#rhys how fucking dare you this devastated me

[bizarrelittlemew]

Stede facing the crew after finding out about their (attempted) murder of Ed

[bloodycassian]

Reader x Rhys - Traitor.

  hi! i was thinking a bat boi x reader where the reader ”betrays” them but the reader is doing it to save the night court (they don’t know that until later tho) and the reader is exiled from the night court before the inner circle realises the reader did it to save them <3 (you can pick the bat boi :) Reader is a double agent - originally from Autumn court. The reader has allied themselves with the Night court after Autumn and Hybern began working together. Reader still poses as an Autumn court informant to Beron.

  This was a challenge for me, thank you for that!

They would be their own downfall. You knew they would do absolutely anything to protect Velaris and its citizens. Amren was the only one who seemed to be on your side regarding the risky method. Rhys outright refused. Which was why you had to pave the way to allow Beron's army in. Or, at least make them all think that was what you'd done. You spent weeks forging your plan, heart sinking with every tough decision to be made. Which buildings would be sacrificed, how to get the people of the city out without giving yourself away. Beron would be pissed off, but he wouldn't dare to actually march his army into Velaris. You had fed him enough information to make him hesitate at that idea. Plus, they were busy ruining the Summer court. But you doubted that the King of Hybern knew that. Beron liked to keep his soldiers tame and under his rule by allowing them free reign after battles. So you waited on your informants to get back to you to confirm. Like a spider waiting for it's trap to be set. If the king thought his own ally in the Autumn court had already sacked Velaris, he wouldn't make the stop there. He didn't want to ruin his own pride, wasting his first grand attack on a measly city that was already losing their battle. He would continue for the next city down the line that hadn't been trifled with yet. It was a risk and you knew it - playing the king's arrogance. So you covered all your bases, and you set fires. Got yourself the biggest Illusion spell you could find. A massive one that had cost you half your bank account for all the materials you needed to create it. Your lips trembled as you said the enchantment over the potion. You told yourself it would work. It had to. You packed your bag and tightened it on your back before you set off. Hurting Rhys would be the hardest part. You debated the plan all together because of the fracture it would cause. But you knew it was the only way to keep him safe from his need to protect his home. The city he built from the ground up. You tried to push those thoughts away until the day of your heist. Which seemed to come around much too soon. You led Rhys and Azriel far out of Velaris the hour before the potion was to be set off. You spun them a story of scouts watching from the south. You weren't even halfway to your destination when the screams started, a loud cracking sound ringing out over the land. The potions had worked. Your face went pale at Rhy's rage filled gaze. The hurt and devastation there. You didn't doubt the scene in the city looked much worse than you knew it to be. Rhys grabbed you by the wing and tugged you down forcefully. It was not what you were expecting, you thought his first move would be to use his power to make you paralyzed. You felt those claws lurking, but they seemed to hesitate. You spun, and were able to kick his hand off of you before you hit the ground with him. Azriel held him back, not understanding fully what you'd done. Az removed his hand once Rhys had filled him in, mentally speaking to his brother. A flash of shock and hurt lingered there even after Rhys told him. Shame built in your gut. You knew you weren't betraying them. You kept your shields up though, they had to think you would do such a thing. It would make the fight more believable to the king. It would force him away from Velaris. "Get out of this territory. Now. Do not come back." Rhys growled, watching the fake army invade his home. His chest heaved, those claws digging lightly at your shields. Perhaps he was afraid to go against someone he trained in the Daemati ways. You dared not open your mind to him. "Rhys I-" You began, stopping when he gave you the iciest glare you'd ever seen. His eyes were alight with rage. The trees seemed to quiver from the dark power that rushed to him. He pointed a finger at you, a curse. "Leave. Now." The command made your knees shake. Azriel looked away in shame. "There will be no second chances." He ground out. You could nearly hear his teeth clamping together. Holding himself back. You could hear Cassian calling orders far in the distance. Good, the scramble and panic would make the show more believable. The ships would be visible any second if your inside information was to be believed. Happiness for the safety of the city was your first reason for tears, the next was Fear. Fear settled in your gut, not moving no matter how much you re assured yourself. Not fear for Velaris, but for own alliances with any court. There would be a hit out for you, betraying Beron and the King and potentially Rhys depending how angry he would be about your Illusion spell. Those ships would surely be paying a visit to Beron after seeing his forces attacking without the order to do so. You backed away from Rhys slowly, like he was a wild animal. "Rhys, come on. We need to help." Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder to break him out of the rage filled trance. Rhy's last glance to you was something like death itself. You shuddered, and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from telling him the truth. The fact he would believe that you would double cross him stung a bit. But you knew enough of the bad blood between Night and Autumn that you weren't incredibly offended. He shook his head ever so slightly. Disgust, before turning away. They took off together, quickly flying back to Velaris while the king's dark sails fired a few cannon shots into the docks, but kept sailing. Your hope soared at the sight of their departure. Watching those sails turn direction, then keep going. You could have cheered. Your plan wasn't done yet. You took off to Day court. The potions in your bag secure and ready. + When Rhys landed in his city the ground beneath him cracked.  The Autumn court soldiers kept marching around him. Cassian joined him, assessing the threat that did not attack. Rhys reached out a mental hand to the area and found there was nothing to latch on to. Nothing to torment for information. Cassian was at a loss as well, and reached out a hand to a solider. Only for it to break and slide through his fingers like water. His blood ran cold. "Fuck." Rhys breathed, utterly still. They looked to each other, then Rhys blanched in horror - "I promised them death." He whispered, voice hoarse. Cassian's eyes went wide, and they shot into the air at the same time. + Overlooking Day court, you heard Rhys approaching before you saw him. "They're all going to die." You said, voice trembling. You watched the scene below as it unfolded. The ships docked one after another, terrible dark forces lurched into the city. Overwhelming the guards and front linemen. "I'm sorry." He said. "We can help. I can help. I'm sorry." He said again, shame washing over his face. "I owe you everything." Your heart soared at the words, despite the destruction below. "Can you get the Illyrians here to help?" You nodded toward the front that pushed through. The streets already stained with blood and littered with bodies from both sides. Rhys nodded, and nodded to Azriel behind him. The spy curled his shadows around himself and winnowed away, off to summon the Illyrians. Cassian had a wide grin on his face, and stretched his wings, ready to take flight down to the city and help. His siphons thrummed with anticipation. Rhys gave him a nod as well, and he took off. The screams and clash of steel below quieted, then roared back to life with another wave of Summer court forces hitting the enemy lines. Rhys sighed, his dark power curling around the hillside. "I am beyond words with you. I'm pissed, but I'm... awestruck." He took your hand without looking, running a thumb over apologetically. As if he was asking permission. You squeezed back, then gave him a soft smile. "Let's get to work." You dropped your bag to the ground and pulled out two more potions. You handed them to him, then pulled your blade from its sheathe. Rhys hummed in approval at the sight of your handiwork. He held up the dark liquid and admired it. "Remind me to give you a raise." He said, shaking the glass. You held his hand in place before he could shake it again. The sparkles from the enchanted sand inside swirled. "You're going to get me a new house. And a raise." You took the bottle from him, and winked. You leapt down the slope and into the air, flying faster when you heard his laugh gaining on you. A promise of violence against the King's army was laced with that laugh. An underlying darkness. You smiled wickedly and tossed your concoction to the ground far below. Setting your spellbound illusions free.

[gopeachllama]

Cuban Cigars and Cardinal Kisses

a.n/: ... ok in my defense, its still nessian month somewhere....

This fic was inspired by the mv of suit & tie by justin timberlake (the source of this AMAZING gif). its honestly one of my favourite mvs of all time. i watched again recently and it just screamed nessian to me so i wrote this. if you wanna get into the vibesTM of the fic then i highly recommend watching the mv before you read it!

reblogs and comment are highly appreciated!

