#a bit of nessian angst

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (ixx, ao3)

(Chapter nineteen: Buckle up kids, we’ve got a lot to get through. Cassian arrives in Windhaven, where after setting the record straight with Mor, secrets are revealed. Feyre learns of the mating bond, and back below the wall, plans are in full swing for Elain’s wedding, but there’s something starting to concern the middle Archeron.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

Cassian was certain she’d felt it.

As the wind raked sharp across his skin and an unsettled, disjointed kind of unease ticked through him, it was the only thing he could think of. He was so godsdamned sure of it, and it was the only fucking thing on his mind as resentment curled low in his stomach, a bitter taste coating his tongue as he clenched his fists, feeling the sword strapped to his back. Looking out at the ragged mountain he’d once called home, he was absolutely convinced that Nesta had felt the bond between them, and yet here he was, standing beneath a granite sky in Windhaven, looking not into Nesta’s mercury-blue eyes, but at Devon’s familiar face drawn together in a deep scowl, arms folded tight over his armoured chest. 

Rhys stood beside him, ordering the camp lord to clear out his mother’s old house, and at his back stood Feyre and Mor, huddled in the thickest cloaks they’d been able to find. Velaris might have been cradled by spring, but Windhaven clung still to winter, and the bare rock of the mountain loomed above, casting a long, cold shadow. As the wind screamed through the valley below, Cassian’s siphons pulsed, unsteady.

The single siphon on Devlon’s chest flared in kind, a brief spark in the emerald stone. Cassian was barely listening as Devlon protested, and though he noted the soldiers grouped as Devlon’s back, counted their weapons and clocked their positions, there was no pretending he was anything but hopelessly distracted. Foolish, to be so preoccupied in Illyria but—

This was the last place in the world he wanted to be right now.

With less than three hours of sleep behind him, he was feeling the absence of Nesta like a bruise. His patience was stretched thin, fraying like a piece of age-worn thread, and all he could think about was how much of himself felt missing, how much he was missing her, and not even Devlon and his men were enough to pull Cassian’s mind away from Nesta fucking Archeron. They’d been apart for a grand total of eight hours, and already he missed her like he’d been robbed of something vital.

He almost wanted to scream now, to roar, and was it any wonder, when his temper was balanced on a knife edge— and had been, ever since Azriel had showed up that morning to take his mate back below the wall, back to the bed she shared with another man?

As Devlon sent one of his men darting through the snow towards the house that had been Cassian’s first real home, Rhys turned towards Feyre and held out a hand, but Cassian could think only of how Az had arrived at the river just before sunrise. As Feyre’s hand slipped into Rhys’ palm, he watched and thought of how Nesta’s fingers had tightened around him when the first shadow had skirted the edge of the dock. Cassian had sent Az back up to the House to fetch Emerie’s book before taking Nesta home, and it was a desperate, pitiful attempt at stealing another few moments but it had worked. Cassian had held Nesta tighter in those borrowed seconds, afraid of letting go. He’d kissed her— softly at first, but then Nesta had practically moaned against him, and any sense of control he’d had snapped as the kiss turned feral, all hands and nails and teeth as they grasped at one another, sharing breath in the dark as their lips met like they were both of them trying to make up for lost time with that single aching kiss— 

But it was like trying to contain an ocean inside of a puddle, and soon it had drowned them both, leaving them gasping, shaking, eclipsing anything Cassian had ever felt in his life and—

“We’re heading out,” Rhys said to Feyre, turning his back on Devlon without bothering to dismiss him, and pulling Cassian, blinking, from his reverie. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus.

The western wind rattled through the camp, vicious and biting and as cold as the ice underfoot, and Rhys’ wings spread behind him, shielding Feyre from the worst of it. Cassian wondered if she noticed. If she’d seen the way Rhys had been drawn to her side, exposing the most sensitive parts of his wings to the cold as he sought to protect her from the weather. 

“We’re going to train,” Rhys continued. “Azriel is going to check if Elain has had word from the queens today. Until she does, we’re using the time here to practice.”

Feyre nodded, stepping closer into Rhys’ side as the wind rustled his sable hair. Her hand curled around his, and Cassian turned away, feeling the sharp tug of envy in his chest. It just didn’t seem fair, didn’t seem right, that his mate should be so far away, when only hours ago he’d had her in his arms, falling stars reflected in her eyes as she felt the bond twining his heart and hers. 

“Check on the forces,” Rhys instructed, meeting Cassian’s eye above Feyre’s head. “See that the girls are training, and do whatever needs to be done to ensure our forces are in peak condition. We’ll be back by nightfall.”

Grimly, Cassian nodded.

“Stay out of trouble,” Rhys added as he looked to the line of the trees in the distance, their branches tipped with ice. He offered Mor a weary smile as he raised an eyebrow, and as he pulled Feyre into his arms and lifted her off her feet, Mor scoffed. 

Then they were gone, leaving only silence in their wake as Mor watched her cousin leave, flying fast towards the dense thicket of trees at the mountain’s base. The smile on her face fell away, replaced by a terse kind of quiet as Cassian looked for something to say and came up empty.

They hadn’t spoken since that night at the Hewn City, and there wasn’t a single word to be found between them now— not one, not as they waited for the soldiers to file out of Rhys’ mother’s house, not when they marched through the snow and made it to the front door Cassian knew so well, not when they crossed the threshold, and not when the door closed behind them.

Just— nothing.

It was a silence that was awkward, heavy and complete as Mor took off her cloak and draped it over the back of the sofa. She didn’t sit— instead she lingered, standing in the centre of the sitting room that Cassian had spent so much of his youth in, and as she cast her eyes over all four walls, Cassian knew without her needing to speak that she was thinking the same thing he was when he, too, looked around.

Nothing had changed.

The same watercolour paintings hung over the same mantelpiece, the same few books lined the shelves in one corner. The floorboards beneath his feet still bore the scuffs of a fight he and Rhys had once gotten into, and for all the world it felt like Rhys’ mother might just step out of the kitchen and offer them both some stew. But like a fine layer of dust, there was a patina of old grief draped across it all, and Cassian’s heart tugged as the silence deepened, echoing in the house that had never felt empty before, not when he was a boy. 

He hadn’t been back since Rhys became High Lord, and as Cassian cut through the sitting room and made for the doorway leading to the kitchen - Mor drifting behind him and rubbing her hands together for warmth - suddenly he felt the past raise its head, old ghosts stirring as the anguish he felt over Nesta was compounded, redoubled. Suddenly, he remembered the very first time he and Mor had met, standing in that same kitchen.

Rhys’ mother had been there too, and his sister, with that laugh of hers that had always seemed to echo. There had been five places set at the table then, the scent of cinnamon and hot chocolate hanging in the air. Gone, now. All of it gone, and how did Cassian even begin to measure all the things that had changed since that day, when Mor had first stepped beneath that door? Where did he even start?

She’s a damned viper, Cassian.

He recalled Mor’s words from the Hewn City, and as he filled the kettle and slammed it on the stove, he felt his resolve harden. Mor was complicated— he knew that. His past was woven tight with hers, and he knew, too, that her dislike of Nesta wasn’t something entirely personal, rather a desperate attempt at keeping the status quo. But Nesta was Cassian’s mate, and he wasn’t about to let anything slide when it came to her.

Never when it came to her.

So— he refused to be the one to break the silence, and as Mor looked flatly at the single cup Cassian set out on the counter, she let out a bitter huff and turned away. Only when Cassian heard a door close loudly upstairs did he let his head drop towards his chest.

Ruefully, he sighed and prepared himself for a long, agonising stint in Illyria.

***

The next morning, Rhys and Feyre left early.

In the room he’d once shared with both of his brothers, Cassian woke with the dawn to inspect the camps, and looking over to the bed by the window, he found Rhys slowly waking. The High Lord dragged a hand through his hair, shaking off the sleep that still clung to him, and when Cassian clapped him on the shoulder and told him he’d gone soft if he couldn’t handle a dawn wake up call anymore, Rhys had snarled and told him to fuck off— just the way he had when they were boys. Rhys hadn’t been a morning person back then, either.

But that was hours ago, and now Cassian stood at the side of the training ring at the cliff’s edge, looking out over the mountains as before him boys - not men - sparred with wooden practice blades. The snow was drifting, dusting the ground as the morning wore on, refusing to melt.

This place was always fucking cold.

Casting an eye over the ring, Cassian picked out the bastards in the bunch easily. Four of them, who looked like the cold hadn’t just touched them, it had crawled inside their bones and made itself at home. Their cheeks were tinged with pink, noses red, and there were more than a few fingers far too close to frostbite. He knew what that was like, and being in Windhaven, staying in Rhys’ old house… it had all kinds of old feelings stirring in his gut, twisting inside as he looked at the worn leathers and ill-fitting boots, watching the four bastard boys hit harder than the rest - fight harder than the rest - for no recognition or reward.

He knew what that was like, too.

His stomach soured, and yet he didn’t move on. Though he was supposed to be inspecting the rest of the camp, Cassian stayed until their training was done, and as the other boys began to leave the ring, Cassian lingered. Something kept him there, stationary in the snow, and as the first of the bastards hurried past, Cassian brought him to a halt with a palm on an entirely too-thin shoulder. The boy’s hands looked so painfully cold that Cassian almost winced. 

“Find Emerie,” he said lowly. “Tell her to give you a pair of her thickest gloves and take extra for your friends.” He nodded to the three other boys slowly putting away their practice swords. “I’ll call on her later to settle the bill.”

The boy whispered a stunned thank you, General before racing towards Emerie’s shop, and Cassian’s heart tugged. Rhys wanted the armies in peak condition, but good soldiers were being left to starve and freeze as a consequence of their birth, and though getting the girls to train had been a start, Windhaven was just as cruel as ever and coastlines changed faster than the camp lords.

Cassian had had enough.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, he sighed heavily, pushing away from the wooden posts that surrounded the training ring. He’d see Emerie tomorrow, he decided. Place an order for gloves and leathers and have them distributed to the poorest of the soldiers— the bastards and the orphans. While he was there, he decided too, he’d pick up another book for Nesta, for when he saw her next— whenever that might be. 

Resigned, he let loose another grumbling sigh before glowering at the sky and heading back towards the house. The mountain cast a long shadow, plunging Windhaven into deeper darkness as the sun dropped behind the summit, and when Cassian pushed open the front door and found Mor wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, fluffy socks on her feet and a book in her lap, he stilled. With the snow melting on his boots he paused in the hallway, wanting nothing more than to avoid her. But it was difficult, he’d learned, to avoid someone when you were sharing a house roughly the size of a postage stamp.

Looking through the living room and into the kitchen, searching for his brother even though he could tell by the silence that the house was empty, Cassian frowned.

“Rhys and Feyre back yet?” he asked tersely, his voice clipped and tight. When Mor shook her head, he looked to the window.

It was the first exchange since the Hewn City, and when Cassian nodded curtly and made for the stairs, Mor closed her book and set it down beside her. They had argued before, but in all the centuries they had known one another, the fallout had never lasted longer than an hour. Never had it been like this, never so strained.

“Cass,” Mor said, sliding her fluffy-socked feet to the floor. “Can we just… stop whatever this is?”

“I didn’t start whatever this is,” Cassian answered flatly. He turned and leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “So I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to stop it.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Why are you being so damned defensive? Why does what I said at the Hewn City even matter—”

“Why does it matter?” Cassian repeated, indignant. His voice was thick with scorn, practically incredulous as Mor shook her golden head, waving a hand in frustration.

“Look, from what Feyre has told us about her sister—”

“You don’t know her,” Cassian cut in. “You don’t know a damn thing.”

“And you do? After a handful of weeks, you think you know her better than her own sister?”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. Boldly, he shrugged. “Yes.”

Mor’s eyes shuttered, grew dark. “I just want you to be happy,” she said lowly. “And I don’t see how—”

She cut herself off with an irate sigh, tipping her head back to the ceiling. Her golden earrings danced, her hair cascading in waves down her back. 

“Take it from me, Cass. From someone else who once got too involved with a human.” 

She dropped her gaze, finding his as the hardness in her expression was slowly replaced by something older, something more sombre. Ancient grief shone in her eyes as an old wound was torn open— and it was one Cassian hadn’t even known she’d been dealt. Her face was limned with old agony, her bottom lip beginning to tremble as she drew it between her teeth. Confusion drew his eyebrows together, his lips parting as he opened his mouth to speak - to ask - but Mor shook her head in a single sharp movement.

“Trust me. The only way this ends is in heartbreak,” she finished, and something about the pain lining her face had Cassian’s anger drawing back, receding a little as he let his folded arms drop.

“It’s my heart to break,” he said quietly— but not softly. His voice was as firm as ever, resolute, because he’d made his decision, hadn’t he? Weeks ago, the day after the bond had snapped. He’d decided then that the centuries of sorrow he’d endure without her would be worth it for even one day by her side. “So stay out of it.”

“She’s human, Cass—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he countered roughly, feeling the bond strain in his chest, constricting his lungs and squeezing his heart until it felt like it would burst. With a hand, he gestured to the window. To the camp outside. “Not when I could be dead in a week. Or had you forgotten why we were here?”

“How could I forget?” she answered, incredulous. “It’s all the more reason you can’t afford a distraction—”

“A distraction?” Cassian hissed, but Mor only lifted her chin, steadfast.

“Is that not what she is? Tell me honestly, Cass. Out there yesterday morning— were you thinking of all that needs to be done to win this war, or were you thinking of her?”

Cassian snarled, but he couldn’t answer. No, he hadn’t been worried about Devlon out there yesterday. He’d been too busy thinking of the way Nesta had felt in his arms. He hadn’t been thinking of soldiers to train, supplies to organise, camps to inspect. He’d been thinking of silver-blue eyes and a bracelet he’d tied around a slender wrist, so much more meaningful than the wedding ring on her finger. He thought of her in every waking moment… but she wasn’t a distraction.

She was the opposite.

“I’ll win this war because of her,” he said darkly. “Because if losing means harm coming to her, than losing isn’t an option. So don’t doubt me when I say, Mor, that I don’t want your advice. I’m as focused as I need to be.”

Mor sniffed, and as his words hung in the air between them, the silence stretched, morphed. The tension shifted as anger devolved into something like anguish, red hot fury melting into something just a little less fraught than before— still jagged, but a little less sharp, and for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel awkward. Still though, Cassian didn’t move from his spot by the door, and Mor didn’t rise from the sofa. They remained, frozen, until Mor shifted, tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she said at last, drawing one knee up to her chest. Her eyes closed, and Cassian wondered what she’d kept hidden all these years, what human had stolen her heart. Still, he lifted his chin, not a shred of uncertainty in his veins.

“I do,” he answered, taking his first step into the sitting room. Mor looked up at him, resting her chin on her knee as he let out a heavy sigh and lowered himself down at the other end of the sofa. Tentatively, he tilted his head.

“Tell me,” he said quietly, “about the human you loved.”

Mor smiled sadly, her eyes distant as, mute, she shook her head. He noted the sorrow on her face, all that heartache she’d endured alone and in secret, and as a single, solitary tear tracked down her cheek…

Cassian couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at a version of his own future, a preview of his own pain.

A glimpse of the grief that awaited him. 

***

His heart was still heavy when he awoke the next day, and as dawn broke and Cassian found the bed on the other side of the room still empty, Cassian knew with absolute, unwavering certainty that something was wrong. The siphon on his hand pulsed uneasily, ice spreading along his limbs as he slid from beneath the covers and pulled on his leathers, his hands stumbling over the ties as he swore softly and looked out at the window, at the untouched snow leading to the front door.

Rhys and Feyre hadn’t come home.

Cassian refused to think of the last time Rhys hadn’t returned. Refused to entertain the idea, or to remember all those decades he’d spent waiting in vain for his brother to come back, but nevertheless apprehension was thick in his stomach as, barefoot, he went in search of Mor across the hall. But she hadn’t heard anything from Rhys either, and just as Cassian had pulled on his boots to go out there and search the mountainside himself—

Through the window, he saw his High Lord materialise in the snow.

Rhys sank to his knees, as if all his strength had departed, and with Mor quick on his heels, Cassian rushed for the door, heart hammering as he wrenched it open just in time to see Feyre tear her arm from Rhys’ grip. The High Lord let out a small sound, something between agony and grief as Feyre walked away.

Cassian’s concern spiked as he lurched out into the snow.

“What happened?” he demanded, but Rhys was too busy trying to steady his breathing to speak, a hand pressed to his side as if he were wounded, and Feyre had already stormed past him and headed right for Mor instead. Cassian frowned, about to ask his brother what the fuck was happening, and then— he noticed Rhys’ torn leathers. The mud on his knees, the shadows beneath his eyes, the hair messier than Cassian had ever seen it.

The blood on his fingers.

Fucking hell— Rhys looked like he was at death’s door, his skin drawn and ashen as he fought to keep his eyes open. Cassian reached for him, bringing him to his feet and helping him to stand, his entire frame weak and unsteady. Cassian turned and looked to Mor, but she was standing torn, her gaze flitting between Rhys - hardly strong enough to carry his own weight - and Feyre, standing with indignation on her face, her hands outstretched as she grabbed Mor’s forearm.

“Take me somewhere far away,” she said. Her voice was leaden, anger etched onto her features as she stood firm, not sparing the weakened lord at her back a second glance. “Right now.”

Mor hesitated, drawing a lip between her teeth as she looked from the Cursebreaker to her cousin.

“Please,” Feyre said, her voice breaking as that single word had Rhys trying to lurch forward, slipping from Cassian’s grip even as his legs gave out once more. Rhys kneeled in the snow, panting as he struggled to rise, the hair hanging limply over his face as he tried to lift his neck. All over again, Cassian wondered what in the ever-loving fuck had happened, but Feyre’s anguish was palpable, and Mor’s eyes were fraught with indecision.

Rhys moaned Feyre’s name, a broken plea as Mor swallowed and extended a hand. She nodded, and Feyre’s tattooed fingers closed around her own in the heartbeat before Mor winnowed them away, leaving nothing behind but footprints in the snow and the High Lord of the Night Court, broken on the floor.

Cassian hauled him to his feet, Rhys’ arm slung around his shoulders as he gripped his brother around the middle, feeling the tears in his leather with his fingertips, tears that seemed to have been made by arrowheads.

“What happened?” Cassian asked again.

Rhys shook his head, but it was an effort as Cassian guided him towards the house. 

“I fucked up Cass,” he answered, his voice hoarse, words slipping from between cracked lips as every breath seemed to tax him. He lifted his head just enough to meet Cassian’s eye, and there was something akin to horror in the widened violet. Mournfully, Rhys let his head drop once more.

“Feyre knows about the bond,” he rasped. “And I… I think I might have just lost her for good.”

***

The air was thick with the scent of flowers.

Hyacinths, peonies, roses.

All of them laid out on the table as Elain picked out her wedding bouquet, humming lightly as she dragged a finger over the different stems, plucking up each bloom and holding it against the other to find the most perfect arrangement. Beside her, Greysen held a sheaf of papers in his hands, his light brown hair falling easily over his forehead as he rifled through guest lists and seating arrangements and plans of his father’s estate— all the small, excruciating details that would come together to form the society event of the season. When he handed Elain a list of vineyards supplying the wine for the wedding, an iron band gleamed dark on his wrist.

Nesta watched as it slipped back beneath his sleeve, silent in her spot by the window.

Elain’s voice rang through the airy space of the Archeron morning room, and as the conversation drifted away from flowers to focus on where exactly the ceremony would be held on Lord Nolan’s estate, Nesta let her eyes fall back to the book in her lap. Turning the pages of Emerie’s latest, she settled into the role of chaperone more than anything else, only barely listening as her sister and future brother-in-law combed through the plans for their wedding.

“Beneath the ironwood trees perhaps,” Greysen suggested, pointing at a spot on the map. “The foliage is quite lovely this time of year, especially in the grove—”

“No,” Elain shook her head. “No I think I’d rather somewhere…”

Somewhere other than beneath the trees used to make weapons that can kill my sister, Nesta thought wryly, not lifting her gaze from the pages before her. Elain sighed.

“Somewhere brighter,” she finished, and if Greysen thought it strange, he said nothing. He only shrugged, turning his blue eyes back to the map.

Nesta had been listening to them for an hour.

She’d arrived at her father’s estate early that morning after a letter was delivered at the Mandray house, just as she’d sat down to breakfast. She’d cracked the seal immediately, finding a letter from Elain that had her pushing away her plate and preparing to leave before the messenger that had delivered the note had even left the courtyard.

Nesta, Elain had written. I know it’s short notice, but please— come for tea this morning? I could use the company, what with father gone, and I had such terrible dreams last night that I’d rather not be alone. Greysen is coming later to talk about the wedding, but I’d like to see you before then. Perhaps you can help me look over the designs for my dress? All my love, Elain.

Tomas hadn’t liked it.

He’d sneered and scowled and said that unless Nesta was going to bring back a purse full of gold, she was wasting her time. He’d caught her by the door, hand closing about her wrist, lip curling as his eyes fell on the bracelet tied there. Like Cassian had suggested, she’d told him it was a gift from Elain, but Tomas hadn’t seemed to buy it. His grip had tightened, almost painful, and Nesta had hissed before wrenching herself away, so hard her wrist barked beneath the pressure. Without a word, she’d slammed the door behind her and now she was here— listening to her sister plan her wedding like she had no cares in the world, when Elain had been so troubled that morning that she’d sent for her older sister, so shaken that her hands had trembled on her teacup. 

She’d been dreaming of Clare Beddor lately.

It’s silly, Elain had said over their first pot of tea, looking down at the cup balanced in her hand. I just keep thinking about her. About her whole family. Gone—killed. And poor Clare, taken in the dead of night.

Her voice had grown quiet, her eyes haunted, as Elain looked up. In my dreams they come for us, too, she’d whispered.

Nesta had felt a chill run through her entire body. It was just a dream, and yet a shudder had racked her, thundering through her as Elain had taken a quivering breath.

They come for us too, she’d repeated, and a slick, foreboding kind of dread had coated the inside of Nesta’s veins, her heartbeat rising, uneven, as she searched in vain for the words to comfort her sister. 

Greysen had interrupted them then, and Elain had shaken it off, plastering a wide smile on her face that betrayed little. It was dulled only at the edges by the concern in her eyes, but Greysen hadn’t seemed to notice as he kissed Elain on the cheek and Nesta rose, moving to the armchair by the window to let him sit on the sofa with his betrothed. She had pulled Emerie’s book out of the canvas bag she’d brought with her when she left the Mandray house, grateful for the distraction.

She didn’t trust Tomas not to find it, so she kept the book with her, along with the dagger Cassian had given her. Both were a comfort now— the latter, especially. It was tucked in the pockets of her skirts, a steady weight at her thigh, and even though some sensible part of her knew that Elain’s dreams were nothing to fear…

She shook her head, dropping her gaze to her wrist, to the bracelet there that somehow soothed the sharpest edges of her worry. She thought of Starfall, the way they had danced and kissed and clung to one another, and suddenly she had to blink to focus on the words on the page, her mind scattered and only one word cutting through the tangled mess of her thoughts.

Cassian.

Gods— he had ruined her.

He’d destroyed her entirely, taken her heart and marked it— claimed it. How could she ever again pretend that her marriage to Tomas was what she wanted? How could she look at the ring on her finger and pretend it had been worth it, when she didn’t have the energy to deny it anymore? It was Cassian she wanted, he she craved, and there was no turning from it now.

She was too far gone.

Nesta spent another hour in that chair, her eyes moving idly over the page as she only pretended to read. She took none of it in, too preoccupied with the memory of the warrior above the wall, and the way he’d called her his. She was distracted— so distracted that it was only when the clock chimed noon and Greysen rose to his feet that she realised she’d not been listening at all.

After giving Elain a sweet farewell that Nesta couldn’t help but think rang hollow, he left, leaving her alone with her sister as Elain plucked up the thick pile of papers from the table and pulled out one from the very, very bottom

“Here,” she said as Nesta rose from the chair and took back the seat on the sofa she’d given up when Greysen arrived. Elain held out the paper. A sketch for a dress. “Its from the dressmaker in the village,” she explained, smoothing her skirts as the servants brought in a fresh pot of tea. “What do you think?”

Nesta held it in hand, casting her eyes over her sister’s wedding dress.

It was beautiful.

All flowing skirts and elegant sleeves, there were flowers embroidered at the hem and around the wrists. Delicate material gathered at the waist before sweeping down in a cascade of blush, pale pink skirts. It was staggeringly pretty, exactly the kind of dress that Nesta envisioned Elain in, and with the hyacinths set out on the table… It was lovely. But— a tiara had been added at the top of the faceless figure drawn on the paper, sketched in charcoal. It was a thin band of grey shaped to look somewhat like a wreath, fashioned with leaves that might have looked pretty— but it was iron, and it’s sharpness was a horrible contrast to the soft, pale pink of the gown and the pearls that Elain would wear at her neck and ears.

Nesta fought back a frown. “It’s… beautiful.”

Elain noted the hesitation. “It’s the tiara, isn’t it? You hate it.”

Nesta didn’t bother to deny it, and Elain let out a sigh that soon turned into a groan.

“So do I,” she admitted. “But it was Greysen’s mother’s. His father gave it to her on their wedding day, and it would mean a lot to both of them if I wear it.”

Greysen’s mother had died years ago, and Nesta could understand the sentiment but… did everything have to be made from iron?

“It is pretty,” Elain said, her lilting voice turning somewhat conciliatory. “Aside from the iron, it is pretty.” She sighed again. “I suppose it’s a sacrifice that I’m willing to make.”

Nesta stiffened. 

Elain hadn’t called it a compromise. She’d called it a sacrifice, and as Nesta looked at the flowers laid out on the table, the hyacinths in various shades of pink, she frowned in earnest. She didn’t think the word sacrifice was usually associated with weddings, and it was all too reminiscent of her own marriage.

Greysen was fine enough, she supposed. Wealthy and landed, titled— a decent match.  Elain could do worse. But perhaps, Nesta thought darkly, she could do better, too. Elain deserved somebody that would give her diamonds, not iron, and silently she wondered whether Elain would wilt like the flowers on the table the moment she was sequestered behind those high stone walls.

Elain waved a hand, shaking her head.

“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject. “I don’t think the iron tiara is the worst of our problems. Greysen thinks its strange that Feyre won’t be at the wedding.”

Nesta shrugged. “Well, you could always tell him that your sister was turned into one of the fae and see how strange he thinks that is in comparison.”

Elain rolled her eyes, batting Nesta on the arm.

“I wish she could come. I want her there, but…” She trailed off. “Perhaps if she came with Rhysand? He hid behind a glamour once before, that day they first came here. Perhaps he could make them both look… human?”

“And if he can’t?” Nesta asked. “If somebody should see through it?”

Elain huffed, defeated. She pushed the papers away, letting the sketch for her dress lie discarded at the top of the pile.

“Do you think there’s something between them?” she asked curiously, turning away from talk of the wedding altogether. “Feyre and Rhysand.”

Nesta sipped her tea. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Never mind that Feyre and Rhysand were… bonded. Cassian had told her about the mating bond, but it was still so foreign, so inexplicable, that Nesta couldn’t quite wrap her head about it. She wasn’t about to tell Elain— not when she wasn’t sure if Feyre even knew about it herself yet. She could think of nothing worse, if everyone else knew whilst Feyre was left in the dark. It didn’t exactly endear her to Rhysand, but still she kept her mouth shut. In silence, she dropped her gaze and dragged a fingertip lightly around the edge of her saucer.

Elain hummed. “He seems nice enough. I told you, didn’t I? That first day they stayed here. I said he seems nice.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Nesta said nothing. Rhysand was all smiles with Elain, but he tended to look at Nesta like she’d committed some great wrong just by stepping into the same room as him. The arrogance rolled off him in waves, and it didn’t matter if he was devoted to Feyre. Nesta didn’t like him.

But Elain tilted her head innocently, almost idly as a small, curious smile crossed her face that she quickly hid. She tapped a finger against her teacup, making the porcelain sing.

“They’re all nice I suppose, “ she continued lightly, humming as she reached out to straighten the flowers on the table. “And I like Azriel, even though he’s quiet. He’s the charming type, don’t you think?”

Nesta wondered where Elain was going with this— what angle she was striving for. But her sister did nothing but lift the teacup to her pale pink lips, delicate fingers curling around the saucer’s gilded edge. She didn’t look to her elder sister, only kept her eyes forward in a perfectly crafted display of nonchalance. Outside, the trees lining the borders of the estate swayed in a gentle breeze, and Elain looked absently out to the green-tipped branches as she let out a soft little hum.

Nesta had known her sister for twenty-two years. She knew when she was up to something, and as Elain sat there, sipping elegantly from her teacup and avoiding Nesta’s eyes, there was no doubt in Nesta’s mind.

Elain was up to something.

“And, well,” she said casually, almost idly. “Cassian certainly knows how to get under your skin.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “He’s incessant, that’s what he is,” she countered. “He knows exactly how to stir my temper, so perhaps I wouldn’t describe him as nice.”

Elain smirked. “Well, when I said he knows how to get under your skin, I didn’t mean it in quite that sense.”

She looked up suggestively, raising an eyebrow and glancing at her sister from the corner of her eye. A moment passed, a single beat, and in the silence Nesta felt her shock give way to something else, something… lighter. Elain’s eyes glittered, and Nesta was so surprised that she barked a laugh, setting her teacup down on her saucer with a clatter. Her mother would have had her head for it, but…

Well, her mother wasn’t here.

Elain’s lips pressed together as a look of satisfaction bloomed in her eyes, as if she’d gotten all the information she’d wanted, just from the look on Nesta’s face, from the surprised laugh that had burst from her chest. Nesta blinked, and then they were both laughing, the way they hadn’t in years, not since before they lost their money. Elain’s hand fluttered to her chest as her cheeks turned pink with mirth, and as Nesta shook her head, she forced her smile away.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said at last, her tone laden with a kind of faux innocence, a steadiness she didn’t feel.

“Of course you don’t,” Elain countered with a roll of her eyes. Still, her lips curved into a gentle smile, and for a moment there was silence, comfortable and complete. And then Elain let out a huff. “Oh, I wish you’d told me you were so unhappy with Tomas, Nesta.”

She turned to face Nesta on the sofa, the fabric of her dress rustling as she shifted closer, angling herself so she faced her sister fully. She put her own porcelain saucer down on the table, folding her hands in her lap as her expression turned pleading, turned sorrowful. 

“What difference would it have made?” Nesta shrugged. “It was already done.”

“It’s not too late, surely—“

Softly, Nesta shook her head. “But it is, Elain.”

Elain’s lips pursed, and a brow formed between her brows. “We could forge a family tree that says Tomas is your cousin,” she suggested brightly. “That would make the marriage void and none could dispute it.”

“And then Tomas and his father would want to claim their share of father’s money if they think we’re related,” Nesta pointed out. Elain cursed under her breath.

