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duskandcobalt · 10 months ago

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Stargirl: Part Four

Following her last vision, Elain and Azriel navigate the surprise revelation and the frenzy that comes along with it.

...

Well, well, well... my smutty little darling that was only ever supposed to be one part comes to an end. This last part was intended to be just a little dirty short thing but somehow it turned into a 6k word monster soooo???? idk i had fun writing this, I hope you have fun reading it and I'm so thrilled I could get this out just in time for the last day of @sjmromanceweek 💕💗💞

this can be read as a stand alone but if you'd like to see how elain's sexy little visions came to be, you can find the first part of stargirl here as well as all the other parts in my masterlist xx

18+ please, gratuitous smut and a little bit of breeding kink as a valentine's day treat 💌👀♥️

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

Elain runs a trembling hand down the front of her dress as she takes a deep breath.

She’s wearing a beautiful ivory gown made of delicate lace that’s almost sheer. Only heavy clusters of floral embroidery cover her from the top of the bodice down to the middle of her thighs where it tapers off before picking up again to form a stunning train that trails dramatically behind her. The dress has long sleeves, also covered in embroidery, but her shoulders and decolletage are left bare - an intentional design choice that she and her seamstress had made with a certain someone in mind.

A veil is ever so carefully placed into the crown of Elain’s intricately woven hair by the practiced hands of the twins when a soft knock sounds from the bedroom door, interrupting the mindless chatter she’d been exchanging with Nuala and Cerridwen.

She catches sight of the male in the reflection of her mirror. His tall, lean frame occupies almost the entire doorway. He’s dressed in an immaculately tailored suit and a small dusk coloured rose is pinned to the lapel of his jacket. His violet eyes soften as they meet hers and the very corners of his lips turn up into a fond smile.

“He’s not going to know what to do with himself when he sees you.” Rhysand says quietly. “You make for a beautiful bride, Elain.”

Elain ducks her head in thanks. The warmth of a blush creeps up her neck and blooms across her cheeks as the nerves that she’s been trying to keep at bay all morning finally settle low in her stomach at her brother-in-law’s sincere compliment and at the reminder of the male waiting for her in the garden.

She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Couldn’t believe that she was about to walk down the aisle to her mate.

…

It had been two years since she’d had that vision that had hinted at a truth she hadn’t been prepared to receive. A vision that had shown her this day - a mating ceremony to a dark haired Shadowsinger instead of the son of Autumn as the Cauldron had once suggested.

That single vision had come out of nowhere and thrown her entire life into a spiral.

She’d never forget sitting up in his bed, turning towards him and whispering those words that had turned their entire world upside down.

You’re my mate.

Azriel had only stared at her, still as a statue, as she fumbled over her words in a desperate attempt to explain to him exactly what she’d seen.

The offering of cake. A black ribbon binding her wrist to his.

He’d broken down moments later after finally finding his voice and asking her a few carefully curated questions to understand exactly what she’d seen. He’d clutched her tight to his chest as tears trickled from his eyes and into her hair. She’d never seen him like that before but she understood immediately that the overwhelming feeling that coursed through him was relief.

Relief from the knowledge that he hadn’t been forgotten by the Mother or the Cauldron. From knowing that he hadn’t been deemed unworthy of a mate because of all the blood he’d drawn over the centuries.

They’d gone to Feyre first, clumsily explaining what Elain had seen only to realise they would also need to confess to already having been spending time together. They told Rhys next and though it was perhaps naive of them, neither she nor Azriel had expected that the High Lord would react so poorly to the news.

For all the times that Elain had wished she could be with Azriel without needing to hide from the others, opening themselves up to the wrath of Rhysand for daring to mess with intercourt politics had resulted in a world of pain. He’d torn into Azriel for even thinking of pursuing a mated female, let alone a female mated to an Autumn Court male. For daring to bed her while her mate slept in the same house.

At the time, it had seemed that no matter how many times Elain tried to make it clear that the bond in question wasn’t even a real bond - that she had pursued Azriel just as much as he’d pursued her, that they’d never risked sleeping together when Lucien was in residence - her pleas fell on deaf ears. Rhys had stormed out of his office without sparing her a glance, only giving a stern warning to Azriel to stay the hell away from her.

They hadn’t stayed away from each other, of course. They’d simply resumed what they’d already been doing - sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms in the dead of night and only barely avoiding each other during the days.

There had been countless tears and numerous arguments. An entire war had almost been waged over their claim that the Cauldron had been wrong. Iit had taken almost an entire year of working with various High Lords, priestesses, and other contacts and associates of Rhysand to confirm that something had indeed gone wrong when Elain was submerged in the Cauldron - that a spell had been cast in an attempt to hide her bond to Azriel and guide her in another direction.

It had been confusing and messy and terrible for everyone involved but they had somehow come out on the other end, still together and still hopelessly in love. Now, there was a brand new element to their relationship. A bright, glowing tether that connected their bodies, their souls - already so tangible despite the fact that neither of them had formally accepted the bond.

Azriel, usually so reserved and attention avoidant, had surprised her when he insisted on even having a ceremony. She’d had to talk him out of going down the same path as Nesta and Cassian and after going back and forth too many times to count, Elain had eventually relented and they’d compromised on having the small garden ceremony that had come to her in that vision.

The title of mates had never meant much to her. She’d have chosen him a million times over where there’d been a predetermined connection between them or not. But she knew how much it meant to Azriel, knew that he considered the bond to be a blessing unlike any other.

It was why she attempted to look past the, quite frankly, insane behavior he’d been exhibiting over the past few months. Azriel had turned into something reminiscent of the girls that Elain had grown up with. The ones that became obsessive over their nuptials the second a ring was placed on their finger.

Just because she’d given in to his desire to have a ceremony, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t enjoyed torturing him from time to time when he was difficult about place settings or flowers.

“Never should’ve told you about that stupid vision,” Elain would taunt him, if only to feel the delicious trickle of arousal slither down her spine at the way his shoulders would stiffen and the promise of punishment would spark in his eyes.

Not that he’d ever actually deliver on that promise.

It was the one true point of contention between them. The stubborn male was intent on not formally accepting the bond before the ceremony and would hardly touch her, let alone fuck her, for fear of accidentally solidifying the bond between them before they could have it blessed by a priestess. And though she tried, there was no amount of teasing and taunting she could do that would get him to break.

He even went as far as to refuse food made by her whether she handed it directly to him or not.

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Azriel had made up for some of it though, meeting her halfway by insisting on incorporating certain aspects of a human wedding - starting with a proposal that had come as a complete surprise a few weeks before they’d broken the curse.

They’d been in the garden one evening, Azriel more quiet than usual as he studied her from over the brim of a chipped tea cup that appeared like a dollhouse toy in the grasp of his large hands. She’d only looked up from her notebook when he gently lifted her feet from his lap and shifted until he was on his knees in the grass beside her.

He had said her name so softly, his eyes gleaming with an unfamiliar quality that they’d later identified as nervousness when they laughed together in bed later, recounting the moment while Elain lifted her hand above their faces until the low fae lights caught the surface of the sparkling sapphire that newly graced her ring finger.

…

That sapphire gleams brighter than ever on her finger as Rhysand steps towards her and offers her his arm.

“Ready?”

He’d come to them after they’d announced their intention to have a ceremony and asked if he could walk Elain down the aisle - a sign of peace and a way of offering them his blessing. Something that she knew meant the world to Azriel after the tense year he and Rhys had had.

“Ready.” Elain swallows, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow.

Apart from Rhys walking her down the aisle, most of what she’d seen in that vision remains the same. A harp plays as Rhys leads her out to the garden. Bright blooms of flowers are arranged on either side of a makeshift aisle. The sun shines and the Sidra glitters behind them. Nesta and Feyre smile brightly, tears gathering in the corner of their eyes. Cassian gives her a bright smile before clasping the broad shoulder of the handsome male standing next to him.

Elain’s breath catches in her chest when Azriel turns and his eyes land on her. She tries to keep from crying but there’s little she can do to stop the tears from falling when Azriel gives her a smile unlike anything she’d ever seen before, his own eyes shining with tears and admiration for his bride.

The sight of Azriel in his leathers was something Elain often dreamed of when she lay in bed at night, but it only takes one slow pass of her eyes over his body before she realises that the only thing better than Azriel in his leathers, is Azriel in a suit.

The suit is perfectly cut to his body and is befitting of a royal prince - the sash draped across his body, the medallions pinned to his chest - she realises that in a way, he really is dressed the part of a high ranking member of the Night Court and something about seeing him proudly dressed like this for her, makes her heart swell.

It feels like an eternity before she stands in front of him, before Rhys kisses her cheek and gives Azriel a hug. Before Azriel’s wonderfully familiar hands clasp around hers.

“Beautiful.” He gives her fingers a gentle squeeze as his eyes roam over her dress - the delicate lace that frames her exposed neck and shoulders. The embroidery that conceals the part of her that only he would ever see. He doesn’t bother to conceal his satisfied hum of approval as his gaze tracks back up the length of her body to her face.

The priestess takes over then, welcoming all their guests and guiding them through a short ceremony that culminates in an exchange of vows that leaves both of them with happy smiles and tear streaked faces.

They exchange rings after their vows - an homage to Elain’s human heritage but also something she’d quietly insisted on because the possessive part of her wanted him to have a physical marker that made it clear that he was taken to any female or male that dared to set their eyes on him.

Before she knows it, Nyx is teetering over to them, a small plate that holds one cinnamon bun haphazardly cradled in his small, chubby hands.

It’s the final point of difference from her vision - a small change she’d intentionally made to incorporate Azriel’s favourite of her homemade treats into their day. A nod to the day this had all started that only the two of them would understand.

She bends down and kisses Nyx on the forehead, gingerly taking the bun in her fingers before standing and bringing it to Azriel’s lips.

“Eat.” Elain murmurs.

Azriel’s lips close around the soft bun, teeth sinking into the sweet pastry. He swallows and Elain swears she feels the bond between them intensify. Unlike the uncomfortable pull she’d felt once upon a time, this is different. This time it’s desire and admiration and pure love that she feels when it tightens around her ribs.

By the way Azriel is looking at her, she knows he feels the same.

The ribbon is the next and final part of the ceremony. Feyre and Nesta both step forward to wrap a length of black satin around the couple’s wrists - sheepish looks on both of her sister’s faces. Rhysand and Cassian take over from their mates- tightening the ribbon and tying it into a firm bow.

“Remember, Az,” Cassian's eyes shine with mischief. “This stays on until you make her come hard enough to cause an avalanche on Ramiel.”

“Cassian!” Nesta groans, pinching the bridge of her nose, at the same exact time Feyre clasps her hands tight over Nyx’s ears even as she and Rhysand fail to stifle their laugh.

…

They don’t last long after the ceremony. It’s only a couple of turns around the small dancefloor and a few congratulatory conversations before the pull between them becomes too much to bear and Azriel bends down, his lips brushing over the delicate point of her ear as he quietly asks if she’s ready to leave.

He laughs at the eagerness with which Elain responds but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed - not when she’d felt the absence of his touch so thoroughly for over a month now.

She needed to be alone with him. Needed to get away before the desire got the best of them and put them at risk of doing something obscenely stupid like consummating their bond in the middle of this garden, in front of everyone they held close to their hearts.

After a very quick goodbye to their amused guests, Azriel whisks Elain into his arms and flies directly to the townhouse that Rhys had gifted them as a mating present, grumbling that they may as well have it seeing as they’d already spent the last year or two desecrating every part of it.

No words are exchanged as Azriel lands, still cradling Elain in his arms as he wanders up the path and opens the door, carrying her over the threshold once more.

It was funny really, when she looks back at how far they’d come since that very first time Azriel had flown her here, to this place they could now call home.

She’d been a shell of herself back then, clutching to her human life with a desperation that had almost broken her completely. Despite it all, she’d felt a split second moment of reprieve from the intensity of her grief when Azriel, little more than a stranger to her at the time, carried her over the threshold and set her down with such care before he led her out to the one place he somehow knew she might find some sense of normalcy.

She’d felt it then - upon seeing the kindness in his eyes and feeling the gentleness of his touch - the tiniest inkling of hope that maybe one day she could find happiness in this new place, in this new life.

Sure enough, that little drop of hope had been warranted because just a few years later, Elain is the happiest she’s ever been.

The signs had all been there from the start.

That single strand of hair that had snagged right over his heart should’ve told her all she needed to know.

He carries her upstairs, toeing open the door to the bedroom that once belonged solely to her and Elain’s jaw drops as Azriel finally sets her down and she peels her eyes away from his perfect face to take in the room.

She knew that Feyre and Mor had come by earlier to decorate but she didn’t expect all of this. Her usual lilac linens have been replaced by billowing white sheets. There’s blush coloured rose petals strewn across the bed that match the roses that had framed the aisle and candles were scattered around the room, casting the bed in romantic, flickering golden light.

Azriel’s free arm winds around her waist from behind and his lips follow the path of her shoulder up her neck as he pulls her back towards him. Elain tilts her head up to meet him halfway and his mouth travels along her jaw until his lips hover centimeters from hers.

She feels like every bit of her skin is on fire. She could never imagine that the level of her desire for Azriel would surpass what she felt for him in the past but she was sorely mistaken because what she feels in this moment makes her think that if he didn’t do something to quell the ache thrumming between her legs, she might just die.

“Azriel.” She breathes his name, turning towards him fully and breaking the silence that had settled comfortably between them.

“Elain.” He answers. His fingers press into the plush flesh of her hip, the very tips of them venturing low - teasing at the curve of her backside.

“My mate.” Elain says quietly, raising her hand to cup his face. Her thumb drags along his sharp cheekbone.

“My mate.” He repeats. The word is almost unfamiliar on his lips, like he still can’t quite believe the term is his to use. Azriel brings his lips to hers and her entire body is overcome with a desperate need. “My wife.”

Elain can’t help but whimper as her body curves into his by its own volition. She melts into his searing kiss.

“My husband.”

Azriel lets out a soft moan at that and a slight shift of his stance allows her to feel him hard against her hip.

Elain is suddenly nervous as she pulls away to look up at Azriel. She doesn’t understand why she’s suddenly shy, standing in front of him like an innocent, blushing bride even though they both knew that ship had sailed long ago. He stares back at her, candle light catching the flecks of green in his eyes.

She recognises the wonder there as he takes in the sight of her. It’s a perfect mirror to her own emotions. To the disbelief that they’d actually made it to this moment against all odds.

“Not sure how we’re supposed to consummate anything with our wrists bound together.” Elain frowns, her voice shaking slightly. “I won’t be able to get you out of this suit.”

“I think it’s more of a symbolic thing.” Azriel smiles, kissing her once more to ease her nerves. His fingers slip from her waist to their wrists, deftly plucking at the knot of black satin until it comes loose and their hands are freed. He sets the ribbon down and fixes her with a look that sends a shiver down her spine.

He motions for her to turn and then his hands are in her hair, gently removing pins until her hair falls in a gentle, albeit slightly messy, golden wave down her back. He gathers it to the side and more kisses are placed to the sensitive place where her neck meets her shoulder.

Azriel’s fingers find the buttons that run down the back of her dress and he begins to undo them slowly. Elain knows that he’s doing it on purpose. That even on this special day, he wouldn’t dream of missing the opportunity to have her beg.

But Elain, for once, won’t let him win. She somehow finds the will power to hold still as he undoes her dress and drags it down her arms and over her torso until it falls to the floor and she’s left standing in front of him in nothing except for the very expensive scrap of ivory lace that covers her sex and the shiny rings on her finger.

She reaches for his suit jacket and helps him maneuver out of it and then she steps around to his back to undo the buttons of his shirt around his wings. And maybe, just maybe, during the process of ridding him of his shirt, she lets her knuckles smooth over a part of the delicate membrane that has him gritting out her name in warning.

Elain grins, moving back around to his front to reach for the buttons of his fine pants - slowly undoing them as he kicks off his shoes just in time for her to slide his trousers and undershorts down his legs.

She can’t help the way her eyes linger on the proud length of him. On the small bead of moisture gathered at the tip that gleams in the glow of the candles, practically calling for her to put her lips on him. She’s so distracted that she barely even registers Azriel reaching back for the ribbon he’d placed on the desk a few minutes ago.

“I can think of better uses for this ribbon.” Azriel’s eyes flick up to meet hers as he smooths out the ribbon and dangles it from his fingertips.

“I can think of something even better.” Elain plucks the ribbon from his hands and backs him towards the bed with a single finger against his chest until he’s laying down. His eyes shimmer with amusement as she motions for him to put his hands above his head but he silently follows her instructions.

She kneels next to him, leans down and tries so very hard to ignore the sweet press of his lips to her sternum as her fingers make quick work of wrapping the ribbon around both of his wrists before securing the remaining length to the wooden posts of her headboard.

“You have the rest of our lives to touch me whenever and however you’d like. Let’s see how long you can last before you’re begging to touch your wife.”

She moves to settle herself on his lap but he stops her with a slight shift of his knees that sends her sliding further up his torso.

“On my tongue first.”

Elain bites down on her lower lip, her core already tightening in anticipation as she shifts further up and carefully places a knee above each of his shoulders, mindful of his wings.

“Look at you.” Azriel’s eyes are fixed on the damp lace covering her center. On the gleam of arousal that covers her inner thighs. “Such a mess already and I haven’t even begun.”

“So much talking.” Elain grumbles, her face flooding with heat at just how wet she was for him when all he’d done was take her dress off.

“Make me stop.” Azriel challenges. She huffs but slowly lowers her hips until the defined tip of his nose brushes over her, dragging her soaked underwear over her clit in a delicious slide of friction.

It’s far from the first time he’s had her like this but it is the first time he hasn’t been able to use his hands. It’s in this moment that Elain realises just how much she relies on him to guide her down to his face. To pull her hips closer and closer, to help her rock against him as she rides him. With his hands restrained, it all falls back on her to gain the confidence to use him like this.

“Sit.” The single word is laced with pure demand and she can sense that Azriel’s patience is slipping. His need to get his mouth on her overruling any of the previous gentleness he’d shown her this evening.

She does as she’s told and her hands fly out to grasp for purchase on her headboard at the first pass of Azriel’s mouth over the lace that covers her. He doesn’t give her a moment to catch her breath before he uses his teeth to tug the lace to the side as best as he can and then his tongue is on her, eagerly tasting her, consuming her with long, effortless strokes.

“I’ve missed this.” He groans against her skin. His tongue dips inside her. “ I’ve missed you.”

She doesn’t have the words to admonish him. To tell him that he could’ve had her this whole time if only he hadn’t been so stubborn. But a month without having him like this has taken its toll and Elain finds that she’s utterly incapable of forming any words or sounds that aren’t a simple keening moan as she rolls her hips and chases the sensation quickly building low and intense in her stomach. Her thighs tremble, her fingers clench around the wooden posts of her bedframe and before she knows it, the wave of pleasure crests and she slumps forward - the already precarious rhythm of her hips falters as she comes hard and fast on his tongue.

Azriel’s mouth doesn’t stop working her until she pulls off of him completely but even then, she isn’t granted a single moment of reprieve besides a couple seconds to catch her breath.

He calls in his shadows and icy, invisible hands are firm around her waist, guiding her back down to where she’d started. Her hands find his cock as his shadows stay with her, slipping in between her legs and over her breasts in feather light caresses that have her aching for more despite just having come mere seconds ago.

Elain raises her eyes to look up at Azriel as she lowers her mouth to his cock. At the first slide of her tongue over his head, a particularly daring shadow slips inside her. The feeling of it is one she knows well, so similar to Azriel’s own fingers.

Elain pulls off of him for a second, glaring up at him. The menacing look she’d been going for is cut short when she gasps as the shadow still inside her presses hard against her upper wall.

“You said,” Azriel starts, eyes squeezing shut when she takes him in her mouth again. “You said I couldn’t touch you. You never said my shadows couldn’t.”

“Not fair.” Elain mumbles around the length of him, unwilling to stop the movement of her lips and tongue. She only takes him deeper, relishing in the way his hips lift to push himself further down her throat.

“Did you think I’d forgotten?” More of his shadows are in her hair now, tugging at her roots with delicious pressure. “All those times you’ve taunted me this past month? Did you think I would forget?”

She gives him a subtle shake of her head, hollowing her cheeks around him all the while.

She’d been praying that he wouldn’t forget, that he’d catalogue all those moments until he could finally deliver on that promise of punishment she’d seen gleaming in his eyes each time she’d deliberately taunt him with her words or actions.

“Touch me.” She doesn’t know how the tables have turned so quickly. How in a split second, she’s pulled off of him and has relinquished all control to him - begging him to touch her instead of the other way around as she’d initially planned. “Azriel, please.”

His shadows aren’t enough and too much time has passed. They’ve put it off too long and the thread between them has grown too taut. She wants his hands. His fingers. She wants him inside her.

Elain blinks and Azriel’s hands are free. She blinks again and she’s on her back in the exact spot he had just been. His hazel eyes burn into hers as his hands - those glorious, beautiful scarred hands - smooth over every inch of her body that’s within their reach.

“Please.” She begs again, unsure as to what she’s even asking for. All she knows is that there’s greater forces at play and her wants and desires are careening dangerously out of control.