Fandom: A Court Thorns and Rose by Sarah J Maas

Relationship: Nesta Archeron & Cassain

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word Count: 5500

Ao3

~~~

Like most other nights at Velaris Lounge, there was already a drink waiting for the man at his arrival. Picked from their finest, and most expensive collection; a finger of Lagavulin’s sixteen years-old single malt scotch whiskey in a crystal tumbler, as so directed by the gentleman. Cassian Khan, six feet and two inches of fine grooming and tailored suit, strode inside through the exclusive entrance way. Liquor in hand, he stood for a moment, lazily scanning the scene before him with deep inhale. He welcomed the soft ambience lighting, the sharp scent of spiced tobacco smoke and the quiet chatter of wealthy men and women overlayed by the sensual drawl of jazz instruments. Cassian’s blood thrummed in time with the low rhythmic thump of the bass. Day light did not reach this place. The place where night – its sole ruler – became something wholly living, pulsating, breathing. This was Cassian’s home. His fucking castle. Sending a roguish smile and a wink to the waitress still standing-by, he headed for his preferred seat by the foot of the stage.

He spotted Rhysand before he sat down. His childhood friend was draped elegantly over his throne of cushioned velvet, one leg crossed over the other, and taking long drags from the joint between his lips. Wicked delight glinted in Rhys’ dark eyes as he watched his friend unbutton his jacket and drop into his own lounge chair across from him. There were no strobe lights directly over the area where they sat; the darkness surrounding Rhys wore him just as finely as his thousand-dollar suit.

Rhys picked up his own, amber-coloured drink and tipped it in Cassian’s direction, “brother,” He greeted. Opaque slivers of smoke curled out and around his teeth and dissolved into the air as he spoke. “Just in time.”

So, it seemed. Their other friend, Azriel, was nowhere to be seen. Cassian’s gestures mirrored Rhys’ as he toasted his friend and took sip from his drink. The liquor ran down his throat, smooth as honey, and he sprawled against the back of his seat. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and fished out two slim packages, handing one to Rhys and working on the other. Once the plastic wrapping was removed, he brought it to his faced and dragged the length of it under his nose as he inhaled. The aroma of spice and rich wood flooded his senses and he let out a low, satisfied hum. With an eager smirk, Cassian prepared the crisp Cuban Montecristo No.2 with sturdy, brown fingers. When he was done, he raised the lit cigar to his mouth and took a deep breath. Coating his tongue, expanding his lungs, and coursing through his veins, he allowed the heady fumes to fill him. And he came alive.

Cassian scrutinised his companion through the tendrils of smoke as he exhaled, “looking a little eager tonight, Rhys. A special night?”

“Isn’t it always?” Rhys drawled as he watched the sinuous bodies on stage from the corner of his eye.

Cassian couldn’t argue with that. Nights at Velaris Lounge seemed to exist in an entirely different space and time.

Cassian and Rhys’ continued talking, and there was no shortage of subject matters, with Cassian being the head of security for Rhys’ company. They usually avoided mixing work and pleasure, though Rhys’ often proclaimed that both could be the same thing under the right circumstances. Cassian was inclined to agree.

Soon, the conversation was swallowed up by a lull in the music and a dim of the lights. Cassian readied himself by settling further into his chair. The music quickened in tempo, and anticipation charged through air as trumpets beckoned the start of the performance. His arrival was announced through the speakers, in a sweeping, grandiose declaration.

His best friend since childhood, and the remaining member of their trio; Azriel glided onto centre-stage with hard forged confidence. A lit joint in one hand, and a crystal tumbler in the other, Azriel sang. Smoothing, melodic sounds as he moved around the mic stand with loose limbs and an easy smile on his face. It always warmed Cassian, seeing his friend like that. Seeing how he changed when he was on his stage. So different to the man he was outside of this place. To how he used to be. It was a gentle, endearing reminder to Cassian, of their struggles, their triumphs. Of how far they’ve come – how far he’scome and never looked back.

The bass thrummed, trumpets shrilled, and drums pounded. The timbre of Azriel’s voice streamed effortlessly alongside the various overlaying pitches of the backup singers. The song was all jazzy and funky at the same time, that had Cassian idly tapping his foot in time with the beat. This performance was unfamiliar to his ears. Usually, Azriel made the effort to rehearse his potential performances with his brothers present. And though this wasn’t the first time, it still occurred rarely enough that it had him slightly arching his eyebrows up in surprise.

Before he could think anything more of it, the tempo of the music changed, lowering in pitch and slowing to a steady beat, the rhythmic thump of the bass vibrated the ground at his very feet. The lights flashed before going out completely, blanketing everything under darkness. There was a charge of bated breath in the air, but Cassian was never afraid of the dark. Blood thrummed through his veins in anticipation.

A single spotlight turned on and landed on centre stage. Revealing Azriel’s silent retreat, as if he had melted into the very shadows. But she stood there, in his place. Cassian’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar figure. Burnished gold hair spilling down her back, long legs clad in thigh-high stockings and stiletto heels. And black laced lingerie, covering across her generous breasts, her perky ass, and a garter belt strung around her at the dips of her waist. Piercing steel-grey eyes.

She stood for a breath. One, two, three. And then shemoved.

Cassian catalogued it all. Every flick of her fingers, every sway of her hips, every arch of her back. The gleam of her pearly-white teeth anytime she smiled just wide enough. And Cassian knew, that even when this was all over, she would continue to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

The pale strobe light casted over her in black and white. Highlighting the curves of her body, with shadows mingling in every dip. The valley of her breast, the ridge down the middle of her toned, flat stomach, the notches of her spine. Cassian felt the phantom press of marble on the tips of his fingers, and they flexed uselessly on the arm of his chair. He wondered if it would feel just as cold if he caressed her unblemished skin. Every now and then, her skin would shimmer; it was beads of moisture that got caught under the spotlight. Perhaps it was droplets of her perfume, that he could smell the barest hints of this close to the stage. Or maybe it was her sweat. Cassian couldn’t tell the difference with the scent. Not that he cared one single bit.

He blinked, and in the next moment, she was on the ground, hands and knees on either side of the turned over mic stand. She dipped low, her cleavage only a breath away from the cool surface of the stage. Then, she reached down her body, and thrusted the mic stand through her splayed open legs. Cassian bit down on an audible groan. She was steel forged in fire and melded under the steady beat of a synth bass drum. It was a brutal, devastating kind of beauty. Cassian may have been a little bit in love. And undeniably rock-fucking-hard in his pants.

In on final turn, she was on her back and propped up on an elbow. Then, so slowly, in time with the bass, much like his own thundering heartbeat, she raised one leg. It stopped for a beat when it was perpendicular to the ground. And she waited, like she knew there was not a single breath being drawn in the room. Like she knew all eyes were latched onto her. The movement was slower, again, when it continued. She stretched herself, and Cassian lost the battle to look away from the thin strip of black lace nestled between her thighs. Her leg eventually rested on her shoulder, held there with a single finger twirled around the heel of her stiletto. The music dropped out completely, and silence consumed the Lounge. The air went heavy, a tangible taste in Cassian’s mouth. And then she tipped her head back, hair flowing to the floor in golden waves, and basking the length of her neck to the single spotlight above. The corners of her mouth curled, oh so slowly. Her cardinal red lips standing out on her pale skin, like blood spilt on pristine marble. She smiled, shamelessly, secretly. The sight of her wide open to the patrons of the Lounge and filthy promise stained on her lips; so debauched, Cassian could hear Rhys shifting in his seat breaking through the silence. He felt the burn in his lungs from the lack of air, but he didn’t dare to move in the slightest. Afraid he would shatter the moment completely. But before Cassian could think to greedily take in every inch of her, the stages plunged into darkness once again. And when light returned, she was gone, and Azriel was there. The mic stand up righted, and a casting knowing smirk. At him.

The music went back to its previous tempo, as strobe lights flashed and soft chatter resumed within the audience. But it was all a dull noise in his ears.

“Who is she?” Cassian sounded a little breathless.

Rhys continued to watch the space she had just vacated. “She showed up a week ago, asking for a job. We told her that we weren’t looking for any new dancers… And she just stripped right there, down to her under-things and started moving. She didn’t even wait for the band,” He turned back to Cassian, and that wicked smile was back in full force, “Az hired her before she even finished her piece.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” There was a slight edge in his voice, but Cassian never got his answer. The music ebbed, cueing the end of Azriel’s performance. As usual, He didn’t linger for the moderate applause. Grabbing a glass of liquor off a tray waiting for him at the base of the stage, he stepped off, and headed straight for his two friends.

“Spectacular as always, Az,” Rhys remarked as Azriel loosened his tie and dropped into the remaining empty seat. Cassian saluted the arrival his friend with a tip of his drink in his direction before upending in one swig and signalling for another one. He pulled out a fresh, new Cuban from his pocket and passed it to Azriel. The latter knowingly took his time. Getting it ready with deft, scarred fingers before finally bringing it up to his lips before, again, taking a slow drag from it. Cassian’s whole body thrummed with question; the words mingled on his tongue along with the sharp aftertaste of expensive whiskey. But Azriel beat him to it.

“So, Cass. How do you like your birthday present?” flicking an eyebrow upwards, he smirked around the cigar propped in the corner of his mouth.

Cassian tensed and waited a moment, carefully choosing his words. “My birthday is in July, jackass.” But Cassian was never the careful type.

Rhys gave a short laughed before replying, “we’ll take that as a thank you.”

“Hello, boys,” A sweet voice came from behind Cassian’s ear. It was once of their long-time waitstaff-turned-dancers. A gorgeous, lithe, little thing. Dressed in sleek, black slacks and a sheer-laced bralette. And even though they smiled politely at both Cassian and Azriel, and placed a new drink in front of the former, Cassian knew the real reason for their appearance.

“Doll,” strobe lights glittered in Rhys’ eyes as he reached for their hand and pressed a kiss onto delicate fingers, “you were absolutely exquisite tonight.”

The dancer melted as they dropped into the space under the man’s arm. And even Cassian marvelled at the way the ambient light made their black skin glow like obsidian.

Azriel sent a soft smile in their direction, “Tarquin,” he greeted with a slight nod. They went to answer, but words were all for naught when Rhys began ghosting his lips along the crook of their neck and shoulder.

Cassian went back to the important matter at hand, “her name?”

Toying with the lace at the edge of Tarquin’s bralette, Rhys didn’t bother to look Cassian’s way as his smile turned feline, “Narcissus.”

He waited for more but when his friend didn’t go to elaborate – more interested with tracing his tongue in the hollow of Tarquin’s collarbone – Azriel did it for him. “It’s an alias, of course. But she had that look in her eyes, you know? Like she was one of us. It didn’t matter to me what her name was.”

Narcissus. The word struck a chord deep within Cassian. And even though he didn’t know her real name, he had to have her. He may go mad if he didn’t. Perhaps he already had. One of the staff girls melted from the shadows and spoked into Azriel’s ear. His gaze shifted to behind Rhys’ head and Cassian followed it with his own to a couple sitting a few tables down from them. She was halfway on her partner’s lap, rubbing idle circles into his splayed thigh and giggling at whatever he was whispering into her hair, while he met Azriel’s stare from the corner of his eye with wicked promise. Azriel’s lips tipped up lazily from one corner when he returned his heavy gaze back to his friends.

“The couple over there would like to express their praises,” He just said.

Cassian scoffed and Rhys waved an idle hand, “I’ll see you in the morning then, brother.”

Azriel stood and drained the rest of his drink before meeting Cassian eye with a slight tug of his mouth and flicking his chin in the general direction of the bar behind him. Cassian jerked his head over his shoulder and scanned the length of the bar. His attention snagged on a familiar small back, and stockings and stiletto clad legs hooked around the leg of a bar stool. He almost lurched from his seat as he looked back to the two men with him. But Azriel was gone. Already at the other table, one hand placed on the man’s shoulder and pressing a kiss onto the woman’s cheek. Tarquin was straddling Rhys. His friend lightly caressed a single finger up and down their spine while his other hand remained draped across the back of the lounge as the pair traded deep kisses that would have been inappropriate in any other public setting. Cassian and his two closest and longest friends; well, they never made the habit of saying goodbye to each other. He left the sitting area and headed for the bar.

Cassian stepped up to the bar just in time to hear a low voice ask the bartender, “scotch. Neat.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “From the finest bottle for the lady. And make it a double.”

The lady did not move to face the newcomer. Only with a slight tip of her chin, she watched him with piercing, unreadable eyes as he watched her. All of her: loose golden hair, long neck, straight back, legs crossed, one hand on her knee. She sat on that bar stool like it was her throne. She wore a slim black dress now, hiding nothing Cassian hadn’t already seen for himself when she was on that stage. He flexed his hand at his side and sent her a cool, suave smile.

“On the house,” he said as he settled into the stool next to the dancer. “For your captivating opening performance at the Lounge.”

When both drinks were handed to them, Cassian tipped his toward the woman and took a generous swig. “I’m-”

“I know who you are. Mister Khan,” she cut him off, luscious lips in a straight line and manicured nails rapping on the bar surface.

Cassian was thankful that he had already sat down, for he would have been rendered to his knees at the mere sound of her voice had he not. It was the slight curl of her tongue, and a curve of her lips, that gave it a breathy, raspy sound. She had a faint accent. French. If Cassian hadn’t already decided to take her to his bed, he most certainly did now. He wanted to know how his name would sound from those sinful lips. He wanted to know what her moans sounded like. Her cries of extasy. Her laugh.

“You are my boss, no?” She asked, peering over the rim of the crystal glass at her mouth.

I am if you want me to be. “Technically.” Along with Rhysand and Azriel, they all own equal shares of Velaris Lounge. “But I prefer the term benefactor.”

There it finally was. A small tug at the corner of her mouth. And Cassian relaxed, satisfied at the sight of it. She eyed the Cuban cigar that was still between Cassian’s fingers. Without any further prompt, he offered the unlit end to her. She took hold of it between two lithe fingers and brought it to her mouth. And Cassian watched in utter reverence. As if the scene unfolded before him in slow motion. Her lips wrapped around the thick end of the cigar. And Cassian’s hand curled hard around the edge of the table. shadows swarmed into the hollow of her cheeks, as she inhaled. And Cassian stopped breathing entirely. Her eyes flashed as she watched him the whole time. As if she could see. Somehow, in the dim, ambient lighting. The cinch in his jaw. The sudden, unbearable tightness in his pants. As if she could hear. Somehow, over the entrancing melody of jazz instruments. The depraved thoughts going through his mind. Of the way he ached to know what her lipstick would look like smudge all over his cock. And then, as if she knew. She curled her lips slightly around the cigar, before removing it from her mouth. Leaving behind a perfect imprint of her cardinal stained lips. Teeth grinding together, Cassian had to physically force down a groan.

Doing anything at all to wade through the thick haze of arousal clouding his mind, he rasped, “so how has the lounge been treating you so far.”

“This place is called the city of dreams, no?” she said, “I never believed that, until I came here. That it could be this simple.”

Cassian couldn’t help the pride that bloomed in his chest. One of us. Azriel had said. “What do you dream of?”

Her eyes wandered behind them to the stage, remained there for a heartbeat, then returned to him. Resolve glinted in them. “To have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

A dangerous smile overtook his features, “well, Velaris is the kind of place where getting everything you want is just the beginning.”

She turned in her seat to fully face him. The slit of her dress shifted in the process, exposing the entire length of her thigh and the laced hem of her thigh-high stockings around it. Cassian’s eyes dropped to it instantly. And like some compulsion, his idle hand went to ghost a single finger over it. She didn’t move away.

“And what is it that you want, mister Khan?” those words ran smooth from her lips, like the expensive scotch she held in her hand.

Cassian wanted to be set ablaze by the heat in her ember eyes.

“I want to know your real name, sweetheart.”

The woman blinked slowly. “Why should I tell you?” she breathed. Her voice now barely over a whisper. The casual glances to his lips occurred far more frequently.

“Because,” Cassian’s words turned heavy as the atmosphere became sharp, like a kindle before a flame, “I need to be able to remind you what it is when I’m fucking you so hard that you won’t remember it.”

If she was flustered at his crude language, she hadn’t shown it. Cassian had no doubt that a woman such as herself was used to receiving such propositions from all kinds of people. She only regarded him; one second, two seconds. Then, her eyelids fluttered, and her lips curved slowly. She smiled; that same secret smile she had given earlier. To no one in particular, on that stage where no one could take their eyes off her. She brought the cigar back to her mouth and took a long drag. The glowing end that illuminated the space between them was nothing compared to the inferno of desire raging within Cassian. Pinning him with an unwavering glaze, she leaned forward, as delicate tendrils of smoke curled around her blood-red lips like silver flames. The last of it danced along Cassian’s cheek when she drew close enough to whisper his damnation.

“Nesta.”

***

The first time he fucked her that night, they barely made it to the couch just beyond the foyer of his penthouse apartment. Cassian took Nesta as she was when he first laid eyes on her. Midnight laced lingerie, garter belt, thigh-high stockings, stilettos, and all. Her dress and coat, and his tie and suit jacket were promptly discarded somewhere by the front door, as he pushed her down on knees and elbows, and pressed her face firmly into the soft, cool surface. Cassian was enthralled, possessed, savaged. And he barely had half the mind to rip open a condom and roll it onto his cock, as he moved aside the damp slit of her panties to reveal a swollen, throbbing cunt. Nesta was ready for him. He had made sure of that when he spent the better part of the drive home with his hand up her dress, as cunning fingers rubbed at her clit over the rough material of her panties. He was pretty sure there would soon be a speeding ticket with his name on it. But he couldn’t bring his self to give a fuck. He only hoped that the image taken by the speeding camera; of Nesta moaning and writhing in the passenger seat of his European sports car, would dissuade the cops from sending it. Cassian wound his hand around the back of Nesta’s garter belt and fisted the other into her hair, as he fucked her in ruthless, powerful thrusts. He came, harder than he ever had in his life. Spilling into the condom inside of her with bruising fingertips and clenched teeth. And Nesta followed not seconds later, with Cassian groaning and uttering filthy fucking promises into her skin.

He fulfilled those promises, just moments later. When Nesta was barely over the throws of her earth-shattering orgasm. Her ruined panties and stilettoes were gone, and her lace bra was push down beneath the curve of her breasts. Her sensitive nipples puckered from the earlier onslaught of Cassian’s tongue and teeth. She mewled at the feeling of the heated skin of her ass pressing onto the cool granite surface when Cassian lifted her onto his dining table. Anticipation pooled in her eyes like molten silver when two rough hands spread her knees wide apart. Cassian never considered himself a religious man. But there was something so unequivocally holy in that moment; Nesta’s gasping and moaning her pleas in abandon, while Cassian knelt and worshipped her flesh. Fingers and tongue worked in expert harmony, as he tasted every inch of her sopping cunt.

When they finally made it to the bed, Nesta was bare down to only her stockings – at Cassian’s adamant insistence. Her soaked panties were left with his thousand-dollar suit; crumpled on the dining area floor. Her bra and garter belt were practically torn off and dumped along the way of their frantic journey to his bedroom. Her long, burnished gold hair was spread generously over his charcoal bed sheets, like golden silk on molten rock. Briefly, Cassian wondered if those lavish strands were long enough to brush against the plush carpet on the floor, while her head was tipped over the edge of his bed, and his hard length plunged deep into her awaiting mouth. Cassian banished the thought instantly, lest their latest coupling end far too soon for his liking. One stocking clad leg was thrown over his shoulder. While the other, was pressed into the memory foam mattress, held down hard by a large, muscled hand. Cassian was drunk on the sight of Nesta like this. She was wholly stretched out by him; beyond anything he has ever attempted before with anyone else. And he silently thanked whatever depraved God watching over them, for her lithe, dancer’s body that could take it, and then some.

The blush that began at her cheeks, slowly made its way down her neck and to her chest. Mascara was smudged around her glazed eyes; faint tracks of it running down her face and into her hairline. The sleek lines of her dark red lipstick were nothing but whispers of what it once was on those beautiful, luscious lips. Perfect, cock-sucking lips. No doubt Cassian would find the rest of it imprinted on his plush, Italian leather couch. At that point in the night, Nesta’s mouth was open in a constant ‘O’ shape. Her pink, wet tongue periodically coming out to tangle with his. She was a sight of pure debauchery. And it was nothing short of a masterpiece. With each powerful thrust, Nesta body jerked with the force of it, her supple breasts bouncing in tandem. And Cassian was hypnotised by the rhythmic movement of her hardened nipples.

Cassian had taken many women to his Californian king-size bed. Beautiful women. Exquisite women. Some of them shy, some of them playful. And most were downright sinful. But Nesta. Nesta, Nesta. Cassian Khan felt like one of the greats. Like fucking Michelangelo, like Sandro Botticelli. Seeing how he was making her writhe beneath him like that; manicured fingers twisted in the bed sheets, arched back, neck bared, skin painted in the soft glow of the spectrum of city lights glittering through the floor to ceiling windows. Seeing how she was open completely, and unyieldingly to him. Taunt flesh rippling under the pearly skin of her flat stomach. Her soddened, swollen cunt, stretched deliciously around his considerable girth. She was priceless renaissance painting that belonged in a museum for the world to see. The Dance of Narcissus, he would call it.

With a guttered groan, Cassian broke through the moans, the pants, and the slick sounds of rock-hard flesh rubbing against soft, wet flesh. “Sweetheart, your pussy is perfect. Like it was made for me.” He couldn’t look away. At Nesta stretched out before him. A precious oasis to a dying, dehydrated man. He would do anything. Give anything – his cock, his time, his money – to keep her coming back to his bed.

“One day, I’m going to fuck you raw. Would you like that, sweetheart?” Nesta could only whimper in response. Which spurred Cassian to go faster, deeper. Harder. “I’ll fuck you so hard. Stuff you so full of my cum, you won’t walk properly for a week.”

Cassian snaked his free hand up her body, fingers caressing over her sensitive skin along the way. He drove it into her hair and gripped harshly onto the strands at the back of her head. “You’ll get up on that stage, and dance for all those filthy-minded men. But it’ll be me dripping out of your tight, little pussy and down your gorgeous legs.”

“Cass!” Nesta cried out. Desperate to touch him, she reached out, digging her sharp nails into his tensed bicep. Cassian welcomed the pain.

“Fuck Nesta. So, fucking perfect for me.” He knew he was close to his release, but he wanted her clenching around him before that. With hard tug of her hair, he made Nesta look him in the eye. Cassian felt the muscles of her thigh trembling at her impending climax beneath the hand that held down her leg to the mattress. “One more time, sweetheart. Come for me, I know you can.”

Nesta shattered around him, just like that. Never taking her eyes from him the entire time, as she gasped and thrashed beneath him. Incoherent words spilt in between each heaved breath. Cassian could only comprehend a word here and there; it was mostly in French. And he didn’t stop. Even as she cried out, begging for reprieve. Begging for more. Cassian pushed her legs even further apart, driving deeper into her limp, pliant body, brushing against places that had never been touched. A bead of sweat rolled down the length of his forehead and nose, before landing in the valley of Nesta’s breasts. Cassian breath stuttered as his cock tightened. And there were barely seconds for him to pull out completely from her over-sensitive flesh. Nesta choked at the sudden loss, but Cassian ignored her muffled protests. In one swift motion, he ripped the condom from his throbbing cock, and pumped the exposed length, once, twice, thrice. And Cassian came undone. He shouted Nesta’s name as ribbons of cum painted her breasts and stomach. Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. He chanted her name over and, and over again. Until he was nothing. Until her name was but an imprint forever in his memory. A promise.

***

They had fucked one more time. Hours later, in the watery, grey light of dawn. Cassian awoke to soft mounds pressed against his back. To tongue and teeth dragging along the stubble on his jawline, and a delicate hand wrapped firmly around his erection. There was nothing separating their skin from head to toe. Nesta’s stocking were nowhere in sight. Not that Cassian cared to look anywhere beyond what was right in front of him at that moment. They shifted in unison, and she straddled him. Somehow, in all their lazy moments, Nesta had already rolled a condom it onto his shaft, while his eyelids were still heavy with sleep. And before he had the chance to touch her, she wordlessly sank onto him, teeth embedded into her bottom lip. Nesta waited, impaled on Cassian’s cock. Adjusting to his sheer size despite already having him twice before. Her flush was gone, but her skin was littered with the evidence of their carnal frenzy from merely hours ago. The first light of day, lit hair up like a golden vail spilling over her shoulders. She was breathtaking, so he told her. But she had not paid attention to his adorations. No, for the first time since they met the previous night. Nesta drank the entirely bare, magnificent sight of him. Her eyes ran over his rich brown skin. Every mountain and valley of muscle in his arms and abdomen. The notch of his throat. The sharp, brutal planes of his face. His molten, hazel eyes. The intricate black lines of ink that spanned his pectorals and biceps.

“Homme exquis.” Nesta murmured softly, as she lifted her hips.

Bodies, supple and hard, moved together. Deeply, and slowly with the rising sun. Chasing any lingering tastes of Cuban cigars and single-malt scotch. Once more. Cassian would want to have her once more, to match the frantic, carnal passion from the previous night. But he restrained himself. Being too content with that moment in the silence of an early morning. With Nesta tracing his tattoo with fingertips and tongue, and Cassian’s nosed buried into her damp hair. She must have showered while he slept. And he was consumed with the scent of him on her. He thought of her using his shampoo, his soap, his towel, and something small and warm burrowed deep within his chest.