“We could fake your death,” she suggested. “Or poison him. I know exactly which plants to use that won’t leave a trace, and—“

Nesta leaned over to pat Elain’s arm, grateful even as her sister started to plot a murder. A smile pulled at her lips, a warmth blooming in her chest. There was no need for any of it, she thought, because as soon as Elain was married, she’d take Cassian up on his offer. The world above the wall might still terrify her, and she might have panicked at Starfall, but she could get used to it slowly— acclimatise. Elain’s voice trailed off, and Nesta’s smile remained.

“I love you, Elain,” she said. “For trying to kill my husband for me.”

Elain gave her a small smile in return. “What are sisters for?”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

[shadowdaddies]

Hi can I request a nessian x male!reader, where he is deaf and mute. How they met, when did the bond snap, inner circle reactions, maybe they are lerning sign language, and some Cassian scarying him. Maybe also a bit of angst, where they have a little spicy time and he cant say stop or smh. I know its weird, and detailed, but I really want to see this and i know you are an amazing writer and i know you will write it the best🫶🫶

hi, thank you so much for this request! I enjoyed writing this, and I hope I did your idea justice💜

A/N: for anyone who wants to read this without the angst/safe-wording, I've put that part between sets of "***" so you can skip over it if needed

Everything to Me

Nessian x m!Reader

warnings: (this is fluff, smut, and angst) smut below the cut, oral f!receiving, anal sex, use of safe word

The icy Illyrian air whipped around you, nose and cheeks tinged red from the cold. You felt the new-fallen snow crunch beneath your boots, the chill in your lungs from the wind making you desperate to get back inside quickly.

Pulling back the panel of animal hide that served as the entrance, you ducked down and moved into the healers’ tent. Instant warmth seeped into your bones, muscles relaxing as you sighed with relief.

A motion in the corner caught your eye, gaze drifting to where another healer, Attia, smiled warmly at you. “I made some tea for you,” she signed, turning to pour steaming liquid from the kettle into a cup. 

She held it out for you, nodding politely when you signed a stiff “thank you,” before wrapping your hands around the warm drink. The heat from the vessel alone was enough to lift your spirits, bringing life back to your numb hands.

A small chill hit your back, and you followed Attia’s gaze to the entrance of the tent where two Illyrian males stood. You offered a grin to the one you recognized, hazel eyes meeting yours as he matched your greeting with a nod of his own.

Setting your cup to the side, you freed your hands to talk with him. “Azriel,” you greeted, “how are your wings?”

“Much better, thanks to you,” Az signed back, and only then did you realize who was standing in the tent slightly behind the shadowsinger. 

General Cassian looked on with interest as Azriel turned slightly towards him to speak, signing his words as he did so you could follow the conversation. “This is our new best healer. He is who repaired my wings last year.”

“...And this is Cassian,” Azriel continued as he turned to face you. Your eyes met the general’s, but his eyes did not fall to where you were moving your hands in communication.

Instead, the Lord of Bloodshed stumbled back slightly, his eyes going wide the moment you made eye contact. Sudden fear struck you, unsure of what you did to prompt Cassian’s reaction - but before you could amend the situation, he’d uttered some words to Azriel before disappearing into the cold.

Even the stoic shadowsinger’s eyes flickered with shock before he composed himself. “I am sorry about Cassian - it seems he had somewhere to be.” His gaze swept the room, noting the teapot on the table next to Attia. “Would you mind if I joined you both for some tea?”

You knew his friendliness was a distraction - in the time you’d known the spymaster, you’d learned that while he might be kind at heart, he was not friendly. Nonetheless, you nodded, joining him as you sat on a cushion and enjoyed the conversation.

~~~

Several days passed before a familiar face showed in the healers’ tent again, Cassian looking much calmer and more put together than you’d last seen him. A striking female stood next to him - his mate, Nesta, from what you had heard.

There was an air of curiosity about her, silver eyes boring into you as though she were looking for something that not even you could see. Chin raised in a queenly elegance, the female lifted her lips in a graceful smile.

“My name is Nesta. I believe you met my mate, Cassian, already,” she signed, movements a little slow but uncommonly graceful.

Nervously, you looked to the general, your pleasant surprise apparent when he gestured, “it is good to see you again. I am learning sign language.” It was clear he had rehearsed the motions, but you weren’t sure why he had put in the effort after meeting so briefly.

“It is good to see you, too,” you signed back - slower than usual - making sure to give a pleasant smile as you did so.

From then on, Nesta and Cassian would visit you often, joining you for lunch in between training sessions at the camps, practicing their sign language with you - they were kind and supportive, curious about you and your work as a healer. 

You quickly found the both of them to be an integral part of your life, waking up each morning excited to see them. Days were brighter, the newfound friendship filling a void within you that you hadn’t known existed.

It was unlike any other friendship, or even any other relationship that you’d had before. This connection was deeper, and you were pondering how that could be one night outside by the fire with Nesta and Cassian when it hit you.

As your eyes wandered to where their hands were joined, sipping ale while they watched the fire, you realized with a pang of jealousy that you wanted that as well. You wanted their touch, their love, to stop waiting until they visited to be able to see them.

As if sensing your thoughts, Nesta turned to look at you, silver eyes reflecting the flames from the crackling fire when you dropped your drink into the dirt, frothy ale spilling out on the ground.

As easily as the two people in front of you slid into your life like missing pieces, the puzzle was put together before you. Cassian’s shocked reaction when you first met, the pull that you felt towards him and Nesta - everything snapped into place when you felt that odd tug pulling at your rib.

Nesta and Cassian exchanged a glance before turning back towards you, gentle and cautious while they studied your reaction. 

A lump formed in your throat, hands twitching anxiously as the words escaped you, so you signed the only one that seemed to echo through your mind. “Mates?”

You felt your eyes well with emotion, tears threatening to spill over the corners when they both nodded. 

~~~

The same overwhelming feeling of love and contentment settled in your soul as the dying embers of the hearth brought you back to the memories of that night. Marking your place in the book you were reading, you turned your head to admire the painting Feyre had gifted you - a perfect recreation of your mating ceremony, with Cassian and Nesta seated on either side of you as you dined and celebrated with friends and family.

You noticed Nesta in the corner of your eye, your mate smiling brightly down at you. “What are you thinking?” she signed, taking a seat next to you on the sofa.

The scent of fire and steel invaded your senses, her alluring aroma slightly darkened as you allowed your gaze to drag over the sight of her in her training leathers. “I am thinking how much I love you,” you signed, smirking at the flush across her cheeks, the way her chest began to rise and fall with more effort. “I’m thinking how I can’t believe I lived so long without you and Cassian,” your lips dragged slowly up her neck, sucking softly on her fluttering pulse before you pulled away. “I am thinking that I need you, now.”

Nesta’s throat bobbed as she signed hastily, “then take me.” 

You wasted no time, hands wrapping around her thighs as her arms wove around your neck, teeth and tongues clashing in a passionate kiss. Your knees hit the mattress, your cue to lay your mate down softly on the bed, her golden brown hair splayed out beneath her.

“You are beautiful,” you told her, dropping your hands to the ties of her pants while she helped you pull them off. Nesta slid backwards to the top of the bed, her head resting against the pillows, hands finding purchase in your hair as you kissed the soft skin of her thighs.

Prying her legs open, the scent of her arousal was intoxicating, removing any semblance of restraint you might have had. Diving into her core, you sucked on her clit, tongue flicking out against the sensitive bud. 

She writhed beneath you, sending your male pride surging as you felt the vibrations of her moans against your face and hands. You brought one finger to curl inside of her, pumping slowly as her slick grew before adding a second.

Keeping your mouth on her clit, you curled and twisted your fingers inside her warmth, biting back a grin as you sent her spiraling into an orgasm in no time. 

Pulling your fingers from Nesta’s pussy, you held them up in the light to let her see her release before bringing them to your lips and sucking. “Delicious,” you signed, cock twitching at the adorable blush on her cheeks at your filthy words.

The change in shadows and Nesta’s glance towards the door drew you from the moment, your eyes following hers to see Cassian standing in the doorframe. His hazel eyes were dark and wild, his own cock straining against his pants.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Nesta asked, back arching with a feline playfulness as she watched your other mate stride towards you.

“I did,” Cassian replied, his signing much more punctuated than Nesta’s satiated movements. “But it looks like you’ve yet to take care of our mate,” he nodded towards where your cock was leaking through your pants.

Nesta arched a dark brow at you, a sultry look on her face as she leaned forward, unbuttoning your shirt while pressing soft kisses to the newly exposed skin. You felt Cassian’s warmth behind you, sensed his movements as he undressed. 

They both helped you remove your pants, the three of you now bare and aching with desire. Cassian must have said something to Nesta, because she returned to her place at the head of the bed, kneeling there with her hair covering her full breasts. “Elbows and knees,” she directed to you, sucking in a breath as you obeyed with leisure, soaking in her expressions as you crawled between her legs, ass in the air for Cassian behind you.

Cassian’s strong hands settled firmly on your ass, working the flesh there as you felt a cold substance poured over your hole. One finger slid inside of you, then two, and your head fell into Nesta’s lap as Cassian worked you open.

Delicate fingers wove through your hair, teasing along the sensitive membrane of your wing in just the right place to leave your body shaking. Collapsing into the sheets, you buried your face once more in Nesta’s wet pussy, eating her out slowly this time as Cassian entered you from behind.

It was ecstasy, to be between your mates like this. You struggled to focus on Nesta, your technique growing sloppy the harder Cassian thrust inside of you. 

***

Suddenly, you felt Cassian’s hands wrap around your wrists, holding them together behind you to arch your back in a way that let him hit impossibly deeper. You could hardly breathe, the pleasure was too much, or so you thought. 

Cassian continued pounding into you, but you couldn’t breathe pressed against Nesta’s skin. You pulled away as best you could, head instead falling into the sheets at an uncomfortable angle. You could hardly think of anything except that you needed this to stop, needed a break, but you couldn’t sign to them.

As Cassian thrust into you again, fingertips found his wrists, and you dug a nail hard into the skin there, quickly making an attempt to sign “stop.”

All at once, everything stilled, and you felt Nesta move from beneath you to lay at your side, face level with your own. “Are you hurt?”

Shaking your head, you let your now-released hands fall to the mattress as Cassian slid out of you. You turned over so they could both see your hands, and still catching your breath, explained. “I am not hurt. I could not breathe well, and got scared when I couldn’t use my hands.” 

You noticed Cassian’s face crumble with guilt, the general falling back on his heels. Feeling his pain through the bond, you leaned forward, hands finding his cheeks as you pulled him in for a gentle kiss. 

“I am okay. This is just something we need to talk about in the future - a way for us all to still be able to communicate in bed.”

***

Cass’s gaze softened slightly, visible relief edging at his features. “You are sure you’re alright?” he pressed.

“I am sure. Now, will you please lay with me?” you asked, taking his hand and Nesta’s in each of yours as you guided them to join you under the covers. 

Nesta’s arms wound around your waist, her body curling into your side, one leg hiked across your own. You found Cassian’s hand, intertwining it with your own to press a kiss to the tough skin there. You smiled softly at the feeling of his long onyx hair brushing your neck, soft lips pressed to your cheek before you drifted off to sleep in your mates’ warm embrace.

[courtofblooming]

HOFAS BONUS CHAPTER !

Spoilers ahead ⚠️

Some points to be made, first of all, we see in the Bryce, Azriel and Nesta’s bonus chapter, all three characters getting to know each other a little bit better, also Nesta asking Bryce to play a song and Azriel humming and enjoying the music.

This scene is particularly interesting, because it’s clear that both Nesta and Azriel are protecting the other fae from Velaris, they say that the war that happened during ACOWAR was declared just on her and azriel. Which means they’re protecting the others, not giving up too much information about their personal lives.

In this scene Bryce asks both Nesta and Azriel about mates and Azriel is less than enthusiastic to answer about it, he’s avoiding the subject and being monosyllabic about it, which makes the “mates” topic very sensitive for him until now, despite the fact that’s been months since the solstice. (I see you elriel angst 😉)

Azriel also mentions his mother, saying she’s “anything but awful” are we getting Rosehall anytime soon?

This is definitely my favorite part, where Bryce puts on her favorite song, and describes it, how important the song was to her and how “it carried her from light into darkness and then back into the light” which is really interesting considering Azriel seems to really like the song.

Which makes a great parallel between the “Light and Dark” elriel scene in ACOWAR.

Later on, after she stopped playing the song, Azriel started humming in it, softly and to himself.

This brings me back to ACOMAF!

Where the book of breathings mentions “trembling fawn” along with “sing me”, and the order of the phrases really connect with feyre with “lady of the night” and then feysand with “love me”, then nesta with “princess of decay” and then nessian with “touch me” and finally elain with “trembling fawn” and elriel with “sing me” as we know azriel is a shadowsinger!

[jasmineandcedar]

Get a grip

An Elriel one shot (Azriel’s POV).

(jump down to “keep reading” if you want to go straight to the one shot - mind the tags)

I see adoration, connection, and beautiful consent in how SJM has written Elain and Azriel’s relationship. We see how they narratively lift each other as characters, just like Nessian and Feysand. Azriel is Elain’s choice - her breaking free of the stifling expectations that have plagued her. With Elain's encouragement, we see self-sacrificing Azriel finally rest and able to fight his feelings of being unworthy of touch and romantic love.

On top of how they care for each other, there is also mutual lust - in the most beautiful slow-burn of the ACOTAR series (if you ask me).

Whilst I will always have a weakness for Elriel's quiet and gentle love, here’s a celebration of the sometimes misunderstood aspects of their developing romance - lust and desire. Inspired by Azriel's bonus chapter, it's my attempt at depicting how Azriel’s racing thoughts and desire for Elain might manifest at night, when only the Mother might witness him. It's also a celebration of Elain and the desirable things about her. A light-hearted vindication of the shadowsinger and the seer - whose only crime seems to be desiring each other, both sexually and romantically. (I love me a forbidden romance! 🤭)

I shall let them.

Warning: smut (sexual fantasies, jerking off), angst

(This is my first attempt at writing something even remotely smutty. It’s all in good fun!).

I wrote this thinking of it as a continuation of my one shot Wingspan (you’ll find it here, but you don’t need to read it to read this one).

_______

Azriel arrived at the House of Wind with hot frustration pulsing through his normally icy veins. Shadows swirled at his feet as he ran a hand through his windswept hair, tucked in his wings, and entered the lower levels of the House. With Nesta and Cassian already fast asleep, he hurried through the corridors towards his room. His steps were guided by muscle memory alone, his thoughts racing with images of Elain.

Since fate had cruelly decided they couldn’t have each other, the thought of her would have to do—for now.

And it would do.

Thoughts of her fingers grazing his. The jolt that went through his body as their eyes met. Her golden-brown hair falling in waves like a silken waterfall down her back. How the chilly night air painted her cheeks and nose in a lovely shade of pink. The gentle care with which she nurtured life into being in every garden she touched.

It was curious—how a single memory of her could satiate him more than sharing shallow corporeal pleasures with another had ever been able to. He hadn't seen the point in any of that in a long time, couldn’t fathom why he ever had, now that he could steal glances from Elain Archeron, secretly brush his fingers against hers, or simply watch her be.

The ache in his chest was rivalled only by the ache in his pants. As it were, he could only do something about one of those aches tonight. He fully intended to. He would take advantage of that ache currently throbbing in his pants until he was a throbbing mess in his bed. It was the only hope he had of getting any sleep.

He entered his room, grateful for the solitude of the late hour. Locking the door behind him, he only managed a few strides inside before he fell back against the stone wall, spreading his wings along the cool and smooth surface for some relief. He let his shadows—the ones that weren’t already asleep—seal his room off from any unwanted attention.

Then, he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

His lips parted as his fingers drifted to his waist, tugging at his shirt to undo the fasteners of his pants. His fingers were cold from his flight, and he shuddered as they grazed the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen. He leaned his head back against the wall and let out another deep breath before he bit his lower lip. Hard.

He inhaled.

Thoughts of her flashed through his mind—her delicate fingers twirling the string of her apron, the way she swept strands of golden-brown behind her ear as she knelt in the garden.

He exhaled.

Fuck me, he thought behind closed eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall again, a little harder than necessary.  

Perhaps it was pathetic, the level of detail with which he had committed to memory even the most minute of encounters with her. He could live with that. Somehow, he didn’t mind it at all. Those minute encounters seemed to be what kept his heart pumping, after all. What he couldn’t live with was that raging ache that threatened to rip through his pants if he didn’t deal with it soon.

He groaned with relief as he finished unfastening his pants to grip his cock. He was painfully hard, to a degree only Elain Archeron could induce. He wrapped his fingers firmly around his length and let them glide over it.

"Elain Archeron," he sighed at the thought of her. To his shock, he heard himself almost giggle at the way her name slipped from his lips.

Then, because no one was there to witness the fearsome Spymaster, he whispered her name into the night one more time, as if to taste it. Despite his misery, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. It was sweet like honey, the way her name took shape on his tongue—just like her gentle soul, which seemed to understand both the words he spoke and didn’t speak.

His grip around his cock tightened, hand wrapping around it much in the same way he was wrapped around Elain’s finger.

His heart had belonged to her and her alone since she had given him that headache powder—when she had made him feel genuine happiness for the first time since he didn’t know when. It had been hers since she chose to spend her first Solstice night with him, of all people, sharing her dreams for the gardens. Her eyes of molten chocolate had lit up and he had looked at her in awe, undisturbed, until dawn. He wasn’t even sure if he had blinked; he hadn't wanted to miss a single second of her elation. That night, she had taught him what joy felt like, and it had stunned him.

He wanted desperately to return to that night. To be able to look into her warm brown eyes without suspicion or accusation from anyone over what his heart desired. He wanted to go back and give her his heart again, just to make sure she knew it was hers.

But perhaps she had already wrapped his heart in her soft hands when she looked upon his brutalized ones and breathed the last word he would ever have associated with himself, regardless of how many times others spoke it of him.

Beautiful, she had breathed.

And he had believed her.

Yes, he was hers already.

The things he would do to not just be hers, but to call her mine.

The thought of it had him tightening his grip on his cock. Slowly and firmly, he let his fingers glide from the base of his length and stop just below the head. The pleasure of it all was excruciating. He had always thought the line between pleasure and pain was a rather fine one, a proclivity he now reaped the benefits of.

He groaned, his breathing growing heavier. He wanted desperately to bring himself over the edge, but he wasn’t done yet. Rolling his head back, he focused, exhaling deeply and feeling the muscles of his core contract. Then the ache in his chest mirrored the ache he gripped between his fingers as he stroked himself again, even harder, for good measure. He felt his body twitch at the impact.

That’s it, he thought to himself as he got himself closer to that blissful edge and forced himself to hover in that space where pleasure and pain intermingled.

If she would let him, he would grab hold of her and never let go. Yes. If she wanted it, he would hold onto her.

Hard.

With both hands.

From behind.

And fuck her slowly.

The thought alone nearly pushed him over the edge. That wouldn’t do—he wasn’t ready for this to end just yet. He shook his head, relaxed his grip on himself and let out another trembling breath.

What he could do to her from behind, though, should she want it… He would wrap those golden-brown waves around his fist like a belt and pull her up against him. He would tilt her beautiful face the way he wanted it—the way they both wanted it—just like he had done that second Solstice night, giving him perfect access to her lovely neck.

That neck of hers. He sighed desperately at the image that flashed before him. Of course, Elain had to have the most delectable neck in all of Prythian.

Unable to hold back, his grip around his length tightened again as he clenched his jaw, held his breath, and stroked himself fiercely to the thought of it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He let out his breath and forced himself to loosene his grip again.

That second Solstice night was etched on his mind like the tattoos etched on his upper body. He had been the luckiest bastard in all the realms combined when she had allowed his fingers to taint the velvety skin of her neck. No—when she had urged him to stroke the velvety skin of her neck, with the way she had leaned into him.

He groaned, his hand tightening reflexively at the memory, the implication of her actions that  night almost bringing him to completion once again.

She had wanted it. Wanted him. He knew that now. And that small, precious truth was enough for him to keep battling those demons that told him otherwise.

“Get it together,” he panted, the muscles in his upper body once again contracting with each ragged breath. He resorted to dazedly letting his fingers glide in long motions along his length as he indulged in the memory of her.

It was a fruitless endeavour. He knew he would be frantically stroking himself again in a few moments anyway.

He was insatiable. And she was too lovely.

That neck.

He had let his thumb draw lazy circles on that flawless neck. No—there had been nothing lazy about it. His focus on her that night had been sharper than any duty had ever commanded his attention. And when that sweet, intoxicating scent of her arousal had reached his nostrils, he had almost fallen to his knees. An unusual urge almost anything Elain did seemed to inspire in him.

Azriel wasn’t one to kneel before anything or anyone. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had done it once—that one time he had knelt before Elain when he rescued her from those Hybern scum. She was the exception to that rule.

No, kneeling before Elain was the rule.

He’d live his life by that rule if she would let him.

She could hold his gaze with those beautiful eyes that looked upon this miserable world with such fierce hope, and it was like a kick to the back of his knees. He would be on the floor begging already if he only let go of what was left of that restraint he hung onto for dear life whenever she was around.

Eyes closed, his shirt clinging to his hot skin, he leaned heavily against the wall and tilted his head to the side. His racing thoughts drifted back to her—to those soft waves of golden brown that would wrap so perfectly around his fist. The cool touch of the stone wall against his wings added to the sensation as he rolled his hips, letting his cock glide through his tight grip with slow, hard thrusts—just like he would fuck her if they ever got the chance.

How many thrusts would it take before she collapsed in his arms? He chuckled, low and dark. It didn’t matter much. As if one time would ever be enough. Since he was apparently known for being such a cruel bastard, he would show her all the ways he could make her come until it was her turn to beg for mercy. He smiled at the thought before he felt that sting in his chest return.

Skin to skin—that was where they belonged. Breathing the same air. With his hand tangled in her soft curls, he’d whisper praise in her ear, shower her soft skin with the equally soft kisses she deserved, her back pressed against his chest as he made love to her. He had a feeling she would like that just as much as he would. Maybe she would even treat him to a moan. The mere thought of her moans was like a fist around his cock.

He could certainly make her moan.

Oh, the ways in which he could make Elain moan. Perhaps he would even make a quest of it.

With his tongue, that’s how he would start. Her inner thigh. And, Mother save him, when he got between those inner thighs…

When he had Elain coming on his tongue.

When she wrapped those thighs around his face as he had her coming on his tongue.

He almost sobbed at the thought of it, fisting his cock ferociously, grip rough and brows furrowed as all thoughts of restraint shattered.

“Fuck it,” he panted.

Every muscle in his body tensed as he as he came with her name on his lips, his skin overheated and body quivering. His head tipped back against the wall, pleasure pulsing through him like the tremor that had rippled through his veins when she met his gaze earlier tonight. His lips parted and a low moan, followed by a string of curses, spilled out of him.

A few moments passed as he caught his breath, dazedly stroking himself through the last waves of pleasure before he finally opened his eyes. He looked around the room lazily. Then, realization dawned on him. He swore again, low and dirty, at the mess he had made.

His eyes fell upon the headache powder at his bedside table. Unused, as it would remain. He felt that familiar sting in his chest at the sight of it. He was left only with the empty feeling of her absence—unsure of how emptiness could feel so substantial. His chest tightened again at his own misery where he stood alone, his cock still in his hand, staring at the soiled floor.

“Pathetic,” he muttered at the thought of himself. He hadn’t even made it to the bed. That must be a new record. He would have to get that under control, should he ever get to spend a night with Elain.

He sighed deeply, turrning to look out the window across the room at the pitch-black tapestry that was the night sky. Just as the realization of his own misery had dawned on him, dawn would be emerging in a few hours, spreading soft pastels across the night sky. It reminded him of her—like everything seemed to do these days.

He thought of that dusty pink gown she often wore, the one that made her soft skin appear even softer. As if that were even possible. He wanted to rest his head against that softness and fall asleep.

Azriel had never yearned for arms to hold him. Not until Elain.

Something burned behind his eyelids. He knew it would crush him to dwell on it.

“Get a fucking grip,” he muttered to himself, even as his hand returned to once again grip his hardening length.

It would be a long night.

(I just want them to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Is that too much to ask? 😭)

[ninthcircleofprythian]

🔥- Smut 💕- Fluff 🙈- Angst 🩹- Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist Header by @saradika-graphics

Please read all warnings on fics - some fics contain heavy emotional topics and explicit descriptions. All fics will be appropriately tagged at the time of posting. Please read them carefully before diving in. Your mental health matters.

Azriel

🔥 Winner Takes All - After returning from a girls retreat weekend at the cabin, Nesta and Celeste find out the Bat Boy husbands have made a bet they are sure to lose. (Azriel x OC Celeste)

🔥Here Comes The Sun - When the Spymaster of the Night Court discovers your little crush, you end up crossing a lot of firsts off your list. (Azriel x You/Reader)

🔥💕Dinner and Dessert - As his mate's due date approaches, Az can't handle the sight of her pregnant body in a sundress without going a bit feral. (Azriel x OC Mira)

Continuing Series

Unbound - Not having a mating bond didn't stop the love Azriel and Celeste have for each other or their commitment. When an unknown magic lingering from Celeste's past causes her to lose all memories of the last century, will they be able to rebuild their life without a bond tethering them together? (Azriel x OC Celeste)

💕🙈 Part 1 - They Don't Know About Us

🙈 Part 2 - Don't Pull Away

💕Part 3 - We're Going to Solstice Dinner -- and We're Gunna Get Married

🙈🩹 Part 4 - Dancing With Your Ghost

🙈 Part 5 - As The World Caves In

🙈 Part 6 - Numb, But I Still Feel It

🙈 Part 7 - Putting on a Brave Face

🙈 Part 8 - Take Me To Church

Cassian

🔥 Kiss - Don't Tell - Cassian/Azriel - M/M - after a wild threesome months ago - Cas and Az get a little curious what things would be like without a third party involved

💕Let It Snow - Cassian/Reader - modern au - sweet holiday themed fluff with Cassian during a snowstorm. *Cheesy use of song lyrics*

Eris

🔥 Make It Hurt - After a truly terrible day you come home only to be surprised by the one and only Eris Vanserra and he knows how to make it all better. (Eris x You/Reader)

💕 Stuck in the Middle with You - Eris relents to participate in a throuples Halloween costume contest at your insistence. (Halloween modern AU) (Eris Week 2024 - AU day) (Azris/Reader)

Continuing Series

The Bird and The Badger - a series of interconnect one shots told in non-linear order detailing the life of Eris x OC (Bryn) --- eventual Azris x OC (Parts will be listed here in chronological order)

💕A Matter of Trust - Eris needs to find someone he can trust to help with part of his secretive plan against Beron.

🙈Keeping Up Appearances - Eris and Bryn travel to Night Court to enact the bargain with Rhys.

Azris

💕A Pocketful of -- Ragweed? - (Short little drabble for Azris week) Eris might be snide and snarky with his words, but he sure knows how to surprise his mate with his actions.

🙈 May Her Memory Be a Blessing - no summary. please read the authors notes. this will hurt. emotional damage.

💕 When You Wish Upon a Star - just a little slice of life and domesticity for dad!Az and dad!Eris.

💕Boop or Treat - modern AU halloween fic with dad!Az and dad!Eris

Elucien

💕 Scrabble Drabble - Family game night after weekly dinners tended to get a little contentious. It wasn’t unusual for someone to quit midway through or to accuse another of cheating. It was no different now that Lucien had joined in the weekly tradition with his mate, Elain.

💕Icing Is The Spice Of Life - Elain may have slightly over-commited her famous holiday cookies to friends and family. But her mate Lucien comes to the rescue. Cuteness abounds.

Headcanons

💕 In which the fae of Prythian discover bubble gum - (Feysand, Nessian, Elucien, Azris, Mor)

Corner Productions

(Collaborations with Chaos)

🔥 Gold Star for You - silly NSFW smut headcanons of everyone and reader - Reader introduces gold star reward system in the bedroom.

💕 With This Ring - Headcanons about Eris Vanserra and his affinity for jewelry - especially after a certain Shadowsinger enters his life.

[writingmuses]

Love Potion 

Request: Based on a request for an IC x Reader, either a sex pollen fic or a magic potion fic (I may or may not do a sex pollen fic in the future 👀)

Elain x Reader, Nessian X Reader, Azriel x Reader, some mentions of Lucien X Reader (maybe I’ll do a prequel?) → a little bit for everyone. 

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, minors do not engage. Self-pleasure, fingering, grinding, breast play, p in v, biting, mentions of being under the influence. 100% consensual. ANGST.

Use of she/her for the reader. The reader is Rhy’s sister. 

Literal Porn with plot for the sake of porn but there is a lot of potential angst to turn this into an actual fic if anyone's interested by the end (so much drama to unpack). 

Synopsis: Reader accidentally drinks a love potion.  As desire courses through Y/Ns veins, and her inhibitions lower, she encounters the different members of the Inner Court.

Word count: 15.7K (WHOOPS)

-MOR-

“What is it?” Mor asks, gently tapping on the side of the glass pitcher. She brings her hands to her knees and lowers herself down to eye level with the fluid inside. She watches the plum-coloured liquid swirl within the glass, glimmering with tiny flecks of gold, dancing around one another to music that does not exist, suspended in infinite motion. 

She must admit that it is beautiful. That, however,  just makes her all the more suspicious. Mor blows an annoying stray curl out of her face and swivels to meet her cousin’s eyes. Rhysand’s violet gaze is clouded and dark, full of irritation. That means, Mor notes, that her dearest cousin is already aware of what’s inside the pitcher that has been gifted to her High Lady. 

“Yes, Lucien, do indulge my cousin and tell everyone about the swill you have brought into my home," Rhys voice clips. Lucien had arrived at the River House mere minutes ago, holding a large oak tray. On that tray sat the pitcher containing the mystery liquid, one ridiculously bejewelled challis, a single red rose, and, a note addressed to the High Lady:

Dearest Feyre,

I hope you are well and safe.

I apologize for my dismissal of your title as High Lady earlier this year. You are more worthy than any other female I have come across in my many centuries. 

I understand now that you would make a wondrous High Lady in any court. 

I am sending this note with Lucien along with my finest tea as a token of peace and as a toast to you in your new role. I would love for you to sample the wine and write me back letting me know how it made you feel. 

Please do not tell Rhysand of my gift to you, for I fear he would not understand this gesture between friends. 

I count the seconds to your reply.

All my love, 

Tamlin 

Lucien is quite pale. His normally bronzed skin looks ashy and his eyes are sullen. “Rhys… I-I know what you must be thinking.” The male clears his throat, worrying his bottom lip,“I’m sure he just wasn’t in his right mind - or maybe he didn’t know the properties of the liquid. Tam-” 

Darkness begins to creep out from behind Rhys, his face stony.“Do not mention that name in my house right now, Lucien. I have half a mind to winnow over to Spring and gut the coward where he stands.” Rhys holds the note in his hands and quickly crumples it into a tight ball. “Do not make excuses for that vile creature.” His eyes burn with fury as he sends the balled up note careening through the air, and right into the roaring fireplace.

