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rosanna-writer · 11 months

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (4/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4.4k

Feyre traps the Suriel and gets some answers, then makes a decision.

Read on AO3 or you can find the fourth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - the altar is my hips | ch 2. - an arrowhead leading us home | ch. 3 - by the way, i just may like some explanations | ch. 4 - can't not think of all the cost

I slept fitfully, but I slept. My dreams were full of screams and necks snapping and rivulets of blood on stone floors. The pain wasn't Rhys's, which was likely the only reason I managed to get some rest, even if I did suspect the dreams were glimpses out of his eyes. It was dark when I finally got out of bed—I'd been out for most of the day. I'd needed it, though.

There was a note from Mor stuck to the bedroom door. I struggled through reading most of it, but I got the gist: there were food and clothes here for me. It included directions to somewhere called the House of Wind, but I couldn't quite understand all the steps. I pushed the paper aside, dreading admitting I could only read about half the words.

I'd slept long enough to miss a meal, and my stomach grumbled accordingly. I ignored it—partially just because I was unable to shake the habit—and ran a bath, scrubbing hard at my skin and hoping it was enough to wash away the scent from Calanmai. I wasn't ashamed of what Rhys and I had done, but all the conclusions the fae could draw from the lingering smell made me feel uncomfortably exposed. The marks on my neck were already fading.

I wasn't sure if I'd miss them when they were gone.

The echo of the stag's magic was still there, no fainter than it was before I'd fallen asleep. If I hadn't already believed Amren, then this was just more evidence that might have convinced me she was correct about the stag Making me immortal.

But there were things to do, so I pushed that thought aside.

I'd expected the clothes Mor left to be dresses, not the practical pieces I found in the closet. I pulled on a pair of pants that tapered at the ankle, clearly made to be tucked into boots, and shrugged on a sweater with an elaborate pattern of swirling cables. Both were soft, warm, and made from fine fabric of the deepest black.

Functional, easy to move in, and very, very obviously of the Night Court.

I found food in the kitchen, just as Mor had said. She'd mentioned there were chairs on the flat portion of the house's roof, so I found a coat and brought some bread, cheese, and an apple up there. After months of eternal spring, I wanted to feel cold air on my face again, and I'd always felt better out in the open. Back home, being outside was a reprieve from fights with Nesta, Elain's sad, hungry eyes, and my father's indifference. I hated being cooped up.

What I didn't expect, however, was to find Cassian already there, perched like a gargoyle. Cauldron, I thought Mor had been joking when she said this might happen.

"Is there a reason you're sitting like an overgrown bat instead of in a chair?" I called up to him.

Cassian stretched his wings wide, gliding down to the flat portion of the roof where I was standing. "Is there a reason you're eating in the cold?" he said.

"The snow from yesterday already melted. I can tolerate anything above freezing," I said with a shrug. The air was turning the tip of my nose pink, but I didn't mind. I'd faced much worse hunting outside for hours on end every winter. Seeing the stars from here was worth the chill—somehow the night sky in the mortal lands and Spring paled in comparison to the one in Night. I hadn't known it was possible to see so many stars at once.

Cassian gave me a look that might have been approving and sank into a chair as I did the same. "How are you doing?" he said.

"Fine," I said, and it was mostly the truth. I had no desire to talk about my feelings with Cassian anyway. I gestured to the food and added, "Want some?"

He grinned. "Are you always in the habit of offering food to males you've just met?"

I glared and flung the apple at his head, which he plucked out of the air handily, then took a bite. Still scowling, I tore apart the bread and muttered, "I suppose I walked right into that one."

I hadn't meant for him to hear that, but Cassian had the same preternatural hearing as the rest of the fae. His grin went wider. "Walking right into it is pretty disappointing behavior from a professional, if you ask me."

I paused devouring the bread just long enough to raise my brows. "A professional?"

"A professional trapper. Bowhunting too, but you mentioned snares earlier."

It was nearly as ridiculous as the stag calling me High Lady. Most days in the woods, I still felt like a novice. But Cassian's grin was gone, and I realized that he hadn't meant it as a joke. "I'm not a professional. I just did it to feed my family and sold the pelts sometimes."

"For how long?" Cassian said around bites of apple.

"Eight years."

Cassian's gaze turned assessing, as if he was trying to guess my age and work backwards from there. If he asked, I wasn't sure he'd believe that I'd set my first trap at eleven years old. It was a few more years before I could shoot a bow properly, but by my twelfth birthday, I'd been snaring rabbits regularly.

"If you spend eight years doing something to put food on the table, I think you're well within your rights to call yourself a professional."

I finished the bread and started on the cheese, not sure what to say. Lucien's jibes about the mighty mortal huntress rang in my ears. Like Mor, though, Cassian was content to fill the silence, telling me about how his people in Illyria hunted for their meat just as often as they farmed it. When he asked for my thoughts on the merits of still-hunting instead of setting up a tree stand, I didn't think it was just politeness. There was respect there, a kind I'd hadn't been shown in Spring.

It had been a long time since I'd scarfed food down as if it might be stolen, but I still ate relatively quickly. The bread and cheese were gone in a few minutes. I stood to go, and Cassian said, "I have something for you, by the way."

He indicated a small bag that I hadn't noticed was sitting tucked in a corner on the roof. I eyed it suspiciously before picking it up and peering inside.

Bendable wire, a small hatchet, a cloak, and some sort of black leather clothes I couldn't identify. "What is it?" I said.

"Supplies to make a snare, bait for the Suriel, and Illyrian leathers," Cassian said.

I ran my hands over the strange, scaled black leather, then unfolded it to get a better look. There were slits at the back, presumably for wings, and there were a myriad of places to strap knives all over. These were clearly made for fighting.

When I didn't say anything, Cassian continued, "It didn't seem right to send you after a Suriel without something protective, and these are warmer than they look—nothing blocks the wind better. I guessed your size, and let me know if you need help fastening them in the back."

"Thank you," I said, then brought everything downstairs and changed. I didn't particularly care that it was dark out—I was awake and anxious to get moving. And it didn't seem particularly Night Court to wait until daybreak.

It took a few tries to button the leathers in the back, but I managed. I moved around experimentally and decided that I probably would have killed to have these while I was hunting in the woods. The tight-fitting leather wouldn't get caught on anything when I scrambled up a tree, but it was still remarkably easy to move in. It held in my body heat without the bulk of a coat and didn't rustle like fabric might.

These were more than just practical—wearing them, I was lethal.

I planned to pack food along with the supplies for the snare, but when I returned to the living room, Cassian had already done that for me. I assumed he'd take us to the edge of the city with the same vanishing-and-reappearing magic that Rhys and Mor had used, but he just laughed and said there was no need to winnow when he could fly. So I pulled on the hood of my cloak to avoid attention and walked with him there instead.

The bond went taut as soon as I crossed the wards again.

"Rhys, I'm fine, " I muttered, not sure if he could hear me. I expected to feel those talons brush my mind any minute now.

And sure enough, his voice floated into my mind again, his tone carefully neutral. Where are you going?

He clearly didn't like that I'd left the city. My thoughts sounded testy even to myself as I said, Trapping a Suriel. And before you ask, I've done it before.

At first, he didn't say anything back, but through the bond, I felt him perk up with interest. His eyes were probably glittering just as they did when I hadn't let him kiss me goodbye. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I'd take it over doubt or disbelief. When you finish, please let me know what it tells you.

His mind started to retreat, and I couldn't let him go, at least not yet. I flung out a mental hand and grabbed onto him again. Are you…alright? It seemed like such a stupid thing to ask after what I felt from him earlier, but I couldn't think of anything better.

His response came quickly. No. I said nothing, just waited for him to elaborate. It was strange, feeling the distinct impression that we were having a staring contest despite not being face-to-face. I leaned back against a tree and crossed my arms. Eventually, he added, I'm not any worse off than I was before. I'm not fine, but tell the others I am.

I understood. It would only make it worse to tell them he was hurting, but with the bond, it was impossible to hide from me. I doubted they'd believe it, though.

Stay safe.

You, too.

Cauldron boil and fry me but he was just so hard to let go of. I wanted to tell him he wasn't alone, but after he'd shut me out when I tried to reach for him, that didn't seem wise. Instead, before he could pull away again, I added, And Rhys…If you're going to leave marks, pick somewhere less obvious than my neck next time.

The bond between us snapped taut again, nearly vibrating with all the potential held in those last two words. Next time. Cauldron, I hadn't spoken to him long enough to even be sure he wanted a next time, but there it was.

His mental voice dropped down to that purr of his again. Tell me exactly where you want it, and I'll do whatever you ask.

I couldn't hold back a snort, even if he wasn't there to hear it. Rhys might be alluring—incredibly, heartbreakingly so—but he was also just as transparent. And I couldn't forget he was still a faerie or the lesson now inked on my ring finger. I'm not stupid enough to agree to another bargain with you.

There was a laugh from him, a soft, intimate thing that had me instinctively looking around for the source of the sound, even though it was coming from my own head. His mind retreated after that, and it was just me and the forest as always.

I pressed forward, falling back into old habits as I scouted out a location for the snare. The pines weren't much like the leafy trees back in the mortal lands, but if I closed my eyes, I could almost believe I was back home and that being kidnapped and whisked away to Prythian was nothing more than a nightmare.

Once I found a place for it, I made quick work of setting the trap, just as I always had. I scrambled up a nearby tree, hoping that none of the pine needles ended up embedding themselves between the scales of the leathers.

I hadn't missed the monotony of being alone with my thoughts and trying not to move or breathe too loudly. The woods were quiet beyond the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance, and the most interesting thing to happen for a while was a pair of squirrels scurrying by—apparently their fur in Night was darker than their southern counterparts. Ever a merchant's daughter, I couldn't help but wonder if that meant I could charge a furrier more for their pelts.

But still, boredom was still the worst part of setting a trap.

I don't know how long I sat in that tree, but it was enough to be glad I'd honed my sense of patience. Eventually, though, the Suriel shrieked, and the sound of it nearly knocked me from my perch. I climbed down to meet it.

Even knowing what to expect, my instincts screamed at me to run. I willed myself to stay calm as the Suriel watched me, clutching the new cloak in those awful, clicking fingers of bone.

"I told you not to seek me out again, human," it said.

I'd thought it might say as much, so I said evenly, "I have more questions."

"Release me, and I'll answer your questions. I'll help you as you helped me, but those are my terms."

The Suriel could still run off, but what it was asking seemed fair enough to me. And beyond that, I had no desire to make an enemy of it. As I crouched down and loosened the wire, I braced myself for an attack. It never came.

"Ask your questions. There are many," it said as I straightened up.

There was only so much time before its patience ran out, so I began with my most important question. "How can I release Rhysand from Under the Mountain?"

The Suriel cocked its head at me, the most human gesture I'd seen it make. It failed to set me at ease. "You wish to kill the Deceiver. Interesting."

"That's all I have to do? Kill her?"

That seemed far too simple, even if she did have the power of all seven High Lords in her possession. She could have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers alone by now.

"Do not attempt it. You will not succeed, and if she dies, the High Lords' magic dies with her. The King of Hybern will not hesitate to invade a land without magic."

I wanted Rhys back more than anything, but he'd never forgive me if I did it at the cost of the Night Court's sovereignty. But still, there had to be a way. "Then how?"

"She can still be coerced or convinced to return the power that she stole," the Suriel said. I considered that, and it clicked its fingers impatiently, the bone seeming to glow faintly in the moonlight. "Ask your next question, human. Hurry."

"What did the stag do to me on Calanmai?"

That echo of magic was still there and hadn't faded, still thrumming through me. I was beginning to doubt it would ever disappear.

"You were Made an immortal human, gifted an unobstructed path to your mate and the long lifespan of a faerie."

Just as Amren had said, but it was good to hear the Suriel confirm it. My hand drifted up to the edge of my ear, as if to remind myself that it was still rounded, that I was still me.

"How?" I whispered, not even sure what I was asking. I didn't understand any of it—how a human could possibly have a High Lord for a mate, how the stag had Made me, how any of this had happened.

"The Great Rite is faerie, intended to be performed by a High Lord of Prythian. The magic cannot flow through a human without aftereffects."

It made sense, even if I still didn't understand the reason behind it all. Everything that had led me here had felt purposeful. And I hated being a pawn.

Which brought me to my next question. "What did Tamlin want with me? Why take me over the Wall?"

"To break the Deceiver's curse, he needed the love of a mortal who'd killed one of his men in an unprovoked attack. One with hatred for his kind, with ice in her heart. There are six more weeks for the curse to be broken."

I wanted to vomit. And perhaps I nearly had, because the Suriel took a step back. I hardly noticed—my mind was reeling.

It was bad enough that a few kindnesses had been all it took for me to drop my guard. But knowing that they weren't even kindnesses at all, merely means to an end, was a thousand times worse. Killing Andras had been awful when I'd thought it was in self-defense. And now, knowing that I'd been set up and that he wouldn't have hurt me if I'd just run made it all worse.

Never before had I felt so used.

The sound of the Suriel's voice, suddenly sharp, jerked me from my thoughts. "I'm growing impatient, human. One more question."

"What does this mean?" I said, holding up my tattooed hand.

The Suriel grinned, revealing rows of those awful, brown teeth. "You are already familiar with bargain tattoos."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

It tipped its head back and laughed, teeth clicking together. I frowned and waited for it to answer.

"The Night Court itself chose you to make an offer to. You may complete the bargain by offering something in return. The details of the terms are between you and your court—there are some things that even my kind do not know."

Your court. It was so strange to hear the Suriel refer to the Night Court as mine that I was nearly distracted enough not to notice it clutch its new cloak and run off. I leaned back against the tree, thinking it over.