They found their releases with each other, Nesta right after Cassian. And when Cassian emerged from his bathroom fifteen minutes later. A towel wrapped low around his sore hips, and tendrils of steam following his steps. Nesta was gone with the final shades of night. But promises of her remained, littered all over his apartment. Stockings draped over the bathroom rack next to a damp towel. A lace bra, hanging off his bedroom doorknob. Black panties laid out on his granite dining table. A garter belt slung over the back of the leather couch stained with cardinal lipstick kisses. Cassian kept them all with a secret smile on his face. Later, when the night would return in all its magnificent beauty. He would put on a fresh, expensive suit. And He would return to his castle. To his friends. To Nesta. And he would do it all over again.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Loving the Nessian Lawyer AU fic!! That Nesta is an Armani girl? Yesssss --just *chef's kiss* 💋 Here's a prompt for you if you please: canon-verse jealous!nessian. Cassian arrives late to an evening event at the Summer Court high lord meeting. Nesta's wearing a black gown. Only as she walks he notices the mid-thigh high slit 👀👀

Oh you KNOW I love a jealous Cassian. I took some liberties with the dress because by Prythian standards I just wasn’t sure a thigh slit would cut it ;)I also gave Nesta some new power because she deserves it!!

Keep the requests coming guys I’m having so much fun!!

The death of Beron Vanserra, as it turned out, was the birth of peace among the courts of Prythian.

Tamlin was still a jackass, but not powerful enough to actually ever take a stand or reject peace.

So the courts banded together. An impenetrable alliance of forces that the continent nations wouldn’t dare March on. And to uphold that agreement, this is what they did now. Once a year they had a summit. The hosting Court rotated and this was the first year it was being held in Summer. Rhys joked that he had to make a special appeal for Cassian to be allowed back in Tarquin’s court after the infamous building incident.

Whatever.

It wasn’t even that big of a building. Tarquin could be so dramatic.

Anyway, the point was that Beron’s death had been a very good thing for everyone. But that still didn’t mean Cassian liked having to sit in a room with Tamlin and Eris Vanserra. Alone.

Ok not alone. But… basically alone. Mor had abandoned him the second they walked in and she was giggling with Vivianne on the other end of the room. Rhys and Feyre were trying to nail down an agreement with Thesan to import some of his Faebane stopping powder.

Azriel wasn’t there at all because he and Gwyn were on some insane spy mission in Vallahan that had to coincide with this summit because that was when all the other territories relaxed. Got lazy and assumed there was no threat from Prythian.

But, you might be asking yourself, Cassian still shouldn’t be alone here, right? He had a mate. A beautiful, powerful, mother communing, force of nature of a mate.

Who was, for all of those stunning qualities that made him love her, a very in demand woman.

Right now she was working with Helion. She’d been gone more than a week. And a week the month before that. And the month before that. And they should be done now. Should be ready to present to the group this new spell that they were creating.

A protection spell. Nesta and Helion were creating a spell. Like gods of magic. Not ingrained, learned, trained, magic. They were creating magic. Spells.

She was a witch. Cassian smirked at the thought. A beautiful, brilliant, witch goddess.

And she was his.

So why did Eris scuff the legs of his chair and sit up three inches straighter when she walked into the room.

And why did Helion have his hand on the small of her back as he lead her into the room.

Gods, she was beautiful. A streak of devastating black silk in the sea of the white-clad Day courtiers.

Her hair, brighter than when she left, more gold from the hours he knew she spent in Helion’s sun-drenched library, was braided up in its usual style.

The dress had a collar that molded around her neck and then dipped into a sweat heart neckline just at the base of her throat. Long sleeved and floor length.

Devastating.

And then she took a step forward.

The left side of the dress split open to reveal a shock of creamy white skin that looked like porcelain against the dark fabric. Cassian took a hard breath in when she moved again. The slit went up to her hip. Not her thigh. Her fucking hip.

Nope.

“Control yourself,” Cassian growled in reaction to the scent that was leaching off of Eris as the High Lord of Autumn stared at his mate.

Cassian flew out of his chair. Making it across the room in three long strides and carefully pulling his mate from out of Helion’s grasp.

“Hello, Nes.” Cassian murmured in her ear, pressed a kiss to her temple, and subtly, wrapped his wing around the left side of her body to cover up the slit.

Not subtle enough, however, as Nesta simply smirked in response and ran her finger down the membrane until his wing, and the rest of his body, trembled. “I’ve missed you.”

“Gods I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, General.” Helion smirked, sidling up right beside Nesta.

“I assume I have you to thank for this dress,” Cassian narrowed his eyes.

“Your mate is a brilliant, incredible, extraordinary female.” Helion winked, “But I still like having pretty things to look at while we work.”

“Call me a pretty thing one more time and I’ll blast you with the offensive spell I’m going to work on next.”

Helion smiled, “Oh how I love that fire. Don’t get all growly with me, General. I’d never think to steal her away into my bed. Without you, that is.”

“In your dreams.” Cassian’s body was vibrating, but he knew Helion was just being Helion. And he didn’t deserve the jealous rage storming through Cassian to be unleashed on him.

Cassian took Nesta’s hand and brought her to their seats.

“Wait,” Cassian raised an eyebrow. “You need a High Lord to develop spells. Your connection to the Mother and their connection to the Court comes together to make the spells. Balance, you said.”

“You remembered, A+ my love.”

“No. I mean… an offensive spell. Are you working with Rhys?”

“No,” Nesta smirked.

“But that kind of magic only comes from Night, Winter, and-“

“I’ll be sure to control myself, while she’s a guest of Autumn, Brute.” Eris had never looked so smug in his life. And that was a high bar.

“I do hope it’s Lucien.” Cassian said, deathly calm.

“What?”

“The brother who the magic chooses to be High Lord after I fucking murder you.” Cassian shrugged, “I hope it’s Lucien.”

Me at that last line:

SJM, Apparently, for no reason:

[duskandstarlight]

Wings & Shadows

Notes: I had a few of you asking me for Azriel’s POV during Wings Flames & Shadows and eventually the idea stuck! This is set at the end of the fic, when Azriel finds Cassian at the Winter Court to address the fact that Nesta is Cassian’s mate. I loved writing this and I really hope you like it, too. It was strangely easy to get into Azriel’s head for this one <3

For those of you who want to refresh your memories of what happens in WF&S then you can descent into this smutty pit of hell here. 

Let me know what you think! And just a friendly reminder that if you like what I write I’d love you to reblog so it can reach more people--thank you <3

Wings & Shadows Azriel POV

Despite being alive for over half a millennia, Cassian had never truly learnt to master his emotions. Whilst Azriel had honed the true art of a cold, blank mask from a young age, the general’s hazel eyes had always been a pathway straight to his heart if you knew where to look. But since the war—since living with Nesta—those underlying expressions had become something else entirely. Something stark and intensely sad. Something more distant and troubled as he worried over the ghost of a girl he had once known and loved.

That was not to say that Cassian did not attempt to hide the torment that wanted to wrangle its way across his features whenever he was forced to leave Nesta. Usually he laced over the agonised expression with barked, easy laughter and arrogant, drawling banter, but for the entirety of their trip to Kallias’s Winter Court, Cassian was… not present. Oh, he still plastered on his carefully orchestrated blend of fake, wide smiles and deathly calm as he usually did—a combination that should not be possible (although Azriel supposed Cassian had always defied the impossible)—but it was as if a light had flickered out somewhere and none of it rang true.

Rhys had clocked it immediately but knew better than to comment. He had learnt to keep his mouth shut when it came to his mate’s sister, even if it meant that Cassian’s duty to protect was reliant on muscle-memory and reflex rather than calculated assessment during a court visit. So his High Lord’s eyes had only flickered with faint starlight, the way they always did when a cog turned and clicked into place in his mind, before he turned back to congratulate Kallias and a glowing Vivianne on their pregnancy.

But given Azriel’s presence in Illyria the night before their trip to Winter, he knew just how fiercely every troubled thought and every laboured breath of Cassian’s was consumed with her—with the too slim female he had left behind. The female who was most likely slipping back into the lifeless husk she had been before Azriel’s hands had run over her body and Cassian’s mouth had lavished love and adoration with every press of his lips to her bare skin.

When the three of them had finished, it had only taken one look at his Cassian’s face and the outstretched wing he had thrown over Nesta’s body for Azriel to know that he should keep his distance. He had trodden dangerous ground when he had willingly engaged in that tryst—if it could even be called that. Whatever humming energy that whipped between Cassian and Nesta was certainly not just fucking, even if they wanted to pretend that was all it was. In the past, he and Cassian did not make a habit of discussing their shared social conquests, but slipping back into that brotherly familiarity had felt… tenuous this time. And whilst all memory of Nesta had been erased from Azriel’s skin, vanilla and jasmine still remained entangled with Cassian’s pine and musk, like the imprint of a frozen memory in time. Of when Nesta had been awake and glowing. Of when Cassian had wrapped her in his wings—protecting her from the trauma he seemed to know would come knocking as soon as he left her again.

But after three days of subtle distance to let Cassian cool off, all Azriel had achieved was an icy chasm of separation between he and his brother and a look on Cassian’s face that was so tortured Azriel couldn’t believe that nobody else had stepped in to ask what was wrong.

That was not to say that Mor’s chocolate brown eyes weren’t shimmering with concern or that Feyre hadn’t examined Cassian for a touch too long, but neither of them had dared to broach the subject. And whilst Mor would have usually probed Azriel for more information or fretted to him about what they should do, that easy familiarity between them had been severed.

Azriel could not see it ever being mended.

So, perhaps it was Azriel’s own grief that had him seeking out his brother on that third morning. Because even though his own heart was battered and aching, Cassian’s was worse. Azriel had learnt that the moment Cassian had sunk his teeth into the pale column of Nesta’s neck as she shattered between them—a mate territorially claiming his mate.

Mates. They were mates, for fuck’s sake.

Azriel should have known. He had suspected, of course, that Nesta Archeron was not just a female who’d managed to get under Cassian’s skin. Azriel knew Cassian better than anyone, after all. His brother had more female conquests than anyone he knew, his sexual appetite ravenous, yet Azriel’s shadows hadn’t needed to whisper to him in order for Azriel to glean that Cassian had not bedded anyone since Rhys had returned to the Night Court. Had not even glanced a female’s way since his eyes had first locked with the eldest Archeron sister in the mortal realm and snarled at her that he saw someone who had let her younger sister risk her life everyday whilst Nesta stayed safely at home. And even as Cassian’s eyes had gleamed feral as she had dismissed him, Azriel had known then that Nesta was not just another opponent. That she was in fact, most likely, the only person who was evenly matched to the male who was rumoured to be a warrior-God given flesh.

And maybe if Azriel’s judgement hadn’t been so fogged with Mor’s rejection then he would have been clear-headed enough to clamp down on his arousal and refuse to engage in a game of strip poker that could only have gone one way. But Azriel hadn’t been thinking straight. Had only thought about how even if Nesta was too gaunt, she was still undeniably devastating: her curves sweeping; her breasts full and aching. She had tasted like sin and distraction, and when her smoky grey eyes had turned from closed off to vulnerable and eager to please, his shadows had eddied out of control, flinging themselves out wide as he spilled onto her chest, her stomach...

That had been the final straw for Cassian.

Azriel didn’t blame him. He would not have had the same self-restraint himself.

The bitter winter air was sharp enough to burn when Azriel stepped out onto the otherwise deserted balcony of the breakfast room. Cassian’s wings should have been tucked in tight, but it was obvious that he was too far into his head, even as he seemingly stared out at the landscape before him. At the rolling slopes of white that stretched out for miles and miles until they were cut off by the green stripe across the landscape, where the pine trees of the forest lined the horizon.

Scuffing his shoes on the stone to alert Cassian of his arrival, Azriel stepped beyond the magical shields protecting the palace from the elements outside. The fiery crackle of pine logs was replaced by the crisp, bracing scent of winter as Azriel’s long legs carried him smoothly to the stone balcony wall to stand beside his brother.

He did not glance sideways at Cassian. Did not risk it, as he asked bluntly, “Did you want to do it?”

Cassian’s chest jerked and Azriel knew he was holding in a huff of breath—or more likely, a snort. A ginormous polar bear stepped out from between the snow-dusted pine trees, and together they watched the way the animals fur rippled with power and unimaginable strength as it padded across the ice covered fields. “Obviously,” he drawled.

Azriel’s sharp look was enough for Cassian to finally turn his head.

“You’re mates,” Azriel stated. His voice remained deep and lifeless—simple—but his words were soft and private. Only for he and Cassian.

Pain struck across his brother’s expression, the movement so swift and blinding that Azriel felt his heart clench. Shadows coiled and whispered around his ears, but Azriel silently ordered them to cease and they became quiet. “Yes,” Cassian forced out between gritted teeth.

Fists curled and uncurled at his friend’s sides, as if waiting for the questions and the derision, but Azriel only dipped his chin. “I suspected,” he said, “but when you initiated it all, I thought you couldn’t be, because there would be no way that you’d allow me to join you both otherwise.”

The grunt that emitted from Cassian’s throat curled downwards at the end, threatening to turn into a growl. Those fists tightened again and Azriel wondered how soon he’d have to blend into shadow. “You both wanted it. I wasn’t going to let you do it without me, was I?”

The torturous truth in the words hit home. Had Azriel been too blinded by his recent conversation with Mor to have judged what was right and what was wrong? But… no. Azriel had scented that room—the consensual desire thrumming between all of them. And he had not forgotten the look Cassian had shared with him that had told Azriel he was game—the raised, taunting eyebrow.

“You know I wouldn’t have done it without you,” Azriel replied carefully. “Nesta wouldn’t have done it without you.”

Cassian’s silence vibrated with a tense energy and Azriel understood the words his brother still could not voice aloud: he needed to be home with his mate. To check that she was ok. How could the others not see how badly Cassian was faring? He looked as if he had barely slept. Dark rings hung beneath his eyes as sharp as bruises and the agony wrought upon his face was so fierce it made Azriel’s shadows cluster to his brother, tendrils coiling out towards him.

His brother did not acknowledge them, even as one curled around his shoulder—a cold, gentle hand.

“Does she know?” Azriel asked.

It had been something Azriel had already considered. Feyre hadn’t recognised when the mating bond had snapped into place for she and Rhys and she had been human just like Nesta—had not grown up knowing about the bond and what it meant. Azriel couldn’t bring himself to ask Cassian when he had understood what he and Nesta were. There were so many times that Azriel had suspected that something far greater than lust or even simply love existed between the two of them. But then the war had finished and Nesta had become… empty—a byproduct of grief and death—and any obvious hope on Cassian’s part that the two of them might become something more had disintegrated into ash.

Steamed breath clouded the sky as his friend exhaled. The sound was bitter, somehow. “You should have asked, Does she care?”

“She cares,” Azriel replied, not waiting to pause for breath or to even blink. He had seen the way they interacted together now after all—how their bodies blended into one being, as if they had orchestrated a dance that only they knew. “Her eyes have this hollow quality most of the time. But sometimes, when she looks at you, it’s as if you have woken her up.”

Silence again as Cassian stared fixedly out at the expanse of white—at the fae that were bundled in thick furs and holding on tightly to leather reigns as they guided velvet-antlered reindeer and their curved sleighs through the snow.

“She’s good for you,” Azriel continued, offering up a truth—a blessing he knew his brother so desperately craved.

He was pressing far more than he usually did. Azriel was often a male of few words, but it was not often he saw his brother this lost. And Azriel supposed he had been privy to something nobody else had besides Cassian—a Nesta that was not sharp and prickly but open and unguarded in a way that had both hurt and given him breath. Azriel had seen the light spark back in her eyes when Cassian had bowed to kiss her. But Azriel wondered if Cassian knew how much she had woken him up, too. How for once, Cassian had not tried to be anyone but himself.

His brother’s brow furrowed with what Azriel translated as disbelief. “She doesn’t let you pretend,” Azriel clarified simply, in a tone that was not up for discussion.

A muscle ticked in Cassian’s jaw, but he merely crossed his arms tightly over his broad chest. The leather of his armour creaked, the sound swept away with the moaning of the wind. “It was hard not to be territorial,” he admitted eventually, glancing quickly at Azriel.

It was an apology, Azriel realised and a chuckle left his lips before he could stifle it. Cassian’s eyes widened in surprise. It was not often the Shadowsinger laughed so easily, but Azriel couldn’t help it. Cassian had certainly been restrained beyond measure, but there had been times when every muscle in Azriel’s body had been braced for Cassian to launch himself across the room and throttle him.

But Azriel did not bother saying any of that, even as his lips curved at the memory. He only pushed away from the railing wreathed in frost-covered ivy. It signified an end to the conversation but more importantly, what had occurred between the three of them—a clear line that would not be crossed again.

“Who knew you were so restrained,” he deadpanned, his voice falling into a near drawl that had Cassian barking a laugh. Rhys had asked Azriel to travel to Illyria in order to gather the latest intelligence from the camps and report back on the latest whisperings of the rebellion. He was already late. So he only nodded at his brother as his power swirled around him, ready to bleed him in and out of shadow until he arrived where he needed to be.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he told Cassian, and then everything went dark.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical  @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @hatemecozuaintme @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @dontgetsalmonella  @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @finallyrosie

[blueunoias]

Nesta is having her period and horrible day and she just want to go home. Then she and Cassian get in fight bc of something stupid (like Cassian has ate nestas chocolate or smth) and then she just starts crying. So like angst, comfort and yeah🤭

Ooooh, thank you for my first ask. I love this prompt! I'll do my best for you. Let me know if you want more modern au or canon!

For context Cassian was away for a day or two, Nesta had a bad day with her trauma. Nessian angst, comfort and fluff. Enjoy!

Cassian was exhausted when he'd gotten home from Windhaven his wings were worn out, his muscles ached in pain and all he wanted was to see his beautiful mate and sleep in her loving arms.

That would have to wait a bit however.

The family was having dinner at the River House, he quickly showered and changed, excited to finally be reunited with his mate, family and friends.

But mostly his mate.

Stepping into the house, he heard the booming laughter from the living room everyone was sat by the fire, this immediately set an alarm off in Cassian's brain.

As his eyes scanned the room, he found Mor relaxing on a lounge chaise, bottle of wine in hand.

Feyre on Rhys lap on a velvet arm chair.

Lucien and Elain were sat on the carpet by the coffee table wrapped in each others arms.

Amren was in her own chair nursing a glass of dark red ruby wine, with Varian at her feet massaging her ankles

Then his eyes caught to Azriel who stood in the far back of the room carerfully watching over Nesta who seemed like was trying to keep herself together.

Her posture was shrunk, her eyes were glazed and hollow, her breaths were small and heavy.

Cassian could see Nesta, his fierce, fearless mate, cowering into herself, drowning without someone to anchor her.

Suddenly noticing his presence, everyone in the room greeted him with cheerful ebullience.

Cassian politely greeted them and immediately made him path to his mate, ignoring Mor asking him to join her on the chaise or Rhys questions on his trip.

He had no intention of doing any of that. He had another mission.

"Hey sweetheart." He kneeled down in front of Nesta, gently putting his hands on her knees, rubbing delicate circles with his thumb.

Nesta slowly looked up and her gaze was suddenly icy and cold it chilled the room.

"She's been like this for a while." Azriel spoke lowly and quietly only for Cassian to hear.

Worry rushed through Cassian, his first primal instinct was immediately to take her home, hold her and comfort her.

Every protective Fae bone in his body wanted to soar out of there her in his arms, but calmly he took her hands pulled her up.

"I'm taking Nesta home." He announced making his way with an unresponsive Nesta to the exit. "I'll see you later."

"But you just got here." Mor pouted.

"Come on Cass. Stay a bit." Rhys asked.

"You both can always stay the night." Feyre offered generously.

"No. We're going home. And no more fires when I'm not here." He growled, the anger betraying him that they lit a fire and didn't account for Nesta's traumatized behavior.

Without another word he took Nesta and flew them back home to the House of Wind.

Once they were in the room, the House immediately procured warm tea and blankets for Nesta.

She walked silently to the bathroom, she had still to talk to him, still to touch him, still to even acknowledge him.

The fear was beginning to eat him up inside.

He followed her to their bathroom, finding Nesta standing like a ghost in the middle of the room.

Cassian stormed his way towards her, turning her body to his, searching her face for answers.

"Nesta, sweetheart. Talk to me, love." He said softly, cupping her face in his hand.

Then she pushed his hand away, twisting something in his gut.

"Nesta, what's wrong?" She still wouldn't meet his gaze.

Silence for a long stretch of a moment, until she finally opened her mouth and he finally heard her sweet voice.

"You took it."

"What?"

"You took it." She shoved him weakly in the chest, not moving him at all, but her voice grew louder and became glacial ice.

"Nesta what the fuck?" He growled, this was not the homecoming he was expecting.

"You took my book Cassian! You took my book." She shoved him again. Her face was rage, fury, mixed in with a hint of sadness?

"What the fuck? Your book?"

"Yes. My book. My book. The one you gifted me. You took it!." She shouted into his face, her breathing turned ragged.

"You're acting crazy over a fucking book?"

"Don't talk to me like that," she growled, barring her teeth. "You took my book."

"Calm the fuck down, alright. What the hell is wrong with you? You have lot's of books why the fuck are freaking out over one book?"

At this Nesta balked, her face turned red to pale, her eyes went hollow, suddenly tears started running down her eyes.

Sobs broke out of his mate, and Cassian was so utterly horrified.

Afraid of hurting her more and taken aback with confusion he stilled in his stop.

"It's not just a book." She cried, more tears danced down her face, agony twisted on her beautiful features, he felt Nesta's hurt through the bond and his own tearing his heart.

"Nes–"

"I need it! I needed the book. And took it. It was the only thing that keeps me grounded when you're not here, and you took it with you and my heart."

"Sweetheart." Cassian whispered, daring to take a step toward the devastating female, her took her head and cradled her to his chest, she continued to sob and he let her get it out.

He could see the tension in her shoulders fade away as she released the pain she'd been holding in all day.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Nesta my love." He apologized into her hair, pressing kisses to her crown. "I'm sorry."

He didn't know how long he and Nesta stood there holding each other, embraced in each other's arms, but finally Nesta's sobs subsided, her breathing calmed.

"Bad day?" He asked softly, leaning away to cup her beautiful face in his calloused hands.

She nodded solemnly against his embrace.

"Bad day. And you weren't here." More tears danced down her pale ivory skin, her blue grey eyes shined in the moonlight.

Even in sadness, Nesta was still the most beautiful creature he's ever set his ancient eyes on.

"And– and then with the fire and all the talking and voiced it was, it just was too much. I didn't– I couldn't handle it without you there."

He gently wiped her tears with his thumbs, leaning in to press kisses under her cheeks.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again." He promised, holding her to his chest again, arm wrapped around her waist the other hand brushing out her braided hair.

"You know I'm always here for you. I got your back Nesta.

"I missed you." She confessed quietly, her arms tighter around his waist.

"I know, I know. I missed you too. So much."

"It's hard when you're not here sometimes."

"It's hard for me too." He breathed. "Not being with you. You're my anchor too Nesta."

As much as he loved his fiery sassy Nesta, he loved when Nesta could open her heart to him and be so vulnerable even if it took a little screaming to get there.

"I'm sorry for– well for freaking out. The way I did."

"Don't apologise, Nes." He pulled away just to look down and smile at her. Taking her hand he led her back into the bedroom.

"Thank you for being my anchor." She said, in which he grinned in response, conveying all the words with a simple look.

Always. Nesta. Always.

"Come on sweetheart. Let's get to bed." He said pressing a soft warm kiss to her full lips, rousing a small bashful smile from his female.

Sleep came easy to Cassian, with Nesta calm and soothed wrapped up in his arm, her arms wrapped around his, her pretty head laying on his chest.

"I love you, Cass." His mate whispered into the night.

He pulled even closer to his firm body, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I love you too, Nes."

In this life and the next.

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Mettle Of A Man; Part Seventeen

Fandom: Fallout (4)

Pairing: Eventual Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Tagging @anonymouscosmos, @culturalrebel, @mercy-and-malice, @deepkittycollecto and @nelba! Enjoy!

Part One: ArcJet

Part Two: The Prydwen

Part Three: Orders

Part Four: Finding Brandis

Part Five: Weston Water And Oberland

Part Six: Meeting Preston And Matthew

Part Seven: Radstag And Radstorm

Part Eight: The Return To Sanctuary Hills

Part Nine: Domestic Ruminations

Part Ten: Institutionalized

Part Eleven: Two Weeks, Three Days

Part Twelve: Haylen’s Warning And The Glowing Sea

Part Thirteen: Under Fire

Part Fourteen: Dichotomy

Part Fifteen: The Litany Trial

Part Sixteen: Nice Try

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains intense recounts of previous abuse, intense depictions of self-loathing, self-deprecation and brief mentions of depression. Stay safe!]

Cade caught Danse before he could depart after the rest of their unofficial 'war council' had been dismissed, the medical officer inquiring, "How are you coping, Paladin? I hope that your adjustment to your newfound knowledge is going well." The arch of his eyebrow indicated plainly that Cade was looking for a clear answer, possibly to dissuade his own concerns.

  "I am still uncertain, Knight-Captain Cade." Danse stated bluntly. "I know that Quinlan's reports are accurate. I know that I must be a synth. But it is...it's difficult to wrap my head around it."

  "My door is always open, Danse. As it's been since the day you were assigned to the Prydwen." Cade reminded him. "I can't say I've ever had the pleasure of doing a mental evaluation on a synth, but…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "Hmm, that's not quite right. You and I have had sessions before. Maybe synths aren't so different in their cognition. Perhaps this is a nature versus nurture scenario."