Almost all of the inner court was gathered around the two males, standing tense and mystified at this interaction. Everyone is dressed in fine clothes and gathered at the River house for family dinner. “I’m confused,” Mor queries again, “Rhys, please tell us what is happening?” 

Feyre approaches her mate, resting a gentle hand on his bicep. He turns to look at her. Their eyes locked in a way only a pair of mates could. The two converse internally, and after a moment, Feyre gasps aloud. “A love potion? Rhys, truly?” 

“What the fuck?” Cassian chimes in, brows furrowed, attention turning to the ginger male. “Why the fuck would you bring this to us,” Cassian takes a lumbering step towards Lucien. Mor takes a step forward as well, gripping the General's arm, not in the mood to have dinner ruined just yet.  “Were you in on it?” Cassian barks to the son of Autumn.

“Cauldron no!” Lucien slinks back a step, eyes glued to his worn leather boots, trying to dissipate some of the tension in the room. “I brought it here to show you that Tamlin is desperate - and not above resorting to such vile means.” He clears his throat and looks up to Feyre, a small, apologetic smile on his lips. “I brought this here to warn you that Tamlin will likely try again and that you need to be on your guard.” 

It is Mor now, who takes another step forward, rage simmering beneath her skin. “Likely story you prick. I’ll-” she starts, but she is cut off by a hand on her shoulder. The High Lady had made her way over to Mor, now gripping her shoulder with a delicate hand. 

“He’s telling the truth,” Feyre concludes. She eyes Rhys, another one of their private discussions taking place within the confines of their own minds. “Lucien showed us.” 

“Feyre darling is correct," Rhys sighs, "Our dear friend Lucien here, while foolish - meant well.” the anger in his eyes disperses as Rhys nods a brief thanks to the ginger fae. “Besides,” he ponders, “ this love potion would have no ill effect on our dear High Lady.” 

“Now how’d you figure that Rhys?” Mor raises a brow at her cousin. 

“Because the High Dunce of Spring still believes I have Feyre under my evil spell.” Rhys wiggles his fingers at his mate, dry humour dancing in his eyes. “You see, the particular love potion good ol Tam picked out is called Affectus Revelare, also known as Feelings Revealed." Rhys gestures at the pitcher. "The potion itself is quite rare and rather ancient even by fae standards, which is why I'm not surprised none of you recognized it. Even you Az.” Rhys nods to the shadow singer in the corner. Azriel, who prides himself on his diverse knowledge of poisons, spells and potions, nods in thanks, upset with himself for not having been able to place the potion immediately. 

“I think I've heard of it,” Mor muses, all eyes on her now. “It works to remove inhibition. To allow those who drink it to reveal their true feelings? It is strong, and able to cut through most other potions or spells. Which is probably why Tamlin selected it." Her cousin nods in agreement. She continues, "However, to my knowledge, it went out of favour a long time ago because of the side effects.” She turns back to her cousin and he nods in agreement. 

“What side effects?” Cassian asks. 

“Think of it as a magic truth serum. However, this truth serum removes  any suppression of morals and makes its drinker uncontrollably horny.” Rhys says in a strained voice. “Unstoppably so. The only way to get the urges to dissipate is to have a way with the object of the drinker’s strongest affections.”

The jaws around the room hang low. Cassian lets out a startled cough. Azriel is the first to recover from the uncomfortable silence, his shadows flying around his head as he quickly mutters to them. Some of his shadows disappear into thin air, Mor assumes they are presumably off to keep further tabs on the High Lord of Spring.

“So Tamlin thought what? That I would drink this so-called love potion, break the “evil curse” you’ve trapped me under, again, and then come running back into his arms?” Feyre was full-on laughing now and it was contagious. She wiped her eyes as tears formed as she fought to control her deep belly laugh. 

“And right into his bed.” 

Rhys slings an arm around Feyre’s shoulder and starts to turn her away from Tamlin’s ‘gift’. He kissed the top of her head, a signature smirk returning to his face. His eyes were clear and bright once again. “All that potion would have done is make you find me even more irresistible than I already am," he coos. 

“I don’t know how that could be possible.” 

“Oh Feyre darling, please, we have company.” Rhys groans and nuzzles deeply into his High Lady’s neck, laying kiss after kiss along her pulse point. He pulls his lips from her neck with great effort, and only after poor innocent Elain clears her throat uncomfortably. “Let’s bring this up to the House of Wind for now, we can further investigate the source of this potion tomorrow. I would be very interested to find out where Tamlin was able to source such a thing.” He nods to Cassian who scoops up the tray and heads towards the door. “Everyone meet back here for dinner in 10.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-CASSIAN-

“I’ll drop this off, I need to pick up Nes anyways. I’ll be right back.” Cassian walks out the door and spreads his wings wide. With powerful strokes, he is up and into the air. In a few short minutes, he touches down on the stone balcony of the House of Wind. Not a single drop of the potion has spilled, and he smiles triumphantly. Nesta sits at the table, a smutty romance novel gripped in her hands. She looks up at him with a smile but worry quickly crosses her face and her eyes drift to the tray in his hands. 

“Don’t worry Nes,” he reassures her. “I didn’t get you anything. This was a gift for your sister, I wouldn’t dream of such a sweeping gesture. I know that you much prefers other methods of celebration,” Cassian says with a wink.

“Who’s it from?” Nesta closes her book, and rises from the table. 

“From Tamlin, of all males.” He sets the tray down on the tabletop, the bejewelled challis rattling against the pitcher at the sudden movements.

“A gift? From Tamlin?” 

“It’s a long story. Let’s head down to dinner, I’ll tell you on the way.” With that, Cassian scoops his beautiful mate into his arms. Her arms lock around his neck as he shoots off into the sky and back towards the River House. The love potion left on the table to be dealt with tomorrow. 

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

-Y/N-

You winnow out of the sky a number of feet above the House of Wind and begin to make the unceremonious crash down to the balcony. You quickly generate a tiny cloud of sparkling night with a single thought to slow your descent.

I am so running late. 

You had been away in the Summer Court for three weeks visiting your dear friend, Tarquin. The High Lord of Summer and you had bonded over your shared love of the ocean, gossip and fruity drinks many decades ago. He now invited you every couple of months for a visit to his vacation villa, where you would swim, eat and share the juiciest, most jaw-dropping tidbits from your respective courts. You are the only one of the inner circle ever to be invited. This, of course, made Cassian infinitely jealous. 

You loved your visits with the High Lord of Summer. The weight on your shoulders would slip away, even if it was just for a few days and you would both be free of responsibilities. However, this visit had been mostly diplomatic and unfortunately, you had found yourself roped into weeks of dinners and meetings. Working on updating trade agreements between the courts, while important, had been dreadfully boring. So much so that as you had left, Tarquin made the promise that this trip didn’t count and that you would meet up again in two months' time for a redo.

You feel dead tired. What you truly need is a hot bath and good long sleep. But tonight is family dinner and you are excited to see everyone. No work talk, that would wait until tomorrow, but it was rare to have a moment where we were all together, wine flowing and laughs ringing through the River House. You wouldn’t miss it for the world. 

You pass into the dining room and drop your large satchel on the table beside one of Nesta's books. Beside her book, sat a pitcher of tea you assumed Nesta had made for herself during her afternoon reading session. You giggle at the rose laid out next to it. Nesta truly was a romantic at heart. You scoop it up and admired the luscious red of the petals. It was just like Nes to indulge herself in the finer things, especially amidst one of her reading frenzies. 

You twirled the delicate blossom in your hand and inhale the scent deeply, when suddenly you hiccup in pain. Looking down at your hand you realize one of the thorns had sliced your finger. You quickly drop the flower and bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the coppery drops of blood. The cut is shallow and heals instantly, the tiny pink scar disappearing right under your gaze. With the flower now forgotten, you turn your attention to the tea. 

You quickly scan the room, as if Nesta would appear out of thin air at any moment and berate you for taking what wasn’t yours. The thought made you let out a nervous chuckle. If Nes is putting out fancy flowers with her drink, then the tea she selected must be simply divine. 

Don’t mind if I do!

You grasp the gaudy bejewelled challis in one hand and picked up the crystal pitcher with the other. You pour yourself a large cup. As the liquid pours from one vessel to another, you can’t help but admire the way it sparkles and shimmers, almost like stardust suspended in liquid - not unlike your own magic. 

With a little cheers in the air, you take your first taste.

A low moan erupts from the back of your throat. Never have you tasted anything so divine. Hints of rose and lavender, honeysuckle and almond, rose and hibiscus. But also something deeper, and tangier, a musk of dark earth and fresh rain. It tasted of desire and warmth, of friction and longing. The flavour overwhelms your senses, and becomes all-encompassing. 

You take a second small sip. Another groan involuntarily passes your lips. 

Then a third and fourth sip, both larger, more eager.

You take a fifth, and down the rest of your cup.

Now, in a frenzy, you refill the challis and drain it all in one gulp. 

Again. And again. And again. It is as if you are in a trance, unable to stop yourself, needing to feel the sweet nectar pass your lips, and slide down your throat. The mesmerising liquid burns deliciously as you drink and drink and drink until the pitcher is empty. 

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. With the pitcher empty, your desire to consume was gone. Your hands shake as you place the challis and pitcher back onto the tray. Your memories of what has just transpired are hazy. In one breath all memory of drinking the tea was gone. In the next breath, you remember it is family dinner. You quickly grab your bag and shuffle up to your room. Throwing the bag into the corner, you turn to the mirror to address your appearance. The dress you don is a light sea foam green, a slit running all the way up to your hip bone, and a low V neckline descending down almost to your navel. As it was currently winter in Velaris, you would need to change into some warmer clothes. As you reach around to unclasp your dress, you are suddenly hit with an intense feeling of warmth. Your face flushes and in the mirror you see sweat form at your temples. It lasts only for a second before your temperature begins to regulates, but it was enough to convince you to stay in the cooler summer garment. I must just be tired. 

You head back out to the balcony ready to go meet your family. You leap off the ledge and as you enter a free fall, you sigh in relief, letting the chilled air cool you down as you let out a blissful sigh. You catch yourself on a cloud of starlight, pulling out of your free fall and making your way towards the River House. 

You land just outside the border of the River House. As you pass through the boundary and up the front steps you are hit again with another wave of heat. This time it is stronger. You brace yourself on the handrail. Did I spend too much time in the sun? you pondered, thinking back on your time in the Summer Court. You had not spent more time than usual. 

I must just be overtired from my long trip. Right as you reach this conclusion, the heat rapidly dissipates, returning your body to normal once again.

 There was no further time for contemplation as the front door swung open and Cassian comes into view. "Oh, mighty adventurer,” he mocks with a salute, “welcome home!” He bellows loudly. You jump up the last two steps and he immediately pulls you in for a deep hug. Your face buries into the side of his neck. You had missed him dearly while you were away, but of course, you would never tell him that. 

But, what starts as a friendly welcome home, quickly changes course. 

Suddenly, the smell of sandalwood and crackling embers surrounds you, invading all of your senses. This was Cassian’s scent, something you smelt daily for 400 years, and have never thought twice about. But now all of a sudden, he is the only thing you want to smell. You huff in his scent and feel your body warm and tingle.  What the hell? you cry internally. You know you should pull away. But instead, you have the irresistible urge to lick the thick, long column of his neck, and you nearly do. That’s not the only thing that’s long and thick I want to be licking, you muse, and your core throbs. You have no idea what is happening. Cassian, Cassian, Cassian your mind repeats over and over. Lick him, bite him, claim him. You bite your lips, teeth surely drawing blood. Anything to keep your mouth from latching onto him. You need him. You take a shuddering breath, his scent dancing in your lungs as you- 

You’re pulled out of your twisted mind as Cassian adds, “Now, get the fuck inside before you catch your death.”

 You quickly pull away from the General and look down. You had forgotten that you were still in your summer attire. An outfit that while gorgeous was not equipped to handle the Velaris winter you were currently experiencing. You risk a glance back up to Cassian, he smiles gesturing inside the house. Luckily he didn’t seem to notice the massive loss of judgement you had just experienced. You do not have feelings for Cassian. That much you know to be true, at least not anymore. Right? You reassure yourself once again that you must just be tired, that your brain was playing tricks. 

You shake your head to clear your thoughts as you step through the door. You failed to notice how Cassian’s nose flared as you passed him.

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

Everyone greats you as you enter the dining room. Luckily, your head seems to remain on straight, as no further desire of Cassian clouds your brain. Your brother and his wife offer you both a quick hug, with the promise to debrief tomorrow, you all take your seat at the dinner table. You have strategically placed yourself as far from Cassian as possible, sandwiched in between Feyre and Mor. You hear the chair across from you slide out and you look up to meet the shadowsinger’s eyes as he slips into the chair. You had not seen him when you arrived. But now you see him - more clearly than ever before. 

He offers you a small smile. “How was your visit to Summer, Y/N?”

You don’t hear his question. You are too busy staring at his mouth. Plump lips, tinged slightly red from the cup of wine he’s been sipping out of. His tongue darts out, coating his lips in a glossy sheen. You wonder how those lips would feel against yours… against your breasts… against your core. You blink slowly, noticing his lips are still moving. Oh, the things those lips could do. Suddenly, you feel a hand squeeze your elbow. You yelp and turn to see Feyre grasping your arm. 

“Are you alright Y/N?” She frowns softly, concern dancing in her eyes. 

“P-perfectly” You mutter, blinking rapidly, looking anywhere but towards the shadowsinger. 

“Are you sure? Azriel’s been trying to talk to you for a good minute.” 

“J-just tired.” You assure them. “Think I spent too much time in the sun.” You raise your shoulders in a shrug, mumbling. 

“I’m relieved to hear you’re not intentionally ignoring me,” Azriel quips trying to meet your eye once again. 

“Never.” You say, still not meeting his eye, picking up your wine glass and drinking deeply. “Never.”

And it’s true. Normally, you would never ignore the shadowsinger. You had known him for over 400 years and loved him for 200. Being 80 years younger than your brother Rhys meant that you had grown up with the three of them as your primary moral figures. Rhys was your brother who acted like a father, Cassian your best friend, and Azriel your fiercest protector. And you loved them all for 200 years until something began to change. You had developed a crush on Cassian from an early age. With his broad and muscular chest, and his lushes locks, he sure knew how to make a female swoon. But he was your best friend, and that came first. Your bond with Azriel, now that was even more complicated. He had an uncanny way of being able to see you, to truly see all of you. You loved him as something more, something different than the infatuation you felt with Cass. You yearned for Azriel, and for a time you thought that maybe he desired you too. 

But nothing ever came of it. Maybe it was because he had watched you grow up? Or perhaps it was because you were Rhy’s little sister? You didn’t know. But you’ve been a grown female for four mortal life cycles, and both of those excuses didn’t hold any water as far as you were concerned. 

After 150 years of you pining away while he pined away for your cousin, you finally thought he was seeing you as you are, the female who could obliterate enemies with a thought, the female who held the court together while Rhys was under the mountain, the female who was not just her brother’s little sister, but an equal. 

Then the Archerons arrived. 

And you loved them all dearly. Feyre making your brother’s heart sing, Nesta having Cassian wrapped around her little finger, and Elain. Elain, who was a gentle breeze on a warm night. A breath of fresh air amidst the fog. Elain. Who was gorgeous and talented and funny. And while you may have thought those things, so did Azriel. You could only assume as he never did confide in you, but his glances lingered. Yours lingered as well, but more so in appreciation, in lust. Not in love as you suspected the shadowsinger’s did.

And there she was now, sitting beside Azriel, looking perfect as always. Hair smooth and glossy. Eyes big and bright, the richest, most delicious shade of brown you had ever seen. A long slender neck and cleavage that heaved tight against her bodice with each breath, as if her milky flesh was a moment away from bursting- 

The sound of breaking glass yanked you out of your lustful thoughts. You looked around for the source of the noise before you realize that it was you. Your wine glass once, in your hand was now in 100 pieces on the floor beside you, a small puddle of red wine at your feet. 

“Y/N/N are you alright?” Rhys had made his way towards you in the blink of an eye. He snapped his fingers and the glass, and the puddle of red disappeared. He leaned down to your height, pressing his palm to your forehead. “I think you might have a slight fever.” 

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I don’t know where my mind went!” Yes, you do. “ I think I must just be overtired.” You offer a tight smile.  “Too much sun.” you offer as an excuse. Yes, too much sun and now you’re a delirious fool. 

Rhys only nods fondly, “Maybe you should head to bed kiddo.” You’re so eager to get out of there that you don’t even snark back about him calling you a kid. 

“Good idea.” You raise from your chair, and you feel the arousal that had been unknowingly collecting at your core, begin to coat your thighs. You had to get out of there before you were scented. Family dinner nights meant everyone was staying at the River House. Luckily for you, that meant you didn’t have far to go. You turn and hightail it out of there, not noticing how the shadowsinger across from you holds his breath as you scurry away. 

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

Once you are up the stairs and out of sight, you kick off your shoes and run. You run down the hallway and around the corner to your chambers. You swing open the door and slam it shut behind you. Leaning against the wooden door, you take a shuddering breath. What is wrong with me? 

You were no stranger to love and lust. But you had never had quite such a visceral reaction. For so many different fae. At the same time. You are hot all over now and it is as if there is fire in your veins. Your breath is shaky. You need to get a grip. Blinking hard, you make your way to the washroom, and fill the tub with icy cold water. 

Your fingers grapple with the claps on the dress, fighting to release yourself. You give up, snapping your fingers, the dress disappearing, leaving you bare, and still burning. You sit at the edge of the tub before quickly sliding your feet below the surface. The shock of the cold hits your brain and for a moment you stop thinking. But it is not enough as you feel another wave of arousal dripping from your core. You know you are going to regret this, but you also don’t know what will happen next if you don’t. You take a deep breath and fully submerge your body. All you feel is cold. Alll you feel is ice. The fire under your skin tames. The lustful thoughts vanish. It is just you and the cold. Relief floods your bones as your face breaks the surface. 

You lean your head against the rim of the tub, happy to be rid of your dirtiest thoughts. You lay in the cold water until the warmth of your body has rendered it tepid. You finally feel in control of yourself again. You heave your relaxed body out of the tub and wrap yourself in a fluffy white towel. Tucking the ends under your armpit, you move back into your bed chamber. The towel drops to the floor as you walk up to your wardrobe and pull on a simple silk nightgown, as dark as the night sky, dressing cool to avoid any future heat spells, hopefully. 

You hastily scramble into bed and slide under your silk sheets. Exhaustion hitting you. You lay on your back, eyes closed as you slowly drift off to sleep. With not a single thought, your mind is finally quiet.

And then it’s back. 

Heart hammering, your eyes fly open. Searing heat spreads through your entire body. Heat radiates from your core all the way to your fingertips. Your desire is bruning you from the inside. The heat wants to be fed, wants to consume. 

Wants to be consumed. 

Is it that simple? you ask yourself. Would self-pleasure finally rid you of this torment? It had been a few weeks since you had last found release, the time spent in Summer Court kept you too busy for simple pleasure. But it was not like you had not gone this long before, in fact, you had gone much longer and never with any issue. You craved the touch of another, but you suppose your body will hardly care where the pleasure comes from. Your nipples harden at the very thought. Decision made. 

 Arousal is now weeping from your core as your thighs clench together. As if with minds of their own, your hands pull the sheets off your body, exposing your skin to the night air. Your nipples pebble even harder, straining deliciously against the silk of your nightgown. You palm one of your breasts, the action causing shockwaves of pleasure to roll through your body. 

Your other hand comes up and palms the other, a strangled moan leaving your lips. Your fingers dance along your left breast and encircle your nipple over the glossy material of your nightgown.  You were still too hot. You quickly pull the straps down your arms. As your nipples meet the cold air, you could weep with joy. Your hands, finally able to touch your bare skin ghost over the sensitive flesh before your fingers are quickly clamping around your left nipple in a tight pinch. Your thighs clench again, as your core pulses, as if with a heartbeat of its own. You give your nipple another delicious twirl. 

Your other hand travels down and down and down until it reaches the hem of your nightgown. Without a moment's hesitation, you pull the material up to your waist. Your arousal coats your thighs, as your hand move closer to your core, fingers disappearing between your legs. 

The moment your fingers touch your clit, your hips buck wildly, back straining off the bed. Your fingers swirl around it again and again and again, the friction causing strangled moans to escape your throat, hips thrusting up wildly. 

Your skin gleams in the moonlight, the heat building inside of you. Your eyes screw shut in pleasure. This time as your hand swirls around your clit, your other hand, still clinging to your breast, gives your nipple a sharp torturous twist. Pleasure and pain unite and suddenly you’re shaking as release barrels through you, your orgasm so intense your whole body shakes as you ride wave after wave of pleasure. 

As you come down from your high, your body trembles with exertion. 

But it is not enough.

Breathing deeply, your hand, now coated in your juices slides back down between your legs, and this time, you slide two fingers inside. You thrust in and out sharply. Setting a torturous pace and your fingers sink deep into your cunt, curling expertly inside you. In a matter of moments, you are overcome with another orgasm. Again and again and again, you work your body to climax.

It is never enough.

Your body gives out sometime between the eighth and tenth orgasm, releasing you into a dreamless sleep. 

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

You awaken groggy, and unsure of your surroundings. The fog clears with a couple of blinks of your eyes and you realize you are in your bed at the River House. Looking down you see you are laid out, your nightgown askew and your thighs sticky.

And then it all comes flooding back. 

How you pleasured yourself over and over again, the pace never relenting, just like the hunger for release did not relent. You had fucked yourself into oblivion. 

But, it appears to have worked. Laying still you realise that your mind has returned to blissful silence once again. Finally free. No thoughts of lust or desire, just calm and slight confusion. Now more awake, you glance out the window and see that the moon is still high in the sky. It was late, but still a long way off until morning. 

Confusion still runs through your bones. The intense need you felt earlier had come on so fast and strong, a hurricane of arousal. But it appears that the skies have now cleared, feeling content and more like yourself you huff and slowly sit up. Your stomach growls painfully, starved from the exertion and the lack of dinner. You could also do with a wash. Food first, you decide. 

No one should be out and about the house at this hour, but just in case, you slip the nightgown over your head. The material is coated in your slick. Already ruined, you use the dress to clean up the arousal on your thighs. You refuse to think about how good the silken material feels against your inner thighs. You make your way to your dresser, and this time you pull out a pair of plain grey underwear and a long black t-shirt. The t-shirt fell down to your mid-thigh. 

You make your way to the door and pry it open slowly, so as not to wake anyone else. Elain also has a room in this wing, and she was a notoriously light sleeper. You begin to pad down the hallway lightly, the marble cold against your bare feet. You feel a cold breeze wafting down the hall. Someone must have forgotten to close the balcony doors, you think. But then again, who would have opened the windows in the middle of winter? Snow had yet to fall, but the cool winter air had definitely arrived. More alert, you slowly make your way towards the open balcony doors, arms close to your sides, fists clenched. 

Your arms lower immediately when you see who stands out on the balcony. You would recognize her shapely figure anywhere. 

Elain stands with her back to you. She is wearing a blush-coloured pair of wide-legged pyjama pants,a shawl embroidered with flowers covers her shoulders. Her hair is unbound and glows like individual strands of gold. You feel your stomach tighten. She looks beautiful. You shake your head, trying to rid it of any other thought beyond concern. You gently rap your knuckles on the doorframe. Elain, still not fully tuned in to her new fae senses, jumps and spins around quickly. Her hand comes up to clutch onto her heaving chest. You could see her breath slow when she sees who it is, hand falling back down to her side. 

You make eye contact with her, deep chestnut eyes meeting your own. And then her chest starts heaving again, and it takes all your strength to keep your eyes from wandering. You look up at the night sky instead.

“Elain, honey what are you doing out here, you’ll catch your death.” She looks at you nervously as you approach. Your feet tingle in protest at the cold stone beneath you. 

“Erm- nothing. I just needed some fresh air,” you reach for her hand. She laces her hand in yours, eyes squeezing shut, “and some quiet.” 

“But it is-” oh. Oh no. She had heard you. Your cheeks flush scarlett as you try to pull away. “Elain, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t realize I was so…” You trail off. Her hand tightens around yours, rooting you into place. Her fingers are frigid from being out here on the balcony for Cauldron knows how long. 

“Loud.” She finishes your sentence. “The walls are quite thin.”

“I am sorry Elain for disturbing your sleep. I’m not sure what has come over me. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Are you happy with yourself? Poor, delicate Elain was awoken by the sounds of you touching yourself. Poor, gorgeous Elain had to escape outside in order to avoid hearing the sounds you made. Poor, delicious Elain- and oh did she look delicious. She wore a thin white camisole underneath her shawl. She wore no bra underneath, her nipples rock hard from the biting winter air. Oh how much you wanted to devour her.

You freeze again and fight against your mind. Not again. Not now. But it is Elain’s next words that have your lustful thoughts winning once again. 

“I wasn’t sleeping.” Elain’s eyes met yours again, darker, more intense. “You, pleasured yourself for over 2 hours, did you know that?” Her sentence tumbled out. “Two hours without stop. Two hours of sheer pleasure.”

“Again, Elain I am so sorry but we should discuss this inside, we’ll catch our deaths out here”. You go to pull her along with you, back into the warmth of the hallway. She releases your hand.

“I never have, you know.” Her voice sounded far away now, mind far away.

“Never what Elain?”

“Never-” She trails off again. You finally catch on, and the fire within your belly reignites. 

“Never touched yourself?” She lets out a slight giggle at your question and looks down at her slipper-clad feet. 

“No, I’ve definitely tried to self-pleasure.” She shakes her head. “In fact I tried just tonight, listening to you.” It is your cheeks that burn red hot now. You swallow deeply at her confession. Did she touch herself to the sound of you? “But,” she continues, “I’ve never been able to make myself…reach completion. Never. I don’t know if there’s something wrong with me. I want to, gods do I want to. But, it just never happens.” Her voice shakes, and as she looks away again, you can see her eyes shining with tears. “I have been getting a lot closer with Lucien. I do think he is an honourable man.. Male, I mean. But I do not wish to saddle him with a mate who does not know what she is doing. He has lived centuries, and I do not even know how to please myself, never mind him.” 

“You do not owe him anything, you know? There is nothing wrong with you, and if he is truly a good male, then he will not be bothered by any experience you do or do not have. There is so much more to a relationship than sex.” She is one of the most perfect creatures in existence. That male should be so very lucky for dirt under her shoes never mind anything else. 

“I do know that. I do. But, I think this is something I have to do for myself first. Before I look towards a future with Lucien.” 

“What is it you need to do?” You lick your lips. 

“I want to feel good like you made yourself feel.” 

“Do you want me to make you feel good, Elain?” 

“I want you to make me feel alive.” 

And then she is vaulting towards you, hands grasping your shoulders, and then her lips are on yours. 

She tastes of jasmine and honey. A taste you never thought you would experience. But here she is, this perfect female, and Cauldron she was kissing you. Her plump, rosy lips are soft and firm. Her nails dig gently into your shoulders, and you can now smell her arousal, sharp and heady. Your core clenches in response. Your arms come around and encircle her waist, pulling her body tight against yours. You can feel her nipples against your own chest. She is freezing, and burning all at once. 

The kiss ends and she pulls her lips away. Foreheads pressed together she looks at you through her brows. Your eyes meet and understanding passes through you. Your heads give a little nod, and she nods her own in response. Your hand finds hers and you gently pull her over to the corner of the balcony, to a long chaise lounge, the cold forgotten. She sits gently, legs swinging up onto the chaise, head tilting back, exposing the pale tender flesh of her neck. Her shawl falls off her shoulders. You now stand at the edge of the chaise, eying her up and down. You can feel the desire within you trying to surge, to consume. But you reign it in. This is not about you. 

It is all about Elain.  ”Let me bring you back to life,” you say as you gently spread her legs, and crawl up in between them. You align yourself perfectly, foreheads touching once again. “If anything is too much El, you let me know.” She nods again and tilts her head until her lips meet yours. The second kiss is slower, and more passionate. Her lips part and your tongue slides in, dancing upon hers. 

After an eternity you separate, a thin trail of saliva connecting you. You pepper kisses to her cheek, her nose, and her chin, working your way down her throat until you arrive at the place just above her collarbone. Your lips clamp onto the sensitive flesh, and you hear Elain moan in response. It is music to your ears. As you lap at her neck, your fingers begin to trace down the length of her torso, eliciting sighs and pleasure. You run your fingertips gently down the valley between her breasts, down past her navel and along her hip bone, stopping at the hem of her camisole. Your mouth comes away and you make eye contact once again. Elain is in control, and you pause, waiting for her consent to continue. 

“Please.” Her breath is coming in quick pants as she begs. Your fingers grab the hem and Elain leans forward and lifts her arms. You make quick work of pulling it over her head, tossing it to the side. Her skin glows like the stars in the sky. Her large breasts are firm and aching to be touched.

Elain’s teeth clench at the exposure to the cold, but the moan that follows is enough to spur you on. Your mouth trails more kisses along her collarbone and down between her breasts. Elain’s hands wind into your hair, holding you close. You look up at her and wink, and then your lips enclose around one of her perfect, pert nipples. Elain lets out a breathy gasp at the sensation of your hot mouth upon her breast. Your tongue swirls around her peak, a chorus of gasps and moans spilling from Elain’s lips.

Your lips detach with a pop, and the cold air blows against the wet bud. Elain lets out another sharp gasp and she cries out “More. Cauldron please, more!” Her chest is heaving. One of your hands comes up and cups her other breast, and you slowly slink down the chaise. Your tongue trails against her skin as it follows the same path your fingers had made, down between her breasts, all the way down to her navel. Your tongue swirls around it, the thin trail of saliva igniting Elain’s skin despite the cold. You continue your path down until your lips reach the hem of her pants. You breathe deeply. “You smell so gods damned good El.” Her hands untangle from your hair and go to grab the hem of your shirt, you quickly stop her. “This isn’t for me El, this is all for you. Let me make you feel good.” Elain nods, briefly and her hands relent, moving up to cup her own breasts instead. You pull the tie on her pants gently and hook your thumbs into the waist. You see a patch of wetness on the crotch of her pants and your question is answered as you gently pull them down her legs. No panties. 

Her pants and slippers are now discarded and you take a moment to drink her in. She is exquisite. Her hair lays around her like a halo of gold. Her skin shines as bright as a star. Her hands work her supple breasts and her eyes are lidded and dark with desire. Your eyes skim lower, to her round hips, thick and shapely. And then your eyes fall to the patch of dark curls above her core, and then further still to the glistening arousal coating her thighs as she squeezes them together. 