Because Rhys had asked, I gave a tug on the bond again. As soon as I felt his mind brush mine, I said, Go ahead and see my conversation with the Suriel for yourself. It would be easier than telling him everything, and I didn't mind letting him in like this.

I wasn't sure if anyone ever got used to the sensation of talons digging around in their mind, no matter how gentle they were. It wasn't painful, just strange.

After a moment, the talons retreated and he said, Thank you. I started to say something else, but another sharp wave of his pain and fear down the bond stole the words away. I bit back a cry. Rhys spoke again, urgently this time. I have to go. She's— She's not letting me rest. Ask Amren to teach you to shield your mind.

And just like that, he was gone. The walls were up again, shutting me out completely, and maybe it was worse this way, wondering exactly what was going on instead of feeling it for myself. All the mental shields in the world wouldn't stop me from worrying.

There was nothing left to do but head back to the city. I still wasn't completely sure how the wards worked, so I approached it on a diagonal again, crouching to make myself as small as possible.

When the city appeared around me, I walked right into Azriel. "How did you know where I was?" I said, stepping back to give him some space.

"The wards don't block our view, and my shadows told me you were coming," he said.

I'd been too consumed by everything else that had happened in the last day to pay much attention to the shadows that swirled around him, and now I felt foolish for it. "They…talk?"

He smiled at me for the first time. "Only to me. I'm a shadowsinger."

He said it as if I'd know what that meant, and it just seemed too human to admit that I didn't. I changed the subject. "I trapped it, by the way. The Suriel answered most of my questions."

"Good. Amren wants to discuss what you heard with the rest of the Inner Circle. We're meeting at the House of Wind."

"Now?"

Azriel nodded. "I'll fly you there, if that's alright with you." Mor's note had said something about ten thousand steps. I'd thought it was a figure of speech, but perhaps I'd been wrong about that, too. I must have looked hesitant because Azriel added, "I promise my landings are soft, but I'll warn you now that Cassian can't say the same."

Azriel was respectful, gentlemanly even, as he hooked his arms around my shoulders and knees. We shot into the sky without another word.

I could feel him watching me carefully, but I wasn't afraid. When I'd hunted, I'd sat high up on more than enough shaky branches to last a lifetime. Heights didn't bother me. Instead, I watched the city spread out beneath us and tried to wrap my mind around the size of its sprawl. It had been such a long time since I'd been anywhere with more people than my village on the other side of the Wall.

It wasn't long until we gained speed and descended towards a palace above the city carved from the red stone mountain. I forced myself to keep my eyes open as we glided towards the largest balcony, the wind rushing around us.

The landing was shockingly gentle; Azriel spread his wings wide so we glided down to the balcony, and I barely felt it as his feet hit the floor. He'd made good on the promise, so I decided I trusted him a bit more than I had before takeoff. Amren, Mor, and Cassian were already standing there, waiting for us.

"Well?" Amren said, raising a brow.

"I caught it," I said. My tone was a clear challenge, daring any of them to tell me they doubted that I would. None of them did.

"Then let's talk."

I followed the rest of them inside, towards a meeting room. Unlike the townhouse, this was a true palace—large and official, the sort of place I'd expect to find a High Lord and courtiers. As we took our places around the table, I had the distinct feeling a war council was about to begin.

I told them everything. As I spoke, I half-expected to feel Rhys's mind brush mine or for him to cut in with his own opinions, but the bond was silent. That scared me more than anything.

When I finished, before any of them could attempt to convince me otherwise, I said, "This hasn't changed my mind. I'm going Under the Mountain, and I'll bargain with her if I have to."

"You can't," Mor said, and there was real fear in her voice. "She'll kill you, Feyre."

Cassian's face was grave as he added, "Mor's right. This is Amarantha we're talking about. She slaughtered her human slaves instead of freeing them during the war. She'll do the same to you."

"And we already lost Rhys to her because he insisted on being a self-sacrificing idiot," Azriel said.

I'd considered all of it already, but my mind was made up. I couldn't live like this, safe under the wards while Rhys's pain lanced through the bond like a knife. And Amarantha was from Hybern—if she held the High Lords' power long enough, what was stopping her homeland from invading mine?

I looked to Amren, expecting her to chime in and agree with them, but she just said coolly, "I wasn't aware we'd abandoned the Nephelle Philosophy in the Night Court." I started to ask what that was, but she added, "Perhaps all of you need reminding that what we think is our biggest weakness may be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history."

Mor got up from her chair, falling into a fighting stance again. Cauldron—this might actually come to blows.

"It's different. Feyre's not a soldier," Cassian growled. Azriel's eyes flashed, and he appeared to be sizing up Amren as his hand drifted to the dagger sheathed at his hip.

They'd known me less than a day. I didn't understand why they were so prepared to fight a brawl over me.

But if anything, Amren just seemed faintly amused by all of it. She rolled her eyes. "I'm the High Lord's Second, and he isn't here. Don't make me order you not to interfere. Sit down," she said. Mor did as Amren said, glowering at her the entire time.

The High Lord's Second. For an awful moment, I wondered if Amren was so eager to send me Under the Mountain because she viewed me as a threat of some kind. But that seemed laughable—it was clear that if she wanted to be rid of me, I'd already be dead.

I forced myself to meet the swirling smoke of Amren's gaze as she turned her attention back to me. "I've known many High Lords over the centuries, but none like Rhysand. As his mate, you're his match. That makes you a force to be reckoned with alone, but together…you two should be unstoppable. Figure it out and get us out of this mess," she said.

It seemed impossible, but if I wasn't mistaken, Amren actually believed in me. I'd never felt more human, wholly unlike a faerie, let alone a High Lord. At best, I was just a decent shot with a bow.

But maybe the mating bond could drive me to be more than that. Amren seemed to think so.

"Then I'll leave tomorrow," I said.

"No. I doubt she'll bargain with you while the curse is still in effect. You'll wait until it runs out."

I considered that. As much as I hated to wait, she was right—it wouldn't be to my advantage to leave while the magic still clearly proved I wasn't in love with Tamlin. I took a breath as Cassian's words about Rhys deserving our best effort came back to me.

"And what will I do until then?" I said.

Amren smiled, her gaze sweeping over all of us as she said, "You didn't think we'd send you Under the Mountain unprepared, did you?"

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

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fawnandshadows · 2 years

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Fawn Fest — Prices and Vices

Prompt: Halloween + Costume Party

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Language maybe? Nothing extreme

The skirt of her costume was much shorter than Elain remembered, or maybe it was the fact that she didn’t try it on with her bright pink boots with four inch heels before. But as she stood outside the door of Feyre and Rhys’s penthouse she was acutely aware of how much leg she was showing, and her hands clutched her pink glittery skirt in an attempt to hold it down.

She watched as the door slowly opened in front of her, and Feyre’s drunken, smiling face beamed at her. Her tight, spandex catwoman costume clung to her form, and she forgoed any type of mask, but Elain found the kitten ears on her head and the tail sticking out from her back to be adorable.

“You’re here!” Feyre exclaimed, throwing her arms around her sister, and Elain could smell the alcohol on her breath. It wasn’t often that Feyre let herself get like this, but it always made Elain happy to see her older sister relaxed and free.

“Sorry I’m late,” Elain said as she stepped into the penthouse, her eyes floating to the crush of bodies crammed into the large space — Elain didn’t recognize anyone. “My wings were giving me trouble.” She motioned to the green wings sticking out of her back, which bobbed with her movements.

Feyre took a step back and looked at her sister's costume, her blue eyes smiling in recognition.

“Flora.”

“Sexy Flora.” A new voice said, and Elain felt the blood rush to her cheeks at the words.

Her brown eyes drifted to Nesta, who was leaning against the wall and smirking at her sisters.

“Not sexy,” Elain replied, crossing her arms and immediately dropping them at the way it showcased her cleavage. “Just Flora,” Nesta rolled her eyes with a smile and Elain took the opportunity to take in her costume: leggings, Cassian’s oversized t-shirt with no bra underneath, and unbrushed hair. Elain’s mind was blank. “And you’re a book character?”

It was a shot in the dark, but Nesta nodded with a smile.

“Lily Calloway.”

Elain smiled in excitement, grateful that she took her sister's recommendation to read the series, and she felt a switch of recognition flip in her mind.

“It’s perfect! Is Cassian Lo?”

Nesta’s amusement faded, and she rolled her eyes without affection.

“Sadly, no.”

Just then Cassian turned into the cramped hallway they were standing in, and Elain felt her eyes bug out of her head. He stood completely naked in nothing but a diaper that looked ready to fall off, and it was likely held together by two comically large safety pins at his hips.

“Baby?” Elain asked, keeping her eyes on his face and not his abs.

Cassian pointed to himself with a grin and replied, “Sexy baby.”

Elain couldn’t stop the guttural snort that sounded from her throat.

“And where’s the monster on the hill?

Cassian’s smile grew as Elain understood the reference he was making with his costume.

“Not you, obviously, since you showed up as a sexy fairy and not the gargoyle costume I got for you.”

Now it was Elain’s turn to roll her eyes at his teasing.

“I’m Flora, not a sexy fairy.” Elain said, nervously adjusting the glove-like sleeves on her arms.

“Azriel will be happy.” Nesta’s sly voice broke through the awkwardness that Elain was feeling, and a surge of warmth flooded her body.

“Why would Azriel be happy?” Elain asked, her heart skipping in her chest. “Is Gwyn here?”

“Yes,” Nesta said with a shrug. “But that’s not what I was talking about.” Her blue eyes focused on Elain’s favorite part of the costume — the rose necklace that laid at the base of her throat, the one that Azriel had given her last year at Christmas.

All three of them fixated on the jewelry, and their expressions all turned into a mixture of pity and sympathy. All of them all undoubtedly remembering that last Christmas, where Elain and Azriel were caught under the mistletoe, where they would have kissed if Rhysand had never interrupted them. Where they all watched as Elain opened up her necklace on Christmas morning, and then two days later Azriel started dating a certain redhead.

Gwyn, his on and off again girlfriend for the past year.

Elain simply shrugged, ignoring the way they all stared at her.

“Let’s get you a drink.” Feyre exclaimed, draping her arm over her sister's shoulder and leading her towards the kitchen.

They brushed past Nesta and Cassian who lingered in the entryway hall, and Elain let her eyes sweep the crowd of bodies and told herself that she wasn’t looking for anyone in particular. Certainly not someone that stood well above six feet with curling dark hair, smoldering hazel eyes, and hands burned with scars of his past.

She didn’t see him anyway.

And she didn’t see Gwyn.

Elain pushed that knowledge to the back of her brain and focused on the red solo cup that Feyre handed to her.

“Rhys left to get some more drinks,” Feyre explained, her voice rising above the music as Elain took a sip of a cocktail that most likely had more alcohol than she realized. “Amren and Varian took Nyx trick-or-treating, and Azriel is here…somewhere.”

Elain nodded and took another sip.

“Do you want to dance?” Elain asked, and her sister nodded with excitement.

This almost never happened, the two of them finding each other.

Feyre was almost always with her husband or son, and Elain had been avoiding a lot of family events — not wanting to see Azriel with a redhead draped over him. Even before everything, Elain and Feyre had never exactly been close. Elain always found herself in the role of family peacemaker, which was surprisingly lonely.

Elain finished her drink, which Feyre refilled along with getting another one for herself, and the two sisters drifted towards the living-room-turned-dance-floor.

––––

Elain was unaware of the passing of time.

With each sip of her drink she lived more and more in the moment. Simply enjoying the bass of the music that pounded through the room, and the way that her and Feyre enjoyed each others company — ignoring the rest of the crowd and doing the silly, ridiculous dance moves that would have embarrassed them if it wasn’t for the copious amounts of alcohol.

Neither of them were aware of anyone else until Batman walked up behind Feyre, planted his hands on her hips, and kissed her from behind. The pink of his tongue flashing at he plundered her mouth.

Elain froze. And from the way Feyre was leaning into the embrace, Elain deduced that Rhysand was the one in the costume and slowly backed away. Regressing to her normal role in family functions.

Suddenly, the heat generated by all those dancing bodies became overbearing and suffocating, and Elain found herself desperate for chilled night air. So, she shoved her way through the crowd, ignoring the grasping hands of people trying to dance with her. A familiar song started pouring through the speakers, and she heard Cassian holler in excitement.

Elain looked over her shoulder as she approached the glass door that led to the balcony and saw Cassian standing on a table, grinning from the attention and the excitement of his costume getting the spotlight.

Her hand slowly twisted the door handle and she opened the door just enough to slip outside.

The cool air was a balm on her sweaty skin.

She took unsteady steps forward and laid her hands on top of the cool stone balcony.

Elain took a deep breath, her eyes closing as she took a drink of the night air. Brisk. Chilled…smoky?

Her eyes drifted open, taking in the gleaming cityscape of Velaris, before turning her head to the left and seeing that she wasn’t alone on the balcony.

She immediately locked onto a scarred hand that held a cigarette precariously between his fingers.

A small war battled inside of her, her happy drunkenness and a startling sobriety that started at the sight of Azriel.

A blonde wig sat on his head, and he wore way too many layers — including a suspiciously accurate, leather like tunic over a bright red, long sleeve shirt — that Elain thought he might still be sweltering in the Halloween air.

The drunkenness won.

“You look hot as a blonde.” Elain said, slowly walking towards him, and not even registering the words that passed over her tongue.

Azriel’s eyebrow quirked at the words, and his lips twitched in amusement.

He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t stop her as Elain took the cigarette from his hand and brought it to her lips. His face stayed neutral as Elain sputtered and coughed from her first drag of a cigarette.

