel for her. And I felt like we were able to watch her overcome those instincts.

It's just the other stuff, like the powers? And the drinking? I think we are supposed to accept the loss of her powers as being because of one thing you mentioned, that she didn't want them in the first place, but I also think that Nesta didn't trust herself with her powers. Everyone gets mad that the IC didn't want to tell her about making the sword and stuff, but Nesta was also very wary of herself? She's very "act now think later" and especially in the beginning of acosf, her actions were pretty destructive. I don't think that Nesta trusted herself, and that's why she and Amren fought in the first place - Feyre wanted Amren to convince her to train her powers, and Nesta shut down and lashed out.

Nesta does still have some powers. She's still High Fae and Made, so... I suppose we will find out in the future what she is still capable of!

I do get what you mean about her essentially having to take on Cassian's expertise. Nesta was a fighter before, it's just that she did so with words. I guess I am still mixed on whether it made sense for her to lose her powers because to me, it's about whether it makes sense for Nesta, not if it puts her on par with someone else.

after their respective books, they’re gonna sit in a corner until they have babies

tbf Feyre is part of ruling the court, it's just that she and Nesta were not in a good place in acosf and since we were following Nesta, we didn't see much of Feyre unless it was a scene fraught with some sort of plot tension. We don't really get to see Feyre's day-to-day. Plus, the stupid death pact thing. I hope that sjm shows Feyre being a bit more active coming up (in CC3, apparently), and that IF anyone else ends up pregnant, they still continue being a part of the story. She's got an opportunity here to not sideline mothers.

[vidalinav]

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The game had not begun.

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

Waiting for someone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not as powerful as her anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

Queen indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I discovered?” She sang.

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

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

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

“People fear me,” Nesta said, proudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nesta could smell his fear…

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

“Duly noted.”

The rest mumbled their assent.

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

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

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

Cassian gave her a hard look.

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

Cassian scoffed, lifting his lips in an outrageous laugh.

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

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

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

Oh, right.

“Will you continue to be our emissary?”

That was a question Nesta was not expecting…

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

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

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

Nesta smiled at the hypocrisy.

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

~

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

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

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

[oraganji]

IF ANYONE WANTS WRITING INSPO

ok here’s the thing. I’m way too lazy and unmotivated to write a whole series, I am in awe of anyone who can actually do that or has done it. But in the spirit of ✨ hypocrisy✨ , of course I love reading them, and thinking about ideas for some series that will never actually come to fruition. So, for all the ACOTAR writers out there, I have a way-too-long idea for an Azriel x reader that I want to read as a series, or even like a couple of snippets of writing. Here it is:

Ok, so our (preferably female bc it’s my request but I’m not trying to disclude people here it’s just my preference) MC (I like the name Kora/Cora, or Arya, whatever, but y’know, since I’m not writing this, it’s not exactly my decision to make, it could just be Y/N, that’s fine too). Anyways, she’s half-seraphim, from Cretea, and is the commander of the seraphim/Cretea army. Now, here’s where the pick your story begins. I was thinking that she could be Drakon’s sister or something, to make her a princess, even though she only acts like a commander (I love nicknames that have a meaning. So like if Azriel calls the reader angel, it’s because of her white seraphim wings, and if he calls her princess, it’s because she actually is one). So she can either be his sister, or just the commander. She was old enough to have fought in that big war that happened with Miryam and stuff about the humans or whatever. IMPORTANT PART OF THIS: MC has water and ice powers, but to a massive scale. Like she can raise ocean tides, create snow/hailstorms, all that good stuff. I was thinking she could be called a Tidemaker, like in the Grishaverse, but you could totally change around the name. That’s the base of her character. Other than what I described, free reign to whoever is crazy enough to read/write this.

So now, I think of this as a slight (major) rewrite. This takes place right after Feyre makes it back home from enemy Tamlin. So, Hybern’s armies attack Createa for some UnKnOwN reason. Maybe MC’s dad/parental figure dies in the battle, and MC is filled with grief and rage. MC fights against them until she’s bloody and battered, using the ocean and sky as her weapons. Cretea is utterly destroyed, and she tries flying to a safe place. She had met Rhysand, Cassian, and our boy Azriel before during that Great War, because she was a commander, and the Night Court was allied with Cretea at the time. She remembers this, and tries to fly all the way to Velaris. She just makes it before collapsing/passing out, and Azriel’s shadows bring him to her.