You move up to capture her lips in yours once more before you drift lower again. Your hands grasp her thighs and you gently spread her legs. She is so beautiful. You bend her knees and they part, on either side of your head as your mouth approaches her sex. You blow a gentle breath across her clit, and you see her cunt pulse in response. “Gods, Y/N, please. Please!” 

Your hands wrap tighter around her thighs and you taste her. The salty taste of arousal pulls a groan out of your own throat. Your tongue circles her clit, and one of her hands finds your hair again, and her hips buck in response. Her thighs clamp around your head, as you suck her clit hard. You pull her even closer, your tongue travels lower, and traces around her opening, before diving in. Thrusting your tongue in and out of her core, she is moaning your name like a prayer, hips gyrating against your face, fucking your tongue deeper inside of her. She rides your tongue hard, in a state of euphoria. 

Breathless, you pull your mouth away and you move back up to her lips. “You taste divine.” You say simply and then your lips are on hers again, and she is moaning from the taste of her own slick upon your tongue. One of your hands smooths gentle circles against her cheek. “Still with me?” you ask. She nods and catches your lips again. Your hand trails down her side, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before drifting through the thick soft curls guarding her core. Your hand slips between her legs as your fingers circle her clit. A new wave of arousal drips from her cunt as your hand moves further down. You hold her gaze as your finger slowly enters her. Her teeth clamp onto her bottom lip and she groans. 

You start slow and quickly gain speed as her hips rock against your wrist. Meeting you thrust for thrust. You add a second finger and spread her deliciously. Fingers curl inside her, meeting the spongey flesh that makes Elain scream. 

“Oh, oh, gods, yes, yes,” you hear Elain gasp over and over again. You lower yourself back down as your other hand grips her pubic hair tight, your thumb goes to her clit, rubbing at a relentless pace and you watch her come undone. 

She screams in such pleasure, again and again, her core clenches around your soaked fingers. Her juices squirt and coat your t-shirt-covered chest. You continue to circle her clit, extending her orgasm as long as possible. She comes down from her high, her pants slowing, and you withdraw your hands. You lean up and capture her lips with yours once more. 

“Are you ok?” You ask. Looking into her eyes, you see they are alight with pleasure and joy. 

“What does this mean?” Elain worries her bottom lip. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything El. This was about you finding yourself through pleasure.”

“Gods, Y/N that was- that was perfect”. A smile now shines brightly upon her lips. “Thank you-” You cut off her thanks with another quick peck on her lips. 

“Do not thank me Elain Archeron. Thank yourself for deciding to put your body and your pleasure first. If anything I should be thanking you for allowing me to come along on this journey with you.” Her smile is mirrored on your own face. “Lucien is going to be a very lucky male, El. You are perfect in every way.” 

Sitting up now, she throws her arms around you, squeezing you tight. She pulls away and looks down at the dampness coating your shirt. “I was not aware women- I mean females could do such things.” She traces the dark stain slowly, running her fingers along the slopes of your breast. 

“Some do,” you confirm, “if encouraged enough. Everyone is different, and I know that if you decide to, Lucien will worship everything about you.” She smiles again and pulls you in for another hug. You knew that this was not the start of a fling or romance with Elain. But instead, it had been a self-awakening, and she had allowed you to lead her through it. You were beyond honoured to help. 

“But how do you know that he- Lucien will like it. Like me.” 

“I have a confession of my own El.” You clear your throat, praying to the cauldron you weren’t about to say the wrong thing. “Lucien and I are about the same age. When we were growing up, we met on occasion at different events, and quickly developed a rapport.”  Elain quirked a brow. “We, well, we fucked. A lot.” Elain’s jaw drops. Your core clenches at the memories. Lucien’s mouth on yours, on your cunt. His member thrusting in and out of you, sloppiness and uncertainty turned to precision and strength as the years went on. You fight to tamper the flames of arousal within yourself. This is not the time or place. “We were each other's firsts and we experimented over the years. But that was well over three and a half centuries before you were born. It was so long ago that I don’t want you to think anything of it! We are friends now, have been for the last 300 years, nothing more, I promise.” And it was true.. The memories you had made together, were definitely special, cherished, and enough to turn your crank some days, but the actual male, was your friend and was now mated to another. “What I am trying to say, is that I can guarantee that you are everything he will ever desire.”

“Me and Lucien both lost our virginity to the same female?” she questions finally. You nod, eying Elain again. Hoping beyond hope that she does not take the news badly. To your surprise, she begins to chuckle, which turns into a cackle, which turns into a full-body fit of laughter, and you find yourself joining in. You both laugh and laugh while holding each other close. Eventually the fit winds down and with a few last giggles, Elain sighs, “I’m not sure why, but it seems very fitting.” You hum in agreement.

Elain’s eyes drooped in relaxation and exhaustion and she lays her head on your shoulder. 

The next moments happen in a blur. You help her to her feet, gather her clothes and you both make the quick, and risky walk back into the hall and into her chambers. Luckily the hallway is empty. 

You sit her on the bed and start a fire. Heading to her bathing chamber, you wet a cloth with warm water. Returning to find Elain still perched on the edge of her bed, you gesture for her to lean back. She obliges and you begin to cleanse her skin gently. Nothing save for respect and adoration floats between you now. You tuck her naked body gently under the covers and kiss her forehead.  Swiping your thumb against her cheek you whisper softly, “Good night El. Sweet dreams.”

Her eyes crack open and you hear her mumble, “Are you sure you don’t want me to try-” 

 You shush her. “This was a big moment for you El. I expect nothing in return.” She smiles again deeply. 

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for helping me find myself.” With that, Elain drifts off to sleep and you head out the door and back to your own chambers. 

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

Back behind the closed door of your room, you stand frozen. The last few hours of your night running through your head. From the moment you arrived at the River House, something was different. You were different. Less… restricted. You’d felt no such feelings while away in the Summer Court. Your mind races, searching for an answer but coming up short. 

It was then that your stomach let out a loud growl. You missed dinner. You had been on your way to the kitchen when you encountered Elain. You scoff at yourself and your forgetfulness. You pull the shirt stained with Elain’s juices over your head, letting it join your previously discarded nightgown on the floor. Your panties were damp, but with the way the evening was progressing, you figured you’d end up just soaking another pair later, and opted to keep them on. Strolling over to your wardrobe for the third time tonight, not bothering with another shirt or nightdress, you pull on a simple grey robe. The material is thin but warm, enough to reheat your body after your outdoor escapade. 

Feet still bare, you head back out into the hallway and slowly pad down the empty corridor. You make it halfway down the stairs before you hear it. 

“Are you going to be a good boy, for me?” a female’s voice floats from the kitchen. You grip the railing and take a fractured breath. 

“Yes, my Lady. I promise I’ll be such a good boy.” Your core clenches as you recognize the low gravelly voice. For Cauldon’s sake. You should turn away, head back upstairs and forget the words you had just heard coming from the kitchen. But some unknown force, the same force that had emboldened you all night, urges you forward. Each step has your stomach clenching in anticipation. 

Eventually, you arrive at the threshold to the kitchen and your jaw drops. 

In the centre of the room sits Cassian, arms tied behind him to the back of his chair. His wings flare lightly to the sides. He is dressed in nothing but a pair of black undershorts. His bare back is to you, muscles rippling as he squirms, testing the limits of his bindings. 

On the counter is Nesta. You take in her figure and decide that they do indeed call her the Lady Death for a reason. Nesta lays atop the counter, body barely covered by a tight blood-red nightgown, garters on her thighs and red stilettos on her feet. Her hair is twisted into a crown of braids. She lays on her side, head propped up on her hand. In from of her sits a bowl of strawberries. Her hand dances above the bowl before plucking a strawberry from the pile. She brings it to her lips, tongue darting out to taste the berry. Staring into Cassian’s eyes she takes a bite. You and Cassian gasp in unison. 

Nesta’s head jerks in your direction and her steely eyes lock on yours. Caught in your act of voyeurism, you want to look away, look anywhere but at the female, shame should be bubbling through your veins. But it isn’t. You feel no shame. Only desire. Desire spreads through your body, a familiar feeling over the last few hours. Your cunt pulses with every second you stand there, rooted in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of you.

“Who is it Nes?” Cassian questions, trying to gauge his mate’s response to their intruder. You know he could break his binds easily if necessary. Something glimmers in the eldest Archeron’s eyes. Her nostrils flair and her lips quirk in a smirk.

“I’m surprised you can’t smell her yet.” Nesta answers, pushing herself up and into a seated position. You can see Cassian’s back shift as he takes in a deep breath. 

“Y/N.” 

Fuck. They can smell your arousal. 

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” you have no idea where the sudden confidence has come from and you surprise yourself as you continue, “I seem to have interrupted a late-night snack.” 

The two mates lock eyes again, a whole conversation happening without words. Nesta eventually breaks the stare and returns her eyes to yours. “You’re looking a bit peckish yourself Y/N. You’re welcome to join us.” Mother above. “Come,” Nesta holds her half-eaten strawberry out towards you, “come have a bite.” Your gut tightens.

Your feet move before your brain can fully process what you are doing. It takes you 10 steps to pass Cassian, still tied to the chair, and another 3 to reach Nesta’s outstretched fingers. She parts her thighs so that your body can slide in between them. You gasp as her hand comes up to grasp your chin. Your legs tremble as Nesta leans in and whispers, “you are hungry, aren’t you?”

“Starved.” You manage to choke out. 

The tension is palpable as Nesta brings her strawberry up to your mouth. She traces the bow of your lips with the strawberries dripping flesh. “Open.” She commands. You do as you’re told and you take a bite of the tender fruit, its juice dancing on your tongue. It is Cassian now who lets out a low groan. In a moment you are flooded with sandalwood and lust as Cassian’s arousal hits your nose, and surges throughout the room, mixing with your own. You finally look over to the Illyrian, and what you see makes you hold your breath. A male who normally exudes strength, the General and Commander of your brother’s armies, Lord of Bloodshed, reduced to a squirming mess. Lust glows in his eyes and he looks from Nesta to you. 

“What do you think General?” Cassian squirms again at the use of his title. “I think she is still hungry, don’t you agree?” He lets out a low whine and his hazel eyes lock back on yours, both a reflection of lust and desire. 

“What do you say, Y/N?” he asks, voice low. The innuendos vanish as he probes you for further confirmation. He is making sure you are truly consenting to join in on whatever this was. You lied to yourself when you were shocked by your lust for Cassian earlier this evening, as you did in fact find him incredibly attractive, only more so now that he was entirely whipped by the bewitching Lady Death. It took you less than a second to answer him, the desire you had walked hand in hand with all evening flaring within you.

 “Yes,” you say. 

Nesta’s hand curls more firmly against your chin, turning your head back to hers. “Delectable,” she says. And then her lips are ghosting yours, breath mingling as your eyes flutter shut. You feel her tongue trace the same path of the strawberry, up and around the bow of your lips, and sweeping across the small gape of your mouth. 

Your hands instinctively come up to encircle her waist. 

Nesta’s lips leave you immediately, and you feel her arm reach down and give you a sharp smack on your ass. The sounds reverberate through the kitchen. You let out a hiss and your eyes fly open. “Unh unh kitten, no touching,” Nesta says, as she pulls your arms back down to your sides “don’t make me punish you.” 

You’re pretty sure your eyes roll into the back of your head at her words, and your thighs clench as wave after wave of desire crashes in you. “Yes, my Lady,” you murmur back. You hear Cassian let out another low groan as he shifts in his chair. 

“There’s a good kitten,” Nesta smiles, “now why don’t we give the General a little treat.” You hum in response. Nesta spins you around so that your back now falls against her. Your head falls into the crook of her neck as you eye Cassian once again. He looks up at the two of you through hooded eyes. You tilt your head slightly to the side and inhale Nesta’s scent of steel and pomegranate. “I want you to ride his thigh,” she says and the world stops for a moment. You stop breathing and you’re sure that Cassian does the same. Are you really about to do this with your best friend? The step forward you take is answer enough. You’re only another foot away from the Illyrian when Nesta’s voice rings out from behind you again, “Oh, and kitten,” you can hear the smirk in her voice, “drop your panties.” 

“Yes, Lady.” You reach under your robe and slowly slide your panties down your legs. You can see the dark patch made by the arousal now coating your thighs. Panties on the floor, the room is awash with a new wave of your potent arousal. Another low growl tears through Cassian’s lips. 

Cassian sits with his legs spread. His thighs are thick and muscular, the tanned skin shifting as you approach. Now standing in front of him, you quickly shift so that one of your legs is on either side of his left leg. Using his shoulders for leverage, you slowly lower yourself down onto the General’s thigh. The heat of his leg causes your breath to hitch. Cassian whimpers as the juices from your bare cunt weep onto his leg. You begin to move then, slow torturous gyrations as you get a feel for the large corded muscle beneath you. As your core soaks the General’s leg, you begin to pick up speed, rocking back and forth as the pleasure builds. 

“Good girl.” Nesta approaches you from behind. “Isn’t she being such a good Kitten, General?” 

“Mhm,” Cassian grunts, “so good.” His breath is coming out in pants, just as forceful as your own. 

“And Kitten, isn’t the General being such a good boy?” 

“Such a good boy,” you squeak out, your clit rubbing against his muscle. 

“I think he deserves a little treat.” From behind you, Nesta reaches between you and Cassian and palms his engorged member, straining painfully in his underwear. Cassian bellows in relief at the touch. Nesta’s fingers dip below the hem of his shorts and pull them down. Cassian’s cock springs free, slapping his stomach. His cock is massive and rock-hard. Long, and girthy with thick veins running along his shaft, his tip a dusky pink. It pulses in time with your ruts against his leg. Your nails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulders as your pupils blow wide with lust. Nesta pumps his shaft once, then again in rapid succession before her hand releases her mate's member. The General whines at the loss of contact, rutting up into the air, desperate for friction, precum gathering at his tip. You don’t dare indulge him without permission from your Lady Death, but your cunt throbs at the thought of punishment.

Nesta’s hands now travel to your body. Her nails graze up your thighs, against your curved hips, and up to your shoulders. She squeezes them gently before her hands travel further, up your neck and into your hair, brushing it all to one side. Her mouth lowers to your neck and she licks a long strip up your sweat-soaked flesh. She hums in delight at the taste, nuzzling the crook of your neck as she whispers into your ear. “Do you like looking at your best friend’s cock, kitten?” 

You let out a breathy moan, not able to form any words as you ride the General’s thigh into oblivion.  Nesta tuts and her hands grip your hips painfully, stopping the delicious friction. It was your turn to whine in protest, core aching at the loss. “Use your words kitten.” 

“Yes.” you whine, as you try to regain momentum. Nesta squeezes your hips harder.

“Yes, what.” Her tone is sharp. 

“Yes, Lady.” And then you are free again, hips moving wildly as you chant Yes, Yes, Yes. 

“Good kitten.” Lady Death places a kiss at the corner of your mouth. “You’ve seen his. Now it’s your turn to show us yours.” With that, her hands descend between you and the General once again, travelling to the tie at your waist. With a sharp tug, the rope comes loose, and your robe opens. Your nipples harden at the exposure. 

Cassian groans and the tip of his cock weeps at the sight. Your breasts rock back and forth in time with your thrusts. Cassian pulls on his restraints, desperate to touch them, to touch you. “Please.” He moans. The General bucks into the air again and again, “Please, Please Lady, Please”. 

Your hips gyrate faster, and you feel your release approaching. Nesta, still behind you, leans down and bites the lobe of your ear. “Come for me, kitten.” 

And then you are toppling over the edge. Your orgasm rips through you and you scream in delight. The General is right behind you, wings flaring and release thundering as he cums all over your chest. Your hips do not slow as you ride out every wave of pleasure. The three of you were so lost in the moment you had not heard the approaching footsteps.

“What the Fuck is this?” 

Your hips still, and from your position on Cassian’s lap, you open your eyes gaze dragging over the tips of his wings and to the doorway. 

And there stands Azriel, shadows swarming around him in a frenzy. 

“Az.” you croak, voice horse from screaming. The look of astonishment and anger in his eyes have you trying to stand up, to go to him and try to explain, but Nesta keeps a firm pressure on your shoulders, keeping you astride her mate. Confusion runs through you as you look up to meet her eyes, and youquickly understand her actions.

Cassian’s wings currently shielded your naked body, now dripping in his cum from Azriel’s view. As if in understanding, Cassian’s wings flare a little wider, ensuring full coverage of his mate and yourself.

“Brother,” Cassian replies, trying to keep the fucked out tone from his voice, “I do believe you’ve caught us at a bad time.” 

“Y/N? What sort of sick-, Why would you-, You know I-, Y/N, really Cass?” Azriel tries to form a coherent sentence. 

It’s Nesta that responds. “She is not your property, shadowsinger. You do not own her.”

“You took advantage of h-” Azriel roars. 

You roar right back. 

“I wanted this Azriel! I wanted this with every fibre of my being. All three of us chose to be here. Nesta is right, you do not own me. We are three consenting adults. The only one who has no right to be here right now is you.”  Your gaze pierces his, and you can see the hurt on his face. “Now, get out,” you spit, and he disappears into his shadows without another word. 

With the shadowsinger gone, Cassian’s wings lower, and your head falls to rest on his sweaty chest. "Well, fuck me." Cassian grunts, his nose burying into your hair. You feel his chest rise and fall, the powerful thumps of his heart slowing with your own. 

“I believe she just did, my dear mate.” Nesta muses, she slinks around the pair of you, coming up behind Cassian, and resting her head on his other shoulder. Your mixed arousal hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the dalliance that had played out in the kitchen of the River House. 

You want more. You want to feel Cass’s lips upon your own. You want to lick the sweat down his pectorals and taste the cum that was now pooling between your breasts. You wanted to feast upon Lady Death herself, and to have her feast upon you, to feel her sharp tongue against your cunt. This new development in your relationship felt natural. It felt right.  You wanted to spend hours exploring the line between pleasure and pain, exhilaration and humiliation, domination and submission. You want more, and you can see in their eyes that they want more too. 

But the tone has shifted, and you have Azriel to thank for that. 

You sit up straight and push your wobbly legs up into a standing position. Cassian hisses as the air blows across the cooling slick left behind on his thigh. “Y/N,” he mumbles, “that was-”

“Incredible,” you finish for him, “that was pretty damn incredible.” You pull your robe closed and retie the stay at your waist. Nesta leans down and unties the bindings on her mate's wrists, he too rises to a standing position, retucking his spent cock into his underwear. Nesta slides her arm through his and the mates regard you appreciatively. 

“I hope you don’t-”, Nesta trails off, words like glue in her mouth, “have any regrets?” 

“Never,” you confirm. “My only regret is that we were interrupted.” You stare at the small smile that replaces the concern on Nesta’s features. You lean up and give them both a kiss on the cheek. “Good night my Lady. Good night General”. You stand back and give them a wink, “Let’s do this again soon, yeah?” 

Come daylight, there would likely be some serious conversations to be had. But that could wait. For now, you turn on your heels and make your way back to the stairs. 

“We’ll see you soon, kitten.” 

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

-Azriel-

Azriel winnows himself out into the estate gardens. His mind races and his shadows swarm, blocking out the light of the moon. His scarred hands are shaking, and with horror, rage or sadness he is unsure. 

Cassian and Nesta… and Y/N? 

He is baffled by what he saw transpiring in the kitchen. 

He had been out on an after-dinner patrol and had arrived late into the night. He was used to the carnal activities of his brother and his mate and was keen on ignoring their sounds of pleasure when an unfamiliar cry of indulgence had piqued his interest. A third? he had wondered. But as his morbid curiosity had propelled him forward, he had realized that the new voice was not unfamiliar in the slightest. It was the voice of all his desire. The voice that had lived in his mind and in his dreams for the last 250 years. He reached the threshold to the kitchen and his worst nightmare was confirmed. 

There had sat Cassian with his back to him, hands tied to the chair behind him. Nesta stood in front of him, a devilish grin on her face as she watched the events unfold. And there, saddled between the two, was Y/N. Her eyes closed, she violently rocked back and forth atop Cassian. He could not see what was happening in its entirety from behind his brother’s wings, but he could smell the heady scent of arousal oozing from every pore of the trios' bodies. 

Azriel had watched Nesta lean over and whisper something in Y/N’s ear. 

And then Y/N and Cassian were coming undone. Azriel stood, unable to move as he watched the female he loved, cum atop his brother. He couldn’t take it.

“What the Fuck is this?” The question tore out of his throat before he could stop it. 

And then you had opened your eyes and whispered his name, and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like to be in Cassian’s place. To have felt you come undone for him…on him…with him. 

But she hadn’t been with him. Y/N had chosen his brother and his brother’s mate of all the Fae in the Gods damned Court. He could not recollect the words he had spoken after that, anger and despair had blinded him. He was going to be sick. 

He shoots up into the sky and heads to the House of Wind. He needs to be away from them all so that he doesn’t do anything else he would regret. His wings flap hard and fast, the cold air slicing against their membranes painfully. Good, he thinks to himself. He lands on the balcony at the House of Wind too soon, and he drops hard onto the marble floor. He needs to hit something so that he doesn’t hit his brother in the face. 

Azriel stalks his way through the dining room with the intent of heading up to the sparring ring, when a shadow curls around his ear. Stop, it whispers, not right. The table. Azriel whirls back around and surveys his surroundings. His eyes narrow in on the table. On the table sits a book, likely left by Nesta, and the tray Lucien brought. The tray that holds the love potion. Correction, the tray that held the love potion. Azriel seizes the pitcher off of the tray. Empty. His mind races once again. Who would have taken it? Why not take the whole tray, the pitcher at the very least? Maybe, Cerrdiwen or Nuala dumped it out? No, they haven’t been up here today. Azriel has no idea what is going on.

His nose twitches as it perceives a faint scent. He turns back to the tray inspecting it closely. The jug and challis were bone dry, with not a drop of the elixir left. The note was long gone, burned to ash by his brother upon Lucien’s arrival earlier this evening. He turns his eyes then to the rose. The rose, which upon further inspection housed thorns coated in a thin layer of dried blood. 

Y/N’s blood. 

Y/N who was been at the Summer Court until right before dinner, 

Y/N who had missed the discussion about the contents of the pitcher, 

Y/N who had likely stopped by the House of Wind to drop off her bags before joining the family at dinner. 

Y/N, who he had just been riding Cassian into oblivion. 

“Fuck.” 

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

-Y/N-

You once again find yourself leaning against your bedroom door. 

“What the glorious fuck was that?” you ask aloud, letting out a nervous chuckle. You had just participated in a three-sum with your best friend and his mate. Your best friend and his mate. Cassian and Nesta. The General and his Lady Death. 

The names alone make you shiver. 

The memory of your core ground against Cassian’s well-muscled thigh, Nesta whispering sin in your ear makes you clench your teeth, and your thighs. You let out a frustrated moan. This lustful hunger just won’t LEAVE, and the chance of further ministrations was halted by that winged fuck, Azriel. Azriel, whose eyes you had held as you road out your climax. Azriel, who had looked devastated as he saw you astride his brother. Had he been devastated? You wondered, or disappointed. 

He has no right to be disappointed in anything that you do. He held no claim to your body, or to your heart. Well, he held no claim to your body and if he had known about the space he occupied in your heart, after all this time, and still had not acted upon it, well then he did not deserve even a sliver of the adoration you felt. Let him be disappointed, it was none of your concern. 

He was none of your concern. Not his thoughts of your activities, nor his distaste for your actions. His glowing eyes did not deserve to behold you. His plush lips did not deserve to taste you. His rough fingers did not deserve to slip below the waistline of your panties, and- 

Another frustrated groan tears through your throat as your knees quake, thighs snapping together, desperate for friction. You push off the door with a huff, walking towards your bathroom. You need to wash Cassian’s seed off of your body. You undo the tie at your waist and allow the now cum stained garment to join the others on the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember that you had had panties on when you entered the kitchen. You can only hope that Nes and Cass had grabbed them during clean-up. 

You draw yourself another ice-cold bath and submerge yourself fully. The cold water distracts your mind as you scrub your body and hair. Once you are thoroughly cleansed, you step out of the tub, wrap yourself in a fresh towel and you make your way back to your damn wardrobe. You pray to the Cauldron that this is your last outfit change of the night. You pull out a blue pyjama set with tight but pliant shorts and a cropped camisole. Not bothering with undergarments you quickly pull your clothes on and flop onto the bed. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, mind blissfully blank from the cold bath… Until those glowing hazel eyes and sensuous lips hurtle around the walls of your mind. You think of his toned chest, glistening with sweat in the sparring ring, the curve of his wings as he holds himself with deadly precision. His intoxicating scent of night-chilled mist and cedar is almost upon your tongue as you imagine what it would be like for the shadowsinger to interrogate you like one of his prisoners. Cauldron boil me. Your hand travels to the hem of your shorts, and then lower still to your already slick slit. Your fingers easily find your swollen clit, and begin to swirl around it delectably. Your other hand comes up to palm your breast, when suddenly you hear a knock at your door. 

Your fingers still.

You don’t answer, hoping that the nuisance will get the hint. You hear another sharp knock at the door, followed by a muffled voice. “Y/N, please let me in. It’s important.” The slight rise in his tone, has you muttering a quick ‘enter’. The door swings open and the shadowsinger slinks in, a fae light bobbing behind him.

His nose is immediately overwhelmed with scent. The heady scent of your arousal was emanating from every surface in the room. It was intoxicating the spymaster, your scent driving him to the edge of his wits.

An edge he is quickly pulled back from as he smells his brother’s scent intermingling, as well as the scent of another, Elain. He eyes the pile of soiled clothing on the floor, the evidence that confirms his suspicions. “Gods, Y/N.” He clears his throat. “I know you were not feeling yourself tonight, but-” he starts. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

“Incorrect shadowsinger,” you stare at him, “I feel more myself than I ever have. Just more-”

“Free of inhibition?” he supplies. 

“Suppose I was. What concern is it of yours?” Your lips purse.

“I figured you deserve to know what was happening.” Azriel moves to your bed, sitting on the edge. He reaches into the pocket of his leathers and produces a single crumpled red rose. All of a sudden forgotten memory floods your mind. A pitcher full of plum-coloured starlight. The burn of it on your lips, down your throat. You remember drinking and drinking until there was nothing left. The urge you felt to drink, warped and resurged as the desire for Elain, for Cassian and Nesta, and for Azriel. Your hand twitches at the thought, fingers still primed over your clit. 

“So what was that mystery beverage, you all so lovingly forgot to label?” 

Azriel snorts before replying, “Affectus Revelare.”

“No shit?” Bewilderment shines in your eyes.

“It’s a love potion of sorts-” 

“I’m well aware of its side effects.” And you were, having heard stories of its potency from your brother. “I had just never seen it in person.” 

Azriel huffs, trying hard to keep his face void of emotion. “I’d assume then that you know that any intense feelings of pleasure you acted upon while under its influence, were no fault of your own.” 

“Let me make one thing absolutely clear, Azriel.” Your voice cut like glass, eyes as sharp as steel. “Anything I did tonight, I did because I wanted to. The bullshit spell does nothing but bring to the surface feelings I already have. I have no regrets about what I have done or will do tonight.” Azriel looks as though he is swallowing a mouthful of marbles. 

“Right,” he hastily stands, “I suppose now that you are feeling…better, I should probably let you get some sleep.” He treads to the door, head low, shadows tight against his silhouette. 

You should let him go, let you both stew overnight, and then try talking again. It is the smart thing to do. In spite of that, you curse your horny mouth as it opens and words fly out, “Who says I’m feeling better?” 

He freezes two paces from the door. Whipping around to face you again, his eyes are alight with panic. You pull your stilled hand out of your shorts and sit up. The blanket pools at your waist, your puckered nipples on full display from underneath your shirt. Your hand, still coated in your slick shines under the fae light. He looks from your face to your chest, to your sex-slicked hand and back again. He blinks and his nostrils flare, likely scenting the new wave of arousal that was coursing through your veins. 

In a flash he is back at your bedside, the back of his hand coming up and resting on your forehead. He is mumbling to himself. Cauldron, he’s having more mood swings than I am. “Care to share what the Hell you’re doing Azriel?” 

“It must have been laced with something else,” he grimaces, “another tonic or elixir maybe. Something to increase potency,” he swallows. “Did you… finish when you were in the kitchen?”

“You were there, Az… You saw me… You know I did.”

“Well, it’s not a matter of your partner reaching completion. If Elain and Cassian both-”

You were unnerved that he knew about Elain as well. “Az, what are you trying to tell me?”

“Maybe you need to, erm, try again? Or perhaps, it is Nesta and not Cassian you truly desire? Perhaps if you-” 

“Azriel. Stop with your nonsense ramblings.”

“No, Y/N. You don’t understand! Something must be wrong. Your desires should be satiated by now. Once you bedded the true object of your affection, the potion was supposed to wear off.” His eyes met yours, and you could see that his mind was running a mile a minute. He was still upset, but now concern sat at the front of his mind. 

“I assume you tried with Elain first, and when that didn’t relieve your symptoms, you finally gave in to your basal instincts and realized it was Cassian, not Elain you truly desired.” Anger clouded your vision as he continues to spew utter garbage. “But you should be feeling better after your session in the kitchen. I should wake Rhys, perhaps he-”

You vault up to a kneeling position, shoving him with both hands. He staggers back a step.

“The hell you will! Do. Not. Wake my brother. What would be your plan for that anyways? ‘Oh Rhys, wake up! Your sister can’t stop fucking the other members of your Court! Oh please Rhys, come and get your little sister under control before she gets her horny over us all’ Ya, great plan Az.” Your eyes are burning with rage now, and your cunt  pulses with a heartbeat of its own. You were yelling and you couldn’t make yourself stop. “Even so, everything I did tonight was something everyone involved consented to. There was no primal urge forcing me to finger fuck myself for hours, to fuck Elain, to ride Cassian. It was me. I wanted those things, and they wanted them too. And it was beautiful and passionate, and intense. I desired them all, hell I still do.” You take a deep breath. “But, did you, even for one second use your tiny brain to think that maybe Elain or Cassian or Nesta aren’t the dominant object of my affection? You stupid Illyrian brute.” 

“Who’s left Y/N? Who? Who could it possibly be? Amren? Lucien?” Azriel’s hands fist into the blankets on your bed, his shadows flying, his words disjointed as his mind can’t stop racing. He doesn't notice that he too is now yelling. “Oh, it’s Lucien, isn’t it? I know you used to fuck but come on-”

“IT'S YOU, YOU INSOLENT ASSHOLE.” 

Time stops as you watch the shadowsinger’s mask crack. You see a hundred different emotions ripple across his face, joy, wonder, thrill and love? But then you also see, confusion, anger, jealousy, betrayal, sorrow, and disgust. “Y/N,” he whispers, voice horse and cracked, “Y/N, you don’t want me- you can’t want me.” 