Her disgruntled face scrunched as she looked at the burning cigarette, smoke leaving her mouth as she said, “I still don’t understand why you do this.”

She held out the cigarette to him, but he didn’t take it.

His hazel eyes slowly traced her body, and Elain could have sworn she felt his large hands on her.

For a second, he stood still, but then he grabbed the cigarette from her and instead of taking a drag like Elain expected, he took a step closer to her and brought his hand up to her lips.

“Try again.” Azriel quietly demanded.

“Of course…Daemon.” Elain said teasingly, but the dark heat that flashed in his eyes caused excitement to prick at her spine.

She wrapped her lips around the cigarette, and she heard Azriel’s low voice say, “Slowly, not too much,” Elain did as she was told, and when he took the cigarette away she followed his instructions and breathed out.

“Very good…Flora.” Azriel said with approval, a smile forming on his lips.

“I’m surprised you recognized my costume.” Elain said, almost sheepishly, delighting in the way that Azriel tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

“I know she’s one of your favorites.” Azriel said tenderly, his eyes softening.

Elain never kept it a secret which characters she loved, and which ones she didn’t. Her close friend's story on instagram was constantly filled with her favorite media, and as much as she tried to stop herself, she always wanted to see whether or not Azriel looked at her story. He almost always did. Which meant that he also knew her latest obsession.

And he dressed up as her latest crush.

Even in her drunken state, she knew that nothing with Azriel was accidental.

Her heart clenched at the knowledge. At the intense way he was looking down at her.

“Where’s Gwyn?” Elain asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Azriel kept his face impassive as he took a drag of his cigarette.

“We got in a fight and she left,” Azriel shrugged. “Apparently I couldn’t take my eyes off of a certain sexy fairy. Her words, not mine.”

Elain brought her tongue out to wet her dry lips, and Azriel’s hazel eyes followed the movement. She accepted his offering as he brought the cigarette back to her lips.

“Then I guess you should use some company tonight.”

His eyes watched the smoke that fell from her mouth and mingled with the night air, and then they dropped to the necklace that hung around her neck.

“I’ll get us some drinks.” Azriel said, handing the cigarette back to Elain. He waited all of five seconds, giving her time to excuse herself, before slipping back into the house.

Elain’s hands shook and small ashes fell from her hand as she waited for him.

——

Part Two

——

tagging: @thefangirlofhp @sakurakittypeach @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @alwayssara @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes s @magnolia-blossom87 @sheena-beene @nivem565

#fawnandshadows fawn fest #Halloween fic #elriel #elain x azriel #my obsessions are showing #Taylor swift and the addicted series and HOTD and daemon 😀#and my love of flora #and the 1975 #yes that image is from the robbers video #I’m regressing back to 2014 #I’m starting a sexy part 2 #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #fawnandshadows writing

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thealmightyemprex · 5 months

Text

Which OC should I draw volume two

Cause there be more characters I wanna draw (Will draw characters in both lists,I really wanna draw)

Bibi-Wolf Witch

Maximis:Dark Lord Mouse (DRAWN)

Tyrone:Dragon Hunting God

Zo :The Lioness

Dimitra : The Sphinx Queen

Njal:Dragon Lust Diety

The Captain:Crocodile

Theo the Gargoyle

Leo:Rabbit Gangster

Serena:Dragoness

Bruno:German Shepherd titan

Cassian :cat god

@ariel-seagull-wings @themousefromfantasyland @theancientvaleofsoulmaking

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rhysands-rightknee · 2 years

Text

no bc I’m 100000% sure the creature Cassian saw at the bottom of the pit was a demon/gargoyle looking type of thing from Hel, protecting the entrance

and if they can turn the general of the night court mute I’d rather not think about the breeding that happened with those ugly mfs for illyrians to exist fksjjdejej

#acotar #sarah j maas #night court #cassian #azriel #rhysand #hosab

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c-e-d-dreamer · 10 months

Text

My Heart of Stone

A/N: We pause Regency Cassian to bring you baby's first monsterfucking fic. The unofficial extra prompt for @cassianappreciationweek ;) That's right, lovelies. It's time for Gargoyle Cassian! It case it wasn't clear, this fic is monsterfucking. It's very NSFW and the consent is a bit dubious at the beginning before Nesta full sends into getting her world rocked (pun intended). If that's not for you, that's okay. Also, make sure you check out the amazing, beautiful, showstopping art @krem-does-stuff did for me of Gargoyle Cassian :)

Read on AO3

Nesta throws all of her weight against the door until it swings open, the old metal creaking in its hinges as it gives way. She stumbles out into the crisp, night air, the breeze skating across her cheeks, prickling her skin, until she has to fight back a shiver. As she steps further away from the door, deeper into the shadows of the night, she tries to take deep, heaving breaths, but the air stutters in her lungs with every inhale, and Nesta wraps her arms tightly around herself, squeezing her eyes shut and counting to five. To ten. To twenty.

When her heart finally quiets from an erratic thunder to a dull roar, she opens her eyes again, tipping her head back and toward the sky. It’s a beautiful, clear night, inky streaks of indigo and a blanket of twinkling stars. A full moon that spotlights down onto the city below. Nesta knows that she should appreciate it. Wishes that she could appreciate it. But her skin still feels stretched too tight on her bones, her chest aching with the bruised remains of her battered heart.

Curse her father. Curse his party. And curse Tomas fucking Mandray. She knew that he would be there. Of course, the Mandrays had been there. Their name carried weight in this city, and they were family friends. Old money traditions and values died hard, especially as the years went on. But Nesta had still hoped, had kept that glimmer alive after she spoke with her father on the phone last week.

Now, she just feels stupid. Silly. Crazy. That was the new word Tomas slung at her tonight. She still remembers the smug look that peeled across his face when he spotted her across the room. Still remembers the alcohol on his breath when he cornered her outside the bathroom.

Crazy.

She was crazy for walking away from him. Crazy for thinking that she could break up with him. She knows it was the right decision, leaving him. She knows that she’s better than Tomas, and certainly deserves better than the way he treated her. But that doesn’t stop all his words from continuing to echo inside Nesta’s mind, even all these months later. They twist like dark vines until the thorns pierce skin, until the darkness squeezes in and she feels like she’s drowning, every scream filling her lungs with more water.

Who else could ever love a bitch like you?

Nesta digs the heels of her palms against her eyes and swallows hard, but there’s no escaping those grating words. Their roots burrow deep and twine with every other dark thought, every other insecurity that’s been chasing her since her mother first decided to make Nesta her favorite project. Like a sea in a raging storm, the thoughts crash relentlessly, and Nesta can feel heat beginning to prickle at the back of her eyes in response.

Anger is hot on its heels, burning red hot through her veins. It’s an emotion she grasps onto with both hands, holding it close to her chest and letting it fuel her. She hates those thoughts. Hates what her mother made her go through as a child. Hates her father. Hates Tomas Mandray. Nesta turns and kicks at the roof door in her frustration, the clang of metal echoing in the night air.

Letting out a satisfied huff, she stalks over to the northern side of the roof, to the gargoyle waiting for her there. She sits down on the corner of the ledge the gargoyle is perched on, leaning so that her cheek presses against the cool stone that makes up the gargoyle’s arm. With a soft sigh, she lets her eyes fall closed again, just taking a moment to finally breathe.

“You love me, don’t you?”

Unsurprisingly, there’s no response, and Nesta truly does feel crazy for even uttering the words aloud, for asking that question to a fucking gargoyle of all things. Even still, it does make her feel a bit better, has some of those knots buried deep within her lessening and unfurling. Something about this roof, about sitting here beside this gargoyle has always seemed to help her. It’s the one place she feels like she can breathe. The one place she feels safe enough to cry.

In a way, it had almost been the gargoyles that first drew her into this apartment building. She still remembers the day she first came to view the open apartment here, when she had peered up against the glare of the afternoon sun and seen the gargoyles high overhead. Four of them, each facing a different direction. For a moment, staring up at them from the ground, Nesta had sworn some long sleeping beast deep in her soul had perked up, sworn she’d felt some subtle tug in the space between her ribs.

Whatever it was, it had led her inside. Led her to signing the lease. Led her to following those rickety stairs up to the roof access door once her boxes were all unloaded. Luckily, the questionable stairs meant that most of the other tenants in the building didn’t bother, so more often than not, Nesta finds herself up on the roof alone. It’s how she prefers it, and she supposes, technically, she’s not really alone, if you count the four massive stone gargoyles.

That first day up on the roof, Nesta had taken the time to examine each one of the gargoyles. She had been surprised to find that each was different, having expected a simple matching set. The ones that face north and south each have large, arching wings furled along their back and shoulders, while the other two gargoyles don’t. The gargoyle that faces east, toward the rising sun, is carved so there’s long hair hanging around the face, but there’s also gashes across the left side from eyebrow to cheek, almost as if the sculptor’s hand slipped with the chisel. And the gargoyle that faces west, toward the setting sun and darkness, seems to have some sort of intricately carved design on his knees.

But Nesta’s personal favorite is the one that faces north, toward the mountains. Even made of stone, the gargoyle is so large somehow, all perfect carved lines. Sometimes, she’ll trace her finger along stone, along the cut of the gargoyle's wide shoulders and down the lines of his bicep. She can’t help but marvel at how the sculptor was able to so perfectly mimic the ripple of muscle, how much love and care must have gone into creating the statue. She'll follow along the slightly raised lines of whirling stone that she's sure are meant to represent tattoos and imagine a slow and steady hand chiseling away.

If she's feeling particularly daring, she'll reach up to the gargoyle's face, slide the pad of her finger along the line of his jaw, up his cheek. The hair is another artistic marvel, made to look like curling waves that tumble around the face and to the shoulders. The gargoyle has his face tipped down, knelt on one knee over the edge of the building, as though he's bowing before some unseen queen, pledging his sword and ready to worship at her feet.

Nesta lets out another soft sigh as the breeze wafts over her again, filling her senses with the scent of a roaring fire, of pine, of the wind right before it snows. It has a shiver skittering up her spine that has nothing to do with the cool, night air. For a moment, her heart skips a beat in her chest, a small voice in the back of her mind suddenly alert and clambering for attention in her consciousness. She swears that she can almost feel eyes on her, boring right into her, but she hasn’t heard the loud creak of the roof door opening again the whole time she’s been up here.

The stone beneath Nesta’s cheek starts to slide, and her eyes snap open in a panic. Her hands scramble for the ledge, grip tightening to knuckle white as she tries to hold herself steady and regain her balance. But after a moment, Nesta realizes she’s not falling. In fact, she’s not even the one moving. It’s the stone beside her.

Nesta leaps to her feet, her heart lodging firmly in her throat. She already feels the loss like a gaping wound in her chest, the disappointment settling like a stone in her stomach, at what she knows is going to happen. Her gargoyle, her favorite gargoyle is going to go toppling over, and it’s going to be all her fault for leaning against it.

Nesta squeezes her eyes shut, unwilling to watch the disaster unfold. She waits for the crashing sound of stone shattering across the concrete below, but it never comes. Slowly, Nesta opens her eyes again, only to find her gargoyle still there. Except, where the gargoyle’s wings had been carved so they were tucked in tight, they’re now unfurled, stretched wide across the roof. It happens almost in slow motion, the gargoyle standing up from his knelt position, turning around and pinning his gaze right on Nesta.

She’s not breathing. Her limbs feel frozen in shock, in fear, and Nesta can do nothing but gape at the gargoyle now standing before her. The hair she had marveled at falls in dark strands to his shoulders, the curls rustling across his face in the breeze. They cut shadows across the strong line of his jaw, the scar etched through his right eyebrow, and Nesta realizes that his eyes are a piercing shade of hazel, sparking green and gold beneath the light of the full moon.

At least she was right about the tattoos. Whirls of black ink are etched across the golden brown skin of his chest, his shoulders. They weave their way down his arm all the way to his wrists. Down to his claws. Despite his large frame, despite the wide set shoulders and the bulk of muscle, looking at his face, Nesta could almost pretend he was human. But there’s no denying it with those claws. With the massive, purple wings that loom just behind his shoulders. With the tail that swishes out from behind his legs.

“Nesta.”

The gargoyle speaking her name, his voice a deep timbre that seems to rumble from deep within his chest, is enough to jolt her back to herself and into action. She whirls around and runs for the roof door, but the gargoyle lands right in front of her, those purple wings splayed wide and blocking her path. Nesta stumbles back before she can crash right into him, her heart thundering away in her chest. Now that they’re standing on equal ground, she can see just how tall he is, having to crane her head up just to keep her gaze on his.

“Why do you run from me, my mate?” the gargoyle asks, tilting his head and sending his dark hair cascading over one shoulder.

Nesta feels hysterical, fear rising like bile in the back of her throat, but somehow she’s able to choke out the words, “what did you just call me?”

The gargoyle tilts his head again, his eyes sweeping over her frame, and it feels like he’s studying her, like he’s cataloging every miniscule detail he finds buried beneath her skin. It’s unnerving. His attention slides back to her face, and Nesta is surprised to see anger etched across his expression, a burning blaze in his eyes and pinching his lips into a thin line.

He stalks closer to her, his hand reaching up between them, and Nesta’s entire body locks up with a flinch. She braces for the searing pain those claws promise, for the beast before her to kill her. Instead, his hand settles gently to cradle her face, large palm spanning her entire cheek and jaw. His thumb traces back and forth across her cheekbone, that small touch sending sparks ricocheting through Nesta’s blood.

“Who?” the gargoyle asks, his dark tone promising pain and death.

Nesta is confused by the question until she remembers the party, Tomas, the dried tear tracks she’s sure are marring her face. It’s then that she realizes the anger radiating off the gargoyle isn’t actually directed at her. It’s almost sweet, the way he seems to care.