  "Perhaps." Danse allowed, but he knew that he sounded less than optimistic.

  "Maybe in a day or two, once everything has calmed down and you've had time to think?" Cade suggested. "Collect your thoughts, then come see me and we can discuss your current state and the repercussions of Maxson's treatment."

  The paladin nodded, relieved that Cade didn't wish to immediately evaluate him. It had been an incredibly stressful and arduous several weeks. More than anything, the paladin was longing to finally get some sleep.

  After he spoke to Haylen and Rhys, of course. They deserved his gratitude, if only for their combined efforts in delivering the tip-off that had literally saved his life. To say nothing of their care for Elizabeth in his absence, even though they were unable to free her. They had kept her alive, and that was more than the paladin had dared to hope for.

  Danse watched Cade depart, his mind miles away now. Backhand would be incredibly busy in the lead up to the assault. He felt almost irritated by that; it was unfair to ask so much of her so soon after what had transpired. But the luxury of time was no longer on their side. Danse understood, in a practical sense, that they needed to strike as fast as possible. It was entirely within reason that the Institute already knew of their plans and were preparing their own countermeasures.

  It still didn't erase the hollow sensation in his gut, the fear that Backhand was all too willing to stretch herself paper-thin for her various factions. He promised himself then and there that he would do his best to absorb some of the burden. 

  As much as she would allow. 

  The memory of her ripping her knuckles apart on the manual release of his armor, talking to Matthew's parents, taking her helmet off and smiling at him. Thank you, Danse or I thought you were dead or please don't do that to me again --

  Danse chewed anxiously on his lower lip. As much as she would allow. As much as he could feasibly handle. It should have felt odd that he was trading one leader for another, but Danse could only rationalize that it must be another portion of his programming. 

  "Paladin Danse, sir?" 

  Rhys . Danse started, turning around. He hadn't even heard the knight approach down the catwalk. Hell, he hadn't even realized he was spacing out in the hallway. "Yes, Knight?" He replied, nodding out of habit to acknowledge Haylen beside Rhys.

  "Elder Brandis said you wanted to see us, sir." The knight stated, sounding a bit hesitant. "He said we needed to discuss...certain things."

  Of course he did . Danse sighed heavily, bracing himself for some level of a disappointment-fueled tirade.

  "Danse, I'm so sorry." Haylen blurted out, her voice shaking. Danse was startled, tilting his head while she carried on, "I wish there had been some other way for me to tell you. You must have been terrified ." 

  "I was certainly confused, if nothing else." The paladin admitted with a wry smile. "I am immensely grateful to both of you, regardless of my own trials. You followed your training and stuck to your guns, and I couldn't be more proud." He deflated slightly. "Even if the pride of a synth means precious little."

  "The synth shit doesn't matter to either of us, sir." Rhys muttered. "We don't care. We're just glad you're back and that Maxson didn't manage to kill you. That's the important part, right?"

  "In a way." Danse agreed, grimacing. "Our battle is far from over, however."

  "Hey, we're doing something. That's more than a lot of people can say." Haylen reasoned, ever the optimist. "I've got faith in whatever plan you guys come up with."

  "Thank you for believing in me." The paladin murmured, giving the only surviving members of Squad Gladius a stiff salute. 

  "We know you, sir. You protected us, trained us. Built us up from basically nothing." Rhys sounded angry, his typically-sullen expression gone even more sour. "You think we could ever turn our backs on you? You're not that stupid."

  Haylen began to protest, "Rhys-"

  "Haylen, you and I both know he'll just self-deprecate until he dissolves. I'm not letting that happen." Rhys grumbled at the scribe, who fell silent at his reasoning. Her eyes were narrowed to slits and the sight was immensely entertaining to Danse, who couldn't keep a nervous chuckle from bubbling up in his throat.

  "I'm certain the two of you are aware of the devastating depression you dragged me out of all those years ago in the Capital Wasteland." Danse clapped Rhys on the shoulder and caught Haylen up in a rare one-armed hug. "How many times will you two save me? Should I start taking you for granted?" 

  "Paladin Danse, sir, w-we…" Haylen trailed off, her lower lip quivering. She buried her face in Danse's ribs and Rhys grunted.

  "Haylen, c'mon . Pull it together." He huffed, his own eyes looking suspiciously wet. "Listen, sir, I think I've made our position pretty clear. We follow your orders. Learning about that shit with Maxson-"

  "I'm so angry! " Haylen interrupted him, glaring upwards. "God Danse, I'm furious . What he did to you is unforgivable, inexcusable." She announced hotly. "Everyone assumed something was going on, but we also assumed it was consensual ."

  " 'Everyone' ?" Danse echoed, a weird surge of retroactive embarrassment seizing his body. "I suppose I should be thankful you all were so willing to offer me the illusion of privacy." He mumbled.

  "He's never coming anywhere near you again, sir." Rhys stated, his jaw set in an angry scowl. "I don't care if he's the last of the Maxson line. I'll break his fucking skull."

  His words stirred Danse's guilt to life, the ugly feeling rearing its head once more. "It is a difficult situation to be in. I do not envy our elders, past or present." Danse tried to pose the sentence with a modicum of compassion, though he was unsure of the attempt's success. The paladin knew that despite Maxson's position of power, Danse bore a majority of the blame for not standing up to the elder until it was too late to prevent his spiral.

  "Difficult, my ass ." Rhys growled under his breath.

  …

  "So we've got Preston, someone by the name of John D., the…" Ingram narrowed her eyes at the readout. " Atom Cats ?"

  "Yep. Real into their power armor. And Zeke owes me a favor." Backhand explained, continuing to scroll through her Pip Boy notes. "If I can get them to walk across the pond and cover the Castle, that will free up more Minutemen to join us."

  "Should I ask how you managed to ingratiate yourself with so many of these people?" 

  "I'm a sucker for a lost cause." Vega answered, her tone dry. 

  Ingram snorted, shaking her head. "Lucky for us, I imagine. Also lucky for us that you're the forgiving sort."

  "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Proctor." Backhand retorted. "I'm just not yet in a position to combat your aerial superiority."

  "Whew, gonna' file that one away for later consideration."

  A soft knock on the comm doorway interrupted the two women, and Vega turned to see Danse peering cautiously into the room. "Paladin! You're just in time, we were about to start rallying the troops. Want to lend a hand?" 

  "What needs to be done, General Vega?" The paladin asked, his posture gone stiff and proper. 

  Backhand could feel her smile dim slightly, but she reined herself in. They had all been through so much, she reasoned, and old habits were usually a comfort. "Well, I've got a few calls to make on my own, but if you can get in touch with Lieutenant Garvey that would be a huge help."

  "Understood." 

  Proctor Ingram (who had been watching their exchange with poorly-veiled interest) stepped out of the way so that Danse could settle down at the desk alongside one of their many radio switchboards. "Vega, I think the two of you can handle this." The older woman remarked, giving Elizabeth a sly wink behind Danse's back. "I'll start whipping the base camp into shape. Make myself useful, y'know. Ad Victoriam."

  Vega went bright red as Ingram saluted, the proctor sporting an absolutely infuriating smirk. "B-But Proctor--"

  "No buts! You guys handle the easy stuff. I'll manage the elbow grease." Ingram then mouthed talk to him! , before strolling out of the comm area. Backhand swore under her breath, thumping her fist into the desk in mute frustration. 

  "I can leave, General Vega." Danse offered, making her start and whirl to face him.

  "No no! No, uh, you're fine. You're not the problem here." Vega assured him, waving her hands nervously. "I'm just...I'm a little uptight, that's all."

  "Will your forces refuse to join us?" The paladin asked, his rigid posture easing slightly as he tipped his head back to look up at her. He continued in an undertone, "Would it be simpler to do it with your troops alone? Do you truly need the Brotherhood?"

  "We do need the Brotherhood, yes. But I don't think we'll need them for the fighting. We'll need them for the mass casualty options and the refugee care after the fact." Backhand began to pace, mostly so she didn't have to maintain eye contact. The paladin looked fatigued yet determined, and it pained her to know that rest was still so far away for them. Rest and the possibility of actually speaking with him about the thing that had been on her mind in one form or another since…

  Well, it had been a long time.

  "We'll need help rebuilding more than anything. Not a lot of settlements will be keen to take on synths, so I'll need to figure out some kind of alternative. I really need to talk with Nick and Dea--er, John D ., and get their input on this whole engagement." Backhand rubbed her temples. "And here I thought getting in would be the hard part!" She tried to joke. 

  After a moment of silence, Vega heard Danse clear his throat. "General... Elizabeth , I know you already have many responsibilities, all of them miles more important than my own struggles."

  Backhand looked over at him expectantly, a little confused. 

  "I have to give Cade a full report." The tall man said abruptly. "I...he wants to know everything that's transpired." He stared down at the floor, the heel of his boot scuffing the grating beneath them as he rushed to add, "I know it's selfish of me to ask you to--I mean, you've been through so much, b-but I was...rather, I am uncertain of this endeavor, and my ability to maintain my composure during it. You tend to have a mollifying effect on me for some reason."

  "You want me to be present when you give your medical officer the full rundown?" Vega raised an eyebrow, further confused. Danse was a soldier , surely he had endured a full physical before?

  "I am overly anxious. It means reliving some portions of my past that I find...traumatic."

  "Oh." Oh . Backhand felt stupid as the truth dawned on her. Everything that's transpired . Of course Danse would want someone he trusted with him, this wasn't a physical exam at all. "What about Haylen or Rhys? Are they more appraised of the situation?"

  Danse was shaking his head before she had even finished. "I did my best to keep everything that happened quiet, though it appears that I was unsuccessful. I was told that was my only option, and I did not wish to disobey Maxson's orders." 

  "That fuckin' asshole." Vega growled. "Alright, if you're sure it's me you want with you, I'm here."

  "You don't have t--er, that is, I regret taking up more of your valuable time, General Vega. I promise after this meeting with Cade, I will be fully at your disposal." He assured her, seemingly pained by his current state.

  "Danse, I don't care about that. I don't want you better just so you can get used up again, I want you better for you . I'm sorry that all of this robs you of the proper time to regroup, y'know?" Backhand apologized, her words deliberately quiet as she boldly laced her fingers through his own. "Once we're done here, though, you need to take some time off. General's orders."

  "I would have to speak with Elder Brandis on the matter. As his most senior paladin, I am unsure if he would be able to permit me that luxury." Danse replied unhappily, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. "' A run ashore ', always just out of reach."

  "I'm getting you time off, even if I have to kidnap you myself." 

  The paladin's chuckle in reply to her threat was subdued, but it still sent a frisson of happiness through her body. Backhand choked down the guilt of having those feelings in the first place for just a second, choosing to bask in the warm sensation. 

  "When you're ready, General, I'll need the proper frequencies to speak with the Castle." Danse's request brought her crashing back down to earth, and Vega rushed to oblige him.

  There's always something else to do .

  …

  Two days later, on the cusp of their attack on the Institute, the both of them were seated in Knight-Captain Cade's main office aboard the Prydwen. The older officer sat across from them in the cramped space, a clipboard propped up on his knee.

  "The only questions I'll ask will be strictly for clarity's sake." The knight-captain informed Danse quietly. "If you don't want to answer, that is entirely acceptable and within your right, but the more information we have, the better."

  Danse nodded, the motion stilted. "I understand, Knight-Captain. I'll do my best to cooperate." 

  Vega squeezed his hand. God knew she didn't like this one damn bit, but she was going to stick it out for him. After all, he had gone to bat for her against the elder . Loyalty like that was in short supply. "I'm right here with you, Danse." She said softly. He had gone pasty white beneath his usual windblown complexion, and he gripped her hand wordlessly. 

  "If you could start at the beginning, Paladin. Or as close to it as possible." Cade prompted him.

  "Yes, I...of course." Danse rasped. "The first time we engaged was shortly before the Brotherhood lost Knight Cutler."

  Cade looked at him over his half-moon glasses, seeming perturbed. "That was...so this was a prolonged assault."

  "Not an assault. I did as I was ordered." The dull tone of Danse's voice, the way his eyes had gone almost grey ...Vega wanted to know how the hell Maxson had ever justified this. "I could not bring myself to question Arthur. He came to me, at first simply asking for help even though it was an order. He said he couldn't sleep. I...I never told Cutler. I didn't think it was relevant. I thought I was helping the new elder." Danse looked up at Cade. "I know what it's like to not be able to sleep for all the thoughts in your head."

  "Was there a specific point in time where his behavior shifted? Perhaps when it became more clear to you that there was something wrong?" Backhand was grateful for the delicate way Cade phrased the question.

  "I…" Danse's brow furrowed. "...had just come back with...after what transpired with Cutler. Four days on base. I was furious with Maxson for stationing Cutler out there, furious with myself for not saving Cutler. I was grieving and hurt both physically and emotionally, as you recall." Cade inclined his head. "I assume you also recall the bite on my arm that appeared shortly thereafter. That was a...result of my inability to perform."

  "Ah." Cade murmured, jotting something down.

  Bite? Vega could feel Danse trembling. "I-I was...unable to function or perform for him in a satisfactory manner and that was his method of voicing his frustration with me." Danse swallowed hard. "I was mourning , Cade." He sounded like he was begging the other man to understand, begging him not to judge.

  Perform for him. Backhand sucked in a deep breath through her nose, willing herself to stay silent. 

  "After that, I would just comply. It was never as bad as that time. I would perform for him to the best of my abilities." Danse paused, "but I never sought him out, and nothing occurred without me being ordered to do so." He then proceeded to rattle off a distressingly-long list of dates, every time that Maxson had coerced him. "I was not interested in...well, anyone , after Cutler." He muttered after a brief pause, "the term broken seems fitting." 

  "You weren't allowed proper space to heal yourself after what happened with Cutler. You were injured and then forced to deal with someone who kept prying open your wounds because they enjoyed lording their power over you." Cade theorized, his voice a little sharper. " Broken is not fitting in the slightest, Danse."

  The paladin shrugged. "Whatever the terminology might be, then." 

  " Traumatized , Danse. Emotional wounds take time to heal, just like physical ones. Losing Cutler in the way that we did-"

  "I deserved it!" Danse cut off the medical officer, leaning forward and clenching his free hand on his knee. "I failed Cutler, Cade! I should have gone after him sooner! The treatment from Maxson is what I deserved ." His eyes were wild, frantic. "He's an abuser, but I am a man deserving of every last instance of that abuse for my inaction when it came to Cutler!" The paladin reasoned intensely.

  Cade sighed, rifling through his clipboard. "Danse, you did not deserve or garner punishment for the consequences of Maxson's orders." He informed the other man quietly. "You were simply a man who lost someone that he cared deeply about."

  "And to find out that I'm not even that much!" Danse spat. "I'm still trying to cope with the reality that I am a living lie . My identity as Paladin Danse is nothing but a memory now. Everything I held dear, everything I ever believed in is completely gone. Can you imagine how that feels?" Danse was nearly shouting at this point, moving to stand. "I started out as nothing , and I've ended up as nothing . And I don't know what the hell to do about it!" 

  Backhand brought her hand up over his elbow, hauling him back down into his seat. " Listen to Cade, Danse." She growled. The paladin fought her grip briefly, but ultimately slumped in the chair. Good thing too, Vega wasn't exactly up to full strength just yet. The large man was shaking again, his breathing coming in harsh bursts. "It's okay, it's okay." Vega found herself repeating the phrase, rubbing circles on his back between his shoulder blades. Many members of military factions found repetition comforting and Danse appeared to be no exception, the large man heaving a massive sigh under the weight of her hand.

  "Danse, I'll fully admit to being out of my element here. I never expected to have to treat a synth." Knight-Captain Cade said plainly. "However, I've known you for many years. We have an established rapport. Your body is indistinguishable from an ordinary human body, as proved by my records. Your mental processes and pain responses are normal for a human. I suppose what I'm trying to say is learning that you are a synth may not change all that much, despite what you may be feeling."

  Danse choked out a forlorn noise that might have been a sob, burying his face in his hands. "I'm so confused." He confessed plaintively. "You're saying I did not deserve punishment for my failings, but...how else am I supposed to atone for Cutler?" He looked up, tears welling up in his eyes. "How am I supposed to reconcile with these human emotions, Cade? I barely kept myself under control when I believed I was human!"

  "Your feelings have always run deep, Danse. Your empathy for your fellow man has landed you in hot water more than once." Cade gestured at Vega. "According to our infiltrator, even the most brutal of synths feel regret and remorse just like we do, though they have not been taught how to cope with it."

  "I still feel like a human. Nothing feels different, yet now I constantly second-guess everything I do. I've had a plan from the beginning to shape my future, but I have to wonder about whether that's a lie as well." Danse remarked bitterly. "I had...I had hoped…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

  Backhand could feel her heart breaking the longer he spoke. His true identity was an immense blow to him, and on top of it he was still struggling under the burden of the guilt he carried due to Cutler's demise. He blamed himself for Arthur's demands. 

  "Listen to Cade, Danse." She urged. Her hand was essentially on autopilot as she traced small patterns on the center of his back, moving up and down his spine without rhyme or reason. "You're not to blame for what Maxson did. It's not yours to bear. Trust me, coming from someone who's more than willing to take on other folk's problems, that weight is not yours."

  "But-"

  "You trust me, right?" Vega interrupted him softly, cupping his face so that he had to look at her.

  "With my life, General Vega." 

  The rapid sincerity of his reply startled her and Backhand needed to take a moment, steeling herself yet again. "I know you trust Cade too, and I know this won't be a quick or easy process. But you accepting that whatever happened was not your fault would be a huge first step."

  "I...If I do…" Danse paused, hesitating. "Vega, if I forget about him..."

  "Hey, nobody said anything about forgetting. You told me about Cutler, about how important he was to you. There's no way someone like you could forget about him. But you need to forgive yourself, you have to understand that losing him was not your fault." Once more she found herself in over her head, but she did her best to tell him all the things she wished someone had told her when Sergeant Cathan had died.

  "He was...he was everything to me." Danse's voice cracked. "And I had to--I had to, he was...I had to."

  "What happened to Cutler and his team was an immense tragedy, and a needless one at that." Cade spoke up from his seat, his brow furrowed. "Maxson outed himself quite thoroughly during the trial, I would say. It will be difficult for him to explain his actions away when so many witnesses heard exactly what he said." 

  Elizabeth felt Danse go still, the paladin hanging on to Cade's every word. "Am I even permitted to be happy that he may face consequences?" He asked uncertainly, wringing his hands. "Is that a breach of protocol, Knight-Captain?"

  The medical officer shifted his weight, leaning forward to prop himself up with his elbows on his knees. "I can't promise you swift justice, you know how the Brotherhood operates. But Arthur invoked the right of a litany trial, then proceeded to break his own terms. To say nothing of the fact that he nearly killed someone uninvolved in the trial." Cade shook his head. "His abuse flourished in secrecy. Now that everything is out in the open, I do not believe even his status as the last Maxson will sway the other elders when they pass judgement."

  "Thank you, Knight-Captain." Danse closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "I...thank you, Vega." He continued, a little quieter. He caught her hand in his own, giving it a cautious squeeze. Almost as if he was imitating her gesture from earlier in the week. "I have so much to think about."

  "Agreed. Shall I put in a request to Brandis for a leave of absence?"

  Danse visibly recoiled at Cade's suggestion, his eyes going wide in dismay. "No! No, I am needed, Knight-Captain. After our assault has been carried out, and the Institute has been wiped from the map, I…" he hesitated, like the words were caught in his throat. "I will gladly take a leave. Until then, however, there is still work to do."

  "There is always work to do, Paladin." Cade chided. "Remember what I told you? You will burn yourself out and the Brotherhood can ill afford to lose you."

  "I'll see to it that he takes time off after our successful operation." Backhand stated firmly. Cade raised an eyebrow at that and Danse flushed across the bridge of his nose, stuttering a little. "Your health is important to me, Danse. You can be as stubborn as you want, but I'm not letting you weasel out of this." 

  "I suppose that will have to do." Cade sighed. "Do you have any questions for me, Paladin?"

  Danse shot a sidelong glance at Vega that she was relatively certain she wasn't supposed to see, the large man worrying his lower lip. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part, though, as Danse shook his head after a moment. "No, I...I just have some reflection to do." He got to his feet abruptly, saluting both Cade and Elizabeth. "Ad Victoriam, Knight-Captain. Ad Victoriam, General Vega."

  Cade returned the salute absently, already absorbed in writing something else down. Vega was a little slower, her query of, "do you need me, Danse?" coming out softer than she had intended.

  She wanted to believe that the paladin hesitated before he replied, "No, General Vega. I can manage."

Part Eighteen

[rhysismydaddy]

Living with a Spy - Feysand Headcannon

Synopsis: Feyre finds out her husband of four years is a spy for the CIA. It doesn’t go over well. 

________________________________________________________________

Feyre sat on the toilet, a towel pressed to her mouth to stifle her sobs, and let herself cry for the first time in three days. 

For three days, she’d been stoic. The beautiful, stoic, perfect wife most men would pray for. 

She knew it was driving Rhysand crazy. 

She also knew she didn’t care.

He’d lost the right to be mad or disappointed or upset with her a long time ago. 

She heard the sheets ruffle in their room. The room with their bed. The room she’d shared with him for almost four years. 

How stupid she’d been. To sleep next to someone she didn’t even know. 

Another sob escaped her.

“Baby,” he said softly from the other side of the door. “Please come out. I can hear you crying.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking him off, then wiped her tears and got up. When she opened the door, she made sure to avoid his eyes. She knew what she’d see if she looked in them-- despair and regret and love. So much love.

But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t change who he was... what he’d done. What he does.

She walked around him and crawled into bed, making sure to stay close to the edge. If he touched her, she was pretty sure she’d lose it. 

He sighed, opened and closed his mouth a couple times, then got into bed and turn the light out. 

“Feyre, please-”

She let out the most unbelievable snore she’d ever heard. 

It was silent, then a soft chuckle reached her ears. “I know you’re awake. You don’t even snore. You’re a terrible liar.”

Another tear spilled down her cheek. “Yes,” she whispered, body shaking with held in rage and sadness, “But you’re good enough for the both of us.”

It was the first thing she’d said to him in three days, and it seemed to cut him in half. 

She could tell he was running a hand over his face, contemplating how to get her to forgive him.

He’s wasting his time, she thought sadly.

___________________________________________________________

Eight hours later, she opened her eyes and knew the other side of the bed would be empty when she turned over.

He’d be downstairs by now, grabbing his thermos full of black coffee, and checking his email as he walked out the door. She knew everything about his day. About him. Or so she’d thought. 

So when she turned over to find him staring straight at her, she was understandable surprised. 

He looked equally as shocked as she screamed and fell out of the bed. 

His deep purple eyes were concerned as he peered over the side of the bed at her. “Are you afraid of me?” 

He sounded... heartbroken.

His voice, his eyes, the look on his face... it pushed her over the edge. She broke into sobs, unable to get off the floor. 

“Baby,” he murmured, climbing off the floor and kneeling next to her. 

The hand he laid on her shoulder, the comfort it gave her, disgusted her. 

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled, getting to her feet and starting to pace.

He rose and sat on the edge of their bed, then practically growled, “What can I do? Tell me what to do to make this better.”

She whirled on him and pointed at a finger at his devastatingly beautiful face. “Four years! Four years of marriage! Of lies!”

“No! Four years of-”

“You lied to me. Every day you left for work and came back and kissed me and made love to me and slept next to me and... you lied to me. Our marriage is a lie. I don’t know you.” It was breaking her heart. He was breaking her heart.

His head dropped. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” 

“No, Rhys, you don’t get off that easy. You shouldn’t have told me now. You should’ve told me six years ago when we met.”

“I couldn’t tell you. They’d come after you-”

She exploded. “Don’t pretend to have lied to me every day of our marriage to protect me. I’m a grown fucking woman. I can protect myself.”

“Not from the CIA.”

“You’re a spy! You’re a liar and a spy and a murder. I sleep next to someone whose hands are covered with blood. And I’m supposed to act like that’s okay? For four years, every morning when you’ve left, I thought--I knew--you were going to the university. You know why? Because that’s what you told me! And I believed you! Like an idiot!”

Until three days ago, when she’d gone to visit him at work and learned their was no one by the name of Rhysand Azara working today. 

He sprung to his feet and started pacing. If they kept this up much longer, they’d wear a hole in the floor. 

“You’re not an idiot, Feyre. It’s my job to lie to people. They told me to lie to you. They created my cover at the university, and it’s important it stays in tact. You can’t tell-”

“That’s the worst part!” she yelled, furious. “You’ve made me a liar now, too! I-”

She snapped her mouth shut and grabbed her stomach, then sprinted toward the bathroom and slammed the door. She pressed the lock and threw herself down barely in time to throw up into the toilet. 

He was banging on the other side of the door, which was stupid, since a spy like himself could probably pick the lock with ease.

“Let me in,” he said, faking a calm demeanor. 

She ignored him.

Flushing the toilet, she stood up on shaky legs and started the shower. Hopefully he’d give up and leave for “work” by the time she got out. 

Twenty minutes later, she cursed as she walked out of the bathroom and practically tripped over his long legs. 