“For Cauldron’s sake Azriel, I have loved you for the last two centuries! I wept and pined for you as you obsessed over Mor, and then I agonized over you as your affection turned to Elain. Not that I can blame you-”

“I have no interest in Elain.” He declares, eyes locked on yours. “I never did.”

“Bullshit.” You snort, “I’ve seen the way you stare at her, the way you follow her around-” 

“I stared because you stared, Y/N. I followed because you followed. Elain is lovely, but it was you, not I, who obviously fell for her charms.”  

You are at a loss for words now. Your jaw twitches. What does this mean? He wasn’t watching Elain. He doesn’t love Elain. Your entire body felt aflame. Sweat was gathering at the base of your neck leaving your hair damp. You wanted to combust, thigh trembling at this admission. Your nipples are taut, pressing tightly against your top. Your breath is shaky, “What are you telling me Azriel?” 

“I-I, okay look,” Azriel grinds his teeth, “It doesn’t matter. What I’m telling you is that you are mistaken. It is not me you want.” He takes a step closer to you, his knees grazing the edge of your bed.

“Oh, I’m mistaken?” You lift yourself higher on your knees, edging closer to the Illyrian in front of you.

“Yes.” 

You can feel his breath on your face. 

“Then prove it.” 

His lips crash down onto yours. The kiss is hard and rough, but his lips are as soft as velvet. His hands are at your waist, and he is pulling you up until you are flush with his chest. You gasp, and Azriel’s tongue surges forward into your open mouth, dominating your tongue with his own. Your hands snake up to his hair and pull hard at his black curls, bringing his body even closer to yours.

You pull both of your bodies back towards the bed, lips never separating. You work to unfasten his leathers, as you do. Agile fingers make quick work, and soon his chest is bare and heaving, his tattoos stark against his skin under the fae light. Tiny scars dance across his torso as his muscles ripple, and he pulls you to the head of the bed. He kneels above you now, one knee between your legs, hands resting on either side of your head as he braces himself. He begins to pull away from the kiss, so you nip his lip, a shrill whine leaving your throat. A bead of bright red blood wells on his lip. His eyes open, and you see that his pupils are blown wide. He watches your tongue dart out to lick the crimson ichor. His mouth clashes with yours once again, his body pinning you to the bed, as the coppery tang of blood mixes in your mouths. The elixir in your veins sings at the taste of his blood. Him. The very taste you craved. 

You roll your hips against him and you can feel the bulge in his pants. Azriel growls, and he brings a hand down to your hips to halt your movements. His hand then travels up your body, leaving a burning trail up to the edge of your shirt. His hand stills for but a moment and you lift your back off of the bed in answer. Your lips separate once more as his hands pull the thin material up and over your head. He beholds your naked flesh as if he were a male damned to the gallows. As if you would be the last sight he sees. You hear him mutter under his breath, a plea or a prayer, but you can’t quite make it out. 

“Az.” 

He unleashes himself on you. 

His lips devour yours, a battle of teeth and tongues. His mouth moves down your neck, leaving hard wet kisses in his wake. He reaches the crook of your neck, mouth suckling your skin. His teeth brush the bruise that is forming there. And then he is clamping his teeth into your flesh. The force of the bite makes your body tremble. The sharp pain causes a scream to rip through your lungs, your hands fly up to grasp his shoulder blades, your nails shredding against his skin. The pain fades to a deep throb, pulsing in time with your needy cunt. 

Your neck stings as his mouth pulls away. He offers you a smirk and you can see your blood in his mouth. He’s on you again, lips trailing down your collarbone to the valley between your breasts. His tongue trails lazy strokes against your dewy flesh before his lips clamp around one of your pert nipples. He groans at the taste of your flesh, his tongue flicking against it. You let out a shriek of ecstasy, your hips bucking up against his groin. You thrust against him, desperate for friction. His hand gives your other breast a rough squeeze in response. 

“Please Az. I need you.” You were gasping the words, stuttering with every hard suck, “I need you inside me. Now.” 

 His lips leave your breast with a diabolical pop. “Patience, little one.” A small smile graces his lips, “Not until I’ve tasted your sweet cunt.” 

The weight of his body leaves you, but before you can question him, you feel two strong hands clamp around your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed. Azriel’s thumbs hook into the waistband of your shorts, and they quickly join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. 

You lay completely bare before him. He spreads your legs, and he falls to his knees, eyes in line with your dripping cunt. Your arousal has seeped down your thighs and to the bedsheets below. He utters your name in worship as he lowers his mouth to your core. 

He feasts like a man starved, drowning in your arousal as your thighs clamp around his head, your core pulsing with the need to be filled. His tongue flicks against your clit, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through you. His scarred hands clamp around your thighs as he pulls you impossibly closer. His tongue thrusts into your hole and you see white. You are so close to the edge, so close to climax.

“Az-. Az! Please, Please Cauldron, please. I’m close.” You’re moaning, pulling at his hair to make him look up at you.  “Please, I want to cum with your inside me.” 

His fingers lessen their grip, and his mouth leave your sex. His lips are glistening with your juices, as his hands travel to the buckles at his thigh, removing the sheath containing Truth-Teller, next he works the ties of his boots and pants, both are quickly discarded. With a tug of his undershorts, the Spymaster of the Night Court stands before you in all of his glory, and he is magnificent. 

His cock throbs against his stomach as he watches you watch him. He fists his rock-hard length and he looks at you with a question burning in his eyes, giving you a chance to turn him away. But you need him, you burn for him. 

“I need you inside of me Azriel.” You can feel the head of his cock brush against your folds, your head falling back and you whine at the contact, “Fuck me. Gods fuck me.” His cock rubs against your sex a few more times, your slick lubricating his length, and then he is slowly pushing inside of you. 

Your cunt stretches, and you’re not sure if you’re moaning in pain or in rapturous pleasure. He stills for a moment, halfway inside you, letting your body acclimate to his thick member. He leans down and leaves a chaste kiss against your lips. 

“Ready?” he asks, voice low, strained with the effort to remain still. 

“Yes.”

He pulls his cock out all the way out, and with a buck of his hips, completely sheaths himself inside of you. Again and again, his hips slam against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you. His cock fills you completely, your cunt stretched as far as it can, and each vein along his shaft rubs deliciously against you. The tip of his cock brushes against your spongey tissue and you whail in bliss. 

“Harder.”

He complies, his hips fracturing against your pelvis, driving him further inside of you. Your hands reach around and grab his ass, driving him even deeper. The fae lights are flickering in and out, the bed is shaking, cracking against the wall, and you are screaming, and screaming, insane from the pleasure.

You plummet over the edge, wailing his name as your orgasm cleaves you in two. 

Azriel follows you over the cliff, his wings flare wide, and he lets out a roar as his thick cum paints your insides. His pace begins to slow as he continues to thrust in and out, prolonging your pleasure. He stills inside of you but doesn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to fully unsheath himself, savouring the feeling of you around him. 

“Y/N…” his voice is hoarse. He starts to pull away, but you just lean in and capture his lips with another kiss. 

“Let’s talk about what this means later Az. For now,” your eyes shine bright in the moonlight and it takes his breath away, “for now, can you just hold me?” He nods and swallows hard. Shimming up to the head of the bed, you both slide under your covers, he tucks you into his side, arm draped around your waist. Your head rests on his chest, and you breathe in the scent of his sweat and musk. 

You can feel his come slowly trickle down your leg. 

You feel complete and satiated. The roar in your veins from the potion has gone, left in its place was love. Your eyes feel heavy and you begin to drift off to sleep. “Told you so,” you mumble. You’re fast asleep now, and miss the look of regret that crosses the Shadowsingers face.

.

.

.

Hours later you awaken to an empty bed. 

[throneofsapphics]

hi, i’ve recently found your page & i’m obsessed with your writing! i have a request, i’ve had this idea for a while now.

we’re in the court of nightmares, eris walks up to the high lord & lady and the inner circle to ask nesta to dance BUT he sees reader instead. either feysand or nessian gets jealous, but reader does dance with eris. feysand or nessian gets so jealous that eris and reader gets interpreted. reader gets a reminder who they belong too. reader would be mated with whatever couple you pick.

i would like angst, smut (maybe a little bit darker), jealousy, just do your thing girl 👀

thank you, i can’t wait to read more of your writing 🖤🖤🖤

a reminder 

Feysand x f!Reader 

Summary: She played her part perfectly, laughing and smiling at all of the right moments. The High Lady watched as Eris grew more and more smitten through the entire dance. Then - his hand drifted lower, squeezing tightly around her hip. Rhys moved before she could. 

Word Count: ~2k 

Warnings: smut, almost all smut, a bit of angst, light bondage, d/s dynamics, impact play, jealousy, possessiveness, i think thats it?, minors dni!!

A/N: ah thank you! and thank you for the request!! this was fun to write & I loved this idea, sorry it's not too heavy on the angst,

She’d rarely gone to the Court of Nightmares, only on a few occasions. She hated the cesspool, but when Feyre and Rhys asked her this time, she agreed. You’ve always been exceptionally skilled at reading people, and body language - even without being a Daemati, and sometimes it came in handy when dealing with those extensively trained against your mates powers. 

When the male they told her to keep an eye on, Eris, approached her, it was the perfect opportunity. 

-

Feyre watched in amusement as Eris approached the Dais. Every time he visited, he would always seek out Nesta for a dance. She agreed - and she had a feeling her sister only did it to spark some jealousy in Cassian. They always disappeared shortly after, coming back with slightly flushed cheeks. 

But, she watched as his eyes passed over Nesta - straight to y/n. They brought her here this time to try and get a read on Eris, without invading his mind outright. She didn’t notice his attention, scanning the room instead. Eris’s eyes gleamed as he approached her for a dance. Rhys went dangerously still next to her. Maybe it was a mistake disguising her scent, hiding the traces of them. 

Y/n agreed with a smile, taking his hand and following him to the dance floor. They did tell her to act as if she had no close relation to them … It’s what we told her to do, she spoke to Rhys. 

Not to dance with him, he growled. His bored mask was perfectly in place, but she felt the jealousy rolling through the bond. Her sentiment echoed his almost identically.  

She played her part perfectly, laughing and smiling at all of the right moments. The High Lady watched as Eris grew more and more smitten through the entire dance. Then - his hand drifted lower, squeezing tightly around her hip. Rhys moved before she could. 

-

She would admit Eris was a good dancer, and she was enjoying herself. Charming, funny, and trying a bit too hard. After the first dance, she’d gathered almost everything she needed to. Watching him for a bit longer, how he interacted with everyone else, would finish that up. But - he asked for another, and she felt rude turning him down. She forced her heartbeat and expression to remain steady as his hand drifted further down, right on her hip. Not obscenely low, but slightly suggestive. An invitation of sorts. Y/n knew this wouldn’t end well. 

“May I?” Rhys’s voice sounded, cutting in, so smoothly nothing seemed off to any outsiders. He cut a sharp look to Eris, one that would make most Fae shake immediately. To his credit, Eris only gave a polite nod and made himself scarce. 

Rhys’s hand tightened around her waist as he led her around the dance floor. Bruises would appear there tomorrow. He didn’t speak, but she could feel the anger, jealousy, and pure possession rolling through the bond, and immediately went on the defensive. 

I wasn’t- she tried to send down the bond. 

Not here. He replied sharply. She bit harshly on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. Her mate’s eyes gleamed as he caught the motion. We’ll be cutting our visit short. 

I still need to - 

No. She bristled as he cut her off again. I’m certain you have enough. 

Y/n realized when she wouldn’t win a fight, and kept silent. 

You need a reminder of who you belong to, he purred into her mind, showing her a preview of what would be coming later. 

Arousal and fear flooded through her. A delicious but dangerous combination. Her heart started beating faster, tension coliling in her stomach … Rhys didn’t wait for the dance to end, he brought her back to the Dais, muttering a few instructions, and they left within minutes. 

-

“What the hell was that?” 

She was surprised Feyre raged at her first. 

“It - it’s what you told me to do.” She stood still, her eyes darting between the two of them. They were both pissed. But she couldn’t quite figure out why, she’d done exactly what they wanted to her. It’s not her fault Eris asked her for a dance. 

“You let him touch you.” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I did no such thing, it was a dance, dance partners touch each other.” 

Her words seemed to roll right over them. “You belong to us, don’t you?” Rhys’s tone was mild, and she saw all of the warnings signs - the gleam in his eyes, the way he held himself, how his fist clenched slightly. 

Even as fear lanced through her, she ignored them. “Yes,” she did roll her eyes this time, and her filter completely disappeared. “It’s not my fault you wanted to hide my scent. You’re the ones keeping me like a secret, he never would’ve asked if you hadn’t.”

Rhys stalked over to her, every inch the predator. His fingers tilted her chin, “you need a reminder, don’t you darling?” 

“I-” 

Before she could answer, Feyre cut in, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Rhys. “I believe she does.”

Her hand trailed down her shoulder, catching her wrist in a vice-like grip, but she couldn’t look away from Rhys, not with his hand gripping her chin. 

“Do you think he could please you?” she cooed, and she knew exactly what game they were playing. 

Y/n shrugged casually, “I haven’t tried him.” She waited a few seconds, “but you never know unless -” 

She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before Rhys’s arm wrapped around her waist, winnowing her to their bedroom. One thing she knows for certain about her mates, is they get very jealous, very easily. And that she usually loves the results of that jealousy. Feyre winnowed in a second later. 

“Scared?” Rhys asked as she took a few steps back. 

She was, but she wouldn’t admit that to him, and she shook her head. 

“Foolish,” he tutted, and her clothes disappeared. Waves of magic bound her arms behind her back, before forcing her to her knees. She hit the floor with a soft thud, the carpet dulling some of the impact. 

“Right where she belongs,” Feyre teased, circling around her. Her hands gently gripped her hair, tugging her head back to expose her neck. She struggled, trying to yank her head back, but the female’s grip was firm and unyielding. Still, she knew her safeword if she needed it. 

She crouched behind her, her other hand gripping her throat. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” She panted, and the small coil of arousal started building. 

“I don’t know what else I expected from you.” Feyre let out an edged chuckle, and left a deceptively gentle kiss under her ear. “Look at him.” 

Her eyes shot up, meeting Rhys’s - standing right above her with a smirk. Her body stiffened, she knows exactly what that expression means. “Stand up.” 

She swallowed and Feyre released her grip on her hair. She rose to her feet, and he merely pointed at the edge of the bed. Y/n didn’t move, and his eyes narrowed. She felt the tension growing in the room. She’s playing a dangerous game, walking a very thin line. 

“I won’t tell you again.” 

“You never said anything,” Y/n gave him a sweet smile and he snarled, shoving her towards the bed. The push knocked the air out of her, but she was left bent over the bed, hinging at the hips and leaving herself completely exposed. They’d be able to see just how wet she is. 

She feels Rhys’s body pressed over hers, his hands, gently brushing the hair away from her face as he kicks her legs further apart. He kisses the side of her neck, one hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her further into the mattress. “Remember Darling, you’ve earned his.” She shudders, having an idea of exactly what’s coming next. A silky rope replaces the magic tying her hands behind her back, winding tightly from her elbows to her wrist. 

Then, his hand slaps down on her ass. She whimpers, but the first one isn’t that bad, it’s more of a warning. 

She can tell Feyre is next, by the difference in size, and Feyre hadn’t been holding back - her body rocks against the bed. They don’t relent, each of them timing it perfectly until her ass and the backs of her thighs are burning, bright red. Tears stream down her face, leaving wet spots on the mattress below. 

Her leg kicks up involuntarily, and Feyre shoves it back down with a delighted chuckle. It’s almost too much, her word is on the tip of her tongue, but just as she’s hurling towards her limit, it stops. Rhys’s body folds over hers, his pants painfully brushing against the raw skin. Feyre’s knelt next to her on the bed, tugging her head up. Y/n thinks she might kiss her, let her taste the wine she can smell, the sweet scent of her, but she kisses the tears on her cheeks, her tongue darting out to lick one. The sign of her submission, of them breaking her down in a way only they can. She’s whimpering as they tug her further up the bed, Feyre’s legs spread, guiding her down towards her pussy. 

Gods, she loves the taste of her - sweet and musky at the same time, and doesn’t hesitate. She nips at the soft skin next to her thighs, dragging her tongue up between her folds. She wiggles at the bindings holding her back, but they don’t relent. 

Her hips are tugged up. A strangled mix between a sob and moan left her as Rhys pushes into her - giving her no time to adjust before he sets a brutal pace. 

Feyre presses into the back of her head, switching her focus, trying to put all of her attention on making her feel good. She alternates dragging her teeth over her clit, sucking, and giving small but firm kitten licks. All of the things she know will send Feyre over the edge. 

Another smack on the bare skin of her ass draws a moan out of her - and Feyre, the vibrations finally sending the High Lady over the edge. Y/n doesn’t stop, but slows to small licks, bringing her down from the high. 

Rhys’s hand snakes around to circle two fingers around her clit. She finds herself screaming, her head resting on Feyre’s thigh. 

The female ran her fingers through her hair, “so good now,” she murmurs, “taking him so well my love.” 

“A good little slut, just for us,” Rhys accentuates his words with another slap to her ass, squeezing her hips so tightly she knows she’ll bruise. 

It doesn’t take long before that coil in her stomach tightens, 

“Please, please please,” she chanted. 

“Please what?” Rhys asked, with a cruel tone. 

“F-finish, please let me cum,” 

“Do you think she’s earned it?” He asked Feyre, who’s still stroking her hair. 

She hums, “I think so.” 

“You’re too soft,” He growls, but increases his speed, tilting his hips to hit that perfect spot. 

She’s screaming - maybe their names, maybe to the Gods, she has no idea, but her body goes limp, Rhys still pounding until his cum fills her. 

He yanks her back by her hair, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush to his chest. She feels the burn of him against her raw skin and relishes in it. 

“Who do you belong to?” He nips at the space where her neck and shoulder meet. 

“You, Feyre, both of you,” She mumbles, barely coherent. It seems it was enough to please him, because he releases her into Feyre’s arms, letting her mate hold her, stroke her hair, murmur sweet things to her that fly in one ear and out the other. Rhys returns with a rag to clean her. She’s blissed out, her eyes glazed over, and a satisfied sleepiness is starting to take over her senses. Still, they take the time to quickly bathe and clean her before tucking her into bed between them. 

[fuckyesnessian]

Creator Highlight #3 - @kale-theteaqueen

Welcome back to Nessian Creator Highlights!! We want to take a moment to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use up so much of their freetime and creative energy to share their work with us!

Today we want to highlight @kale-theteaqueen

@kale-theteaqueen is one of those rare talents who manages to capture the nuances of Nesta's inner turmoil, her angst, her trauma. Her understanding and love make for compelling narratives centered, often, around healing arcs and empowering the voices of characters who are often forgotten and sidelined in favor of their sexier male counterparts.

And of course, it's never a true highlight without talking about how wonderfully kind @kale-theteaqueen has been to other members of our community. The critics have spoken, they all agree: she's one of the nicest nessians around! If you've ever wanted to get to know her, drop her a line and say hi!

Lady Death and Her Kingdom: When Amren pushes Nesta too far at training, she unlocks the full potential of her power, and with it comes devastating consequences. A post-ACOWAR AU in which Lady Death sees the dead, with chaotic results.

To Pay A Debt: When Nesta realizes Feyre has not included her in any of their family paintings, the sting of her exclusion is sharper than she could have ever imagined. Desperate to relieve Feyre and her new family of the burden that she was, she did the only thing she could think of: run. An alternate take after ACOFAS, in which Feyre not painting Nesta gets addressed, the Inner Circle gets a little bit of a reality check, and everyone kind of learns to communicate.

Burning From the Inside Out: Nesta had lived with pain all her life. She thought she knew how to keep it controlled, secret, afraid to burden her family even more with her inadequacy. Then, she was thrown into the Cauldron. Now, try as she might, the stolen fire that rages inside her only makes things worse, until she can no longer maintain the stone-faced mask that had gotten her through the first two decades of her life. When her truth comes to light, how will her family perceive her weakness? And more importantly, how will it affect an already tenuous relationship with a certain Illyrian? An AU in which Nesta has secretly lived with chronic pain her whole life, only to have it exacerbated by the powers she took from the Cauldron.

You can find more on her masterlist!

[lady-of-tearshed]

ok…hear me out, a fic where cassian has a kid (prob adopted or smth) that’s nonverbal bc trauma or disability reasons, and it kinda wears on cass so one night he’s like talking to rhys about how his kid isn’t normal, and the kid went to get some water but overhears the whole thing - just angst to comfort

love your writing btw💗💗

Beautifully different

Pairing: Nessian & Their kids (Oc!Briana & Oc!Zion)

Summary: Cassian has a lot of pent-up frustration and worries about his son, Zion, who is diagnosed with selective mutism. He slips up in front of Zion, and now he has to apologize and make it better.

Word count: 1368 words

Warnings: Disabled child (selective mutism), angst, miscommunication, a bit of swearing, allusion to Nessian conceiving another child.

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears ❤️

“It’s called selective mutism,”

Cassian could still remember the confusion and worry that had set in his head the day Madja had announced the diagnosis of his son, Zion. 

Cassian’s grip tightened around his mate’s shoulders, his jaw clenched with anger. “So he’s not talking on purpose?” 

“No,” Madja’s voice had softly reassured him and Nesta, whom was crying against Cassian's chest. “No, it’s not how it works. It’s a rare childhood anxiety disorder. It’s the brain response to a trigger that makes Zion unable to speak in certain situations or around certain people,”

He remembered how it made his stomach twist with guilt, how the sight of his mate crying in his chest at the hard news had brought tears to his own eyes. But Madja’s comforting hand on his shoulder had calmed him down, grounded him. Her voice had enveloped his heavy heart and soothed his ache like a soft salve. 

“It is not your fault, to any of you,” Her other hand gently rubbed circles on Nesta’s back, calming down her sobs with her reassuring words. “There are treatments to attempt to cure this, and things you could do to help Zion’s condition to go away,”

“We’ll try anything,”

Cassian was a bit late to pick up his kids from Feyre’s studio. Madja had deemed it helpful to sign up Zion on recreational activities with other children for him to interact with, so Cassian and his mate did. Of course, Briana, the perfect big sister that she was, had insisted that she absolutely needed to go too so she could hold Zion’s hand if he got too shy (but mostly because she absolutely adored her auntie Feyre, and she was overly excited to make some art with her.), so Cassian and Nesta had no choice but to agree. As if he would’ve ever denied anything to his little princess anyway… 

The doorbell rang when Cassian pushed the door open.

“DADDY!”

The tiny bundle of curly hair wrapped in pink chiffon jumped into his arms, and Cassian caught her up in his arms before twirling her around. He bit her chubby cheeks playfully, making Briana’s melodic giggle to fill the room. “Hello sweetie, I suppose you had a great day?”

“The bestest day ever!”

Cassian huffed a laugh before putting her down on the floor slowly. He lifted his eyes and scanned the room, searching behind every canvas where the paint decorating them was still fresh and shining. Finally, his eyes landed on the one exposed on the easel exposed in the farthest corner of the room, where Zion sat, absentmindedly applying the same shade of blue all over the white canva. 

Cassian had to hold back his cringe, and forced himself to not look at all the other kids' artworks and compare them to his son’s. Instead, he just caressed Briana’s hair. He crouched down to be face to face with her, and smiled.

“Hey, why don’t you go and play outside with your brother for a while? I need to talk with Auntie Feyre,” Briana opened her mouth to say something, but Cassian poked her nose and cut her off. “Alone.”

Briana sighed dramatically, pouting a little before taking her little brother’s hand and cheerfully dragged him along to the swings outside the studio. 

Cassian waited until he was sure that both of his kids were outside, playing, and not paying attention to him, then he made his way inside the studio. His ears led him to where water was running, and leaned in the doorway to where Feyre was cleaning a shit ton of paint brushes. Sometimes, the warrior wondered how she dealt with such messes weakly, for fun. 

A chuckle left his throat at the thought, and made Feyre’ face snap up from her task. A bright smile flashed over her red, blue, purple and yellow painted face. Feyre tried to wipe it away, noticing Cassian’s amusement glinting in his eyes, but her attempt very much failed, as it only resulted in spreading the paint all over her face even more. 

“Are you here solely to make fun of me, or to actually pick up your kids?”

Cassian chuckled, scratching the back of his neck while a flush of embarrassment creeped up his cheeks. “Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit late to pick up the kids I know… I was…” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the mental image of how busy him and Nesta had been. “Busy.”

“Busy making more of those little ones?” 

Nosy woman. 

“How has it been for them today?”

“They’ve been good. Briana has made some progress on her painting today…” Feyre frowned, hesitating. Then she shrugged, avoiding the topic. “They’ve been good.”

“And Zion?” Cassian pushed, moving closer to where Feyre was washing the paint brushes. “Has he… made any progress? Did he make any friends?” 

Feyre left the brushes in the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, he tried a different shade of blue on his canva today… He didn’t participate actively in the group today but…” She bit her lip and placed a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, “Maybe it’s normal, perhaps that’s just how he is you know… Maybe he’s happy like this-”

“Well I am not. A child needs to have social interactions to develop, Feyre. He’s not normal,” Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel his face heat up, his breathing getting as heavy as the guilt resting on his soul. “Madja was wrong. That kid will never be normal. He’ll never be like the other kids,” 

Anger bubbled up within him. How was his son not normal, when his daughter was? “Where the fuck did I mess up-”

A thud that came from the other room cut off Cassian. Both Feyre and his face snapped to the door, where a tiny wing peaked out. 

Feyre’s face twitched and she patted Cassian on the shoulder. “I’ll wait outside with Briana… and I’ll make sure that the front door stays closed while you talk it out.” 

Feyre quickly made her way out of the studio, cheeks red from the embarrassing situation. She carefully avoided eye contact with Zion’s heart-broken face. 

Cassian only stayed in the middle of the supply room, staring at Zion’s tiny wing peeking out of the doorway. He sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Zion…” 

Zion hesitantly moved from his hiding spot and slowly dragged his feet in front of his father. His head was kept so low that Cassian couldn’t even see his eyes from where he stood. He kneeled in front of his boy, his warm palm coming to cup his cheek. His thumb brushed off some tears staining Zion’s cheek, but he still avoided his father’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I…” 

Cassian’s throat tightened, cutting off any sounds when the silent room filled with Zion’s choked sobs. He brought his face to his chest, his own tears now falling on top of his son’s head. He held him tight against him, as if he was afraid that the boy’s heart would crumble if he’d let him go. “I’m sorry, Zion. So sorry…” Cassian whispered against the boy’s ear, his hand rubbing slow circles on his back. 

Zion sniffled, his face now tilted up to look into his father’s eyes with so much sadness.

“I said horrible things, I’m sorry. Every kid is different, I know. I just…” His voice broke. Cassian looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. He calmed his sobs down before taking control of his voice again. “I just want you to be happy, my son,” His eyes met Zion’s, the same shade of hazel eyes staring back at him. “But… I guess sometimes I need to remind myself that the definition of being happy for you isn’t the same as being happy for me,” 

Zion nodded, his little hands coming to wipe away Cassian’s tears, the same way he did for him. 

“Are you happy, Zion?” Cassian whispered, his face painted with concern. 

“You make me happy.”

And these were the most words Cassian had heard from his son, but the most beautiful ones anyone had said to him in all of his immortal life span.

Acotar taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover

Cassian taglist: @ladybookstan

[autumnshighlady]

This Is Me Trying

Cassian x Nesta

summary: It's been a few months since Nesta and Cassian have made things official, but things have only gotten worse for Nesta.

warnings: ANGST! slight inner circle slander, no happy ending, not super pro-Nessian

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this fic is based on 'This Is Me Trying' by Taylor Swift, also spot the Grey's Anatomy quote hehe. This fic is basically me working out my own relationship issues haha, so it was pretty emotional to write because I'm basically Nesta in this situation and it's rough. But I also truly think this is a more realistic version of Nessian than the one sjm tried to shove down out throats in ACOSF.

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

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Nesta sighed as Cassian’s arm squeezed around her shoulders, squishing her farther into him than humanly possible. He belted out a laugh at whatever Mor had said, a deafening noise next to Nesta’s ear. His touch felt like acid on her skin, and all she wanted to do was get away from it.

Nesta had been trying her hardest to communicate her feelings with Cassian, she truly had. But it was hard – everything she said seemed to leave his brain the second he was around the Inner Circle, like they were now. Nesta was at one end of the couch with Cassian to her right, and Elain on Cassian’s left. Feyre was sitting on an armchair across from them with Nyx in her arms, in Rhys’s lap, while Mor and Amren were perched on cushions by the fireplace. Azriel was sitting a bit behind Rhys and Feyre on a stool, quietly observing the scene. A couple hours ago, Nesta had pulled Cassian aside and explained that she was having an overwhelming day, and requested he not touch her for the night. She couldn’t explain why she felt that way – she tried, and nothing came out. All she wanted was some physical space from Cassian’s presence. The male had sworn he understood, and said he would give her space.

That had lasted all of 20 minutes into the evening before he slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her body into his. He had failed to notice how Nesta froze, rather than relaxing into his touch as usual. She knew it wasn’t malicious, that he wasn’t deliberately ignoring her request. He had just simply… forgot. 

And this wasn’t the first time she felt suffocated and trapped by Cassian. Guilt plagued her, knowing he truly didn’t mean to do it, he was just trying to show his affection. For a while, Nesta thought that the Cauldron had mated them under the premise of opposites attract. Cassian was extroverted and wore his heart on his sleeve, easily making friends and jumping into any conversation or group. Nesta was an introvert, preferring to mask everything she felt, both good and bad. She did not have that confident ease about her, nor did she feel inclined to befriend everyone she met or chat their ear off. She was perfectly content to be more like Azriel, sitting and observing rather than participating. 

But maybe there was such a thing as people being too opposite for it to work out.

Nesta had felt like she was drowning in the Cauldron all over again, slowly being backed into a corner and suffocating under Cassian’s constant presence and need for her attention. Now that they were officially together, he was everywhere. Cassian had lightened his duties in Illyria to spend more time with Nesta, which only made it worse. At first she had found it sweet, but as the weeks passed it became more irritating.

Cassian was supposed to love her. Surely, someone who loved her would be able to understand her enough to know that this wasn’t what she wanted? He was always trying to find different things to do with Nesta, and it was beginning to get overwhelming. It hurt her heart to see how enthusiastic he was, how badly he wanted to make her happy. She was disgusted with herself for not feeling the same, for wanting to fight and pull away.

Her youngest sister’s voice brought her attention back. “Do you have anything to add, Nesta?”

Nesta blinked, not having heard a word of what was said. “To what?”

Feyre sighed. “We were just talking about building another home for me, Rhys, and Nyx in the mountains, since you and Cassian basically live at the House of Wind now. What do you think?”

