lucilleeee

[lucilleeee]

Top Shelf Love: Prologue

A/N: So, if you know me, you know that I love hockey. But if there's one thing I don't love, it's hockey romances because they are always so inaccurate that it's take you out of the story SO QUICK! Like what do you mean the captain of this NCAA D1 team is undrafted? What do you mean she magically has access to an NHL locker-room in the middle of a game? So this is my response to that! A super self-indulgent Nessian Hockey AU. For additional hockey context: Cassian is a defenseman for the NY Rangers; Rhys is a center for the Montreal Canadiens; Az is a winger for the Nashville Predators; and Lucien is a winger for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this prologue and this absolute meet-ugly! Happy final day of @nestaarcheronweek

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Nesta

Nesta sighs softly, tilting her head back against the leather of the seat. Almost instantly, she scrunches her nose, the stale scent of cigarettes, of sweat and previous occupants, flooding her senses. Eager for a distraction, she peers out the window instead. The skyscrapers loom like shadowed giants on either side of the road, a cascade of colorful lights spilling from their windows and reflecting off the wet roads, the puddles from the earlier rain. Throngs of bodies move along the sidewalks, neither the late hour or the dark clouds still clinging above deterring them clearly.

The city that never sleeps indeed.

The cab jerks to a stop along the curb, the driver not even bothering to turn around and say anything to her, merely tapping the fare display. With a roll of her eyes, Nesta fishes her wallet out of her purse to pay before finally slipping out of the cab. At least the driver pulls her suitcase from the trunk, setting it on the sidewalk beside her.

“Nesta! You finally made it!”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow back down another sigh, takes all her willpower to force at least a hint of a smile to tug across her face. She can feel her earlier annoyance still simmering just beneath her skin, can still feel the exhaustion weighing down her bones. She’d give anything to be back in her own bed right now, anything to slip beneath her pile of blankets and curl up with a good book, but she’s here for Feyre, here to celebrate her baby sister.

So Nesta rolls her shoulders and plasters on an even wider smile before she turns around. But she should have known better, should have known that despite the physical distance between them, there’s no fooling her sisters. From the way Feyre raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching up in the barest hint of an unimpressed smirk, it’s clear she sees straight through Nesta.

“Sorry,” Nesta winces, her shoulders drooping already. “Journey from hell.”

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Elain offers with an easy smile, stepping forward and taking the handle of Nesta’s suitcase.

“Or five,” Feyre adds with a chuckle.

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t exactly disagree. A stiff drink definitely sounds appealing after the nightmare of the day she’s had.

“I saw online that a lot of flights were just straight canceled, so I think you’re lucky to have made it at all,” Elain comments, leading the way along the sidewalk.

“I don’t know that I’d call a six hour delay lucky,” Nesta grumbles, practically shuddering at the memory of being stuck sitting and waiting in an airport for so long.

Nesta follows her sisters inside the building, but they take the elevator down, rather than up, Elain leading the way toward a black SUV. She tells her sisters more about the horrible journey as they walk. About the surprisingly long line at security. About the storms in the midwest and the delays and havoc they wreaked on all flights. About the child that seemed determined to scream for the entire five hour flight.

Once Nesta’s bags are securely locked away in Elain’s car, they return to the elevator and take it all the way up to the eighteenth floor, the doors opening with a soft ding. There’s no stopping the way Nesta’s jaw slackens as she takes it all in. A large centerpiece extends from the floor and fans out into the ceiling, the lights embedded within it casting the entire bar and its occupants in glittering golds. Live music seems to be coming from somewhere, twining and molding with the laughter, the conversations, filling the space.

But it’s the windows that really draw Nesta’s attention. Floor to ceiling windows seem to line every wall, offering a truly panoramic view of all of New York City and the Hudson. It’s a picture perfect view of the twinkling lights and night sky through the rain droplets still clinging to the panes.

“Wow,” Nesta breathes, taking it all in. “This place is definitely nicer than I was expecting.”

“If you think this is nice, you should see their venue.”

It takes a few moments for Elain’s words to register, but then Nesta is snapping her head toward Feyre. “You have a venue already? Does that mean you’ve picked a date?”

“Yes,” Feyre answers, unable to bite back her grin. “Next summer. July specifically, after Rhys’s season has ended.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit optimistic to think he’ll still be playing through June?”

“Elain!” Feyre exclaims, reaching out to smack the middle Archeron in the arm. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What?” Elain shrugs innocently. “It’s true. I mean what’s their current record again?”

“Because the Leafs do so well when they choke every year?”

“At least they make the playoffs.”

Nesta snorts softly at her sisters’ bickering. “Since when did you become a sports fan anyways, Elain?”

“I guess Lucien’s been filling her with more than just his dick.”

“Feyre!” Elain squeaks out, her cheeks flooding with a blush.

“Darling,” a deep voice practically purrs, interrupting them. “There you are. I was wondering where my beautiful fiancée got off to.”

“Rhys, this is my oldest sister, Nesta,” Feyre offers, sidling up against Rhys’s side, her fiancé’s arm settling over her shoulders with comfortable ease.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Rhys greets, holding up the glass in his free hand in a mock cheers. The gesture is a bit sloppy, some of the amber liquid in the glass sloshing over the rim and spilling across his fingers, and Nesta realizes there’s a haze to his violet eyes.

“It’s an open bar,” Feyre mouths, clearly reading Nesta’s expression.

“You don’t have a drink in your hand,” Rhys suddenly says, as though he’s only just realized. “We need to fix that immediately.”

Rhys turns on his heel, pushing his way through the various guests gathered to celebrate him and Feyre without a care. Nesta rolls her eyes, but Feyre has a wide, soft smile on her face as she watches him go, eyes practically sparking with fondness. It’s clear this is the man that makes her youngest sister happy, so she can’t fault him too much.

“He’s right, you know. You do need a drink still,” Feyre says, looping her arm through Nesta’s.

Feyre leads the way toward the bar built around the large centerpiece. She leans over and gets the attention of one of the bartenders with ease, ordering what she tells Nesta is the couple's signature cocktail. It seems to be some sort of margarita, a deep blue in color with edible glitter that looks almost like stars swirling through the liquid.

“So…” Feyre starts, taking a sip of her own drink.

“So…?” Nesta echoes, although she has a strong suspicion she already knows where this conversation is going. She knows that expression on her sister’s face all too well.

“Rhys’s brothers are here tonight.”

“And you need to stop being such a busybody.”

Feyre sighs, turning so her hip leans against the bar, facing Nesta fully. “Why? I’m an excellent matchmaker. Just ask Elain…” Feyre looks over her shoulder, but frowns, turning in a full circle with her eyebrows pinched low. “Wait. Where did Elain go?”

“She and Lucien probably found some dark corner to fuck like the bunnies they are,” Nesta answers dryly. It’s certainly the trend with those two, vanishing for a few hours before appearing again with slightly mussed clothes and hair, pink often clinging to the apples of Elain’s cheeks and a wide, shit eating grin plastered across Lucien’s face.

“That just proves my point! At least tell me you stalked his Instagram or something.”

“Emerie and Gwyn did.”

Her best friends had been trying to convince her to get back out there for a month now. Even with how much time has passed since everything happened, it still feels strange. Of course, that hasn’t stopped Emerie from dragging her out to bars for trivia nights and karaoke as if they’re the best places to meet someone new. It hasn’t stopped Gwyn from trying to tempt her to start a dating profile on at least one of the plethora of app options.

It hasn’t stopped either of them from hyping her up after they spent so long helping Nesta to piece together the shattered fragments of herself, of her life, back together. It’s why Nesta loves them, why she doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

But when Feyre had suggested setting Nesta up with Rhys’s adopted brother, practically raving over the phone about what a good fit the two of them would be together, it had been like blood in the water for Emerie and Gwyn. Nesta had barely hung up with her sister by the time Gwyn had tracked down his social medias and had them displayed on the television ‘for the best viewing experience.’

Cassian Valdarez.

Any other emotions aside, Nesta can admit he’s attractive, that much was clear from the photos and videos on his Instagram. With his dark, curly hair tumbling down to his shoulders, his bright hazel eyes. He had been grinning widely in most of the photos, golden skin of his cheeks stretched and crinkles popping beside his eyes. But even the one where his lips were tugged up in a lopsided, cocksure smirk had Nesta staring.

Nesta had done a lot of staring.

Staring at the photo of him in sunglasses and shirtless, lounging casually on some sort of boat, wide shoulders and swirling lines of ink on full display. The photo of him in a locker room, dressed only from the waist down, showing off the tantalizing lines of his abs, his v-lines. The Reel of him working out, chest heaving and skin glistening, biceps bulging with every lift of the weights. The reel of him stick handling with just gloves, in a tank and shorts, the muscles and veins of his forearms working with each flick of his wrist.

“Okay, and?” Feyre’s voice draws Nesta back to the present.

“And what?”

“And what did Gwyn and Emerie think?”

Nesta sighs softly, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I mean, they said I should go for it.”

“Ha!” Feyre exclaims, loud enough to draw the attention of a few others up at the bar. “See? I’m right. A perfect match.”

“Feyre, don’t you think—”

“Feyre, darling, I keep losing you.” Rhys slips into the space behind Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist. He dips his head enough to press his lips to her neck before raising his gaze to peer at Nesta over Feyre’s shoulder. “Sorry. Do you mind if I steal my fiancée away for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Nesta assures him, but it’s Feyre’s gaze she meets. “I’ll be fine.”

Feyre and Rhys vanish into the crowds hand and hand, and Nesta settles at the bar, sipping her drink. Her eyes flit around, but she truly doesn’t know anyone here outside of her sisters. And despite her earlier words to Feyre, all the people, all the sounds and the lights, are starting to grate against her nerves, prickling and dragging along her skin like nails. Even downing the remains of her drink doesn’t seem to help, the alcohol only weighing heavy in her gut.

Leaving her now empty glass on the bartop, Nesta spins on her heel and stalks toward one of the walls of windows. She glances around at the different tables set up, the booths that line the windows and offer the perfect seats for the views beyond. Maybe she can find a dark corner to hide in for a few hours, or maybe, if she’s lucky, Elain and Lucien will decide they want to leave early to continue whatever they’ve started in an actual bed.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

The deep voice has a shiver skittering up Nesta’s spine, warm breath fanning across her ear. She spins around and comes face to face with a pair of hazel eyes, a cocksure smirk she’s only seen in photo-form before. Cassian Valdarez, in the flesh. He doesn’t even bother for subtly as his gaze rakes over her, and Nesta has to swallow hard as she tracks the way he licks his lips.

“And what if I wasn’t?” Nesta dares to ask, raising her chin.

Cassian chuckles, stepping closer into her space. “I think we both know you were looking for me. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Cassian’s hand reaches up in the space between them, snagging one of the stray strands of Nesta’s hair and twisting it around his fingers. Those same fingers skate down her neck, across her collarbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch traces over her shoulder and down her arm before finally closing around her wrist, Nesta’s breath hitching at the warm of his hand, the size of it, and she can do nothing but follow along as he tugs her toward one of the booths by the windows.

He lets go long enough to fall back against the cushions, for Nesta to settle beside him, but then his hands are right back on her. This time, his palm slides against the skin above her knee, fingers teasing along the hem of her dress. His other arm stretches along the back of the booth, all but curling around her shoulders as he leans into her.

“You look gorgeous in this dress, you know.”

“But let me guess, it would look better on your bedroom floor?”

“You said it, not me, but I don’t disagree.”

Nesta snorts quietly, tempted to tell him that it was wrinkled when she yanked it out of her suitcase before she awkwardly changed into it in the airport bathroom. But she never gets the chance to. Cassian lifts his hand until his fingers curl around her jaw, tilting her chin up enough that he can slot their lips firmly together.

The kiss takes Nesta by surprise, but it doesn’t take her long to respond. She moves her lips against his, Cassian’s grip on her chin holding her exactly where he wants her. When his tongue slips into her mouth, she moans softly, fisting a hand into the front of his shirt to keep herself steady and to keep him close.

Cassian pulls back just enough that he can murmur, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Right now?” Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself. She’s certainly not opposed to the idea, but with tonight being the first time they’re meeting, she thought he might want to get to know her more first. What exactly did Feyre tell him about her?

“You know what they say. No time like the present.”

“I should probably tell my sister I’m leaving then.”

Cassian’s eyes seem to glint, even beneath the low light of the bar. “Is your sister here? Does she want to join?”