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” She smacked the top of his head in annoyance as she walked past him, surprised when it made her feel a little better. 

“Feyre, I’m so sorry. Please. Forgive me. I wanted to tell you.” She looked at him, at the devastation in his eyes. 

“Then you should have.” 

Another wave of nausea rolled over her, and she grimaced.

“Seriously? The sight of me makes you sick now? That’s wonderful,” he said bitterly as he climbed off the ground and stalked to his closet, grabbing a sweatshirt. 

“What are you doing? You aren’t going to “work”?” she asked with bite, using air quotes to punctuate her point. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “No. I’m not going to “work.” I’m going to stay here until you don’t feel like vomiting every time you look at me.” 

She narrowed hers back. 

Feyre knew he had more to say, knew he wanted to argue more, but she turned and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. 

It was probably because her husband was a liar and life had no purpose, but she didn’t feel like eating anything. In fact, everything in her fridge made her gag. 

She started a pot of tea, figuring that would calm the nausea. 

By the time she was dipping her tea bag into her steaming mug, her husband was sitting across from her at their kitchen table. Staring at her. 

When she couldn’t take it anymore, she whispered, “That time you went to Colorado for a conference... where were you really?” 

He was silent. Then, “Prague.” 

She nodded, gracefully accepting that their entire life was a lie. “And when you got “mugged” coming home from work?”

His eyes closed. “Feyre.”

She raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

“I was taken hostage by the Chinese government, who suspected I was FBI.” 

She nodded again, forcing her eyes to stay closed until she didn’t have tears in them. “How stupid of them.”

He’d been captured and tortured and she’d thought he’d been robbed. 

“What’s your name?”

“What?” He sounded genuinely surprised at that.

“I’m assuming it’s a cover. That this-” she gestured to their house, to herself, to him, “is a cover. So what’s your real name?”

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, suddenly angry. “Don’t you dare tell me you believe that shit. You’re not a cover. I fell in love when I was on leave from the CIA. You know that. Don’t think for one second our marriage isn’t real.”

She shrugged.

“Feyre, baby, you know I love you. You know I do.”

“I did know that. But you don’t lie to the people you love.” She got up from the table. She didn’t know where she was going, but she couldn’t look at him any longer. 

“Feyre-”

“You knew!” she whirled around, unable to keep everything inside. “You knew what it would do to me to live with a liar. That’s why you didn’t tell me. Not to protect me, but because you knew I’d been lied to, deceived, before. You knew I’d leave you if you lied to me.” She whispered the last part, but he heard her perfectly.

He sprang from his seat, seemingly coming unraveled. Rhys ran a hand through his hair, looking panicked. 

“Please. Please don’t leave me. We can move. I’ll leave the CIA and we can go somewhere-”

“Rhys,” she whispered.

He stopped pacing and came to stand in front of her. 

She didn’t want to, but she made herself say, “I need some time. To think. Can you...”

His usually tan and beautiful face was as white as a sheet. “You want me to leave?” 

No, I want you to stay and hug me and tell me it was real. That you love me and you’re still the man I married. 

She nodded. 

His eyes shuttered, but he grabbed his sweatshirt and keys and left.

Feeling like a stranger in her own body, she walked back up the stairs, got in bed, and closed her eyes. 

An hour later, when it was abundantly clear she wasn’t going to sleep, she sat up. Then sprinted to the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet again. 

She sat back on her heels, eyes narrowed. Then she shook her head. 

No no no no no no

She ran downstairs, grabbed her keys, and headed to the store. 

__________________________________________________________

It was well into the night when he came back. 

She heard him unlock the front door. Heard his near silent steps as he walked up to the stairs, up to their bedroom, up to the window.

“Feyre?” he asked, sticking his head out the window to find her sitting on the flat, secluded space of roof outside their window. 

As he climbed out to join her, she asked, “Do you remember? Six weeks ago?”

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously. 

She leveled a look at him. “Six weeks ago. The last time we were on the roof.”

He’d waited until the darkest part of the night, then brought her outside and made love to her on the roof, under the stars. It was ridiculous and romantic and...

“Of course I remember. But what does that-” 

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted in a rushed whispered.

He was silent. 

“I think it was the night on the roof,” she continued, ignoring his still stature. “Although, who knows, really. We have sex all the time. Sign of our super healthy relationship.” She laughed softly. 

Rhysand was frozen next to her--unmoving, unspeaking. 

“It’s funny, really. We tried for a year, and when shit hits the fan and I find out I’m married to a stranger, I find out I’m pregnant. Ridiculous.” Her life was a joke. 

“You’re pregnant,” he whispered.

“I’m pregnant.” 

“I’m going to be a father.”

She looked at him, her heart breaking into a million pieces at the look--the joy--on his face. “No.”

“Feyre-”

She shook her head. “Please don’t. Don’t make this any harder. Because if it’s any harder, I won’t make it.” She wiped a tear off her cheek, steeling herself for what she had to say. “I will not allow this baby to grow up with a father who lies and kills and manipulates people for a living. I’d rather... do it alone.”

Tears flowed out of his eyes, and he whispered, “Please don’t-”

“You have a choice, Rhysand. You can chose me, and this baby. Or you can chose your job, your career. This child will not have a father who lies to them every day of their life. This child-”

“I quit my job four hours ago,” he blurted, cutting her off. 

Every thought left her head. “Oh.” 

He nodded, smiling softly. “My boss threatened to neuter me, but I told him to take it up with you. I choose you, Feyre. Always. I don’t love my job, not the way I love you. I should’ve never even taken the position. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Unless you... unless you won’t let me be here.” His voice broke. 

“Rhys,” she whispered.

He nodded again. “I’m so sorry I lied to you. I didn’t tell you at first because I thought it didn’t matter, that it was the same as going to work. Then I didn’t tell you because I knew... I knew it would hurt you.”

“Rhys,” she repeated.

“But I want you to know,” he said with quiet resolve. “That if it’s what you really want, I’ll leave. I won’t force you to-”

“I don’t want you to leave,” she murmured. 

He paused.

“I want you to tell me everything. And I want you to never to lie to me again. About anything.” 

He nodded, another tear escaping those magnificent eyes. 

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “I don’t know how I can do this without you, but I can’t live with-”

“I’ll never lie to you again. I promise. And I’ll never lie to this child.” 

She leaned in and grabbed either side of his face. 

“If you lie to me again, Rhysand, I’ll get Nesta to kick your ass. No matter how much I love you.”

He cradled her face with both palms. “Okay.”

“And I’ll get Cassian to help,” she continued, smiling softly. 

“Nesta won’t need help, but okay.” He grinned back at her. 

“I love you, you stupid prick,” she murmured, sliding her hands in his hair. 

He pressed his lips to hers softly. “I love you, too, Feyre darling. You’re going to be a great mom.”

________________________________

[raveismysublime]

I am attempting to right a fic

So I am re-reading ACOWAR and am at the part where Nesta and Elaine go visit Graysen to try and get him to help the humans or something like that and Nesta is beating up Graysen for hurting Elaine. 

So my mind wanders and goes... what if Cassian was there to see this? and then.... what if Cassian saw this from his POINT OF VIEW!!!!!!! So I’m like let me write this, 

I have never wrote fan fiction besides some Lunar chronicles shit on Wattpad and Lesbian smut (don’t ask, it helped with my sexuality tho) SO please don’t come at me if you hate this 

I just really wanted this from Cassian's perspective, like watching Nesta be a bad bitch instead of a rude bitch ya kno? Idk but here yall go 

I apologize in advance if this is shitty ( it probably will be, please don’t hate I love u guys) and will probably never right a fic again but ok enough talking here ya go

Im gonna be taking parts of ACOWAR and typing them in so it looks believable 

**we’re gonna imagine that Cassian went with them for this to work okay**

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

“So only the rich and chosen will walk through the gates?” Rhys asked, arching a brow. “I can’t imagine the aristocracy being content to work your land and fish in your lake or butcher your meat.”

This meeting was going nowhere, thought Cassian as Rhysand argued with the close-minded human boy. The fact this pitiful man thinks his mere father and some iron were going to protect him and the human lands from Hybern’s wrath was stupid, laughable even.

How he was able to land a Archeron’s sister was beyond what Cassian could think of. For once, he would agree with Nesta on the idea of this marriage. 

“We have plenty of workers here to do that.”  so the little boy speaks. Cassian wanted to retort, he wanted to desperately put this pathetic weasle of a man in his place but bit his tongue. This was not his fight, this was Elaine’s and at the moment Rhysands. He would not intervene. 

Because if he did intervene this whole place would come crumbling down and weasel boy and his father would be crying in their underwear. 

But Jurian said to the lords, “I fought beside your ancestor. And he would be ashamed if you locked out those who needed it. You would spit on his grave to do so. I hold a position of trust with Hybern. One word from me, and I will make sure his legion takes a visit here. To you.” 

“You’ll threaten to bring the very enemy you seek to protect us from?” Weasle boy said. 

 Jurian shrugged. “I can also convince Hybern to steer clear. He trusts me that much. You let in those people �� I will do my best to keep his armies far away.” 

He gave Rhys a look, daring him to doubt it.

 We were still too stunned to even try to look neutral.

Cassian wondered if the elder lord might be the one who could actually be reasoned with. Especially as Graysen said to Elain, “Take that ring off.”

 Elain’s fingers curved into a fist. “No.” Ugly. This was about to get ugly in the worst way— 

“Take. It. Off.”

How humiliating, Cassian thought, to Elaine for everyone to witness this absurd man. If only he could reach around, grab weasel man by the neck, pin him against the wall and shove two of his knives into each of his balls-

That’s enough,” Rhys said, his voice lethally calm. “The lady keeps the ring, if she wants it. Though none of us will be particularly sad to see it go. Females tend to prefer gold or silver to iron.”

Graysen leveled a seething look at Rhysand. “Is this the start of it? You Fae males will come to take our women? Are your own not fuckable enough?” 

That was the last of it that Cassian was willing to endure. Was this man stupid? He should not be alive at this very second. He should be drowned in crimson and tears. 

“Watch your tongue, boy,” his father said. At Least he had some sense to shut his son up. Elain turned white at the coarse language.

Graysen only said to her, “I am not marrying you. Our engagement is over. I will take whatever people occupy your lands. But not you. Never you.”

Fucking bastard. To even speak to a women like this, to even dare 

He was going to rip out his throat 

Tears began sliding down Elain’s face, their scent filling the room with salt.

 Nesta stepped forward. Then another step. And another. 

Cassian watched her every move, every breath and the anger etched across her brow. He could do nothing but stare at her movements 

He could do nothing but stare at Nesta

Until she was in front of Graysen, faster than anyone could see. 

He watched her dress swish against her curves, he watched her fingers 

Until Nesta smacked him hard enough that his head snapped to the side.

He made a sharp intake of his breath. He had only ever seen her mad, furious, bitching to him or any other male. Never, never had he seen her so calm and burning towards someone else.

To him, she was snarky and he snarked back

To this man, she was calm and collected as her eyes burned into his face. Cassian would have never wanted to be on the receiving end of that look. 

She was devastating. 

 “You never deserved her,” Nesta snarled into the stunned silence as Graysen cupped his face and swore, bending over. Nesta only looked back at me. Rage, unfiltered and burning, roiled in her eyes. But her voice was stone-cold as she said to me, “I assume we’re done here.”

The power uttered in those words. The power in her

All Cassian could do was watch her. Watch her defend her sister to no end, watch as the poor boy looked into her eyes with fear. 

 Feyre gave her a wordless nod. And proud as any queen, Nesta took Elain’s arm and led her from the guardhouse. Mor trailed behind, guarding their backs as they entered the veritable field of weapons and snarling hounds waiting outside 

He enjoyed watching someone else take in the brunt of Nesta’s words and actions. It was entertaining to him to watch another male be weakened by her. He could get used to seeing that quite often. 

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta 

He couldn’t help laughing to himself.

She looked so beautiful when she was angry, he admitted to a small part of himself.

Gods, this women. 

-----

OKAY i know that was probably so bad but I tried? idk tell me what ya’ll thinkkkk i just really wanted this written somewere but admittidly it sounded better in my head haha 

I am just craving so much Nessian stuff at this moment like I am going to BURST where is this book. 

[illyrianbeauty]

A Not So Chance Encounter: Chapter 26

Rhys is persuaded to attend a fundraiser by his cousin Mor. He didn’t expect to meet the girl of his dreams.

Fic Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

Chapter 26: The trouble is, you think you have time

Ok... so it’s been like almost been a year since I’ve update this. Thank you all for being so supportive these last few months! It’s definitely been a struggle, but things are much better now that my Tamlin is out of my life! 

Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel

*** 

Rhys often looked back on his misadventures during his adolescent years and wondered how the fuck he, Az, and Cass were still alive.  Az, arguably the most levelheaded of the family, had often grumbled about his and Cassian’s antics, even going so far as to keep a running tab on the outcomes of their plans, and the inevitable disasters that followed.  Points were earned for both creativity and daring, while any scheme that resulted in major bodily harm, or their parents finding out, resulted in a substantial loss of points.  Last he had checked, Rhys was in the lead, ahead of Cass by a whooping eleven points.  

One of Rhys’s best ideas, and therefore the most idiotic, had led to them breaking into Adventure Island, aptly referred to as Ghost Town in the Sky by Prythian’s elite.  The events leading up to the water park being shut down had become somewhat of an urban legend in their community, and one of the reasons it had since become a popular spot for keggers and raves alike.  The enormous waterslides, a mismatched heap of tarnished metal and graffiti, were as recognizable in Prythian’s skyline as The Heptagon itself, the city’s sleek, pristine capital building.

Born out of severe boredom and an astronomical amount of tequila shots, Rhys had suggested that they climb to the top of The Leviathan, the largest attraction that was still standing in the abandoned park.  Just as Rhys had predicted, Cassian had flashed him a shit eating grin and motioned for Rhys to lead the way. They were nearly to the top of the structure when the rung on which Cassian was standing gave way.  Rhys, a good fifteen feet above Cass, was too far away to do anything except stare in utter horror as Cass dangled from the tips of his fingers, nearly two hundred feet in the air.  By the time Rhys had climbed down, Cassian had already hoisted himself up onto the platform, out of harm’s way.  They had all laughed themselves silly once they were safely on the ground, but Rhys had seen the fear in Cassian’s eyes as the corroded hunk of metal struck the ground far below them.  

That had been the first time in his life that Rhys had felt completely and utterly useless.  He never told anyone, especially not to Cass or Az, but the feeling of inadequacy and helplessness he had felt in that moment, nearly crippling in its intensity, had haunted him for weeks after that reckless night.  

That same feeling, the horrible realization that he was wholly incapable of helping those he loved, settled deep into his bones, into his very soul, as pain flashed across the delicate features of Feyre’s face.    

“You’ve won, Mara.  I’m yours.  Just… just let her go.  Please,” Rhys begged, the words tasing lake ash in his mouth.  Feyre narrowed her eyes, giving him a look that clearly said Shut the fuck up and get me out of here.  Asshole.  Tearing his gaze from Feyre’s, he forced himself to meet Amarantha’s cold, calculating stare.  It was almost poetic, this disaster his life had become.  A nightmare that he couldn’t seem to escape, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried.  His past had been resurrected, brought back to haunt him, and was hellbent on destroying his future.  The future he so desperately wanted to share with Feyre.  He could see it all so clearly.  The life they could have had together, the love they could have shared.  His heart ached knowing it was over, before it even had a chance to begin.  Rhys scarcely dared breathe as he took a single step forward, towards Feyre.   

“Ah ah ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Amarantha chided, slowly running the tip of her blade across Feyre’s bottom lip, not hard enough for it to cut into her flesh, but enough to get her point across.  Rhys raised his hands placatingly, and moved back a fraction of an inch.  

“Good boy,” Amarantha purred, the corners of her mouth twisting into a hateful little smirk.  She grasped Feyre’s chin, wrenching her head to the side roughly.  

“Where shall we begin?” she mused, scrutinizing Feyre’s face as though she were an artist inspecting canvass.  Feyre wrenched her chin from Amarantha’s grasp.  

“You crazy, fucking bitch,” Feyre snarled, her expression nearly feral.  She tilted her head back and spat at Amarantha.  Rhys almost felt like laughing at Feyre’s audacity.  Almost.  The look of unmitigated rage that burned in her eyes made his blood ran cold, stopping the smallest chuckle from passing his lips.  His breath hitched as Amarantha unhurriedly ran a hand across her check, wiping away any traces of the spittle.  Her expression was fierce, a promise of retribution, both swift and brutal, was etched across her features.    

Amarantha clucked her tongue and said, “Naughty, naughty.”  His brave, beautiful Feyre glared defiantly at Amarantha.  The two woman stood there for a moment, regarding each other carefully.  Every single one of his instincts was roaring at him, urging him to get Feyre far away from this place.  Beads of sweat trickled down the nape of his neck, his breathing growing increasingly difficult.    

Faster than he was able to anticipate, she lashed out, her movements both practiced and graceful, and plunged the blade deep into Feyre’s thigh.  Rhys had never heard anything as terrifying, as devastating, as Feyre’s piercing, shrill scream.  His stomach heaved at the site of the pink stiletto handle jutting out of her flesh.  Blood gushed from the wound, soaking the denim of her jeans and pooling onto the floor.   

“Hush now pet, “  Amarantha cooed, caressing Feyre’s cheek.  Her fingers, wet with blood, left crimson trails across Feyre’s skin.  

“What do you want?” Rhys asked, his voice coming out in a hoarse, broken rasp, betraying the fear roiling violently through him.   Amarantha turned to face him fully, ignoring Feyre completely.  If he could just keep her occupied… 

Amarantha cocked her head to the side, considering his question.   

“Why Rhysand, I thought that it was quite obvious,” she purred, taking a step towards him.    Good.  He needed to get her the fuck away from Feyre.   

“Why don’t you just explain it to me,” he said, taking a step back, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly, gauging the distance between her and Feyre. 

“What I want, my love, is for you to suffer,” she said, practically spitting out the last word.  Amarantha closed the distance between them, her eyes never once leaving his.  She stopped only when she was a hair's breadth away.  Her expression was murderous, rage radiating off her in violent waves.  As she leaned towards him, Rhys had to force himself to stand his ground, to not recoil from her touch  Her lips grazed the shell of his ear as she whispered, “I want to watch you break.  I want to watch you crumble as I destroy everyone and everything that you love.”  Her words hit Rhys like a punch to the gut.  Deep down, he had always known that this would happen, had come to expect it.  He had always known that he was tainted, cursed.  Those whom he loved inevitably ended up suffering.  First his mother and sister.  Now Feyre.  He knew that he had absolutely no chance of walking out of this house alive.  It was far too late for him.  But Feyre didn’t need to share his fate.  He would do whatever he had to to make sure she got out of this fucking mess he had gotten her into.  When she was out, when she was safe, he was going to bring this entire fucking house down around Amarantha.  If Rhys was going to hell, then he was damn well going to take Amarantha with him.  

“For fucks sake Rhys, just punch the bitch and get me the hell out of here,” Feyre sobbed, her face growing paler by the second.  The air was heavy with the coppery scent of blood.  It oozed out of the wound and down her leg, pooling on the ground at her feet at an alarming rate.  She was loosing too much, too quickly.  He needed to get her out of here.  Now.  Amaranths’s heels clacked against the cement floor as she stalked towards Feyre.    

“Such dramatics,” she murmured, running a hand through Feyre’s hair.  She shrank back, her body seeming to cave in on itself as Amarantha wound a strand of her golden- brown hair around a finger.  

Now was his chance, while Amarantha was distracted.  He had to do something, before Feyre bled to death before his eyes.  Ever so slowly, Rhys reached for his weapon, praying Amarantha wouldn’t sense his movements.  He removed the gun from his waistband, his eyes never leaving Amarantha’s form.  Rhys winced as he disengaged the safety, the sound seeming to reverberate throughout the entire room.  

“Amarantha, step away from her now,” he said, fighting to keep his hand steady as he aimed the gun directly at her chest.  Amusement danced in her eyes as she took in the weapon he held.  Feyre hissed as Amarantha’s hand grazed across the hilt of the stiletto, still imbedded deeply in her leg, as she walked around to Feyre’s other side.  Fuck.  Amarantha had effectively positioned Feyre between them, using her body like some sort of fucking human shield.  Amarantha smirked at him, with an air of someone who was about to be named the fucking Queen of Prythian, not someone who had a fucking gun pointed at them.  

“You disappoint me Rhysand,” she said, disdain dripping off of her every word. 

“Get away from her,” he growled.  

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, resting her hands lightly on Feyre’s shoulders.  

“Don’t make me shoot you, Mara,” Rhys warned, taking a step towards her.

“Put down the gun Rhysand,” she purred, the tips of her nails scraping along the skin of Feyre’s neck.

“Get the fuck away from her right now,” he yelled, a note of desperation filling his voice.  

“Why would I do that? Things are just starting to get interesting.”  

“Is this just some fucking game to you?” he snapped, losing the tenous hold he had on his temper.  

“Of course it’s a game silly.  One I intend to win.” 

Terror overtook his expression as Amarantha’s hands roughly wrapped around Feyre’s neck.  Her beautiful, stormy grey blue eyes met his, full of fear and another emotion he couldn’t quite name.   

Feyre’s lips trembled slightly as she gasped out, “Rhys, I…”

Before either of them could react, Amarantha snapped Feyre’s neck with a vicious twist of her hands.  Rhys collapsed to the ground, his knees striking the ground with a resounding thud as he watched the light fade from her eyes.  

***

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[nazariolahela]

Something Domestic: Chapter 10

A/N: Hey y'all! This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

NOTE: This chapter contains adult themes. Reader discretion is advised.

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Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Things between Riley and Liam get hot and heavy after a tense standoff.

“That dinner was amazing. I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Hana exclaims as she pushes her plate away. Meanwhile, I scowl down at mine, picking at the entree with my fork. I’ve barely touched my food, too upset to eat. Why was Liam kissing Madeleine? Maybe I saw that wrong. Nope, pretty sure that was a kiss on the cheek. And the look on his face was pretty affectionate. I need to find a way to get him alone and figure out what the fuck is going on. Busboys come around to our table to collect dirty dishes. I drain the remainder of my wine and motion to the waiter for another.

The waiter sets another glass of wine in front of me and I immediately chug it. Hana frowns. “Are you okay, Riley? You should probably slow down. And definitely eat something.” I pick up my fork and violently stab several pieces of broccoli and carrots with it. I shove the vegetables in my mouth and set the fork down.

Dr. Ethan Ramsey takes the podium and begins his speech. He talks about his patients at Edenbrook Hospital and the rookie interns he’s mentored throughout the years. He also speaks about kids who have gone on to become successful physicians at his hospital because of the opportunities granted to them from this scholarship program. All eyes in the room are on him, except for two. I glance to my left and see Liam staring at me from across the room. I look from him to Madeleine, and back to him. Anger burns in my eyes. He gives me a confused look.

After Dr. Ramsey wraps up his speech, I get up from my seat and move to the bar to order another glass of wine. I lean up against the bar and survey the room. Most of the people here are networking. I see Hana talking to an older gentleman before they exchange business cards. I chug my wine and signal for another one when out of the corner of my eye, a tall, blonde man sidles up to the bar and takes the seat next to me.

”So, this is the amazing nanny.” I look to my left to see the man Maxwell pointed out earlier as Liam’s brother perched on a barstool. ”I have to say, my brother has excellent taste,” he says, looking me up and down. Up close, I can definitely see the similarities between the two of them. He has wavy blonde hair and the same piercing blue eyes as his younger brother. The lines around his eyes definitely give away his age. His sharp jaw is covered in a light stubble and he flashes me a mouth of straight white teeth. I understand now why the tabloids (and the ladies) love this guy so much. If I wasn't so hung up on his brother, I could find myself interested in him.

”You must be the infamous older brother I've heard so much about. Riley Brooks. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I extend my hand to shake his, and he brings it to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. My cheeks immediately flush. Obviously from the alcohol.

”Leo Rhys. Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine. It’s not every day a gorgeous woman falls into my lap.”

”Do wha…” before I can finish, he grabs my forearm and pulls me into his lap. I let out a yelp as he wraps his arms around my waist. ”Mr. Rhys. I see your reputation speaks for itself.”

He chuckles and signals to the bartender. She pours three fingers of scotch and slides the tumbler toward him with a wink. He grabs the glass and brings it to his lips, grinning seductively. ”If you really want to know about my reputation, I can show you.”

I look over Leo’s shoulder to see Liam staring at us from across the room, his expression unreadable. Oh, this is going to be fun.

I hide my blush behind my wine glass. ”Mr. Rhys. Are you coming on to me?”

He leans in closer to whisper in my ear and I inhale his scent. His cologne is intoxicating. He slides his hand down my back, coming to rest just above my ass. ”That is an amazing dress, Miss Brooks. Is this what you wear when you watch my niece and nephew? Cause if so, Uncle Leo needs to come and visit more. We could get to know each other over naptime.”

Whoa! This took a turn.

”Mr. Rhys…”

”Call me Leo.”

I clear my throat. “It seems the tabloids were right about you, Leo. I had heard you were a bit of a flirt.”

He laughs and squeezes my ass. “Sugar, you have no idea.”

Okay. As fun as this is, we’re getting a little out of control. ”Leo, I'm flattered, but I take my job seriously. And as much as I’d like to learn more about your ‘reputation,’ I have my eye on someone else.”

He grins. ”Don’t worry. I’m well aware. My brother wouldn't appreciate me trying to steal his girl. Nor would he like it if I banged his kids’ nanny. I'm simply trying to help you out. Don't think I haven’t seen the looks he’s been giving you from across the room. He might have everyone else in this room fooled, but he’s been eye-fucking you all night.”