Nesta reaches up and knocks his hand away from her face. “It doesn’t matter.”

The gargoyle huffs and crosses his arms across his chest. Nesta hates the way it makes his biceps bulge, the way it just draws further emphasis to the fact he’s shirtless.

“It matters when someone hurts my mate.”

“Stop calling me that,” Nesta snaps, taking a pointed step back from him. “You don’t know me.”

“I know all of your secrets, Nesta,” the gargoyle tells her, the sound of her name falling past his lips leaving goosebumps pebbling across her skin. “You whispered them to me every day.”

Heat prickles up Nesta’s neck and floods into her cheeks at that. She thinks back to all the time she spent up here. All the things she muttered, she shouted, she cried. It was meant to be a place for her to just let those things out. She had no idea the whole time this gargoyle was alive, that he was listening to her.

“You weren’t meant to hear any of that. You’re made of stone.”

The gargoyle’s hand reaches out again, claws curling around Nesta’s wrist this time, as he tugs her closer and presses her palm against the center of his chest. “Does this feel like stone, sweetheart?”

Instinctively, almost of their own accord, Nesta’s fingers curl and press against his skin. He’s just so warm, heat practically radiating from his body, and there’s no denying the firm muscles beneath her hand. They seem to jump and flex beneath her touch, and Nesta has to swallow hard. She tries to pull her hand away, but the gargoyle’s grip is firm, holding her there, and fluttering just beneath her fingertips, she feels it…

“A heartbeat…”

A smirk pulls its way across his face, the expression making him even more handsome. Nesta decides she hates that too. She hates that this gargoyle, this beast, could be so attractive. That the heat blazing through his hazel eyes caresses along her skin like a lover’s embrace. Keeping his hold on her wrist, he steps closer still until they’re toe to toe. Until Nesta can truly feel the heat radiating from him prickling across her whole body. Until her senses are once again flooded with that smoke and pine scent.

“It beats only for you, Nes.”

It’s like a corny line straight out of one of her romance novels. Straight out of one of her monsterfucking books, more like. She always joked with Emerie that she would never run screaming and scared like those heroines always did. Especially since the monsters always had them screaming for all the right reasons a few pages later. She never thought she’d actually have to put her money where her mouth is, never thought she’d ever have to put her own gripping fear to the test when staring down a monster.

“Do you have a name?” Nesta asks, hoping that if she can keep the gargoyle talking, can keep him distracted, she can figure out a plan.

“Cassian,” he tells her, his free hand burying itself in her hair, tilting her head up more.

“Cassian…”

Cassian groans when she repeats his name back to him, leaning down and burying his face in the crook of her neck. His nose slides along her skin, his lips following the same blazing path until he reaches a spot behind her ear. Nesta’s breath hitches in her lungs as he kisses there, his teeth scraping teasingly, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to stay focused, but her body seems keen on betraying her. Both his hands move to settle at her waist, his grip on her gentle, almost reverent, but it’s loose enough to give her the chance she needs.

She counts to three in her mind, and then she tears herself away from him, sprinting for the roof door. Blessedly, it doesn’t stick for once, and Nesta runs down the stairs as fast as she can. She dares to look back over her shoulder when she reaches her floor, but even though there’s no sign of Cassian, she doesn’t slow down.

She slams her apartment door closed behind her as soon as she’s safely inside, sliding the locks into place and double checking them to be safe. With a relieved breath, she slowly backs away from the door, pressing a hand to her chest and willing her still thundering heart to calm. She wonders if she should call the police. She’s not quite sure what she’d say to them, but it seems like the logical thing to do.

The soft whooshing sound of her balcony door swinging open has Nesta whirling around with wide eyes, realizing she’s made a grave error in her escape plan. She never locks that door. It always seemed silly since her apartment was so high up. Who could ever break-in that way? Not to mention that balcony is a loose term anyways. It's more like a ledge, barely enough space for the plant Elain gifted her the first week she moved in.

But clearly it’s enough space for Cassian to land, his steps slow, measured as he walks inside Nesta’s apartment, a predator stalking his prey. She expects him to be angry, but instead, he merely smiles at her, a cocksure smirk that tugs up higher on the left side of his lips, hazel eyes practically glinting as he watches her.

“You keep trying to run from me, but I don’t think you realize it only excites me more.”

Nesta looks around frantically, trying to find some sort of weapon, something to defend herself with. She spies an old candlestick holder, something Gwyn had thrifted when helping to decorate her apartment. She grabs it now, turning back toward Cassian with it brandished, but he’s already crossed the distance between them without her noticing. His hand catches her wrist, halting her movements, and he raises an eyebrow, that smug smirk of his still painted across his face.

“Your fire excites me too.” Cassian squeezes until the candlestick drops from Nesta’s hand, his other arm sliding around her waist and pulling her into him. “I have waited a very, very long time to hear your song.”

“I’ll scream,” Nesta threatens, raising her chin defiantly.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

“Quite confident for someone who’s apparently waited a very, very long time.”

Cassian chuckles, the sound warm and low, as he slides his thumb across Nesta’s bottom lip. “A haughty witch, my mate.”

“I’m not your anything, you insufferable bastard,” Nesta tells him, jerking head back and away from his hand.

“You can’t lie to me. I know that you feel it too. Our souls are bound together.”

“Not interested. Go fly off and bother someone else.”

“But they wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful as you are.”

Try as she might, Nesta can’t help but preen beneath his praise. It’s only made worse by the knowing look that graces his face. Both his hands come up to frame her cheeks, tilting her head up enough that when he leans down their noses bump together. It leaves barely a hairsbreadth of space between them, Cassian’s breath skating across her lips with every exhale. She presses up onto her toes, her body leaning forward into him almost subconsciously before she catches herself, remembering that she doesn't know this man. Remembering that he's not even a man.

“Need something, Nes?” Cassian asks, his voice quiet but full of teasing.

The tone has Nesta huffing in frustration, latching back onto her anger. “If you try to kiss me, I’ll scratch your eyes out.”

Cassian snarls softly. “Do it then.”

Nesta can’t say she ever imagined what it might be like kissing a gargoyle, but it certainly wasn’t this. All other thoughts, all other protests, melt away as he crashes his mouth against hers. His lips slide against hers with practiced ease, rough and with abandon. His tongue presses hotly into her mouth, and there’s no stopping the moan that tumbles free from her throat. The sound only seems to spur him on, Cassian greedily swallowing down every sound. His arm drops back to her waist, pulling her flush against him until she can feel every hard ridge of his body pressed against her.

Before Nesta realizes they're even moving, her back bumps into the wall. Cassian's tail slides up her calf and curls around her thigh, lifting her leg so he can slide into the cradle of her hips. She can feel the hard line of his erection with every rock of his hips against hers, and heat cascades through her veins, pooling low in her gut. Her whole body feels alright, sparking in the most delicious way, and soon, she's shifting her own hips to meet his movements, chasing that blessed friction. She buries her hands in his hair, tugging at the strands, tugging him closer still until he's the one groaning into her mouth.

Cassian pulls his mouth away from hers, latching onto her neck. His teeth sink into the skin of her pulse point, tongue soothing over the pain, and that fire in Nesta's veins turns into a roaring blaze. The flames lick through her limbs and spark through her nerve endings, until she can do nothing but tug Cassian's mouth back to hers and kiss him greedily.

“Which door?” Cassian asks when he pulls away again, voice a breathless rasp and teeth nipping at her bottom lip.

Nesta blinks a few times, trying desperately to shake the hazy fog that's taken over her mind. “What?”

“Which door?”

“The left. Second on the left.”

The tail slips away from Nesta's thigh, just to be replaced by Cassian's hands. He hauls her up and against him, hands slipping back to knead at her ass. Nesta isn't sure if it's the wings or just his long legs, but it's no time at all before they're in her bedroom, before Cassian is depositing her on her bed. He clambers up after her, settling between her legs and leaning down to continue his ministrations along her neck. One clawed finger drags from her collarbones down, shredding her dress clean down the middle with precision and ease.

“Was that really necessary?” Nesta snaps, even as she sits up enough that she can pull what remains of her dress off.

Cassian hums noncommittally, clearly only half listening, his attention wholly on her heaving chest. His hand reaches toward her breast, but Nesta is quick to smack it away. Replacing her dress is one thing, but bras are expensive. She reaches her own hands back to unclasp the garment, sliding it off and tossing it aside. She settles back on her elbows against the blankets, her skin heating under Cassian's hungry gaze.

“Beautiful,” Cassian whispers, to her or to himself, Nesta isn't sure. “My beautiful Nesta.”

He surges forward and connects their lips again, groaning into her mouth as he presses her back against the mattress. One of his hands finds her chest, the large span of it covering her breast completely. He kneads and squeezes, the prickle of his claws against her skin mixing the pleasure with pain.

Nesta is a panting mess by the time he pulls away from the kiss. He trails his mouth along her jaw, her neck, her collarbones, stopping periodically to nip at the skin, to suck until more breathy moans tumble from Nesta’s lips. His hand leaves her breast, and Nesta would be annoyed at the loss, except he replaces it with his mouth. She practically arches up off the mattress as his tongue swirls over her nipple.

She can feel the way Cassian smirks against her skin, and she would feel more abashed about the reaction he pulled from her, but his mouth working her over feels too good. The way his teeth graze slightly, the way he sucks, the way his tongue moves in languid circles, it’s obscene, and by the time he’s switching to her other breast, Nesta can do nothing but writhe beneath him, her hips bucking up in a desperate search for some friction. Cassian’s tail slips around his thigh, sliding across her hips, and Nesta lets out a frustrated huff as it keeps her pinned down to the mattress.

“Patience, Nes,” Cassian chastises, lowering his mouth again for extra, torturous, good measure.

Nesta rolls her eyes, but blessedly, Cassian moves down the mattress, moves down between her legs, pressing kisses along her sternum and stomach. He pauses to suck a lovebite near her hip bone, his hands sliding up her ankles, her calves, before curling around her thighs. They tug until she’s spread wide for him, one finger sliding tantalizing, teasingly, over her still clothed center.

“For someone who was threatening to scratch my eyes out, you’re practically dripping for me,” Cassian tells her, pressing the barest hint of pressure against her clit.

“For someone who was so confident, you’ve yet to prove anything,” Nesta fires back, burying a hand in his hair and shoving his head down where she really wants him.

Cassian chuckles, but he leans down and licks a long, thick stripe over her, his groan almost as loud as Nesta’s moan. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to bury my face in your sweet cunt. How long I’ve waited for you to finally come to me on a full moon.”

The words settle in the back of Nesta’s mind, whispering for attention, but she’s too distracted watching as Cassian’s claws tease the waistband of her panties. Slowly, those claws curl, tugging the fabric down her legs and off. Her discarded panties have barely even hit the floor before Cassian presses his mouth against her, his tongue finding her clit and moving in those same delicious circles he’d used on her breast. Nesta tosses her head back, letting a low moan of his name, but just as quickly as he started, Cassian stops.

“Eyes on me,” Cassian orders, his claws squeezing at her thighs in warning. “I want to watch your face when you fall apart for me.”

Nesta whimpers quietly at his words, but she tilts her chin back down to meet his gaze. It feels like a mistake. All of his teasing already has her dangling by a thread, but the sight of him has her soaring even higher. His wings are splayed out wide across the blankets, his dark curls disheveled from Nesta running her fingers through him, and his eyes… The piercing hazel of them still glints in the moonlight that pours in through her bedroom window, but there’s a dark quality to them, a hunger, the pupils blown so wide they almost swallow any other color up.

And though Nesta can’t see his whole face, she can tell just from those eyes that he’s smirking again.

Cassian keeps his gaze pinned on her, but he devours her with a fervor that has Nesta struggling to do the same. Her fingers grip and tug at his hair just to give herself some sort of anchor. He alternates between swirling his tongue over her clit and fucking it in and out of her, every groan against her sending vibrations all the way down to her toes. Each hot, wet slide of his mouth against her has Nesta climbing higher and higher concerningly fast, and even though Cassian’s grip has her practically pinned so she can’t rock and grind against his face the way she really wants to, she’s already so close.

Every sound out of Nesta’s mouth is a breathy moan, a choked off sound of Cassian’s name. She can feel the familiar heat coiling low in her gut, twisting tighter and tighter, and it takes all of her willpower to keep her eyes open, to keep her eyes on the man, the beast, buried between her thighs. Cassian’s lips close around her clit, sucking, and that’s it. Her eyes finally squeeze shut as she shatters, thighs pressing against his grip on them as she tries to clamp them around his head.

Nesta is barely able to catch her breath, has barely come down from the aftershocks of her orgasm still ricocheting through her, when she feels Cassian’s tongue on her again. She lets out a whimper at the overstimulation, trying to squirm away from his mouth, but he lets out a snarl, his claws digging into her thigh until it starts to sting. It’s a firm reminder of exactly who’s between her thighs right now. Exactly what.

“It’s too much,” Nesta whines, trying to move away again, her knee knocking against his temple.

Cassian’s tail whips around and curls around her ankle, tugging her leg back down and pinning it there. He licks another stripe up her cunt, moaning at the taste, before meeting her gaze again. “My mate can take it. I know you can.”

“Cassian…”

Nesta's protest ends in a choked off moan as Cassian sinks one of his claws into her. Just one of them is thicker than her own fingers have ever been, the stretch somehow too much and not enough at the same time.

“That's it,” Cassian praises, leaning down to lick at her clit again while his claw moves slowly in and out. “So tight, sweetheart. Can't wait to feel you squeezing my cock.”

Nesta whimpers at his words, at the way he curls his claw inside her. She's already dangerously close again, her whole body on pins and needles as she balances on that precipice. Her hips start to rock down against his hand, against his face, while she chases that release, back bowing off the bed with every lick and suck to her clit.