Nesta is sure that she must have misheard him. “What?”

“It could be fun. Two sisters, one hockey player,” Cassian says easily, even daring to wink at her. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Nesta can do nothing but gape at him, her mind reeling with this turn in conversation, but then it hits her like a ton of bricks. “You don’t know who I am.”

Cassian chuckles again, that cocksure smirk of his never slipping for a moment. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

“Do you even know my name?” Nesta snaps, pulling further away from him.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that, sweetheart. All that really matters is you knowing my name so you can scream it tonight.”

“You didn’t even want to ask for it before you kissed me? You don’t even want to ask for it now?”

“Look. We both know what you came here for, what you puck bunnies are always looking for, and trust me, sweetheart. I am more than happy to give it,” Cassian offers, the way his eyes dance over her frame again nothing short of a leer. It stokes the anger flaring in Nesta’s veins higher, until it burns bright and hot.

“Wow,” Nesta scoffs, pushing up to her feet. “Fuck you.”

Nesta doesn’t even wait to hear whatever sputtering response he might give before she turns on her heel and stalks away from Cassian, pushing through bodies to put as much distance between them as she can. She’s never felt more stupid, can’t believe that she allowed Feyre to convince her that Cassian was some great guy, that the two of them would be some perfect match.

She can’t believe that she had started to believe her sister’s words, that that damned hope had started to bloom and put down roots in the gaps between her ribs.

Because of course. Of course, Cassian is just like every other guy, only thinking with the head between his legs without a single care for what happens once the sun rises. He’s exactly what Nesta expects from a professional athlete, cocky and sure of himself, expecting every girl to fall at his feet ready to worship him and suck his dick.

She finds Elain and Lucien in one of the other booths near the opposite side of windows. Elain has her legs draped across Lucien’s lap, giggling around the straw of her drink. Lucien seems to be smirking through whatever story he’s telling, his arm stretched across the back of the booth, fingers toying aimlessly with the soft brown curls of Elain’s hair.

“Can we go?” Nesta interrupts, looking between the two.

Elain blinks a few times, but then she starts nodding her head. “Of course. You’ve already had such a long day.”

Elain pushes up and to her feet, wobbling just slightly in her heels, but Lucien is there right behind her, his hands spanning across her waist to steady her. She smiles over her shoulder up at him before turning her attention to her purse, rooting around with a frown.

“Wait. Where are the keys?”

“I have them, my love,” Lucien answers, holding up the keys dangling from his fingers. He turns his attention to Nesta, offering her a wink. “Don’t worry. She’s not driving.”

Lucien slides his hand into Elain’s, leading all three of them through the party and back toward the elevators. Nesta keeps her head down as she follows behind her sister and brother-in-law, and she certainly doesn’t bother to look back. Besides, it’s not like anyone is watching her. She’s quite confident a certain hockey player has already found some other poor, unsuspecting girl to capture his attention.

And as they take the elevators all the way down to the parking garage and back to the car, she vows to herself that she’ll never think of Cassian Valdarez ever again.

—

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 @lady-nestas @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 @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

[lucilleeee]

Just Looking At You Got Me Thinking Nonsense

A/N: happy Day Four of @nestaarcheronweek! Sometimes, to really be a lover, you have to risk it all in a bidding war, ya know? This was a fun little fic to write, and I want to give a big ole shout-out to the Anon who sent me this prompt! I hope everyone enjoys :)

Read on AO3

Cassian digs his phone out of his back pocket, opening back up the group chat and the most recent messages still waiting there. With a nod, he pockets the phone again, rolling out his shoulders. There’s a glass case full of pictures and some sort of awards on the wall opposite him, and Cassian uses it as a makeshift mirror. He’s always had a bad habit of running his fingers through his hair when he’s nervous, and now his curls are a tangled mess as a result.

A door opening down the hall has Cassian almost jumping out of his skin. He turns just in time to see the exact woman he’s here for walking down the hall, her arm looped with a red head that Cassian is pretty sure was in his trig class last year.

“Trust me, it will be over before you know it,” the red head says as they walk.

“Until I have to sit through some stupid dinner after… You’re lucky that I love you.”

“I know, and I am lucky you’re doing this with me. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go up there alone.”

“Hey, Nes,” Cassian calls in greeting when they’re close enough, raising his hand in a wave.

Whether she doesn’t hear him or is just ignoring him, Cassian isn’t sure. But both women don’t acknowledge him, walking through another door further down the hall. One that, he presumes, leads into the large hall.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” Cassian mumbles to himself, letting his hand drop back to his side. “Idiot.”

“Idiot is certainly one word I’d use to describe you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle echoes Rhys’s remark, and Cassian turns to glare at both his brothers. He knocks his shoulders against both of them, leading the way back toward the front of the building and the main doors into the hall. There’s more laughter, but at least his brothers fall into step behind him. He doesn’t have time for their teasing. Not tonight at least. This is his one chance, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up, if he loses it. He needs to focus.

Cassian knew that Nesta Archeron was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen the first time he saw her walk into his gen-ed English lecture earlier this semester. Her blue gray eyes had been piercing beneath the lights of the lecture hall, and Cassian wanted to dive into them and drown in them right in that moment. Even more so when he watched her roll those eyes at something said at the front of the lecture hall.

Gods, he wanted to make those eyes roll.

He was sure that the Mother must be smiling down on him when Nesta had ended up in his seminar after the lecture too. It was clear that she was smart. That she had a passion for books. That she didn’t take any bullshit. He could sit and watch and listen to her in that seminar for the rest of his life and be happy. And when she absolutely eviscerated Tamlin for his “analysis” of Lolita, Cassian had been ready to drop to his knees right then and there.

It made him try harder. He made sure he actually paid attention in the lecture, made sure he did the readings, made sure he came to each and every seminar with his analysis prepared in hopes of impressing her. He wasn't sure it was working or not, but sometimes, he swore he saw her lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile, of a smirk, when he spoke. He swore that sometimes he could feel her gaze on him when he wasn't looking.

And then, one day, he’d walked into the seminar room to find the seat next to Nesta open. He’d practically stumbled over his own feet in his rush to slide into that open seat, earning an amused head shake from Kallias. Using the few minutes before the seminar started, Cassian had called her Nes and gotten a withering glare in response. He was sure the look was meant to cut him down where he sat, but it only stoked the embers in his chest into a full wildfire, only made him grin wider.

It became a game after that. Every seminar, he’d take the seat beside Nesta, and every seminar, he’d spark a back and forth between them. He cataloged every look, every response he was able to draw out of Nesta. Every eye roll. Every derisive snort. Every sarcastic quip. He got drunk off it all and kept coming back for more and more. And when he made Nesta blush, the pretty pink spreading across her cheeks, he knew that was it for him.

He spent the whole rest of the week after that trying to figure out the best way to ask Nesta out, sure that she wouldn’t appreciate being asked in front of their whole seminar group. He wondered if it would be weird to ask her to speak to him after the seminar, prayed to the Mother to take pity on him, and blessedly, take pity on him she did. It’s what led Cassian to finding out that Nesta was pledged to Mor’s sorority.

How he found out that she would be here tonight.

One of the sorority members greets Cassian and his brothers when they step through the doors to the hall, her name tag reading Deidre. She holds out three paddles, but Rhys and Azriel both wave her off, only Cassian taking one. Lucky number nineteen, just like his jersey. They settle into seats at an empty table, and then it’s just a waiting game.

It doesn’t take long before Mor is stepping out onto the stage, giving her welcoming speech as president, but any words she says fade away as soon as the women participating tonight walk onto the stage. As soon as Cassian catches sight of Nesta. Her dress is a silky, silvery blue that, along with the stage lights, brings out the blue of her eyes, and the hem is short enough to show off the stretch of her legs. She has that look on her face that’s Cassian’s favorite, and just the sight of her has his mouth going dry. She’s gorgeous.

“And next up we have Nesta Archeron.” Cassian’s attention snaps back to Mor. “She’s pre-law and minoring in English. She loves romance novels, so you better be ready to bring out all the stops if you’re the lucky one who gets to take her on a date. Now, we’ll start the bidding at–”

“One hundred dollars,” Cassian calls out before Mor can finish, jumping up to his feet and holding up his paddle.

“Mother save us,” Rhys mutters under his breath.

“Wow. That’s…” Mor clears her throat. “That’s quite generous. I guess we’ll be starting the bidding at one hundred.”

“One fifty.”

Anger flares low in Cassian’s gut at the second bid, and it burns even brighter when he turns his head and finds the owner of the voice. Eris Vanserra. Cassian has hated the man ever since he had the misfortune of sharing a class with him freshman year. Ever since he watched him stroll into a college class wearing designer clothes and look down on everyone. He’s pompous, pretentious, and has a face practically asking for Cassian to punch.

And punching Eris’s snooty face is definitely something Cassian’s fist itches to do right now.

“Two hundred,” Cassian declares, turning back toward the stage.

“Two fifty,” Eris echoes.

“Two seventy five.”

“Three hundred.”

“Holy shit,” Mor mutters before seemingly remembering that she has a microphone in her hands. “I mean wow. That’s officially our highest bid. Ever. Do we have a response?”

“Five. Hundred.”

Gasps and murmurs of surprise sweep through the room at Cassian’s announcement. He glances toward where Nesta still stands on stage, her eyes wide and pink settled high on her cheeks. But those wide eyes are pinned on him, not Eris, not Mor, and her attention has his heart stuttering between his ribs, has it tugging toward the stage as though she holds the thread so firmly wrapped around it.

He dares to toss Nesta a wink before turning to smirk at Eris, but Vanserra is still lounging casually in his seat with a sort of cool arrogance that ice starts to prickle beneath Cassian’s skin.

“Five fifty,” Eris declares, eyes cutting toward Cassian with a smirk of his own.

“Fucking prick,” Cassian mutters under his breath before he leans down to speak to Rhys. “Okay, I’m going to need to borrow more than what we originally agreed to.”

Rhys sighs, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Seriously, Cass? This is getting a little absurd for a single date.”

“She’s worth it.”

“Is she? You know, I’ve heard stories, and–”

“Fuck you,” Cassian growls, turning back toward the stage before he runs out of time. “Five seventy five!”

“He’s clearly dedicated. You’ve got to give him that,” Azriel mutters with a low chuckle.

“You know Vanserra’s not going to stop, right?” Rhys adds, his tone almost bored.

As if in answer, Eris’s voice rings out again. “Six hundred.”

“Seven hundred,” Cassian calls out quickly before dropping his voice again. “If you’re so worried about your rich boy checkbook, then do something about it.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Seven fifty,” Eris’s voice drowns out Rhys’s question.

“Alright,” Azriel sighs, pushing up to his feet. “This is just sad to watch now.”

Cassian sighs as his brother walks away, knocking his fist against the table in frustration. “Eight fifty!”

He waits for Eris’s answering bid, but there’s only silence ringing out in the hall. Cassian’s brow pinches in confusion, and he snaps his attention back toward Eris’s table. The man in question is on his feet, standing toe to toe with Azriel. There’s a suspicious looking stain across Eris’s shirt, and his lips are pulled back in a sneer.

Whatever lashing Eris is giving for his now ruined designer shirt, Azriel takes it unfazed. He merely reaches for a napkin, the movement nothing short of sensual as he wipes it against Eris’s shirt, against his chest and down his stomach. Even from across the room Cassian can see the way Eris’s face has turned a color to match his face.

With Eris thoroughly distracted, Cassian looks back toward the stage, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Mor.

“Oh! Right,” Mor speaks into the microphone. “We have eight fifty. Do we have higher than eight fifty?” Cassian motions with his hand to hurry up. “Eight fifty going once. Going twice. Sold for eight fifty.”

Cassian falls back into his seat with a relieved sigh, unable to bite back the wide grin that pulls across his face. He did it, he was the highest bid. He gets to see Nesta outside of their lecture, outside of their seminar. He gets to spend time with her one on one and to find out what really makes her tick.

He gets to take Nesta Archeron on a date.

He’s practically bouncing on his feet waiting for the rest of the women to have their bidding, for the evening to come to a close. He all but jumps back up to his feet, plucking the check from between Rhys’s fingers. The look on Mor’s face is all too knowing when he hands over the money, but even that doesn’t deter him.

He gets to take Nesta Archeron on a date.

“Eight hundred fifty dollars, huh?”

Cassian spins around to come face to face with the exact woman in question, her arms crossed and her expression unimpressed. But Cassian has learned a lot sitting next to Nesta this semester, and he recognizes the light sparking in her blue eyes, the slight pinch at the corner of her lips. Try as she might, she can’t hide her amusement from him.