Now, our boy is shocked because he actually used to have a little crush on MC the war so many decades ago. He sees her about to die and starts to ✨ panic✨ , obviously. So, I’m thinking he tells his shadows to find Madja, and busts into the House of Wind or something, and like alerts everyone by just saying “it’s Kora/Arya/MC”. So blah blah blah, cute Azriel taking care of MC moments, she tells them what she remembers about being attacked, etc. ALSO, i think it would be SO GREAT if Cassian and Rhysand called her Goose, instead of dove, or one of those other cheesy nicknames. Geese still have white wings, so it kinda fits. I just think it would be kinda funny if the first time they were meeting to discuss war strategy, MC showed off all of her powers, and established herself as a powerful, bad b****h, and these idiots call her a goose. AnYwAyS, time skip to the meeting with the high lords cause I don’t think things through. MC comes in later than our night court buddies because she “likes to make an entrance”, and walks in there with like a crown of gold laurels (i like that as a crown idea), and like a sage green dress or something (GREEN AND GOLD IS SO PRETTY), and is all like “hello ladies! and boys. What did I miss?” after not being there for like 200 years. Everyone is shocked, and she has a little spat with Beron, where she’s like “You’re just itching to play, huh Beron? Well, I’ll warn you, fire doesn’t tend to thrive with someone like me *smirk*.” I’M DYING. And meanwhile Azriel’s *mini* crush is slowly developing even more. So after that idc what happens, BUT. I think it would be great if Cassian made MC a general or something to help him out in the war with Hybern. Then, when she goes to leave after the war, to rebuild Cretea, and Rhys and Cass ask her to stay, she give a condition, which is that she wants to train the Illyrian girls. And she would leave after she feels like that initiative is set in place. So once she sees that females are being trained, she leaves. Later, Cass invites her for winter solstice very last minute, so she comes with one gift, for our special somene, AZZY BOY!. And it’s a moonflower in an ice sphere, cause headcannon: Azriel likes moonflowers, and so does MC. One day they were walking together or flying together, and she saw some, and pointed them out. Then Azriel plucked one and TUCKED IT IN HER HAIR OMG GET ME SOMEONE LIKE AZRIEL. And he’s like amazed that she remembered and saved the flower. Crush level rising. But at the same time, Elain seems interested in him, which MC can see, and thinks that Az likes Elain, so she goes back to Cretea cause she a little bit jelly.

I’m not a romance writer, so I was just thinking that once Cretea is close to rebuilt, MC invites everyone to come visit, and is taking a stroll with Azriel. She sees moonflowers again, and this time she plucks one and puts it in his hair, and goes “Damn. I bet I didn’t look this good when that thing was in my hair.” And then Azriel mutters under his breath, “you did. you looked ethereal. like an angel.” but MC kinda hears a little bit of it, so she gives Azriel a little kiss on his jaw, cause she can’t reach his cheek (THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE I’M SCREAMING) and says “I heard that Az. I think you look ethereal too.” He’s one blushy boy after this. omg why am I like this. But, plot twist, Elain saw this whole interaction go down and gets PISSED. Meanwhile, MC drags Azriel around, while he trails behind her like an awestruck puppy. She finds a starfruit tree (which I’m making native to Cretea, like it’s a rare thing elsewhere) and gets some seeds from them from Elain, saying that it would be good for her garden. And Azriel just thinks about how thoughtful she is, even to people she doesn’t necessarily like. They get back, and Elain is complaining about how Azriel chose MC over her to Nesta , who I think would be besties with MC. MC walks into the room and hears. Elain realizes this and tries to insult/yell at MC. But MC just had a sad smile and goes, “I brought you some starfruit seeds, Elain. They’re only native to Cretea, and I thought it might be good for your garden. Good night Elain.” OK so this is why I think it would be good if MC was Drakon’s sister and a princess. She knows she’s a princess, but she really only considers herself to be a commander. She’s debating going back to Cretea, or staying, and she tells Azriel that she’s prob gonna leave soon. And our bat boy is all ✨ panik✨  when he hears this. He says “But I wa - everyone wants you to stay”. MC smirks and goes “what were going to say Az. They’re like really close together now, so Az leans down and gives her a gentle kiss and goes, “I want you stay”. MC is stunned for a moment, and looking dazed, goes “well then I guess I’m staying.”AHHHHHHHHH. She can prob be a general under Cass.

OK SO I DO HAVE AN IDEA FOR MORE WITH OUR ANGEL AND DEVIL. Where they discover the mating bond, there’s a big threat on Cretea, MC is a bad b***h as always, and protective Azriel makes several appearences.

Y’all can make up some situations after this as well, or if you want, which I don’t know why you would, my disorganized mess of a brain can write more about the thing above.

OMG THIS WAS WAY TOO LONG. Plz tell me if u guys liked this, or are actually gonna write this crap. And let me know is you have questions! Have a nice day lovelies!

[arinbelle]

So I just realized something.

We been screaming about Nessian for years and yeah I'm happy it's canon now etc. etc.

BUT...

I remember we all said the book was too rushed in the end and we didn't get to see them be a couple because they established that late into the book. But you know what? They don't have much to show. They kinda didn't do normal couple things and there isn't much to like fall back on. And I'm not saying that's a bad thing, I'm just saying, I'd love for them to get married early like the idiots they are and then realize omg I love her but I don't even know what her favorite color is? Or, omg he's the love of my life but why the hell does he have such a god awful voice when he sings and why does he only do it in the shower?

Like just imagine, Cassian learning Nesta's favorite foods, Nesta figuring out what Cassian likes to do when he's having a bad day that isn't training. Like just, I don't know, learning more about each other. Talking about their messed up childhoods and realizing they have each other now. And when I say I want Nesta to talk about her human life, I mean, out of context of Feyre. Out of the context of," I was a bad sister and I'm a horrible person." Because I get it, she's healed, she feels remorse, but how about tell Cassian about that time you put a bug in your stuck up tutor's bag so you wouldn't have to do boring lessons for the day. Or Cassian can tell her about this place he used to go to in Illyria to be alone and calm down, because he may love his brothers but he is not made up of his brothers. He's his own person and stuff he likes and dislikes, things he's done and experiences he's had (which are numerous cuz my goodness he's old) are all separate from Rhys and Azriel and that's okay. He can share parts of him that only he has, that no one else knows, and she can do the same. And they can be each other's "person."

I don't know. I'm manifesting someone writing a fanfic of these scenarios and tagging me.

👀Just saying.