“Eyes on me,” Cassian snaps, his hand stilling until Nesta drags her attention back to his face. “That's my good girl.”

Cassian's eyes widen as Nesta's whole body responds to those words, as she clenches around him and a loud moan tears free from deep in her chest. Somewhere, in the back of Nesta's mind, she knows she should be embarrassed, but the praise shoots through her like lightning, and she wants to hear it again.

“Do you like that?” Cassian asks, that smirk of his returning. “My good girl, my pretty mate, taking my fingers so well.”

Cassian presses in a second claw beside the first, and Nesta's toes curl, her thighs shaking against the hold of his free hand and his tail.

“Fuck, you're so beautiful like this. But you're even more beautiful when you come. Come on, Nes. Be my good girl and come again for me.”

Cassian dips his head back down, and one lick of her clit has Nesta tumbling head first through another orgasm. The force of another one so quickly has tears prickling in the corner of her eyes, but thankfully, when she slumps back against the mattress, Cassian’s grip on her thighs finally relents.

He slides back up her body, connecting their lips again. Nesta can taste the remnants of herself on his tongue, and it has her moaning into his mouth. She slides her hand down his hair, his shoulders, his chest, until she reaches the waistband of his pants, the only garment of clothing he’s wearing, but before she can tug at them, her wrists are pinned back against the mattress, just one of Cassian’s clawed hands holding both of hers.

“Cassian,” Nesta whines against his lips, trying to buck her hips up against him. “Fuck me.”

Cassian chuckles and shakes his head teasingly. “So demanding.”

“Get used to it.”

“Happily.”

Cassian shifts off of Nesta and the bed, reaching for the waistband of his pants and shoving them down his legs. Nesta’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. With his large frame catching in the moonlight, his purple wings stretched wide over his shoulders, his hair falling in dark rivulets around his face, he looks like a fallen angel, a warrior from some long forgotten, ancient, magical people. He’s beautiful. The most beautiful man she’s ever seen despite not even being a man, and something tugs deep in Nesta’s chest almost in recognition, as her eyes sweep over him.

And his cock. Realistically, Nesta knew that with how tall he was, he was bound to be large, but knowing and seeing are two different things, and seeing the long, thick length hard and already weeping between his strong thighs has her swallowing hard. Has her clenching in anticipation. One clawed hand wraps around it, stroking once, twice, before Cassian steps back over to the bed, kneeling up onto the mattress. Nesta spreads her legs wider almost instinctively, and when Cassian settles back between them, she tugs him down into another kiss.

She waits for Cassian to press his hips down, for him to finally sink into her, but he continues to hold himself up above her. She lets out a frustrated huff and wraps her legs around his waist, digging her heels in encouragingly, but it doesn’t work. Cassian merely laughs amusedly against her lips and presses a line of kisses across her cheek.

“Be a good girl and beg for it,” Cassian breathes against her ear.

“Cassian, please. Please fuck—”

Nesta doesn’t even finish before Cassian is shifting and the tip of him is sliding into her. His thrusts are shallow, sinking in inch by inch by inch, and the stretch borders just on the edge of pain, but Nesta has never felt so full in her life. When he finally bottoms out, Cassian stills, their hips pressed flushed together, his nose and lips tracing a path along Nesta’s neck, her jaw, to that spot behind her ear that always has her shuddering.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Cassian groans against her skin. “So perfect for me.”

Nesta experiments with clenching down around him, and the moan it draws out of him goes straight to her head. She does it again, and at least, this time, she doesn’t have to beg for anything. Cassian pulls his hips back just to snap back forward again. He sets a brutal pace, hips knocking against hers with every rough thrust. It’s just the way Nesta likes it, and she digs her nails into his shoulders, dragging them down his arms, as he works her into a moaning mess.

Cassian sits back on his haunches, pulling Nesta’s legs so they’re splayed across his thighs, as he continues to move. “Gods, look at you. Look at how you take me.”

“Look at you,” Nesta breathes around a moan, and gods, does she mean it.

With his wings flared wide above them, with his hair falling into his face, with the muscles in his thighs and stomach flexing with every snap of his hips, the sight is obscene. Almost as obscene at the sounds echoing around the four walls of her bedroom. She had already been absolutely dripping from her two previous orgasm, but now she’s sure she’s made a complete mess. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it just seems to turn her on more and more, and she can feel herself cresting higher to that blessed peak.

Cassian’s thumb finds her clit again, and Nesta barely lasts a few tight circles against it before the dam breaks. He continues to move his hips, working her through it and stretching out her orgasm. Nesta’s entire body feels wrung out by the time she comes back down, her every muscle loose and sated as she sinks into the mattress.

She tries to focus on her breathing, on calming her thrashing heart and shaking the pins and needles feeling that pinches at her fingers and toes. But she realizes with a jolt that Cassian is still pressed hot and hard inside her, and when he thrusts his hips shallowly, her eyes snap back open again.

“Cassian,” Nesta whines in protest, her nails digging in hard enough into his bicep she’s sure she’s drawn blood. “I can’t.”

Cassian leans back down over her, pulling her legs back up and around his waist. “I know my pretty mate can give me one more.”

He presses in deep, merely grinding his hips down against her, and Nesta lets out a choked off sob of a moan, tears leaking freely from the corner of her eyes. She tries to shift beneath him, tries to find some relief, but Cassian’s tail curls around her ankles, keeping her legs locked around his back.

“You promised to scream, remember?” Cassian continues, keeping the drag of his cock in and out of her slow and torturous. “Want to hear you scream my name while you come all over my cock.”

Nesta wants to hate the way her body is already heating again at his ministrations, but it feels too good for her to care, some part deep within her keening at the roughness of it all, rising to meet the very beast above her. She drags her hands back up and into his hair, tugging hard at the strands until she can pull Cassian’s mouth down to her, until she can sink her teeth into his bottom lip.

“Then make me scream.”

Cassian lets out a growl, and then the monster is truly unleashed. His hips slap against hers, the mattress rattling in the bedframe with every inward thrust. With her legs still secured by his tail, Nesta can do nothing but hold on, loud moans and screams of his name falling past her lips just like he wanted.

She dares to reach a hand up over his shoulders, dares to slide her fingertips against the leathery skin of his wings, and Cassian practically roars. He slams himself to the hilt, his hips stilling and warmth spreading through Nesta as he spills inside her. It’s enough to send her tumbling over the edge with him, her whole body shaking with this release, spots popping in her vision.

They both take a moment to catch their breath, and then Cassian is shifting off of her and the bed. She hears the shuffle of his feet, hears rummaging and the sound of running water further in her apartment, and when he returns, he has a warmth cloth to help clean her up. He helps Nesta to slip beneath the blankets, and though it’s a bit awkward with his wings, he slides in beside her, curling his arms tight around her waist. Nesta practically melts into him, letting out a soft, happy sigh as her eyes flutter shut.

Cassian’s finger traces lines and patterns between the freckles on her shoulder before he dips his head to press a kiss there. “Sleep, my mate.”

Nesta doesn’t need to be told twice.

~ * * * ~

When Nesta wakes, her bedroom is flooded with the murky light that comes from early dawn, casting shadows across the space while the sun’s few first morning rays creep their way through her window. She feels surprisingly cold, and she shivers, curling the blankets tighter around her shoulders. She realizes belatedly that it’s Cassian’s warmth that she’s missing, and when she stretches a hand out, she only finds sheets beside her.

With a frown, she rolls over properly, only to find Cassian standing in front of the window, looking out at the morning and the streets below. At least, she thinks it’s Cassian. He still has those dark curly strands hanging down to his shoulders, still has that expanse of golden brown skin and whirls of black ink. But gone are the claws, the tail, the sprawling purple wings.

“Cassian?” Nesta asks, sitting up and scrubbing a hand across her eyes.

Cassian turns at the sound of his name, smiling at her. There’s a softness to his hazel eyes that has them glinting pure gold in the early morning light, a softness to his smile and his expression that has Nesta’s heart stuttering between her ribs until warmth bursts and blooms there.

“You’re not a…”

“You broke my curse,” Cassian explains, stepping back over to the bed.

Nesta blinks a few times, willing her brain to fully wake up. “Curse?”

“Yes,” Cassian tells her, sitting on the mattress and reaching a hand up, gently tucking a strands of hair back behind her ear. “In my village, mates were rare, but they were sacred. Everyone hoped and dreamed of meeting theirs someday. But there was this witch, Amarantha, and she didn’t take too kindly to being rejected, especially because of mates, so she cursed us all.”

“But I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.”

“You found me. Amarantha thought she was so conniving with her rules, finding a mate under a full moon, but you did. My pretty, clever mate.”

Nesta can feel a flush creeping up her neck at his words. “So, what happens now? This whole mate thing?”

Cassian chuckles softly and takes Nesta’s hand in his, pressing her palm against the center of his chest just as he did last night, his heart still a steady beat beneath her fingertips. “I told you. Our souls are bound together. You are mine, and I am yours.”

Nesta can’t stop the incredulous laugh that tears free from her. “So, that’s it then?”

Cassian’s smile is blinding as his hands come up to cradle her face, as he presses her back against the pillows. “That’s it then.”

Nesta is sure that she’ll have a million other questions later, but it’s hard to focus on anything else when Cassian starts pressing feather light kisses along the skin of her neck. She sighs contently as he nips at her pulse point, her legs wrapping up around his hips. She buries one hand in the dark strands of his hair, the other sliding down his spine, but as her hand slides over his skin, she pouts over his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss the wings though.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @girl-of-many-floods @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head

#nessian #cassianappreciationweek2023 #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #gargoyle cassian #my fic

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loousir · 3 years

Text

Monster Masterlist

I’ll update this page with links as I add stuff

If you wanna request, ask box is open. Here's a link to a bunch of monsters.

Adding cut to save space <3

Merfolk

Marlow (Merman)

Satyr

Dakota

Naga

Syerca

Cassius

Werewolf

Casey | Part One | Part Two (SFW->NSFW) |

Draven

Demons

Morgan (Incubus)

Gorgon

Eros | Part One |

Orc

Borhul

Angel

Ampharos

Elf

Faelynn

Oni

Takumi

Vampire

Silas [NSFW]

Fynn

Untitled Vampire Story Intro/Setting/Masterlisthesitancy,

Abel | Part One | Part Two

Centaur

Elias and Soran (UNFINISHED)

Fae/Fairy/Pixie

Morrin (Fae)

Dullahan

Duncan

7 Deadly Sins Series

Lust - Freed (Demon) [NSFW] [🔥HOT🔥]

Pride - Cassian (Octomer) | Part One | Part Two | Part Three (WIP) |

Prompt Fills

Final Assignment - Amadaeus, Theirin, Helios (Cryptid/Eldritch) | Part One |

Another Way - Unnamed (Demon/Devil)

Day 1 - Muscles/Body Mods [Orc, Larek]

Day 2 - Marking [Werewolf, Leon]

Day 3 - Bathing Them [Gargoyle, Danis]

Day 4 - Egg/Oviposition [Naga, Errus]

Day 5 - Stuck in a Wall [Tiefling, Rosamel]

Day 6 - Tentacles [Octomer, Octavis]

Day 7 - Sex Pollen [Fairy, Jynx]

Day 8 - Horns/Tail [Demon]

Day 9 - Kissing/Sucking/Mouths [Shapeshifter, Phase]

Day 10 - Auralism [Angel, Raphael]

Day 11 - Blood Play [Vampire]

Day 12 - Somnophilia [Incubus]

Day 13 - Posession [Ghost]

Day 14 - Age Gap [Elf]

Day 15 - Role Reversal [Dragonborn]

Day 16 - Temperature Play [Cursed Human]

Day 17 - Double Penetration [Merman]

Day 18 - Praise [Inu]

Day 19 - Edging [Kitsune]

Day 20 - Guided Masturbation [Haunted Armour]

Day 21 - Size Difference [Minotaur]

Day 22 - Restraints/Bondage [Drider]

Day 23 - Threesome [Oni & Gorgon]

Day 24 - Tummy Bulge [Centaur]

Day 25 - Wet Dream [Dream Walker]

Day 26 - Hate Sex [Kelpie]

Day 27 - Cock-Warming [Lizardfolk]

Day 28 - Weak Spot [Neko]

Day 29 - Slime [Slime]

Day 30 - Public [Selkie]

Day 31 - My Choice 😈 [Wizard]

Looking for More?

Check out thetravelerwrites and their Exo Creators Masterlist! Its a great place to find a bunch of other creators and their stories!

#mxm #monster male #monster male x male reader #always adding #m4m #x male reader #oneshots #masterlist #exophilia

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years

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It's Tough to Be a God: Part III

Summary: Rhysand is a long forgotten God of Night. One day, he is unexpectedly summoned to the mortal realm when a human child leaves him an offering. Now, he will do everything in his power to protect his new High Priestess.

Inspired by this prompt x.

Masterlist ⟡ Read on AO3

Rhysand was certainly enjoying his new found freedom in the mortal realm. Being back in Velaris was a blessing. Though small compared to his moonstone palace in the Hewn City, he’d missed his humble temple, with its lavish furnishings and nyctophilic architecture. Everywhere, there was moonlight, streaming in from the wide, glassless window arches, through the open entryway, and down the large, open dome ceiling. It glowed gently against the marble floors and pillars, all elegantly carved with constellations created by his hand.

Rhys could smell the nearby river where it churned towards the ocean. He’d always loved the way the scent entwined with the cloy of jasmine, the flower planted around the temple, which bloomed only under the night sky. A gift, just for those who sought beauty under the stars.