“What can I say, sweetheart?” Cassian drawls, grin still wide. “I’m quite dedicated to getting what I want.”

“Oh? Is that why you pulled that stunt with Eris?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was merely Azriel flirting.”

Nesta laughs, and it’s already Cassian’s favorite sound, a sound he wants to draw out of her again and again. “He flirts by spilling drinks on people?”

“Everyone has their own version of flirting. Look at us, with our back and forth.”

That comment does earn him an eye roll, Cassian’s blood singing and his heart soaring at the reaction. He dares to step even closer to Nesta, until he has to tip his chin down to keep smirking at her. Dares to reach up between them for a stray strand of Nesta’s hair and tug on it teasingly. Dares to tease the backs of his fingers along her now pinkening cheeks.

“You might actually be crazy, you know.”

“Only because you make me that way, Nes.”

—

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 @lady-nestas @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 @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

[lucilleeee]

@nestaarcheronweek | Day Four: Lover

A swift shadow passed overhead, followed by a whisper of wings, and Nesta didn’t need to look to know who sailed high above, making sure all was safe. That she was safe.

Busybody. [...]

Her mate. Her love. Her friend. The light within her chest brightened to a radiant sun. – A Court of Silver Flames, Chapter 80

For today I wanted an illustration of Nesta and Cassian enjoying the tranquility of the House. This was, in fact, the first illustration that I commissioned with Pablo and when I saw how it turned out, I was unable to correctly order the words because of how impacted I was by the beauty of the illustration.

Art by: Pablo Souza (pablochmn)

Commissioned by: @podemechamardek

🚫 Please do not repost.

[lucilleeee]

nessriel | E | hurt/comfort, modern AU - magic/CC inspired

Aux officer Cassian brings a stray home with him and he doesn't want to let her go. Lieutenant Azriel, and his life partner, thinks he has a bleeding heart and an undiagnosed mental health condition - until he meets Nesta Archeron for himself, sweating and vomiting through a self-led alcohol detox, and decides ... yeah, they should keep her. Nesta is at an all-time low, all her bridges burned, but she's going to pull herself together and try to keep her mess from spilling into these ridiculously gorgeous, kind-hearted Auxie's lives.

ao3

(Thank you @popjunkie42 and @thesistersarcheron for the support read throughs!)

For Day One: Beginnings of @polyacotarweek!

Chapters 1-3/9

Preview Below

~*~

Everything fucking hurts: Cassian’s knees are jammed up, his spine crackles along each vertebra, his balls feel like tenderized meat, and his godsdamn shoulder. Ripped out of the socket by a feral leopard shifter, high on pixie dust.

As if the hit that knocked him off of his feet wasn’t bad enough, the amount of paperwork he’d had to fill out because of the right hook he’d landed out of self-defense driven instinct afterwards was even more painful.

Cassian can feel the impact from his wing meeting with the concrete just as much as the strain in his neck from standing bent over the counter at the Aux. 

Like the asshole knew how low tech they are.

“Mother fucker,” he mutters, slamming the unit door shut behind him. 

He waits to hear the double beep of the lock before shoving the keys in his black jean’s front pocket and shuffling for the stairs to his apartment.

All Cassian wants is to get out of this fucking oppressive bullet-proof vest, kick off his boots, strip off his pants and sprawl on the couch with one hand down the front of his briefs and the other holding a cold beer. Put a game on. Maybe mess around with Az by sending him some dirty pictures.

An image of high cheekbones splattered with a dark flush, hot to the touch, flashes in his mind. Pupils blown wide and hand covering that seductive mouth to hide embarrassment.

Yeah, thinking about the pretty blush that will spread over his partner’s face? The way Az will jerk his head up to make sure no one saw … and then sneak another peek, maybe find an unoccupied room that doesn’t have cameras in it for some privacy?

Cassian grins wickedly.

He will definitely send dirty pictures.

Maybe after a beer or two, his shoulder won’t hurt so bad either and he can send a video tease. Get Az all worked up so he comes home in the morning ravenous, like a male possessed, ready to put Cass in his place for winding him up so tight —

A loud clatter right as Cassian rounds the stairwell to head up to the second floor cuts off his train of thought.

Engrained Aux training makes him hesitate.

Voices rise up behind the closest door.

Shit.

Apartment 132. A real sleazebag.

“— I’m a dirty whore? Yeah? Have you seen your fucking bed sheets?” A female’s voice becomes clear, growing louder along with heavy, slightly muffled footsteps on a carpeted floor. Drawing closer. “Learn how to do the laundry, you infantile asshole!” 

The doorknob jiggles a few times along with a few incoherent curses before the door is wrenched open. Unsure what kind of scene is about to spill into the bottom floor of his apartment complex, Cassian holds still aside from his hand edging closer to his holster.

The female has her back to him, still yelling into the apartment with her middle finger in the air. “Your cleaning skills match the size of your cock, unsatisfact- ow!” 

Cassian is braced for the collision course, but the female hasn’t been paying attention to anything but lobbing insults at the vampire arguing back half-heartedly from somewhere deeper in the apartment. She jumps as her bare shoulders connect with the kevlar covered metal plate on Cassian’s chest.

She whips around, hellfire seething from her. “Watch where the fuck you’re —”

The words die on her lips as she cranks her head up: taking in the uniform, the badge, the fucking Aux uniform aviator sunglasses perched on the bridge of Cass’s crooked nose.

With his polished talons gleaming two feet higher than his nearly six-and-a-half-foot height, he knows he looks intimidating as hell.

Her gaze lingers on the breadth of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps under his shirt sleeves, the thick column of his neck.

Cassian also knows he looks fit as hell.

“Shit,” she curses, but it’s breathy enough to sound unintentional. 

The vampire is quicker than a whip, tossing a purse onto the concrete and slamming his door shut. The contents spill out of the purse because he hasn’t bothered to close it: chapstick, a pack of gum, various IDs and brightly packaged condoms ‘ribbed for her pleasure.’

Sleazebag.

The purple-colored veteran Aux ID in the discarded pile catches his attention, but Cassian doesn't give away his recognition.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, cocking one brow up.

The hallway is open-air, but it does nothing to reduce the scent of chain-smoked cigarettes and strong alcohol coming off of the female.

The drop-dead gorgeous female.

read more

[lucilleeee]

Pairing: Nerd!Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Reader Under the Influence of an Aphrodisiac, Somnophilia, Blowjob, Slight Nipple Play, Slight Fingering, Penetrative Sex, Mean!Miguel, Slightly Perverted!Miguel

A/N: Requested!

Summary: There is only one man you can turn to in your time of need

Word Count: 3.2K (Barely Edited)

Fuck!

You almost miss your landing, having to hold extra tight to the fire escape railing to not fall. Your breath is ragged, and you never realized how hard it was to breath through your mask until now. You stumble as you step off of the railing and onto the landing, taking a lungful of air as you reach behind your head and rip off your mask. Your steps are clumsy as you walk towards the window, your body burning up as you grasp the window ledge and push it up with a grunt. God, I told that idiot to start locking his windows, you think as you slide through. 

It’s completely dark inside, the only bit of moonlight being blocked by your figure. But even then, you can see the outline of posters and figurines on the wall. You can even see the outline of his body laying in his bed. You let out a heavy sigh, making your way over to him. His bed creaks as you kneel on top of it, the soft mattress sinking under your weight. Miguel’s sheet is half-way off his body, probably kicked off during the night-time heat. His chest falls steadily, his whole front being exposed to you as he sleeps on his back. He mumbles something, sleepy whispers leaving his barely parted mouth as his hand comes up to scratch at his naked chest. You can feel your skin heat up at the sight of the exposed skin, seeing the way coarse hair spans over tan muscles. You feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. 

You don’t really think before your palms land flat onto his skin. It’s slightly cool under your hands, but it does nothing to kill the heated flush over your own skin. It only makes it worse. A tortured sound leaves your lips as you rake your hands down his body, ghosting over the skin of his chest and stomach until they stop at his thighs. Why are his boxers so tight around his thighs? You take a shaky breath in, shifting your weight as your hands travel up slightly until they’re right over the outline of his soft dick. Your hands shake as you massage him over the thin fabric of his underwear; have they always shook like that?

You can feel him hardening under your hands, and your head snaps up when he lets out a soft moan. He’s still asleep, that steady rhythm still moving his chest. But his brows are furrowed, lips parted slightly. It makes something in your stomach twist in fear and excitement at the idea of being caught. You let out another breath as you drop your attention to his semi, your hand gently guiding his cock out through the hole of his boxers. Even though he’s not fully hard yet, you can see the beginning bulge of a vein running up the underside of his cock. The length of him just barely being supported by the hold you have on him. 

Your mouth feels dry at the sight. He’s big, and he isn’t even fully hard yet. You try to chase the dryness in your throat away with a swallow, but it only makes more saliva pool on your tongue. You sneak a peek up again, finding him in the same pose from a minute ago. You keep your eyes on him as you slowly lean down, only looking down for a second as you guide your mouth over him. Your bottom lip brushes over his tip, but you turn your head to the side as you lean further down. Your tongue darts up, licking the length just above your hand as you make your way back up to his tip. Miguel’s breath hitches, your eyes looking towards him. His head is thrown to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be waking up. 

Good.

You hum against him, tongue flicking at his slit. Your hand moves up and down him slowly, feeling him get harder in your hold before you wrap your fingers around his tip. You suck lightly, eyes fluttering when the first salty beads of precum melt on your tongue. You can feel a dull throb beginning at your core, your body craving Miguel’s addicting taste. Your body needs it. A small moan falls from your lips as you take him deeper, your hands falling away to sit on his thighs as you slowly move your head up and down his length. The heavy warmth in your mouth is comforting, and the pleasure of having him in your mouth travels straight to your cunt. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you focus on moving your head, gagging slightly when you force him a little too far down your throat. But you’re caught off guard when a heavy hand falls on your head, forcing Miguel’s cock down your throat entirely. 

You squeal, quickly turning into a gag as your nose meets the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The hand keeps you there and you snap your eyes open. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes stare down at you, sharp crimson glinting. His other hand is stretched out to his side, coming into view in a second, the frames of his glasses pinched between his fingers before he slips them on. You moan around him, trying to communicate the uncomfortable pressure pressing on the back of your throat, but it only makes Miguel hiss out in pleasure. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head up before pushing it back down to the base. 

“Fucking knew it,” he breaths harshly, repeating the movement until he’s controlling how fast you suck his dick. “Thought I wouldn’t find out it was you, huh?”

You whine around his cock, mind too hazy on the smell of his skin and the feel of his dick in your mouth to process what he’s talking about. Miguel’s head rolls, his hips beginning to thrust into your mouth as he keeps your head still. You can feel tears pricking at your lower lash line, wet gags escaping your throat with each of his thrusts. Your hands bunch up the fabric of his boxers, eyes staring up at him. You can feel yourself dripping, praying it doesn’t seep through your suit. Miguel thrusts into your mouth a few more times before he pulls you off of his cock, allowing you to take a large breath in and sputter. Spit wets the entirety of your chin and lips, and you gasp as warm liquid splatters on your cheek. Your eyes close instinctively, your ears picking up Miguel’s low groan and labored breathing. Your eyes slowly open, closing quickly when his cock slaps against your cheek.

It twitches against your face, softening only slightly. When you open your eyes fully, Miguel is sitting up. He’s looking down at you, eyes taking in your face and the all too familiar hero costume sticking to your body. He has a knowing look in his eyes, and you yelp when he grabs you. Your positions are switched quickly, your body bouncing once it hits the bed. Springs squeaking under your weight. You can feel Miguel’s body pressing against your back, his hand snaking to your front and pressing up on your abdomen until your ass is forced against him. You whine as you feel his cock pressing against your ass, and you turn your head over your shoulder to look back at him. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he studies your body. Or rather, your suit.

‘So, how does the suit work?” he asks, hands running down your sides. You shiver at the contact, pressing yourself further against him. “How do you put it on? A hidden zipper, maybe?”

You gasp as his hand suddenly and roughly cups your clothed cunt, the heel of his hand pressing against you. You’re so warm there. “Or is it something you have to slip on? Gotta get naked before you can put it on, right? It certainly doesn’t feel like you have any panties on.”