The room was tense, everyone frozen as they awaited Nesta’s reply. If she was in a better mood, she would have chuckled inwardly. No matter what she did, no matter how many times she proved herself to them, the Inner Circle would always see her as a rabid monster waiting for a chance to lash out. Perhaps if it were another day she’d entertain them, just to show that she hadn’t lost her bite. But she had no energy today. “Sounds like a great idea.” She said simply.

Everyone visibly relaxed, relieved that Nesta hadn’t made a snide comment about how many houses Feyre and Rhys had, even though she wanted to. Cassian patted her arm proudly, as if to say look how much more docile and well-mannered she is now, thanks to me. Realistically, Nesta knew that wasn’t actually what he was thinking, but it sure felt like it. Only Feyre gave her a strange look, as if she could sense something wrong. 

“So, Nesta,” Rhys said smoothly. “Cassian tells me you’ve gotten pretty good in the sparring ring.”

Nesta’s mouth was dry, the hot air from the room closing in on her. “I’ve improved, yes.” She managed a reply, earning another squeeze from Cassian that tightened her throat even more.

She hadn’t wanted to be touched at all tonight, yet he was doing it anyway without even thinking.

“It’s been a while since I’ve practiced, you could probably give me a run for my money.” The High Lord chuckled, taking a sip of wine.

Again, everyone anxiously waited for Nesta to challenge him, to cause a scene and ruin the evening for the group. It made her feel physically sick, how she felt like she was drowning all over again and not only had Cassian not noticed, but the Inner Circle seemed to like her better this way – a shell of the female she was before, a quieter version.

“I think Rhys is challenging you, sweetheart.” Cassian chuckled. “Go on, go kick his sorry ass.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Nesta said quietly, but it was too late. Mor and Amren had stood up, moving over to where Azriel sat in the back to clear the space on the large rug by the fireplace. Feyre had climbed off Rhys’s lap, too, taking Nyx with her and handing her to Elain as she joined everyone over by Azriel. 

Rhys down the rest of his wine and stood up, pushing his chair back and wiping invisible dust off his sleeves. “Come on, Nesta. Show me what you got.”

The room began to close in on Nesta even more, the air stifling and catching in her throat like sandpaper.

“It’s fine, really.” Nesta insisted, but was interrupted by Cassian gently shoving her to her feet.

“My girl is gonna make you eat dirt, brother.” Cassian said as he pushed Nesta up onto her unsteady feet.

More cheers from the females by Azriel began to sound up, all urging Nesta to show off her skills. It should have felt endearing, and she should have felt more excited at the opportunity to punch her annoying brother-in-law in his face. But all she could feel was suffocation, like she was back in front of her mother’s cruel gaze being forced to perform for people that did not care for her. An object, a plaything to be used to entertain others then put back in its box when they were done with her.

“No.” Nesta’s voice was barely above a whisper, unheard amongst the loud cheers.

“Nesta, Nesta, Nesta!” Feyre and Elain chanted from the background, egging her on. But she was frozen, arms slack at her sides.

“Come on, Nes!” Cassian barked playfully. “You’re acting like I haven’t taught you anything. Come on, do it for me–”

“I said NO.” Nesta snapped, her sharp voice silencing the room as she whirled around to face Cassian. He stared at her, eyes wide with shock.

“It’s all in good fun,” He said, brows furrowed in confusion. “He won’t actually hurt you. Besides, when else are you going to get the chance to–”

Nesta cut him off, her anger bubbling over the surface like a volcano that had waited centuries to finally erupt. “What part of the word ‘no’ suddenly means ‘convince me’?” She demanded.

Nobody said a word. Disappointment was written all over Cassian’s face. Amren snorted in the background, her whisper pointedly loud as she said, “I guess some people will never change, even after being spat out by the Cauldron.”

Tears burned in Nesta’s eyes, but she refused to let them see. Wordlessly, she stormed past everyone, making her way to the door of the river house. She hadn’t even made three steps out into the street before it opened up again behind her, heavy footsteps crunching in the snow.

“What the fuck, Nesta?” Cassian demanded, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. 

“Let go of me.” She spat, trying to rip her arm from his grip. But he only held on tighter.

“We were having fun, what’s wrong with you?”

“Cassian, let go of my arm right fucking NOW.”

The male glared at her, but obliged. Nesta yanked her arm back to her side, rubbing the now sore area. Annoyance seeped from the male as he ran a hand through his hair. “The night was going well,” He grumbled. “It was all going well until you made a scene. For once in your life, Nesta, can’t you just try?”

“This IS me trying!” Nesta shouted, his words stabbing her harder than any knife could. After everything she had opened up to Cassian about, how could he not see that she was trying her best? That she was trying to make him happy by going along with his obscure date ideas, putting on a happy face being dragged to dinner with the Inner Circle even though they basically locked her up after the war? 

“Well you’re not trying hard enough!” Cassian’s words hit her like a truck. The tears she had been fighting to keep back began to stream down her cheeks like icicles in the frozen wind. “Fuck, I’ve tried to hard to convince my family to give you a chance after how you treated them. I’ve gone out out of my way to make you happy, and this is what you fucking do? We all try so hard for you, and you won’t try at all.”

Nesta couldn’t stop herself from flinching at his words. Her brain screamed at her to yell back at Cassian, to bring out those claws she spent the last few months trying to rid herself of. But she couldn’t. She was exhausted, tired of pretending to be as happy as Cassian was. It sucked the life out of her, chipping at her away piece by piece until she felt empty inside. Her old self would be ashamed of how submissive she had become.

Cassian sighed, rubbing his face, and taking a step towards Nesta. He held his hands out to hold her. “Nesta, I’m so sorry–”

He stopped speaking when Nesta took a step back, shying from his touch. His hazel eyes were filled with hurt and confusion, and she sighed. “Cassian,” She said slowly. “Did you not remember how I asked you not to touch me tonight?” 

The Illyrian’s brow furrowed in confusion, then softened as the realization dawned on him. “Is that what this is about?”

Nesta sighed, another tear rolling down her cheek. “Not just that–”

He interrupted her. “I completely forgot, Nes I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off?”

“Because I shouldn’t have to. You should have remembered to respect my basic wishes. You don’t listen to me, Cassian. You hear me, but you don’t listen.”

Cassian sat down on the steps by the door, wings drooping in sadness. But she felt no pity for him, only anger. He was the one who didn’t listen to her when she asked not to be touched, who ignored her when she protested sparring with Rhys, but he was somehow the victim too? It made her blood sing with anger. “I tell you not to touch me because I’m having a bad day, and you pull me into your lap like a dog,” She continued icily. “I tell you I don’t want to do something, and instead of respecting that, you try to force me to do it for everyone’s entertainment. You know damn well that Rhys has never liked me, and how he meant it when he threatened to kill me a few months ago. And yet you pushed me to try and fight him anyways.”

Cassian stared at the frozen ground. Nesta could practically feel his confusion, a raging sea of emotions written all over his face. The wind blew his hair into his face, a sight that Nesta would have found beautiful once. But now it only filled her with sadness. She had bent herself backwards trying to become ‘worthy’ of Cassian in his and his family’s eyes, cursing herself alone at night and thinking she was the problem. Cassian was an objectively good male – loving, affectionate, good in the bedroom. Any female would be lucky to have him, so why wasn’t Nesta happy?

The answer had been deep down inside her, trying to claw its way to the surface, begging for Nesta to acknowledge it. And then it washed over her one day – everyone was quick to assume that she was the one at fault in the relationship, not Cassian. And somewhere along the way, she had convinced herself of that too, pushing down her gut feelings for the sake of trying to make it work with the general. She knew that her words shot to kill when she was mad, and she often couldn’t stop them no matter how much regret they filled her with. But when Cassian had come along, she learned to hold her tongue, to push back those claws inside her. The issue was that in the process of doing so, Nesta had begun holding her tongue more often than needed, bearing the facade of a female submitting to her mate just like everyone wanted. 

Nesta had finally been de-clawed, Cassian wearing her talons around his neck like a trophy. She felt like an open wound at every party, her former self slowly oozing out of the gaps in flesh Cassian had clawed from her. And the worst part was, everyone liked her better this way. But she felt the opposite of better, she felt suffocated and empty.

“I understand you are trying to push me out of my comfort zone,” Nesta continued through tears, swallowing the thick lump in her throat. “And I appreciate it because sometimes that is needed. But you’ve pushed too hard, Cassian.”

“I only wanted what was best for you.” Cassian said dully.

She scoffed. “And how would you know what’s best for me when you never asked me? What, you just assume because we’re together you have some sort of decision-making capacity over me? That you have any idea what’s going through my head, what I’m feeling, or even what I want?”

Cassian stood up, taking a step towards Nesta. She stepped back again, wanting to keep the space between them and not caring about the hurt that flashed across Cassian’s face. “I know you, Nes.” He said softly. “And I love you.”

“No, you don’t.” The wet spots on her cheeks began to freeze over in the cold wind. “You love the idea of me. You love being with me, having me by your side. But you don’t truly know me, Cassian. And you don’t truly love me. You just think you do.”

The hurt swimming in Cassian’s eyes churned into anger. “You’re kidding, right? So you mean the past five months we’ve spent together have been nothing? That I truly didn’t get to know you at all in that time?”

“You’re 500 years older than me, Cassian. Five months is a blink of an eye in your lifetime. So no, you didn’t truly get to know me in that time.”

Cassian scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. But Nesta continued. “The only reason you think you got to know me was because others forced us into each other’s proximity. I did not come to spend time with you on my own free will. And I was isolated from everyone and everything, except for you. In that time, Cassian you… you took something from me. You took little pieces of me - little pieces over time, so small I didn't even notice. You wanted me to be something I wasn't, and I made myself into what you wanted. And I let you, because I thought I could make you happy that way. But it will never happen again. I am done changing who I am to make myself ‘worthy’ of you.”

Nesta turned around, not waiting to hear his response as she strode down the snow covered cobblestone. There was no towering presence following after her, much to her relief. She did not go back to the River House, or in the direction of the House of Wind. Truthfully, Nesta had no clue where she was going, only that she was done letting herself fall apart to please people who would never love her for who she truly is.

[acourtofbooksandshadows]

Not So Routine- Chapter 8

Summary: Unexpected visitors cause your night to go astray. Luckily Mor is there to help anchor you.

Pairings: Eventual!Nessian x Afab!Reader Current!Mor x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, men being disgusting foul little things, blood, weapons, swearing, wounds, passing out, vomit, bones breaking, child abuse from parent and death. Just please tread lightly if you are squeamish or uncomfortable with any of the above topics.

Word count: 3233

Bookshelf Series Bookshelf

It seemed that all the eventful experiences of the day were not in fact over. Because when you got home that night you paused dead in your tracks and stared widely at the forms waiting for you. Out of everyone you’d expected to be at your door it definitely wasn’t Azriel and Rhysand. You stared at them in shock and Rhysand tried to give you his best calming smile while Azriel didn’t even try to look less intimidating. 

“Oh, hello, I wasn’t expecting company today.” They were blocking your door and didn’t seem like they were going to move until your keys rattled. Rhysand stepped aside and Azriel tucked his wings in as you approached, you made quick work of the door before ushering them inside. You groaned as you realized you hadn’t cleaned up your apartment in a couple days. You hadn’t thought you’d need to since Mor was the only one that ever came over and she didn’t mind a bit of clutter. 

“I’m sorry for the mess. I wasn’t-” Your words were cut off by Rhysand. 

“Expecting company.” Nerves were working through you at a fast pace. You had a feeling that this wasn’t a friendly visit. Especially with the way Azriel seemed a little on edge. 

“Is this about Devlon?” You chewed on your lower lip so hard you started to taste blood before releasing it. 

“I’ve been gathering information on him and the males in ironcrest. I’m just wanting to iron out a few details with you.” Azriel’s voice surprised you as you realized this was the first time you’ve heard it. 

“Would either of you like tea or anything?” You stood awkwardly in the doorway to your kitchen that was just next to your front door. They both shook their head and you lead them towards your dining room table. You were thankful for the bench that lined one side of the table as Azriel was able to comfortably sit without his wings being in the way. 

“What would you like to know?” Azriel shot off a list of names in reply and had you confirm or deny their involvement. But you hadn’t known any of their names so that didn’t help at all. 

“We could try something different instead. If you’re comfortable with it of course.” You eyed Rhysand curiously already suspecting you wouldn’t like the words about to leave his mouth. 

“I could look at the memory and we could narrow down who they are that way.” A large wave of nausea took over you at the thought of reliving the experience that had scarred you not only physically but mentally and emotionally as well. 

“Does it have to be tonight?” You hadn’t realized you were picking at your nails until you pulled on a especially tender spot and you dropped your hands into your lap. 

“The sooner the better. I’m afraid that if they get wind of me digging around they might flee or try to hide any evidence of their activities.” Azriel’s voice shook you once again. Though from the stories you’ve heard of him you doubted anyone would figure out what he was up to. Unless of course he wanted them too. Rhysand seemed to take pity in the way you shook as he placed a calming hand on your arm from his spot next to you.

“Would you like me to request Mor join us?” You nodded your head quickly at his question, you knew her presence would help you undoubtedly. His eyes glazed over for a moment and after waiting with baited breath he came back. He didn’t even have to tell you what she said as she appeared in the space behind Rhysand. 

“I’m scared.” You whispered to her as she pulled a chair next to yours. She grabbed your hand that was closest to her and intertwined her fingers with yours. 

“I know but I’ll be here the whole time. Then we can go to bed afterwards.” She dragged the smooth skin of her thumb along the smooth skin of the back of your hand soothingly. You nodded your head at her before turning back to Rhysand, who was eyeing you and his cousin curiously. 

“I’m ready.” Somehow your voice came out steady and your hands didn’t shake. But nausea was something you couldn’t push away. This would be the first and the only time you showed it to someone else. 

“Would it be alright for me to share the memory with Azriel and Mor as you share it with me?” You nodded your head at him and began chewing on your lip again. Your eyes fluttered closed and then squeezed tight. Rhysand began to claw at your mind and you let out him enter as a shaky breath left your mouth. Once he found the memory you were whisked into it. 

When you had awoken that morning you groaned in pain. Your stomach and back felt like it was on fire and being stabbed all at once. You sat up with a wince and that’s when you noticed the wet feeling between your legs. You lifted the blanket up and stared at the blood that pooled between your legs. Panic set through you like water breaking through a damn. 

You weren’t exactly sure what was happening to you. But you knew that if your father found out that he’d find some way to punish you. So you got out of your bed and stood on shaky legs. There were chores that you needed to complete before Devlon came home. Even though you felt an ache and a sweat all over your body you couldn’t leave the chores unfinished. 

Your legs barely held you up as you exited your cramped room and made your way to the bathroom. You bunched up a small towel in your underwear to hopefully hold the blood that still steadily poured out of you. The rough feeling of the walls dug into your hand as you caught yourself from falling down the stairs when a particularly sharp jab spiked in your side. Your wings unused twitched open and closed behind you. After two large glasses of water to hold down the nausea and a mug of tea, with a bowl of oatmeal you finally started on your chores. 

Even though your father had a wife she did nothing to help you. Instead she would sit around most of the day and complain. She would complain about anything she could think of. Most of the time though it was you she’d complain about. Then there were some days where she would stay in her room and wouldn’t leave until your father came home. That left all the chores for you. It had become a routine at this point though. Wake up, eat breakfast, make your fathers bed, do the dishes, do the laundry, dust, sweep, mop, take care of the trash and then have dinner on the table by the time he comes home. 

You had just got done making dinner when your father came into the small house. The cramps had lessened as you worked around the house so you were going to bathe and wash the towels you had gone through while he ate dinner. But he called out to you when your foot met the second step of the stairs. You turned around nervously and you saw him take a deep breath. Then there was nothing but fury within his eyes. 

“Your first bleeding. Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Your whole body went on high alert as you looked at him. He was all but shaking with rage. The words wouldn’t leave your throat as fear settled within every nook of your body. 

“Answer me now.” He was baring his teeth at you, wings spreading out and chest puffing up. You shrank into yourself slowly under his gaze.

“It happened this morning, I didn’t know what was wrong. I am sorry.” You took the one step down and knelt before him. Wings sagging behind you and eyes gazing at the floor. You weren’t lying when you told him you had no idea what was happening. You had never been told of a first bleeding before. 

“You’re absolutely useless to me now. Go up to your room until I get you.” You hadn’t been prepared to be sent to your room. You’d normally receive your punishment immediately. It was typically a whipping with his belt or a couple of well placed kicks and punches to your body. 

You felt your breakfast from the morning coming up your throat as you stood and stalked up the stairs. Once you sat on your bed you stared at your wall for what felt like days but was really only a couple of hours. 

The trance you were in was broken as you heard your name being called through the house. You made quick work of going down the stairs and you went to kneel before your father again but he stopped you. The bile that you had finally choked down earlier threatened to come back up as he glared at you. He started walking towards the door and you stood in your place.

“Let’s go.” You hesitated at his words because you had never been allowed outside. From the day you were born all you had was the walls and rooms of your house. 

“I said let’s fucking go.” He stalked over to you and grabbed your hair roughly dragging you behind him. Your wings scraped against the floor as your legs stumbled beneath you to keep up right. The sharp chill of the breeze outside pierced the thin dress you wore and you hissed. You brought your hands up to your arms trying to rub heat into them. The snow seeped into the thin flats on your feet and chilled your toes instantly. 

You looked around and took in the sights of the camp you had only ever gazed upon from the windows in your house. No one was outside and that had you on edge even more than you already were. There was normally a slew of males drinking and rough housing at all hours. But right now it seemed everyone was inside. The wings on your back were twitching in agony at the sharp pricks of cold snapping at them. 

There was no sound to be heard other than your laboring breath and the curses from the male dragging you. The reality of the situation you were in finally set in as he dragged you closer to the trees. He pulled you through the foliage not doing anything to protect you against the lashing of the branches and leaves on your skin. You screamed as you hit a root in the ground and twisted your ankle, a loud crack ringing out through the silent night.

When you entered a clearing you noticed three males standing there. They all had wings but you didn’t recognize them as any of the males you had seen from the windows of your house. They didn’t even flinch at the way you were thrown to the ground before them. Your father spat at you as you cradled the wrist that had tried to catch you from your fall. 

“Do whatever you want to her. I don’t ever want to see her again.” His voice was pure venom as he directed the statement at the males. Before he promptly turned around and left the clearing.

Your eyes were wide and you pleaded with the males in front of you but they only laughed before one of them went to snatch you up. But you backed away from them as best you could with your injured leg and arm. That earned you a punch that went straight to your nose and cracked the bone efficiently. Blood sprayed out across your face and the ground and your head spun at the pain. 

You didn’t see the other one come up behind you. An arm wrapped around your neck and you clawed at the material of the shirt while you fought for your oxygen. He only squeezed harder even as your nails finally shredded his shirt and made contact with his skin. He brought you up and the tips of your now bare feet grazed the snow covered ground. Your vision blurred and you tried to let out a final plea but you couldn’t get a word out. The ache in your chest ebbed into a buzz throughout your body as your lungs continued to struggle. The last thing you heard before you passed out was the one that hadn’t approached you yet saying how much fun he was going to have with you. 

When you woke up, you gagged at the taste of blood in your mouth. You tried to open your eyes but they didn’t want to cooperate. It took you several more tries before they finally cracked open. You realized through the slits in your eyes that they were swollen. The dark room around you didn’t give you any clues as to where you were. But the laughing beyond the door gave you an idea. 

A loud scream ripped through your throat as you tried to stand. You looked down at your ankles and realized they were both shackled and the right one was swollen, bruised and had an odd angle to it. You tried to bring a hand down to your swollen ankle but noticed that they were also shackled and that your left wrist was in just about as poor condition as your ankle was. Your scream seemed to have garnered the attention of the Illyrians because the door was slamming open and light was flooding in. 

“Oh good, the bitch is awake.” You didn’t know where the voice was coming from as you squeezed your eyes shut. The light entering the room caused a sharp pain to throb through your head. 

“Now for that fun I talked about earlier.” You assumed he had a set of keys in his hand as you heard the sound of metal clanging together. Your suspicions were confirmed as you felt the shackles being unlocked from the floor. Two of them grabbed you under your armpits and started to drag you out to where they came from. You cracked your eyes open despite the light and tried to ignore the way the shackles pulled on your mangled wrist and ankle. 

The large table in the center of the room and the weapons lining the walls had you getting sick. The vomit mixed with the blood in your mouth and on your face and clothes as it came out of you. You heard one of the males next to you curse before a sharp pain radiated through your side. You glanced down and noticed there was a knife sticking out of your side. 

“Let’s get this done with. She’s fucking disgusting.” You figured you were even though you couldn’t see yourself. You knew there was blood and now vomit covering your face and clothes. You could feel blood pooling between your legs and down them. Your skin had tiny cuts and dirt and what not from being dragged through the forest and you were bruised in various places. 

“Get her on the table.” You tried once again to pull away from them but they only gripped you harder and the male that stabbed you twisted the knife. They picked you up and laid you face down on the table. Your nose smacked against the rough surface and you were sure they had broken it again. 

“What are you going to do?” Your question fell on deaf ears as they locked you down by your shackles and moved around the room. They all seemed perfectly in sync as they skirted around each other and handed each other different objects.

“Hold the half breed down. I’m gonna get started on the first one.” Your wings twitched at the words. Like they knew what was happening before you did. Pain shot through you with a vengeance as the first deep cut was made to your wing. You tried to push away the pain and fight but with the second deep cut you were succumbing to the black spots in your already hazy vision. 

The next time you opened your eyes you were numb. Every last part of you no longer feeling. You couldn’t feel the nasty cuts in your back were now laying bare on the dirty ground below you from where your wings were cut off. You couldn’t feel the snow seeping into your skin, the broken bones from earlier weren’t even a thought either as you stared up at the sun above you. A slow and cynical laugh left your lips as you realized this was the first time you had ever felt the sun on your skin. Because you couldn’t even feel the heat from it. 

A sound rang out somewhere near you but you couldn’t make it out as your ears rang. You hadn’t even noticed the blood that now poured down the sides of your neck and mixed in with your hair. Your eyes were still slits from the swelling when someone came and blocked the sun from your view. You blinked once and then twice, slowly as you tried to make out who was there. 

You watched their mouth move but couldn’t make out what they were saying. They came toward you and you couldn’t find it within you to fight them. Even when their wings finally came into view from where they stood tall and proud behind them. They knelt down beside you and hauled you into their arms. You didn’t feel any pain as they jostled you to adjust you better trying to avoid hitting the knife still lodged in your side. 

As you finally took in their face you realized it was a gorgeous female. You had never seen anyone as pretty as her, you decided. A small smile grazed your lips and you hoped this angel of death understood you were grateful for them before your eyes fluttered closed and you slipped into the darkness that had been fighting to consume you. 

A sob left your lips as you came back to your kitchen table. The males around the table looked at you in surprise and you shrunk into yourself but Mor was quick in standing up and gathering you into her arms, your legs wrapping around her middle. She smoothed a hand over your hair and laid a kiss on your forehead before whispering to her cousin and Azriel. You couldn’t understand what she was saying as your head was buried into her neck. 

She carried you to your room and laid you on your bed. You didn’t hear a door close but you felt a ripple of power through your apartment and figured that Rhysand must’ve winnowed away as Azriel slipped through his shadows. Mor carefully got you out of your day clothes and slipped you into a pair of sleep pants and a sleep shirt. She laid beside you once she was in similar attire and let you curl into her. She ran a hand up and down your back until you fell asleep with tear tracks down your face. Before you slipped into slumber you had uttered a sentence that rattled her bones. 

“I want the killing blows.”

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed getting insight into readers past. There will be more Nesta and Cassian in the next part. Thank you all for reading and as always likes, comments, reblogs and follows are much appreciated.

Tags(open): @kmc1989 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @luvmoo @wolfsbane44 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @pinksmellslikelove @waytoomanyteenagefeels @littlebbb @cat-or-kitten @brandywineeeee

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {19}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Two more chapters! Thank you all for sticking along for the journey. Enjoy!

The weeks have passed by quickly and in less than twenty four hours I’ll be standing at the altar with my husband, renewing our vows.

Throwing a ceremony together so quickly has been exhausting, especially considering my book released last week, but I’ve actually enjoyed the chaos. My sisters have helped tremendously, even in the moments that I’ve insisted that I didn’t need their help. Nonetheless, tomorrow's success will go to them. We’ve all worked hard as hell, which is why the three of us are currently dressed in our finest and sitting on the rooftop of one of Velaris’ most prestigious restaurants. 

While Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand are surely at some shithole bar, the three of us decided on a little class in celebration of tomorrow.

As the server fills our glasses and leaves the remainder of the bottle of wine in an ice-filled chiller, Feyre raises her glass in a salute. “I know toasts usually come at the end of the night, but we’ve never been the most conventional bunch. Nes, you and Cassian have been the pillar of strength for our group for so long. When shit gets hard, the two of you are the ones to step up and handle it. Your marriage is no different. Things may have gotten rough for a bit—” I roll my eyes at her understatement, but can’t pull the smile from my lips if I try. “But you didn’t let that break the two of you, you didn’t let that tear you apart like so many others would have. You never gave up on your love, on each other, and I’m so glad we get to celebrate that tomorrow.”

I clear my throat to push away the flood of emotion and we clink our glasses together. “Thank you. But the real toast should be for the two of you because if I had to plan this damn thing alone, I would have died.”

They laugh but it’s no joke.

I think it may have killed me.

Although tonight is supposed to be all fun and games, we go over our checklist one last time. We’ll have to get to the venue early tomorrow and finish decorating, but it shouldn’t be too bad.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” I ask, fiddling with the stem of my wine glass. “I mean, we’re already married, but this feels different.”

“I don’t think it's weird,” Elain says, cheeks already pink from the wine. “I think it’s nice. It just means that it means a lot to you.”

“I bet Cass is just as nervous,” Feyre says, chiming in. “And just wait until he sees you in your dress. I’ve never seen anything so sexy and elegant in my life.”

I grin. I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been dreaming about Cassian's reaction when he sees the dress I bought. “Having to make it through the entire ceremony and reception is going to be torture for him, and I can’t wait.”

“Sadist,” Feyre mumbles, and Elain chokes on her last drop of wine.

She’s not wrong. The sheath of lace fits me like a second skin, the only ornamentation the occasional pattern of intricate beading and the sweetheart neckline dips just low enough to be alluring without being obscene. The lingerie I’ll be wearing beneath it is another story entirely.

Reaching for the bottle, I refill each of our glasses, setting it down at the edge of the table when it’s empty. “Listen, if he isn’t feral by the time we get home, something has gone horribly wrong.”

Home, because we aren’t going on a second honeymoon. We aren’t taking a trip or going anywhere, that’s not what this renewal was about. Sure, we’re having the ceremony and the party afterwards, but it’s to celebrate us.

Home, because there’s nowhere else we’d rather go and no one else we’d rather be with.

The food is earth shattering. By the time we’re done eating, I’m so full that I can hardly move. Cassian will be jealous that I ate so luxuriously without him, but it was too delicious for me to care. I feel a slight buzz from the wine, but nothing too daunting. I feel carefree and completely excited. 

With our empty plates in front of us, Elain asks, “Any news on the adoption front? You haven’t mentioned it in a couple of weeks.”

“We have a meeting with an agency set up for next week, actually,” I say, almost hesitantly, which earns two sets of worried glances in my direction. I shake my head. “I just kinda wanted to see how it went before mentioning it, I guess. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

Mine included. I have learned through my struggles with infertility that nothing is to be expected.

Elain reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We only want to be there for you. We’re here with you both on this journey, Nesta.”

Knowing that was the point of telling our family about our past struggles, I nod. “I know, and we've been talking a lot about it for the last couple of weeks, Cass and I. I’m getting…excited.”

The agency we’ve been in touch with works mostly with young, unwed mothers in Velaris who aren’t ready for a child. They know that there are loving families, like us, who would do anything to find that missing piece and they help connect the mothers and families. There’s no guarantee we’d meet the mother, as some women opt for closed adoptions, but we don’t care either way.

We haven’t even been approved to work with the agency yet, so I try not to get ahead of myself.

“We’re meeting with them at their office and if that goes well, we’ll have a home visit a few days after that.”

“A home visit?” Feyre asks, eyebrows rising. “That seems a bit quick.”

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be,” I reply, swirling the wine in my glass. “This is to see if we even get accepted into the program. I’m sure there are going to be plenty of things we run into in this process that are frustrating, but it’s all going to be worth it in the end.”

“I think it’s beautiful that you want to adopt,” Elain says, eyes misty once again from those mom-of-infant hormones. 

We leave soon after and take a walk around the city before I’m back in my car, driving home. I love spending time with my sisters and I’m thankful for all that they’ve done, but I can’t wait to get home, can’t wait to get in bed. The sooner I’m home, the sooner I’m asleep, the sooner tomorrow will be here. 

Once I’m home, the house is dark and quiet. Greg is sprawled out on the couch and hardly stirs as I pass him to head upstairs. I’m not sure what time Cassian will be home but hopefully it isn’t too late. If he’s drinking, which I have no doubt he is, he needs time to sleep it off before the morning.

We’re not twenty-one anymore.

I sneak a peek in my office where my dress is hanging on full display so that the wrinkles are all out. Cass has been banned from this room and he’s done very good at avoiding it like the plague. He won’t be seeing me in this beauty until tomorrow. 

After I shower, I throw on one of my favorite t-shirts, one of Cassian’s, and brush my teeth and hair before sinking into bed. I just open my newest read when the front door opens and closes. It’s not long after when I hear a bang, clatter, Greg’s pissed off noise, and Cassian’s string of filthiest curses.

Maybe I should’ve left a light on.

I hear noises from the kitchen, noises that sound suspiciously like pots and pans being pulled out. I wait, listening, my book open on my lap, waiting for him to come to bed. Then I hear the microwave open and close.

Sighing, I throw the blankets back and head downstairs, making sure he hears me as I descend into the living room.

I hear a cabinet slam followed by another barked curse. Entering the kitchen, I lean a hip against the table and cross my arms, taking in the carnage around me.

The perks of having a chef for a husband: he makes delicious food for every anniversary, birthday, party, you name it.

The cons of having a chef for a husband: he makes questionable food when he’s drunk.

There’s a pot on the stove, pasta boiling away, while a pan filled with an unknown brown sauce simmers nearby. His trusty colander is already in the sink, waiting to be used, while he’s on his hands and knees, digging through the cabinets, looking for something. The microwave beeps, letting us know its contents are ready to be removed. He doesn’t even hear it.

I cross my arms and wait, thinking he’ll realize I’m here eventually. After another minute, listening to the microwave beep as it reminds us it’s done, I ask, “What are you looking for?”

A loud thump carries through the kitchen as Cassian bangs his head on the underside of the shelf he was searching through. He scrambles backward, which is honestly comical, before getting to his feet and facing me.