But what Rhysand loved most of all about Velaris was the company. Aside from his own divine being, the temple housed four other spirits; two warriors, who guarded the sacred land, and two spirit-guides, there to aid the mortal’s wishes in his absence.

His family, who Rhys had missed more than he could possibly voice. They’d been waiting for him once he’d returned from taking Feyre hunting.

“Brother,” Cassian called, grin so wide it could stretch the expanse of the horizon. “What’s it been, a millennium?”

Rhysand returned his smile as he strode towards the winged male, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Have you missed me so much that three centuries felt so long?”

“Goodness, no,” Cassian said through a laugh, squeezing Rhys hard enough to indicate otherwise. “You just look as if you’ve aged that much.”

“And one millennium is being generous,” Azriel noted dryly, stepping into the space Cassian departed to offer his own, much more dignified, embrace. “I would have guessed at least four.”

“Nonsense, “ Mor scolded, moving to pat Rhysand on the back. “You don’t look a day over 3000, Rhys.”

Rhysand grinned good naturedly. “Why thank you, Mor.”

In truth, Rhys hadn’t lived past his first millenium. Hardly half that, in fact. He was relatively young among the divine, not that he had much in the way of responsibilities nowadays, with the decline of worship.

Amren did not move to embrace him, but she offered him a respectful bow of her head, which was practically a declaration of love from the strange and stolid female. He returned it in kind, his heart swelling to be back in their company. And he had a human child to thank, of all things.

“So, where’s our little High Priestess?” Cassian cooed, a mocking grin on his face.

Perhaps he should be embarrassed to know that his friends had been witness to the devotion he’d sworn to an eleven year old human. But Feyre was special, and he felt shameless for doting on her. She’d united him with his family, after all.

“I’ve taken her back to her cottage,” he answered. “Her family is poor, and she’s been left to be their breadwinner. In truth, I don’t understand where she’d gotten that piece of candy from.”

“Oh dear,” Mor cried in mock panic, “it seems I’ve misplaced that sweet you were after, Cassian.”

“Oh heavens no!” Cassian replied in the same tone. “How disappointing, I’d been looking forward to that for decades.”

Rhysand blinked. He couldn’t say he was surprised his return had been orchestrated by his family, but--

“How did you know she’d use the sweet as an offering? Any other starving child would have eaten it.”

Surprisingly, it was Azriel who answered. He glanced at the pedestals on which they usually stood in their gargoyle form, where they watched and guarded the temple.

“She’s been visiting Velaris for months now. Watching it, at first from a distance, then coming close enough to pick the jasmine.”

Cassian laughed. “She weaved crowns and put them on our heads. Even though we appeared to her as marble, she came to talk to us everyday. She’s a curious thing, and damn clever, too. We thought if we left a sweet for her to find, she’d be smart enough to wish for food for her family.”

Rhys nodded thoughtfully. Though her body was malnourished, it seemed her heart was moreso. It didn’t appear there was much love in the household he’d escorted Feyre back to. No mother, a distant father, and two sisters who seemed to only look after themselves. It had been difficult to leave her there, but he could hardly raise her in his temple. He could, however, monitor her through the bond that had formed from his vow; Rhysand could feel the gentle hum of her thoughts and emotions in the back of his mind, a sort of white noise he could tune out until Feyre’s emotions were running high.

As if on cue, there was a sudden spike in adrenaline that had him winnowing back to the cottage instantly, with hardly a word of explanation to his friends. He could feel Feyre’s anxiety like a twinge in his knee, could hear shrill voices in the back of his mind.

Outside the cottage, those shrill voices became more distinct. He could pick words from them now. Evidently, Feyre’s family had discovered her markings, and they were not pleased. With half a thought, he was barging through the shabby wooden door, laughing inwardly at the futile ward markings carved on the threshold.

He found Feyre in a flood of tears, shielding her arm out of sight as she cowered before her family.

“If you were going to sell yourself to some hedonistic god,” one of her sisters was saying, looking to be in her early teenage years. She had eyes like a frozen lake, with an icy exterior to match. Her furious glare was mercilessly fixed on Feyre, unmoved by her younger sister's tears. “The least you could have done was ask for something useful! You stupid, foolish girl!”

“My,” Rhys purred, letting some of that ancient darkness add a timbre to his voice, “is that any way to speak to the young lady who’s caught you dinner? Further, is that any way to speak to my friend?”

It was bold indeed, to claim that a friendship with a God of Night was something useless.

Feyre’s family went rigid as Rhysand spoke, and as one they turned their startled eyes to his ethereal form.

The doe-eyed sister, who seemed to be the middle child in age, immediately bowed her head. Her fear was palpable from where Rhysand stood across the room. “It is an honor to be in your gracious presence, divine Lord.”

He waved away the appellation; they’d already demonstrated well enough how deeply their respect lay. Any honorifics now would be a pretense for self-preservation, which would only further kindle his rage.

“Listen carefully,” he said, “for I will only say this once. Feyre here is under my protection. That I don’t smite you now for your blasphemy is entirely for her sake, which means your lives are in her debt twice over. I advise you heed this warning, and that you don’t soon forget where your meals come from.”

Slowly, Rhysand strode across the room towards Feyre. Her sisters drew back like his presence was an open flame and they’d be scorched to come too close. He offered them an unkind smile before he knelt before Feyre, for the second time that day.

Why are you weeping, darling?

Feyre jumped as the words sounded in her mind. She turned those wide, glistening eyes to Rhysand, looking equal parts confused and amazed.

If you pretend you’re shouting at me in your mind, he explained, then I’ll be able to hear you, as well.

Like this?

He smiled encouragingly. Exactly like that. Well done, Feyre. Now, what troubles you?

They didn’t like my tattoo. She looked down to her arm and sniffled.

Her expression was so forlorn, it tugged at his heart in ways he did not understand. Never before had he felt such sympathy for a human. Yet, all he wanted was to comfort her.

Do you like your tattoo? He asked gently.

Feyre nodded, tracing idle fingers along the whorls of ink.

Well, if you like your tattoo, it hardly matters if they don’t. But I must say, I think your tattoo is wonderful.

This seemed to cheer her up a fraction. They said tattoos are a bad omen.

Well, I have tattoos. And many of my friends do. Would it make you feel better to meet others who have them?

Feyre seemed to consider this for a moment, and then she nodded.

Rhysand met her big blue eyes steadily. Come back to the temple tomorrow afternoon. You can meet others with tattoos, and see that they are not so bad. Afterwards, we can go hunting again. Does that sound like fun?

He watched a slow smile bloom on Feyre’s lips. Already, her tears were forgotten. Rhysand felt a knot in his heart loosen as he returned her smile. He patted her head softly before he rose.

Feyre’s family had watched the silent exchange in mute horror. He met their eyes now, a dark promise in his gaze lest they forget his warning. His perusal stopped on the father, who watched from a cot before the hearth.

He’d clearly been in the process of treating his wounds while his daughters bickered, from the short-cut trousers he bore and the open container of salve beside him. Rhys arched a brow at the display, observing the mangled skin at his knees and calves.

“Such a wound could be treated with half a thought by any divine being, especially the Dawn deities you mortals so uphold. Why not visit a temple and have it healed?”

The father’s face crumpled with an unreadable expression, but Rhysand could smell his shame in the air.

“It would come at a cost,” was his answer.

Rhysand looked pointedly at Feyre. The man’s youngest daughter had resorted to wandering the woods to feed her family, and was so neglected she’d made an offering to a god for company. Things could have easily turned out much, much different for her had Rhysand not been a benevolent deity.

He looked back to the father, willing him to understand such a thing. “Come at a cost?” Rhysand repeated with a mocking laugh. “It already has.”

Taglist: Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@cretaceous-therapod @arrowmusings @feybaenc @live-the-fangirl-life @imsecretlyaherondale-blog @way-toomanyfandoms @feysandandnyxsworld @rhysexy @dontbenddontbreak @acreativelydifferentlove @maddieboo8 @inejsarrow @whoever-you-choose-to-love

#it's tough to be a god #feysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fic #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #fanfiction #sjm #sjm fic #Child Feyre #God Rhys #non romantic #fluffy and wholesome

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separatist-apologist · 3 years

Text

Turn Your Ghosts Into Mine

Summary: The Archeron women have been considered witches in their little Massachusetts town of Velaris for centuries and Nesta, Elain, and Feyre are no exceptions. After witnessing a love spell gone horribly wrong, the three young girls create a spell for their perfect man, vowing they will not love until they meet this man.

That, of course, all goes out the window when adult Feyre meets Tamlin Angelov. When Arizona detectives Lucien Vanserra, Rhysand Windhaven, and Cassian Sidra arrive on their doorsteps looking for the missing man, all three Archeron women will be forced to reconcile who they are and their place in Velaris.

Practical Magic AU

Happy Halloween Surprise! @highladydawn and I have been working on this all month! Super excited to be able to post chapter 1! They'll post chapter 2, and so on and so forth until chapter 9!

For more than two hundred years, the Archeron women had been blamed for everything that had gone wrong in town. If a dry summer arrived, destroying what little crops were grown in Velaris, Massachusetts, if a baby became sick and died with colic, or kitchen fire erupted, taking an entire house with it, everyone believed a little magic had been worked, at least in part, by the women living on Magnolia street. It didn’t matter if the problem was dry heat or a candle left burning while the home occupants slept or a contaminated well. It didn’t matter if a reasonable explanation could explain the reasons behind unlucky and ill-timed events. The moment the air shifted and the wind blew in trouble, the people of Velaris immediately turned their eyes and their pointing fingers towards the Archeron women.

They’d convinced themselves there was no safety for them, regardless of how far they were from any of Archerons. The women were shunned in public, their children teased, their house avoided. Only the most foolish of residents would dare look an Acheron in the eye, let alone walk through the black wrought-iron gate that circled the house and knock on the heavy, green painted door.

Inside the house there were no clocks or mirrors and every door had exactly three locks. Mice lived under the floorboards and in the walls, in the dresser drawers and cabinets where they feasted on any linens they could find indiscriminately, eating both well-worn cotton and the lace embroidered tablecloths.

It was rumored, though no one had ever been brave enough to ask, let alone brave inside to count, that the window seats, the mantels, and the floors themselves were made of fifteen different types of wood. Golden oak, silver ash, and a fragrant type of cherrywood gave the house the peculiar but not altogether unpleasant scent of ripe fruit, even in the dead of winter. More magic, the townspeople would whisper, as the combination kept dust from collecting no matter how much might gather in other places.

The house was dark and the children, when they dared, often crept through the lawn to peer into the house through windows half hidden by wild ivy. No one could ever see inside, not even when light glimmered towards the streets. It was the same on the inside; green-tinted windows made the outside world seem like a dream, hazy and clouded with magic.

Three little girls lived in the attic, sisters and each thirteen months apart exactly. Living with their aunts, they were never made to go to bed before midnight and no one cared if they ran wild in wrinkled or stained clothes, if they screamed early in the morning or late into the night. They were allowed to sleep with their shoes on and draw on the walls of their bedrooms with crayons and markers and no one told them if they demanded chocolate cake for breakfast. They could climb the roof and sit perched like little gargoyles on the dark grey peaks as they waited for the stars to appear, arguing loudly if wishes came true.

The sisters were raised by their aunts, orphans after their untimely death of their parents. Rumors swirled on how their parents died, the topic of gossip from the moment all three girls arrived in black dresses, dumped on their aunts doorstep. Fire, flood, homicide and suicide were all casually discussed in bars and restaurants, on the street and in the schools. No one knew for sure and as time passed, the stories grew only more outrageous in nature and strayed further from the truth.

The girls, though, knew it was the Archeron curse that took their father and heartbreak that took their mother. The Archeron curse was written in their bones, passed down from mother to daughter from as long as Archeron’s lived in Velaris. A relative, named Mary, had been exiled from her town to what would become Velaris, pregnant and accused of witchcraft. It was at the exact spot the old Archeron mansion still stood she waited for her lover to come to her and when he didn’t, she cast a spell that kept her from ever falling in love again. Twisted with despair and anger, the spell became a curse, passed down until it found their parents and, if they weren’t careful, might find them as well.

The girls were close, bonded by more than just their tragedy. They shared a room though there were plenty for them to choose from and when thunder rumbled softly outside, or rain began to pelt against thin glass windows, the three would huddle together in the same bed, holding each other as they shared the exact same dreams. The girls could finish the other’s sentences and loved to play a game where they closed their eyes and guessed what the other thought, what they felt or, if they were feeling particularly mischievous, what they’d eaten the day before.

Despite their closeness, however, the three were entirely different in temperament and appearance. The oldest and the youngest, Feyre and Nesta, shared the beautiful Archeron gray eyes and blonde streaked brown hair while middle Elain, considered the most beautiful of three, could have passed as a child born outside of the Archerons entirely with hair that skewed closer to blonde and eyes the color of a fawns coat.

Imperious Nesta and wild Feyre were most often at odds, too opposite in all the worst ways. Nesta preferred everything done precisely her way while Feyre was content to move through life like a hurricane, blazing a path of mess and destruction she wasn’t terribly inclined to pick up after. Nesta would tilt her chin upwards and ignore the hateful comments and the cruel teasing while Feyre preferred to defend her honor and her family with her fists and elbows. Nesta was most often found curled against a window like a cat, her nose shoved in a book while Feyre hung from trees and jumped into the ocean with wild abandon.

Between the two was Elain, always somewhere in the middle. She picked up her sister’s messes and mediated their fights, content to hide in their shadows. Elain preferred the sunlight and things that bloomed. By the time she was in third grade, Elain had begun cooking healthy meals for the family and began packing her sisters lunch boxes. Nesta ate the whole wheat bread sandwiches and vegetables out of a sense of duty to her sister while Feyre immediately dumped the lunches into the trash, favoring brownies and sloppy joes found in the school cafeteria.