You're at a loss of words, shaking your head and trying to grind against his hand. You didn’t know how desperately you need that pressure against your sex until he put it there. Miguel chuckles, cooing at you. His body presses against your back as he leans forward, warm breath hitting your ear. “I saw you on the news earlier, got sprayed with something, didn’t you? You smell so good.”

Another whine passes your lips when he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. You smell sweet, delicious, like sex and candy. His free hand slips up to your chin, forcing your head up. You grind into his hand desperately as his warm tongue licks up your throat. The saliva is sticky on your skin, but you just wished he could lick you everywhere. Maybe it would help your body cool down. Miguel chuckles against your skin again, pulling away. 

“God, so needy.” He laughs, pulling his hands away from you completely and loving the way you pathetically fall limp onto his bed. “Don’t tell me it was an aphrodisiac or something.”

You huff against his pillow, trying to back your body more into him. It makes him laugh louder, meaner. His hand comes to wrap around the base of his cock, slapping it against your ass. “Is this what you need? You need a nice, big cock to make it all better? Pathetic.”

Despite his words, he’s smiling. He’s wanted this for so long. It’s only a plus that you, his best friend that he’s been tugging his dick to, is also one of the hottest superheroes in Nueva York. It’s like a fucking wet dream. But here you are, in his room with a desperate need for your pussy to be stuffed to the brim. How could it get any better than this?

“I- Miggy, please,” you breathe out, a flush covering your cheeks at his dirty words. Miguel coos, his hands returning to rub up and down your sides.

“It’s okay, baby. I promise I’ll help it feel better. I’ll make it feel so good.”

You gasp when you feel his hands at the nape of your neck, a loud tear filling the room as he rips your suit down your back. “Hope you got extra at home, cariño.”

It takes a few rough tears to completely expose your backside, Miguel pushing the torn edges away as you pull your arms and legs out of them. He groans at the sight of you: your naked body laying in front of him as the tattered remains of your suit lay around you. Your skin is so warm under his touch, like you’re running a fever. And you’re so responsive, mewling and shivering as he rubs your sides slowly. You look so small under him, so perfect. Your back arches when his hands snake to your front, grasping your breasts. You gasp loudly, your hands pressing your body up from the bed, standing on all fours. 

Miguel leans to lay on top of you, pinching and flicking at your horribly hard and sensitive nipples. His teeth are sharp against the lobe of your ear, soothing the sting with kitten licks. You whine when one of his hands leaves your breasts, feeling Miguel twist his head to the side slightly. 

“Down, girl,” he commands, a smile evident in his tone as his hand presses on the center of your upper back and your body buckles. You let out a puff of air as your chest hits the mattress again, your hands sliding out from under you. “Good girl, that’s a good spider.”

You huff at the teasing, glaring at him from over your shoulder. He chuckles at your expression, ignoring you as his hand slips away from your chest and ventures further down your body. You stiffen as his fingers stop just above your clit, your thighs aching to close. With a slight stretch, Miguel’s middle finger skims your bud, your hips bucking. Miguel hums in contemplation, his hand moving away despite your whine of frustration. His hands come up to rub your ass, one of his hands moving further down until his fingers are playing with the sloppy mess of your cunt. You sigh in relief, your back arching further. 

“God, you’re so wet. Is this all for me, baby?” He coos, watching the way his fingers get completely drenched from a few swipes at your folds. His curiosity gets the better of him, plunging two thick fingers through your throbbing hole. You groan, and Miguel slaps your ass to shut you up. 

A wet squelch echos the room when he curls his fingers. As he slowly drags his fingers out, your walls clench in a futile attempt to keep them inside of you, a sad pop coming from your hole when his fingers pull out completely. Miguel holds his fingers up, studying the slight glint of arousal against the moonlight. It drips down his fingers, and Miguel licks the trail up to prevent a further mess. He moans at the taste, sweet and heady. He sucks the rest into his mouth, tongue working around his fingers until they come up clean. He uses the same fingers to smear saliva over the head of his cock, hand dragging it down as he tugs at himself. He shifts behind you, aligning himself until the head of his cock presses against your tiny hole.  

“Gonna make it all better now,” Miguel whispers into the air before he thrusts his hips forward. His low groan is drowned by your loud screech, your walls stretching rapidly to accommodate the sudden intrusion. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you bite down on the pillow, the tip of his cock pressing right against your cervix. 

Miguel curses when your walls pulsate, molding to his cock. His teeth grit as he looks down, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he watches the way your hole moves as he pulls out slowly. Your hole completely melts around his tip, stretching wide as he suddenly fills you to the brim again. Miguel pushes his glasses up again as he smiles, repeating the movement. You moan loudly despite the pillow in your mouth, your hands grabbing at the sheets to stabilize yourself. Miguel’s hands grab at your ass again, kneading it in his hands as he begins thrusting in a steady rhythm. You melt into the bed, eyes fluttering with each snap of his hips. 

A sweat builds on Miguel’s face as he moves his hips, mouth open in a moan each time your walls clench around him in thanks. His glasses slide down his face again, refusing to stay in place no matter how many times he pushes them up. He tires of it quickly, cursing as he rips them off his face and throws them somewhere near your head. His hands leave your ass, coming up to your hands. His palms are against the tops of your hands, his fingers connecting between yours despite the tight hold you have on the sheets. His chest pressed against your back, his forehead pressed against the side of your head as his thrusts speed up. You choke on a moan, your body jolting upward with the force. 

“That’s it, taking it like a good, needy slut,” Miguel praises, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, a stark contrast to the way he punishes your dripping cunt. Your walls tighten embarrassingly at his words, making him laugh breathlessly. 

The room is deafening with the sound of his pelvis hitting against your ass, his balls slapping at your clit when he goes flush against you. It all mixes together to form the wet squeals from your cunt, your mind going dizzy from it all. Miguel’s hand pulls away from yours, coming up to your throat to force your face away from the pillow. A wet circle surrounded by teeth marks stains his pillow, more abstract lines showing where his cum has rubbed off of your face. He turns your face towards him, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip before pulling you into a heated kiss. His tongue licks at your teeth, tangling with your tongue. Your face presses more into him with each of his thrusts, and you moan pathetically in his mouth as the rubber band inside of you snaps. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you gush around his cock, body breaking in an almost uncomfortable arch as your body twitches. Miguel groans into your mouth as your walls grow tighter and tighter around him, his thrusts getting desperate as he tries to thrust in and out of them. He rips his mouth away from yours as you go to collapse on the bed, your muscles jumping from your orgasm. Miguel’s hand travels to your clit, rubbing in fast circles that overstimulate you. You gasp and cry, your walls confused as they pulsate quickly and trigger another orgasm in seconds. Your hands shake as they let go of the pillow, traveling down to hit and tug at Miguel’s arm. 

“T-t’much. Miggy, t’much,” you sob, your muscles prickling. 

Miguel hisses at you, removing his arm to hold your waist as he bounces you back on his cock rapidly before he stills. His groan is animalistic as his cock twitches inside of you, painting you in white seed. You moan like an animal in heat as the warmth fills you, your entire body collapsing on the bed in an exhausted pile. You only whine slightly when Miguel gives you a few slow pumps of his cock to ride out his orgasm, forcing his cum deeper inside of you before pulling out. You sigh as you close your eyes, that overbearing warmth that was once consuming your body finally dying away. Miguel lets out ragged breaths over you, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face before squinting his eyes and looking for the outline of the glasses he threw. When he finds them, he slides an arm down his face to get rid of pesky sweat before putting them on, his eyes falling down to your abused cunt just in time to see a bead of cum slip from your hole. 

He lets out a heated sigh, turning his head to look for the shirt he discarded on the floor before he went to bed. He reaches for it, balling it in his hands before swiping it against your cum soaked folds. You mewl at the coarse fabric rubbing against your sensitive pussy, but Miguel is too tired to care as he cleans his mess and throws the shirt to the floor again. The front of his boxers has a slight wet ring around his cock, but he makes no move to take them off as he stuffs his softening cock back into its confines. His hand rubs up your back before he moves to lay down besides you, pulling tattered parts of your suit out from under him and onto the floor. Exhaustion fans his body as he turns to his side and pulls your limp body into his chest. 

“Need to talk about this Spider-Woman shit in the morning,” he mumbles into your hair as he closes his eyes. You only hum, shifting into his warmth. 

Yeah, definitely.

Nasty! Dirty!

[lucilleeee]

New Golden Threads of Time One-Shot

Description: The Valkyrie gals are planning a mission. Cassian has some very valid reasons to object. (just a fun little headcanon i couldn't shake)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30357864/chapters/138948172

Teaser:

Cassian had tied Nesta to their bed many times before, but this was the first time he considered doing it against her will. He rather thought even the House would be on his side here. 

Because again, This. Was. Insanity. 

Nesta was not the only one that glared at him when Feyre and Rhys glided onto the House of Wind roof. Gwyn and Emerie crossed their arms over their chests and stepped in front of Nesta like twin bodyguards. Ironic, considering the fight they were all about to have. 

“Get out of here with that overprotective bullshit,” Emerie spat. “We are going to get that bastard.”

[lucilleeee]

The Sweetest Con

Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.

She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

“How is life with the cop?” Gwyn asked from behind a stack of books. Emerie was perched on the counter like usual, while Nesta flipped through several new books that had just come in.

“He’s not a cop,” she reminded her friends. The fact that anyone could look at him and believe he was anything but a criminal was a testament to Cassian’s charm. The whole town loved him, greeting him by name whenever he walked down the road and all but throwing themselves at him at any given opportunity.

It annoyed Nesta. All of it annoyed her. She disliked how easy he was to live with and how much she looked forward to coming home at night so they could cook and talk together. She was supposed to be keeping tabs on him and figuring out his game, but all Nesta had learned about was Cassian’s past.

“Did you ever ask him about Brent?” Emerie questioned. 

It ought to have disturbed her how easily her friends believed Cassian was a criminal capable of framing a suicide. Gwyn and Emerie hadn’t flinched when Nesta told them about her suspicions, for whatever that said about them 

“No. I don’t need to ask him,” Nesta said, thinking about how Cassian had smiled when she’d told him what had happened. It made her divorce a lot easier, if nothing else. What Nesta really wanted was an explanation. Surely there was more than just the threat on the lawn. 

She couldn’t ask without admitting she knew what he was. 

“It’s obvious he did it because he likes her,” Gwyn added with an impertinent wink.

“What would you know about men liking women?” Emerie asked.

Gwyn shrugged. “I know enough.”

“Maybe we should tell him about—”

“No.” Gwyn’s voice went icy cold at the suggestion. Labeled the town home wrecker, Gwyn was shunned by all the well-to-do women in town who didn’t want to admit that what happened to Gwyn was rape simply because the man in question was a good ‘ol boy. 

Nesta hated seeing all of them—hated the way they acted so high and mighty, like somehow they were good people despite their willingness to protect a rapist. Nesta would have liked to see Cassian kill him.

Hell, she would have liked to have done it herself, and she knew Emerie felt the same way. 

“We don’t need a man for that,” Nesta reminded Emerie, earning a bright grin in response.

“How long are you going to let this go on?” Gwyn asked, clearly desperate to change the subject.

“Until she gets him naked,” Emerie teased.

Nesta could help her flush. “I don’t want to see him naked,” she lied as Emerie and Gwyn made booing noises and pointed their thumbs down. All Nesta thought about was Cassian—they’d been living together for two weeks and he spent more time without a shirt on than he did wearing one. He could hardly be blamed—it was miserably hot outside and Nesta refused to turn on her oven, so they were cooking outdoors each night.

And Cassian often just forwent his shirt, giving her access to his toned, broad chest and the rippling muscles against his stomach and back. All she could think about was what the rest of him looked like.

Nesta hadn’t had sex in over five years—since before she’d been dumped in this small town. She’d tried to go on one date with a man named Tomas—and he’d decided he was going to have her whether she wanted him or not. Nesta had been fortunate to escape, biting his ear so viciously there was still a chunk missing. 

After that, Nesta never bothered again. No one had been tempting enough until Cassian sauntered through her front door, made worse by the knowledge that he might be there to kill her. He clearly had no qualms about it. 

Still, he’d been surprisingly kind to her and Nesta caught herself forgetting what he was. She never mistook him for a cop—that was still a joke—but she was starting to see him as a man she could like.

A man she could strip naked, if nothing else.

It was Nesta’s pride that got in her way. She simply could not be the one who made the first move. It was making their living situation tense—Nesta was actively trying to break him.

“Do you swim, Cassian?” Nesta heard herself asking after dinner that night, thinking about the black swimsuit folded up in her dresser. 