I look past him and see Liam staring a hole through me. The intensity of his gaze sets my body on fire. His eyes move to Leo, then back to me. I raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to come over here and do something. He rises from his seat as if to head my way when Madeleine appears from behind and loops her arm in his, kissing his cheek.

“Excuse me. I need to get some air,” I say quietly — sliding off Leo’s lap — and make my exit. I spot Hana from across the room and she gives me a concerned look as I sneak out and make my way toward the front entrance of the hotel. I push open the door and the cool night air hits my face. I turn to the sky and let out an aggravated scream. People walking past me on the street shoot dirty looks as they pass. Deep breaths, Riley. Don’t let him ruin your evening. Is he doing all of this to test me? I keep thinking about what he said in the conference room. How his words sounded so sincere. Was it all bullshit? Was the whole court date story just a line to try and get into my pants?

I battle with my inner thoughts. Okay, so what if he is telling the truth? Does that mean that once the divorce is final, we can be together? What happens with my job? I’m pretty sure getting involved with him is a conflict of interest. Even though he’d technically be divorced, people would still frown upon the whole “sleeping with your nanny” thing. And what happens if we can’t make it work? I’ve only been with them for a few weeks, but I already care about Charlotte and Philip. They would be devastated. I lean against the side of the building, struggling to figure out how to handle this whole situation. The realization hits that I’ve been standing here for a while. What time is it anyway? I check the pockets of my dress for my phone and curse when I remember that I left it at the table. After taking a few more moments to calm myself, I head back inside. I’m greeted by the sight of Liam standing in the lobby. My mouth waters as my eyes rake up and down his body. His black suit fits like a glove and I find myself struggling to breathe.

“Where did you go?” he asks. I regain my composure and shoot him a glare before brushing past him. He catches my arm, stopping me. “Riley? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Liam. You tell me?” He stares at me for a long moment, trying to figure out what I’m talking about. I roll my eyes and try to jerk out of his hold. His grip tightens. “What happened to ‘the divorce becomes final on Wednesday?’ It sure didn’t look that way when you were cozying up to your ex.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I reply and pull free from his grip.

He laughs sarcastically. “Yeah, well what about that little show you were putting on with my brother just now?”

“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Since that’s the game we seem to be playing tonight.” I attempt to walk away and he grabs me again, shoving me into the nearby coat check closet.

“Riley. Listen to me. It’s not like that at all. This whole evening is for show. It’s my last gift to Madeleine before the divorce is final.”

Tears prick my eyes. “Your last gift? You don’t owe her anything, Liam. She cheated on you. Or did you forget that?”

He sighs and puts his hand on my chin, tilting my face up. “You’re right. And no, I didn’t forget. But I agreed to ‘play nice’ with her tonight to keep up appearances with her friends and our colleagues. They don’t know about the divorce, and she doesn’t want to tell them until it’s done. She said if I went along with it, she wouldn’t give me any trouble with the custody hearing.”

“And you believe her?”

“I have to. I just want this whole thing to be over, so I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make it happen.” He leans in and presses his forehead against mine. “Please understand me when I tell you that you’re the only woman I want. Any love I had for her is gone, and the only thing I want from her is to go to this hearing, say there are no unresolved matters, and get out of my house.” He reaches out and touches my arm and my body tenses. He notices and pulls away. “Riley, please. It was an act.”

“Well, someone should give you an Oscar, because that was very convincing,” I snap.

His expression hardens and for the first time in weeks, I see a different side of Liam. Sure, I’m being stubborn, but I feel like it’s warranted after being strung along all this time. He gives me an almost unreadable look. “Is that what you think of me?” he barks.

“I’m starting to question everything I think about you.”  

He grabs my hand, pressing it to his crotch. His erection strains against his pants. “You feel this? This isn’t because of her. This is because of you. Every night, when I get myself off, it’s not to images of her. It’s to images of you.” He leans in brushes his lips against mine, whispering, “I don’t want her. I want you right here, right now, in this coat closet.” I look around the closet. It’s small, but there is just enough room for the two of us, even with all the expensive coats and jackets. The hunger in his eyes for me is carnal; it makes me physically shudder.

“Prove it,” I challenge.

He pushes me against a rack of coats, his face against mine, and pulls my skirt up. I wrap my arms around his neck and nibble on his earlobe. He grunts and slides his hands in my underwear, finding my wet clit. I swallow hard, letting my legs fall open at his touch. “You’re so wet for me. Your mouth says that you’re still mad, but your pussy says you’re all mine.” He slips one finger into me and I nearly explode on the spot.

He pulls his hands away and I gasp in disappointment. He smirks and drops to his knees, lifting my skirt and draping it over his head. “Lean back. Grab that closet rod and hold on tight.” He moves his mouth down my stomach before grabbing my underwear with his teeth and dragging them down my legs. Once I step out of them, he puts both hands on each of my legs and slowly drags them up toward the apex of my thighs, spreading my legs. I grip the closet rod, my knuckles turning white, as he rubs his nose along my clit. He lifts one of my legs and rests it on his shoulder. In one motion, he flicks his tongue against my clit and my knees buckle.

“Ohmygods, Liam,” I cry. I immediately slap one hand over my mouth. He laughs softly before giving me another long, luscious stroke. I allow a whimper to slip out, then bite down on my palm to keep from screaming. The last thing we need is for someone to hear us and come barging in. He pushes my dress off his head. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare!”

He grins and returns to massaging my clit with his tongue. He slips a finger inside me and begins fucking me with his hand, causing my body to tighten. It doesn’t take long before I’m gasping and shuddering, my orgasm powering through me. With one last kiss to my inner thigh, he crawls out from under my skirt and rises to his feet.

“Holy shit,” he says, pressing a kiss to my lips. I taste myself on him and it’s the hottest fucking thing ever. I reach down to undo his pants when he grabs my hands, stopping me. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean? It’s my turn to take care of you.”

He shakes his head and kisses my forehead. “Another time. Tonight was for you.”

I nod and take a few moments to come down from my high. We straighten ourselves out and exit the coat closet, making sure no one saw us. He takes my hand in his and we make our way back down the hall towards the ballroom. When we reach the doors, he brings my hand to his lips and softly kisses the back of it.

“If I don’t talk to you again tonight, I’ll see you Monday morning, okay?”

I nod, avoiding eye contact. After what just happened in that coat closet, it’s going to be hard pretending we’re just associates. He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look into his eyes.

“Hey. I know what you’re thinking right now, but remember what I told you. We just have to get through these next few days.” He leans in and presses one last kiss to my lips. “You go ahead. I need to hit the men’s room before I go back in there.”

I smirk. “Behave yourself, Mr. Rhys.”

He groans and taps me on the ass before turning and making his way down the hall towards the bathroom. I chuckle and enter the ballroom, making a beeline for Hana.

“Riley? Are you okay? You ran out of here pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed some air. You ready to get out of here?”

She nods and heads over to our table to retrieve our things. We say our goodbyes and make our way out of the ballroom arm-in-arm. Before the doors close, I take one last look back and see Liam standing next to his brother. He shoots me a wink and my cheeks flush. As Hana and I make our way outside to wait for our ride, I feel a little better about our situation. We just have to get through these next few days. I repeat his words in my mind, willing myself to believe them.

[missbrightsky]

I didn’t know where else to go

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Chapter 3: Feyre

The first thing that came back to me was pain. Dull, throbbing pain everywhere. Deep in my muscles and throughout my head. I couldn’t tell if it was the possible mild concussion or the hangover that made opening my eyes so hard.

A hangover.

I forced my eyes all the way open, wincing back from the bright light that forced its way through the curtains. My movement had me pressing into something warm and large that tightened its grip on me.

That thing was Rhysand fucking Noc.

I slept with Rhysand fucking Noc. The crime boss I was currently trying to put behind bars for life.

And it was the best sex of my life.

  Fuck.

He mumbled something in his sleepy state, somehow pulling me even closer when there was already no space between us. His breath fanned over my neck, sending shivers that traveled down my body into my core. Shivers that woke him up just barely.

“Good morning, darling, did you sleep well?” he managed to get out, voice rough from last night activities.

I froze, my brain unable to make me move or think or breathe.

He felt me go still and shifted so that he was leaning over me, balancing on his forearms. The pressure he exerted on me finally went away, my bruises sang and protested at the lack of contact. I finally returned to my body, air whooshing out of my lungs.

If I had morning breath, he showed no sign of noticing it, and that was enough to set me off.

How dare he look so damn good in the morning?

How dare he take care of me in my injured state?

How dare he.

Even though you were the one to show up on his doorstep last night.

To shove that thought away, I took it out on him. My self-defense training took over, wrapping one leg to hook behind his knee.

His eyes sparked with violet fire, leaning down in response to what he thought was me trying to pull him closer.

In actuality, I was about to flip him on his ass.

Just before his lips met mine, I placed my hands on his shoulders and bucked my hips up, throwing his balance to the left so that I was able to land him flat on his back with me holding him down. He might have had several inches on me, but I had years of training against guys twice my size. It was almost too easy to keep him pinned down; bewildered eyes boring into mine.

The words “I’m leaving” were on the tip of my tongue and promptly died there when I realized that we were both completely naked. A flush burned its way across my face and down my neck when I felt him twitch under me. At least he had the decency to look mildly embarrassed at their compromised conditions.

Not trusting myself to stay on task, I climbed off of him and turned my back, searching the room for my clothes. When I felt a hand graze my neck, I launched myself on the edge and practically sprinted to the bathroom, grabbing clothes as I went.

The door slammed shut behind me, I twisted the lock for a good measure and held my breath. There was no sound of movement from the other side, I slowly released it and dropped my clothes on the counter, assessing what I had managed to grab.

It was not a pretty or comforting sight; my underwear and bloodied shirt was all that was in the room. Which means that I had been drunk enough last night to strip elsewhere until we made it to the bed.

Lucien was going to have this carved onto my gravestone when I died of my captain skinning me over this. I’ve had my fair share of awkward morning afters but this one really took the cake.

“Feyre? Can we just talk?” came his voice. It sounded distressed but I tried not to read into it too much.

“I left some clean clothes on the bed that I think will fit, I’ll be downstairs.”

I waited until I heard his footsteps retreat and thump down the stairs. I released the breath I had been holding. I needed to stop before I passed out and bring on a whole other mess.

Forcing myself to breathe evenly through my nose, I cracked the door open and peeked out the make sure he had truly gone.

He had laid a soft old t-shirt and sweats, both being too big for me but it was better than walking around half-naked while collecting the rest of my clothing.

I tied the sweats as tightly as possible to stop them from slipping and began to creep down the hallway and stairs. If he was distracted and if I was careful enough, I could get past him and from there I would be home free.

He was in the kitchen facing away from me, messing with something by the stove, the smell of coffee, bacon, and toast made my stomach growl, my own body giving my position away.

My mind ran through every curse word I knew, none of them strong enough for the situation.

Rhys had at least thrown on pants but neglected to put on a shirt. Tattoos that I had somehow forgotten about flowed up and over his shoulders. Delicate red lines crisscrossed his back, the spacing exactly matching my fingers.

I fucking scratched him. 

What the fuck is wrong with me.

 I need to get out of here now.

I started to turn towards the living room, hoping there was still a chance to make a clean getaway when his voice washed over me.

“I’m not who you think I am, Feyre.”

It sounded tired, exhausted, world-weary. Like he had seen too much and never got the rest he deserved.

I turned back to him, analyzing his posture. He stayed facing away from me, hands braced on the counter, head bowed as if a great weight rested on his shoulders. Like a fallen angel that you saw painted on church ceilings.

“What do you know about me?” he continued.

I hesitated, caught between wanting to know what he meant and getting out of there. Curiosity took over, driving my feet forward to the kitchen.

“Rhysand Noc. Thirty-two. Head of the Veritas Crime Syndicate. Street name: Lord of the Night.” I had repeated this information every time at countless briefings, his profile was burned into my memory. His frustratingly blank profile.

“Your second in command is Amren Monsea, followed by Morrigan Solis. Cassian Noc and Azriel Noc are your adopted brothers, they train your men and generally do your dirty work.” And that was the end of what I knew, it was impossible to get information out of anyone, what they had came to them by common knowledge and pure luck. His men were ridiculously tight-lipped and loyal, making us ask what the fuck they were so loyal to.

“And why do you think I’m a criminal? Why do you think I do what I do?”

The words were hard to admit, “I don’t know.”

He released a sigh of his own, finally turning towards me. I forced my eyes to stay on his face, trying to read the emotions in it and not get distracted by how the tattoos continued down his chest. I knew I would never be able to get them out of my head until I painted or at least sketched them. Another piece of cannon fodder for Lucien.

“All of that is right, except that Amren and Mor are family too, Cas and Az are the only on paper ones.”

“Oh,” was all I could say. He handed me a cup of coffee and gestured to the cream and sugar that was on the counter next to me. Once I had fixed it to my liking, I took a seat at one of the barstools by the sink, putting a counter between us. It was easier to distance myself from him so that I wouldn’t get too caught up in his story.

“I’m not from Velaris, if my accent wasn’t any indication. Me and my family come from a small country across the world,” then quietly, “it doesn’t exist anymore.

“My parents were very private people, wealthy enough that my brothers and I never had to worry about anything. Mor is my cousin on my fathers’ side, Amren is some distant aunt but she’s always been around. Every childhood has its problems, but for the most part, I was happy. We were all… happy.” The sadness in his voice twisted my heart, making me dread what was coming next.

“It all started out very small, random attacks in towns on the border. We knew we were surrounded by warring countries, but they rarely bothered us. But then people started getting sick, a disease that none of our doctors had ever heard of. It killed so many so fast, our government worked to keep it from the outside world, afraid that the other countries would take advantage of our weakness but also afraid of it spreading across the globe. Through harsh military force, we sealed our borders and tried to let the disease run its course.

“Our researchers did their best to find a cure or vaccine, but it was just too devastating of a disease.”

A deep breath racked his chest.

“One night, my parents rushed into my room, demanding me to pack only the necessities. My mother went to my brothers’ rooms, asking the same of them. My father stayed behind, and as he helped me pack, he explained what was really going on in the country.

“Even though he was not involved in politics, he had several friends that were. They were all saying that the attacks were not random and that the disease was a bioweapon. A high ranking official named Amarantha from a warring country had set her sights on ours.

“She was determined to bring us to our knees and then annex our country into hers. It was some bullshit vendetta passed down in her family. She was cutthroat, bloodthirsty, driven almost to madness by her mission. She staged a coup within our government so that she could easily swoop in to take over.

“It was that night that the coup was happening, there was bloodshed in the streets and fires breaking out, it was chaos. My father said that Amren was taking me, my brothers and Mor out of the country, to somewhere safe. I didn’t understand why he and my mother weren’t coming with us, I still don’t to this day.

“The last time I saw them was through a darkened car window as we drove toward the border, away from my collapsing country. I was 15.”

Tears burned in the back of my eyes, but I was determined to not let them fall. His tragic backstory did not absolve him of the crimes that he committed in my city.

The story wasn’t over yet. “Somehow, Amarantha managed to keep the whole ordeal quiet to the world news, only a few statements saying that they had peacefully absorbed my country into hers due to unstable economic conditions. Everyone forgot about it and moved onto the next piece of gossip.

“Me and my surviving family never forgot. Mor’s parents and mine managed to transfer the majority of their wealth to outside shell companies so that we would be able to continue to live in ease. Amren had all of our names legally changed so that no one would come hunting us from escaping Amarantha’s wrath. That’s why you can’t find any official records on us, they’re either all buried back in my home country or you don’t know the name that you’re looking for.”

A twinge of frustration plucked at my nerves, of course a crime boss wouldn’t use their real name.

“This still doesn’t explain why you’ve been kidnapping people and raiding warehouses,” I accused, trying to stay in my detective mindset.

“A year ago, I got word that she was in Velaris, that she had set her sights on taking this city and then the country. That’s when my family and I decided that we would come here and fight back. We knew that the police and government wouldn’t believe a small group of rich people, especially when they came out of nowhere from a country that no longer exists. History had forgotten us, but we haven’t forgotten what she did.

“Our money made it easy to establish a foothold in the underworld and gain supply lines there. We want to try and avoid all-out bloodshed but we’re preparing for the worst. The people that we have taken are researchers in immunology, disease control, and drug development, all top in their field. They are being cared for in a safe facility, they aren’t too happy about it but some of them were quite excited by the challenge of a new disease.” A small chuckle broke through his serious demeanor. “We have them trying to find a cure and/or a vaccine but it’s slow going right now.”

“The warehouses we were raiding was us looking for any supplies we thought she was shipping in for preparation. We did manage to find some crates of weapons but nothing that indicated she was preparing for a bioattack, and that’s somehow more troubling.

“The past few months you’ve been after us have made it hard to move around, so I’ll give you that. You’re a good detective by the way.”

“Thanks, but it seems I’ve somehow been doing a shitty job of it.”

“Don’t get yourself too down, you were good enough to get the whole story in the past few minutes, I’d say that’s pretty impressive.”

“Yeah by showing up bloody and then sleeping with you,” I blurted. Whoops.

He flushed at the reminder, looking away. “Well I hope it wasn’t completely insufferable for you to do your civic duty then,” he muttered, almost sounding upset at the thought that he got used for information.

Fuck, “It was far from the worst night of my life, I’ll give you that,” I admitted. His earnest retelling somehow made me too honest for my own liking. I needed to get out of his radius before I did something stupid again.

He gave a faint smile at my statement, looking slightly redeemed.

“Anytime, darling,” he teased, trying to shake off the awkward silence that was settling around us like a heavy blanket.

I let out a small, exasperated sigh at the nickname, looks like it wasn’t going away anytime soon. I stayed silent, absorbing the new information while he turned back to the stove, putting on more bacon to fry.

I wasn’t about to stick around to have morning after breakfast with my enemy who was maybe no longer my enemy, I’ll have to figure that out soon before it drove me insane.

Spotting my pants draped over the coffee table (ugh), I padded over to pick them up in which revealed my bra (shit) and then, in turn, revealed my phone (fuck). It thankfully still had some battery in it, the screen flashing with 12 text messages and 3 missed calls from Lucien.

Running late today, huh?

Captain’s not here yet so you might get away with it.

Never mind he just showed up.

Hey if you’re getting coffee, grab me a white mocha?

Feyre? You ok?

Missed call.

Are you sick today? I know you stayed late at the office.

The desk sergeant said you only an hour after me, where did you go?

Missed call.

Oooooo captain is getting angry, hurry your ass up, I don’t want to deal with him.

Seriously tho, where did you go last night?

Oh some hot date you want to surprise me with?

Missed call.

If you don’t call me back in the next 10 minutes, I’m putting an APB out on you.

That last one was from 9 minutes ago. I pressed the call button, he answered on the second ring.

“There you are! Where the fuck are you?”

“Hey Luc, it’s been a rough night. I’ll explain to you when I get to the precinct.”

“Uh-huh, ok, well you don’t have to tell me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll be there in less than an hour, I need to go home, shower and change.”

“So you DID have a hot date last night, knew it.”

I cringed, looking over to where Rhys was trying very hard to look like he was not listening.

“Something like that, look I gotta go, I’ll deal with the captain when I get back.”

“Whatever you say, see you soon.”

He ended the call and the screen went black, there went the rest of the battery.

“I need to leave.”

“Ok, you can borrow the shirt, unless you want to take the subway in the bloody one,” he teased.

I narrowed my eyes at him, not really in the mood to be poked at when I was already in so much trouble.

“Sure, thank you.”

I gathered up my belongings to go change. When I came back down, he had wrapped some bacon and toast in foil so I can eat it along the way. Considerate motherfucker.

“So, are you going to help me?”

I paused, shocked at his question.

“What,” I whispered.

“Are you going to help me stop Amarantha?”

I took him in, looking for any hint of anything other the sincerity, and found none. Every logical part of my brain said no, to not believe what he had told me and to haul him in over the confession. He had given me enough to hold him on until I had a warrant to search his place. I know that some of those guns on the wall weren’t legal in Prythian.

But I couldn’t say no. The threat of her was too great, even if he was making it all up. If I stayed close to him, I could gather evidence to arrest him if he was lying. I was smart enough to stay safe, as long as I didn’t get drunk and sleep with him again.

“Yes. I’ll help you take down Amarantha.”

Next Chapter

[theladyofdeath]

10 Things I Hate About You {1}

An ACOTAR fanfiction. 

Nessian. Feysand. Elriel. Elucien.

Story inspired by the 1999 classic, 10 Things I Hate About You, and a prompt from anon.

Summary: Cassian gets dared to convince the university’s notorious bitch to attend the Greek winter formal with him. Elain is conflicted between her lifelong crush or the boy with the hazel eyes who makes her feel like more than just a pretty face. Feyre finds herself captivated by her school’s new janitor, but little does she knew that he’s not employed there by choice.

Warning: Rated M for mature.

Author’s Note: WELCOME. Get ready for a hell of a ride. I love to know your thoughts! + comment or send an ask if you want to be tagged.

Nesta loved music.

There was something soothing about a song that could completely enthrall an average person within the first few notes. Nesta would close her eyes, lie on her bed, and listen for hours.

In her studio apartment, she had built floating shelves along one wall, that ranged from the floor to the ceiling. Vinyl records and cds were organized in alphabetical order, by genre.

No one else was allowed to touch them.

Not that she had that many visitors.

But, it was why she had left her last roommate and begun to live alone.

An old, beat up piano and an acoustic guitar sat in the corner, between what served as her kitchen and her bedroom.

There were many days when Nesta wouldn’t even step out of her apartment, or days when the only time she would leave would be to go to the old record store on the corner.

At least, that’s how it was during the Summer months.

Now, it was September and the first day of her senior year at VU had approached. One more year. All she had to do was get through one more year, and she never had to step foot in an educational facility ever again.

It was about damn time.

Nesta had always hated school. Unfortunately, many believed it was necessary for future success.

Nothing like getting into debt that is forever impossible to pay off, just so you can one day make enough to, hopefully, survive.

It was a fucked up system, but Nesta endured it, nonetheless.

One day, she was going to open up her own music store. She was going to be a business owner - a successful one, unlike her father.

Her father stupidly ran his own business into the ground and was so devastated that he neglected to take care of his three children.

She would never be like her old man.

Nesta dropped her towel in front of her mirror and looked at her body. She was much too thin for her liking. She practically had the ass of a twelve-year-old boy. Tilting her head, she took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her lips.

Maybe she should start eating more.

Too bad food was so damn expensive and she had just spent five hundred dollars on books for the semester.

Fucked. Up. System.

Nesta pulled on a pair of jeans and decided on a long-sleeved black tee. She hated how college boys neglected to hide their wandering eyes, so Nesta dressed to avoid such altercations at all costs.

After grabbing her book bag off her couch, she was walking through the warm Velaris streets, her hair still damp from her shower.

She glanced at her phone screen. She had ten minutes to make it to her 9 a.m. class.

After a short curse, she picked up her pace.

She had lived on campus for the first two years but wasn’t a fan of it. Campus life typically revolved around idiot boys pretending to be men and girls who snuck out after hours. Her roommate, the one who touched her records, had a squeaky bed with heavy movement.

It squeaked often.

Although it was more expensive, Nesta decided to live alone just outside of campus. Her apartment was convenient - next to campus, next to the diner in which she worked, and walking distance to the music store. Although she had a car, she rarely used it.

But as her legs began to grow tired, she wondered why.

Her 9 a.m. class was on the far end of campus, so she hurried through a series of courtyards before finally reaching the old, looming brick building.

She pulled out her phone and pulled up her schedule as she entered. British Literature 1. Room 303.

There was a line at the elevator, so she took to the staircase.

She had two minutes to get to the third floor.

And she would have made it if it weren’t for him.

“Hey,” he said, stepping in front of her when she made it to the third floor. “Greek night is tonight. Come?”

Nesta tried to step past him but he followed her lead, handing her a flyer.

“Move,” she snapped.

He grinned, and she met his eyes for the first time. Hazel, bright. His shoulder length hair was a deep, dark brown.

His smile was beautifully dangerous, beautifully horrid.

“I’m going to be late, asshole,” she scowled. “Move.”

He folded up a flyer and stuck it in the side pocket of her backpack. “Fine. See you later.”

“No, you won’t,” she mumbled, knocking into his shoulder as she hurried past him.

She could hear his laughter follow her until she walked into room 303.