Despite their differences, they kept each other’s secrets, pinky promises, and crossed their hearts and hoped to die. They might have grown bitter and distant as they aged, but the school children refused to play with the sisters and avoided them best they could, crossing their fingers when the girls approached as if that might keep them away. The Archeron sisters were forced, then, to lean on each other. The other girls were especially cruel, refusing to play sports with the girls despite Feyre being the fastest runner in school. They shrieked when any of the girls came too close or came into the bathroom, and the sisters were never invited to parties.

“Fuck them all,” Feyre often said fiercely when the boys made noises and pulled faces at them. When she was feeling particularly feisty, Feyre would sometimes turn and scream BOO at them, causing at least one boy to wet himself much to his humiliation. Nesta would smirk, looking down her nose in that way that communicated she knew she was better than Velaris and the small minded people who resided within, but Elain never had the heart to fight back at all. She pretended not to be smart, she didn’t raise her hand and made herself small, hoping to be ignored altogether.

The children could giggle and gossip and ignore the girls entirely, but the truth of the matter was most of their mothers had been to the Acheron’s at least once in their lives. Red pepper tea for a troubled stomach or butterfly weed for nerves was occasionally the reason for the visit, but every adult woman in Velaris knew the Archeron aunts, Alis and Ripleigh’s real business was love potions. The aunts, like their nieces, were just as shunned from town social life but the moment a woman had a spat with a lover or found herself pregnant by someone that wasn’t her husband or discovered her boyfriend was unfaithful they’d be banging on the rickety backdoor of the Archeron house the moment the sun set.

The Archeron aunts could sense a woman’s desperation a mile away, sending the girls up to the attic before that first knock sounded. The girls would huddle on the stairs and watch women hand over an absurd price to make sure their crush liked them back or to keep their lover faithful. All three girls agreed the women who wanted another woman’s husband and were willing to do anything to get him without a care to who might be hurt in the process were not the kind of women they wanted to be. One particularly terrible night, the girls, thirteen, twelve, and eleven, watched a woman come barging through a storm desperate for a man that was not hers. Elain cowered as the dove was brought out, the woman given a pin. Elain flinched, hiding her face in Nesta’s nightgown as the woman stabbed the dove through the heart with the promise that her lover would feel the pin, winning her his devotion.

“I never want to fall in love,” Elain and Nesta sighed at the same time while Feyre, blue eyes alight, murmured, “I can’t wait to fall in love.”

All three girls followed the woman who murdered the sparrow, a pretty redhead named Amarantha obsessed with a married, handsome brunette named Hybern. Nesta wanted to prove such a spell could never work while Feyre was determined to prove the opposite. As always, Elain went between, curious and unconcerned how Amarantha’s story played out. Amarantha owned a diner and Hybern taught history at the local high school. Each day, for two weeks, the Archeron sisters would race from school to Amarantha’s diner, choose three red high top stools, and wait to see if Hybern came for Amarantha.

It took fourteen days for Hybern to walk through that door. Nesta scowled at the love sick expression on his beautiful face while Feyre clapped her hands together silently. Elain, though, watched Amarantha and how her black eyes glittered with want and satisfaction. Surely there was more to love than winning, she wondered?

A month later, Hybern left his wife and Amarantha and Hybern moved into a pretty little estate at the far end of the village. The girls' interest waned in what happened next though Elain’s unease never lessened. Every time she saw Amarantha it seemed as if some of her beauty had been leached from her face, replaced with exhaustion and something far uglier. By the time Elain was fifteen, Amarantha was back begging the aunts to undo what they’d originally done. All three sisters sat on the steps listening silently from the hall while Amarantha screamed and raged of a man who took the locks off the doors, even the bathroom so he was always with her, who fucked her constantly to the point she was raw and exhausted, and loved her to near blind devotion.

Elain, Feyre, and Nesta knew what Amarantha did not. There was no undoing what she’d done and despite how Amarantha raged and screamed, Alis and Ripleigh sent her back into the inky night with nothing more than a warning of what unchecked obsession could give a person.

It was that night that Nesta, Feyre, and Elain decided to try a little magic of their own. For Elain it was serious, for Feyre, fun and for Nesta, an exercise in discipline. Each girl snuck into the greenhouse after their aunts fell asleep with large, white mixing bowls and a book of their aunt’s spells.

“I won’t fall in love until I find this man,” the three chanted softly, clasping hands in a circle. It was Feyre who went first, giggling wildly as she plucked a yellow jasmine bloom.

“He shall have eyes the color of stars,” she told her sisters, ignoring how Nesta rolled her eyes. “He shall smell like the ocean in winter and revel in the night. He will be funny and he will love me the moment he sees me.”

“Amas Veritas,” Nesta reminded Feyre, naming their spell. “You’re not creating a man, you’re summoning true love.”

Feyre giggled again. “Same thing, Nes.”

Nesta looked at Elain, who reached for orange magnolias. She wanted to take it seriously. “He’ll hear my call a mile away. He can flip pancakes in the air. He’ll have molten colored hair and one brown eye, one gold. He’ll be marvelously kind and he will whistle my favorite song.”

Elain and Feyre both turned to Nesta who sighed softly and took a blood red gladiola. “He’ll be strong and disciplined…his hair will be black and it will be long. He’ll know how to use a sword…he’ll know me on sight.”

“None of these men exist,” Feyre whispered as they crept into the night, their sleep dresses fluttering around their legs.

“That’s the whole point,” Nesta replied with exasperation. “If they don’t exist, we can’t fall in love, and if we can’t fall in love, we can’t get hurt.”

But as they aged, only Nesta truly held to her word. While Feyre grew into a wild beauty that caught the attention of every man who saw her, Nesta only grew colder and more distant. She couldn’t forget the woman at the diner her red hair was streaked with gray, her black eyes empty. Hybern sat at the edge of the counter with a cup of coffee, watching her with adoration as he sucked the life from the woman who had once yearned for him so bad. She couldn’t forget or forgive their mother, who left them to grow up shunned in Velaris, dying of a broken heart instead of taking care of them.

And Elain, who had all but forgotten the summoning spell and the man with one brown and one gold eye and his molten hair of flame. An apple salesman, Graysen, had caught her eye and the pair began a quiet, lovely courtship. It was Feyre who left first, sneaking out in the middle of the night though Alis and Ripleigh would not have cared if she waltzed out the front door.

“Are you sure about this?” Elain asked, looking down at Isaac Hale. He caught Feyre’s duffle bag easily, laughing and stumbling over his own steps with his giddiness. Nesta watched with disapproving eyes.

“Come with me,” Feyre urged her sisters but Nesta merely stood silently while Elain wrapped her arms around her body.

“Don’t go,” Elain murmured. “I hate the thought of not being together.”

And though Nesta would never have admitted it, both sisters knew she felt the same.

“Do you love him enough to marry him?” Nesta asked, glancing down at the ring on Feyre’s hand.

“Oh, come on Nes. What’s enough? I hate this place, hate these people. I want to go someplace where no one has heard the name Archeron.”

“I feel like I’ll never see you again,” Elain said, throwing her arms around Feyre’s body. Nesta joined a moment later and the three stood there, clinging to each other as though they were girls again.

“Of course you will,” Feyre promised earnestly, looking between her sister. “We’re going to grow old together. I’ll bet the three of us are living in this big old house, just a couple of biddies surrounded by our cats….I’ll bet we all die on the same day, too.”

“You swear?” Elain asked as Nesta’s hands balled into fists with want. Feyre turned to Isaac.

“Hey baby! Toss me up your pocket knife.”

Isacc tossed her a little brown knife and Feyre opened it as she gestured for Elain and Nesta’s palms. She sliced a deep gash along Nesta’s first, then Elain, who gasped at the burning pain and the sight of blooming on her fair skin, and then her own, last. The three took turns pressing their palms together in an old, magic blood ritual.

“Blood oath,” Feyre murmured solemnly. “My blood…our blood.”

And with that, Feyre hooked her leg over the railing and dropped the ground where Isacc half caught her. Nesta and Elain watched until Feyre vanished into Isaac’s car, waiting just on the street, unaware when they’d see her next.

Three years passed with only a passing post card every few months. Elain, who had married Graysen, would leave her floral shop named Verbena to race towards the old Archeron mansion, now owned exclusively by Nesta after the passing of their aunts. Her and Nesta would share a pot of tea and whatever baked goods Elain thought to bring with her as they tried to pick apart the five sentences Feyre had written. Was she still in Orlando? Who was Ben or Jacob or Frank? Each postcard brought word of a new man and a new place and Feyre, having the time of her life.

“I miss her,” Elain confessed one day, resting her head in the palm of her hand. Nesta glanced down at the scar all three sisters now shared, as though she could feel Feyre. Perhaps she could; Nesta’s magic had always been the strongest, a little darker than carefree Feyre and careful Elain.

Elain knew better than to ask Nesta if she was lonely. While Feyre was having fun living her life far from the Archeron curse and Elain had found bliss in quiet, married life, Nesta had fully embraced her witchy reputation. She wore long, black dresses with high necklines and long sleeves in the heat of July and kept her hair braided around the crown of her head. Elain, on the other hand, had softened her appearance and, with her utterly normal and appropriate marriage, had shifted public opinion. It was almost as if Elain had ceased to be an Archeron and the town of Velaris saw her and Nesta as two completely different people.

All that changed when the sound of the deathwatch beetle woke Elain from a dead sleep. It took her too long to realize what she heard, to understand that when an Archeron heard the sound of a deathwatch beetle, the man they loved was doomed to die.

Graysen was at work and Elain hysterical as she began prying the boards one by one from her floor, determined to squash that beetle and the ticking she’d heard all day, to death. Elain sobbed, her hammer prying the floor up one by one as she frantically searched, the ticking growing louder and faster.

And then nothing.

Graysen stepped off a curb, a crate of green apples in hand, into the waiting arms of an oncoming truck. It was too late, an accident by all accounts…and yet, in the aftermath, the townspeople of Velaris were reminded that Elain was an Archeron and Graysen’s death was her responsibility. Elain mourned, held a funeral few attended, while Nesta packed up her house and sold it. It was Nesta who wrote to Feyre, urging her to return and Nesta who moved a despondent and numb Elain back into their childhood home.

And in the end, it was Nesta who was reminded why she’d never fallen in love to begin with.

#elucien #nessian #feysand #elucien fic #nessian fic #feysand fic #halloween AU #acotar fanfiction

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mrspettyferr · 3 years

Text

A Midnight Wish Part 2: A Kiss of Dawn

Part 1

Elain was exhausted by the time she finally dragged herself to her bedchamber. She had neglected her slippers long ago, crossing over the threshold silently on padded feet.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her back against the closed door and closed her eyes. Despite the nature of the festivity--and the celebration of Nesta and Cassian--too many thoughts were still running wild in her mind. She tried not to think of how she had failed Nuala and Cerridwen, because that led her to thinking of someone else.

So she tried to think of nothing at all.

She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, fully clothed, her face still glowing with rouge and her hair still styled. But she would regret it in the morning--especially if she ruined such a beautiful gown.

Sighing, Elain walked to her vanity, plunked down, and got to work.

She had just finished removing the pins from her hair when she felt the night-kissed shadow ruffle the hem of her gown. She went very still, staring at the swirling darkness at her feet. It moved, and she turned and watched as it slithered away like a snake, across her floor and to the balcony.

Follow me, it seemed to say.

She hesitated only a moment before rising and padding quietly across her bedchamber. She pushed back her lilac curtains and stepped onto the balcony. There, crouched precariously on the railing like a gargoyle, was Azriel.

For a moment they just stared at each other, Elain still in her evening gown, her golden-brown waves blowing gently in the wind. Azriel still wore his finery, too, though he had retired from the party long before she had.

She wanted to ask him what he was doing here, but instead she blurted, "How are you doing that?"

He seemed surprised at her question. She could not blame him. "Doing what?"

"Balancing like--like that."

"It's not that difficult."

It most certainly was. "Perhaps you just make it seem easy."

"Perhaps," Az agreed, and though it was almost too dark to see, a slight smile tugged at his mouth.

Elain crossed her arms, shielding herself from the chill of the night. "You left the party quite early," she said, and immediately regretted it. She shouldn't have noticed.

"I had business to attend," he replied.

"He keeps you busy, doesn't he?"

She said it lightly, jokingly, but for some reason Azriel stiffened slightly. And when he spoke, he did not sound amused. "Yes, he does."

Silence fell, though it was not uncomfortable. It never had been with him. Still, Elain felt a slight blush creep up on her cheeks as she considered the situation: it was very late, and there was a male perched outside her balcony. Not just any male, either.

She was about to ask him what he wanted, when she saw his head turn slightly, as though listening to something. A shadow, no doubt, though she could scarcely see one. But she did notice the way he went very well.

"What is it?" she asked, taking a step forward.

"Nothing." He turned back to her, his hazel eyes guarded. But not enough. Something was worrying him.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

He shrugged.

"You like your secrets, don't you?" she asked, her tone a bit sharper than she intended.

"No, I don't. But that comes with the territory." Azriel smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Though Feyre tells me you have me beat in secret keeping."

"Did she?" Elain couldn't help it--she beamed at the compliment, no matter how poorly earned it was.

Still, Az nodded. "Nuala and Cerridwen are training you well."

Elain stared at him. It felt like someone had thrown cold water over her.

"How--how did you know?" She managed to ask. The twins wouldn't have told him, she was certain.

Az angled his head almost curiously. "I am Rhys's Spymaster. It is my job to know."