He shrugged. “I know how, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Nesta leveled a long look at him. “You don’t look like a man who can swim.”

Cassian paused. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Nesta shrugged, rising to her feet. “You don’t look like you can swim.”

“I can swim,” he told her, falling right into her trap. The male ego was a fascinating thing. “I didn’t bring swim trunks with me, though.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Nesta said, her tone implying she thought this was just a clever excuse to get out of swimming. She then sauntered off, undressing herself to put on that bikini.

She felt nervous, looking at the high straps of the bottoms that revealed the cheeks of her ass. Not to mention how out there her breasts suddenly were.

Was it too much? 

Nesta threw on a cover up before marching out. Cassian was still in his athletic shorts—no shirt—and a pair of slide on shoes. “Where are we swimming?”

“There is a little lake a couple blocks over,” she informed him, grabbing two towels from the bathroom. “There’s a community pool, too, but I never use it.”

“Why not?”

“Too many children,” she said, though in truth it had more to do with the fact that the pool was always filled with people who didn’t like her, and Nesta didn’t want to be surrounded by people staring and whispering. 

“Makes sense,” Cassian said, though after a pause he added, “You don’t want children?”

That felt like a loaded question. “Maybe someday,” she replied, unwilling to examine why he might ask her that. Cassian only nodded, his broad hand resting absently on his stomach. Nesta was trying to ignore the trail of hair that began just beneath his naval before vanishing into his pants, too. 

That was a little more difficult. Nesta forced herself to look straight ahead as they walked and answered Cassian’s endless stream of questions like she was interviewing for a job. So what if he was hot? That was his problem—not hers.

Except, Cassian was hell bent on making it her problem as they tramped over the dirt path that led from the sidewalk to the lake. Nesta could hear children laughing in the distance, though the rocky patch of shore that she and Cassian had chosen was free of everyone but themselves. 

Nesta pulled off her coverup, ignoring Cassian. Behind her, he made a soft, strangled noise she chose to believe was about the rocks digging into the soft soles of their feet.

But deep down, she knew he was reacting to her outfit. 

The water was warm and still somehow refreshing even in the late evening air. Nesta waded in deeper and deeper, embarrassed that so much of her body was on display. Some part of her appreciated his reaction, though she didn’t want to admit that, either. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her with genuine appreciation.

She turned toward the shore, water up to her chin, to find Cassian standing there.

Totally naked.

“What are you doing?!” she demanded, turning away like it mattered. She’d seen everything, and oh, how she wished she hadn’t.

He was ridiculous. The sheer size of him…Nesta shuddered. She wanted to know what it was like to feel him on top of her. Even knowing everything she knew, Nesta still wanted him. What would her sisters say if they ever learned this? Nesta couldn’t help but take another look as Cassian waded into the water.

Just like the rest of him, Cassian’s thighs were big and muscular—they looked like they could easily crush her, should he ever want to. And his cock…fuck. He wasn’t erect and yet Nesta had a good sense of the size and girth of him. Did he fit inside women, or did he merely wedge in half and call it good?

“I told you I didn’t have trunks,” Cassian said, submerging himself so she didn’t have to feel so guilty every time she looked his way.

“You could have kept your underwear on!”

“Nah,” Cassian replied with a shit eating grin. “I wanted you to look at my penis.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things, if I had to guess. I’ve never seen a therapist so who can say for sure?”

“Why…why would you want that?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms over her chest as though he could see her through the murky, blue-green water. 

“C’mon, Nes—”

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, immediately irritated he couldn’t remember the most basic parts of his pretend job. 

Cassian rolled his eyes, reaching for her shoulders. Nesta flung back, splashing him in the face. If he touched her she was certain she’d be ruined. Better to give the illusion of resistance, at any rate. Make him work for it. 

“Come here,” he murmured, putting his hand on her hip. Nesta’s heart thudded in her throat, gagging any potential retort. All she could think about was his broad, callused hand touching her bare skin and how close he suddenly was. “This isn’t wrong.”

Oh, but it was. He still thought she didn’t know who he was but Nesta was painfully aware that she was letting herself get felt up by a man who was part of the people hunting them. Nesta braced her hands on his strong chest intending to shove him away when a new idea struck her.

“This is nothing,” she told him, catching the flash of hurt. “It can never be anything, Cassian.”

“What are you saying?”

“That this is going nowhere. You’re my guard, I’m—if we’re going to do this, it can only be casual. Nothing more.”

Cassian’s reactions were better contained this time. Nesta had no idea what the mobster holding her was thinking. Only that he had her pinned with that stare and his thumb was rubbing lazy circles against her hip bone.

“I’ll take whatever I can get when it comes to you,” Cassian finally murmured, his gaze darting to her mouth. Nesta inclined her chin and then oh. Cassian kissed her, yanking her so she was flush against the hard slab of his body. He should have tasted like the heat—Nesta was certain she did—but somehow Cassian’s mouth reminded her of snow covered mountains and swaying pine trees. 

Nesta slid her arms around his neck before wrapping her legs around his waist. She was painfully aware of his cock and how it seemed to span the entirety of her back. That was likely the water and her arousal confusing her…though she didn’t need to reach between them to know Cassian’s cock was of monstrous proportions. 

Right then, though, it felt safe. She wasn’t having sex in the water for UTI based reasons, and kissing him was good enough. Cassian, for all his many crimes, was tragically, a good kisser. It would have been so much easier if he wasn’t. Surely he had some sort of flaw? Other than his career and his unflinching ability to point a gun at another man's face.

Nesta kissed him rougher at the memory, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip. The inherent violence oozing from Cassian was clearly doing something for her. Nesta knew, right then, that Cassian wasn’t going to kill her. Maybe everyone else, but she believed in her very soul that Cassian had no intention of taking her life.

Why would he be kissing her if he did?

“Fuck,” Cassian breathed, the only words spoken before he returned to kissing her. Nesta took the opportunity to thread her fingers through his thick, dark hair, tossing the pony tail that kept half up off his face into the water behind them. He was so beautiful it made her sick—what happened to greasy older men in sweat suits? Since when did criminals look as good as Cassian did?

Nesta considered dragging her tongue out of his mouth to ask, but remembered only at the last minute that he didn’t know that she knew the truth about him. Better not to tell him, either—what if he decided to tie her to a chair and torture her? Why did the thought of that turn her on? 

Nesta didn’t notice Cassian’s hand until he pushed aside the thin strip of cloth hiding her pussy from the world and brushed his fingers over her aching clit. Nesta jerked in his arms, pulling away to bite his shoulder.

“That’s it,” Cassian whispered as Nesta rocked against his hand. It had been so long since someone touched her—or, that’s what she told herself, anyway. 

Still, it wouldn’t do to just take her pleasure at his expense. Ignoring that she was desperate to touch him, Nesta lied to herself that it was only fair to reciprocate. Nesta gripped him right beneath his blunt head so she could rub her  thumb against the slit of his cock.

Cassian groaned. “Christ,” he swore, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Is this what you like?” Nesta asked, stroking him once.

“Harder,” he rasped. 

Of course he liked it a little rough. Nesta didn’t bother mentioning to him that she did, too. She merely tightened her grip on him and stroked again, delighting in Cassian’s open mouthed moan. Was that all it took to bring a man like him to his knees? Nesta couldn’t think about it given the way his finger was teasing her entrance. 

Cassian plunged himself inside of her, eyes on her face. “That’s it,” he murmured, arching into her hand. “Take what you need.”

What she needed was him to throw her down to the floor and fuck her senseless. Nesta wanted Cassian to fuck her so hard it reset her completely, turning off the endless stream of thoughts in her mind. Even then, Nesta forgot they were in a dusk drenched lake where anyone could walk up and witness what was happening. Normally it would horrify her.

But right then, all she could think about was what he tasted like when he came. Nesta kissed him again, sliding her tongue against his in an attempt to find out.

They lived together, she reminded herself. If she wanted to taste the rest of him she could. It was tempting to ask him to put her down, get dressed, and take her home. The only reason she didn’t want the realization that she’d talk herself out of the whole thing if she stopped now.

And Cassian’s hand felt good against her aching body. Nesta was full on grinding against him, drowning in the feeling. She barely knew what she was doing to him, though Cassian’s desperate panting told her whatever it was, he liked it.

Nesta bit the sensitive skin between his shoulder and his neck hard enough to leave the imprint of her teeth behind. Cassian’s hips bucked into her hand and she wondered just how long it had been since someone had touched him like this. Nesta knew he was close, could feel the vein beneath his cock pushing against her fingers. 

It half disappointed her when he did, though the sight of his parted lips and head thrown back felt religious, somehow. 

“Quick off the mark, huh?” she whispered, lips against his skin.

Cassian’s grip around her body tightened the moment Nesta tried to wriggle free.

“I can sit here all night,” he all but growled, fingers moving inside her faster. “But we’re not leaving until you make you come on my hand.”

“Cass—”

“That’s right,” he praised, licking from her collarbone to her ear. “Imagine how good you’ll feel when it’s my cock instead of my hand.”

Nesta couldn’t help her little moan. It was tempting to demand he show her right then and had they not been submerged in water, Nesta might have foregone all her common sense and asked him to. Instead she closed her eyes and let herself pretend the fingers pumping in and out of her body was his cock.

Cassian used his thumb to draw tight circles around her clit, working her in tandem until Nesta was panting, too, lips pressed against his sun soaked shoulder. She couldn’t stop herself, much like it seemed Cassian couldn’t, either. Nesta came, rocking her hips against him while moaning against his skin. Cassian, for his part, chuckled softly as he ran his nose through her hair. 

“I can’t wait to see you undone,” he whispered before turning her face so she had to kiss him. Nesta did, still overwhelmed by the pleasure still rocking through her. He was sweeter somehow—cooler than the air around them, softer than anything she’d ever touched.

“Do you think there are alligators here?” he asked when Nesta wriggled away, still held in his arms. She twisted to look behind her.

“I’ve never thought about it.”

Cassian only shrugged, some apprehension creeping into his expression. “Maybe we should get out.”

It only occurred to her once they were on the shore that Cassian might have wanted her to leave for different reasons. 

CASSIAN:

All Cassian wanted to think about was Nesta’s pussy clenched around his fingers. The water had washed it all away and yet he could still feel the phantom grip of her tight around him and knew that if he could get himself inside her, she’d wreck him. Cassian wanted her to—was so desperate that he began constructing arguments in his mind as to why they should that very night. 

Fuck her casual fling or whatever she’d said. Cassian wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t end with the two of them together. Seriously together. So he’d lie and pretend he didn’t mind because she’d never give him the time of day if she didn’t.

And what did Nesta know, anyway? She’d been alone for the last half decade, wholly on her own and taking care of herself. Let her see how it felt to be taken care of by someone else. She’d soften just enough for Cassian to make his move…and, he supposed, tell her the truth. After he had her and there was nowhere for her to go but back to his bed.

Sure, she’d rage and scream at him for a while…but in Cassian’s fantasies, she was so in love with him that she forgave him after maybe one well-deserved slap to the face. Perhaps two. No more, though. He’d figure Rhys out, too, which he figured would be a little easier. Maybe even welcome. After all, the youngest Archeron might be more willing and compliant if she knew her sister was part of Rhys’s family.

“Agnes.”

A man’s voice cut through Cassian’s musings. Looking up at the figure approaching, Cassian immediately decided he didn’t like him. Maybe it was the general smug look on his otherwise forgettable face.

Or maybe it was the way Nesta’s spine immediately straightened and her once soft face began icy and cold.

“Tomas,” she said without any affection or warmth. 

That should have been enough to see the man walk away with his tail tucked between his legs. Cassian might have, had she looked at him with such open revulsion. He crossed his arms over his chest instead, spreading his legs ever so slightly in an attempt to intimidate the other man. Cassian knew he was big and he knew people were wary of him.

Most of the time, they had nothing to worry about. But this man?

Maybe he ought to be a little worried. 

“Haven’t seen you around much,” Tomas said, tilting his head so Cassian could see a chunk of his ear was missing. “Busy?” Nesta only shrugged, her fingers balled to fists.

“You should hit me up some time. Finish what we started,” Tomas said, not bothering to look at Cassian at all.

“I don’t think so,” Nesta replied, never one to mince words. 

Tomas opened his mouth to respond but Cassian had enough. “Take care,” he said, shoving past without a second look. Nesta came with him, keeping close as though she expected him to grab her and start running. 