“Okay.” Azriel nods and suddenly it’s clear as day to her that he’s experiencing the exact same thing on the other side of the bond glowing between them. There’s a new sense of urgency to his words. To his actions. His calloused thumbs drag over her nipples. “Okay, my love.”

He moves a hand inbetween her legs and pushes her thighs further apart and then she feels him, hot and heavy against her sex. He drags his cock over her twice, coating himself in the arousal he’s pulled from her. A moment later he’s inside her and Elains swears it’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her entire life.

“It feels…” She can’t finish her sentence. She’s too overcome by a wave of emotions so intense that it wracks through her body. That thread between them that had seemed so tangible for the past month had suddenly solidified into something else entirely. She could feel it in her blood. In each and every nerve. Could feel him. Each of her emotions - all the joy and the pleasure and the relief - it was all amplified. Doubled. Because she could feel his twin emotions on the other side of this new connection.

It had snapped. The bond had finally snapped into place once and for all.

Elain laughs, high and bright, and full of disbelief because each time she had thought that what she felt for him couldn’t possibly be topped, she had been proven wrong.

“I know.” Azriel sweeps back the hair clinging to her sweat slick forehead and keeps his eyes on hers.

“It just…” Elain gasps, fingernails clawing at his back in a desperate attempt to get even closer to him. To feel even more of him.

“I know.” Azriel repeats, lowering his mouth to hers in an all consuming kiss that renders her utterly useless. “I felt it, too.”

Azriel continues to whisper sweet nothings into her skin as he takes her, his hips meeting hers as he delivers long smooth strokes that have her crying his name.

“Want you to come with me, okay?” He says gently, waiting until her eyes focus on his and she nods that she had in fact heard him before he bends one of her knees to her chest and picks up his pace.

The new position has tears forming in the corner of her eyes from the sheer bliss that courses through her. It’s a feeling that’s only heightened when he brings a hand in between their bodies to thumb at her clit.

“I meant every word.” Azriel murmurs, his forehead pressed tight to hers. “You’re my sun, Elain.”

The smooth movement of his hips stutters and she knows he’s close.

I spent the first part of my life shrouded in darkness with only shadows for company. I thought I’d learnt what it was to live in the light of day again but I didn’t truly know what it meant to feel the warmth of the sun until you looked at me for the first time.

The beautiful words Azriel had said to her earlier in the garden echo in her head and she can’t stop the sob that escapes her at the reminder of the vows they’d made. At the promises they’d sworn - the declarations to love and to cherish each other for the rest of their long, immortal lives.

“I love you.” Her hands land on either side of his face and she holds him to her, kissing him deeply as he spills inside her. Her muscles contract around him, an endless pulsing sensation that makes her ears ring and her eyes go blurry.

He says it back to her - three words chanted over and over again in combination with her name as he fills her.

Her blood pounds through her veins and her heart feels like it’s going to explode out of her chest. No amount of reading and research into mating bonds would have prepared her for the magnanimity of what she felt in this moment.

It isn’t until Azriel pulls out of her and kneels in between her legs that her eyes focus and she regains any sense of who or where she is. He gently pries her legs further apart and his eyes darken at the sight in front of him. She watches as he takes two of his fingers and collects the come smeared on her thighs. It coats his fingers and the sight of a small bit of it sliding off the knuckle of his middle finger and landing over the gold band on his ring finger is so beautifully filthy that it has her holding back a moan.

“Back where it belongs.” Azriel says the words with a satisfied, purely male smirk and Elain’s breath hitches as he slides his fingers back in her, fucking his spend back inside her. She shivers at the sensation of cold metal grazing her skin.

“Sometimes when I see you like this - your pretty cunt so wet and swollen, so full of my come that it drips out…” He pauses for a second, eyes fixated on the easy slip of his fingers in and out of her. “I wonder why I still take the tonic every morning.”

Elain summons the energy to prop herself up on her elbows so she can look at him. She’s shocked at his admission, at all that it entails.

“If you want me to call you daddy, Azriel, all you had to do was ask.”

It’s a weak attempt at humour, a pathetic attempt to buy her some time as she tries to figure out what to say.

Azriel’s head tips back and he laughs in that way that makes her heart ache with love for him.

“I’m serious, Elain.” He gives her a soft smile, his fingers still moving within her. “If you want that with me, I… I’d be honoured.”

“I need,” she gasps when his fingers curl inside her, pressing against the spot he knows will get her where he wants her to be. “To think.”

“Okay.” He agrees. “Whenever you’re ready. If you’re ever ready.”

“After this…” Elain’s back arches off the bed and her legs threaten to close but Azriel holds her open for him with his other hand.

“After the frenzy.” He completes her thought for her and watches, completely enamored as her head tilts back and her slender fingers frantically clutch at the sweat soaked sheets.

“With a clear head.” She barely manages to get out the words. “We’ll talk about it.”

She’d need a clear head to discuss that particular subject because right now, with how unbelievably aroused she was at the idea of his fingers pushing his come back inside her - back where it belongs - she’d do just about anything he asked of her.

Azriel only leans forward, crowding her body with his as he once again sends her falling over the edge. Her moans are swallowed eagerly by his mouth.

“Always take me so well.” He praises her. “So beautiful each and every time you come for me.”

When she finally settles, utterly spent against the mattress, Azriel moves to pull back but Elain clambers to keep him with her and she finds herself startled by her own automatic reaction to him moving even a fraction of an inch away. She buries her face in his neck, drawing in the scent of him - that cedar scent that is now completely intertwined with notes of jasmine and honey- and the depth of her desire terrifies her.

Elain can’t fathom that there will be a time where she won’t need to feel the weight of him on top of her. Couldn’t imagine that there’d be a second of the foreseeable future in which she wouldn’t need to feel the warmth of his skin under the tips of her fingers. The possessive quality that already lived deep within her bones had grown into a whole new monster because even though she’s been told over and over again that it’s the males who get territorial once a mating bond has been accepted, the way in which she needs to have Azriel all to herself makes her feel confident that she could rip someone to shreds if they looked at him for even a second too long.

“I never want to leave this bed.” Elain sighs, fingers slipping down the expanse of his back as she arches upward, her breasts pressing against his chest. She’s delighted when the shift of her body allows her to feel him hard against her stomach again because despite her sore muscles and the tiredness seeping into her bones, she’s somehow immediately ready for him. Desperate to have him inside her once more.

“Too bad.” Azriel’s lips skate up the column of her throat until his lips are right over her ear. “Because I intend to fuck you on every single surface in this house.”

He sinks into her again and Elain is convinced once and for all that this frenzy might never end.

#elriel #elriel fic #sjmromanceweek2024 #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #so very nervous for this to go out bc i've been putting off finishing this for far far far too long #my writing #acotar fanfiction

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clockwork-ashes · 11 months ago

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@sjmromanceweek

Summary: Gwyn and Az go on their first date.

Gwyn had been feeling remarkably brave lately.

Just a couple of months ago, Gwyn had started going on weekly outings with Nesta and Emerie in the city, simply because she felt like it. Just last week, she’d spent several days in Dawn studying some ancient scrolls with no one but Merrill and Ananke as company. Just yesterday, Gwyn had gone with Azriel, Nesta, and Cassian to a new bookshop-cafe overlooking the Sidra.

And just that morning, when Azriel had suggested they go for dessert – only the two of them – Gwyn had said yes without a moment’s hesitation.

Gwyn had, of course, run to Nesta with the news. Gwyn had found her friend curled up on the comfortable couch by one of the library windows, reading a new book. She had thrown herself at the seat, speaking quickly and without a care about having interrupted Nesta’s quiet reading.

“I have to tell Cassian,” Nesta had said, triumph in her blue-grey eyes, her book forgotten at her side. “I knew it, I’ve been telling Cass all week that Az was going to ask you on a date.”

Gwyn had hoped that was what Azriel had been intending, but she had not been entirely sure. All the same, when Nesta had offered to braid her hair and help her find a pretty dress, Gwyn had been quick to take her up on the offer.

Az had come to her dressed in all-black, looking as lovely as ever, and acting as though there was nothing happening that was out of the ordinary.

When Az had taken her hand in his much larger one to winnow them from the House of Wind onto the still-sunny streets of Velaris, Gwyn had brushed it off as a friendly gesture. When Az had not immediately let go, and then had proceeded to interlock their fingers as he led her down the busy, pedestrian-filled walkways, Gwyn still wondered if perhaps she was overthinking and simply assuming Azriel had any sort of romantic intentions.

Perhaps Nesta’s enthusiastic claim that Cassian now owed her for always being right about everything had given Gwyn the wrong impression and had unnecessarily raised her hopes.

Two slices of cake and three cups of coffee later, Gwyn could state with great confidence that Azriel had, in fact, asked her out on a date.

Azriel was holding her hand again as they left the quiet cafe, and Gwyn’s cheeks hurt from how much she’d been smiling. His shadows were trailing lazily behind them, more coming to follow now that the sun had gone down. Azriel held her hand as they walked along the city streets, undeniably so much lovelier at night, all the way back to the House of Wind.

“I don’t believe you.”

“And yet,” Azriel said, a smile in the tone of his voice.

“Black can’t be your favourite colour,” Gwyn shook her head, a few copper strands of hair freeing themselves from her intricate braid, “Too predictable.”

“I also like very, very dark shades of blue,” he replied, amusement lacing the words.

Gwyn’s laughter was loud, unguarded, as Azriel winnowed them right to her room, just outside her door.

“I had a really nice time,” Gwyn told him, hoping he felt the same. She placed her hand on the doorknob just in case Azriel had had an awful night and she needed to escape to her room and not have to face him until training.

“That’s a relief,” Az smiled, and Gwyn thought she had never seen anything lovelier. “Nesta threatened to gut me with a soup spoon if you came home unhappy.”

Gwyn laughed and one of Azriel’s shadows darted towards the fingers she still had lingering by the door.

“Goodnight, Gwyn.”

Gwyn was planning to wish Azriel a goodnight, maybe even be forward enough to suggest they do something like this again sometime soon.

The Gwyn of a few months ago would have done just that, but she was feeling a small pull, ever so gentle, towards Azriel. And, as Gwyn had noticed, she was feeling remarkably brave lately.

Azriel was standing so close, his wings making it seem as though only the space between them existed. Holding his wrist, careful to make it quick so she would not lose her courage, Gwyn got on the tips of her toes and kissed Azriel, only for a brief moment, on the lips. She felt her cheeks burning, her heart beating thunderously in her ears.

“Good night,” Gwyn breathed, rushing into her room to rather rudely slam the door shut. Despite her best efforts not to give Azriel one last look, she still managed to catch the surprised smile on his face.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #gwyneth berdara #azriel #gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #sjmromanceweek2024 #ashes writes sometimes

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 11 months ago

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If You’re Lost, Just Look for Me (ao3)

Happy @sjmromanceweek day 4!! ❤️

When Cassian is called away to Illyria for a whole week, Nesta finds her mate has left her something behind - several somethings, in the form of letters hidden throughout the House of Wind. Set post-ACOSF.

Castor looked out across the mountains crowned with snow, feeling the wind caress his wings. It felt like a whisper. Like a kiss— like her kiss, and even though the drums of war were already pounding far below, he could only think of her. Her dark eyes and her midnight hair and the way it curled against the nape of her neck.

The woman he had left behind.

Illyrians weren’t supposed to be romantic. Weren’t supposed to fall hard.

But with the gods as his witness, he looked to the sky and cursed the distance between this rock-strewn battlefield and the bed he’d left both his lover and half his soul behind in. No, Illyrians weren’t supposed to fall hard, but he’d fallen harder than he’d ever expected. Harder than—

“Nesta!”

The silence cleaved beneath a clap, sharp and insistent and followed by the snapping of familiar, paint-stained fingers. The voice echoed through the library as the image in Nesta’s head shattered, like the surface of a lake after the throwing of a rock.

“Are you even listening?”

No.

She wasn’t.

Slowly, Nesta Archeron looked up from the pages of her book. Already scowling - and absolutely not in the mood today - she flicked her eyes over the cloth-bound spine and took in the sight before her. Her sister, standing there with her tattooed hand extended, fingers braced to snap for a third time. Nesta’s brows lowered, and the huff that left her was one she tried only half-heartedly to bury.

“I called your name,” Feyre said, arching one elegant eyebrow now that she had her sister’s attention at last. “Twice.”

Nesta’s attention drifted pointedly back down to the pages of her book. One shoulder lifted in an idle shrug. “I was busy.”

“Clearly.”

The High Lady of the Night Court snorted and leaned a hip against the rolled arm of the sofa that sat opposite Nesta’s own. Her eyes dropped to the front cover of the book Nesta held in her hands, her expression turning to one of soft amusement as she took in the illustration of the shirtless Illyrian warrior, his arms around the shoulders of a young woman whose dress hung half off her slender frame. Feyre pressed her lips together, eyes dancing in a way that Nesta knew meant her sister was trying hard to suppress a small laugh, and any other day…

Any other day, Nesta might have humoured her sister. Might have raised an eyebrow and asked wryly if she wanted to join the Valkyrie Book Club.

Not today, though.

Today Nesta said nothing, only lifted her chin and fixed an expression of indifferent hauteur over her face. Feyre could giggle all she wanted, but the book had been waiting for Nesta when she’d opened her eyes that morning, placed deliberately and carefully on Cassian’s side of the bed. His empty side of the bed— because, thanks to Feyre’s mate, Cassian had left at dawn for a week-long stint in Illyria, and Nesta had been left with nothing but that book propped against his pillow, like it was to serve as his replacement for the next few days.

The House had a sense of humour like that— exchanging one Illyrian warrior for another.

But Nesta would be a liar if she said his absence wasn’t already starting to make her feel like the world had been tipped on its axis, and facing down the prospect of seven whole days without hearing his voice or seeing his eyes or feeling his calloused palms so eager to slide over her skin…

She supposed she could be forgiven for seeking complete distraction from the depths of her books today. Forgiven, too, for her resounding lack of patience.

“I came to see you,” Feyre said breezily as Nesta dropped her eyes back down to the pages still spread open before her. “Since Cassian’s away and all.”

“Yes,” Nesta answered tightly, glowering at the words on the page. “Do thank your mate for that for me.”

Feyre’s eyes danced, her lips straining to contain the smile that threatened to spread across her face. “Cassian wasn’t all that happy about leaving either, if it helps.”

“It doesn’t. Your mate was the one insisting that he go.”

“Rhys didn’t insist,” she countered, plucking at a piece of lint on her sleeve in a gesture so absurdly Rhysand it made Nesta clench her jaw. “He just… reminded Cassian that he can’t be on honeymoon forever.”

Nesta snorted. Honeymoon, indeed. It had been a grand total of six weeks since their mating ceremony. Six.

And now camp inspections had called Nesta’s mate to Illyria, and even though Cassian had been more than content to let them slide, just this once, their oh-so-benevolent High Lord had maintained that they could not allow their grip in the mountains to slip for even a second. Ergo, Rhys had reasoned, Cassian still needed to be seen to be carrying out even the smallest of his duties as general. Ordinarily, Cassian had argued, he wouldn’t hesitate to spend a week in Illyria calling out the faults of the camp lords.

But right now, Rhys? Really?

He had looked pointedly at Nesta as he’d said it, as if hoping to remind Rhys that Cassian had a mate of his own now, and one so newly bonded he could hardly stand to leave for a minute, never mind a week.

But still Rhys had insisted, and so after two days of preparation, Cassian had left that morning, slipping from their bed before the sun had even begun to stain the horizon.

It had made a tinderbox of Nesta’s temper.

She sighed through her nose now, only dimly aware that her sister continued speaking. She caught the odd word— dinner, river house, tomorrow night, but truthfully Nesta just wanted to bury herself in her books until these seven days were up. She couldn’t even count on Azriel for company, since the Shadowsinger was off on one of his missions too.

“Alright,” Feyre said after a solid three minutes of talking to what might as well have been a wall. “I get the hint.” She threw her hands up in surrender. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything…”

“I’ll let you know,” Nesta answered blandly.

Feyre nodded once, pushing away from the arm of the sofa and striding across the floor of the House library until she reached the door. She didn’t look back until she reached the threshold, where, with her hand curling around the brass doorknob, Feyre at last looked over her shoulder.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, that ribbon of a smile pushing once more against her lips. “Rhys did say he checked in with Cassian this morning.”

Nesta glowered. “And?”

Feyre’s face softened. “He said to tell you he’s missing you already.”

Nesta blinked, looking up in earnest from the pages of her book. Her throat tightened, and the bond twining around her ribs seemed to clamour, snatching at the second-hand words. She didn’t usually wish she possessed Feyre’s gifts, but on days like this… oh, Nesta wished she could reach out and speak to him, to hear his voice even when he was a thousand miles away.

Before she could tell Feyre to pass along the message that she missed him too, her sister shot her a wink and slipped through that door, leaving Nesta alone with nothing but her silence and her books and the longing surging within her that threatened to crush her beneath its weight.

And she had seven days of this to endure.

Sharply, Nesta huffed.

Stupid— all of it was so immeasurably stupid. Cassian had been gone for a grand total of ten hours, and yet Nesta already felt like she was at sea without him. The House was too quiet, the space beside her too empty, and even though she’d always done perfectly well on her own, always found comfort in solitude… something was different this time. Perhaps because Cassian had been called away when neither of them wanted distance, or perhaps because their lives had slotted together so easily, so simply, that there was no painless way of drawing them apart. Either way, Nesta found that although she usually enjoyed being alone… she enjoyed it best when Cassian was only a room or two away.

“Pull yourself together, Nesta,” she muttered darkly to herself, sitting up straighter against the cushions and clearing her throat. Determined, she forced her attention back to her book, the pages shifting as she adjusted her grip.

And as she did, her fingers loosening on the pages towards the back—

A small square of parchment tumbled out, fluttering down to her lap. From the crisp whiteness of it and the way it was folded, it was clear it wasn’t some old scrap used as a bookmark, and—

It had her name on it.

Nesta’s curiosity piqued, and something in her chest began to grow unbearably tight as every nerve she possessed seemed to shiver with recognition. It smelled familiar, like cinnamon and leather, calling to mind lazy morning kisses and arms wrapping around her from behind to pull her against the chest she had traced every single inch of with her fingers.

It smelled like Cassian.

The familiar scent had her aching, like the fading impression he’d left behind on that note was a ghost slipping through her fingers, barely substantial enough to grasp. But grasp Nesta did, reaching desperately for any lingering piece of him— anything her mate had left her.

Folded, the note was no larger than the palm of her hand, but Nesta looked at her name written in the hand almost as well-known to her as her own - penned with a flourish in ink as dark as the night sky, crisp and sharp - and felt her heart skip several beats as her fingers scrambled to break the small crimson seal.

Hello, Nes, her mate had written.

I’m curious— how long did it take you to find this one? I must have been gone, what, seven hours by now? Maybe eight? Any more and I’ll be disappointed. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this particular novel. I had Emerie get ahold of it for me, since I figured it might help you remember the Illyrian warrior you have of your own whilst I’m away.

Anyway, I know you’ll already be going out of your mind without me there, but like the perfect mate that I am, I’ve thought of the perfect way to remind you how much I love you, just in case you forget. I know I told you I’ve been spending these past two days preparing to leave for Illyria, but I’ve also been hiding some of these little notes throughout the House for you to find— and what better hiding place than deep within the pages of a book?

You know I’ll miss you every second I’m away, sweetheart, and I know it’s not much, but you always said you wanted me to write you love letters so… here I am. It’s taken me an age to hide them all - you really do have too many books, sweetheart - but when I get home you can tell me all about how diverting I am, and how wonderfully I compare to the heroes in your books.

Love you!

P.S - The notes aren’t all in your books. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I, princess?

It was remarkable how quickly Nesta’s sour mood dissipated.

Something in her chest lifted— like the great, uncomfortable weight that had settled behind her ribs when Cassian had left that morning was lifted a little, just enough to let her see the sun behind the clouds. A delighted laugh bubbled to her lips as she read the note again— and again, just to savour each word.

It was such a tiny thing, so small and innocuous, that little scrap of paper bearing her name.

And yet it was a thing beyond value; immeasurable proof that she was loved and cared for and wanted, and that even as Cassian had prepared to drag himself away from their home, she had been the only thing at the forefront of his mind.

Nesta brushed her fingers lightly across the page, a tender smile blossoming at the corners of her mouth. She could practically feel Cassian winking at her, teasing her like he hadn’t gone away at all, and the arrogance dripping from every word he’d written was enough to make her breathe another quiet laugh.

You can tell me all about how diverting I am, and how wonderfully I compare to the heroes in your books.

Nesta snorted. Cassian had found a way to bridge the distance between them and had used it as an opportunity to peacock. She might have rolled her eyes had her gaze not snagged on that brief love you! at the end, and the single kiss he’d scored into the paper.

Nobody had ever told Nesta they loved her— not really, not the way Cassian did.

And so it meant the world and more to her now, every single time it he said it. It made her soften in the way she only ever did for him, so entirely disarmed by his charm and irreverence and faultless dedication.

And gods, he’d found her an Illyrian romance.