~~~~

Rhysand entered Amarantha’s office, already wanting to puke.

She was sitting behind her desk, her red-gold hair in a tight braid. Her eyes met his and she grinned.

“Ah, Rhysand,” she crooned. “You’re late for your first day on the job.”

Rhys shut the door but stayed near it as he replied, “Considering school has been in session for an hour, I assumed it would be okay.”

She raised a brow. “I’ll allow it, just this once.”

He gave her a curt nod.

“Here are your keys,” she said, tossing a ring across the room, which he easily caught. “There is a closet by the gym with all of your supplies. I expect you here from eight to five every day, Monday through Friday. Any step out of line, Rhysand, and you will be sorry. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” he replied, through gritted teeth.

She smiled, charmingly. “So uptight. I like you better relaxed.”

“Is small talk a part of my job description?” he asked, irritated.

“No,” she said, smile unwavering. “You may leave.”

“Fine,” he said, opening her door.

“And Rhysand?”

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

“Say goodbye before you leave this afternoon,” she said.

Rhysand shut the door quietly behind him.

He attempted to reel in his emotions as he strode through the silent hallways. Three years ago, he had been a senior at North Velaris High. Three years ago, he thought he’d be nearing the end of his college career at twenty-one. But, now, he was a janitor.

It’s not that he had anything against janitors.

He actually respected them greatly. They had to clean up some pretty horrible shit, after some pretty disrespectful teenagers.

But, he had never imagined himself as one.

Until now, he was going to VU for psychology. He had worked his ass off year round, even taking Summer classes.

But then, Summer came, once more, and Amarantha…

Knew.

She knew, and she held it over him. She hadn’t been his principle, she was only a few years older than he was. Rumor was, her father got her the job. It was her first year, and she had taken Rhysand with her.

She was keeping him close, keeping him near so she could watch his every move.

And he wouldn’t have done it unless he had to, wouldn’t have taken the job and abandoned everything else if he didn’t believe her threats.

He was caught up in a dangerous game.

A game he hadn’t even wanted to play in the first place.

Rhysand found his way to the janitor’s closet by the gym. After attempting half the keys on his key ring, he finally managed to get it open.

It was filled with supplies, ancient supplies, all that had been used by his father. He stepped inside and flipped on the light switch, brushing his fingertips along the broomsticks and the rags that lined the shelves.

There was a schedule posted on the wall in familiar handwriting.

Handwriting that Rhysand had grown up seeing.

Handwriting that belonged to a man he’d never see again.

Without giving it too much thought, he slipped the coveralls over his sweatpants and teeshirt before tending to his duties.

~~~~

The day passed quickly for Elain Archeron.

She was so busy prepping for Greek night that she’d barely made it to her afternoon class, and when it was over, she ran to Greek Row and into the house of Alpha Delta Pi, greeting her sisters before grabbing a clipboard and beginning her checklist.

It was nearly half an hour after four when two familiar faces showed up on the lawn.

Elain grinned, running to the curb. “So? I just hung the banner. What do you think?”

Feyre nodded in approval as Nesta glared at girls in passing.

“It’s beautiful, Elain,” Feyre smiled. “You did a great job. Sorry we couldn’t make it here earlier, tryouts went longer than I thought.”

Elain had almost forgotten that Feyre was trying out for the varsity soccer team. In her will to get everything set up, it had slipped her mind.

“How’d it go?”

“Good,” Feyre beamed. “They’re posting spots tomorrow. They also let me into two art classes this semester, since I finished all my math credits last year. And we got a hot, new janitor. So, overall, not a bad first day.”

Elain huffed a laugh. “That’s great, Feyre. Only one more year until you’re here with me.”

Nesta hadn’t said a word.

She hated the Greeks and everything they stood for, hated that Elain had spent three years in ADPi, even if their mom had been a part of the same sorority during her time at VU.

“I’m going to go see if anyone needs help,” Feyre smiled, hurrying across the yard.

“She’s brainwashed,” Nesta mumbled.

“Don’t be so hard on her,” Elain scolded. “Just because this isn’t your thing doesn’t mean it can’t be hers.”

“She only wants to join because of you and mom,” Nesta said, crossing her arms. “I mean, look at all of this. You’re all working your asses off to have a bunch of wannabe's ask you a million questions in five minutes, then leave.”

“If you don’t want to be here, why’d you come?” Elain asked, refusing to get angry, but growing frustrated.

“Feyre wanted to come,” she shrugged. “I’m not letting her walk around a college campus alone.”

“She wouldn’t be alone. She’d be with me.”

“You’re busy,” Nesta said. “Aren’t you going out with Vanserra tonight?”

Nesta couldn’t help the way she was. Or, maybe she could and just didn’t want to.

The way she said Vanserra made his name sound like filth.

“Yes, and I’m very excited about it, so it’d be nice if you were excited for me, too.”

“Excited about what?” Nesta scoffed. “Going out with a guy who only wants to take you to dinner so he can leave before breakfast?”

Elain’s brows furrowed. “He’s not like that. He’s not like the rest of them.”

“They’re all like that,” Nesta snapped, before pulling out her phone and sitting on the curb.

Elain sighed, catching the glimpse of a visitor.

He was wearing his typical, black jeans, which had rips in the knees. His boots were old, dingy, falling apart. He wore a plain black tee with a plaid button-down tossed over his shoulder.

Nesta looked up from her screen, fury igniting. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I see you came,” he winked. “It was because of my flyer, wasn’t it?”

Nesta chuckled. “You’re in a fraternity? Seriously?”

He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he looked up. “Hey, Elain. Lovely to see you, as always.”

Elain smiled, even though she felt the need to roll her eyes. “Hi, Cassian. All set up for the night?”

“Nothing fancy,” he shrugged. “Although, there is a party afterward. You should come.”

“I have plans,” she said, politely declining.

Cassian smiled down at Nesta. “How about you?”

“I’d rather bathe in gasoline and jump into a fire,” Nesta spat.

He chuckled and walked away, hands in his pockets.

“He doesn’t look like he’d be a frat boy,” Nesta said after he left.

“Kappa Sigma,” Elain said. “Party frat. We don’t take them too seriously.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, probably wondering why someone would take any fraternity or sorority seriously.

“You know, you probably would have liked it if you finished rush week freshman year,” Elain noted, before crossing her arms and walking toward the house. “At least I made it.”

~~~~

Nesta sat on the curb for a long while, watching as hopeful freshman went from house to house on Greek row.

She had been in their shoes once. Four years ago, she had walked the same walk on Greek row, excited to follow in her late mother’s footsteps.

She hadn’t made it through Rush, though.

She had left.

Had secluded herself.

Had begun to push everything and everyone away.

That week had changed her.

Feyre plopped down next to her on the grass just as the sun began to set. “I think I’m going to stay for a little while. I can get a ride home from one of the girls. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“It’s a school night.”

“Have I ever proven that I’m not responsible?”

Nesta glared at her youngest sister.

Feyre glared back.

She wasn’t wrong. Feyre was probably the most reliable out of all of them.

“Fine,” Nesta said, standing to her feet and brushing off her jeans. “Make good choices.”

Feyre lifted a brow. “Fine. You too.”