“Who was that?” he asked, his voice nearly drowned by the screaming crickets in the distance. 

“No one,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Liar. An old boyfriend?” Cassian asked, trying to imagine that man doing anything for Nesta beyond getting on her nerves. 

“Not even that,” she mumbled, her eyes strangely glassy. “We went out one time. Never again.”

Cassian felt his blood grow icy. “What did he do?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she snapped, too prideful to tell him the truth. Cassian could scarcely think, his mind running through a million new images. He could Nesta, helpless and scared while a man—

“Did he touch you?” Cassian asked, not caring how he sounded. Nesta looked up at him, eyes wide. 

“He tried,” she finally admitted, turning her gaze back to the sidewalk in front of them. “I took some of his ear for the trouble.”

“Good girl,” he praised.

If only it did anything to ease his own fury. Cassian couldn’t get the images from his mind, utterly wrecking his otherwise perfect evening in the potentially alligator-infested waters. Nesta wanted the world to think she was the kind of person who wasn’t afraid of anything. That she could weather any storm.

And Cassian didn’t believe for a minute that she hadn’t been scared. 

Instead of following her to bed, Cassian once again took his place on the sofa and he waited. Just like with Brent, Cassian decided to take things into his own hands while hoping Nesta wouldn’t notice. Or, if she did notice, she’d at least look the other way. Cops went rogue all the time…why couldn’t he? 

Except, Cassian wasn’t a rogue cop. This was just who he was, who he’d always be. Some people were talented singers or good at crochet, but Cassian’s great skill was with a weapon. Slipping from the house, Cassian became one with the shadows as he channeled his inner Azriel. This place was supposed to be safe for Nesta and since he’d arrived, all he’d uncovered was endless harm that had happened.

What was the point of witness protection if anyone could just touch Nesta any which way? Why not send her back home and let Rhys—Cassian shook his head, the image of Rhys holding a gun at Nesta’s beautiful face slipping into his mind’s eye unbidden. He’d talk to his brother later—but Nesta was off limits to everyone. Even Rhys.

Especially to Tomas.

It was easy enough to find him, though. Tucked away in an old, plantation style house that set Cassian’s teeth on edge, Cassian discovered that Tomas must have come from some amount of money. His father did something—Nesta had mentioned it. He didn’t remember, too fixated on her mouth even in memory. Christ, but she’d been coming on his hand only a few hours before and if life was fair, he’d be in her bed while she came on his face, too. 

But life wasn’t fair. 

Cassian broke in through the back with ease given Tomas hadn’t thought to lock his doors. It was a blessing here in this rural little town—people felt safe. They trusted their neighbors even when their neighbors were rapists, because people in these parts thought you could tell who was a monster by sight alone.

Cassian knew better. 

Cassian slipped up the steps, ignoring the ugly art on the walls and the pictures of a life that didn’t seem worth very much. He might have been interested in other circumstances but that night, all Cassian wanted was to get back to Nesta. 

Tomas slept soundly in the master bedroom, unaware Cassian prowled the space looking for anything interesting. He found, helpfully, a phone with a text message from a woman threatening to kill him. 

Perfect. 

Maybe, he thought with amusement, they’d ask him to help investigate. Oh, how he hoped they would. 

Cassian sat on the edge of the bed, letting his weight wake Tomas gently from sleep. The man looked up, bleary eyed and still unaware that Cassian had pressed the barrel of his gun into his mouth.

“Shhh,” Cassian murmured as he brushed a piece of Tomas’s hair from his frightened eyes. “My finger might slip if you move too quickly.”

Tomas tried anyway, but Cassian was bigger, stronger, and faster. With one hand, he slammed Tomas back to the bed and held him there by the throat.

“I’ll kill—”

“You’ll what?” Cassian interrupted, cocking his weapon. “Will you try and rape me, too?”

“That bitch is a liar—”

“Try again,” Cassian snarled, pressing his gun so roughly to Tomas’s temple he was certain he’d left a bruise. At least the scene would look angry, he reasoned. Like two lovers fighting over something Cassian was certain was stupid given how dumb Tomas was. Still, he was ready to be done. 

“Whatever she told you wasn’t true,” Tomas said, apparently deciding he’d risk his own life rather than admit to anything honest. 

Cassian made a buzzing noise with his throat. “I’m sorry, that’s the wrong answer.”

“Wait—”

If Cassian had the capacity for mercy, he might have listened. He didn’t, though. Cassian pulled the trigger with a sigh, as if the entire thing was some horrible imposition. In a way, it was. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to be thinking about what Tomas had done to Nesta and how no amount of killing could take any of it back. She was still hurt, would have to live with his actions for the rest of her life.

Staring down at the lifeless body before him, Cassian wished he could kill him all over again. He could have shot him a couple more times, but Cassian didn’t want to risk someone hearing him and catching him in the act. He slipped back into the night unnoticed and was on the couch before Nesta ever woke.

And Nesta loved to be up early. Feigning sleep, Cassian waited for her to speak first. “Want to do yoga with me this morning?” she whispered, coming to sit on the arm of the couch where his head was. Nesta wore a pair of tight black leggings and an even tighter top that made Cassian’s insides achey. No, he didn’t want to do yoga with her unless it was a euphemism for sex.

And then he desperately did.

“Sure,” he heard himself saying like the liar he was. It didn’t stop Cassian from pulling off his shirt just so he could watch her eyes drift down his body. 

C’mon, Nesta, he pleaded silently, Take your shirt off too.

She didn’t, though Cassian swore she wanted to. Maybe he was just delusional, reading too much into her minute expressions. He did catch her eyes slide down his naked torso briefly, and that carried Cassian through the miserable humidity as Nesta walked him through yoga. He was drenched in sweat by the time they made their way back into the air conditioning, panting from exertion and the heat. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Nesta he was going to shower. Had Cassian not turned his head at the exact right moment, he’d have missed that look on her beautiful face. Luck was with him, smiling when he opened his mouth to speak the words. 

“Cassian,” she whispered. It was the only word she needed to speak—he knew what she was thinking. Cassian merely reacted, reaching for her body and hauling her upward before she could change her mind. Instead, he kissed her with all the pent up desperation he’d felt the night before, pouring his want and need into her so she felt it.

Among other things he was sure she was feeling. Cassian was nearly dizzy from the rush of blood to his cock, legs trembling despite how easy it was to hold Nesta against that floral papered wall. 

Nesta’s mouth tasted like sunshine and mint and with little effort, Cassian managed to free her thick hair from the loose braid she wore. “You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered, certain if he told her how he really felt, she’d freak out. Better to ease her into it.

Nesta merely fisted his hair between long, slender fingers and yanked his head back, exposing his neck. Cassian could scarcely think as she bent forward and licked the column of his throat up from his collarbone until she reached his ear. When her teeth tugged against sensitive flesh, Cassian nearly came in his pants.

Fuck.

He was no better than a school boy. 

Nesta was something from his darkest fantasies come to life. Ignoring how utterly insane her body was—and Cassian was struggling to ignore that fact—the way she kissed was something from a daydream. What would happen when he got that mouth around his cock? Cassian was desperate to find out.

Desperate enough to pull her off that wall, sloppy kissing her down the short hall until he could drop her on her bed. Cassian hadn’t seen the room and despite all the bright light flooding through open windows, Cassian knew he wasn’t going to see it right then, either.

“Take this off,” he demanded, straddling her hips as she laid flat on her back. 

“Why should I do anything you tell me to?” she replied, traitorous fingers teasing the hair beneath his navel.

“Because I’ll tie you up and gag you if you don’t,” Cassian replied, too aroused by the thought. 

A soft breath escaped Nesta, those icy blue eyes darker than he’d ever seen them. Something told Cassian she’d like a little roughness, at least when they were in bed. Caught up in his fantasies, Cassian almost missed Nesta arch her back off the bed, pressing her hips against his own as she peeled off that tight top. 

All thoughts flew out of his head when she took that bra off, too. “Christ,” he thought he whispered, though maybe he just thought it. He had both in his hands before his mouth crashed against her own, teasing pretty, pink nipples against his calloused thumbs.

He wasn’t giving her back. When this was all over, Cassian would drag her kicking and screaming back home if he had to, but he wasn’t letting her go. 

Not now, not ever. 

Cassian was greedy, rubbing his cock against both the fabric covering them. He wanted to be buried within her and in service of that goal, because nipping bruising kisses along the side of her neck. 

Mine, she’s mine. 

Nesta threaded her fingers through his hair, yanking the hair tie out so his own dark hair fell like a curtain around his face. Cassian felt brand-new somehow, remade in her eyes. “You are…” Everything. 

Cassian took a nipple in his mouth to keep himself from saying so, letting her imagine all the things he thought she was. Nesta raked her nails against his scalp, unaware of how good it felt to be touched like that. She wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t revere him. She wasn’t some weird groupie hoping to be a mob wife, nor was she some scared little thing that offered tentative touches and whispered words about if he had a weapon.

No one ever thought he was funny when he whipped out his cock. 

He needed to do this right, to make her as obsessed with him as he was with her. That was, when the inevitable truth was revealed, Nesta would be more forgiving. 

“These need to come off,” Cassian murmured, lips pressed to the flat skin of her stomach as he hooked a finger into the waistband of her leggings. “I need to taste you.”

Nesta merely lifted her hips in offering, leaving Cassian to grind himself against the mattress in order to keep himself together. If Cassian thought anything would be easier once Nesta was fully undressed, he was wrong. Everything about her was a dream, right down to the neat square of trimmed hair Nesta maintained between her legs.

Realizing that maybe he was just an animal, Cassian pushed apart her legs so he could look at her in the golden sunlight.

Words failed him. Not that he’d ever been a particularly loquacious man—that had always been Rhysand’s forte—but even then, nothing seemed adequate. She was perfect, too good for his blood-stained hands.

If Nesta was an angel, then he was the devil. He intended to drag her to hell with him, regardless of what she deserved. He’d already killed for this woman—twice. And as Cassian lowered himself between her legs, he knew he’d spend the rest of his life doing it. Cassian’s allegiance shifted right then—he was still a General, but he served Nesta Archeron first.

Everyone else, second.

The first taste of Nesta Archeron’s pussy was an awakening. Cassian groaned, unconcerned with seeming unaffected or like he had his life together. She was so wet and sweet and when his tongue found her clit, Nesta arched herself closer in encouragement. That was all Cassian needed to convince him to pull her against his face, breathing be damned.

All Cassian could think about was her face and what she’d look like when she came. He tried to look at her, but Nesta’s breasts got in the way of his view…not that Cassian was complaining a whole lot. There were worse things he could be staring at. Everytime Nesta took a breath, her breasts jiggled, sending a thrill of arousal straight to his balls. Did he rush his way through eating her out to feel her wrapped around his cock? Or did he take his time so he could continue staring at her tits?

Deciding he’d just use his finger as a replacement for his penis, Cassian slowed the circles he was making around her clit to gently push himself into her body. Whatever he’d been imagining was nothing like the reality of having her body clenched around him. Silken heat utterly stopped his whole body, turning Cassian into a mindless robot capable only of chasing pleasure and nothing more.

He needed to be inside her. Cassian didn’t want to wait and yet he didn’t pull himself away, either. Vowing he could do a better job, he returned to licking her with a vengeance while his finger began pumping in and out of her body.

Just wait until you see all the things I want to do to you, baby.

Next time he’d sit her on her face and have her suck him while he took his time. The thought was so arousing that Cassian desperately ground his cock into her bed, unable to stroke himself. He wasn’t going to last, he reminded himself. He knew the second he got himself inside her, he’d have minutes to get her off again before it was all too late.

Better to have her come on his tongue, just in case. 

And she did, fisting his hair to hold him close, taking what she needed without a care or concern. Was this love? Cassian was certain it was. Moreso when he raised his head and she pulled him toward her, not worried that his mouth was wet from her. Nesta kissed him like she wanted him, like she was drowning in all the same feelings he was.

And when he notched the head of his cock against her still convulsing cock, he nearly told her everything. How he felt, the truth about himself—everything. Her tongue was in his mouth, which was the only thing that kept Cassian from speaking. He would have rather died than stopped. 

Though, she stopped when Cassian thrust himself inside her, arching her neck to look at the shared space between their bodies. “Cassian,” she whispered, squeezed so tightly around him that somehow, Cassian couldn’t breathe.

“You can take me,” he replied, because what else was there to say? He was buried to the balls in her body and the only thing that could have convinced him to stop was her direct plea to remove himself.