Nesta supposed such things were few and far between, given how opposed to such things the Illyrians were, and she’d assumed that the House had been the one to leave it out for her, but no— it was Cassian who had somehow, with Emerie’s help, gotten hold of it and left it out for her, along with the note buried inside. Along with several notes, apparently, like he simply hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of leaving without first having found a way of letting her know, every single day, that he loved her even to distraction.

Love you!

It warmed some long-neglected corner of her heart, breathed life back into the pieces of her she’d thought too far gone for anyone to revive, and as Nesta glanced up at the shelves running along the walls of the House library, not for the first time when it came to her mate did she feel a sense of depthless wonder sparking inside.

There were… hundreds of them.

Thousands of pages Cassian might have secreted a letter between.

It was almost daunting, almost seemed impossible, but Nesta looked once more at the note in her hands, lingering on that last love you! scrawled at the bottom of the page.

And when the House rather pointedly slid one of those old books out an inch from its shelf, Nesta glanced up to the ceiling with a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Rising to her feet and placing the Illyrian romance down gently on the low table before the hearth, she said,

“Well, then. We’d better start looking.”

***

Three hours yielded only one more letter.

Every other volume Nesta had pulled from the shelves had been empty, and though she flicked through page after endless page, she came away with nothing. With the sun beginning to set and a line of shelves stretching before her still waiting to be searched, Nesta might have given up. Might have— had the singular note she had found not been enough to keep her going, to keep the fire inside her burning.

Sweetheart, it began.

I honestly think I might kill Rhys for making me leave. I get his point— especially after the shit the camp lords pulled this spring, it won’t hurt to reassert our authority. Trust me, I’ll be making Devlon crawl by the end, but gods fucking spare me, I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing instead, and every single one of them includes you. I can hardly bear the thought of being so far away from you— not hearing your voice each night before I sleep. The truth is that nothing feels right without you, and my darling brother is going to wish he’d never been born when I’m through with him, I swear.

You and Feyre can tease me as much as you want princess, but I admit it. I’m lost without you— an Illyrian baby through and through. And I suppose I’m a filthy liar too, sweetheart, because you’re in the room with me right now as I write this, sitting there reading one of your novels - by the way, have I told you how much I love the way you bite your lip when you’re reading? - under the impression that I’m currently writing out lists of instructions to hand to the camp lords. I’m not writing instructions at all. I’m writing this, and praying you don’t come look over my shoulder and ruin the fun before it starts.

All this is to say… I love you, Nesta.

I don’t think I’ve said it enough. A hundred times a day wouldn’t be enough, and I promise that as soon as these seven days are over, I’ll be back by your side showing you exactly how much I missed you. Until then…

Always yours,

Cassian.

She’d had to sit down for a minute after reading that one, especially once she reached always yours.

Hers— yes, he was hers.

It almost didn’t matter that the sun was dropping towards the horizon now, that it had been hours since she’d found that last letter. Didn’t matter either, Nesta thought as she knelt within a circle of discarded books, that there was an endless number still to search through.

He was hers.

The words had something clicking, a spark in her memory.

The words aren’t all in your books, Cassian had written as a post-script in that initial letter.

Can’t make it too easy for you, can I, princess?

And Nesta remembered, too, how Azriel had sat in the small sitting room a level below three nights ago, a book in his own hands as the night grew darker and the hour grew later. Nesta had been curled in a chair of her own, only barely paying attention. She had only really noticed the Shadowsinger at all because Cassian had leaned down and whispered in her ear,

‘See, Nes? That’s what a real book looks like.’

The book in question had been some dry non-fiction, thick as brick, and Nesta hadn’t even bothered to really note the title beyond a couple of cursory words, but…

Slowly, recognition began to skitter up her spine. He wouldn’t, she thought carefully, taking in the piles of books surrounding her, all of them having yielded nothing. Surely he wouldn’t.

Except…

This was Cassian, the man with a mischievous spirit who took nothing seriously. His two most favourite things in the world seemed to be teasing her and riling Azriel. Of course he’d decide that one of Azriel’s books would serve as a perfect hiding place for one of his notes.

Of course he would.

Nesta breathed a somewhat bemused sigh, running a hand over her hair. She shook her head, feeling the bond singing in her chest as she pushed to her feet. It hummed like a just-plucked harp string, vibrating as she swept from that library and stalked instead for the sitting room. And as she pushed open the door, praying Azriel had left his book behind, Nesta could have sworn she felt the faintest glimmer of laughter down that bond, like a broad hand dragged, comforting, down her spine.

***

The Continent: Geopolitics and Relations with Northern Prythian still lay on the cushion of the chair Azriel had occupied that night, like the Shadowsinger still planned to return for it. A white ribbon peeked above the pages, marking his place, and as Nesta lifted the book in hand, she felt certain that ribbon was one of the Valkyrie ribbons— one of the many they’d tried and failed to cut in those early days, protesting the impossibility, only to have Cassian or Azriel step up and slice the thing in half with ease.

Bastards.

Nesta flicked the end of that ribbon, watching it sway as she held the book balanced in her palm. The thing was heavy, and so dense she didn’t know how the Spymaster had managed to spend hours, without pause, reading it the other night.

A real book, Cassian had called it.

Not for the first time, Nesta snorted. She sank into the chair by the empty hearth, turning the pages of that great tome one by one, and for a long time there was nothing. Chapters and chapters of absolutely nothing. But when Nesta reached the very last chapter…

There, pressed between the pages, tucked right against the spine.

In the low light, her name winked against the stark white of the folded note. It had been penned in large letters on the front, and beneath it - in Cassian’s hand - was written: Azriel— if you’ve somehow found this note before Nesta, fuck off and put it back where you found it.

She could almost hear Cassian’s tone, could practically see the spark that would have danced in his eyes. The bond tugged as her heart lurched, and unable to resist the smile that crept across her own face, Nesta put the book down on a side table and unfolded his next letter.

Nes— I knew you’d find this one.

I figured I’d take this opportunity to draw your attention to something other than smut, just in case you’re getting bored of all those filthy novels of yours. Lesser men might be concerned, sweetheart, but don’t worry. I know exactly how much you like all the things I can do with my hands, and I don’t think your books could do that quite as well as me, could they? How about I give you a reminder once I get home?

In the meantime, maybe you should try branching out and reading something else for once. I promise there’s no sex in this one.

Nesta snorted.

And Az, the note continued at the bottom, if you’ve read this far then I’m going to punch you in the ribs when I get home.

***

On it went, days spent trawling through the library and the House sitting rooms, bookshelf after bookshelf plundered in search of Cassian’s notes. By day four, three more had joined the pile Nesta kept tucked in the pockets of her dress. The first was brief and quick, a short love you, Nes, that had made her heart swell. The second was found in one of his history books - see Nes? Told you I’d get you reading real books one day! was the opener - and had almost brought her to tears when she read what turned out to be an account of their history hidden away inside. Here’s a story for you, princess, about a fearsome general and the wondrous woman who brings him to his knees, he’d written.

I think I knew you were mine from that very first day. And I loved every piece of you, even then.

And the third— well, the third Nesta had found slotted between the pages of one of her steamier romances, hiding in a chapter so racy it had made even her cheeks burn when she’d first read it. His note was brief— just a single line.

How about we try this when I get home?

It had all but set her alight, and had carried her through a full day and night since, but now…

The cold was starting to creep in, a chill lingering through the House as the sun went down. Five days he’d been gone— five, and with nobody to turn to now, Nesta found herself feeling exactly as she had when he’d first gone away. The House seemed cold without him, like even it had arrived at the begrudging conclusion that part of its integral makeup was missing without him there. Goosebumps skittered over Nesta’s arms as darkness fell, and she couldn’t help the scowl that fitted itself across her brow. Usually, if she happened to be cold, Cassian would be there, lingering at her side, ready to pull her into his arms at a moment’s notice to lend her some of his heat.

Cassian had never once let her go cold.

Even the notes couldn’t warm her now, she thought, dragging her fingers across that brief love you, Nes. Five days of missing her mate were starting to leave their mark, like a knife across her ribs, and every time she so much as thought of the distance between them and the two days still left to get through, it made her curse her decision to stay behind— to let him go without her.

As if sensing the cold was beginning to bother her, the House immediately started a fire in the grand hearth that occupied much of the wall opposite the windows. But Nesta shook her head. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough.

It wasn’t heat she sought, but comfort too.

And there was only one place she could get that now.

Before the cold could sink any further into her bones, Nesta marched to their bedroom— down the stairs and through the hallway, spurred on by her purpose until she was standing before the doors to the wardrobe standing in the left corner of their bedroom.

His wardrobe.

The faelights in their sconces glowed a little brighter as she opened the wardrobe doors. Within, Nesta found the usual piles of polished flying leathers sitting neatly on the various shelves, and a number of simple tunics and shirts in dark colours hanging from the rail. Cassian’s scent was almost overpowering, so potent that if she closed her eyes she might almost have been able to convince herself he was standing before her.

But her heart kicked in protest, like the mirage of him wasn’t enough.

Nesta trailed her fingers over those shirts, letting that cinnamon-and-leather scent wash over her, thinking of all the times she had unbuttoned those shirts, button by button, to reveal inch after inch of perfect golden-brown skin. She wished she could run her hands over him now, feel his heat sinking into her, chasing away the cold. She wished she could see that cocky smile, and hear his booming laugh, and—

Gods.

For her own damned sanity, she pushed the thought away.

Instead Nesta picked through that wardrobe in search of something else, until her hands found something softer, something older. Hanging towards the back, an old jumper that was oversized and soft brushed her skin, the colour a faded burgundy that might once have been bright. It was something Cassian wore only on the days where neither of them planned on leaving the House; those rare lazy days where they wouldn’t rise from bed until the sun was high in the sky, and even then, they wouldn’t make it far. It was the jumper he wore as Nesta lounged against his chest, turning the pages of her book as his fingers played with her hair.

Comfort.

That was what she wanted - needed - more than anything else. To be wrapped up in something soft, to drown in the scent of him that would have to carry her through two more days. If he couldn’t keep her warm himself, well, then this would have to do in his stead.

Nesta tugged the jumper from the hanger, relishing its weight and thickness in her fingers, and when she pulled it free of the wardrobe, she really didn’t know why she was surprised when, there, secured with a small pin, was another of his notes.

Are you missing me that much, princess?

Gods, he knew her like the back of his own damned hand.

She supposed Rhys hadn’t appointed him general for nothing, but Cassian had predicted her every movement, her every want and need. He had known, her mate had known, that Nesta would come here in search of something to bring her comfort. The bond between them seemed to shiver, and lightly she tugged on it— a quiet I love you in the only language they had left to them now.

Almost immediately, he tugged back.

Nesta removed the pin from the jumper and pulled it over her head. The sleeves were so big she had to roll them up thrice before her hands were free, but when she was entirely wrapped up in the scent of him, she looked back down at the note in her hand.

By the way, it said at the bottom, I love it when you wear my clothes. You have no idea how much I wish I could be the one keeping you warm but since I can’t… Promise me you’ll wear this again for me when I get home?

Nesta sighed softly, bittersweet. She missed him— more than anything, she missed him. She didn’t have the energy anymore to pretend she wasn’t counting down the hours until he was returned to her, and with nothing else left, Nesta made her way back to the library, taking his scent deep into her lungs and burying her fingers in the soft fabric of his jumper.

She tugged lightly on the bond as she went, just one more time.

And as she reached the doors of the library overlooking the city, it pulled back— a long, slow drag. Nesta didn’t need notes or Feyre’s gifts to know exactly what it meant, that protracted brush along the bridge between their souls. In no uncertain terms her mate was trying to say,

I miss you.

***

The duke threw up his hands in defeat, one hand fisting over his heart as though he had been driven half to madness. Clio felt her own heart thud, and as he took a step closer, she didn’t balk.

“Don’t you see how wild you drive me?” he demanded, all pretence of propriety vanished.

He was undone, a nobleman reduced almost to nothing, unravelling before her, and—

A low laughed echoed through the library.

Every sense Nesta possessed seemed to fail as she was startled out of her latest book, the world itself falling silent as that laugh swept across the back of her neck like the softest, most decadent of touches. Deep inside her chest, a match burst into flame.

“All the things I taught you, and yet still you’re oblivious to everything around you when you have your head stuck in a book.”

The honeyed voice sounded at her ear, right behind her, and though the words weren’t quiet, the tone was delectably soft, like velvet. It was a voice that seemed to sing to the deepest part of her, that resonated right through to her bones— and one she had sorely, sorely missed these past five days.

Her mate’s voice.

Nesta turned her head, wondering if she had finally gone mad or just started to hallucinate. But no— there he was, hands braced on the back of the sofa either side of her shoulders, powerful fingers curling in the cushions as he leaned into her space, lips parting in a lupine grin as his wind-tangled hair draped itself across his forehead.

“Cassian—“ Nesta started, blinking in surprise as her fingers grew slack, her book falling unnoticed into her lap. “You’re early! Nobody told me you were coming home today—“

His grin grew wider, sharper. For a moment Nesta was too stunned to move, blinking furiously as she stared into those glimmering hazel eyes. But when she recovered her senses enough to rise to her feet, Cassian’s palms came down firmly on her shoulders, pinning her in place.

“Surprise,” he whispered, lips against the shell of her ear.

Standing behind the sofa and leaning over the back of it to bury his face in her neck, Cassian didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. His hands drifted from her shoulders, tucking an errant piece of hair behind her ear before dragging it down the edge of her jaw to skim her collarbone, brushing the edge of her borrowed jumper, languid and lazy and entirely at ease. Her heart pounded as his hand brushed her ribs, and as her head fell back to rest against his chest, she felt the edge within her that had been made raw the past few days begin to heal, smoothing over with every pass of his hands across her skin.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

He smelled like snow and wind, the cold still clinging to his leathers. Nesta shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold she could feel radiating from him and seeping into her, even through the thick material of the jumper she’d stolen only a few hours ago.

She turned her head, his cheek brushing hers, and behind him, his wings twitched.

Cassian’s arms enveloped her, palms skating down the side of her arms until they reached her wrists, where the material of his jumper gathered and folded. Softly Cassian pressed a tender kiss to the skin of her neck, inhaling deeply as if, for the first time in days, he could breathe easily. He practically shuddered as he took in the scent of her— the scent of home, Nesta realised, because even though she hadn’t been the one away the past five days, it was only with Cassian returned to her that home felt like… well, home again. Like all was right in the world, balance restored.

Words escaped her, and she could barely think straight, but as his nose nudged her cheek Nesta let out a soft huff, one of endearment, and all she could say, with her lips brushing his ear was,

“Welcome home.”

He hummed, the sound low and suggestive, and gods— it made Nesta dizzy. His hands stretched until they covered her own, his palm coming to rest atop her knuckles. His fingers delved between hers, his grip tight, and suddenly she longed to feel his chest against her back rather than the cushions of the sofa.

But for the moment he seemed content to hold her like this, to take it in, like he’d been away for a decade.

The siphons atop their entwined hands glowed, and slowly - so slowly - Nesta pulled one hand free. Lifting it to his face she traced his cheekbone, trailing her touch across the bow of his lips as his eyes drifted closed. He groaned, his head tipping forward to fall at her shoulder once more, his lips kissing the curve of her neck— harder now, more insistent, like that lazy, cocksure posturing was a game he’d grown tied of playing.

Everything Nesta was narrowed on that— the lips at her neck, the bare skin he sought and found with lips and teeth.

Oh, she’d missed him.

She had always looked at her sister and Rhysand and wondered dryly how either of them could stand to be so interdependent. She’d always thought it ridiculous, how neither of them could function when the other was away. She could have laughed at the irony now, and might have, had she not been so distracted by the way Cassian’s teeth suddenly scraped over the skin at her collarbone, sending a jolt right down her spine, like lightning. It drew a gasp from her, her lungs starting to ache.

“Did you miss me, Nes?” Cassian whispered, and Nesta felt her toes curl, felt the air begin to thin.

“Not even a little bit,” she lied, and she felt him smile against her, lips curving against her neck.

“Liar.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. She was done with this— this game of cat and mouse, pretending they weren’t both mere seconds from unravelling entirely. Without second thought she cast aside the book that had fallen to her lap and broke free of Cassian’s hold, rising to her knees on the sofa cushions before pivoting, turning to face him fully.

For a moment amusement glittered in his hazel eyes, but Nesta watched as his gaze turned dark, the playful spark swallowed entirely by pure, ravenous want. His hands landed on her waist as hunger swept across that beautiful face, and Nesta wondered if a similar expression crossed her own face, if he could tell just by looking how desperate she was for him.

She didn’t bother to find out, and for once he didn’t tease her.

Nesta lurched forwards, grabbing her mate by the collar of his wind-chilled leathers and hauling him to her, the back of the sofa still sitting between them. Cassian groaned into her, his lips meeting hers at last, hands bunching in the fabric of his jumper as he gripped her waist hard enough to bruise.

Her lips parted, a breathless gasp leaving her as Cassian took everything she offered and gave it back to her tenfold, his hands drifting up her spine and palming the back of her neck before dragging along her jaw. His fingers slid into her hair, another groan leaving him as his hands grew tangled there, searching for pins to pull free.

His kiss was desperate, starving, and Nesta was no better, no more composed. She clawed at his back, rising higher on her knees as if it might bring him even closer. She was burning, every inch of her consumed by heat, and her heart was hammering so loudly it was a wonder it didn’t burst right out of her chest.

Some kind of whimper left her, a sound of absolute - mortifying - desperation, and Cassian’s lips curved against her own, his grin devolving into a rough laugh as he kissed her with abandon, lips dragging to the edge of her mouth, to her jaw, to any piece of her he could reach.

“Nes,” he murmured, lips pressed firmly against her skin.

Nesta’s eyes blinked open, dazed, as she pulled back just enough to find some air. A breath later, Cassian’s forehead dropped against hers, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as her own. He swallowed, pressing a final kiss to the tip of her nose before pulling back to study her face.

“I love you,” he said softly, hands dropping from her hair at last as he brushed a thumb across her cheek. “Have I told you that yet? Since I got home?”

Nesta laughed. “No, but you’ve been home for all of five minutes.”

He shrugged. “Hardly an excuse, since it’s all I’ve been thinking for the last five days.”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could answer - before she could tell him she loved him too - his eyes flicked down, catching on the Illyrian romance Nesta had left on the table. She’d finished it within a day, but hadn’t had the heart to shelve it once she was done, leaving it out so that she might run a finger down the spine every now and then— just to be reminded of how he’d thought about her enough to leave those little notes scattered throughout the House.

“You got my note, then?” he asked, eyes glinting.

Nesta nodded. “All seven.”

But Cassian’s smile turned wicked. “Only seven?”

He tsked as he pushed away entirely from the back of the sofa, rounding it with that easy, cocksure gait of his until he stood before her, one eyebrow raised. Nesta tilted her head.

“How many did you leave?”

His grin widened, throwing her a wink before he sank onto the cushions beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and bringing her to his side. She sank against him, melting into him. Irreverently he looked down at her, eyes gleaming with mischief.

He shook his head in answer, and using the arm he had wrapped around her shoulders, Cassian urged her down onto the cushions, until her back was flush against them. He winked again, leaning closer until his lips brushed hers so lightly it was almost a kind of madness. His hands were light as they trailed down her sides, a teasing touch that had her igniting all over again.

He didn’t answer her question, and Nesta huffed sharply even as her hands wandered into his hair, trailing through the strands he hadn’t tied up in his usual bun. Her thumb brushed the earring he wore in his left ear, his eyes fluttering closed as her dragged the tip of his nose along her jaw.

“Where,” Nesta demanded again. After all, she had looked everywhere. She was certain of it.

Cassian let out a laugh above her, one she felt rumble through her own chest. His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she had to fight to remember why she even cared about the notes, why she cared about anything other than him kissing her until she couldn’t breathe.

He shook his head again.

“Something for you to find the next time I’m away,” he murmured, and this time… Nesta let it lie.

She let out a hmph, but let her hands delve back into his hair, pulling him against her. His weight settled atop her, his forearms braced either side of her. His siphons pulsed, and she didn’t care that they were in the middle of the House library - that anyone could walk in and find them like this - she pulled his face down to hers, and when he kissed her this time…

Nesta let herself be lost in it entirely, all those little notes for the moment forgotten— the small ways he’d told her he loved her replaced now by his touch and the words he whispered in her ear.

And when, after some indeterminate and inexplicable length of time, he pulled his lips away from hers to let her breathe - when his mouth fell to her collarbone and began to drift lower - all Nesta could say was,

“I love you too.”

#nessian #nessian fic #sjmromanceweek2024

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zenkindoflove · 11 months ago

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Sathia x Tharion Fanfic

Title: The Art of Seducing Your Merman Husband Relationship: Sathia Flynn/Tharion Ketos Rating: E Status: One-shot, ~3,800 words Summary: When Sathia realizes that Tharion is purposely ignoring all of her attempts at seduction, she decides on Valentine's Day that the only way to finally get her husband in her bed is to make a gesture so obvious, that even a merman with one brain cell would figure it out.