"Are you upset with them?" Before he could answer, she plowed on, "Don't be. I insisted. We are friends, you know. And I practically forced them to train me. Don't--"

"The only thing that upsets me," he interrupted quietly, "is that you felt you couldn't come to me."

Elain blinked, staring at him. "You haven't exactly been around," she said carefully.

Azriel's jaw clenched, the only sign of emotion on his otherwise perfectly guarded face. It was the sort of look one made before they retreated into the night, a heavy silence falling in between.

And because she did not want him to go, to put that distance between them that he so recently favored, she said, "If you must know, I failed miserably tonight."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but settled on, "How so?"

"I was...out matched, it would seem." An understatement, but she did not want to elaborate.

To her surprise, Azriel chuckled, his shoulders loosening a bit. "I doubt that. You just need practice, and time."

Time. She had endless time now, didn't she?

She didn't want to talk about any of that anymore. So she just cocked her head and surveyed him, still perched on that railing. Wasn't he cold?

"Do you want a cup of tea or something?" she asked. "A scone? Something hot?"

Azriel straightened as though she had offended him. "No," he practically blurted.

"Oh." Elain blinked in surprise. Something inside her crumpled just a bit. "Right. Well, it's late, I shouldn't have--"

"It was very kind," he said quickly, though for some reason, he sounded pained. "But I don't think that would be a good idea."

Of course not. How could she be so foolish?

"It's fine," she said stiffly.

"You keep saying that."

"Because I mean it."

Az stared at her. "You can lie to them," he said quietly, "but not to me."

And just like that, Elain was no longer on the balcony, but standing before Nesta and her friends. A familiar necklace stared back at her, glinting and taunting her in the faelight.

It was as though Azriel could read her mind, for he said, "I--I'm sorry."

"You said that already."

"Can't I say it twice?"

Elain just waited.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, once again looking oddly out of sorts. "When I found your necklace, I intended to return it to the shop, but for some reason I ended up at the library, and I thought..." He shook his head. "I don't know what I thought. You didn't want it, and--"

"I did want it," Elain interrupted.

His brows furrowed as he studied her. "You did?"

She nodded. "I wanted it very much. Too much, probably."

She knew--and hoped he did not--that she was no longer talking about the necklace. But something shifted in his gaze, as though he did know. He always seemed to know what she was thinking.

Hesitantly, Elain took a step forward. And another. Moving closer until she stood before him. He watched her carefully, still balanced precariously on the railing. Even perched, he still stood above her.

His hazel eyes were glowing, an intensity in them that made Elain look down. Made her admit, "I left the necklace behind because I did not want you to regret more than one thing that night."

The silence that followed was cold and biting, seeming to last forever. Elain sucked in a breath, prepared to fumble through some sort of explanation, when--

"I do regret it," Az said softly.

Elain looked up, hurt flashing on her face before she could hide it. But Azriel reached out, cupping her face in his scarred hands. Her mouth parted slightly in surprise.

"I regret making you think it was a mistake. And I regret not doing this," he said, and leaned down and kissed her.

Elain's surprise only lasted a half second before she returned his kiss, sighing into his mouth, her own moving in perfect sync with his. Her hands clung to the front of his jacket, pulling him off the railing and closer to her. A lesser male would have stumbled in the process, but Azriel was graceful and smooth, and no sooner had he landed on the balcony did he spin them so that Elain's back was pressed against the railing.

His wings flared out slightly, shielding them from the wind. One of his hands slid behind her neck, burying in her hair, while the other found her lower back, pressing her closer. Elain let out a soft moan that Az devoured with his mouth. Heat flooded her cheeks, her core. She was on fire. She was burning and burning and--

A clock tolled in the distance.

Dawn. It was almost dawn.

As though the sound woke them from their reverie, Azriel pulled back slightly. His breathing was slightly ragged, matching Elain's. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his hammering heart.

"I will speak to her," Az said finally. "Clear up the confusion and return your necklace to you."

It took Elain a moment to realize who he meant. She opened her eyes and frowned. Took a step back. "No, no. I could never do that."

"But--"

"What is done is done." Regret flashed in his eyes. She wanted to tell him it wasn't the gift itself that meant so much--it was the thought, the careful consideration in which he took in finding something so perfect. But all she said was, "I might ask for something else in exchange, though."

Though Az's eyes narrowed slightly, he said nothing, waiting.

Elain knew it was selfish, but she said, "Come to family dinners. When you can. Everyone misses seeing you."

I miss seeing you.

Az stiffened and peered down at her. His thumb gently brushed her cheek, the gesture shockingly tender from someone who tortured enemies for information.

"They know where to find me," he murmured.

"Perhaps they're waiting for an invitation."

He raised a brow. "Is that so?"

Elain nodded. "It is only polite. Even among friends and family."

"Friends and family." Amusement glittered in his eyes and even Elain fought back a smile. While she was still trying to work out what Azriel was to her, simply a friend or family did not seem accurate. "I will remember that."

"Good."

They stared at one another, tension and longing thick between them. They left the rest unsaid. How the mating bond complicated matters, even if Elain had not accepted it. Even if it meant nothing to her at all. There would be a time for that conversation, but that time was not now.

"I should go," Az murmured. "Rhys is expecting me."

Elain didn't want him to leave, but she had no power to make him stay. So she just nodded.

He turned, and hesitated. Hesitated long enough that Elain asked, "What is it?"

"There is something else," Az said, almost reluctantly.

"Oh?"

"It's Koschei."

Elain felt the color drain from her face. "What about him?"

Azriel turned back to face her. He looked resigned, unhappy, but determined. "There is another object to be found, I am certain--a fourth item in the Dread Trove."

She stopped breathing. Forced herself to say, "And?"

"And I think we're the only ones who can find it."

Elain stared at him. She hadn't told anyone--not even her friends--what she had seen.

"Who is we?" she managed to ask.

"You and I."

You and I.

The words fell into deep, unending silence. And the way Azriel was looking at her--did he know she had seen something? Was he just waiting for her to confirm his suspicions?

"This sounds quite serious," she said finally.

"It is." Shadows swirled around Azriel's shoulders, reflecting the darkening of his eyes.

"Then you must tell Feyre and Rhys as well."

And I must tell them what I have seen, she thought.

Some unknown emotion flittered across Az's face, one Elain could not decipher. "I intend to, but--"

"Perfect. Then you will do so tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"At dinner. I will even prepare some of Nesta's favorites, for she will certainly have much to say on the matter."

Az's confusion morphed into a knowing, amused look. "I know what you are doing."

"I have no idea what you mean," Elain said seriously, but her eyes shone with mischief. "This is a serious matter that must be discussed with the High Lord and Lady. Don't you agree?"

"I do," he said reluctantly.

Her grin widened, but quickly faded as she considered, truly, what he was saying. What it meant. What it confirmed, even for herself.

"Do you think they will protest?" Elain asked. "Insist I stay out of it?" She remembered the last time she tried to get involved, and how that had ended. But this time was different. It had to be different.

Azriel considered her words. "Possibly. And they are not entirely wrong." When Elain looked at him in exasperation, he added, "There is an innate darkness to the Trove, Elain. A darkness that might alter you forever."

She raised her chin. "I do not fear the dark."

Az smiled slightly, like he believed her. And Elain could not help but return his smile, because she knew he did. He was the only person who ever looked at her like she was capable of something great.

She wanted to cross the distance between them and kiss him again. She wanted him to gently push her into her bedchamber and lay her atop the silk sheets.

Elain swore Az could read her mind, for he chuckled and inclined his head toward her chamber. "Go," he said, though it was far from commanding.

And because it was nearly first light, Elain backed away, biting her lip and smiling. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," he promised.

- -

Note: In this scenario, I do imagine when Gwyn found out the truth, she would return the necklace. But I couldn't imagine Elain demanding it from her. Such an uncomfortable situation, so it was interesting to write. Can't wait to see how SJM handles it!

#elriel #elain x azriel #mrs pettyfer writing

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mightymorphingayagenda · 3 years

Note

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here, x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.

Humourless.

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.

“This is the part where you-“

“Shhh.”

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.”

Cue phase two of the plan.

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative.

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.”

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.”

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.”

Eris said nothing.

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued. “To do as you’re told.”

She gave him strict instructions. Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me. Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.”

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle: a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.

Who’s your daddy, now?

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.

“Damn it,” she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway…

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…

“Ugh,” she said again, louder. Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time.

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?”

He meowed again.

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.

Cassian’s jacket.

Uhg.

Now she was thinking about him again.

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”.

He purred.

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath. Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him. The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.

Not a man. A boy.

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex. Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet. In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it.

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her.

Her screaming.

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body. What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles. And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even. In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues.

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь”

Her mother’s last words.

Ten numbers.

Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door. All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.

Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.

Like a phone number.

No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough. Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.

A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.

“Здравствуйте.”

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.

“Who is this?”

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-”

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.

A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.

Go down for murder.

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body. How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.

Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly. Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.

Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers. The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.

“If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”

“You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?”

“Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.”

“Woof,” Nesta had said dryly.

“Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

“You offering to adopt me?”

“I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.”

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.

“But you ever want job, you call me.”

Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.

Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice. Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.

Until Feyre had moved to the city.

Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics, selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit. Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.

At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.

Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner.

Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.

Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.

Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.

The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.

Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.

Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring. A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings.

If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain.

It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done. Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.

She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.

That and the fact they were really very good.

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly. Sinking deeper into the basin.

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.”

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully.

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.

“You told me to give him a chance.”

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?”

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on-

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?”

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”

“Ever heard of the third date rule?”

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?”

Feyre sighed.

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-”

“So why did you send him my way?”

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked.

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.”

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.

“Well I’ve been smoking.”

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.”

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.”

“He only smokes them on special occasions.”

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?”

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh so you did hear me?”

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”

She hung up.

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client. An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could. Because it was just easier.

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.

Fuck.

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot; but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong.

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living!

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.

—

Cassian had ignored her calls.

All three.

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator. Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy. She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.

“All work and no play?”

Cassian looked up from his desk.

“I can fix that,” she said.

He’d never looked more handsome.

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.

“What are you doing here?”

Rude.

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.”

She turned to find him watching her.

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.

“You’re still upset about that?”

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.”

“Oh really?”

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.”

“You don’t have a clue what I want.”

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly.

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.

It was all very conflicting.

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again. “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.”

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.

“You’re right,” she said.

Cassian blinked.

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.”

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike. “Your emergency, of course. Which was?”

“Nothing to do with you.”

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.

“Shit.”

His head fell into those large hands.

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up. So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.”

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?”

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.”

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.”

Nesta slid of the desk.

“Go on,” she instructed.

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.”

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.

“I can tell.”

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”

Cassian swallowed.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?”

“If you say please.”

“Please don’t screw around with me.”

Nesta faltered.

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.

“I’m really into you,” he admitted. “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.”

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion. “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.”

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.

“Nesta-“

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.”

“Someone could come back-“

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.”

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.

“Nesta-”

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders.

“I want you,” she purred again.

He might have tried to breath. And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.”

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.

“You want me,” he breathed.

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously.

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.”

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter.

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…”

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.”

“And I’m saying you could be in me.”

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over. The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.”

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout.

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.”

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.

“Yes, yes, please.”

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.”

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze, wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair.

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.”

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.

“More,” she demanded.

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him. Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.”

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”

His words sent her over the edge.

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders. Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.

“Then get on your knees.”

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again. “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.”

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.

“Down boy,” she purred.

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.”

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.”

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby”

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth. Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.”

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew. His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.

“Cassian,” she keened.

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles. Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips.

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.

“Let me take care of you.”

“Cassian.”

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there. “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Nesta smiled.

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.”

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.

It was so good.

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him. And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl. Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,” She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit.

Nesta whined softly.

“Cassian…more…”

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.”

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.

“Oh!”

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.”

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.”

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.”

She turned her gaze to him.

“Shame.”

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.

Cassian grinned.

“You like Italian?”��

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”

“Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.”

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.

“Lethal,” he whispered.

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair.

Their second date had been incredible.

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child.

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?”

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying. Which off course only made him like her more.

“What? Make you blush like a-”

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them- like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?”

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”

“Says the military man.”

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.”

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”

“That was so a line!”

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.”

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive. “Because I’d love to take your top off.”

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.”

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.

“What would you rather we talk about?”

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute. It reminded you that you were alive.

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore. Tame Impala playing from his pocket.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.

“Well you’re the only one getting it.”

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.”

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly, hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.”

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.

“Yes please.”

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower-

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.

“What are you doing?”

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did. Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.

“Congratulations.”

Cassian grinned.

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”

“Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.

“Please do.”

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.”

He pulled back abruptly.

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?”

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.”

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-”

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.

“But I-”

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.”

“More romantic than that sentence?”

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.”

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.”

“How have you already failed?”

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.”

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.”

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf.

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.

“Did you decline my call?”

“Yup.”

“Bastard.”

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.”

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.

“That why you’re calling?”

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?”

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation. “Yeah, I’m free.”

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday.

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-”

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?”

Shit.

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait. In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-”

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.”

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-”

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.

“Fine, your stropping-”

“Fuck off.”

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.”

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.”

“Hang on a minute-”

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.”

“Alright, alright Don.”

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.”

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?”

Cassian sighed heavily.

“This a secure line?”

“Always”.

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.”

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?”

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.”

“Lucien?”

“Turns out the kid’s his.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.”

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?”

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.”

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-”

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.”

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.

Rhys went silent again.

“We could always just kill Eris.”

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-”

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.”

“Dick.”

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-”

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.”

“I’m fucking Persian!”

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.

“A fanabla!”

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.”

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.”

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-”

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.”

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?”

��If I said yes would you come back to us?”

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.”

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.”

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.”

“Nesta’s no Feyre.”

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

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