Nesta looked up at him. “Who said I couldn’t?” she asked, fiery as ever.

Cassian couldn’t help his laugh. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, sliding himself out as much as he could stand—which wasn’t much, to be fair.

It was pleasure like he’d never experienced, like how he’d once dreamed it might be back when having sex with women was just a distant fantasy. No one could compare to the perfection that was Nesta Archeron, and no one ever would. 

“You fuck me so well,” he panted, wrapping his fingers loosely around her throat. What did she like, he wondered? What did it take to get her off? He wished he’d asked before hand, if only to ensure he wouldn’t fuck this up. “Tell me how you liked to be fucked.” Nesta’s gaze found his, sharp enough to kill him if she’d wanted. “You talk too much,” was her only reply.

Cassian couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop his desperate thrusting, couldn’t stop his babbling.

“You look so pretty wrapped around my cock. I’ll bet you’d be prettier on your knees,” he said, reaching between them to rub at her clit.

Nesta moaned loud enough that anyone passing by wouldn’t have to guess at what she was doing. Good. 

“You belong to me,” he panted, watching as she began to crest again. Her cheeks were flushed, her long hair a tangled halo around her beautiful face. And her tits bounced up and down just the way he’d hoped they would back when he’d been eating her out. He’d never forget this, would spend the rest of his life stroking his cock to the memory. 

“You’re mine, Nesta,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her throat just enough to heighten her pleasure without scaring her. “You’ll always be mine.”

Nesta came with a strangled scream, clamping the walls of her pussy around him so tight it felt like she was intentionally trying to pull the come from his balls. It worked—Cassian came, too, burying his face in her shoulder to breathe her in. “Fucking hell,” he whispered, not thinking about what he’d just done.

All he could think about was how good it felt—and how badly he wanted to do it again.

Cassian needed to get her out of this place before they got caught.

He needed a plan.

[lucilleeee]

Ultimate "Know Your Character Inside Out" Template

The ultimate template for creating a character, without losing your mind, while you're at it.

Character Background Template ... (open)

1. Name:

2. Age:

3. Gender & Pronouns:

4. Physical Appearance:

   - Hair color:

   - Eye color:

   - Height:

   - Build:

   - Distinguishing features (scars, tattoos, etc.):

5. Background and Upbringing:

   - Where were they born and raised?

   - What was their family structure like (parents, siblings)?

   - Describe their childhood environment and upbringing.

   - Were there any significant events or traumas in their past?

6. Education and Skills:

   - What level of education did they receive?

   - Did they excel in any particular subjects or skills?

   - Have they pursued any additional training or education since then?

7. Personality Traits:

   - Describe their personality in a few words.

   - What are their strengths and weaknesses?

   - How do they typically react under stress or pressure?

8. Motivations and Goals:

   - What are their short-term and long-term goals?

   - What drives them to pursue these goals?

   - Are there any fears or insecurities that motivate or hinder them?

9. Relationships:

   - Who are the most important people in their life?

   - How do they interact with family, friends, and acquaintances?

   - Do they have any romantic interests or significant relationships?

10. Past Experiences:

    - Have they faced any major challenges or setbacks in the past?

    - How have these experiences shaped their beliefs and values?

    - Have they experienced any significant losses or tragedies?

11. Worldview and Beliefs:

    - What are their core beliefs and values?

    - How do they view the world around them?

    - Are there any cultural, religious, or philosophical influences in their life?

12. Inner Conflict:

    - What internal struggles do they face?

    - Are there any unresolved issues from their past that continue to affect them?

    - How do these inner conflicts impact their decisions and actions?

13. Connection to Outer Conflict/Plot:

    - How does their personal journey intersect with the main plot or external conflict?

    - What stakes are involved for the character in the larger story?

    - How do their goals and motivations align (or conflict) with the central conflict?

 

(Shorter) Knowing Your Character Inside Out Checklist

Personality Traits:

   - Introverted/Extroverted

   - Optimistic/Pessimistic

   - Assertive/Passive

   - Empathetic/Self-centered

   - Logical/Emotional

   - Adventurous/Cautious

   - Honest/Dishonest

   - Ambitious/Content

Beliefs and Values:

   - Religious beliefs (if any)

   - Moral code

   - Political beliefs

   - Views on relationships

   - Attitude towards authority

Fears and Insecurities:

   - Common fears (spiders, heights, etc.)

   - Deep-seated insecurities (failure, rejection, etc.)

   - Traumatic experiences (if applicable)

Desires and Goals:

   - Short-term goals

   - Long-term aspirations

   - What motivates them to pursue these goals?

Strengths:

   - Intellectual strengths

   - Physical abilities

   - Emotional resilience

   - Social skills

   - Unique talents or abilities

Weaknesses:

   - Personal flaws

   - Areas of vulnerability

   - Bad habits

   - Limiting beliefs

Backstory:

    - Family background

    - Childhood experiences

    - Significant life events that shaped their identity

    - Education and career path

    - Previous relationships

-Josie

[lucilleeee]

Az just listening to his lady... LOOK AT HOW CONTENT HE IS!!!

By @/that_starborn_fae on Instagram

Check out the art here!

Visit and follow the artist here!

[lucilleeee]

Needs Must — Rhysand x Reader

While I put the finishing touches to the next part of Bluebird, enjoy this Rhys x Reader that I got a sudden burst of inspiration to finish this morning!

Summary: War changes everything, and the human-fae war changed the trajectory of your life completely — most pointedly decimating the relations between you and those closest to you. It’s been a long while since you’ve seen your brother, Cassian, and your friends. But that’s all about to change.

Warnings: Suggestions of solicitation/sex work/brothels. Nothing else, really!

Word Count: 1.5k

Enjoy! 💕

It’s all pointless, you think — the red velvet drapes, the burning candles, the sandalwood-scented smoke that clouds the air and creates a thick layer of fog that hovers just above the shag carpet. Pointless, because no amount of pretty décor will change Salt’s Pleasure Hall from the vacuous and miserable place it is.

Not miserable for you, no. There is no misery in the hefty sum of gold you’ll take home on a night. You are a master of pretty smiles and hooded gazes and saying all the right things that desperate, lonely males wish to hear. There is so much coin to be had in feigning interest and attraction. Bringing their fantasy to life for a night. There is talent in making them feel as though you’ve bared yourself to them, without having removed a single item of clothing.

And to think you once begged your older brother to train you, make you like him. Turn me into a weapon like you are, Cassian. We cannot change what filth sired us. But we can stamp it out from our blood and be better, be more.

And oh, he’d trained you, alright. Turned you into a weapon. Into something he was so fucking proud of. You knew the pride it had once brought him to strut around Illyrian lands with you at his side, clad in leathers just as he was, armed to the teeth just as he was. His way of showing off that he had done something good, something useful.

Oh, how things have changed. How the mighty have fallen.

For all you are confident, comfortable, used to the job you have now worked for some time, you are nervous tonight.

Tonight is different. Tonight is territory that has so far been untouched. Tonight, this room of velvet and silk and sensuality is your domain.

The Juniper Suite is part of the most expensive package that Salt’s Pleasure Hall has to offer. The package is similar to your usual night’s work in that you will smile prettily and pour drinks and ply whichever lonely male arrives with mindless conversation.

The difference is that in Juniper, those things lead to sex. And this is the first time since becoming one of Salt’s girls that you’re crossing that boundary.

So, yeah, you’re a little bit nervous. But — needs must, and all that.

With a soft sigh and butterflies dancing around in your belly, you slowly pace the circumference of the room, stopping every now and then to study the weird little trinkets that Salt has picked up over the years. A strange mishmash of things that you suppose he thinks creates a certain ambience. But tiny metal lions and old, fraying maps will be the furthest thing from your client’s thoughts when the two of you sink into the feathered sheets.

They will be here any minute, and for the first time since you started your work here, you allow yourself to wonder what they might be like. You never usually bother, because the other girls warned you on day one what to expect — that this place attracts a certain clientele, and that never wavers.

So, your guest will likely be far older than you. He will likely have dark smudges beneath his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. There will likely be the faint mark of a removed wedding band on his left ring finger. He will likely want to talk to you about why he is a victim of life itself.

And you will coo sympathetically and pour him drinks, drag your hand down his arm and hold his hand. You will let him know how sorry you feel that life is so cruel to him. You will offer him the bliss of touch and feel, and make him think, for a short while, that you genuinely care about his shortcomings.

And then when he hands you the heavy pouch of coins you so desperately covet, you’ll switch it all off.

You swallow down another sigh and cross the room to the small, compact bar in the corner. You need a stiff drink yourself, something to settle your nerves—

But a knock lands on the door, and there’s no time.

For a split second, you doubt whether you can go through with this. Playing hostess for a few hours is one thing, but giving your body to a client is something you’ve never had the courage to do, despite the extra coin it would bring. But — needs must. You repeat it to yourself as you stride to the door. Needs must, needs must, needs must. You can do this.

You brace yourself, feeling suddenly too hot and sticky in the scant clothing that covers you — a pink lingerie set, barely covered by the sheer robe that sits open and threatens to slip down your arms. You are beautiful — and strong and sexy and confident. This is your body to do with whatever you want. And if this is the course you are taking, that is fine. This will be fine.

You lay your palm on the handle and yank the door open before you have to give yourself another pep talk.

But at the sight of who stands on the other side, you freeze. Your lips part in surprise.

A pep talk is not what you need — but rather a huge hole to open in the floor and swallow you down.

“What the fuck?”

It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve uttered those three words at the exact same moment your client did — Rhysand did.

He’s just like when you last saw him, but…older, now. Even though you were adults back then, too, he seems…more mature, somehow. He’s regal and stunning and night itself.

And fuck, he’s High Lord of the Night Court now.

And yet he’s ruffled, as he takes you in, gapes at you. Neither of you know what to do.

His eyes dip down to what you’re wearing, before travelling back up to your face. And he blurts, “Pixie?”

Pixie. You haven’t heard that name in years. The fond nickname that both Rhys and Azriel had coined for you, because you were so much like Cassian and yet so much smaller, a little pixie buzzing around.

But you are not her anymore. You haven’t been her since before the human-fae war. You had changed, just like the others had changed.

And the new you doesn’t need to explain to an old friend what has brought you to a pleasure hall in Sangravah. Nor does that old friend need to explain what’s brought him here, either. You owe him nothing. He owes you nothing.

But the situation is so bizarre that your mind freezes. You don’t know what to do. All you know is that you do not want to be in front of him, almost naked. You do not want to look him in the eye. The mere thought is humiliating.

So you move fast and try to slam the door shut in his face. You don’t care what kind of reprimand Salt will give you because of it.

But, of course, he is Rhysand, and may you never forget that. He’s quick as lightning, something about him always having been wildly feline. He always bested you when you sparred, always had the upper hand.

He has the upper hand now as he wedges his foot in the door and stops it from closing.

You grit your teeth, feeling just like when you used to bicker with him in Illyria as you bite out, “Move your fucking foot.”

“No,” Rhys snaps, shoving it in further. “Open the fucking—” he growls as he shoulders himself forward. “Pixie.”

“Don’t call me that. Go away—”

You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Either he loses his footing, or you do, or perhaps you both do. All you know is that the door is swinging fully open, and your balance is suddenly off, and Rhysand’s hand is gripping onto you as you fall backwards. Your attempts to right yourself are far too late and seem to make it worse. Down you go to that musty shag carpet, and down Rhysand goes with you,

Air whooshes from your lungs as he lands on top of you, far too close than is comfortable when you’re wearing so little clothing. You attempt to sit up, shove him off you.

But he holds you firm and stares at you with wide eyes. His face is inches from yours. He gives what seems to be a baffled shake of his head.

“Pix, what the fuck?” he blurts.

[lucilleeee]

happy erasversary to all those who celebrate

[lucilleeee]

Gwyn: *looking through the window, pensively*

Azriel: woah, she's so beautiful, so thoughtful... i wonder what she's thinking about

Gwyn, in her mind: dragons can't blow their birthday cake

[lucilleeee]

Whispers of the Forgotten | pt. 1

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 800 | masterlist

Bloody and broken your body slumps to the ground, his hands, the strong grip he had on you, still lingering like a phantom touch.

Ragged breath whoosh in and out of your lungs, the crisp air burning down your throat, your chest aching, like sharp claws are digging right into the flesh. You want to scream, but your mouth is too dry, your throat hurting too much. There is nothing but an endless void inside your heart and mind, and yet a whirlwind of fury starts to boil within.