For @sjmromanceweek Day 2 prompt Valentine’s Day Traditions. Thanks to @lucienarcheron for reading and giving me great feedback, especially for the ending. ;)

READ ON AO3

Excerpt

That’s what brought her to this moment. It was not only a Friday night, but to rub further salt in her wounds, Valentine’s Day. Instead of flowers and chocolates and going out to a nice restaurant, they both stayed late at work and Tharion brought tacos home for dinner. They watched Vanir Love on the sofa, to which Tharion had the audacity to crack a joke about how it was fitting for the holiday and could be their new tradition. As they retired for the night, Tharion decided to take a shower. As Sathia listened to the water turn on from the other side of the door, the weeks of trying and failing to seduce him all culminated in her gut. She needed to do something big. A grand gesture. Something so obvious that not even he could pretend he didn’t see.

So, she stripped off all of her clothes and opened the bathroom door.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #sathia x tharion #satharion #sarion #sathia flynn #tharion ketos #tharion x sathia #sathia ketos #crescent city fanfic #crescent city #hofas #hofas spoilers

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theladyofbloodshed · 11 months ago

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SJM Romance Week - Day 1 - First Date

@sjmromanceweek

With a fear of flying gripping her tight, Nesta just wants to be left alone to spiral in her panic - that is until a swaggering man holds her hand during take off.

The sweating had begun the second she reached the security line which was never a good sign. Nesta tried to act calm, tried not to keep glancing over her shoulders at the security agents as they scanned bags and bodies. Every damn time she made the machine bleep despite ensuring she had no metal on her, as if the machine knew she was panicking and wanted to enhance her worry. True to history, the machine went off and she stepped onto the painted feet for a guard to wave their wand over her. She didn’t know why she was so worried about the security part; Nesta wasn’t smuggling drugs.

Two hours of agony followed.

The duty-free shops didn’t hold her appeal although she’d toyed with buying alcohol to take the edge off things. She’d taken a Xanax already and mixing wouldn’t go well. A book. A new book to keep her occupied, that would do. She checked her gate, double checked it then triple checked it. Lurked near it way before it was boarding time with her new book clutched in her clammy hands. Nesta mentally catalogued her day. She’d watered the plants, Gwyn already had the spare key to water them when needed, she’d turned everything off, locked the door because she’d checked multiple times, had her travel documents on her phone and printed, had only taken hand luggage so it wouldn’t be lost. Everything would be fine. Of course it would be. She was a planner. But she couldn’t plan who was piloting the plane. Couldn’t plan the weather. Couldn’t plan if a freak bolt of lightning struck the plane and zapped them off the face of the earth. Nesta swigged down mouthfuls of sparkling water. She hated it but it made her burp and that alleviated her churning stomach.

When the agents called for boarding, Nesta was first in the queue. Priority boarding had been purchased so she could panic in her seat. Her legs trembled up the metal stairs to board the plane. Planes flew every day. Hundreds of them. All crisscrossing across the sky. And she’d be on the unlucky anomaly. Because of course she would. Nothing ever ran smoothly in her life.

With an eye mask on and a mindfulness podcast blaring in her ears, Nesta tried to block out the rest of the boarding. She was vaguely aware of bodies moving down the aisle or slipping into seats behind or in front of hers, the judder of chairs or slam of the overhead storage. When an elbow knocked into her to take the seat, she didn’t react, just kept listening to the soothing voice telling her to focus on her breathing.

Fingers tapped on her arm repeatedly until she peeled off her mask.

A man with dark-hair tugged into a loose bun at the nape of his neck was gesturing to her headphones. An air steward was watching, life jacket held aloft for the display. ‘Switch to airplane mode or turn off your devices for take off please.’

Nesta fumbled with her phone, hands trembling to change it. She listened to the safety warnings, terror soaking in.

‘Can we swap seats? I don’t want to look out of the window.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, but I need to leg room in the aisle.’ The man gestured to his broad thighs and long, muscled legs.

Nesta knew well enough that if she even dreamed of closing the hatch on the window, a flight attendant would snap it back up so she could see just how high they were. Once the safety demo had finished, Nesta plugged back into her bubble. Her belt was on but what use was that against a plane crash?

As soon as she felt motion, Nesta was gripping her seat belt as if clinging onto it might save her. Her hands trembled, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth in her fear as the plane approached the runway.

Then a hand reached for hers. Calloused fingers slid against her own.

Nesta ripped her mask and headphones away in one fell swoop.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘You seemed nervous. Thought you’d want a hand to hold.’

The man’s hazel eyes fell to their hands, still entwined then Nesta yanked that away too.

And then the plane was barrelling along the runway, the force pinning her to her seat so she grasped for that hand again. He gave a low chuckle and cradled hers with both of his. Nesta screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to glimpse the moment they took flight or the way the land below would become more and more distant. At Emerie’s encouragement, she’d watched take offs on YouTube, had even tried to play a flight simulator but both of them had freaked her out just as much.

‘Is it just take off or landing too?’

Her words wouldn’t come out. The whole thing was traumatic. The only reason she was flying was because her sister was due to a drop a baby boy any day and Nesta had agreed to be there for the delivery and first couple of weeks of his life. Without a maternal figure, Feyre had decided that Nesta was the closest thing – ignoring the fact neither of them had a clue about babies.

‘What does that beeping mean?’ she hissed.

The man just brushed his thumb in a circle against the back of her hand. ‘It means we can take our seat belts off, sweetheart.’

Reluctantly, she forced open her eyes. People were already releasing their belts and heading to the bathroom. She had held her own urination on every flight. Only poor planners didn’t go before take-off. It would be just her luck that a plane would meet a fiery end whilst she was sat on the toilet.

He leaned over to slide the hatch down, hiding the outside world from view then his fingers headed towards her lap. Nesta was too stunned to react even as he undid her belt.

‘And what happens if this plane starts to plummet from the sky?’

‘I’m sure you can figure out how to put your belt back on,’ he replied, an easy grin on his face. At her terse look, he added, ‘Relax. This plane has never crashed before.’

Nesta busied herself with her book despite the undercurrent of fear threatening to drown her every time she thought too deeply about how the plane remained airborne. The man next to her read the in-flight magazine then began drumming on the fold-out table.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Have you got a request?’

Nesta’s brows drew together. ‘Stop drumming. It’s irritating.’

When the trolley of beverages was a few rows away, he turned to her. ‘What are you having?’

‘Nothing. If I drink, I will need the bathroom. I am not getting up or going there and tempting fate.’

He gave a bellow of a laugh. ‘You’ve thought of everything. You know if the plane crashes, it will make no difference if you’re sat by me or on the toilet.’

Her face must have paled because he added, ‘But it will fly safely to our destination.’

A handsome, swaggering smile was offered to the air stewardess when she approached. ‘Two coffees, chips, M&Ms and whatever drink has the most sugar.’

There was a veritable feast laid out in front of him, but a coffee was placed on the little table that he unfolded at her seat. The M&M pouch was torn open and shook in front of her face.

‘Go on, treat yourself.’

‘Do you just fly around the country and trap women in airline seats so they can’t get away?’

He ran a hand against his black hair. ‘Should I have gotten the peanut ones?’

Nesta took a few and tipped them into her mouth.

‘Careful, sweetheart, you don’t want to choke while the plane is crashing.’

‘You are not funny,’ she complained.

‘When they need to identify your body, what name will go with it?’

This time, she nearly did choke on her handful of M&Ms. ‘Are you serious? Is that how you’re asking my name?’

He spread out his hands, evidently pleased with that terrible line, awaiting her answer.

‘Nesta.’

‘Cassian.’

They chatted as the plane continued on its journey, drinking their coffee and eating his snacks. They shared the can of coke, her inhabitations well and truly lowered by the Xanax if she was willing to swap saliva and drink from the same can as a stranger. At the first signs of turbulence, Cassian was there to hold her hands and murmur embarrassing stories about his friends to stop fear paralysing her.

Once the cabin crew had swept through to collect the final few items of rubbish on the short flight, Nesta was clamming up again. She knew what was to follow.

‘Cabin crew, prepare for landing.’

Clouds streamed past the window, adding to the turbulence. Nesta was too scared to even reach for her mask which had fallen on the floor.

Cassian wound his fingers into hers. ‘I’ve got you, sweetheart. It will be okay.’

Every bump had her gritting her teeth so hard, it was a wonder that one of her molars didn’t crack. Cassian just kept talking in a low voice about inane topics to try and shave the edges off of her fear. His arm wound around her shoulders, forehead touching her temple, whilst his other hand still held hers.

‘This is the nicest first date I’ve ever had.’

That snapped something in her. ‘This is not a date.’

The nose of the plane dipped and her stomach lurched from the motion.

‘We’ve had coffee and snacks. We’re holding hands. You’ve shared your deepest fears of dying in a blazing crash. To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.’

Nesta ground out, ‘I hate the Smiths.’

‘Everybody does,’ he said.

With a bump that made her squeeze Cassian tighter, the plane landed. It sped down the runway and Nesta kept her eyes firmly shut for the entire duration until Cassian murmured that they had stopped.

‘You see, a safe flight after all.’

‘Fortune was cruel enough to put me next to you. A crash would have really tipped it over the edge.’

Cassian lifted her bag down for her, his black t-shirt rising to expose a strip of his taut muscled stomach. His own was a well-used duffle which he slung over his shoulder.

They walked together towards the airport building.

‘Do I get your number then?’

Nesta cocked a brow at his boldness. ‘Absolutely not. I’d rather be the one that got away.’

‘Every flight I’ll think of you, wondering if you’re stealing another man’s snacks.’

Nesta pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss as they parted into two different lines at security.

The man had to be mad, she decided as she passed through passport control. No sane man would just start holding a stranger’s hand – and she was an idiot for reciprocating that touch. But it did sting a bit that he’d accepted her refusal so easily. After how tactile and caring he’d been, she thought maybe Cassian would have pestered her again for her number or her socials. Whatever. His loss.

Her fear of flying meant that she’d sweated through her deodorant so she hurried into the bathroom to change her top, clean her arm pits with a baby wipe then slather on more deodorant to appear a little less dishevelled. Nesta spotted Cassian waiting at the baggage carousal for more belongings to come rolling around so she scurried past, avoiding his attention. Fantasy was more fun than reality. Maybe he’d be her one that got away.

After passing through anything to declare, Feyre was waiting for her. The huge belly wasn’t a surprise but it was still a shock to see her little sister so heavily pregnant.

‘Wow, look at you!’

‘I am peeing every ten minutes,’ she replied, holding up her belly.

‘Hi, Rhys.’

‘Nesta,’ he said, swooping to press a kiss on her cheek.

They’d met once. And it had been awkward as hell when Nesta realised he was eight years older than her. He wasn’t the sort of man she’d ever choose, but Feyre seemed happy. They were on “Christmas Card closeness” usually so Feyre’s call asking her to come and be close for the birth had meant a lot. Meant enough that she was willing to fly two days later.

‘Where’s the rest of your luggage?’

‘I had it sent ahead.’

Feyre patted Rhys on the arm. ‘Nesta hates flying. Everything is planned to an inch of its life. No detours, no unnecessary waiting. On the plane, off the plane.’

Even being in an airport, with its constant business, had Nesta itchy. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Do you want to head to the car, ladies? I’m worried about you standing for so long, darling.’

Feyre shook her head, golden hair cascading from the motion. ‘I’m fine. Cassian won’t take that long.’

‘Cassian?’

Nesta could practically hear the alarm bells ringing in her head.

‘My brother,’ said Rhys.

‘He works on an oil rig but he’s home for a couple of months now so you two can argue over who is the best uncle or auntie,’ teased Feyre.

There he was, striding through the doors, duffle bag slung over one shoulder while pushing a cart loaded with three more bags. His eyes snapped straight to her, a slow grin spreading over his face.

They said their greetings, Nesta and Cassian pretending that she hadn’t just been clinging to him in terror on the flight here then they fell into step together, walking slightly behind Rhysand and Feyre.

‘Fortune favours you,’ he murmured.

‘Did you know who I am?’

Cassian gave a hearty laugh that had Rhys glancing his shoulder at them. ‘Not at first. You looked familiar then you said your name and I realised you were Feyre’s sister.’

‘Lucky me,’ she grumbled.

With one hand pushing the trolley, he slung the other arm around her shoulders. ‘So, about that second date.’

#nessian #sjmromanceweek #sjmromanceweek2024

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mariaofdoranelle · 11 months ago

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Catastrophic Blues

Written for @sjmromanceweek

Prompt: Favorite tropes (exes to lovers yay!)

I wrote most of this oneshot a year ago, and I never posted because it’s so sad, and also it’s the only time I fully trauma dumped on my fics. Anyway. Enjoy this thing that was based on one of the most pathetic days of my life lol

Warnings: none?

Words: 2,2k

The low lighting the uber had at night only called more attention to the cold, churning mess that was Aelin’s stomach. It was the lack of something to focus on when what she needs right now is sensory overload. The smell of alcohol, loud music, strobe lights.

Aelin wanted to focus on anything that wasn’t her destination—or who she’d meet there.

It was fine. She was fine.

It was Fenrys' birthday. The cheeriest of Aelin's cheery friends. Aelin definitely couldn't miss his birthday. Today was about Fenrys, and not the ex-boyfriend who was also invited.

But Aelin was fine. It wasn't a big deal. It’d been more than a month since they broke up, and Rowan even texted her asking if she’d be comfortable if he brought his new girl tonight.

How considerate of him.

But Aelin agreed, with no regrets. The only thing she regretted was merging her group of friends with her ex-boyfriend when they were dating. That was something she’d keep in mind for the next time she met someone.

Out of the car and in front of the bar, Aelin let the cool summer breeze wash her nerves away. He was probably in there already, always on time. She knew this would eventually happen when they broke up and decided to stay friends for the sake of the gang. There was no need for her to freak out—good thing she wasn't. And if she acted weirdly today, what would Rowan do a month from now?

The crowded place was booming with laughter and drunken yells, busy waiters running around the place, barely paying attention to the graceless group of friends singing Bohemian Rhapsody at karaoke.

A large hand gripped her waist, turning her towards the source, and Aelin met a smiling pair of onyx eyes.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Fen!” She hugged her friend and handed him his present, wishing him a happy birthday.

“Everyone’s at a big table back there, and…” Fenrys trailed, trying to read something on Aelin’s expression. Whatever words he was about to say died in his throat.

Aelin crossed her arms. “Spill.”

He shrugged. “You’re hotter than her.”

Lyria, he meant. And Aelin agreed, she was definitely hotter. It wasn’t hard to find Rowan’s new girl on Instagram after she commented a red heart on his last picture like a dog peeing on the comment section for territory. She found out about it even before he told her himself.

Aelin narrowed her eyes at Fen. “I’m over him.”

He shrugged. “Just thought you’d like to hear it.”

Her smirk was met with a similar one from Fenrys. He knows her too well.

Then Aelin shook her head, chastising herself for such thoughts. She was the one to end things, due to her… distressing circumstances. She had no right to shame Rowan for settling for a less hot person.

It’s not like she cared, anyway.

Stepping onto the back of the bar, Aelin quickly spotted the table and greeted everyone—including the lovebirds.

Rowan was stiff like a robot, and Lyria was polite. Bland. Guess he lied when he said he liked Aelin’s fiery personality and the way they clashed, since his new girlfriend is the total opposite. He’d probably still be his dutiful self to her in a month, and Aelin would be in Suria with rows of men—or vodka, most likely—lying at her feet.

She sat beside Elide and ordered a non-alcoholic beer—the doctor had cleared her to drink alcohol with moderation by now, but she didn’t want to risk it. Connall decided to restart whatever work gossip he was telling to keep Aelin in the loop.

She was paying attention, or at least she was trying to, but—why did Rowan shave off his beard? God, she loved his jawline. How it looked so firm by far, but felt so soft under her lips and teeth. Aelin could still remember how his beard tickled against her skin when he decided to grow it, or even better, the feeling of it against her thighs when he--

"Ace, are you alright?" Elide whispered in her ear, "You look a little lost."

Aelin blinked, trying to focus on her friends. Apart from Ellie, no one noticed she'd zoned out. Looking back at her friend, Aelin nodded, a small smile on her lips.

Her friend arched one eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Rolling her eyes, Aelin chuckled. "Of course."

Looking back at everyone, she caught Rowan’s eyes on her. Busted, the only thing left for him to do was send her a small, close-lipped smile and tip his head to the Heineken 0.0% she clutched. Aelin raised it and took a long swig, letting the bitter beverage go down throat, the feeling so close to the real thing.

He feels proud of her growth. Not a big deal when he keeps a perky brunette under his arm.

But she knew this feeling was just an initial clash of their lives apart. Aelin was fine, she truly was. Her feelings towards Rowan would never be the same she had to a regular friend, because the nature of their memories together was different. Erasing their history was impossible, so it was either fully leave or learn how to live in the shadows of what they used to be.

This hollowness she felt in her chest was just an initial shock, an adjustment. Aelin wasn't the only person in the world to lose the love of her life, and some of them even did great after that, with their second-best significant ones.

No one can keep every good thing that happens in their life forever. Even if said good best thing is right there, standing in front of you.

Actually, she was wrong. Aelin did keep Rowan in her life. As a friend. Which was enough, and just what she needed.

“…Right, Ace?”

Aelin blinked, being dragged out of her thoughts back into the conversation. “Excuse me?”

Elide sighed. “The birthday cake, Fenrys got it from Emrys’. Isn’t that the place you recommended to him?”

“Oh.” Aelin blinked. “Yes. Absolutely, yes. They’re the best.”

Ellie gave her a quick look that was hard to decipher, but maybe it was time for Aelin to pay attention.

And pay attention she did. She leaned on the table and held her chin under her palm. Turns out the owners of Emrys’ are regulars at the motel Fenrys works at. Disgusting news to hear, and Connall agreed with her unshared thoughts. Fenrys accused his brother of being homophobic, since they’re talking about a gay couple. Connall retorted, saying that he can’t be homophobic if he’s gay, and it’s not prejudice if he hates everyone equally.

The twins bickered on and on. Rowan watched them as if it was a tennis match, with undiluted attention, while Lyria seemed endlessly amused by it.

Aelin wished she had stayed home.

But she came here for Fenrys, and for Fenrys she stayed. And stayed and stayed and stayed until that fucking song started playing. For Mala’s sake, today was not her day.

Aelin looked around, trying not to be too obvious that she was looking at them. Trying not to look too much or too little.

He's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on my heart.

Rowan took Lyria's hand and held it against his chest.

Just like he used to do with her.

Aelin swallowed, her chest shrinking. She was going to be sick.

She excused herself and got up, walking to another section of the bar near the restrooms where she couldn't be seen from the table, and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

Breathe in.

She could still feel the shape of Rowan’s lips against hers.

Breathe out.

She could still feel the weight of his body above hers.

Breathe in.

She could still feel his calloused hands caressing her bare back in bed.

Breathe out.

Her heart was beating just as much as on the day she finally got the courage to cuddle him after sex, almost two years ago. When she first rested her head on the crook of his neck, Aelin scented her favorite version of Rowan’s smell because it was completely ingrained with hers. And she did it again. And again. And again. Her hand could trace the shape of him even that long after the last time they were together. She hated how much she'd cling to those small details, and she hated even more that she cared about this. Because she did. Aelin would barely admit it to herself, but of course she did.

She took a deep breath, ignored her quivering stomach and schooled herself, walking to the bar's counter.

The man next to her leaned on the counter so much he was half laid in it, but he still managed to turn his piercing blue eyes at Aelin and smile.

"Can’t find a bartender," he complained, his speech slurred. "I need a beer."

Aelin chuckled, leaning her forearms on the surface too. "And I need water."

He raised his head a little. "I'm Dorian."

"Aelin." She looked at him up and down, from the fumbled hair to the rumpled clothes and untied shoes. “Are you sure the bartenders aren’t bartending you on purpose?”

“I’m sure they are.”

“Huh.” Aelin scanned the liquor selection, tempted. She really was doing better with this new medication, and Dr. Hafiza cleared her for an occasional drink. She could definitely use a drink now. Instead, she tilted her head at Dorian and said, “Did you lose a puppy or something? Or this is just your usual Friday night?”

He ran a hand through his hair and grinned at her, so confident it reminded her of Fenrys. "My answer depends on whether you're giving me your number or not."

Aelin snorted. She thought of how satisfying it would be to watch Rowan watch her leave the bar with someone else, but a drunk wouldn't do. Besides, this wasn't a competition. Aelin had already lost.

"Not a chance. Spill."

He sighed and slumped again on the countertop, hitting his head against it.

"My situationship doesn't see me as dating material."

Aelin grimaced. "That sucks"

He waved a hand, dismissing her pity. "You?"

Her mind went back to a year ago, how he stood by her side, red-rimmed green eyes when Aelin became a shell of herself. How his anxiety skyrocketed when hers did too. How well he was doing now that she wasn't his problem anymore.

A bitter chuckle left her lips. "My sadness is contagious."

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I just bared my soul to you, and this is what you tell me?”

“You did not!”

“I’m gonna get another drink if you don’t entertain me.”

“Is this a threat?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

Aelin sighed, looking up while she gathered her thoughts. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”

“Obviously.”

“Because I was bringing him down. No drama. We decided to not break up our group of friends.”

“No drama, you said?”

“He’s with his new girlfriend at the back of the bar and all my friends are schmoozing with her now.”

“I sense drama.”

“And we have a trip booked for next month we didn’t discuss.”

“Paid it all before the breakup, huh?”