Nesta walked back to her apartment, alone, as the Velaris starlight made its appearance.

~~~~

Chapter two coming soon.

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @photofeesh @mariamuses @queen-archeron @agel-yan  @julesherondalex @rhysismydaddy @poisonous00 @katshrev         @girl-who-reads-the-books @a-trifling-matter @kickassunicorn  @illyrian-highfae @light-in-the-shadows72 @abimomeopectore @cjcraiggchiefofstaff        @empress-ofbloodshed  @outofstyles13  @overgrown-bat @thebitchupstairs @breccia-domain    @ladyblackstairs  @nish247  @my-fan-side  @panda3506 @awesomethreedragons  @hawkingeloise @feysand-dot-acotar  @darknessinthediamond @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @illyrianbae99      @i-look-like-a-mess  @my-parabatai-is-a-herondale @justacatastrophe @sofyyyd  @sannelovesreading  @kylizzles @kiss-my-maas @inrealliampain     @alien-from-pluto-writer @corpdemarvel @lorcanswife @aelinsaesthetic @illyriangarbage 

[tessalivesandbreathesbooks]

Love at Last

Love as Last is an AU set in the human world where you're going to find characters from both, ACOTAR and ToG. You'll learn the life and struggles of the characters as the story progresses.

Today I’ve started college again. I’m on my third year of Med School which means I’m fucked. Exams, projects are all coming after me. I already miss summer, you should have seen the pile of notes and textbooks I already have on my desk, it’s insane. I’ll try to update this beloved story of mine as soon as I can and I’ll also try to read as often as possible too. If you’re going through this too, well, I WISH YOU THE BEST. YOU CAN DO THIS. WE CAN DO THIS. WE WON’T GIVE UP. If Feyre survived ... what she survived, then we can too! Yay :D

Chapter 15 (AO3)

Feyre's POV

Feyre closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sunlight on her eyes, felt the heat from the sun seep into her body giving warmth to that coldness that had settled deep inside of her. Ever since she broke up with Tamlin there's been a sense of emptiness, a sense of absence that had spread on her chest as if a piece of her heart had been ripped away ... a hole within her soul that was slowly healing as weeks passed by.

A month had passed since then. Since Tamlin attacked her, since their relationship went to pieces, since her world shattered around her ... and although there had been moments in which she had felt so devastated she had barely been able to breathe, she had to admit that among the pain and misery there was also a sense of rightness.

She had done what needed to be done. She had ended a relationship that would have destroyed her otherwise and now she could enjoy her freedom. She hadn't known just how much she had come to rely on Tamlin, how much of herself she had freely given to him to use and bend to his will. She couldn't believe how liberating it felt to be finally be able to do what she wanted. Now she could spend time with her family and friends. With Elain. With Nesta and Cassian. With Mor and Azriel. With Rhysand.

Feyre looked over her shoulder at Rhysand, who was now sitting on the rug next to the bed she was laying on with one of her textbooks in his hands. He looked deep in concentration with his eyes focused on the sentence he was reading.

She had no idea what she would have done without Rhysand. He had been there to hold her and murmur comforting words when Tamlin and she broke up. He had been there when she had broken down and cried after she saw Ianthe and Tamlin kissing only two weeks after they broke up. He had been there to protect her when those jerks at school started to insult her calling her whole for ditching Tamlin for someone like him.

Rhysand was the one thing in her life she could trust would never deceive her.

Feyre laughed under her breath as she heard Rhysand groaning in exasperation. She had to admit that even with his hair mussed, his eyes dulled from exhaustion and his expression set into a frown, he looked handsome.

"Is someone having trouble with a certain set of equations?"

Rhysand shook his head. "This is impossible. I'm going to fail this test."

"Let me have a look."

"No. Let's rest for a while." Rhysand closed the book and turned around to face her with a smile on his lips. He purred. "Why don't you tell me what you were thinking about, Feyre darling?"

Feyre smiled back at him. "Don't you dare, Rhys. We need to study for this."

"Why? You are going to pass and I will fail miserably. There's no point in delaying it."

"Always so dramatic."

Rhysand chuckled. He got up from the floor to sit down next to her on the bed. "But I'm serious, what were you thinking? You had that look on your face."

Feyre sighed and shook her head. "Nothing important, I promise."

Rhys looked at her for a moment before sighing. "Alright then. What else can we talk about? Because I do need a subject change."

Feyre smiled and closed her eyes. "You tell me. You are the expert."

She heard Rhysand as he laid down on the bed next to her. She felt the warmth of his body next to her, heard the slow and quiet sound of his breathing and something within her began to melt.

She couldn't quite grasp what his proximity did to her. She couldn't understand why just the slightest touch of his skin made her feel as if she were on fire or why the sound of his voice made her heart race in her chest.

He made her feel things she'd never thought she would feel again, things long forgotten in the back of her mind.

He made her feel ...

Brave, strong, capable.

Safe, protected.

Cherished.

And most importantly ... loved. He made her feel loved.

When she opened her eyes she found him looking right at her. There was something about the way she was looking at her, with an intensity she had glimpsed from time to time these past days, an intensity she wanted to believe she had imagined because it made her feel jittery and not like herself.

Rhysand's eyes tinkled and he opened his mouth to say something, but was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and the back-and-forth of Nesta and Cassian, which was loud enough to be heard even from her room.

And just like that the intensity was gone from his eyes and whatever she had been feeling disappeared along with it.

Rhysand groaned. "Here they are."

Feyre sighed. "They are so happy now. They make me sick."

Rhysand laughed as he clasped his hands behind his head. "It's just weird. Seeing Nesta happy is weird. I mean, before she was all mean and aggressive and scary, but now she's bubbly and happy. Do you think that's a sign? That the world might be coming to an end?"

Feyre giggled. "Please. Have you seen Cassian? He looked so tough and confident and look at him now. Drooling over a teenage girl with anger issues."

Someone by the door cleared his throat, startling them. "Hey, we can hear you, you know."

Both Feyre and Rhysand whirled around to see Nesta and Cassian by the door. Nesta was shooting daggers at them while Cassian casually leaned on the door frame with a small smile on his face.

Rhysand grimaced. "Did you hear that?"

Nesta simply stared at him. "We did. And you should know I'm as evil and as nasty as ever. You can always push my limits if you want to find out."

"No, thanks."

Cassian chuckled from behind and Nesta turned around to face him, her slightly brow arched. "You have something to say?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing, sweetheart."

Nesta's eyes softened and something like a smile turned at the corners of her lips. "Good." Then she cleared her throat and turned back to them. "Now, you two. Are you really studying? Because it doesn't look like it."

"We are studying." With a groan, Rhysand got up from the bed and stretched. "We were just taking a break."

Cassian arched his brow. "And how long do the breaks last?"

"As long as I see fit."

Feyre rolled her eyes. "It just started, I swear. We've been studying all afternoon."

Nesta nodded. "Great, then come with us."

"Go where?"

"To Velaris, duh." Nesta stared at her. "If you have been studying all afternoon then you need a break. A real break."

Feyre shook her head. "No, Nesta. You know we can't. We have the exams in a few days and-"

"And nothing. You're coming, whether you like it or not." Nesta crossed her arms. Her gaze was firm and hard on her as she continued. "I'm worried about you, okay? You've been stuck here at home studying all day and all night for weeks. You need to get out for more than go to school. You need to breathe fresh air from time to time."

"I'm okay, Nesta."

"No, you're not." Nesta sighed and bit her lip. "It'll be just for a few hours, okay? You can go back to hiding in your room later."

"I do not-"

"We'll go." Rhysand concluded firmly next to her. Nesta turned around to look at Rhysand, which at the moment was looking right back at her. "Just let us get ready. You go and we'll catch up with you later."

Feyre sighed. "I'm not going any-"

Nesta cut her off. "Yes, you are. And okay, we'll do that." She turned around to look in Cassian's direction. "Let's go."

Cassian smiled. "Alright." He took Nesta's hand in his and looked at both of us. "See you two later."

Feyre looked at Nesta as Cassian led her away. There was something about the way she moved now ... as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. There was a serenity in her eyes and a joy in her expression that she had never thought she would see. It explained a lot about what she was feeling and what Cassian meant to her. He had become her world ... as much as Rhysand had become hers.

Feyre sighed and looked over at Rhysand. "You're not allowed to make decisions that involve me, especially not when I have no intention of actually doing them."

Rhysand arched his brow. "It'll be just a few drinks to take our minds off things for a bit. We've been studying for hours, we need it. And besides, it'll also help to ease some of Nesta's worries."

"She has nothing to worry about."

"Hasn't she? Because you haven't been out of your house in weeks."

"I have left my house."

"School doesn't count."

Feyre rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Rhysand shook his head. "You are the most stubborn person I've ever met. Why won't you let us take care of you? What's wrong in that?"

"I don't need anyone taking care of me."

Rhysand's eyes hardened. "But that's the thing, Feyre, you do. And you know what? I'm not going to let you stay here to rot any more. This has to stop."

Feyre blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I'm not going to let you stay here at home hiding any longer. You are going out even if I have to drag you out myself."

"You can't make me."

Rhysand's eyes shot to her, something like anger shining like a flame in them. "Look, Feyre, I get it. I know what you're going through. I do. Which is why  you should start listening to me. I know what it's like to feel as if everything had been taken away from you, to feel your whole world crashing down on you leaving you breathless and all kinds of scared. I lost my parents when I was a kid, I was sent to a whole new city and guess what? I was not prepared. All I wanted to do was cry and hide in a corner, but I didn't because I had people that helped me through it. They didn't let me crawl under my bed and cry, they didn't let me destroy myself into nothing and now I'm not going to let you either."

"Rhys-"

"And I know it's not the same situation. Not at all. I lost my parents and you ... you were abused for weeks and almost raped by the person you loved the most. I know it's not the same, but ... I believe what you're feeling is just as painful as what I felt back then."

"Rhys-"

"I guess what I'm trying to say is ... I want to help you. I don't want to see you like this anymore and  I don't know what to do or say to make it alright because there is nothing, really. Because it's your choice. You are the once who decides whether to get up and fight or keep dying inside. I could stay here and talk about you all day and all night to make sure you understood how amazing and wonderful you are. Because you are ... you are, Feyre. And I wish you could see it. I wish you could see what everyone else is seeing because if you did then you might start to understand us. You are so fucking beautiful, Feyre ... please don't let you go to waste."

Rhysand's chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. Their eyes were locked and Feyre felt a warmth spreading through her that made her feel completely out of breath. She felt every thought, every word she had wanted to say out loud disappear from her mind, emptying it from everything but Rhysand and his words and their meaning.

Finally, Rhysand exhaled a deep breath and looked away. "So, we're going out. Alright?"

Feyre just nodded.

Rhysand's POV

Rhysand's expression was inscrutable as he manoeuvred down the road to Velaris. He was a genius when it came to hiding his feelings and emotions. After years and years of practicing he had managed to assure himself of it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Feyre leaning against the seat. She was looking through the window with a distant look on her face. She looked deep in thought, probably trying to decipher what he had said before.

He had been angry and out of control because he had detested to see her that way. She looked better each day that passed, but every time he remembered what she had been through he wanted to punch Tamlin with enough force to knock him off his feet. She hadn't deserved any of it. Feyre was ... she was ... she was everything he had ever wanted and couldn't have.

He should have never said those words earlier. Not because he didn't mean it ... because he did. He loved her. He loved her more than he had ever loved anyone. But what she needed now was a friend, someone to rely on, someone who help her while she healed on her own.

And if that's what she needed, that's what she would get.

Even if it broke him.

Even if it cost him everything.

Feyre's POV

Velaris looked even more crowded than she remembered. Last time, the crowd had been considerable, but now ... the place was bursting with life. Everyone was cheering and toasting, groups of every age and genre celebrating together. Curiosity must have shown on her face because Rhysand, who was sitting right next to her, leaned over her seat and whispered. "It's Starfall."

"Star-what?"

"Starfall. It's a celebration in which we praise the migration of spirits across the sky."

Feyre frowned. "Migration of spirits? Is this some kind of religious thing?"

Cassian chuckled. He was sitting in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest. "He's just messing with you. Starfall is what we call the meteor shower that occurs tonight."

Nesta rolled her eyes in exasperation. "That's even more stupid."

Cassian smirked. "Have you even been in one?"

"No, and you know why I haven't? Because they are annoying. You are supposed to sit on your ass and wait for hours just to see the tiniest speckles of white falling off the sky. And oh let's not forget the wish part. Because, of course, a wish made to a falling star has to come true. The whole thing is just so damn stupid."

Cassian shook his head in amusement. He slowly reached over, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and then laid his arm casually around her shoulders. "You know what? We are staying tonight, we're going to watch the whole thing and you, sweetheart, are going to love it."

Nesta's lips tugged up at the corner. "You are such an ass."

Cassian chuckled and bent over to kiss a now smiling Nesta who quickly kissed him back. After a while, Cassian broke the kiss and leaned over to whisper something in Nesta's ear that made her immediately laugh.

Rhysand sighed and murmured. "What are we even doing here?"

Feyre shrugged. "You tell me. This was your idea."

"This is not what I had in mind. I wanted to have a few drinks with friends, I never intended to be the third wheel of some horny teenagers."

"Then you are more stupid than I thought." Feyre laughed at the expression that crossed Rhysand's face. "Come on, Rhys. Just ... look at them. They can't help to be happy. They've just found this wonderful thing between them and now they want to get the most of it. It's not their fault, we've all been there."

Rhysand groaned. "I know, I know ... they are just so annoying."

"They are," she conceded. "But you have to shut up and let them be."

Rhysand shook his head in amusement. "Alright, I will."

"Thank you."

"But that doesn't mean we shouldn't have some fun tonight."

Feyre arched her brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean we shouldn't stay here. Let's leave them alone, let them enjoy their night and their hormones ... while we get the most out of tonight."

Feyre narrowed her eyes. "What are you thinking?"

"It's Starfall, Feyre darling. Let me show you what it truly means."

Feyre bit her lip. "I don't know."

"Do you trust me?"

Feyre shook her head and slowly began to smile. "Against my better judgement, yeah, I do."

Rhysand smiled back. "Good. Then leave the rest to me."

Feyre's POV

It had taken them very little convincing. Nesta had been wary of letting her go, but she hadn't complained when Rhysand had explained what he wanted to do and where he meant to take her. She had merely told him to bring her home before dawn ... or face the consequences.

She knew Nesta would never admit it, but Feyre had no doubt in her mind that she was fond of Rhysand. It was common of Nesta to act as if everything and everyone bothered her, but that was no more than an act. Besides, she was certain that if she hadn't trusted Rhysand, she would have never allow her to go alone with him.

Feyre opened her eyes and relished in the cover of darkness, in the beauty of the night sky that surrounded them. Rhysand had taken her to a secluded place in the woods, a small clearing in the forest he had discovered a few years ago. Very few knew of its existence apparently which made it even more perfect. As she laid down on the grass, Feyre could listen to the sound of rustling leaves, the sound of animals running up and down the trees or hiding in the bushes, she could enjoy the chill of the fresh night air on her face and the brightness of the stars shining above her.

It was all kinds of incredible.

As they had wandered off to the woods, Rhysand had promised she wouldn't regret coming with him to watch the meteor shower ... and he certainly hadn't let her down.

"What are you thinking, Feyre darling?"

Without turning her head to look at him, Feyre asked. "How did you find this place?"

Rhysand closed his eyes. "Just found it one day. I don't exactly remember why I came here, but I remember that when I found it, I was instantly captivated by it. It's had been my secret place for a long time, the place I visited when I was mad or sad or just wanted to be left alone."

Feyre considered. "It sounds important to you."

"It is."

Feyre rolled her head to get a better view of him. "And now you trust it to me?"

Rhysand opened his eyes and  met her confused gaze. "I would trust you with my life, Feyre."

Feyre gulped. "You would?"

Rhysand simply nodded.

They stared at each other in the darkness.  As she gazed into the abyss that were his eyes, she felt petrified. She had known what she was feeling for a long time now. She had known and chosen to ignore it because she had never thought Rhysand would ever feel the same way. She had pushed it aside and waited for it to disappear, wished for it to disappear everyday to no avail. There was no getting rid of what she was feeling, there was no way to make what she felt towards the male before her fade into the night.

She didn't know if he felt the same way. She might never know unless she pushed him to tell her and while that scared her, while that frightened her so much it left her breathless, she had learnt that if you want something, if you truly want it, you have to fight for it.

So she said. "What is it you want, Rhys?"

Rhys' pupils dilated slightly as he understood what the question meant. He opened his mouth, then closed it and stayed quiet for so long she thought it was over, that she had been wrong, that he didn't feel anything at all.

Feyre closed her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest wildly and uncontrolled. She staggered. "I ... I'm sorry, I didn't mean - I mean, I did, but-"

"Stop talking."

She felt rather than saw Rhysand coming over to her. She felt his body settling over hers and his breath warming her lips as he leaned over her. When she opened her eyes, he was kneeling before her, both of his hands on her face moving to touch her face. She managed. "Rhys -"

"What is it that you want, Feyre?"

Feyre blinked. "Why should I answer a question you had no answer to?"

Rhysand grinned and his amethyst eyes shone in the moonlight. "Just do it."

Feyre looked deep into his eyes and for once in a long time she was not afraid. "I want you. I want you, Rhys."

Rhysand inched closer to her, their lips barely touching. "I've been waiting so long for you to say that. You have no idea, Feyre."

Feyre brought her face to his and planted a smouldering, open-mouthed kiss on his lips. Stars kept falling down the sky as Feyre and Rhysand kept kissing in the moonlight, as they finally gave into each other.

It seemed to her that Nesta was wrong.

Wishes did come true under the sky.

[missarcheron]

Huntress in the Snow

What if Rhys had met Feyre back when she was still a little girl, alone in the woods and hunting for her family? Inspired by this beautiful work of art, here’s the hypothetical meeting between an abused, tired Rhysand and a tiny Feyre.

 Rhysand rarely leaves Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain.

He rarely leaves her bedroom, for that matter. Life is just a frenzy of lies, sex, dancing, drinking, hatred and torture these days and he has long given up on making his existence bearable. He doesn’t really care anymore.

He doesn’t care for the stares they give him, the names. He doesn’t care for those pitying glances. He doesn’t care when Amarantha is straddling him, using him, her fingers pulling his hair.

Spring Court is covered in masks right now, but Rhysand might as well be wearing one, too. He doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror anymore. He murmurs things in her ears, he lies, promises, he kills on her behalf, he smirks and laughs and betrays, and he isn’t sure he can ever get back from that.

He’s doing it for Velaris and his beloved ones. That is what he tells himself, over and over and over again, when he’s buried inside her or when he snaps someone’s neck. It’s the only reason he’s still holding on. Velaris. Mor. Amren. His brothers. His court.

Court of Dreams. It’s like a bitter joke, ashes in his mouth. He doesn’t know if he will ever see them again. Doesn’t know if he wants to- after what he’s done.  

He probably won’t ever see them again. This nightmare will never end.

Life is miserable. Rhys doesn’t care.

With the way things are developing right now, his old enemy Tamlin is going to join them in a few years- 42 years have passed and that fool, that idiotic fool hasn’t managed to break the curse. If he realizes that he could save them all, Rhysand doesn’t know. Perhaps Tamlin is just trying to protect those he loves as well. Perhaps he’s trying- perhaps he’s fighting.

Perhaps he’s not.

Rhysand doesn’t care.

He also doesn’t care that Amarantha sends him to the human realm today. To find a group of fae from Dawn Court that have escaped; find them, bring them to her, watch her torture and kill them and fuck her afterwards. It’s nothing to him. He’ll play his part. He’ll be urgent and passionate- I’ve been aching for you, my queen, my everything, woman of my dreams- only you, only ever you- he’ll make her scream his name and kiss her afterwards.

All the while, he’ll be somewhere else. He’ll be talking to Amren, quietly. He’ll be drinking with Cass and Azriel, playing cards. He’ll be dancing with Mor. He’ll be walking through the streets of Velaris.

That’s the only thing he has. And even those memories are further and further away from him with each passing day. Rhysand is afraid that he’ll wake up some morning and find that there’s no fight left inside him- that he’ll just give up.

He looks around.

He’s in a forest, close to the wall. It’s spring, but snow still covers the trees and the ground. He will encounter no humans here- none of them would be so foolish, so daring to get this close to the wall. He sits down next to a stream, closes his eyes and just doesn’t think. A few, scattered moments of peace- he takes what he gets.

Just a few moments. Then he’ll hunt those poor bastards down.

 Feyre is twelve, and she’s been roaming this forest for a year now. She’s been following the village’s hunters; copy the way they set their snarls, carry their bows. She has a dream: she’ll hunt so much food her father will get better again. Nesta and Elain will get fatter, rounder, and they will both find very handsome men to marry. Then it’ll be Feyre and her father, and she’ll hunt for him while he reads at home, and in the evening, she’ll cook for him and paint a little.

So far, she hasn’t ever shot anything bigger than a rabbit, and that one time was on accident. The snarls are what works better.

Nesta turned fifteen yesterday. Feyre knows her sister has hoped their father would say something, but he has forgotten all of their birthdays. Nesta has looked like murder all day long. Elain tried to talk to her, but she locked herself in their room.

Elain and Nesta are very sad, Feyre knows that. They remember more of their mother and they talk about her sometimes, exchanging bits and pieces of who she used to be. In the beginning, right after they moved into the little hut at the village’s edge, they tried to be there for her- but they have too much to worry about, now. They never even play with each other. They don’t thank her when she brings food home.

Feyre makes her way through the trees. She must always stay away from the wall- dangerous creatures are there, fae. She’s so afraid of them she has nightmares sometimes.

But today, some inner voice tells her that the wall is not dangerous. That no fae will hurt her. And almost by themselves, their feet make her walk closer and closer to the buzzing, invisible thing that separates their human world from the fae.

When she comes onto a clearing, she sees a man. He is sitting on a fallen tree branch next to a river and his head his lowered, almost as if he were praying. He doesn’t carry weapons, but his clothes are fine and elegant- he must be a rich merchant, lost in the woods.

Perhaps she’ll get a reward if she leads him out of here. Curiosity gets the better of her. “Are you okay?”, she calls over to him, and that is the exact same moment he looks up and meets her eyes.

It knocks the breath out of her. He’s a fae. His ears are long and pointed, and there is something otherworldly in his features that marks him as different.

This is it. She is going to die. Nesta and Elain and her father will starve because she’s not there anymore. How could she be so careless, hunting so close to the wall?

The man takes in her unwashed hair, her threadbare clothes, her make-shift bow. “You should not be here”, he rasps. “You should run.”

Feyre tries to be a still as she can be. The man doesn’t get up, doesn’t come closer. As if he knows that she’ll start screaming if he does.

“Go”, he commands, angry. “Don’t ever come here again. Understand me? Don’t go into the forest at all. Stay at home.”

And she should do just that, run until she’s far away from him, but…

“I have to”, Feyre says. “I have to hunt.”

“No, you don’t. A small girl like you should stay with her family.”

“You don’t understand.” She steps closer, her bow still ready in her hand. “My family will starve if I don’t. I am doing all of this for them.”

The man breathes in, sharply, and she swears that she sees devastation in his eyes. “What?”

“My father can’t take care of us.” Why the words are spilling from her mouth like that, Feyre doesn’t know. “And my sisters are scared. I have to be strong, even when I’m afraid- for them.”

The man stares at her.

“Are you going to hurt me?”, Feyre asks. She tries to hide that she is scared of that fae. She tries to pretend that she could shoot him, if she wanted.

He shakes his head, slowly. “Of course not.”

“What are you doing here, then? Shouldn’t fae be on the other side of the wall?”

The man smiles a bitter smile. “Usually, we should. But I…was allowed a little freedom today.”

“Are you a hunter, too?”

He closes his eyes. “I suppose.”

“Then you’re a little bit like me.”

“Well.” He laughs. “Not really. But I am doing this for my family, too. All of this.”

Feyre doesn’t know why, but for some strange reason, it makes her very happy that the man has a family. That he’s not alone.

“That’s good”, she smiles. “You should go be with them, not sit in the forest by yourself.”

He nods. “You’re right, of course. As should you.”

Feyre steps as close to him as she dares. The fae is very pretty, she realizes. All the older village girls would probably be in love with him. But he looks sad, she thinks, and she doesn’t know why, but it makes her heart ache a little. She wants him smiling.

“Here.” The fae nods his head and suddenly, a basket filled with bread and meat appears in the snow. “Take that home to your family. It should give you enough food to eat for the next few weeks. I can’t- I wish I could do more. But my hands are quite literally tied.”

“Is this some sort of trick?”, Feyre asks. “Some bargain? Some fairy magic?”

The fae shakes his head, a flicker of amusement on his face. “No bargain, little girl. Although I’m impressed you’re already so wary for your age.”

Feyre picks up the basket. This is better than the time she shot the rabbit. This is all of her birthdays combined. “Thank you- what’s your name?”

“Rhys”, he says, looking at his hands. “That’s what my friends call me.”

“That family you told me about?”

“Yes”, Rhys says softly. “My family.”

Feyre smiles at him. It comes so easy, the smile- because something deep inside her core tells her that she doesn’t need to be afraid of him. And she trusts that. “Thank you, Rhys. Your family is lucky to have you. You just saved mine today.”

He still looks so very sad. “Then that’s something”, he says hoarsely. “Before you go- one thing.”

And suddenly there are talons in her head, and she can’t move anymore.

“It’ll be over in a few moments”, Rhys says. “But I can’t let you remember me. She’ll find out, somehow. She’ll break you just for fun.”

Some white blanket is thrown over her mind, and the next second, Feyre finds herself alone in the woods.

What just happened? Why is she here?

Oh, yes- she remembers- the rich merchant who she met on her way here showed mercy and handed her the basket-

What on earth is she doing so close to the wall?

Feyre turns around and runs. Today is such a good day. She feels happy, not just because of the gift…but because of something else.

And maybe she can get through all of this.

Maybe she’ll find a way out of this someday.  

 Rhys has never done something like this, but he forces himself to forget her. He pushes her image into the very, very back of his mind, he uses his magic on himself and forces himself to forget about that girl in the snow, that tiny, little huntress.

Because for some reason, he knows that she is important. For what, he doesn’t know. But he’ll do what it takes to keep her hidden from Amarantha.  

It makes him cry out in pain to use those talons on himself, but-

Rhys finds himself standing somewhere in the forest.

Why is he still here? He should go- hunt those Dawn fae down.

There’s a weird feeling of goodness in the back of his mind. Of happiness. And he remembers- that those he loves are out there. That somehow, someday, he’ll see them again. That there is a reason for everything.

He feels hope, and he doesn’t know why.

I have to be strong, even when I’m afraid- for them, whispers a voice inside his head. He knows who said it-

A girl-

He can’t remember. But that feeling lingers.

That night, when Amarantha is on top of him, moving and moaning about how good this feels after a kill, all he can think is the clock is ticking, you bitch. You’ll go down soon. Someone will come and end you.

When she leaves him, he showers and washes her scent off him. Someone is out there, he thinks. Someone good. This world is not completely lost. And for some reason, he cares again. Cares about what happens. Cares about who wins. Suddenly, he wants to fight.

 That night, he has the strangest dream. It’s a hand, unpacking a basket full of bread, apples and meat. A small hand; a child’s hands. But it makes him so inexplicably happy he thinks about that dream for days.

 A few years later, when Rhysand has long forgotten about everything, he dreams of that same hand again.

Only this time that delicate, female hand is drawing flowers on a table.

And something inside Rhysand whispers, soon.

Soon.

Soon.

[dont-wake-upp]

(This is just a very small look into a fraction of Arabella's life)

“DON’T LIE TO ME!! YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU DO AT NIGHT WITH ALL OF YOUR WOMEN? HUH?! DAMMIT, DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME!” she shouted only to earn a hard slap across the face from the rough hands that belonged to my father. That shut her up real quick. I imagined that’s relieving for him, but not for me. He deserves to be yelled at and more. He deserves the beatings, not her. That scum deserved anything bad that came his way, and he wasn’t getting it. I closed the halfway open door after peeping from my bedroom floor, and sighed heavily to myself. I heard a faint cry coming from down the hall and a few swear words uttered by the 6 foot 4 Raven haired man with grey eyes. He didn’t bother apologising or stopping, he continued, only it was his turn to shout.

“You never mind your own business, you know that? See /that/ is what gets you into trouble, that’s why I come home every fucking day ready to take it all out on you,” he spat. “Dinner isn’t even ready, you didn’t clean the house LIKE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO, AND WHAT’S EVEN WORSE IS I HAVE A WIFE THAT ONLY GETS ON HER KNEES WHEN I HIT HER!”

“Please, I promise…” I heard her begging softly. There was a strain in her voice and my heart automatically broke for her. I grew this hatred in my heart for him—for having to grow up in this kind of environment. I was 14 years old when my breaking point finally happened, when I was first greeted by my shadow. In fact, that was a lie. I was 7 years old and I was only trying to protect my mother, Michelle. I threw myself in front of the belt lashes she was receiving, and he got very angry. So he threw me inside of a closet and continued to hurt her before I was next. I still have the yellowish bruises and cuts to prove it. And that was when the unknown voice knocked on the door of my brain, asking to come in and protect me, but I refused. It went away and I never thought of it again.

“The next,” a loud slap was heard again. “Time,” and another. “I come home,” he continued with pauses to deliver them. “To this again, I will make everything worse.”

I didn’t like hearing her whimper and scream and the sound of furniture banging against the walls from her trying to escape. I made the mistake of opening my door again because he saw me and stopped paying attention to her. The sight made me very nauseous. Her blonde hair was disheveled, her cheeks very moist with streams of tears, smeared mascara, and her now ripped and dirty dress. He stomped in my direction, and that’s when I felt it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I trusted the shadow that threatened to consume me and take over. He lunged forward and I slid under the opening of his arm, running down the carpeted halls and down the spiraling steps.

‘Wake From your sleep The drying of Your tears today We escape we escape Pack and get dressed Before your father hears us Before all hell Breaks loose’

“Arabella!!!” he screamed and his voice shook, I practically felt it in my bones. His footsteps followed after and my mom didn’t even try to stop him. But I don’t ever blame her for that. Before he caught up with me, I ran straight into the kitchen and took out a large cutting knife from the drawer. I turned around just in time to face him, pointing and aiming it at his chest. Rhys held his hands up in defense, and shot me a warning look, but not as warning as my stance was. “Arabella, put the knife down.”

“Stay back,” I jabbed at the air to let him know I was serious. He jumped slightly then sighed deeply.

'Breathe Keep breathing Don’t loose your nerve Breathe Keep breathing I can’t do this Alone’

“You’re not going to do anything with it, put the fucking knife down for christ sake!”

“And you’re not going to do anything to my mother anymore, understood?” absolute silence from his end, yet his smirk was deafening. He didn’t take me seriously, so I repeated myself, daring to take a step closer. “Understood?!”

'Sing Us a song A song to keep Us warm There’s such a chill Such a chill’

“You���re just a little girl, you don’t know what you’re doing. And you should never threaten a man this way, especially your father,” he dropped his hands and reached out to grab me and the knife, but something stopped him. A shriek was heard from my mother watching from up above, gripping on tightly to the bars leading to the stairs. Then a choke from my father and his widened eyes staring me down. Sticky wetness covered my fingers, and all I felt was a big rush, such a high. And so I did what I did again.

'You can laugh A spineless laugh We hope your rules And wisdom Choke you Now we are one in Everlasting peace’

I screamed in anger and pulled out the knife from his chest and lowered it to his stomach, jabbing and sinking it in, hearing his guts move around and feeling it transfer through the knife and into my hand. I twisted it before taking it out and shoving it back in again, repeating until I no longer felt satisfaction. He was dead after the seventh jab, his eyes still open and mouth in an 'O’ shape. I wiped my lips from the blood that splattered onto them, and finally tuned into the world around me. My mother convulsing into a loud sob, the now silent heart below me, and the sound of the strong wind banging on the windows. The crescent moon on the other side of the sky, representing the way I feel in this moment. A little bit of light lingers, but most of it is already covered in darkness. I had no choice, but I liked it. I couldn’t bear a second of it anymore: the beatings, the sexism, the arguments, the threats, the toxicity seeping through these walls. I matured at such a young age, I absolutely hated it. No one should have their innocence taken away from them. No child should see what I’ve seen, because the path they’d travel on wouldn’t be a pleasant one. A kind soul should remain kind, but unfortunately, that doesn’t apply to me. It was in that single moment, I decided I wanted to do this forever.

'We hope that you choke, that you choke We hope that you choke, that you choke We hope That you choke, that you choke’

————

“So what did you do with his body?” Cassie asks me while she curls up against my chest, tracing the scars on my collar bone. She wasn’t tense or afraid, and that’s what I was hoping would happen. I didn’t want to chase her away. I am more than thankful to have found her, unfortunately at a much stranger time, but there has never been a point in my life where things weren’t so strange. I felt most of the weight being lifted from my shoulders for the first time in my life, because now I have an outlet. I have someone to let into my twisted little world.

“My mom wanted to call the police, but she quickly changed her mind and decided to help me with the body. I was completely clueless, as was she, so we relied on our good pal Google,” I chuckle and Cassie smiles for a split second. “We used a VPN of course, we couldn’t have any suspicion being raised or our information being spread around because of what we were googling. Turns out, you can do a lot with bodies, you just have to consider that not all of them will protect you from getting caught. So we took sheets of plastic we had stored in the cupboards and spread it out onto the floor, then settled his body on top of it. It was such a hassle to cut him up because he was so big, but we managed. His limbs were tossed into black garbage bags and we went out by the harbor and took a small boat. No cameras or people were around, thankfully, and we dropped the bags with cement blocks in them when the water was deep enough.”

Cassie stood silent for a brief moment after I explain, then spoke up again.

“What did you feel during the process of it all?” she stops tracing my scars and places a small warm hand against my cheek, and starts to plant tiny kisses along my jaw and works her way back to my scars. I smile at the gesture as I think about my answer.

“Nothing. Well, I was a bit confused as to why I didn’t feel sad or guilty or scared, I guess I just l tapped into the part of my brain I didn’t even know I had. That was a good thing though because it told me it’d protect me, and it did,” I say truthfully.

“That’s interesting. Is that part of you dominant?”

“Yes it is. But sometimes, I let my overly emotional human side get the best of me.”

“As long as it’s still there,” she mumbles against my skin. “I’m guessing the police never found out? How?”

“They were lousy and I’m a great liar. We came home beforehand, luckily, and got the house cleaned up before someone reported screams heard from our house and glass breaking. It was 1:56am when all hell broke loose, and when the police arrived, I’d say it was about 4:34am. They bought my story of Rhys leaving town with a mistress he kept hidden from us for years, and didn’t leave any clues behind as to where his whereabouts may be. I made them believe I always overheard him on the phone talking about running away with her but that’s about it. My mother played along and sold the act pretty well. Mom told them they got into a fight and she cried herself to sleep, then that’s when he took off and it left her devastated, but she had no idea that was his plan and pretend so scowl at me for not telling her. They didn’t think it was important enough to look into, so they left it alone and took off. It wasn't brought up since. Months after, my mom grew sick from that night and carried the secret with her for a year and a half until she committed suicide. I walk into her room after school one day and saw the noose wrapped around her throat. She looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb her, so I went in my room and cried for the first time in a long time. I don’t feel like talking about the rest.”

I took a deep breath and embraced another moment of silence. Cassie lifted herself off of me and pulled me into her arms, hugging me ever so tightly. I took in her perfume scent and her strawberry shampoo as I buried my face into the crook of her neck. Her breaths were a bit shaky and whimpers were heard. I guess she was crying. I pull back and kiss her forehead, wiping her cheeks at the same time.

“Baby, you’re so emotional,” I let out a breathy laugh. She rolls her eyes at me and pushes me back against the bed.

“Sue me,” she looks down and plays with her hands. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Don’t be. Shit happens. I’m just happy I don’t have to keep that inside any longer.”

“Damn right, shit happens. I fell in love with a serial killer.”

I laugh at her stunned facial expression and wrap my arms around her back, pulling her on top of me again. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything. I think I’ve gone mad,” Cassie whispers.

“We can be mad and wrong together. Can you keep my secret?” I ask.

“I won’t tell your secrets if you won’t tell mine,” she reassures me.