The creaking of the door hinges is what makes you tip your head back, eyes burning, vision blurry due to the dust in them. But you see him. It’s not too late. You see his face once last time. The face you will remember forever - loathe forever.

"Azriel," you seethe, but your voice is hoarse and breaks before it can reach him. Or that’s what you think.

The young male‘s head whips towards you. He heard you. Or the swirling shadows always dancing around him heard you. They calm down, almost like they are waiting for what you are about to say. 

You brace your bloody fists on the ground, knuckles white from how hard you curl your fingers towards your palms. Your gaze drops for a split second, landing on his scarred hands, gripping the bloody hunting knife tightly. That damn knife that caused you the flesh deep wound on your belly, now dripping with blood and soon puss.

"Yes," you breathe, trying to summon every little ounce of energy you have left. You force ypur eyes to meet his. "That’s right, Azriel." Your eyes lock with his. "And I’ll remember your damn name forever…" You push up, getting on your knees. "Until I do my last breathe. I will personally carve it into your grave stone. And you will remember my name. Forever."

Your teeth are bared, blood and drool running down your chin. "You will remember my name when I rip open your throat with my claws. You will remember my name when—"

"Let’s go, Az. Our job here is done. The High Lord expects us to be back by now."

Azriel is not alone. Someone is with him. Cassian, one of the best Illyrian warriors there are. Right now…his usual confidence is gone. He looks haunted, scared, impatient. He wants Azriel to come with him. Right in this moment.

But Azriel’s lingers. The male doesn’t move. Not even when Cassian clasps his shoulder - tightly. 

Azriel's gaze is trained on you, eyes wide open.

"Az," Cassian warns, curling his gloved fingers around Azriel's biceps. "We need to leave."

Azriel snaps out of his trance and finally averts his gaze, without a look back, they leave, wind blowing through the prison, thrashing against the walls, howling. 

You are alone. Cold. Bloody. Broken. 

A cry parts your lips - full of fury and pain. You thrash your fists against the cool ground, moist with mould and grimy water. 

You are trapped in a cell that seems to be suffocating you, its walls seeming to press inwards, the space getting narrower and narrower by the second. 

You are locked in. Forever. Until the last day of your immortal life. Or until you go insane and forget even your own name. 

Another scream leaves you. Your body is shaking, trembling with cold and hurt. Eventually, you lift your gaze to look around. There is just a small cot draped in a thin blanket and a weathered stool and nothing else. The walls are made of dark stone. Moss and lichen crawl up on them, making decay even more apparent in this place. They bear scars—scratches of beings who have been in this cell before you. 

The air is heavy, thick with desperation. And it is cold. So damn cold, making you see your own breath.

You know this a place where spirits are broken, where the very essence of a person is eroded when you go insane. But your spirit won't be broken. You will get out. 

Shadows dance across the walls and make you remember him. 

Azriel. The shadowsinger. You will remember him forever. Until the day you die. Until the day you personally carve out his heart. 

He left you in pieces and the shards for you to pick up with your already wounded hands.

He is going to pay for this. They all are. 

Nothing is visible through the narrow, slit-like window that seems more like a mockery than a source of light. But you can hear a storm raging outside, branches and the wind hitting the walls of the Prison and it matches the storm brewing inside of you. You won't die here. You will get out of here. And you will get your payback. This is a promise. 

A promise to Azriel. A promise to your mate.

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

tags wotf: @goldenmagnolias @chessebookgirl @blackgirlmagicforever @mollygetssherlockcoffee @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @janebirkln @cleverzonkwombatsludge @namelesssav @sidthedollface2 @brujitafantomatico @ruler-of-hades @favsrachz @katherinejess @jesus-is-me @ashbatz @onyx-obsession @mischiefmanagers @thesnugglingduck @wandas-dream @emryb

[lucilleeee]

Feyre: Why are you on the floor?

Azriel: I'm depressed.

Azriel: Also I was stabbed, can you get Madja, please.

[lucilleeee]

Nesta *walking into a room*: Sorry I'm late ... I was ... doing things.

*Sounds of running footsteps progressively getting louder*

Rhys *out of breath*: SHE PUSHED ME DOWN FUCKIN' THE STAIRS

[lucilleeee]

The finale of "Halfbreeds" is up!

a z r i e l 

Azriel’s memory of his rescue was hazy. He recalled being in and out of consciousness as Koschei tortured him. The Death God had a clear goal: get the information he desired from Azriel, kill him, resurrect him, and make him use his shadowsinger magic against Prythian’s armies. 

One moment Azriel had been chained to a wall, his back dripping blood, his wings broken in several places. The next Koschei had been called away to see to a breach in his stronghold’s defenses. Something about an entire wall turning into ‘mist.’ 

There had been a cacophony of clashing swords, grunts and agonized cries, then the  familiar scent of water-lilies and ginger. 

Azriel blinked his blurry surroundings into focus to find his mate was unshackling him. 

She’d dragged him through a sea of bodies, explaining that Rhysand had caused a diversion while she infiltrated Koschei’s keep. 

They had come for him. His brother and his mate had come for him. 

Of all things, he hadn’t expected a rescue on his behalf. He’d been trained to resist and withstand torture with no hope of aid. Then again, that was before he had a mate. One who apparently was hell-bent on saving him. 

Once they’d escaped through a large fissure in one of the dungeon walls Azriel had breathed in the fresh night air and fallen to his knees, his vision darkening until he was weightless. His last breath had been an apology to Gwyn for not being able to stay conscious. 

Now he laid in a narrow bed in the House of Wind’s recovery wing. There were other fallen soldiers in the beds around him, each of them given privacy by a white divider warded to provide silence so no one’s rest was disturbed by the pained moans of the injured. 

Gwyn had slept slumped in a wooden chair to the left of his bed. Now she sat perched on the edge of his cot, one of her hands threaded with his. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. 

He gave her a wan smile from where he sat propped against the pillows, then sent a warm wave of comfort shimmering down the bond that tethered their souls. It was the ghost of a sensation being that they hadn’t had the time to accept the bond, but he knew she’d feel it all the same.

Gwyn exhaled, the tension in her shoulders bleeding away. She rubbed a freckled hand to the chest of her white tunic, laughing weakly. “That’s much better.” 

He frowned in confusion, then it dawned on him. “Oh, tell me you didn’t feel my–”

“I felt your fear,” Gwyn finished, her gaze distant. “I felt your agony. Your sorrow. Your hopelessness.” 

Azriel dragged his free hand down his face. “Gwyn, I apologize. This… bond– It’s new to me. I didn’t realize I was projecting it all to you.” 

She shook her head. “Don’t apologize. I… My actions were my own.”

His brows furrowed. “What actions?” 

Her cheeks reddened, that distant gaze suddenly shining with unshed tears. Her lips opened and closed, as though unable to find the words. 

Azriel felt his stomach lurch. 

“Gwyn, what did you do?” he asked, squeezing the hand he held. 

Read the rest on Ao3

[lucilleeee]

Halfbreeds - Ch 3 is up!

g w y n

Six months later… 

The House of Wind

Gwyneth Berdara stood with her palms braced on either side of the map laid out on the mahogany table. Behind her the private library’s hearth roared with a fire, less for the balmy summer night and more for the Valkyrie’s comfort. 

She muttered to herself, eyes roving over the marks she’d made, the strategy she’d detailed, the only chance at getting her mate back from Koschei’s clutches. It was risky, but with enough Valkyrie Units dispatched Gwyn could pull it off. All she needed was for Rhys to sign off on the emergency status that would allow her to lead such a large number.

Nodding, Gwyn stood up straight, admiring the plan once more. “I promised I’d never let anyone lock you away again,” she whispered to Azriel, hoping he could hear her across the bond they’d yet to accept. “I will keep my word, Shadowsinger.” 

The doors squeaked across the room and the Valkyrie’s head whipped up to see Nesta striding in, her expression cautious as she no doubt tried to gauge Gwyn’s distress over Azriel’s abduction. 

Gwyn gave the eldest Archeron a hesitant smile. “I think I have a plan. It just requires a little luck, and Rhysand’s approval of…”

“Gwyn, wait,” Nesta interjected.

But there was no time to lose, so Gwyn continued, “...emergency status so I can lead a…”

“Gwyn, please stop.”

“...unit of Valkyrie to help me…”

“Listen!” Nesta snapped. 

Gwyn jerked back, eyeing her friend like a potentially threatening predator. She narrowed her eyes, prompting her to explain why she was so fiercely protesting Azriel’s rescue. 

Nesta breathed slowly through her nose. “Gwyn, Rhysand is calling the Night Court’s forces to retreat. He won’t be dispatching any more units until the Healers have seen to the wounded and the High Lords are able to meet and discuss how to move forward.” 

Blinking, Gwyn walked around the table towards her friend. “But… but he’ll make an exception for Azriel, won’t he? That’s his brother.” 

Nesta’s throat bobbed. “No exceptions, Gwyn.” 

“Well, then he must not be aware that Azriel has been captured,” Gwyn countered. 

Because if Rhys knew Azriel had been captured he would do everything he could to see that he was brought home. He had worked so hard to ensure Azriel lived for the past five centuries, he wouldn’t stop now. And certainly not after he had succeeded in his covert maneuvers to guarantee Gwyn and Azriel met, that the bond snapped for his brother as it had for her. That the shadowsinger received the happiness he had so long deserved. 

“He’s aware Azriel was taken, Gwyn,” Nesta said gently. “And he is still ordering the retreat.” 

Gwyn felt her brows pull together, her jaw falling open as she struggled to process what Nesta was saying. “He… He wants to wait to rescue him until after the High Lords have convened?”

Nesta gave a single nod, then placed a comforting hand on Gwyn’s shoulder. “If all the High Lords decide rescuing Azriel is a priority for victory, then yes.”

If Azriel’s life was ‘a priority.’

A priority? 

If? 

Gwyn’s blood boiled, her brows slamming down. “He can’t be serious. If he knows it’s me leading the plan, he’ll make an exception. I’ll speak with him–”

But as Gwyn tried to step around Nesta, the eldest Archeron blocked her path. Her steely eyes were hard, but Gwyn could see a frown threaten to tug at her full mouth.

“Nesta…”

“Gwyn, I’m under orders to ensure you remain here in the House of Wind until we’re called into battle,” Nesta replied. “Rhysand wants you clear-headed when we move out eventually.” Then softer, “You’re to be sequestered here on the High Lord and Lady’s orders.” 

Gwyn’s whole body began to tremble with energy, her eyes blazed.

 First it had been Rhysand, now it was both Rhysand and Feyre. 

And judging by the immovable set of her shoulders, Nesta agreed with her sister and brother-in-law. She would follow their orders. 

“Nesta, get out of my way,” Gwyn said, her voice low.

Nesta swallowed, but held her friend’s skewering gaze. “I can’t, Gwyn. I understand you want to save Azriel, but I won’t let you sacrifice Valkyrie troops in the high of your mate-induced anxiety so you can hate yourself for it later.” 

Mate-induced anxiety? What the hell was that? Whatever anxiety Gwyn felt was the result of the other half of her soul being held by Koschei, not the stupid mating-bond they hadn’t even accepted yet. This blazing, burning fury that lit her up from the inside out was all hers. 

Wasn’t it?

“I know it feels normal. It’s going to feel natural,” Nesta said calmly. “The urge to turn the world to ash in order to save him, right? The anger that justifies you going to such extremes. It feels like any other decision. Like you’re choosing what to read for the night.” Lady Death shook her head. “It’s not. Once the haze clears, you may regret what you did in the heat of the moment, Gwyn.”

Gwyn shoved the words away, glowering at her friend now, “Maybe I will regret it.” She took a step forward so they were nearly chest to chest, “But I know I will regret letting Koschei kill Azriel because I was too scared to stand up to you and Rhysand.” 

Nesta opened her mouth, her features shadowed with alarm, but Gwyn didn’t even let her get a word out before she grabbed her by the side of her neck, applying tension to the arteries she could feel beneath the pads of her fingers. She squeezed before Nesta could pry her hand off, and Nesta’s blood pressure rose till her eyes fluttered shut. Her body began to slump, but Gwyn caught her, carefully tilting her to lie on the rug by the table. 

“I’m sorry, Nesta,” Gwyn said, grabbing a throw pillow from an armchair and lifting her sister’s head to rest upon it. “But you wouldn’t let anything keep you from Cassian either.” 

Read the rest on Ao3