He freezes as his eyes rove over my body, taking in the t-shirt and the fact that I’m wearing nothing underneath it. “Mother’s tits, you’re so fucking hot. I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet.”

I smirk, welcoming the praise, but just then the microwave beeps again and he gasps. “Cheese toast.”

Blinking, I wait, making sure I heard him right.

Sure enough, he pulls a plate out of the microwave, consisting of two pieces of sandwich bread with cheese melted over it.

“Hungry?” I ask, chuckling as he tears into the cheese toast.

“Carbs,” he replies around a mouth full of cheese and bread, pointing a flailing arm at the pasta boiling on the stove, as if that explains it all. “Need carbs so I’m not hungover tomorrow.”

“You know another way not to be hungover?” I tease, sauntering over to him. “Don't drink your weight in liquor.”

“Baby, if I drank my weight in liquor I’d be dead,” he says, shoving the rest of the toast that’s not really toast in his mouth. “Have you seen me? I’m gigantic.” 

“Mhmm.” I’m close enough to him now that I brush his hair out of his face. “Where did those idiots take you?”

“The bar.”

I laugh, quietly. “I can tell that much. Which one?”

“Rita’s,” he croons. “They told her I’m renewing my vows tomorrow, and she gave us a free round of shots…multiple…multiple free rounds of shots.”

“Explains the whiskey on your breath,” I chuckle. “Well, I’m glad you had fun. Eat your noodles and come to bed.”

“You’re not staying?” He frowns. “Stay. Eat.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s after midnight. I’m old. I’m tired.”

“You’re not old, you’re…sexy in my shirt.” He grabs the old, thinned fabric and pulls me back towards him, but before he can make his move, the water boils over on the stove.

The words that come out of this man…I married a sailor. 

Despite being three sheets to the wind, Cassian is able to clean up quickly and salvage his meal. He plates his pasta and pours his sauce over it, which is a mix of barbecue sauce, honey, and orange marmalade, and smells much better than it has a right to. Just as I’m about to head upstairs, I pause to drop a kiss to the top of his head, telling him to hurry up, but his arms snake around my waist, pulling me down into his lap.

“Stay with me,” he grumbles, pressing his lips to my neck. “Please?”

“Eight o’clock is going to come super early,” I grumble, leaning back into his embrace.

With his free arm, he twirls the pasta on a fork and takes a big bite. “Sure as fuck is.”

We stay like that until he finishes eating, clearing his plate. I stand to take it to the sink, but as soon as I’m on my feet, he’s sweeping me into his arms.

It’s romantic, but with how much he’s had to drink, likely ill-advised.

“You better not fall down the stairs while you’re carrying me,” I threaten as he heads up to our room.

For a moment, he wavers, but just as I gasp he starts to laugh and straightens himself.

“Just kidding.”

I smack him on the arm which only seems to bring him more joy as he reaches the second floor landing and pads down the hall and into our room. He doesn’t drop me on the bed but brings me into the bathroom with him instead. He sets me on the vanity before pulling his shirt over his head and taking off his belt, giving me one hell of a show.

He knows I’m watching and he loves it, both of us shameless. 

After brushing his teeth and washing up, he kicks off the remainder of his jeans and scoops me up, yet again.

“Your hair is still a mess,” I grumble, my lips pressing against his shoulder.

“Sexy mess or disgusting mess?” He asks, and now that the alcohol is beginning to wear off, I can tell he’s exhausted. 

“Somewhere in the middle,” I say, and he chuckles as he lays me down in bed and crawls up behind me, wrapping me in his arms.

His body is warm, safe, my own personal haven. I don’t even think he realizes it, don’t even think he knows the magnitude of what his arms around me brings. I melt into him and close my eyes, sighing contentedly.

“Remember the night before our wedding?” He whispers into the darkness.

Laughing softly, I nod. “Yes, but I’m surprised you do.”

If I thought Cassian was drunk now, it was nothing compared to the state he was in when showed up on my doorstep at three in the morning. More specifically, the doorstep of my father’s house, where I was staying with my sisters that night. Feyre and Elain were both still in high school and I was never the best at making friends, so rather than going out and getting drunk the night before I got married, I hung out at home with my sisters.

Cassian, on the other hand, hung out with his brothers in our brand new apartment off campus and got trashed, thanks to one of the older guys in his fraternity buying them whatever they wanted as a wedding gift.

Rhys and Az had passed out in the living room and Cass decided it would be a good idea to come see me. So he called a cab and then he was there, drunk and stumbling and making so much noise that I’m sure my father heard him sneaking in. We fell asleep, just like this, in each other’s arms, just like we did every night. We didn’t care about any old wives tales about staying apart the night before. We wanted to be together, so that's what we did.

My father was not thrilled the next morning when he woke up and found Cassian sitting at the breakfast table.

“Dad was pissed.” I can’t help but laugh. “I knew without a doubt at that moment that I was making the right decision, marrying you.”

He hums. “Were you doubting it before my drunken escapade?”

“No,” I say, and run my fingers across the arm that’s slung around my waist. “But that just proved my feelings right. Validation.” 

He kisses the back of my neck. “I didn’t think I could love you more than I did back then. Didn’t think it was possible. But I do. I love you more now than I did then, and I’ll love you more tomorrow than I do today.”

I swallow as my eyes line with tears. “Save it for your vows.”

He huffs a laugh. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. My vows are way more romantic than that.”

I can’t wait to hear them, can’t wait to stand with him hand in hand and celebrate our marriage after all that we have overcome. As I drift off into a deep sleep, I once again know, without a doubt, that Cassian is my one and only, the other half of my soul, my lifelong partner and my best friend. 

I don’t know what I did to be this damn lucky.

[bittermuire]

Be the first who ever did

unhappily married nessian one-shot, angst, hurt/comfort, nesta is sick

-

“Okay,” Cassian says, brushing by her, “I’m off. I’ll see you tonight at Helion’s.” He grabs his coat off the rack and swings it around his shoulders. “Don’t be late, alright? Six o’clock.”

Nesta leans against the kitchen counter and nods. She’s never late. She’d be excommunicated by her husband’s friends—not that she’d really mind. He puts his hand on her shoulder and brushes a kiss to her forehead. “Bye,” she says, but his back is turned and he’s pretty much gone.

Without him and his interruptions, his footsteps on the penthouse floor, the place is coldly quiet. Nesta pads to the bathroom and starts to run water for a bath. It’s too cold today to do anything, and her head hurts, anyway. Sometimes Feyre will call and ask her to take care of Nyx, but there’s been no hurried voicemail today, no blinking time on the phone, and she knows the rest of the day will pass in the way of most others: slow, like molasses, tired and dripping, until someone cleans it up in time for the party, the dinner, the gala, the whatever. She puts a hand to her head and fumbles around in the cabinet for painkillers. After she takes a bath she’ll figure out what she’s going to wear tonight.

Out of the bath, she only feels worse. She pins up her hair and ties her robe, then goes to the guest room where she keeps all her clothes. There’s a lot of clothes. Being married to the general of the Night Court gives her a lot of money and a lot of time and a lot of clothes. Numbly she looks through the racks, head spinning.

After three failed attempts at putting an outfit together she shrugs on a pair of pajamas and falls into bed. Just a nap. Then she’ll be fine. It’s a party at Helion’s which means she’ll be flirted with relentlessly. Despite having a mate.

She hugs a pillow to her chest. Despite having a mate she’ll have to smile. All the time for hours. She’ll have to drink. “I thought,” she mumbles, in the morning-hazy room, “they’d have to back off once I got a mate.”

Then she drifts off. Ill at ease in some middle distance.

A horrible screeching noise wakes her up—she jolts up, heart hammering in her chest. It’s just her phone. It buzzes incessantly on the other side of the bed. She grabs around for it and mutters, “Hello?”

“Nesta?” It’s Cassian, against the backdrop of a hundred laughing, glittery voices. “Where are you? It’s six-fifteen.”

She sits up with a hiss. Her whole body hurts. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I’m—”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She swallows, her throat thick. “I was taking a nap and I think—I’ll be there in like, thirty minutes. Just need to get cleaned up.”

There’s a long moment of silence, filled in with the clinking of glasses, small greetings, buoyant laughter. Nesta can see it all in her mind’s eye; how she’s going to endure it tonight, she doesn’t know. She skipped the last party, feigning period cramps. She can’t skip this one.

“No,” he says finally. “No, stay there. You don’t sound good.”

She pauses. “You sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Helion can survive a night without seeing you.”

She laughs a little, relieved. “Okay. See you tonight.”

“Love you.”

She pretends not to hear and hangs up. Two words, very rarely three, one of those rare hallmark signs of the absence of the thing it says it is. He says it to her quite a bit, like a punctuation of their daily life. Love you, he says, as he goes out the door. Love you, he says, as he kisses her shoulder. Love you, he says. He just says it. She used to go to therapy to figure out what this horrible blankness in her is. Not even like a black hole, vengeful and destructive, but just nothing. Blank and unwritten and crumpled up.

She has, by all the standards that matter, a perfect life. She has a college degree she’s never had to put to use. She’s married to a wealthy, handsome, talented member of the Inner Circle, who’s also her mate. She has lots of clothes and lots of time. She has a cute little nephew who likes to go to museums as much as she does. She has a perfect life. Sometimes she sits in the searing hot bath and prays it’ll cut through to her blank-empty heart.

Love you.

Something. Something.

She pulls the comforter up to her chin and shuts her eyes, head pounding, head spinning.

.

She opens her eyes blearily to a warm hand on her forehead, a figure bending over her. “Nesta,” he whispers. Cassian brushes her hair back and drops to a knee by the bed, brushing a kiss to her temple. “You’re burning up.”

She blinks a few times to get the sleep out of her eyes. She feels horrible, much worse than she did before. “What’re you doing here? What about the party?”

“You didn’t sound good. I wanted to check on you.” He frowns, eyes tracking all over her face. “Have you eaten today?”

She shakes her head with a small sigh.

“Okay. I’ll make some soup.”

Dipping in and out of sleep, she barely makes out his retreating figure in the dark room, the sounds he makes in the kitchen, the painful brightness of the lamp he turns on as he comes back in. “Can you sit up?” he asks her quietly, holding a tray. He places it over her lap once she gets settled.

“Thanks,” she says.

If he responds she can’t hear. He hovers awkwardly in the room, eyes darting around. “Want to watch a movie? Or something? Or can I get you a book?”

She blows over the bowl of steaming soup and shakes her head. “No, that’s okay.” It is a little odd to have him around. In the rare instances where she gets sick, it’s a carefully concealed fact, contained to specific hours when Cassian isn’t around. Even her period is something she keeps secret. Not secret, but separate, rather. She doesn’t like to bother him with her vulnerabilities. He seems to share the sentiment. If he ever gets sick, she hasn’t seen it.

But she doesn’t feel good, and the soup is warm. She looks up at him in his dress pants and button-down, suit jacket cast off somewhere, dark hair made a mess by his hands. She pats the bed and smiles a little. “Sit down and tell me about what happened tonight.”

He grins, kicking off his shoes by the door and coming around to the other side of the bed. “Not a whole lot. You wouldn’t have liked it.”

“Really?” She takes another bite.

“Yeah. It was just… loud and busy and—”

“Fun?” She offers, smiling. He looks at her and laughs, a soft sound.

“Kind of. You know Helion. Anything he organizes is a spectacle. But you weren’t there,” he says matter-of-factly, “so there wasn’t much point in staying.”

Nesta blinks. She blows over the spoon.

He doesn’t really say things like that. Sure, there’s the love you, love you, but beyond that there isn’t much love, much affection, in their marriage. The mating bond is an old world mechanism of power and magic, and most power and magic has been collected and put in museums. Just last week Nesta went and saw Ataraxia, the great silver sword. There was once a time when it was wielded in battle, the same time when a mating bond might have been useful—but the bond clicked during her junior year of university, the only battles and woes being long nights and horrid professors.

And what choice did either of them have? To simply move on was unthinkable. Nesta was in the worst state of her life then. And Cassian was older, and rich, and handsome, and had everything. His best friend was married to her sister. They were mates, they were meant to be. He knelt down in front of her with a ring. Maybe it was really love, at some point. Maybe it was real. She had nothing and he had everything, and he had such strong arms she thought could hold her and put her back together. But now—

“I don’t know if this crossing the line,” he says, and clears his throat. He looks straight ahead and leans his head back on the headboard. “But I told Helion to leave you alone.”

Nesta turns and stares at him. He looks at her too, eyes flicking over her face.

“Sorry. I just thought that at the last dinner he was making you uncomfortable.”

“No, that’s okay.” She pulls her hair over her shoulder and tugs at it. She didn’t think he’d noticed. Helion, of course, had monopolized her attention as he always did, and though he seemed harmless he was also exhausting. She’d looked for Cassian across the table and had been surprised to see that he was already looking. “He was. A little.”

“Has he always been like that?” asks Cassian, and she’s surprised by the undercurrent of hardness in his voice.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shakes her head, starting to scowl. “Because he’s your—friend. He’s always around. You just want me to say that I don’t like being around him?”

Cassian looks at her like she’s grown two heads. “Yes. Why wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t get it. He wouldn’t ever get it. She’s always been the problem: Nesta, with her unwashed hair in her dirty, cheap apartment, with her patchy resumé and hopeless future. Who was going to hire her? Then he showed up. A rare chance, misshapen with reality.

She looks away. “Forget it,” she says flatly.

“No, I don’t—”

“I said forget it,” she snaps, and his mouth shuts quickly before his brow furrows in something like frustration or confusion. She swallows and looks away. They were doing well moments before. “Let’s just turn on a movie or something.”

He takes the remote and puts on the first decent thing he finds. Katharine Hepburn stalks through the house with a face twisted up in irritation and Nesta shovels soup into her mouth, only half watching. She’s seen this one. She can’t remember its name.

.

For how good the soup is, it doesn’t help much once the credits are rolling. Her skin is hot to the touch and her head is thick and pounding. Seeing her discomfort, Cassian moves the tray off her lap and takes it to the kitchen. She burrows under the comforter.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks her quietly, leaning against the doorframe. “Do you just want to go to sleep?”

She shakes her head irritably. “Can’t sleep.”

“I can—” he moves to the dresser where Nesta keeps a stack of her favorite books, and holds up one. None other than The Hobbit. “I can read to you.”

About to rebuke him, she imagines, for a moment, what that would be like. She’s always liked his voice. Low and even and reliable. Closing her eyes, she sighs loudly and says, “Okay.”

“Okay.” She can hear the smile in his voice, and feels the bed dip as he settles on his other side again. “Chapter one. Here we go.”

But before he can begin she jerks up, fixing him with a glare.

His mouth twitches. “What?”

“You just don’t get it,” she says flatly. Propping herself up on her elbow, she studies his face, the smooth lines, the shadow of stubble, the dark incisive eyes. The mouth, quirked, full and familiar in more ways than one. In her more particularly self-loathing moments, she hates his face. Now she just wants to look at it. “You don’t get it at all.”

“Enlighten me,” he says, letting The Hobbit fall shut.

“People like Helion are everywhere.” The words spill out before she can grasp them back. Only a little of something flickers in his eye, but he puts it out quickly, listening and watching. She looks away and tries to explain. “Everywhere. Nice guys. Fun guys. They throw parties and think themselves superior because they go to the gym and dress well. They talk circles around those of us who are less witty, and enjoy themselves.” She scowls. “And when you’re pretty like me, these guys just swarm. And you, Cassian—” his eyes widen slightly— “you and Rhys and Azriel are surrounded by these guys and because I’m married to you, I see them all the time. I have to deal with them. All the time. And I can’t say a thing because I am perpetually on thin ice.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I’m on thin ice.”

“What does that even mean?” he says, exasperated. “That’s not true, Nesta!”

She looks down, a familiar burning working its way around her nose and behind her eyes. Does he really just not remember? She feels like the one girl in a Victorian novel who spooks at invisible things, the one everyone else whispers about behind their hands. The crazy one.

.

Three years ago, Nesta’s apartment was in boxes. She was wearing her favorite faded blue jeans, her soft gray shirt. She’d just washed her hair. On her left pinky finger was the ring her first boyfriend, Wil from third grade, had given her. She wore it whenever she was nervous, whenever she wanted evidence that someone loved her, had loved her. It was silly but days like those were all about getting to the end of them. Superstitions and expired memories and all.

Nesta had decided to get married. On her left ring finger was a simple square cut diamond, pretty, elegant.

Technically Cassian had made the decision. He’d picked the ring, decided where to kneel, specified the bush for the photographer to hide in. But Nesta had decided.

That horrible day. Cornered in her own apartment. Her little sister and her too-tall husband, Lord of Night, sitting on her couch. Her stringy hair, unwashed dishes, stacks of books, piles of laundry—Nesta, look at yourself. We’re here because we care. You need help.

I don’t need help, she’d seethed. Certainly not from you.

It had ended, inevitably, with cow-eyes and the mentioning of his name. Cassian—

Something about her being selfish. Him being patient. That he wanted to take care of her. That he loved her and was hurting and it was something she could fix. So when they left she called him and that week she had sex with him after a candlelit dinner and months later he knelt down and held up a ring and put it on her finger.

Nesta, I love you.

Her apartment was in boxes and her hands were shaking, had been shaking for hours. She’d placed a certain dependance on his loving her. She was getting married in three days—the dress was hanging up in Elain’s closet—the ring, the goddamn ring, on her finger—a cracked door in the townhouse, two voices, hushed, angry, low—I never asked to be shackled to her—Just marry her, Cassian, for god’s sake—the swerving drive back to her apartment in boxes and her hands shaking, shaking for hours.

It wasn’t as though she was unwilling to fall in love. She thought she might give it a try after the whole business of the honeymoon was over. She thought the routine of domesticity might win her over, the anti-depressants, the quiet.

And it wasn’t as though she hated him. She liked him from the start, to be honest. In the suffocating dining room he was a rare warm glow, a slow-blinking eye, an unasking gentleness. For a year he stood beside her. Put food on her plate. Filled her glass. Listened to her when she spoke, an unwavering attention on what she offered, when she offered it. God, she was only twenty!—she’d known him only a year, something like care, like tenderness, like fondness, like love, beating in her chest when she saw him—when she tripped on the stairs and he caught her and something she’d only read about in textbooks slammed fiercely into her heart. Mates.

That’s where it all ended, she supposed. And that’s where the budding feelings, the motivation to be better, were stubbed out. What’s the point? she used to think. We’re chained to each other. No matter who we are and what we do.

And his feelings, his motions, his attempts to romance her, went stale. She couldn’t purge the thought that he didn’t actually want her. It was only duty. Responsibility. They were mates, no matter who they were or what they did.

I never asked to be shackled to her.

I never asked to be shackled to her.

Nesta married him with a dry throat, with cold and sweaty hands. She honeymooned with him in Adriata, sat on the warm sand and let him kiss her mouth, tangy and tasting of wine. She moved into his penthouse suite. She bought all the clothes she couldn’t before and wore them to dinners and galas and auctions and fundraisers. She became a socialite, just like her sisters, just like her husband. She dealt with their friends. She swallowed all the hurt, all the bitterness, all the anger. She stopped yelling and shrieking and hissing and sneering. The strength to fight went somewhere she couldn’t find. She dealt with it, with being married to him; a tender truce, she knew he felt the same, and that only made it worse.

.

“It means,” she says, as coldly as she can manage with a wobbling lower lip, “that I’m the rude bitch you had to marry and I have to be reminded of it every day.”

He sighs, brow drawn tight, and looks down.

She clenches her jaw and refuses to cry.

“You’re not a rude bitch,” he tells her quietly, and looks up at her, his eyes piercing. “You’re wonderful. And I didn’t have to marry you, I wanted to.” A tear slips unbidden down her cheek and he wipes it away, his gaze unbearably, burningly soft. “What’s up with you?”

Shaking her head, she sits up and lays her head against the headboard. Her mouth hangs open as she tries to find the words. For so long she’s been angry—at who, she has no idea. She’s never hated him in the truest sense. She’s hated that she can’t hate him. And now he sits here beside her in their bed, her book in his hands, concern all over his face, concern and care; what would it be like to be loved, really loved? To be told the truth?

The truth, dreadful and true:

She starts to cry. Horrible, embarrassing, stuttering sobs. Her chest heaves and her head pounds and her skin burns as she cries, can’t stop crying.

“Nesta,” he says, sounding alarmed, unsure—then his arms are around her and she smells his cologne and it calms her down, somewhat. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.” He says it over and over. He strokes her hair. She hiccups and chokes on her own spit and sobs and listens to his heart.

As she quiets, he pulls her closer, if possible. He holds her tight to his chest. He rests his chin on the top of her head. She closes her eyes, listens to his heart, and tries to breathe.

“I’m fine,” she says, and sniffles pathetically. Her head spins. “I’m fine.”

He strokes her hair, running his fingers through to the very dead ends. “You’re fine,” he echoes, a rumble in his chest. I know you’re not fine, he seems to say, and she’s grateful that he doesn’t.

They sit there like that for a while, Nesta cocooned in his arms, gathered close. His hand rubs up and down her back. He traces patterns. She keeps her eyes closed but feels him press a kiss to her hair, the lightest brush against her temple. All the while she doesn’t move. If she moves the whole thing will break. They’ll never find their way back again and this will be another one of those expired memories, without physical evidence, no evidence at all.

“Will you talk to me?” he asks finally, a hint of pleading in his voice. He doesn’t let her go or pull away. His breath ruffles her hair. “Will you tell me what’s going on, so I can help?”

She tenses and his arms squeeze slightly. Oddly enough, it doesn’t feel like she’s being trapped, forced to talk, forced to be held—it’s something different and maybe better.

“It’s stupid,” she says hoarsely.

“That’s okay.”

She takes a long, shaky breath. “I just wish that you could—” She breaks off, unable to say it. The truth, dreadful and true.

But he waits. But he holds her and waits and rubs her back, drawing pictures.

“I just wish that you could really love me,” she mutters, like it’s some stupid piece of gossip. He goes deathly still.

Looking into his eyes now, of all times, would be the worst. She keeps herself securely tucked under his chin and prays he won’t move.

“I do. I do love you.” His voice is thick. Insistent.

But she’s past believing him and too much time has passed. She sighs and says, “Don’t lie to me, Cassian, not about this.” His arms tighten at that but before he can say anything, she pushes herself off his chest and winces at the tear stains on his nice white button-down. “I’ve ruined your shirt,” she says. “Sorry.”

“Nesta—”

“I’m taking a bath,” she says lightly. His hands drop from her arms as she clambers off the bed. “Thanks for the soup.” She doesn’t look at him.

“Nesta,” he calls, but her back is turned and she can’t look back.

Looking at him now would be the worst thing of all.

-

nessian angst so true!!!!

I really did helion dirty in this but to be fair I feel like he WOULD take liberties with someone like nesta. men like that😒

[areyoudreaminof]

This Life and the Next: A Nessian Playlist

It's finally @nessianweek! And of course for Day 3 I had to make a playlist!

We love their banter, their angst, their passion, and their deep undying love for one another. To watch Cassian and Nesta find each other despite their own personal challenges was such a beautiful and satisfying love story. For this playlist, I tried to follow a somewhat narrative structure that fell in line with ACOSF. I wanted to represent these two people finding one another and lifting the other up. This playlist also has a fun little bonus track for your fun Nessian writing needs. LISTEN HERE and take a look at some lyrics behind the cut.

As The World Caves In-Matt Maltese

My feet are aching And your back is pretty tired And we've drunk a couple bottles, babe And set our grief aside And here it is, our final night alive And as the earth burns to the ground Oh, girl, it's you that I lie with As the atom bomb locks in Oh, it's you I watch TV with As the world, as the world caves in

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene-Hozier

Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, I Lay my heart down with the rest at her feet Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet

Lose My Cool-Amber Marks

I was so full of pain just stuck in my head There was no one that could get me out of it Yes I think the drinking was a bit excessive Just to be frank the drinking ain't what caused me to be aggressive My heart has been taken over Everyday I get colder to 'em I realize need to let go expression from the get go to 'em Feeling it like I just need to speak my brain

Banquet-Bloc Party

And if you feel A little left behind We will wait for you on the other side 'Cause I'm on fire 'Cause you know I'm on fire when you come

Homage-Mild High Club

Please just have a laugh with me 'Cause you know I'm borrowing by now These sounds, have already crowned Come on it's a silly dream Dreaming of the imagery unfound The view sits nice from that cloud

Make You Better-The Decemberists

I'll love you in springtime I lost you when summer came And when you pulled backwards I wanted to, I needed to Oh-oh, to make me better

Andromeda- Weyes Blood

Treat me right I'm still a good man's daughter Let me in if I break And be quiet if I shatter Gettin' tired of looking You know that I hate the game Don't wanna waste any more time You know I been holdin' out Love is calling It's time to give to you

Skulls-Bastille

I don't want to rest in peace I'd rather be the ghost that annoys you I hope you can make me laugh Six feet down when we're bored of each other A match is our only light

When our lives are over and all that remains Are our skulls and bones, let's take it to the grave And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms I'll be buried here with you And I'll hold in these hands, all that remains

Leather-Tori Amos

Look, I'm standing naked before you Don't you want more than my sex? I can scream as loud as your last one But I can't claim innocence Oh God, could it be the weather? Oh God, why am I here? If love isn't forever And it's not the weather Hand me my leather

waves-Miguel & Kacey Musgraves

Put it out, I'm on fire, fire That’s what I’m about, take me higher, higher, tonight I'm gonna ride that wave

the last beautiful thing I saw..-Paris Paloma

And I looked up, and saw the sun It separated all the colors And the ice, into my eyes It fell and left me blind That was the last thing that I saw The fractured glass and its downpour I felt the blood mix with the water And I didn't see no more

Rut-The Killers

So I'm handing you a memory I hope you understand That steadily reminds you of who I really am

This city's always breathing, I wish that it would die The kickbacks and the bachelors, the fever for the velvet rope The money from my mother's men I'm not like her, you're not like them

Tell Me You Love Me-Sufjan Stevens

My love, I've lost my faith in everything Tell me you love me anyway, tell me you love me anyway My love, I feel myself unravelling Tell me you love me anyway, tell me you love me anyway My love, I feel the darkness on my back

Eternal Flame-Saint Sister

I believe it's meant to be, darling I watch you when you are sleeping You belong with me Do you feel the same? Or am I only dreaming? Is this burning an eternal flame?

Milk & Black Spiders-Foals

Oh, I hope you can hear me All those million miles away, you'd stay 'Cause I'd love you dearly All those billion miles away 'Cause I've been around two times And found that you're the only thing I need

BONUS TRACK: Smut-Tom Lehrer

Give me smut And nothing but! A dirty novel I can't shut If it's uncut And unsubt-tle

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[lucienarcheron]

Till the Darkness Dies [ Nessian ]

Prompt: Nesta’s battle against her inner demons. Inspired by this post. This was supposed to be humorous and ended up with lots of feels instead. | Originally posted on 10.23.2017.

Pairing: Nesta x Cassian (Nessian) Genre: Angst and fluff Rating: SFW Recommended Listen: OneRepublic’s Let’s Hurt Tonight & Something I Need Author’s note: I identify with Nesta in many ways and I just love reading about her coming to terms with the way she feels about things so here’s my spin on it. This was obviously pre-ACOSF and looking back now, I love seeing how I pictured this happening vs how it played out in canon!

Nesta clenched and unclenched her fists several times as she stood in the archway of the dining room in the House of Wind. A while had gone by since the end of the war and yet...she was still having a difficult time adjusting.

She had planned to ask Feyre for a place today but everyone else was there. Everyone was constantly there after the war; the panic of them on the brink of death had them always together. But Nesta...she hated the way she still didn’t feel like she fit in with them.

More significantly, she hated that he would be there and they had yet to discuss that moment in the battle and all the aftermath of it.

She didn’t want to deal with it today.  She just wanted some peace.

Sighing, Nesta stepped into the dining room.

“Hello.” she greeted and everyone down the table expressed their greeting in return. Elain and Lucien seated next to each other and because of Elain’s flushed cheeks and wide smile that matched Lucien’s, she didn’t narrow her eyes at the sight. Azriel nodded and Mor gave her a small smile then resumed their conversation. Amren gave her a wink and Rhys a dip of his head.

Feyre patted the seat next to her and Nesta moved. She didn’t see if he had greeted her and told herself that she didn’t care if he did or not. She didn't want to look at him and yet — Nesta's eyes betrayed her as she took her seat and found that he was staring at her.

She flushed and quickly lowered her eyes to her plate, hating that he could see how she felt and the look he had given her.

Confusion. Longing.

He had no right to look at her that way.

Nesta gripped the fork and swallowed. She really didn’t want to be angry today. She was tired of being angry. All she wanted was a peaceful evening with the group. For once.

“You look nice, Nesta. The color suits you.”

Feyre’s voice shook her out of her thoughts and she flushed again, looking at her younger sister who was smiling at her.

“Oh. Thank you.” Nesta answered quietly, aware that his eyes were still on her. So, Nesta turned to look her sister over. “You look nice as well...you always do.”

Feyre’s smile widened and she reached out to Nesta’s free hand and squeezed. “Thanks, Nes.” she replied and Nesta gave her a small smile. “But I have to say, out of us sisters, you bring out something special in everything that you wear.”

Nesta chuckled. “Is this High Lady sweet talk?”

“Maybe.” Feyre said with a laugh. “I mean it though!”

“Guess Rhys really has influenced you in every way.”

“Oh no, sister in law,” Rhysand interrupted, leaning close enough to nudge Feyre with his shoulder. “Your sister’s mouth was always wicked. You should hear the things she says behind closed doors.”

“I most definitely don’t want to hear about that.” Nesta replied with a snort as Feyre shoved Rhys with a huff, causing him to laugh.

Conversation resumed around the table as the food was served but Nesta’s eyes turned back to the High Lord and Lady and her gaze softened. They have been through hell and back and Feyre — it hit Nesta again how young Feyre had been when everything had happened...her youngest sister deserved all the happiness in the world. She deserved a love like this and the life she dreamed of.

Nesta took a small bite from her meal as her eyes drifted to her other sister and her mate. It had taken Elain a bit to adjust to Lucien in her life but he had been patient and kind in every way. Nesta would always give him credit for that despite her reservations. The two were wrapped up in each other, deep in conversation and though Nesta had been very wary of him, she couldn’t deny how well they matched. How well they got along. Elain had been looking for the sun and found it in Lucien. This, of course, didn’t stop Nesta from calling him names but she was nicer to him — for Elain’s sake.

She let her eyes fall back to her plate and held back a sigh. Her sisters were well adjusted and moving forward with themselves. But she? She didn’t fit any mold. She couldn’t adjust.

Her fingers tightened around the fork again and she knew why she couldn’t adjust. The reason was sitting at this table.