Aelin nodded and ordered two waters before they traded stories about their pathetic love lives. She didn’t know how long they stayed there, neither if she liked Dorian or just this escape from the table from hell, but being here was a respite.

They were about six Tinder horror stories in when a hand landed on Aelin’s shoulder, making her jump, heart racing with surprise.

Rowan stood beside her with his trademark frown. “It’s been a while since you left the table.”

“Yup.” What was she supposed to say?

He jutted his chin towards Dorian. “Is he bothering you?”

“Not at all.” She squared her shoulders, trying to find a light way to describe their pity party. “This is Dorian. I’m getting funny dating stories out of him before I call an uber and send him back to his world of heartless women and tawdry men.”

“I see,” he trailed, eyes trained on them, and took a step back. “Okay. I have to go back there, but if you—“

“I know.” She waved him off. He needed to be at the table and be a good boyfriend to someone else, she got it.

Aelin was fully aware that her mind was going on a petty path, but she couldn’t help it. Yes, Lyria was nice. Yes, Lyria had been nothing but polite to her the entire night. The only problem was that Lyria was dating the wrong person. Or the perfect one, if Aelin wanted to address her issues more directly.

She banged her head against the disgusting counter, resting there to contemplate this rare moment of self-pity.

Aelin dug her own grave.

Dorian had his eyebrows raised. “Damn, he’s hot.”

“And thoughtful.”

“I wasn’t thinking about his thoughtfulness when he murdered me with his eyes.”

“He did not.”

“He did. And you know why.”

“I do not.” Aelin sipped her water. “Anyway, what happened to the guy who was cheating on his wife with you?”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled with the memory of this unfinished divorce story, and she was thankful to get the spotlight of the conversation away from her.

Unlike Aelin, Rowan had his shit together and was happy. She wouldn't—actually, she couldn't—disturb this little peace he found after she cut him off.

Her selfishness only went so far.

Read part 2 here

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fieldofdaisiies · 10 months ago

Text

Of Birds and Bees

Lucien stopped.

Elain's forehead, coated in a thin film of sweat, lies in furrows and her lids lazily flutter open, her eyes glazed over with passion and desire. In her fully blissed-out state it is hard to form coherent thoughts, even harder to voice them.

Lucien is only looking at her, one hand, broad and veiny, braced next to her head, the fingers of the other tracing over her face. But his hips are no longer moving, his cock remaining buried deep inside of her, filling her perfectly. His heart swells with admiration and pride over his mate - this wonderful female is his. Only his.

"Wh-why did you stop?" Elain eventually asks, voice nothing more than a breathy whisper.

Urging her hips upwards, she hopes her mate will move again. Lucien truly follows her beckons, a low, sensual chuckle rolling over his lips.

"I got distracted by how beautiful you are, and momentarily by body stopped functioning." A sheepish smile is plastered on his face, tanned cheeks now a deep red, twin flames burning in both his russet and his metal eye. "I love you, my mate."

Lucien's mouth claims hers in a hungry, almost ravishing kiss, leaving both of them breathless, lips still tingling after they part.

His hips pick up in pace again, at first meeting Elain‘s gently, then he starts to move faster. His lips glide from her mouth down to her jaw, pressing searing kisses to her soft, and slightly damp skin. He descends further down on her, to her cleavage, then her breasts, flicking his tongue against the hardened peak before sucking it into his mouth. It elicits a whimper from Elain, accompanied by the arch of her back, perfectly bending to Lucien‘s will.

He sometimes can be a proud and cocky male, and a groan of pure delight leaves his mouth. "Such a good girl," he purrs against her sensitive skin, his eyes dropping to where his length disappears into her body. "Look how perfectly your cunt is hugging my cock."

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, definitely leaving marks she will see there the following day and wear with pride. His hands radiate heat, making her skin feel even tighter, hotter.

Elain is his, only his and everyone can and should know that. Everyone has to know it and so leaving some markings on her is always good.

"I can't wait to fill you up, Elain." Lucien pushes his hips into her and she mewl. His tongue darts out, licking over her salty skin, up to the exposed column of her neck. "Watch this pretty belly of yours grow and let everyone see you are mine." He sinks his teeth into her flesh, hearing how his mate cries out - not in pain but in pure pleasure.

He pounds into her, setting a relentless rhythm that makes Elain move up on the mattress, her hips meeting his with every deep thrust. "Yes, yes!" she cries out, eyes shut, head tipped back. "I want that."

The sound of smacking flesh and a bed groaning under the impact of a couple fully engulfed in pleasure fills the room. They are nothing but heat and love, desire and lust.

Lucien chases his mate‘s lips, his kiss deep, passionate. "You want my come leaking out from your pretty cunt? You want my scent to be on you for weeks?"

Elain merely mewls, her mind and body already entering oblivion, release nearing in waves of delirious lust.

But Lucien has none of that – he wants to hear her pleasure-drunken voice, the breathy hue of it.

He clicks his tongue, thumb pressing down on her nipple before gives the sensitive flesh a flick. "Words, my lovely flower. I need you to say it." His lips press a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Tell me what you want."

Her nails dig into the skin of his back, leaving crescent shaped markings there — obviously everyone also needs to see that he is hers.

Elain blinks open her eyes, nothing but swirling pits of heat in them when she meets Lucien’s gaze. "I want you to fill me up so nicely your come is leaking out of me…" She swallows, cheeks burning. Only Lucien can manage to make her say such indecent things. "Put a baby in me. Make my belly swell with our child. Fill me up so much your scent won’t vanish for weeks." She sucks in a sharp intake if air. "I need you harder, Lu."

She lifts her legs, curling them around her mate, heels digging into his ass. The angle allows Lucien to drive even further into her, fucking her with newly found vigour — what she has said, how she said it and the hunger in her eyes, loosened all his restraints. His need is fully unleashed, hips snapping against hers. His pace isn’t brutal, his priority to make Elain feel good, but it brings an enormous amount of pleasure. Sex is, in the first place, always about her. Lucien knows that for him it feels good automatically. Making love to his mate, fucking her, can only bring him utter pleasure and delight as well.

She is squirming, the pitch of her moans rising at least an octave. Lucien once again finds himself fully enthralled by her - damp tendrils of hair curling around her face, cheeks flushed, her body covered in a thin film of sweat, breasts bouncing in the same rhythm of his hips snapping against hers. Lucien knows that his mate, that Elain Vanserra, is truly the most outstanding and stunning female to ever exist in this world. And she is his. Not only through the mating bond, but by choice. She has chosen him. Has chosen to accept the bond, to be with him. She is his and he is hers, by the bond and by choice. His Elain.

Despite the lust and pleasure boiling inside of him, a huge wave of gratitude and love washes over Lucien, making his eyes fill with tears. He leans in, chasing her mouth, kissing her deeply, softly, with nothing but love and affection. "I love you so much, Elain." He speaks against het mouth, his own lips barely parting, his chest pressing against hers. But it isn’t her breasts nor her hardened nipples he is feeling - it is her heart, beating in the same rhythm as his, singing the same melody. The one melody of lovers who at last found each other. "I love you."

Elain tilts her pelvis, arms curling around Lucien‘s neck to keep him close. "I love you," she answers him. "More than words could ever express." The last part she screams, because Lucien slams in to the hilt, the crown of his cock brushing every oh so pleasurable spot deep inside of her. His hand slides down her abdomen, pressing down gently, and it elicits a cry of pleasure from his mate, that he knows, if they had neighbours they would have heard.

"We are going to be parents, Lu."

"We are," he hums and realisation settles upon him. He will be father. Earlier or later he will be a father.

Lucien’s pace turns from fast to sensual, affectionate, hips rolling gentler against Elain’s, his thrust now deep and long, languid, making her feel every glorious inch of his cock, massaging her walls.

Her breathy moans, and the delicate curses leaving her are like music in the Vanserra male‘s ears. He loves it, could bottle it up just like the sound when she laughs.

Lucien slides his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers, and kisses her deeply. "Say you’re mine," he whispers against her lips, voice low, guttural.

"I am yours, Lucien. And you’re mine." Her voice is nothing but a breathy whisper, the promise in it yet clear and steadfast.

"Fucking hell, I am. All yours, my love." His tongue glides into her mouth, brushing her gums, then meeting hers in a dance for dominance. "Equal, mate, husband, and soon the father our children."

His words and the feel of his cock buried so deep inside of her, set fire to her abdomen - autumn Court males have fire in their blood after all and whenever they make love Lucien proves this to her.

Pleasure builds, her skin prickles, her inner muscles tighten around him and when her mate rubs his thumb over her swollen clit, circling the sensitive bud, it is her undoing. She grips the sheets next to her tightly, the other hand on Lucien's shoulder, nails digging in, and falls apart, shatters.

Her soul floats, leaving her body, explodes in colourful sprinkles. Her walls flutter around his cock and Lucien feels how heat pools in his lower back. He is close.

Elain’s eyes roll back, her powerful and glorious mate towering over her, but she can barely make out his features through her blurry vision, shockwaves of pleasure gripping her body. But she knows it. Knows that Lucien is grinning - as bright as the sun. He made her come once again and he is proud. And happy. She has to giggle, the sound breathy, joyful.

Lucien follows her soon after, the blissed-out appearance of his delicate mate after her climax being his undoing. It tips him right over the edge, and so do her noises. With one last, powerful thrust, he spills into her.

The growl that leaves him when he comes, doesn’t only make the cutlery in the kitchen below rattle, but also the windows of the bedroom. The entire house.

"Gods," Elain expresses, air whooshing in and out of her lungs, limbs spasming, chest rising and falling. She brings a hand up, folding it over hear forehead, mouth agape.

Lucien stays buried inside of her a moment longer, broad hands braced next to her body, hips rolling against hers gently, letting her come down from her high slowly. "My love," he whispers, bending down so he can kiss her brow, lips resting on her skin.

Elain meets each gentle rolls of his hips with her own, milking every last drop of his seed.

Slowly, he pulls out of her wet heat, his come truly leaking out of her, coating the insides of her thighs and the mattress below Elain.

Using two broad fingers, Lucien scoops up his hot release, pushing it back into his mate, not able to avoid the smirk from appearing on his lips. "You’re going to be even more beautiful when you're pregnant," he whispers, kissing her bent knee.

Once done with his work, Lucien cleans his digits with his tongue, groaning deeply at the taste of his mate, devouring her once again. He debates if they should just go another round, really wanting to have her come on his tongue this time, but he decides against it. Elain looks exhausted and fully content.

It is perfect to stop right here. So, he hooks his hand under her knee, gently lowering it to the bed. Leaning in, he pampers the soft skin of her belly with gentle pecks, the her breasts and cleavage up to her neck. "Bath, my mate?"

Elain turns her head, kissing Lucien‘s cheek. "If you carry me to the bathroom."

She smiles at him tiredly when he gathers her in his arms, climbing off the bed.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Elain bounces on her toes, one hand placed carefully over the small bump of her belly, the other on Lucien‘s pectoral. Her eyes are wide open, her voice hushed, cheeks rosy, when she says, "They will all know that we…had sex."

That draws a whole-hearted loud laugh from her mate, his eyes squeezed shut, his head tipped back.

In Elain’s ears her mate's laughter is the most beautiful sound in the whole entire world, but right in this moment she can’t fully enjoy it.

Lucien sees the expression on her face, and gently grasps her hand, taking it into his. "My love," he says, "after accepting the bond we disappeared for two weeks, don’t you think they already knew then that we are doing more than just holding hands." He kindly smiles at her.

Elain purses her lips and chuckles. "Och, you are right, but it is still weird, now it is like we officially announce to everyone that we—"

"–are soon going to be parents to a wonderful child." He lifts his hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

"Can you believe it?" Elain asks, her chest filling with anticipation that lets warmth spread through her entire body.

Lucien smiles, and shakes his head. His hands cradle her face, and he leans his brows against hers, their breaths mingling in front of their faces. "It feels surreal, doesn’t it?"

"I can’t believe we get so lucky. That it worked so fast." Elain is beaming, her smile so bright and radiant, it warms Lucien‘s skin. And his heart. "That conceiving worked so fast. That we will be parents soon."

"Mhm," Lucien hums, his heart swelling with anticipation and their mixed joy. He can't believe it himself. It truly feels surreal, but the anticipation about them becoming parents might be one of the best things he has ever felt.

"Lucien!" Elain expresses and he opens his eyes, meeting her gaze full of radiant happiness. "We are going to be parents!"

Her mate‘s hands slide down to her hips, pulling her just an inch nearer, but so close their chests are touching. "We will provide the best childhood for our little wonder." Lucien’s voice is a little hoarse, eyes glistening with memories of his own childhood.

"We will," Elain assures him, and kisses her mate‘s cheek. "Nothing but love, and understanding and kindness for our little babe." Her arms slide around his shoulders, around his neck, and she brings Lucien in for a tight embrace, his own arms naturally curling around her waist.

"It is cruel," he says after a moment, still holding her tightly. He's almost lifting Elain up at that point. She is standing on her tip toes, atop his toes.

"And it should be forbidden."

"What?" Elain hums, pressing a kiss to the column of her mate‘s neck. Goosebumps appear on his flesh - he is just so sensitive there and Elain loves it.

"That being pregnant makes you even more breathtaking. You are as radiant as the sun, my love."

He means it, he truly does, she can feel it through the bond. And it does something to her. To her heart. To her eyes. She wraps her arms around him tighter, face buried in his shoulder, Lucien‘s lips finding her exposed shoulder, kissing it.

"I love you."

Later when the whole family is gathered around the table at the Riverside Estate, enjoying the lovely dishes Elain has cooked, Lucien finally lifts the protective shield he has kept over his mate the past weeks, allowing everyone to know about their little secret.

Nesta is the first to whip her head into her little sister’s direction. Tears glisten in her eyes when she searches Elain's gaze, her lips parting.

Her younger sister slowly bows her head, a sheepish, yet happy smile appearing on her face.

Then Elain gets up, reaching for Lucien‘s hand. She places their intertwined hands on her small bump, and a big grin, one that reaches from one ear to the other, spreads over the male‘s face.

"There is something we need to tell you."

Cassian’s eyes dip to his sister-in-law's belly, and grinning, he leans back in his chair, on hand always carefully holding his daughter who sits on his right thigh, playing with a little doll. And of course the doll has little wings, she was a gift from aunt Emerie.

"Go on, Laney," Cassian says.

Elain and Lucien share their happiness with their family and are immediately embraced in hugs and congratulations, joyful chatter filling every nook of the house.

Nyx and Alayla are more than excited to meet their new cousin, bombarding Elain with questions how it is possible for baby to be in het belly. And how it got in there. And when they will finally be able to meet them. Nyx is sure it will be a boy. Alayla glowers at him and tells him she knows it will be a girl. Laughing, Elain cuddles them both to her chest, their tiny hands resting atop her belly.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

"He is kicking." A boyish giggle parts Lucien's lips, his grin spreading from one ear to the other. "I can feel it. He's strong already, his tiny foot kicking my hand."

Lucien kisses Elain's neck, his broad, warm hand placed atop Elain‘s round belly, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"He?" Elain asks with a smile, one brow lifted, a questioning look on her face.

Her mate grins in answer, purely male pride etched upon his features. "Yes, he. Little Lucien."

"What about a little Elain?"

"Two of you? Oh the mother protect me!" Lucien laughs loudly, and after shoving at his shoulder Elain joins in, laughing from the bottom of her heart. Obviously she wouldn’t be mad at him, this was a joke and she loves her mate’s jokes.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders and brings her in for a hug. "Whatever our little one will be, I will love them endlessly and I don’t care one bit about their gender."

Elain leans into him, releasing a contented sigh. He is so good. Her mate is so good. So different-minded to the standards he was born into where males always counted more than females.

"Another kick," he hums, his other hand still on her belly. "Can you feel it?"

"I can, Lu." A single tear slides down Elain’s cheek. "And it is wonderful. I wonder if they will be as active as their father." Elain sighs happily, her chest swelling with the love she already feels for the little one.

"Probably," Lucien chuckles. "But one thing I know for sure is that our little one will be as beautiful as their mother."

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

"I don’t know," Elain sobs, fisting Lucien’s shirt. "I put the vase here and now it is gone. I don't know where it disappeared to. It was here. But it isn't anymore."

"And that is so bad you have to cry about it, my—?"

"Yes, it is!" Elain steps away from her mate, glowering, hands no longer fisting his shirt, but her palms are now pressed flat against his pectorals. "How dare you not see how dramatic the situation really is?" She rolls her eyes and gives her head a shake, snarling.

Lucien calls upon all his restraints to not burst into laughter — those damn mood swings, he thinks and brings his hands up to fold them over Elain's.

"Padron, my lovely flower, I'll help you find the vase."

"You better do," Elain pulls her hands out of his hold. "And you better do it quick, otherwise the flowers die." Her lower lip quavers, tears glistening in her eyes again.

Mother save me, Lucien thinks when his mate storms out of the kitchen, leaving him behind, slightly overwhelmed with the situation. But Cassian has already warned him about how bad the mood swings can be, especially for fae females. Not only once, had Nesta thrown something at the general and then stormed off, only to return crying the next moment, worrying he might end the mating bond with her. It isn't much different with her little sister, Lucien thinks.

The male turns his head and looks at the top-most shelf and spots the vase in an instant. He has to chuckle to himself. He reaches for the vase, then puts water in it and lastly the flowers. He is about to call for his mate when she already bursts through the door, tears cascading down her rosy cheeks.

"You don't hate me now, do you?" Her lower lip is pouted and she hurdles to her mate, hugging him as good as possible with the round belly. "Please, don't hate me."

"I don't hate you, my love." Lucien kisses the top of her head, chuckling a little. "I love you and you throwing a tantrum because of a vase won't—"

"I didn't throw a tantrum. I only—"

Lucien shuts her up with a kiss, his index finger placed beneath her chin. Tilting her head up while he bends down, Lucien deepens the kiss and turns them so Elain's backside is pressed against the counter. A small gasp leaves her when he parts her lips with his tongue, gently letting it brush against hers.

"It's just a vase, my love," he whispers against her lips, his breath tingling her skin.

"But the flowers. The would have died." She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Thank the Gods, I could save them." Lucien's lips split into a grin and Elain tilts her head to the side so she can look past him, at the beautiful vase with her bouquet in it. "Thank you," she whispers, letting her hands glide up the front of his shirt. "You are truly the best mate to ever exist."

Her grin mirrors his, her smile so radiant it lights up the whole kitchen.

Lucien's hands drop to her hips and he lets them glide down, giving her rear a gentle, two-handed squeeze that has himself groaning and Elain giggling.

Her arms curl around his strong chest, the side of her head resting against his hard muscles. She draws in his scent and relishes it. Lucien holds her tightly, listening to the soft thrumming of their heartbeats, marvelling at Elain's scent and the feeling of her round belly against his chest, the happiness about the life growing inside of her.

"Lucien," Elain mumbles after a small moment and tips her head back, chin resting against his chest.

"Hm?" He looks down at her and finds sudden fire, twin flames of passion, burning brightly in her eyes.

"I am exceptionally needy for my mate. You think you can help me there?"

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

"Bloody, burning hell!" Elain nails dig into Lucien’s hand, most definitely leaving some marks there.

Each contraction tightens around her belly like an invisible vice, fierce and harsh, her insides feeling like they are shredded apart. And somehow they truly are.

The scent of lavender lies in the air, but Elain can’t even focus on it, her whole body is on fire, her skin damp with sweat, tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead.

"Cauldron," she breathes, and squeezes her eyes shut. "This is excruciating."

"You are doing so well, my mate," Lucien comforts his mate. He leans in and kisses her sweat-glazed cheek, his hand naturally coming up to stroke his fingers over her cheek. "Keep going just like this."

Elain huffs. Easier said then done. Her butt hurts, so do her knees, and her heels — she has been pressing them into the mattress for what feels like hours. Days. Years. But nothing, absolutely nothing, absolutely no pain, compares to what it is like to push a baby out of you.

Elain’s breaths come in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling in sync with the waves of pain that surge through her body.

Her thin nightgown is damp as well, sticking to her body like a second skin. Beads of sweat gather on her brow and before Lucien gets a chance to wipe them away, his mother steps in, gently and with utmost care, tabbing Elain's forehead dry with a soft cloth.

"How did you do this seven times?" Elain mewls, her head lolling to the side, resting on Lucien’s strong shoulder.

"Not once was it a piece of cake, but every time worth it," Imala smiles, sweeping the cloth over Elain‘s cheek before she pushes off the bed to discard of it. "And you are doing so well, Elain. Just a few more pushes, keep going. You are so strong, I know you can do it."

"Thank you," Elain wants to smile, but another contraction tears through her body, making her whimper loudly, her hold on Lucien’s hand tightening. He wonders how blood still flows into his fingers, thinking the grip Elain has on him must at one point cut off the blood flow. But it is alright. For Elain he would walk over burning coals and travel to Hell itself.

"I can't do this, Lucien! It hurts so much." Elain‘s voice quivers, tinged with desperation. Another contraction tightens its grip, and Elain feels it everywhere.

Lucien leans in closer, his voice a steady anchor amidst the whirlwind of pain and emotions. "Yes, you can, my love. You're so strong."

She whimpers again, brows lying in furrows. "It just hurts so much."

"I know it does and I wish I could take the pain away from, my love, but it is only a little more. Only a little longer."

Together with Majda, Lucien helps Elain get onto her knees, his hand resting on her back, thumb drawing idle circles on her skin.

"The baby's almost here, Elain. You're so close, you’re nearly fully dilated," Madja comforts, voice calm and nothing but kind assurance in it.

"Push!"

Elain does as told, every muscle in her body pulsating with effort. She cries out again, pure agony in the raw sound.

It’s hurts Lucien to see his mate like that, to watch her go through so much pain and not being able to help. He can’t take the pain from her, and this helplessness…

"Don’t look like there has been rain for months, Lu. You aren't the one giving birth."

A lopsided grin appears on his face and he leans in, kissing Elain's temple. "But I hate seeing my mate in so much pain."

"It will be—f-fucking hell!" The room almost vibrates with her cry. Lucien grimaces. He has never expected that his mate could curse like a sailor, nevertheless would curse like one.

But Majda ignores all the vulgar words — it is probably not the first time she hears them from a female who is about to give birth.

"That is good, Elain, keep going." She gently strokes her hand down Elain’s thigh, offering words of comfort and encouragement. "I can see the head already. Keep pushing. You are doing a great job."

So, Elain pushes again and then pain is agonising. Beads of sweat glisten on her forehead as she grips sheets below her and Lucien‘s hand on the other side, her knuckles white from the effort.

As Elain gathers her strength, her body responds to it, and despite the excruciating pain she manages to push again. Lucien seems to hold his breath, tension so high, his heart nearly bursts out of his chest, his skin clammy.

"My love," he whispers, "you are doing so well." Despite the blood flow to his hand probably being cut off because his mate‘s grip is like a vice, he strokes his thumb over her fingers. "Keep going. You are so strong. You’re soon there."

The contractions are becoming more painful with each passing minute, but Elain is encouraged by her mate’s voice. His presence alone comforts her, empowers her. Lucien would never leave her, he will always be by her side, always supports her. He will hold her hand throughout everything. No matter what. He will go every step of the way with her. And she knows that if he could take her pain away, he would. He would sit here in agony if only it meant she wouldn't have to feel any kind of pain.

"I love you." Elain’s voice is barely above a whisper, but Lucien hears her words. Feels them through the bond.

"More than anything else in this world," he answers and kisses the top of her head. Her hair is damp, so is her skin, cheeks flushed but to Lucien she is still the most beautiful female that there is.

Another contraction tears through her, shattering her insides, and Elain pushes once again. Pushes hard and many times, Lucien not once letting go of her hand. A tremor courses through her, and with her last ounce of energy, she pushes and a sound of triumph leaves Majda.

Elain slumps against her mate, crying out, exhaustion and relief washing over her in tidal waves. She is sobbing, wetting Lucien’s shirt and he is crying with her when Madja cradles the little babe to her chest after having cut through the umbilical cord. Elain is drained, feels both mentally and physically exhausted, but all she cares about is seeing her baby. She wants to turn but she is in pain, everything hurts. She shifts and tumbles, trying to keep her eyes open, trying to search for her baby, tries to hear her baby, but there is no noise. Her lids feel heavy, her vision blurry, her head pounding, a haze lying in her head.

"Lu?" she breathlessly expresses, voice tinged with panic.

"It’s all good," he says, but his own heartbeat increases, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. But is it truly?

Lucien helps his mate lower herself to the bed before his head whips to Madja. In the corner of his eye, he spots his mother rushing to the healer and the babe in her arms. Why isn’t the little one crying? It should be crying. Lucien heart drops into his stomach.

Time seems to slow until it comes to a full standstill. Silence falls upon the room, almost like everyone holds their breath. No one dares to move or say anything until—

A piercing cry tears through the silence, and relief settles upon everyone, most importantly Elain and Lucien begin to shed more tears.

Wrapped in a soft, light green blanket, Majda hands the tiny little bundle to Elain. With a smile on her lips she says, "Congratulations on your son, Elain, Lucien."

Elain feels a sense of joyful relief when she the newborn is placed in her arms, when she feels his presence for the very first time, no longer inside her belly but in her arms.

He is so tiny, so fragile, almost as light as a feather. Tears cascade down Elain’s flushed cheeks as she cradles the little baby in her arms.

Lucien leans in, crying tears of pure joy, and pampering his mate’s head with many kisses. And enormous sense of love floods Elain and a sob rips itself free - he is beautiful. And looks just like she imagined Lucien had looked like as a babe. The little boy’s skin is dark and atop his head he already has a dusting of auburn hair. He is tiny, almost nothing in her arms, but he is warm and soft, lying on her chest, on her rapidly beating heart.

"Lu," Elain whispers and turns her head. She kisses her mate’s cheek, wet with his and now also her own tears. "He is beautiful."

Silent sobs still leave the Vanserra male when his mother steps into him, her hands placed on his shoulders, lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. Lucien lifts his hand, stroking his index finger (which looks absolutely gigantic next to the little bundle) over their son’s tiny cheek.

He leans in again, his eyes shimmering with tears of joy and pride. "You were incredible, Elain. I'm so proud of you."

Madja wipes the cloth over Elain’s forehead once more before she steps away, Imala following her, giving the new parents space.

"You've brought a beautiful life into this world," she whispers before closing the door behind her.

Elain wants to thank her, but the healer is already gone, so she shifts on the bed, making room for Lucien. He slings his arm around her shoulders, letting her rest against his chest, his hand moving hers. The one she has placed on the little bundle.

Lucien leans his head against Elain’s, both their eyes focused on the little wonder in Elain‘s arms. "Ash?"

"Yes," Lucien hums, squeezing her to him, his heart beating in the same rhythm as hers. "I love it. I love you."

He revels in her scent and the soft giggle that parts her lips when she moves her index finger over the babies face, almost like she wants to memorise every little feature of their baby boy. "Ash Vanserra," she softly hums. "I already know he will be a little troublemaker, but we couldn't love him any more for it."

tags: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop @aayo-whatt @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone

#elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #acosf #sjmromanceweek2024

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velidewrites · 11 months ago

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This Ends In Fire

Everything goes wrong when Nesta Archeron crosses the Wall to find her sister. Kidnapped and trapped Under the Mountain, she must now become the very thing she swore to destroy. But there is a light in the darkness—a flicker of a flame, ready to show her a way out. If she’d only let it.

Pairing: Nesta Archeron x Eris Vanserra

Tags: Rated Explicit; Marriage of Convenience; UTM AU

Notes: My humble submission for @sjmromanceweek!

Read the Prologue on AO3 or continue below!

The mercenary had run at the first rustle of wind between the trees, leaving Nesta alone and entirely at the forest’s mercy. She should have recognised the man for the coward that he was, but, as Nesta had recently found out, hope had a rather nasty habit of making its harborer blind to other people’s intentions. The last of the silver she’d brought along for the journey had gone into the hireling’s pockets, unlikely to ever be seen again. Elain was hardly the type to chase after others, not even to protect her own interests, and, well—it wasn’t like Nesta was ever coming back to do it herself, anyway.

It was cold and dark in the forest, remnants of frost still coating some of the treetops despite winter being well and truly over. The icy weather never quite melted into spring, and seemed determined to last into the approaching summer. Perhaps it wasn’t going to leave at all.

Elain was going to be fine. Nesta wouldn’t have left otherwise, though the knowledge hadn’t made her decision any easier. The Nolan boy would not have been Nesta’s first choice by any means—no man ever would be wherever Elain was concerned—but he was the best suitor their village had to offer all the same. He seemed to enjoy Elain’s company, besides, if the hours Nesta had spent chaperoning in their garden were any indication. Nesta herself was more than inclined to leave after an hour, but Greysen Nolan kept on listening as Elain rambled on about the tulip fields far on the Continent. He’d even sworn to bring them back for her from one of his travels.

It was enough for Nesta to venture out to the forest with some peace of mind. They had money now, the source of which Nesta preferred not to ponder over. Their newfound wealth certainly had nothing to do with Father’s efforts, or lack thereof, anyway. Their clothes, their food, their very survival…it had always been Feyre.

And now, Feyre was gone.

The guilt had been eating Nesta alive for months. At first, she’d pretended not to care, and for the first few weeks it worked sufficiently enough for her to drown herself in other tasks. Housework, mostly, hiring the cook and staff and even a governess to catch Elain up on the final years of education she’d missed out on. Some days, Nesta would quietly find her way into the office, a book carefully placed in her lap as she curled up by the fireplace under the pretense of the house being too cold. In truth, she enjoyed the lessons and wanted to learn alongside them, her own education left so far back in the past it almost felt as though it had happened to someone else.

There was a kernel of truth to that—Nesta had thought of her family’s lost wealth every day in that blighted cottage, and yet she still couldn’t help but feel out of place the day it returned. She never remembered it so hollow, so empty and lifeless. Perhaps it had been Feyre, stubborn and wild, who’d made the house come alive. Even before that cottage—it had always been Feyre.

It was then that Nesta decided to go. Hiring a mercenary had been Elain’s idea, and Nesta had known better than to argue. Refusing would’ve only brought her closer to Elain volunteering herself for the journey, and that simply would not do. Here, in the human lands, Elain was safe. As safe as their kind could get, at least.

For all Nesta knew, Feyre was already dead. The thought did little to stop her—her mind was made up, and the mercenary hired and equipped with the finest iron the village smith could have procured. Whether it would be enough to pierce the beast’s thick fur and reach its heart, Nesta did not know. She could only hope.

Even if she knew hope was a weapon of the fools.

She sighed deeply, turning over her shoulder to see if the man’s footprints had dried off enough for her to keep going. At the very least, they would provide a decent path back to the village, where the mercenary was undoubtedly already headed. Should the Wall prove impenetrable after all, Nesta would know how to find her way back.

The man’s heavy panting stopped echoing through the woods when the Wall finally came into sight. Nesta knew better than to call after him; she had simply sent him away with nothing but a withering look and a curse so unbecoming of a lady of her status she only dared to utter it within the comfort of her own mind. Wretched as it was, she hoped some wolf or other predator lurking near the border would find him just in time to teach him a lesson, and, if luck was truly on her side tonight, let him take it straight to his grave. Leaving a woman alone in the woods at night was dishonourable to say the least.

It was what Feyre had done nearly every night, though, Nesta realised, that familiar guilt crashing into her like a wave once more. Ever since Father failed them, her sister would go into the forest to hunt—alone in the darkness.

Perhaps Nesta had failed her just as much.

She approached the Wall with that thought, her steps heavier somehow despite her best efforts to stay unseen. The beast that kidnapped Feyre may as well have been waiting on the other side, its claws already sharpened in anticipation. Nesta couldn’t see the other side—from where she stood, the forest simply seemed to continue well into the endless night. But Nesta knew—could practically taste the metallic tinge of magic on her tongue. It reminded her of blood.

She wondered how Feyre had withstood it—that strange feeling tingling on her skin as she stood inches from the Faerie border. As if she was being watched.

It could’ve all been in her head, Nesta thought, suddenly incredibly aware of just how loudly her heart was thudding in her chest, thrashing against her ribcage in desperation. Maybe once she crossed the Wall, it would abandon the same way the mercenary had.

What now? She’d made it all the way here—in one piece, as little consolation as it was. Nesta had no idea just how the golden beast had managed to drag Feyre to the faerie lands, but she strongly suspected her chances of succeeding were significantly smaller as a human. She had no magic—not even claws to shred that thin, metallic veil separating their worlds to pieces.

Nesta needed to find an opening.

There were cracks in the Wall. It was perhaps the only useful information she’d gotten out of the mercenary before he’d fled. If she could find a crack large enough for her to squeeze through…

She began heading eastward, at least according to Father’s old compass she’d found in one of the office drawers. Once again it wasn’t lost on her just how little the men in Nesta’s life contributed to her fate. Still, she murmured a “thank you” into the sky, hoping it would find Father in whatever corner of the world he’d sailed off to and pass along the message. It wasn’t though she’d ever get a chance to speak to him again.

Nesta was bracing for her own death.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d opted to walk East, but there was something about the direction that compelled her forward. The blood tasted different there, less of rust and metal and more of smoke floating above a fire. There was light somewhere out there, guiding her out of that darkness.

Or perhaps she was simply going insane.

The wind whooshed again then, tangling the loose strands of hair that had managed to find their way out of Nesta’s braid, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

It wasn’t the wind that made her halt, though, but a sound rising above the cold breeze. A loud snap—like the crack of a flame.

Slowly, Nesta turned towards the Wall.

But the Wall wasn’t there.

At first, all Nesta could see was the night—the dark sky sprawling over the hills, quiet and starless. The Wall must have been where the forest ended, where the labyrinths of moss and pine finally stretched into one, singular path.

And then, a spark.

A flash of silver that could easily be mistaken for a glittering star had it not disappeared as soon as it arrived. Had it not flickered again, and again, and again, followed by a wide, curved line of others.

Nesta stopped breathing entirely as she watched those sharp, silver teeth stretch into a smile. As wings, large and ancient like withered marble stretched over a pair of horns, over a body so large she could hardly meet its owner’s blood-red gaze.

Nesta knew what the creature was—she had seen it in her book’s illustrations, the same book the governess forbade the sisters from ever touching. The pages are cursed, she had told them. Plagued with the memory of the world we used to live in. A world unprotected by the Wall, a world of magic and monsters and death.

Right now, Death was staring right back at her. Smiling.

“Are you lost, little one?” the Attor asked, its voice like gravelly sand dragging over stone.

Nesta swallowed the fear in her throat—let it burn her voice cords to near ash as she rasped, “I am looking for someone.”

The monster’s smile widened, wings rustling as they moved to embrace her whole. “And she is looking for you.”

#the demand for this fic is low but i am nothing if not self indulgent #sjmromanceweek2024 #neris #neris fic #in which eris has fire in his blood and he fucks like it too #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x erisi vanserra #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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bearbluebooks · 11 months ago

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Day 5 Favorite Tropes

Friends to Lovers - Gwynriel

Gwyn and Azriel will grow their friendship with banter, late night talks, and lots of patience. The safety and trust they build together results in a love neither of them expected to find in the other person. It will be so full and all encompassing it resembles the night sky. Leaving them breathless and in constant awe. Together. Friends to lovers to mates.

@sjmromanceweek

This song resembles it to me.

It’s a sense of calm in a world full of static. It’s coming home after a storm. It’s intimacy even when it’s scary.

It’s recognition and safety through repetition. It’s a blanket of warmth, offering you shelter from the cold.

It’s lasting love.

#gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #acotar #gwyneth berdara #gwyn acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #sjmromanceweek2024 #sjmromanceweek #Gwynriel aesthetic #mood board #acotar moodboard #Spotify

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c-e-d-dreamer · 11 months ago

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You Are Not the Kind of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying the Wrong Girl): Part One

A/N: happy happy @sjmromanceweek! Don't you just love the first date of... (checks notes) being ruined by your older sister's lover bursting into her wedding? It's how all the great first dates start! 😉 I hope everyone enjoys this Elucien sequel to But I'm Only Looking At You! You don't have to have read the Nessian part to understand, but you do need to know that Cassian ruined Nesta and subsequently Elain and Feyre before this fic's timeline. This is the first of three parts I'll be posting for Romance Week 🥰

Read on AO3 // Next Part

Three Months Ago

The music drifts through the large, arching doorway, the sound light and lilting as its melody fills the room. It wraps around Elain's limbs, floating above into the high ceiling and the chandelier hanging there. Elain can't help but hum along quietly to the familiar tune, even as she tilts her head to admire the painting displayed before her. It's a beautiful landscape, light brushstrokes of white perfectly capturing the clouds in the sky, dots of color in the foreground to mimic wildflowers.

“My lady.”

Elain nearly jumps out of her skin at the sudden voice, even as the familiarity of that tone sends goosebumps cascading down her arms. She turns her head to the gentleman now standing beside her. His fitted waistcoat is a deep green color, the intricate gold stitching exactly the type of luxury Elain expects from a Duke's son. Still, the color compliments his red hair, the strands left loose to hang around his face. Even with the fox mask he's chosen to don for the evening's festivities, there's no mistaking him.

Lucien Spellcleaver.

He keeps his hands tucked neatly behind his back, his eyes firmly forward on the painting before them. But Elain doesn't miss the way his fingers seem to flex, the bob of his throat as he swallows, and she certainly doesn't miss the way a smirk tugs up the left side of his lips at her continued attention. Since making Lucien's acquaintance and through their continued interactions, Elain has begun to suspect he's more scoundrel than lord, all teasing smirks and snarky remarks. He finally turns to meet her gaze, his eyes practically glinting beneath the light of the chandelier, one russet and one gold.

“You look lovely this evening,” Lucien tells her, Elain swearing he sounds almost breathless as he says it. “That color suits you.”

Elain is glad for her own mask to hide the blush that crashes across her cheeks, but she ducks her head nonetheless. “Thank you, your Grace.”

She turns back to the painting, if only to break the intensity of his stare, the spell that seems wrapped up in that gaze, curling around her chest like a golden thread and tugging her into him. Perhaps, if she stares hard enough at the painted wildflowers, her face will stop being the same shade of pink as her dress. Thankfully, Lucien seems content to simply stand beside her, barely a hairsbreadth keeping their arms from brushing together.

“Thesan has good taste,” Lucien breaks the quiet to comment. “Clear from this evening's masquerade as well. Are you enjoying the festivities, my lady?”

“Yes. I have particularly enjoyed the music.”

“And yet I have not yet seen you grace the dance floor.”

“Perhaps, I am still waiting for the right partner,” Elain dares to say, turning back toward Lucien only to find his stare already pinned on her.

His hand reaches forward in the space between them, his fingers skating down Elain's arm before curling around her wrist. Elain just barely swallows down the gasp at that simple touch, her heart beginning to pound between her ribs. She feels frozen, unable to move or look away as Lucien pulls her hand closer to him, as his fingers unfold her dance card. She watches him scrawl his name, expects him to drop her hand once he's finished, but instead, he merely lifts her hand higher, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His lips linger against her skin far longer than is proper, a fire practically burning in his eyes, but still Elain doesn't move, doesn't breathe.

It's only when Lucien finally releases her hand, when he finally steps away and vanishes back into the ballroom and amongst the ball’s guests, that Elain releases a quiet, gasping breath. She runs her hands down the skirts of her dress, trying desperately to calm her thundering heart, and when she looks at her dance card to see which dance Lucien has claimed, she finds his name written in large, looping letters diagonally across the entire booklet.

A scoundrel indeed.

~ * * * ~

Today

The carriage jerks beneath them, jostling lightly as the horse tugs them down the road. The silence is suffocating, the air tense and thick enough in the tight space that Elain feels like she could choke on it. She keeps her eyes firmly out the window, watching the shops, the houses, the people that the carriage passes.

She doesn’t dare to look at the other faces of her family, least of all her mother. The ire radiating off of Eleanor Archeron is palpable and stifling and has Elain’s whole body tensing in anticipation. And it’s not even directed at her. Nesta’s fingers are twisted tight enough in the skirts of her dress that Elain can see the white knuckles even in her periphery. Elain’s own fingers twitch with the desire to reach out, to squeeze Nesta’s hands in soothing comfort, but there’s no saving her older sister from what’s coming, not after what’s happened, what Nesta did.

Elain still can’t even wrap her head around it. She had known, of course, that there was something between her sister and Cassian MacLeod. He had practically followed Nesta around wherever they went, and Elain can still remember the night their mother had thrown a stack of letters from him into the fire, can still remember hearing Nesta cry through the wall their bedrooms share. But she never thought Nesta would do this, never thought she’d take things so far so as to lay with a man unwed.

The carriage finally pulls to a stop, and the footman has barely pulled the door open before Feyre is rushing out, clearly just as desperate as Elain to escape the cloying mood trapped within the carriage. The rest of the family clambers out in stoic silence, and finally, with a soft sigh, Elain slips out of the carriage. Nesta hesitates at the bottom of the front steps, so Elain steps around her, giving her sister the moment she clearly needs and following her parents inside their home.

But once they’re all inside, once the front door has closed with a too loud snick the echoes like a death knell, all hell breaks loose.

Elain supposes there is some benefit to them having to dismiss their staff. There’s no one to see the rage burning across their mother’s face as she whirls around on Nesta. No one to hear the slap that rings out in the front hall as the back of Eleanor’s hand strikes across Nesta’s cheek.

“You stupid girl,” their mother seethes, already raising her hand again despite Nesta’s flinch. “What were you thinking?”

“Mama, please. I didn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Everything I have done for you. All that work I put in. And for what? For you to spread your legs like a common whore, and for some filthy factory rat of all things?”

Feyre steps closer to Elain, looping their arms together as they stand tensely, awkwardly, while everything unfolds, but Elain can’t watch the way their mother explodes around them a moment longer. She swallows hard and averts her gaze, focusing on the shadows that stretch across the floors and walls from the sun spilling through the windows.

“I hope you’re happy,” their mother continues. “You’ve always been a disappointment to the Archeron name, and now, you have thoroughly ruined it. You’ve ruined us all. You’ve ruined your sisters. Is that what you wanted? Perhaps, you can teach them the proper ways to pleasure a man for when they end up on the street trying to rub pennies together.”

The words are enough to draw Elain’s attention back, to spear straight through her chest. Despite the cruelty of their mother’s words, there’s no denying the underlying truth to them. Elain doubts the Mandrays will keep quiet about what happened this morning, that word will quickly burn through the ton like a wildfire. She’s sure that the next time they go to the market, everyone will stare, will look down their noses, will whisper and gossip about the Archeron girls.

She’s sure that no respectable gentleman will want to go anywhere near them.

That thought has Elain’s heart twisting tightly in her chest, pain blooming surely enough that it takes everything within her not to press her hand against the ache. It has her stomach roiling until she thinks she might be sick, until the taste of bile starts to tickle the back of her throat. She thinks of Lucien, of the way he had danced with her all night at Thesan’s masquerade ball. Of the way he called on her almost every day before her mother sent the staff away and put an end to any and all callers. Of the way he found her in the market just the other day and teased her about her ribbon selection.

Lucien. A Duke’s son. Someone who will need legitimate heirs, and not someone whose honor will forever be questioned.

Eleanor lets out a long sigh, holding her hand to her head as if this whole conversation is tortuous and sickening to her. Their father, doting as ever, rushes forward. He curls an arm around his wife’s waist, murmuring gentle words before he leads her away up the stairs.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Feyre demands as soon as they’re alone.

Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, glancing away from her sisters and swallowing hard. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I didn’t… I didn’t know he was going to ruin us all.”

“But why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Feyre,” Nesta snaps, her voice exasperated. “It’s not like I asked him to do that. He’s an idiot.”

“But you care about him, and I’m quite sure he cares for you. I saw—”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.”

“Who will marry us now?” Elain whispers, cutting off her sisters’ arguing, her eyes beginning to burn with the familiar heat of tears.

“Elain…” Nesta begins, her voice gentle, but it’s as though she doesn’t quite know what to say.

Elain knows it’s silly, knows that her sisters never quite felt the same or understood, but she had looked forward to what her future could hold. She had looked forward to finding a husband. Ideally, a love match, but she would also be happy with a man who was simply kind. She had looked forward to tending to a house, to being the mistress of a manor. She had looked forward to being a mother.

And most recently, Elain couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to be a duchess. Imagine small, running feet and shocks of bright, red hair. Imagine a certain Duke’s son with a child on his shoulders and offering her that roguish smile of his. Imagine his arms around her as securely as the night at Thesan’s masquerade ball.

Elain scrubs at her cheeks, at the tears sliding down across her skin, and turns on her heel. She ignores Feyre calling her name, making her way up the stairs and to her bedroom. She closes the door firmly behind her, crumpling into her vanity chair and sniffling quietly. The ribbon she had gotten earlier in the week still sits there, and almost absentmindedly, Elain traces along it with her finger.

If she closes her eyes, she can still perfectly imagine that day, can still remember walking through the market, the sights and the sounds of the ton soaring on the late summer breeze around her. Lucien had all but followed her into the ribbon shop, offering another of his roguish smiles and a flourished bow. He hadn’t been fazed when Elain teased him about a gentleman in a ribbon shop, insisting he was merely looking for himself, in need of something to tie back his hair with.

There was no stopping the lightness that flooded through Elain’s chest, the warmth that twined around her heart, the quiet laugh that was pulled past her lips, as Lucien held up different ribbons and asked for her opinion on each one. Elain had settled on the ribbon with gold stitching and suns woven into the lace, telling Lucien it complimented his hair and eyes well. In retrospect, perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised when the exact same ribbon had been delivered to her the next day.

Elain’s fingers curl tightly around the ribbon, frustration beginning to spark through her veins. It burns away any numbness, any anguish, over the events of the day. It’s unfair. It’s entirely and completely unfair, and Elain refuses to tolerate it for another moment. She will no longer sit idly by. If this is to be her life, her future now, then she at least deserves to do one last thing.

With a quiet huff, Elain pushes back up to her feet, her determination solidified and her resolve hardened. She throws open her wardrobe doors, digging around the back until she finds a dark colored cloak, pulling it on and making sure the hood covers her hair and casts her face in shadow.

It’s with slow, deliberate carefulness that Elain pulls open her bedroom door, making sure the creak of the wood can’t be heard. She glances both ways down the hall, ensuring it’s all clear before tiptoeing her way toward the service stairs and following them down to the kitchen. The kitchen is quiet and dark, just as Elain expects, no one in the family stepping foot down here even with the staff dismissed. It makes it all too easy to unlatch the back door and slip out of the manor all together.

The sun has already started to set, strokes of pinks and oranges and purples painted across the sky above, blending with the wisps of clouds. The entire world is washed in soft light, glinting off the leaves and flowers. The light and late afternoon breeze turns the field just behind the manor into a rolling sea of gold, turns the willow tree Elain can see a little further ways up into a glittering fountain.

Hiking up her skirts to avoid getting mud on the hem, Elain begins her trek through the field. She keeps to the trees rather than the main road, tucking her chin down so the shadow cast by her hood hides her face any time she passes by anyone else. But soon the large, gravel pathway comes into view, winding up to the large estate that looms before her.

Three stories worth of tall windows stretch far to Elain’s left and right. The center of the estate juts out slightly further than the east and west wings, columns and beautiful arches only adding to the elegance. With the light of the fading day hitting and reflecting off the white bricks, the entire estate seems to glow as though it’s an embodiment of the sun itself.

Elain takes a moment to breathe deeply, to roll and square her shoulders. The walk here has done little to soften the resolve that hardened her spine, that fire of determination still blazing through her veins. But there’s no denying the spark of nerves low in her gut, the flutter of butterflies in her chest. Still, if Elain’s future is to be what everyone says it will be, if everything she’s ever wanted really is no longer within reach, then Elain intends to take this one thing that’s just for her.

With a decided nod, Elain makes her way up the gravel pathway toward the estate, veering off to the right before she reaches the front door. Lucien had mentioned how he loved to watch the sunset over the water from his room, so she’s quite sure that means his rooms must be in the western wing.

As Elain winds around the side of the estate, trying to figure out how she’ll identify which window is Lucien’s, she finds the man in question lounging in the grass beside the lake’s edge. He’s dressed casually, merely a pair of pants that hug the thick lines of his thighs, and a simple, white shirt tucked into the waistband, the laces around the neck loose and teasing a sliver of golden skin and collarbones. His red hair hangs around his face and shoulders, strands dancing in the breeze and whispering across his cheeks.

He has a book opened in his hands, and he doesn’t seem to hear Elain as she steps closer, so she awkwardly clears her throat, drawing the attention of those beautiful russet and gold eyes.

“Elain,” Lucien exclaims, closing his book and scrambling up to his feet. “How are—I heard about what happened. With your sister.”

“Word certainly travels fast around the ton,” Elain sighs, fiddling with the skirts of her dress. She was hoping Lucien wouldn’t know, that she would still have the benefit of ignorance on her side if only for tonight.

Lucien steps closer to her, his hand raising up into the space between them before he hesitates and drops it back down to his side. “And are you alright?”

The question takes Elain by surprise, and for a moment, she can do nothing but blink up at Lucien in confusion. She should have known. Should have known that Lucien was too much of a good man to judge her, to cast stones the way she’s sure the ton and its gossip machine have been doing as soon as the Mandrays stepped out of that church.

“As well as I can be,” Elain finally answers. “Now that my season is ruined. Now that I’m ruined.”

“You’re not ruined, Elain,” Lucien assures her, a frown tugging down his lips.

“You’re being kind, but you don’t need to lie to me. I’m not stupid. I mean, what sensible man will want to marry me now?”

“I’m sure there’s a man who would be very honored to call you his wife. Quite confident in fact.”

“Stop being kind,” Elain huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “But it’s alright. I’ve accepted it now. It’s actually why I’m here.”

“All you have to do is say the word,” Lucien tells her, taking her hands in his own. His touch is surprisingly warm, surprisingly gentle the way his fingers curl around her own. “And you know that I will help you. Happily.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Elain steps closer still to Lucien, biting her lip and peering up at him from under her lashes. “Because I could use your help. Now that the whole ton will think I’ve laid with a man just as Nesta has, I figured I might as well make it a reality.”

“Elain,” Lucien begins, taking a step back from her.

“I just want one thing for myself. One thing that I want, that I choose, that can’t be taken from me.”

“I get that, I do, but I do not want to be the one that ruins your honor. Don’t you think it best to wait until you are wed?”

“You aren’t listening, Lucien. My honor is already ruined, and no one is going to marry me.”

“That’s not true. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Elain, I—”

Before Lucien can finish speaking, Elain crowds back into his space and surges up onto her toes, crashing her lips against his. It’s a bit awkward, merely a press of lips, but excitement still cascades through Elain’s entire being, fueling her and begging for more. After a moment, Lucien starts to relax, his hands moving to cradle her jaw before they’re sliding down her neck to her shoulders, gently pulling her away.

“Elain…”

“Don’t you want me too?”

“I can assure you that’s not the issue here.”

“Lucien, please.”

Lucien sighs softly, lifting a hand to push up and through his hair. “How can you ever expect me to say no to you when I would gladly do anything for you?”

“I don’t,” Elain tells him matter-of-factly, pressing her body fully against his until her breasts press against his chest, their hips aligned flush together.

“Fuck,” Lucien mumbles beneath his breath. “If we… just promise that after, we can talk. Properly. About this.”

“Of course.”

It’s a lie. Elain has every intention of leaving after tonight, of walking away from Lucien completely. No matter what she wants. No matter the way her heart quakes and shutters at the idea. But she simply can’t stomach it, the idea of dragging Lucien down with her. She could never mar his future with the dark, roiling clouds that are now firmly casted over her own.

After tonight, Elain will ensure that she doesn’t stand in the way of everything that Lucien deserves, that’s his birthright as the son of a Duke.

But Lucien doesn’t need to know that.

—

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

#elucien #sjmromanceweek2024 #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elain x lucien #acotar #my fic

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moodymelanist · 11 months ago

Text

it's you (they add up to)

happy day 5 of @sjmromanceweek !! I wanted to do this fic for SO LONG and I'm so happy it's finally happening. this was supposed to be a day 4 fic, but 5 + 1 fics are one of my favorite formats and we need to bring them back so here's my contribution (and 5+1 totally counts as a trope, right?). title from little things by one direction!

Summary: Five times Azriel showed Nesta he cared about her, plus one time she showed him she cared, too.

Word Count: 4.1k

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Nesta

Nesta rose to consciousness slowly, treasuring the way the sheets were perfectly cocooning her body. She’d been so exhausted the last few weeks between training and the library and putting up with Cassian that she was going to take as many spare moments of rest as she could snatch up.

Nesta let herself enjoy waking up for a few more moments before the reality of her situation slammed into her. Why was the sun so high in the sky? Why could she hear the hustle and bustle of the streets in a way she certainly wasn’t used to?

As she frantically got up and shoved her leathers on, Nesta wondered what sort of punishment awaited her for sleeping in so late. Would she not be allowed out of the House even longer? Be forced to do even more training? The possibilities were endless, and none of them good.

Nesta raked her fingers through her hair to roughly detangle it before pulling it back into a severe plait at the back of her head. She didn’t have time for her usual braided coronet, but that didn’t mean she would risk it coming loose mid-fight; she’d learned her lesson about leaving her hair down all too well. Instead of leaving her braid hanging down against her back, she wrapped it into a tight bun and secured it with as many pins and hair ties as she could scrounge up in as many breaths.

She shoved her feet into her fighting shoes, only barely tying them before she was racing down the hallway. She couldn’t hear anything as she rushed upstairs, but that could mean anything. Maybe Rhys or Feyre were waiting for her instead of that loud, insufferable bat, but there was only one way to find out.

As Nesta made it up the final step, she stalked past the sitting area and dining room in order to make it to the balcony. She just had to get there as soon as she could, before—

“You’re not in trouble, Nesta,” Azriel called out from seemingly nowhere.

Nesta froze mid-stride, whirling around to see the Shadowsinger sitting at the dining table. In her haste to get to the balcony, she hadn’t even noticed him sitting there; how she could have missed his wings and the shadows swirling playfully around his fingers, she wasn’t sure. She knew it was his job to remain unnoticed, though, so she supposed she’d attribute it to that.

“I’m sorry?” Nesta eventually said. She hoped she didn’t look as out of breath as she felt.

“You’re not in trouble,” Azriel repeated. He had a healthy serving of breakfast in front of him, and her stomach panged with hunger once the smell hit her. “You’re not expected at training today.”

“What?” she replied, taking a few hesitant steps closer to the table. He had no reason to lie to her, but a large part of her didn’t quite believe what he was saying. “Why not?”

“You needed the rest,” Azriel told her mildly. Despite his gentle words and the softness with which they had been delivered, she could tell he wasn’t inviting any argument. “I told Cassian you’d be back to training tomorrow.”

“He let you?” Nesta blurted out without thinking. Cassian never let her miss a day of training no matter how exhausted she looked each morning, so the fact that she’d gotten to sleep in today almost felt… wrong. Like she was getting away with something that she shouldn’t be.

“He doesn’t let me do anything,” Azriel replied, his tone a little cooler now. “I’m my own person, same as you.”

“Oh.” She fought the urge to fidget under the weight of that hazel gaze, so similar and yet so different to Cassian’s eyes. “Alright.”

“Alright.”

Nesta was at a loss for what to do with the rest of her morning, but she certainly hadn’t forgotten her manners. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Azriel answered.

She didn’t think she was imagining the tiny smile playing on the edge of his lips, but she thought it best not to question the gift he’d given her any further. Instead, she simply pulled out a chair and joined him for a quiet breakfast.

It was the best meal she’d had in a long time, and it wasn’t because of the food.

♡♡♡♡♡

The next time Nesta saw Azriel, she was eating her morning meal nearly a fortnight later. The House was quiet, just how she liked it, though it certainly didn’t make forcing herself to eat her bland bowl of oatmeal any easier.

“Good morning, Nesta,” Azriel said quietly.

Nesta looked up at the sound of his voice, pleasantly surprised to find he was interrupting her meal and not his much brasher brother. He was a much more welcome sight than her oatmeal, though. “Good morning, Azriel.”

“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked politely. His voice was a little hoarse as though he hadn’t used it in a long time, but she surely wasn’t going to pry. He’d never forced her to talk when she didn’t want to, and the least she could do was afford him the same courtesy.

“Please,” she answered, motioning with the hand not holding her spoon at the many open seats before her. “I could use the company.”

It wasn’t quite a lie; Cassian had taken to just meeting her on the balcony lately rather than interrupting her meals, so Nesta’s breakfasts had been rather solitary as of late. What she didn’t say was that she vastly preferred Azriel’s company to anyone else’s in Rhysand’s inner circle, but she suspected Azriel knew that.

“Thank you,” he told her softly. He pulled out a chair at the seat directly across from her, and a plate of food magically appeared before him.

Nesta’s stomach made a pitiful noise at the sight of his plate, her body clearly preferring his meal to her tasteless bowl of mush. If it’d been up to her, her breakfasts would look much more similar to what was on Azriel’s plate, but she didn’t have much of a choice under Cassian’s… tutelage.

“Here,” Azriel said suddenly. A little silver pot appeared out of a swirl of shadows, and he nudged it closer to her side of the table. “For the taste.”

Nesta didn’t think she’d seen it before, but that didn’t stop her from reaching for it. She opened the little pot to reveal more than enough sugar to make her bland oatmeal taste better, her eyebrows raising as she took in the sheer amount. “Where did you find this?”

“I have my ways,” he told her cryptically.

“Won’t it affect my training?” she responded, though it didn’t stop her fingers from tracing the edges of the handle. The metal was cool to the touch but not cold; she half-wondered if his shadows felt the same.

“You work more than hard enough,” he replied. “I think your body deserves something sweet.”

Nesta willed herself not to blush. “Alright.”

As she spooned sugar into her food, she swore that tiny smile played on the edge of his lips again. Maybe she was being foolish, but part of her was beginning to suspect it might be for her.

♡♡♡♡♡

The next time it happened, Nesta was reading in her favorite library in the House. She’d promised Gwyn and Emerie she’d get through the next few chapters of their latest read – a forbidden romance between two lovers – and she’d decided to take her lunch in here so she could read and eat at the same time. She’d finished her meal a while ago, but she wasn’t due in the library for another quarter of an hour, so she was hoping to finish this latest chapter in time to exchange a few remarks about it with Gwyn.

Nesta couldn’t explain what made her look up from the page, but she was glad that she did when she saw Azriel hovering at the entrance of the room.

“Azriel,” Nesta said, immediately marking her place in her book; he was far more interesting. She hardly ever saw him in this part of the House, though she suspected he’d been up here once or twice to add more blankets to the couch she usually liked to sit on. “What are you doing up here?”

“I made you some tea,” Azriel said back, walking closer to her now that she’d acknowledged him. His hands were gently supporting a teacup and saucer, but from the angle she was sitting at she couldn’t quite tell what was in it. It didn’t smell like her usual flavor, but that didn’t stop her from motioning for him to come closer. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Couldn’t the House have brought this to me?” she asked shrewdly, watching as he carefully set down the cup on the end table closest to her corner of the couch.

“It’s a special blend,” he answered. From the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, though, she suspected that wasn’t all it was. “I wanted to hear your thoughts while it was still warm.”

“Mhmm,” she replied. “What kind of blend?”

“Something my mother likes to drink,” he replied. She hardly ever heard him mention his mother, though she knew he regularly visited her estate, and a large part of her was touched that he trusted her enough to even mention the female, let alone reveal something like this. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

Nesta didn’t need any further encouragement. “At least sit down. You’re keeping out all the light with those wings of yours.”

“Alright,” Azriel agreed, folding his wings in as he sat down on the armchair placed diagonally from her. He was at home in the dark amongst the stars, but she certainly thought he looked lovely in the afternoon light.

“Alright,” Nesta repeated. She reached out and picked up the cup, bringing it to her lips without any hesitation, and immediately fell in love with the spicy yet sweet taste of it.

“Well?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “What’s your verdict?”

“This is wonderful,” she told him honestly, already going back in for another sip. “You’re sure the House can’t bring this to me whenever I want a taste?”

“Just find me,” he replied. “I’ll make it for you whenever you’d like.”

Nesta was thankful for the tea. Its warmth – along with the size of the cup Azriel had brought it to her in – was the perfect excuse for the pink staining her cheeks.

♡♡♡♡♡

Nesta had been summoned down to the River House after a long morning of training. She’d hardly been given enough time to bathe and change into something more presentable, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that had been by design.

She’d walked into the study with her head held high, refusing to show a chink in her armor despite the fact that Feyre, Rhysand, and Amren had been waiting for her, and Cassian had brought up the rear. No one had said anything for a few moments after Cassian had closed the door behind them, and she fought the urge to heave a sigh.

Eventually, everyone’s gazes slid to her, and Nesta did her best not to fidget under the combined weight of everyone’s gazes. She didn’t have the patience for their games, though, so she was the one to speak first. “What?”

“We need you to scry again,” Feyre told her. Of course it wasn’t a request; Feyre was telling Nesta what she’d be doing, and Nesta seethed at the unspoken implication that she’d just fall in line.

“Why?” Nesta asked. She hated scrying, had never liked the way the magic reminded her of searching for the Cauldron, and she knew they all knew that.

Rhysand shifted slightly from his position next to Feyre, his dislike for Nesta practically radiating from every stitch of his finely-made clothes. “We need to find a Made object before it falls into the wrong hands.”

“What kind of object?” Nesta questioned. Mother help her, was it going to be like this for every question she had? “Why can’t one of you search for it another way?”

Amren released a heavy sigh, like Nesta’s questions were mere inconveniences rather than important information she needed to know. “Can you do it or not, girl?”

Nesta didn’t dignify that with a response, but a sudden disturbance in the room took the attention off her. The shadows suddenly darkened into a mass of black and then Azriel was stepping out of them like some kind of dark angel, his face blank but no less beautiful than any of the other times she’d seen him. Nesta caught a flash of relief in his eyes before he turned away from her, but it was more than enough to make her heart pound.

“Azriel,” Cassian said from behind Nesta, sounding almost surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s going on?” Azriel asked, coming to a stop just barely in front of Nesta. One of his shadows darted out to play with the hem of her dress, but the Shadowsinger seemed too preoccupied with the room at large to notice. “No one told me we were meeting today.”

“I hardly thought it necessary to pull you from your assignment,” Rhysand answered, his eyes darting between Azriel and Nesta suspiciously.

“Nesta didn’t show up to the library on time,” Azriel replied quietly to Rhysand’s unasked question. “One of the priestesses was… concerned.”

Gwyn, Nesta thought to herself. She didn’t know the priestess had a way to communicate with Azriel, but if anyone could find a way, it would be Gwyn.

“I see,” Rhysand responded. His eyes glazed over for a moment as he spoke to Feyre mind-to-mind before they refocused on the group at large. “We need Nesta to scry for a Made item before it falls into the wrong hands.”

“She doesn’t need to do that,” Azriel disagreed immediately. Nesta was so startled that he was defending her that she didn’t even think to protest. “There are other ways to locate it.”

“Like what?” Feyre asked.

“Like ways that won’t risk her unnecessarily,” Azriel replied, his voice taking on an edge Nesta rarely heard when he was talking to the others. “You know there are other ways to detect Made items. You or Elain could scry if you wanted to. My shadows could help.”

“The girl is decent enough at scrying,” Amren answered with a nonchalant shrug. If Nesta hadn’t been so focused on Azriel speaking up for her, she might have replied to the backhanded compliment in kind, but she had more important things on her mind. “She should take the first pass.”

“Hasn’t she done enough?” Azriel countered. The edges of his wings were splaying out the longer he talked, slowly but surely expanding to block the others’ view of her. “How is she supposed to focus on healing if you want her to do this for you?”

Feyre bit her lip. “He’s right. We shouldn’t interfere with that.”

“But—” Amren tried to interrupt, but she was swiftly shut down.

“The High Lady has spoken,” Rhysand announced with an air of finality. Azriel’s wings snapped in tight with the victory. “We’ll try something else. Thank you for your time, Nesta.”

“You’re welcome,” Nesta told him stiffly. She didn’t bother to wait for him to dismiss her, instead turning and walking out of the room as quickly as she dared. Cassian and Azriel followed her, but she didn’t acknowledge either of them until they were standing outside.

“I’ll take her back to the House,” Azriel told Cassian once he’d closed the door to the house behind him.

Cassian shrugged, his massive frame moving with him as he did. “Fine by me. Have fun at the library, Nes.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nesta replied immediately.

“Don’t call her that,” Azriel responded at the same time.

Cassian eyed the two of them warily for a few moments before deciding to just laugh it off. “Whatever you say, Nes. See you around, Az.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Nesta said softly once Cassian had taken to the skies and they were alone.

“I know, Nesta,” Azriel said back just as quietly. “I wanted to.”

They didn’t speak as he carefully took her into his arms and winnowed her back to the House, the only sound between them the snap of his wings as he flew them the remaining distance to the balcony.

“How did Gwyn send you a message?” she asked once they’d landed. Surely that would be a safer topic of conversation. “I didn’t know you two spoke outside of training.”

“She didn’t,” he admitted with the hint of a flush on his cheeks. His shadows moved quickly to try and obscure his face, but he couldn’t hide from her. “I was the one looking for you.”

“Oh,” she breathed, her heartbeat picking up in her chest. “Why?”

“I wanted to see you,” he answered after a few moments.

“Oh,” she repeated. She turned over her shoulder to open the door to the House, turning to look back at him before she disappeared inside. “Well, here I am. Join me for lunch?”

Azriel didn’t hesitate to follow her to the dining room. If their hands brushed more than necessary during their meal, Nesta certainly wasn’t going to complain.

♡♡♡♡♡

After that, they started having as many of their meals together as they could. Azriel wasn’t always at the House, especially when he was finishing up an assignment, but he made a point of not leaving Nesta to dine alone as often as possible.

Sometimes when he was out on Court business, Nesta would go days without seeing him. This week was one of those times where she hadn’t seen him for several nights now, but she tried not to worry. Azriel was more than capable of taking care of himself, and had been for centuries. Still, she could admit to herself that part of it was because she missed him and his quiet comfort, and she hoped he would be back soon to bring her tea or keep her company in the library.

Nesta had just finished her dinner and was getting ready to retire to her room for the evening when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She knew it couldn’t be Cassian – he hardly ever stayed in the House these days if he could avoid it – and her heart sped up as she dared to hope that Azriel would be back.

Her hopes became real as he rounded the corner, looking a little tired but no more than usual. “Nesta.”

“Azriel,” Nesta said back.

“You ate already,” Azriel replied, sounding disappointed as he watched the last of Nesta’s used dishes disappear. “I was hoping I would get back in time to join you. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she told him, only a little exasperated. It was hardly the worst thing that had ever happened to her. “I’m just happy to see you at all.”

A pleased little smile played at the corner of his mouth before he came to sit next to her, one or two of his shadows darting out to play with the hem of her dress. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” she asked, tilting her head. “Am I allowed to guess what it is?”

“No,” he answered. A tiny green box appeared out of the shadows and settled onto the table, the outside giving nothing away about what might be inside. “But I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope I do.”

A bit of excited laughter bubbled out of Nesta as she reached for the box and opened it to reveal the biggest slice of chocolate cake she’d ever seen in her life. “Azriel!”

“Nesta,” Azriel said, teasing her a little. He looked so delighted to be right that she couldn’t help but laugh again. “Was I right?”

“You were,” Nesta said back. She’d talked about wanting to go back to her favorite bakery in Velaris with Gwyn and Emerie during training last week, but she hadn’t thought anyone was listening outside of the three of them. Served her right for not remembering he was a Shadowsinger. “But you can’t possibly expect me to eat this all by myself, do you?”

“So perhaps I had an ulterior motive,” he responded. The House dropped two forks on either side of the box and he snorted. “May I join you?”

“Yes,” she agreed, already reaching for her own fork.

The cake was wonderful, but so was the male sitting beside her.

♡♡♡♡♡ Azriel

Azriel sighed as he stared up at his ceiling, sleep eluding him for what felt like the thousandth time. No matter how many times he’d slept in this bed, it was never as easy as it should’ve been for sleep to take him, though he probably deserved it given what he’d been doing earlier in the day. What right did he have to drift off like a babe when his hands were so bloody it was a miracle he wasn’t practically drowning in it?

He let his thoughts linger down their dark path for the space of a few more breaths before forcing himself to shift away. It wouldn’t help, and it certainly wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought before.

Azriel tried to focus on clearing his mind and breathing deeply, hoping against hope that maybe tonight would be different. He didn’t get very far before he started to get frustrated, but before he could get too worked up again, he heard something coming down the hallway.

Perhaps his halfhearted prayers had been answered after all.

Even without his shadows alerting him to her presence, Azriel would’ve recognized the sound of Nesta’s footsteps anywhere. He waited until she knocked at his door to get up and answer her, trying to school his features into their usual neutrality at the sight of her dressing robe hanging open for once. He couldn’t see much between the dark fabric and the book she was holding to her chest, but he wouldn’t take the sight of her for granted.

“What are you still doing awake?” Azriel asked her softly.

“I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Nesta answered just as quietly. Her hair was split into two braids and it made her look softer in a way she didn’t usually show to the others. “I thought maybe I could help?”

“Oh,” he replied, touched. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he didn’t sleep as much as he should, but he was moved by her kindness and attention anyway. “How?”

“I used to read to Feyre and Elain when they were girls,” she told him, shifting the book in her arms higher to reveal the title. He recognized the golden Old Scythian script on the cover even though he couldn’t understand the language. “When they couldn’t sleep, when they were sick, when they were bored. Would that be alright?”

“More than,” he reassured her, already moving to let her inside his room. He probably didn’t deserve this from her, but under no circumstances would he ever deny her anything. “Come in.”

Nesta had been inside Azriel’s room on several occasions, but she waited for him to settle back onto the bed before she joined him on the other side of it. The sheets still smelled faintly of her from the last time she’d fallen asleep here, and he was selfishly glad that he’d be reminded of her for another few days after tonight.

Azriel was more than happy to use his shadows to help hold up the book, but Nesta gently pushed them to the side in favor of using her own magic. “Sorry, little ones. I can see better with my magic.”

“They’ll be alright,” Azriel told her, chuckling softly at the way his shadows were still trying to get her attention. They were no better than he was. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t expecting anything — he was just happy to be in her presence as usual — but the moment she started reading, something in him felt safe enough to at least close his eyes. He startled slightly at the feeling of one of her hands stroking through his hair, but it was so gentle that he couldn’t help but relax into her touch.

Nesta had a beautiful speaking voice already, but something about her speaking in another language made it that much more melodic. Even if he’d wanted to, Azriel wouldn’t have been able to fight the quiet, peaceful little bubble that existed between them at the moment. His breaths started to come slower, he started to lose track of time, and as much as he wanted to savor the moment with her, his body needed the rest more than anything.

“Good night, Azriel,” Azriel eventually heard Nesta murmur. “Sleep well.”

The last thing he registered before falling asleep was the soft press of her lips to his temple.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #acotar #acosf #nezriel #nesta archeron #azriel shadowsinger #nesta x azriel #azriel x nesta #pro nesta archeron #moodymelanistwrites

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starsreminisce · 11 months ago

Text

SJM Romance Week Day One First Date

Elain took a deep breath, attempting to focus on the breakfast spread before her. She scooped up a spoonful of fruit, trying to quell the fluttering butterflies in her stomach, but her efforts were futile.

She regretted teasing Lucien by jokingly asking if their outing to the Day Court was a date. What had possessed her to say such a thing, and with such bashfulness that bordered on flirtation? Yet, the mere sight of his half-smirk, a telltale sign that he was up to mischief, was enough to set her heart racing and her cheeks flushing pink.

It had only been a few weeks since they had found themselves engaged in conversation during the Starfall Ball. It felt as though fate had drawn them together, and Elain, lonely for stimulating company, couldn't bring herself to leave his side. From the moment their eyes met, she knew she was captivated.

"I find it fascinating that we, as fae, have our holidays while humans seem to revel in celebrations just for the sake of it," Lucien remarked, his tone casual.

"We weren't privy to your holidays," Elain replied, her stomach knotting with nerves.

"You don't have anything akin to Nynsar or Starfall?" another member of their circle inquired.

Elain smiled faintly, shaking her head. "No, we're not familiar with those."

"I wouldn't expect much from humans," the individual remarked dismissively.

Elain's jaw clenched, but before she could respond diplomatically, Lucien interjected.

"Which perhaps lends more significance to their celebrations," he remarked, his russet eye flashing with intensity. "We celebrate out of obligation, while humans celebrate purely for joy."

"Don't underestimate humans' capacity for using obligation as an excuse for revelry," Elain retorted, meeting his gaze head-on.

A glint danced in Lucien's eyes, a soft hum emanating from his mechanical one. "And yet, their celebrations are undoubtedly more enjoyable than this dull affair."

Elain found herself laughing, unable to stifle the sound as it bubbled up. "And how do you imagine they would celebrate?"

With a smirk, Lucien glanced around conspiratorially. "I imagine the Cavendishes would host a grand ball, much to the chagrin of the Raleighs."

Elain's laughter rang out louder, and she covered her mouth, aware of the two families' longstanding rivalry. As others in the group inquired about the families, Lucien looked to Elain for confirmation, and she eagerly supplied details, finding herself drawn into conversation. Lucien eventually excused himself, passing by Elain with a whispered tease about the upcoming nuptials between Celeste Cavendish and Ambrose Raleigh.

Hooked on his words, Elain seized his wrist, demanding more information. Lucien winked at her mischievously before slipping away.

In the following weeks, their interactions became habitual. Elain would wait for Lucien before his meetings with Rhys, and he would regale her with gossip and stories. Their conversations evolved, delving into personal matters and offering advice on family disputes.

When Lucien mentioned that he wouldn't be meeting with Rhys as usual, Elain couldn't hide her disappointment. She expressed her desire to attend the Day Court, prompting Lucien to offer her company.

"Is this your way of asking for a date?" she teased, her heart racing at the thought.

"Do you want it to be one?" Lucien replied, his smirk sending shivers down her spine.

She felt her pulse quicken, her cheeks flushing. "No, I'm just tired of being cooped up here."

"Then let me remedy that," Lucien's voice lowered, a hint of seduction lacing his words, causing her breath to catch.

And so, she found herself here, getting ready under the guise to roam around Velaris. Feyre was at work in her studio and Rhysand would be overseeing some project in the Illyrian mountains. She paced to calm her nerves but it still did little. She could feel the bond between her and Lucien tighten and stepped outside to greet him… and the pegasus he was stroking the neck.

As Elain approached, her heart leapt at the sight of the majestic pegasus, its wings spread wide as if embracing the sky. "Lucien," she breathed, her voice filled with awe.

The pegasus turned its head towards her, its large, intelligent eyes meeting hers with a knowing gaze. Elain couldn't help but squeal in delight as the horse nuzzled her hand, its warmth and presence grounding her nerves.

"Helion does have a flair for the dramatic," Lucien remarked with a snort, his gaze fond as he stroked the pegasus's neck. "You can imagine my surprise when she showed up at my apartment."

Elain turned to Lucien, surprised by his revelation. "You now reside in Velaris?" she inquired, curious.

"Not entirely," Lucien replied cryptically, evading her question with a small smile.

With a gentle hand, Lucien guided Elain closer to the pegasus. "Here, let me help you up," he offered, his voice warm and reassuring.

As Elain stepped closer, Lucien's strong arms encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the horse's back. She felt a rush of excitement mingled with a sense of security as she settled into the saddle, her pulse quickening at the proximity of Lucien behind her.

With practiced ease, Lucien swung himself up behind her, settling himself comfortably against her back. Despite the chill of the air around them, Elain felt a comforting warmth radiating from his body, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and reassurance.

"You sounded so excited," Lucien commented softly, his breath warm against her ear. "It's infectious."

Elain couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips, her heart fluttering at his words. With Lucien behind her and the pegasus beneath them, she felt a sense of exhilaration and anticipation coursing through her veins as they prepared to take flight.

A gentle nudge from Lucien, the pegasus spread its wings and leaped gracefully into the air. Elain's laughter rang out joyfully as the wind rushed past them, the city of Velaris shrinking below them as they soared higher and higher.

With an equally graceful descent, the pegasus touched down in the courtyard of the Day Court, and Lucien helped Elain dismount, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. As they stood together, facing the magnificent structure before them, Elain felt a sense of wonder and anticipation for the adventures that awaited them within the halls of the Day Court.

But their excitement was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of a striking woman adorned in the traditional Day Court attire, her kohl-rimmed eyes flashing with impatience.

“Lord Helion is unable to see you today,” the woman stated sternly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Lucien's expression remained indifferent. “And yet he sends me his pegasus to meet him,” he remarked dryly.

The woman's demeanor softened slightly, though she still appeared unimpressed. “Lord Helion sends his regrets, but you two are free to wander wherever you please,” she replied before turning on her heel and departing.

As the woman disappeared into the bustling courtyard, Elain couldn't help but suppress a coy smile. “If you wanted to ask me on a date, you don’t need all the false pretense,” she teased.

Lucien chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You caught me.”

Elain turned to face the vibrant scenery around them, the sun casting a warm glow over the Day Court. The sea sparkled in the distance, its waves crashing against the shore with a soothing rhythm.

“Since Helion can be a bit of a busybody,” Lucien shrugged, “want to see where I hide from him?”

Without waiting for a response, he hooked his arm through Elain's, and with a graceful twist, they vanished into thin air, reappearing amidst a stunning flower garden. As Elain's gaze wandered across the garden, she marveled at the intricate kaleidoscope of colors and scents that surrounded them. Delicate roses intertwined with exotic orchids, their petals shimmering in the dappled sunlight. Towering sunflowers stood proudly alongside delicate lilies, their golden hues contrasting with the soft pastels of the surrounding blooms.

"It's like a symphony of flowers," Elain breathed, her voice filled with wonder.

Lucien nodded, his eyes alight with pride. "Found this in my youth," he explained. "I believe it was a gift from the then High Lord to his mate."

Elain's gaze softened with understanding as she took in the significance of the garden. "It's a beautiful tribute," she murmured.

"It's different than the Spring Court," Elain observed, her eyes scanning the garden once more. "There seems to be flowers from all parts of the world."

"Indeed," Lucien agreed, gesturing towards a particularly exotic bloom with a flourish. "Spring is wonderful, but it's only limited to the flowers of that season. Here, you'll find blooms from every corner, brought together in harmony."

The air was alive with the hum of bees and the soft rustle of leaves, and a gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blossoms, enveloping them in a cocoon of tranquility. Sunlight filtered through the lush foliage, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the ground below.

Elain felt a sense of peace wash over her as she wandered through the garden, her fingers trailing lightly over the velvety petals of a nearby rose. It was as if time had slowed to a standstill, allowing her to savor every moment in this enchanting sanctuary with Lucien by her side.

As they wandered through the garden, they marveled at each new discovery, losing themselves in the beauty of nature. They walked for hours, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they shared stories and laughter beneath the canopy of blossoms.

Finally, they came upon a majestic tree, its branches spread wide in a welcoming embrace. Beneath its shade, a picnic awaited them, laid out with an array of delicious treats and refreshing drinks.

“Did you plan for this too?” Elain nudged at him, a playful glint in her eyes.

Lucien pursed his lips, a faint smile playing at the corners. “I told you Helion can be a bit of a busybody.”

With a graceful gesture, Lucien invited Elain to take a seat, his eyes soft with affection as he poured her a glass of chilled wine. As they shared their meal amidst the fragrant blooms and dappled sunlight, Elain couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. In this magical garden, with Lucien by her side, she felt as though she had found a piece of paradise.

As hours slipped by, they talked and laughed, basking in each other's company as they watched the sun dip below the horizon. Eventually, as the sky began to darken, Elain turned to him with a curious expression.

“Now what?” she asked, her tone filled with anticipation.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I take you to the river house?”

“That’s it?” Elain replied, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

Lucien hummed thoughtfully. “Well, there is one other place I can take you.”

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Lucien winnowed them away to a small Summer Court city bustling with life. Stalls adorned with colorful banners offered an array of tantalizing foods, the air filled with the mouthwatering scent of grilled meats and freshly baked pastries. A warm summer breeze carried the salty tang of the nearby sea, adding to the festive atmosphere.

“What is all of this?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

Lucien chuckled, his arm wrapped around her waist as he guided her through the bustling crowds. “Welcome to a nighttime festival in the Summer Court,” he explained. “It's a celebration of music, food, and merriment that lasts well into the early hours.”

Elain's eyes widened in wonder as she took in the sights and sounds around her, her curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar surroundings. She felt a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins as she and Lucien wandered from stall to stall. Elain couldn't resist stealing bites of Lucien's food as they went, her laughter mingling with the bustling energy of the crowd. However, Lucien made no attempt to take any of hers, his attention solely focused on her.

In the distance, a towering structure loomed against the night sky, its intricate design illuminated by twinkling lights. Elain's gaze was drawn to it, her curiosity piqued by its imposing presence. "What's that?" she asked, pointing towards the structure.

Lucien followed her gaze, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "That's a ferris wheel," he explained, his tone tinged with nostalgia. "It's a ride that offers a breathtaking view of the city from above."

Elain's eyes sparkled with excitement as she beheld the towering ferris wheel. Eager to experience this new adventure, she turned to Lucien with a radiant smile.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she said, her voice filled with gratitude and anticipation.

With a nod of agreement, Lucien led her towards the ferris wheel, their hands intertwined as they joined the queue. As they ascended into the night sky, Elain couldn't help but feel a sense of exhilaration wash over her. The world seemed to shrink beneath them as they reached the pinnacle, the city spread out below like a glittering tapestry.

As they descended back to earth, Elain turned to Lucien, her heart full with gratitude for the magical evening they had shared.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft with emotion.

Lucien smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting the glow of the city lights. "It was my pleasure," he replied, his gaze tender as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

Feeling emboldened by the magic of the night, Elain leaned in and pressed her lips to Lucien's, a gentle yet electric kiss that spoke volumes of the unspoken feelings between them. As they parted, a dazzling display of fireworks burst into the sky, casting an ethereal glow over their intertwined figures.

Lucien took Elain's hand, his touch sending a shiver down her spine as he led her to a secluded spot high above the bustling city. There, amidst the tranquil stillness, they watched in awe as the fireworks painted the night sky with bursts of color and light, each explosion igniting a fire within them that burned brighter with each passing moment.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they shared stolen glances and lingering touches, the air thicken with anticipation. With every beat of their hearts, the tension between them grew, a palpable energy that crackled in the air like static electricity.

As the final bursts of color dissolved into the night's canvas, leaving behind trails of fleeting beauty, Elain turned to Lucien with a gaze filled with longing. The air was charged, every heartbeat echoing in the silence that enveloped them. Without a word, she leaned in, her movements graceful yet urgent, her lips seeking his with a hunger that mirrored his own.

Their kiss was a symphony of passion and desire, a dance of lips and tongues that ignited a firestorm of emotions within them. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, the world fading away until there was only the two of them, lost in the intensity of their connection.

They clung to each other, their bodies pressed together as if trying to merge into one, each touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through their veins. The night air was filled with the soft sound of their mingled breaths, the gentle rustle of fabric as they held each other close.

And as they finally pulled away, their lips swollen and tingling with the remnants of their kiss, they were left breathless and wanting more. The weight of their unspoken desires hung heavy in the air, a promise of things to come as they stood together beneath the canopy of stars, their hearts beating as one in the magic of the night.

"Now what?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

Lucien's gaze burned with intensity as he met her eyes. "I take you home," he replied, his voice husky with desire.

"To that apartment you have in Velaris?" Elain teased, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

"I didn't think you were that kind of female," Lucien chuckled, his tone laced with amusement.

Elain's laughter mingled with the soft hum of the night air. "I would figure being your mate would come with some sort of privilege," she teased back, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"Elain," Lucien said, his half-smirk sending a jolt of anticipation through her veins. "Would you like to come to my apartment for some … tea?"

"Yes," Elain breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'd love that."

With a shared smile that spoke volumes of the unspoken promises and desires between them, they made their way back to the city, their steps light with anticipation for the moments yet to come.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #sjm romance week #sjmromanceweek2024

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