The powers that the Cauldron had given her had stopped bothering her. She was able to take baths without trouble now and she was getting used to her body, happy with it. Nesta had fallen in love with Velaris and had even started volunteering at the library because she loved it so much but connecting with others? That had been more difficult.

After everything had settled down postwar, Nesta had pulled both her sisters in a room and the three finally talked. About everything. They had let it all out. It had resulted in yelling and a lot of tears but when the three of them lay in bed together that night, a reminder of the one other time they had, a large weight had been lifted off each of their shoulders, especially Nesta’s. It had been a chance for her to start over with the others. And she had.

Rhysand was easier to talk to then she had previously expected. Azriel’s presence was more comforting. Mor’s personality bright and warm though a little awkwardness still remained. Amren was still her favorite just because she put up with everyone just about as much as Nesta did. She and Lucien had even found common ground.

But him.

Him.

He was a problem.

Nesta’s gut tightened and she placed her fork back on the table. It was getting harder and harder to be around him. They hadn’t talked. If anything, they danced around each other; sometimes he avoided her and sometimes she avoided him

She found herself torn in two directions with him. One that shouted Why should I care? He means nothing to me. While the other shouted back, He does matter to you. You were going to die with him. He means more to you than you think.

Nesta shook her and picked up her fork again. She’d try to act normal. At least until she figured out when she could find a place to hide away in for a while.

“Nesta, you alright?”

Nesta turned to look at Feyre, who was giving her a concerned look and Nesta gave her another small smile.

“I’m okay. Just thinking.” she replied. “But I want to ask you something when you have a minute.”

“Of course.”

~

Once dinner had finally ended and Nesta and Cassian tiptoed around each other to the point of pain, she was practically begging Feyre to move away from the group.

“I...want out for a bit.”

Feyre blinked at her statement. “Alright. What...did you have in mind?”

Nesta bit her lip then held out her hands with a shrug. “I don’t know. Somewhere where I can just think.” she said, her tone clipped. “Somewhere where I can just…”

Not feel so lonely.

Not have to see him.

“I just...is there a place? To...gather myself?” Nesta finished quietly and Feyre gave her a soft smile.

“I know just the place.”

~

Nesta stepped into the cabin and her gaze was drawn right to the eyes painted above her. She swallowed when they reached the hazel ones she knew were meant to be his.

She turned back to Feyre who watched her quietly. “What is this place?”

Feyre chuckled then took a seat on the couch. “This cabin has been a refuge for us all at some point.” she said, smiling fondly as she glanced around at all the paintings she had done. “It’s a place to be ourselves.”

Nesta nodded then pointed to the eyes painted above the archway. “I’m assuming this is your work.”

“Yes.” she replied and stood up, walking over to her sister. “I came here the day I found out that Rhys was my mate. He knew. Mor and Amren knew but he hadn’t told me and I...freaked out.”

Nesta’s eyes shifted from the hazel ones on the wall to her sister, who was running a hand through her hair.

“I was here for some time, figuring myself out before he came and we talked.” Feyre continued. “Then I accepted the bond and...here we are.”

Nesta’s lip twitched. “I’m assuming every surface here has been violated by you and Rhys?”

Feyre gave her sister a look and then rolled her eyes. “While you’re here, this place is spelled to provide you with all your needs. All you have to do is think it.”

“Anything?” Nesta asked with a raised brow.

“I believe so.” Feyre replied with a identical brow raise.

Nesta’s lips twitched again as she thought about how much she just absolutely needed a box of chocolates at this very moment. Her eyes widened in delight as a box materialized on the table and Feyre laughed.

“You know, I hadn’t thought of chocolate.”

Nesta just shook her head and smiled. “Chocolate, sister, is always a priority.”

“I’ll check on you after three days?” Feyre asked with a smile and Nesta shook her head.

“Seven.”

“A week? You sure?”

“Positive...Thank you, Feyre.”

Feyre only gave her a smile then walked over to Nesta and gave her a tight hug that she gently returned, squeezing her little sister. “If you need me before, the cabin will provide you with a paper and pen that’ll send me a message. Enjoy.”

Nesta turned to look over the cabin again as the door closed and Feyre left. Her eyes fell back on the hazel ones painted above and she let out a sigh.

Maybe she should’ve talked to him sooner. But now there was too much time between them. Maybe the distance would be a good thing.

No matter. She thought to herself as she explored, box of chocolates in her hand. I’ve come to just enjoy myself. I won’t think about him.

The first two days, that mindset worked. She spent it dipped in a glorious bubble bath with water that stayed warm, reading. She read in the tub, she read in the bed, she read in front of the fire. She had sat in different flowy and soft dresses with her hair hanging loosely down her back for the first time in years.

By the third day, it got a little trickier. Her eyes kept flickering back to his hazel ones on the wall and she huffed, annoyed. She didn’t want to think of him. It had been too long since she’d had peace and quiet to herself where she can just enjoy her time. She read her books, watched the snow fall through the window with her cups of hot cocoa and chocolate then soaked in the bath some more. She wondered if he thought of her.

Nesta’s face flushed, thinking of him while lying in a bath. Naked. She wondered if he had ever thought of her that way.

He’s a pig. Of course he has. She thought to herself. Then said it out loud since no one could hear her. This caused her to scowl. He wasn’t a pig but he was a male. And she was beautiful.

“Why am I even having this argument with myself?” she muttered, later that day as she wrapped a blanket around herself, trying to sleep. “I don’t need him.”

~

“I need wine.”

Sure enough, a soft thud on the table told her her needs had been met on the fourth day of her retreat and she grinned in delight.

“Thank you, oh wondrous cabin.”

Grabbing the bottle, she padded to the couch by the window and sat, curling her legs underneath her. She had opted for just the leggings and a sweater instead of her usual dresses and Nesta felt absolutely scandalous. Popping the cork, she took a swing straight from the bottle and held it in front of her.

“You have indeed unleashed yourself, Nesta.” she spoke aloud to herself after she drained half the bottle. “Leggings...wine straight from the bottle...boxes and boxes of chocolate...and hair not once in a braid. You uncivilized swine.”

Then she burst into giggles. Oh she was enjoying herself. And not once, had she thought of him.

She scowled as her eyes instantly went to his hazel ones painted above.

“Well now I’m thinking of you, you stupid brute.”

Nesta downed the rest of the bottle and then stood up as another appeared on the table.

“You stupid, dumb, handsome bat.” she hissed, pointing a finger at his hazel eyes before grabbing the second bottle and popping it open. “I let you kiss me. I saved your life! I was going to die for you!”

She took another swing and shuddered gently. “I was going to die for you and you couldn’t even talk to me afterwards.” she whispered.

Nesta spent the rest of that day, wrapped in the bed, wine and chocolate in hand. Thinking about all the ways the two of them had failed each other.

~

The morning of the fifth day, Nesta woke slowly. She washed her face, her mouth, and ran her fingers through her loose hair. Maybe she would wear it down more often. It looked so nice.

She made herself some breakfast and as she sat down to eat, her eyes once again flickering to his hazel ones.

“I don’t hate you.” she said, after she had swallowed her first bite. “I just wish we didn’t have to be so awkward. I wish we could talk things through without feeling like I’m doing to die.”

That day was spent between the pages of a book, with more chocolate and wine but Nesta was distracted, her thoughts from the previous night haunting her.

Maybe she did need him. A lot more than she would want to admit.

She was terrified. When had he grown to be this important to her? When?

One moment they were going to throttle each other and the next, they were going to walk through death together.

Nesta wanted to be wrapped in his arms and never let go but she also wanted to punch him in the face. She wanted to talk to him but what if he didn’t want to talk to her?

She thought of the look he had given her a few days ago at dinner. What did that mean if he didn’t follow up with action?

Why was he longing for her when he couldn’t even speak to her?

Nesta had tried. But he always ran off.

To Mor. To Azriel. To Rhys. To Feyre.

Which was fine. They were his friends and family, after all.

But he never came to her.

And why did it bother her so much?

“Because I love him and I hate that he might not love me back.” she whispered into the night, curled on her side in a ball, blinking back tears that were threatening to escape.

She was used to feeling unwanted and disliked. What if it was just that one thing driving him? Like it drives all males? Like Thomas.

Nesta sniffled then rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. Cassian was nothing like that heaping pile of trash. Cassian was ten times the man that Thomas could ever hope to be.

And yet. Doubt drowned her. Why? Why would he be attracted to her? She wasn’t the most likable person and Nesta was fine with that. So why was he attracted to her? Was it because they were meant to be more and that was it?

She fell asleep, her dreams bringing out all the things she didn’t dare voice aloud to anyone, especially herself.

Cassian was the biggest need of all.

~

She jolted awake at the loud thud that came from the front door. Quickly, she washed her face and mouth and smoothed her hair as she cautiously approached the door.

Had Feyre come early?

Slowly, she opened the door, half hiding behind it and her eyes widened as she took in Cassian, standing in front of her, a confused look on his face.

The walls she had let down the past few days came rising back up instantly and Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I...don’t know.” he answered, scratching his head. “One minute I’m eating breakfast in the townhouse and the next I’m here.”

Nesta stared him down. She could invite him in and they could talk...but she could also invite him in and then he wouldn’t talk and it’ll make everything worse and then —

Fear won and Nesta snarled at him, “Well, go away! I don’t want you here!”

He glared at her then spat, “Fine.” Launching himself into the sky and far, far away from her.

She shut the door and stood against it, breathing in and out.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” she mumbled and paced around for a few minutes. That had been so stupid of her. Why hadn’t she just let him in? They needed to talk.  Cassian wasn’t a bad person. He wouldn’t try to hurt her on purpose.

“But your feelings have been hurt by him multiple times.” she said, convincing herself and then paused. “But you also hurt his feelings.”

She groaned then let out a growl of frustration. “You hurt everyone’s feelings, Nesta!”

“Nes?”

Her head whipped towards the door and the muffled voice that called her name.

He was back.

Why?

Slowly, she went to the door again and opened it slightly. “What?” she asked quietly and Cassian crossed his arms, giving her a smirk.

“You do know this house is spelled to provide you with whatever you need, right?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, cheeks flushing, catching onto what he meant. “Yes. What I need is peace and quiet. You will provide me with neither. So go away.”

The two stared at each other for a few minutes before Cassian sighed.

“I can’t.” he said softly. “We need to talk.”

“Do we now?” she snarled softly. “What changed your mind?”

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here unless you needed me. And I’ve been looking for some way for us to talk for weeks. I need you too...Can I come in? Please?”

She stared at him and bit her lip. A few minutes ago she was yelling about pushing him away...maybe this time…

“Fine.”

Nesta moved away from the door and Cassian let himself in, surveying the room and Nesta felt how his eyes fell on her — her leggings — the hair —

“Shit, Nes.”

Her cheeks flushed again and she self-consciously started braiding her hair again but he gently reached out to stop her. “I — I didn’t have time to change...I just woke up.” she said lamely but he continued to stare.

“I...You look beautiful in everything but…,” he started, taking in the lower half of her body that was usually hidden by her dresses. “I love the casual on you.”

She scowled, more at herself for enjoying the compliment than at him for giving her one. “Thank you.” she said stiffly.

The two stood awkwardly staring at each other and Nesta willed herself not to huff as his hand fell from hers.

“So…” Cassian said, lightly tapping his fist to his side as he scanned the room and she flushed as his eyes fell towards the many wine bottles and boxes of chocolate she had stacked in a neat pile of trash.

“So.”

“Did you have breakfast yet?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting at her clipped tone.

“No.”

“Good. I’ll make us some since someone interrupted my breakfast.” he said with a grin and moved past her.  She instantly curled her fists and glared at him.

“That wasn’t my fault. This stupid cabin doesn’t know what I meant.”

Cassian turned to look at her from his spot behind the counter with a raised brow. “And what exactly did you mean, sweetheart?”

Her glare remained as she took a seat, watching him move about as if he did this every day.

“You know how to cook?”

Cassian looked over his shoulder and chuckled. “Yes. I enjoy it.” he replied. “Answer my question.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “I was just thinking about everyone else eating breakfast. I didn’t expect anyone to actually come here.”

Cassian grinned and Nesta couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss his mouth or punch it.

“Now, now, Nesta. You don’t have to lie. It’s okay to say you missed me and wanted my company.”

She snorted and her anger flared up. “We’ve ignored each other completely for the past few weeks. Why would I miss you?”

This made Cassian pause and she watched his expression fall before turning back to his kitchen duty.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Nesta’s anger died down at those words and she watched him, biting her lip. This was why she should stay away. She didn’t really know how to be nice. Or how to be soft. She wouldn’t even know how to try and be that for him if she wanted to. If he wanted her to.

Cassian turned and his eyes met hers, taking in her expression and Nesta quickly looked away. She didn’t want him to know how badly she was battling herself. But it was like he knew. He always knew.

“You know, I learned how to cook from Rhys’s mom.” he said into the silence that followed his previous statement and Nesta looked up at him as he shuffled around the small kitchen. “She taught me all the basic things. As a bastard little nobody, you took every learning opportunity you could get. Never know when it’ll benefit you.”

He gave her a half smile at that and Nesta bit back her own.

“When I got older and had my own place, I took it upon myself to learn how to cook as many things as I could.” He continued and she watched him. “It became a way for me to relax. I’ve had a lot of fun with it.”

And because she scared he would see how endearing she found him in this moment, she cleared her throat and said, “Are you actually any good?”

He laughed softly then turned to give her a wink. “I guess we’ll find out in a little bit, won’t we?”

She glared at him again until he turned back around then Nesta let her eyes soften, drinking in his every movement.

I could get used to this.

No you can’t, Nesta. Shut up.

But he knows how to cook...and he looks so good doing it.

So? You can’t even talk to him properly.

We don’t have to talk. We can just be.

That’s stupid, Nesta. Get it together. He’s been here for two minutes.

But he’s so handsome. And he’s actually kind.

He’s stupid.

No he’s not.

Shut up, please.

You like him.

Shut up.

You love him.

Shut. Up. Nesta.

“You don’t need to tell yourself to shut up, Nes. I could do that for you.”

Nesta’s cheeks burned as she realized the last part of her inner monologue had been blurted out.

“Shut your fat mouth.” she hissed at him and he just gave her his shit-eating grin as he started to set the table.

“Was that directed towards you or me this time?”

“You, you annoying bat.” she snapped and he had the audacity to chuckle.

Cassian rolled his eyes as he paused and leaned against the table. “Tell me, Nesta, have you been talking to yourself the whole time you’ve been here? That’s not a good sign.”

It was Nesta’s turn to roll her eyes. “Mind your business.”

“That’s what happens when your diet consists of wine and chocolate. You start to lose it.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Don’t worry, Cassian is here to give you the good stuff.”

“Nothing good comes from you.”

“Can’t decide that till you’ve actually tried it, Nes.”

“Don’t make me throw something at you.”

“I’ll even let you decide which good stuff you want first, my body or the food.”

She snorted and glared at him yet again, as he laughed.

“Am I starting to annoy you, Nesta? You know you’re being really mean to me. I’m being a good person and making you breakfast but you’re not being nice.”

“I’m not nice.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you more than you think.”

Nesta scoffed. “You know nothing.”

Cassian pursed his lips then turned from her, settling the food on two plates and it was then, with his back to her that she let herself frown.

She was so fucken scared. Nesta was so scared to be nice for one moment and the worst to come from it. She was awful to him. Awful to everyone. Why would he stay? What could he possibly want?

She blinked when a plate full of delicious looking food was placed in front of her and Nesta almost groaned in delight at the smell.

“Thank you.” she said quietly, her eyes on the plate. She heard Cassian’s chair shuffle and then him as he settled himself, his eyes glued on her.

“You’re welcome.”

A silence fell between them again, neither one of them touching their plates.

What would she say? She had thought about all the things she would or could say to him the past few days and yet, here he was in front of her and all the words had abandoned her.

“Nesta, look at me.”

She bit her lip and blinked rapidly. It was so damn hard to resist him, especially when he spoke to her like that. Softly, tenderly, with such care.

“Why?” she whispered to him, meeting his gaze. “Why are you here? Why do you care?”

“Because I love you.”

He said it so simply. As if it wouldn’t tear her in two. As if they were the easiest words to fall off his lips.

“Why?” she managed to choke out and he gave her a small smile.

“Because you drive me crazy.” he replied, again, simply. As if he was just stating the obvious truth.

Nesta felt the tears building up in her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

“You just like the challenge.” she said, her tone tight. “The chase.”

“Yes, that’s true. I do like those.” he said with a nod and she shot him an incredulous look.

“So that’s what it is? A game?” she hissed, hating herself that her walls were so thin her bottom lip was trembling, even as her hands curled into fists on the table. “A game to see if you could win over the ice queen? The bitchy, vicious Nesta?”

His hand quickly crossed the table to grip hers but she pulled back, shooting up from her seat as though she’d been burned.

“I — I — we were going to die together!” she snarled, her eyes wild. “I wanted to sacrifice myself for you and you — you — all this is just because you want what doesn’t want you!”

“That’s not true.” he growled at her, shooting up from his own seat and making his way to her. “I wasn’t finished.”

“I don’t care!”

“But I do!” and his snarl shook the mountains around them and rendered her silent as she watched him. Nesta watched as he glanced at her with pain and panic in his eyes, his hands running through his hair, eyes darting all over the room as if trying to find a place to settle.

“I love you. I love you to the point — I have a hard time breathing when I’m away from you, Nesta.” he said quietly. “I love that you challenge me. You keep me on my toes. You’re smart, beautiful, and powerful. You’re blunt and honest. You don’t take shit from anyone and I love that about you.”

He ran a hand through his hair again and met her eyes this time.

“I see you. All of you. I see how this scares you. The idea of us.” he continued and shuddered. “I know you felt something between us the moment we met. When you were still human. I couldn’t stay away from you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was awful.”

“No, you weren’t.” he replied, moving closer to her. “You love fiercely and that makes you a force to be reckoned with. You feel everything so much to the point that you think it’s too much and then deny anyone else from seeing you feel those things. But I see you, Nesta. I see it all. And I want you to share that with me. Let me in, Nesta.”

Nesta glanced at him and let the words he was saying sink in. She hadn’t realized tears had started streaming down her face till then and she furiously wiped them away.

“But you stopped talking to me.” she whispered, looking at him angrily through her tears. “I — I wanted this. I wanted you! But you...you made it clear you didn’t want me.”

He shook his head and moved even closer to her, till his hands came up to cup her face. “No...I was scared and embarrassed. I thought you would be better off without me.”

She scoffed and pulled away, wiping the fresh tears on her face. “Why would you think that?”

“I failed you. Multiple times. I failed you.” he whispered and Nesta saw the haunted look in his face. “Every promise I made you, I broke it. I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t protect you. What would you want with me?”

“I want everything with you, you stupid brute!” she snarled. “You’re my mate!”

Cassian froze and Nesta took that time to try and control her heavy breathing.

“You know?” he asked hoarsely.

“Of course.” she spat. “The moment right before the meeting with the High Lords. You felt it too. I know you did.”

“I...wasn’t sure you had. I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“You idiot.” she snapped and started punching every bit of him she could find. “That’s — when — everything — changed! We became more!”

Cassian took her punches like a champ; felt like nothing to him. He glanced at her in her fury then quickly grabbed her hands, halting her attack.

They locked eyes, the intensity between them hot enough, it could’ve melted the snow surrounding them. And for all her wrath, for all her anger and spite — it all died down when he looked at her that way.

Softly, tenderly, so full of love.

“I’m sorry.” he said again. “I’m sorry that I was a misguided coward, choosing to think that staying away from you would be easier for us both.”

She froze and he continued.

“I’m sorry that I let you think for one moment, that I wasn’t deeply and hopelessly in love with you. Because I am.” he said. “I see all of you. All your rage and all your love. I see your heart, Nesta. And I want it all. I love you and would be honored to be your mate till the darkness dies. If you’ll have me.”

Nesta stared at him and felt her whole body trembling, her composure crumbling. She shook her head.

“I...I — ” she took a deep breath and looked at him. “I’m sorry that I was a coward too...and I’m sorry for all the awful things I said. I — I don’t know how to do this. I want it all. I want it with you. But I’m scared — I’m terrified — I —”

Cassian cut her off, taking both her hands in his again, his wings fluttering behind him. “I’m scared too. But we’ll figure it out together.” he said so softly and silver lined her eyes again.

It took her a moment to speak and when she did, her voice was barely a whisper.

“Will you be patient with me?” she asked, sniffling. “You won’t...leave?”

Cassian smiled at her tenderly, curling a hair behind her ear. He leaned down and kissed away at her tears, causing Nesta to shudder.

“We’ll go as slow as you need, love.” he said gently. “I’m here with you, Nesta. I want it all. They could drag my body away in pieces and I’d still try to find my way back to you.”

Nesta pulled back and looked Cassian over. This was real. He was here. He was her mate. And he wanted to stay. Her eyes drank him in and he watched her with a small smile on his face.

“I love you.” she said quietly and she felt him melt in her hands.

Cassian wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her close to him and before she knew it, his lips were on hers. Their kiss was everything she had wanted and dreamed about since the moment his lips were on her neck all that time ago. Her fingers fisted around the front of his tunic and gripped, not wanting to let him go as she deepened the kiss. One of Cassian’s hands came up to the back of her neck as he dipped her back lightly, their kiss becoming all tongue and light bites and Nesta fought back a moan.

When Cassian’s lips moved to her neck, goosebumps erupted on her body and a soft whimper escaped her lips.

“Cassian.” she whispered and slowly — very slowly, Cassian came to a stop and pulled her back upright, their hands still firmly wrapped around each other.

He gave her a smirk. “Guess you picked which good stuff you wanted to try first, huh Nes?”

She narrowed her eyes at him causing his smirk to turn into a grin. “Don’t make me smack you senseless, you intolerable bat.”

“You’ve already knocked me off my feet, oh mighty Nesta. Go for it.” he challenged and a small smile found its way to her lips. Nesta stared at him again and he gave her a sweet smile in return.

Leaning up, she cupped his face gently then placed a soft kiss on his lips, then another, and then another.

“Till the darkness dies?” she repeated to him and he leaned down to give her a tender kiss.

“Till the darkness dies, sweetheart.”

[fieldofdaisiies]

Nessian | Comfort

type: angst/fluff warning(s): curse words word count: 1.8k words summary: Cassian is not feeling his best after another unsatisfactory visit to Windhaven, Nesta is there to comfort him and tell him that what he does is enough. That he is good. 

-all rights reserved-

“Not now, Nes, alright?” Cassian’s voice is softer than usual, barely above a whisper. He sits on the chair in front of his desk, his hands folded behind his neck, his head hanging lowly. Nesta takes a tiny step back, her hand still on her mate’s shoulder and leans down.

“What is it, Cassian?” she asks, an emotion she can’t quite place yet reaching her through the bond. 

She feels the temperature of Cassian’s skin cool, and also in the room it drops at least two degrees.

The Valkyrie has an inkling of what is bothering her mate, but she has not believed that it would afflict him so much. Cassian, he looks different. He no longer looks the strong and powerful general. He looks younger, weaker and more vulnerable. His shoulders are hunched and chest is heaving with deep inhales when Nesta crouches down in front of him, her hands moving to cup her mate’s cheeks in her palms. “Cassian…”

Her voice, so soft, so angelic, it makes Cassian lift his head, his gaze brushing over Nesta’s face and meeting her eyes of blue. It makes him smile a little. His smile does not fully reach his eyes, but still his heart feels more at ease, knowing his mate is there for him, her soft hands on his face, her voice reaching him, her love enveloping him. 

“It is just…” Cassian squeezes his eyes shut. He does not want Nesta to see him so vulnerable and weak. He wants to be her strong warrior, her protector, but at the same time he also knows that he can let this weak side show. That he can be vulnerable and weak with her. Because Nesta understands. Because Nesta is strong. Because Nesta is just like him and can protect him. Will protect him. Will support him. Will be there for him. 

Sorrow makes her stomach cramp, her thumb softly stroking Cassian���s cheek, the light stubble grazing his skin. She silently regards him, his eyes look so dull, so empty, so not as full of life as the always look when he gazes at her. 

Now the wound that has long not fully healed and that Devlon has once again ripped open is obvious in Cassian’s eyes. And Nesta also feels his pain, his sorrow through the bond. This bitter, sour filling that is reaching her, that fills her mouth, her heart, her soul. 

“Tell me about your pain, Cassian.” Nesta speaks in a way that comforts Cassian. It already makes the Illyrian general feel more at ease, comforted and protected. 

“It is just like with Eris, meeting with Devlon always…always makes me feel like I am not strong. He always has the upper hand, no matter what I do. Not matter how hard I try. He does not care that I am the general…and this–Nesta I don’t want you to think that I am weak. That I don’t have control over the Illyrians, that—“ The Valkyrie does not let him finish. She pulls her mate’s head to her 

It hurts Nesta to see her mate hurt. Because apperently he is the only one who does not see how amazing he is. But Cassian is good. In his soul, in his warrior heart, Cassian is good. One of the best people in the whole entire world. The best person in her little world, in her life. Cassian is her person, her equal, her other half, and seeing him hurt hurts her. 

“He is a fucking bastard, but maybe he is right. Maybe I am this fucking Illyrian brute who—“ “Shut up!” Nesta pulls back sharply and once again cradles her mate’s face in her hands. “You shut up! That is not true. Not one bit. You are no brute. You are my mate. The general of the Illyrian warriors. A great and skilled warrior. A talented and smart thinker. You are Cassian, the love of my life, my husband, my forever. And you are no brute. Never were one and never will be one. Ever!”

Shame once again coats her insides when she thinks about herself calling Cassian a brute. It has been long ago, but that does not undo the words from having been spoken.

But now, now she can make up for it. Now she can help him, convince him that Cassian is indeed amazing. 

“Bath or cuddling in bed?” Nesta says. The gentleness of her voice surprising Cassian for a moment, has been shouting at him just a minute earlier. His gaze so fully empty meets hers and Cassian cocks his head. “Both?”

His request almost sounds boyish, he almost looks boyish–so young and 

Nesta believes that this is what Cassian must have been like as a youngling in the war camps. And this hurts her as well. She wants the grin back, the teasing remarks, the cockiness, the swaggering, the winking. She wants her Cass back. And she wants for Cassian to be at ease again.

“Well, both it is then. I will run us a bath, come join me in a few minutes.” She is giving him this few minutes of solitude, knowing that this is what people often need, but are also often not granted. 

Cassian strips out of his clothes in their shared bed room and joins his wonderful mate a few minutes later in the bathroom. Nesta has already sat down in the bath, nestling against the large tub ball, but sliding forward when the general walks in. She smiles at him, comforting and warm.

Cassian weakly returns it, walking over to the bath and lifting one leg. He steps into the hot liquid, reveling in the feel of the water brushing against his skin. Nesta slides further forward, making space for her mate behind her. No words are spoken, this all works without conversation. The don’t need to talk, they know their partner so well already that things like this work non-verbal. 

Cassian hums lowly when he fully sits down, stretching his legs, the hot water soothing his sore muscles. He reaches for Nesta, wanting to pull her to his chest, but Nesta turns, moving through the water to take her seat on his lap. The Archeron sister’s hands land on her mate’s shoulders, her gaze lifting to her mate’s, her chest touching his. And this time, this time Cassian truly smiles and it reaches his eyes.

“I love you, Nes. What would I do without you?” 

“You would still be as amazing as you are,” Nesta says, leaning forward and pecking the corner of her mate’s mouth. That draws a soft, low laugh from Cassian, his shoulders shaking slightly, and he bounces Nesta an inch on his lap. “Nesta, I would not. And I am not amazing.” Furrowing her brows, the Valkyrie pouts and gives her head a shake. “You are amazing and I hate that seemingly you are the only person who does not see that. How can someone who is so skilled and smart and talented also be so very blind!” 

Frustration laces her features and also reaches the general to the bond. He can only cradle her to his chest, his big hands brushing up and down her back when he holds her closely–holds onto Nesta for dear life. “You are my world, Nesta Archeron!” “You are my world, Cassian Archeron!”

The general chuckles softly, his chest rumbling and brushing against Nesta, and although she feels wet heat pool in her core and her nipples harden at their intimate moment and the hard press of her mate’s arousal against her centre, she does not want this night to end with them having sex. In the past they have often done this in order to comfort the other. Not anymore. 

Nesta wants them to a have soft and gentle night, some kissing, some soft stroking and touching and a lot of cuddling. Nesta also knows that this is exactly what Cassian wants and what he needs. 

“Devlon is a fucker and honestly he does not deserve one moment of self doubt from you. He knows you are great, he just wants to make you look weak.”

The Archeron sister reaches behind her mate, grabbing a sponge and dabbing it onto some soap. A moment later she brushes it over her mate’s chest, his neck, his arms and also his head. She is careful not to have any soap run into Cassian’s eyes, using some water to wash his hair. 

“I think we should get rid of him. Let Lady Death take her of him?” A vicious, mischievous glint appears in her eyes that Cassian loves. He shifts her slightly on his lap, adjusting himself because just like his mate he does not want this night to end with them fucking but with them holding each other, kissing softly, and embracing the closeness and touch of their mate.

“I would love to let you do this, but I don’t want any uproar, or rather any more uproar in windhaven.” Reluctantly and with a tiny roll of her eyes, Nesta nods. What Cassian has said makes sense, but still is a little frustrating. 

After drying of the couple neglects any clothes and heads straight for bed, crawling under the thick sheets and immediately moving close to each other. Nesta curls her leg over Cassian’s waits, her arms sliding around his neck. Cassian pulls her closer by her hips, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder and pampering her skin with soft pecks before placing his head down on her chest. The soft beating of her heart is like music in her ears and makes his own heart swell and his chest warm.

The soft and sweet feeling of love reaches him and he knows that this is perfection. Right in this moment, he feels comfort, he feels at ease and he forgets about everything that Devlon has said. He does not have to think about it anymore. His life is here. In Velaris. With Nesta, his mate, the love of his life, his wife. Home is here. 

“My perfect, wonderful, smart and stunning mate. I love you so much.” 

Nesta smiles, one hand sliding into Cassian’s hair to pull him even closer. “I love you more,” she says against his air, kissing the lobe.

“Not possible,” Cassian murmurs, his voice muffled by Nesta’s hair. 

both have to laugh a little at that, their chest brushing and their souls warming, glowing brightly just like the bond between the two of the. The bond connecting two so different yet so similar souls.

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This is for you @moonlightazriel . I know you love the ship and the two characters and this is just a thank you, for becoming such an amazing friend thanks to tumblr, for being there all the time and for being one of the kindest souls in this world. my rock against which the wave crashes.❤️

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tags: @helhjertet @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt@crushedcloudsx @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me @swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan

tags: @helhjertet @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt@crushedcloudsx @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me @swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan

tags (crossed out I couldn't tag): @helhjertet @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @crushedcloudsx @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me @swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan