#the escapism fantasy of elain archeron

[sad-scarred-sassy]

What if Elain and Lucien met before she was made – Part 2

Read part 1 here

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Lucien Vanserra did not understand what had gotten into him.

He had become used to leading a quiet content life, but ever since seeing her, ever since touching her, something had changed. When those fawn brown eyes landed on his, he had felt stranded. Amiss. Like he had somehow lost his way, had forgotten what he was supposed to be doing with his useless, pointless life.

It wasn't that he had ever been too sure about what his life had meant to be like, ever since he lost everything he had resigned himself to serve, to fulfill his duties, to follow orders and go by. He had been content with it, had been okay with the occasional diversions he allowed himself. Not that it had been the same after Under The Mountain, all diversion essentially gone. But he had been fine with just getting by, fighting when he had to, resting when he needed to. Helping Tamlin clear up the Spring Court of the residual trash of Amarantha. He had endured harder times before and had been fine.

Until that day that one of Hybern's more playful lackeys had attacked him inadvertently and had dropped him in the only place that could be considered dangerous for a fae in the mortal lands, and he had met her. Had been saved by her.

His first thought of her had been that she was impossibly beautiful, so much so that it stunned him. That wasn't his usual opinion on any female ever. He obviously could appreciate female beauty and affections but she was the most beautiful... woman he had ever laid eyes upon and it troubled him so. He had never thought that about a female after- after Jes.

But having shoved that thought away and assessed the situation, his second thought about Elain had been that he had to protect her. It wasn't even so much of a thought but a bodily reaction he hadn't been able to rationalize. And when she hadn't shied away from him, had called his name, he thought he had never heard it sound so nicely before.

But ever since that day, ever since having felt the sudden spark at touching her small hand, and having felt the unshakeable pull of wanting his body closer to her body, having his hands on the delicate skin of her ankles, everything in his world had shifted, and Lucien, for the life of him, could not place why.

So he had ignored it as much as he could, he had busied himself, drowning in more work than he could take upon himself and had shoved those thoughts deep inside of him. What use would it make to be thinking about a human girl? A human girl he merely met once? And Feyre's sister, of all people.

He hadn't told her. Had honored Elain's wish to keep it a secret, for whatever reason. He could understand, though. Meddlesome siblings were something universal, it seemed, and it felt somehow nice to have something only he knew, a secret thing only shared with her.

But even with all the work, all the tiresome activities he subjected himself to so that he could stop thinking about her eyes, and her freckled nose, and her pouty pink lips, he could not stop seeing her in his dreams, or in random flashes when he glimpsed a rose, or a lily, or any flower, really. Living in eternal spring did nothing to help his situation.

He could swear he sometimes felt like she was calling him. He could feel it in the wind, in the smell of freshly cut grass, in the sight of the first rays of sunshine coming through his windows. It was pathetic, actually. To think a woman like her would even remember him, let alone be calling him to her. She had seemed so free, so desperately alive, he doubted he had posed any significance in her life.

He was losing his mind.

The long weeks passed and he tried to convince himself that his constant thinking of her was just an outlet for all the stress he had been accumulating, a normal response of his psyche trying to fixate in something beautiful and right, rather than the depressive reality he was shoved into. But a part of him knew it wasn't that simple, and ignoring it was resulting to be useless.

He had tried to stay away. He really did. He had tried to put her behind him. He had even gone to the village to see one of his past lovers, a headstrong but gentle female that had shared a similar need of release as him, expecting nothing more, needing nothing more. But the moment she moved her lips to his, the moment he had touched her hand in that cozy tavern they usually met at, he realized he couldn't do it, he had seen her, he had seen Elain in his mind and could not put her away. He had to apologize and leave, compelled to spend another night alone, thinking about her.

So here he was, back in the mortal lands, pacing outside her house in the dead of night under the cover of some trees surrounding her manor. Couldron boil him. He had left Spring under the pretense that he would survey the border with the human lands, Tamlin had simply agreed, and he had winnowed to where he knew she lived. But now that he was here, and somehow he could feel the closeness of her, he didn't know what to do.

He was going to leave, he had decided this was an awful idea, had turned around and prepared to winnow when a soft voice called him and made his whole body stop short.

"Lucien"

----

Elain Archeron had not been able to sleep that night, and when she had finally grown tired of rolling around in her bed, she had found herself outside in her garden, taking in the chilly night, the smell of dewy grass and jasmine bushes.

She had been thinking about him... again. Lucien, he had told her his name, and she had replayed it in her mind again and again during those long weeks. Her tongue rolling softly, only for her to hear, as if her body was involuntarily calling him. She had thought she was finally losing it.

She sat there now in one of the wooden chairs alone in her courtyard, when everyone in the manor was asleep, thinking about his broad but elegant hands, his enchanting mismatched eyes, his otherworldly beauty, one that she could not find anywhere else, one that dwarfed even Greysen's handsome face. She felt the need to roll his name on her tongue again, felt the need to chant his name as if containing it inside her might actually drive her insane.

"Lucien" She spoke softly, but the sound of his name was enough to make her blush. If anyone could hear her in that moment they would say she was definately insane, sitting in the garden talking to herself. She huffed a short laugh at how hilarious it was. A tale as old as time, the human girl enthralled by the mystical fae that probably could not care less about her insignificant existence, she was a living cliché.

She tasted his name in her lips anyway, a guilty pleasure she could not rationalize. She couldn't help but feel the rightness of it, even if she was not able to place it in any logical thought. The weeks since she had met him had not been the same, as if something in her had awoken, something she hadn't even known had been inside of her sleeping.

She was just about to stand up to go inside when a voice made her stiffen.

"Elain?"

It was low and tentative, masculine but soft. The voice she had not been able to forget through all these weeks. Her heart was hammering in her chest when she snapped her head towards the orange and apple trees surrounding her garden. She saw him then and gasped, bathing under the moonlight, a statue of a male, his long flowy hair shining in a deep red under the cool light. He was looking at her with surprise in his eye, as if he hadn't expected to find her here.

He had come. He had come back.

"Lucien" She spoke again and she could swear she saw him shudder a bit. Suddenly she felt insanely self conscious, looking down at herself in her thin nightgown and flimsy silk robe. She looked up at him again, dressed immaculately, an embroidered navy blue vest, tight cream pants and knee high brown boots. He looked impossibly regal.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" She crossed her arms around her chest, heart still beating loudly, suddenly aware of the situation, looking at her surroundings to see if there was no-one else around. She questioned what exactly he was doing here, in her home, in the dead of night. Had he finally come to steal her away like the other one had done to Feyre? Like every cautionary tale of the fae she had heard since she was a child?

"I-" He said, apparently also realizing his surroundings. "I was patrolling the border and I-" He looked down and clenched his hands awkwardly. He looked up at her again. "I'm sorry for the invasion, I was just trying to check if you... and your family, were doing alright" He said.

Something about seeing him a bit undone, this mountain of a male that exuded power, struggling with his words, made her ease a bit. The familiarity of him, even if she had just seen him once before, overtaking her, making her step up towards him, even if all logic called her to be smarter, he was a stranger after all. Why did she trust him so easily?

"You came to see if we were doing fine?" She said, cocking her head a bit as she saw him stiffen at the steps she had taken towards him.

"Yes, milady" He simply said. She couldn't help but like the way that sounded on his lips, the way it made her feel.

"Under my sister's wishes?" She asked softly, tentatively shortening the distance between them, just letting her body naturally drift towards the pull she felt.

"No" He said, watching her closely, unmoving. She could swear he was also trying not to just run towards her. Was she out of her mind? Imagining things she deep down wanted to believe?

"Under your wishes?" She asked when he didn't elaborate, and she almost laughed when he didn't even word a response, simply nodding his head and straightening when she reached him under the cover of the trees. "Why?" She asked, placing one of her hands on the tree close to her, for comfort and stability.

"These are… dangerous times" He said sharply and she could finally smell his woodsy, masculine scent again. She relished in it, the way it filled her with something she didn't know she had been missing. She noticed his own nostrils flaring, as if he too was taking in her smell in that moment. It made her feel something warm deep inside her tummy, running through her core.

"I thought you would have another reason to come by" She said, tilting her head a bit. He stared at her with those dazzling mismatched eyes and softly cleared his throat.

"Were you by any chance calling my name?" He changed subject, turning it on her and making her face grow impossibly hot. He had heard her?

"Me?" She straightened. He simply watched her with a predator's gaze. She suddenly felt impossibly bare before him.

A soft smirk crept over his lips as he noticed the aggressive blush she could assume had taken over her whole face. She averted her gaze at that, but quickly found it in herself to retaliate.

"Well, maybe I was" She held her chin up towards his towering frame. "Maybe I knew you were around and decided to summon you out of the shadows, acting as if you're some thief in the night" She said, but his smirk only grew more wicked.

"How can you be so sure I'm not some thief in the night?" He said, suddenly leaning his forearm over the same tree trunk she was pressed against. His tall frame towered over her, his smell and warmth intoxicating, filling her senses. Elain again found herself in one of the most scandalous scenarios she could think of. With a fae male leaning above her in the middle of the night, smirking at her like some fiend, eating her up with his gaze.

Her face grew hotter. In fact, her whole body did.

"Have you come to take me away, then?" She suddenly sounded more serious than she had intended. He noticed it, his face relaxing to a more serious stare, eyes suddenly lost in hers.

"Do you want me to?" He rasped, a slightly devious grin curling in the corner of his mouth again. His eyes never left hers, and for a moment she actually considered it, damn her, just simply running away from her small content life, leaving everything to go see the world, things she could only imagine, experiences she could only dream of. She realized they were still looking at each other, still breathing the same air, her chest rising and falling quickly, when she dropped her gaze and stepped out of his reach.

"Funny. Do you find me so careless as to think I would just run away with a strange fae male I just met?" She arched an eyebrow in a teasing way, although the tension between them did not subside.

"I did meet you running around barefoot in the middle of a forest" He crossed his hands behind his back and shrugged a bit. His hair was tied up, but she noticed some strands that had fallen off, moving around his chiseled face as he talked.

"Can't a lady have her moments of liberty in peace?" She crossed her arms again, diverting his intent gaze.

"By all means milady, I am sorry for assuming" He teased softly and she dared to look at him again. "I will say though, I'm usually right about spotting wild things and you-" He assessed her again, as if he could read her like a book. "You struck me as one"

"I'm not such thing" She cut him a glare, but it held no real offense.

"Aren't you?" He said with amusement in his eye and she pursed her lips.

She held his gaze for a moment, even though they were just teasing, there was an undertone of reality in his words, in his assessment of her. She was trying to find it in herself to deny it, to negate the raging feeling of wanting to see more, wanting to learn everything there was to learn. She couldn't.

"You may be right" She exhaled a breath as she turned and looked towards her garden, feeling his body heat at her side, his presence so overwhelming she was having difficulty thinking. "I'm in my courtyard, talking to a strange male in the middle of the night, any proper lady would deem this scandalous" She said.

"And what do you deem this?" He asked, she could still feel his eyes on her, it felt as if he could not, for the life of him, stop looking at her, even for a mere second.

She looked at the ground for a moment, feeling out the question, sensing her response and deciding to simply voice it.

"Exhilarating" She said not daring to look at him. Her heart thrumming in her chest again. For a moment he said nothing. The night sounds filling the air between them. She swallowed as she felt him move closer to her, sliding behind her. What would Nesta say if she knew she was having such conversations with a stranger like some scoundrel in the night? Even worse, with a seductive fae male at that, tempting her to release her wild side, something she had always kept under a tight leash. It was more than enough to make her sister see red.

"Maybe if I ask you to tell me more about yourself-" His voice was rough, breath hitting the back of her ear and neck in a way that made goosebumps rise over her skin. "Then it wouldn't be so scandalous, don't you think?" He finished, and some small, wicked part of her expected him to touch her, even if just her shoulder, her hand. She quickly shut it off.

"Could be" She breathed, turning her face slightly to glance at him. "But only if you also tell me more about yourself" She dared to say.

"What do you want to know?" She felt him lean down towards her exposed neck. His mouth so impossibly close she had to shove that thought away as well. It was one thing to engage in conversation with an interesting individual, even if it happened to be in the dead of night and had the potential of ruining her entire reputation, it was another to have such improper thoughts about them.

Even if she had to shamefully admit to herself, she had never been so attracted to anyone like this before.

"What do you do... for a living?" She asked in an effort to distract herself from that line of thought. She turned around to face him again, needing to see his face and assess him as she knew he could assess her.

"I'm a court emissary" He said, his body remaining close to her, half a step away. She took a look at him, eyes wandering from head to toe.

"Are all fae emissaries so... buff looking?" She blurted and he had to contain a laugh in order to keep quiet.

"It's not a requirement" He said, amusement still present in his face. "I do like to keep myself useful in more ways than one. Training allows me to do that" He looked down at himself following her eyes, then they both met their gazes. "Do you have a complaint about it?"

"No" She said a bit too quick to be casual, his smile broadened, she noticed he had a dimple beneath those scars in his face, and couldn't help but wonder. "How did you... get those scars?" She asked and immediately regretted it, seeing how the dimple disappeared from view, his face hesitating.

"I pissed the wrong person" He cringed a bit, but he seemed to be more concerned about her own reaction than on the memory of it. "It's not a pleasant tale, but one I could tell you some day. Now it is my turn" He said and his eyes travelled around her frame. The prospect of meeting him again in the future gave her a ridiculous flutter in her chest, one she quickly pushed aside.

"What do you enjoy doing, aside from running around in haunted forests?" He asked and she held her laugh. She moved through the trees then, in an effort to dissuade his intent focus on her, but his eyes seemed to relish on her movements, on the way her thin clothes hung from her body.

“I enjoy gardening” She said a bit shyly. “I take pride in it” She concluded, signaling towards the garden behind them. His eyes followed it, quietly contemplating her work, as if he could even see the garden in the dim light. His lips curled in a soft smile.

“That’s very impressive, lady” He said. “I shall like to take a closer look some time”

Elain had the urge to fix her hair behind her ear, not really sure of what to do with her own hands.

“What do you like to do… aside from work” She asked then, caressing her fingers through a jasmine flower blooming.

He followed her closely, watching her with amusement. “I like to lay down in nature”

“I could see that” She teased and he snorted. “What’s your favorite place to do it?” She asked.

He pondered for a moment. “There’s a stream in the court I live in. Its calm, lovely in the morning and during the night, surrounded by fireflies and white lilies”

“That sounds perfect” She said, imagining such a place.

“Would you want to see it?”

“Are you trying to steal me away, still?” She gave him a look and he laughed softly.

“Forgive me for trying” He said, casually striding in front of her, intercepting her like prey, eyes dancing with mischief under the moonlight.

She bit back her smile. “Is it far?” She found herself asking. The question had surprised him a bit, he didn’t seem to expect her to actually be considering it, and if she was honest, neither did she.

“Uhm- just a few jumps- winnows I mean” She assumed he was talking about that transportation magic he had used before.

“I see” She said, thinking about the implications of it. She shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help but be enthralled by the idea. Escaping for a night, seeing something she had never considered seeing before. Her heart hammered in her chest again.

He noticed her hesitation and tried to ease up a bit. “It was a wild proposition, milady, there’s no-“

“Let’s go” She said, determination shining on her face.

“What?”

“Take me there” She repeated, but he still looked at her like he didn’t believe her. “It’s safe right?”

“Yes…”

“And we would be back before dawn, right?”

“Yes-“

“Then take me” She said, stretching out her hand to him. He looked at her small hand. “Show me” Show me things I have never seen before.

The determination in her brown eyes must have sparked something in him, because after that he slid his broad hand around hers, and as she felt that tiny spark in their touch, the spark she had craved ever since the day in the forest, Elain felt the world collapse around them, and just like that, they were gone.

[elliemarchetti]

To Love an Archeron

Plot: The Archeron sisters have really bad taste in men, but maybe the good old meet cute (as suggested by @sjmromanceweek) could lead them to discover what love really is

Words: 2.300 for Feyre, 3.257 for Elain and 1.405 for Nesta, for a total of 5.702

Chapter 1 - Meet Cute

February 7, 2023, New York

The place, little larger than a wine cellar, was too crowded for her tastes. The stench of alcohol and sweat mixed with a hint of mould created a new, nauseating, fourth odour, but Feyre was sure Tamlin would appreciate such a large audience. The trio, made up of her boyfriend, drummer Andras and bassist Ianthe, hadn’t yet hit the stage, and judging by the absence of the usual backstage hustle and bustle, she suspected it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. A real pity, above all because the audio system didn’t seem made to support the terrible commercial disgrace that was currently coming out of the speakers. Probably a trip to the bar, a long counter with a reflective surface placed as the only defence between drunk idiots and a wall of shiny bottles, would have done her good, but since she knew she wasn't supposed to be there, and that the only thing between her and a denied entry was a fake ID she had since high school, she didn’t want to risk it. In Sacramento, where she was from, no one would mind giving her a shot or two because no one wanted to upset her father, or be blacklisted by her sister Nesta, who recently took over the company. After all, bars needed the biggest food mogul in the country, even if they didn’t want to admit it. The privilege of growing up in a wealthy and well-liked family hadn’t escaped Feyre, and although things hadn’t gone so well for a while, now everything was back to normal, she entered the school she dreamed of ever since she was a child, and her family was scattered across the United States, intent on building an identity outside their surname. If only her mother could’ve seen her, with her combat boots and smudged eyeshadow under her eyes. Tamlin didn’t like it, but Feyre felt she looked older wearing makeup, and nothing was going to make her abandon the comfort of her old Doctor Martens for a pair of stilettos. Acting like that made her a black sheep of high society, and if someone recognized her, maybe some economic geek, and posted a picture online, she was sure it would soon end up in some uninteresting tabloid with an exaggerated headline, but she never cared and wasn’t going to start now. In the beginning, attending the New York Academy of Arts had been just a childhood fantasy, but when, growing up, she realized it could put two days of road between her and the busybodies at the Camelia Waldorf, the dream almost turned into obsession. She missed nothing of California. Not the weather, not the sea, not the desirable appearance hiding one of the rottenest places in the world. The East Coast was different, grey in the northern part, sure, but every neighbourhood had a secret to uncover and no one tried to deny the rats roaming the garbage were the real owners of every city. Feyre was sure Tamlin fell in love with her cynicism, even if the songwriter used to repeat he appreciated how much she could see beauty in everything. They met in a café, his long blond hair pulled back as he scribbled on a leather-bound notebook. An involuntary sad smile spread across her lips. Things had changed a lot since the band started to gain exposure and with them who attended their shows. A small group of men approached her silently, all of them way older than Feyre and undoubtedly interested in something very different from the chit chat she was used to. The other patrons didn’t seem to notice anything, or maybe they didn’t want to, determined not to poke their noses into matters that didn’t concern them. It had been a long time since Feyre trusted in the help of good Samaritans, and surely there weren’t any hidden under bleached locks and pretentious second-hand purchases.

“What do you want?” she asked, upfront as every southern girl learns to be at a young age and at the same time feigning a disinterest and a detachment aimed solely at concealing the terror gripping her insides. They weren’t going to hurt here, not in the crowd, but maybe they wanted to bother her for a while and then leave, the worst-case scenario involving them trying to follow her to the bathroom.

“To have some fun, it’s been awfully dull here recently,” replied the taller one, who was positioned right between her and the backstage entrance. Even if Tamlin had leaned over to make sure she was okay, he wouldn't have been able to see her, hidden by that pair of massive shoulders.

“Well, I’m not funny, so I suggest you find someone else to pester,” Feyre retorted, trying to make eye contact with anyone beyond the circle of men who closed around her like a noose. Even though the danger wasn't so imminent, she was starting to feel short of breath.

“We like challenges,” the smaller one hissed, his lips so thin they almost annoyed her. He looked like a caricature, or the villain from some old Japanese cartoon, but his breath was definitely stolen from a horror movie. The idea of his mouth approaching hers made Feyre sick.

“There you are!” exclaimed a fourth man, making her flinch in surprise. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

The stranger was athletic, with slightly tan skin, an awful lot of tattoos and perfectly combed raven black hair. Unlike the others, he was a sight to behold, someone she would’ve liked to paint, cradled in darkness like a redeemable demon, with wings and fangs and a crown of gold. Even if his face was chiselled and his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes, so blue they nearly seemed violet in the dim light, exuded kindness and a silent, firm command.

Pretend to know me, they whispered, captivating as the music of a snake charmer, come to me. And Feyre did it. A single step, and she was beside him, the long nails of her right hand digging painful moonlets between the ink covering those muscular arms. He seemed unbothered.

“Thank you for finding her,” her saviour added, smooth and polished. “Enjoy your night.”

He seemed accustomed to deal with scumbags and scary people, and even though he was vastly outnumbered if his intervention escalated in a fight, he also demanded to receive the due respect. He had to be powerful, someone with a position able to instil fear if necessary. He reminded her of Nesta, with enough bite in their words to make people stiffen with just a greeting and a gaze so intense you wonder if they’re not able to violate your mind and read your deepest secrets. Though she liked to think they’d get along if they ever met, Feyre knew they couldn’t stand each other’s sight, no room big enough for two egos that big.

“What’s a girl like you doing in my uncle’s club?” he asked, sincerely intrigued, once the group of men scuttled back to their business without further comment.

“What kind of girl do you think I am?” she retorted, steering away from the inevitable topic of age. If his family really owned the place, there was no doubt he would soon be scrutinizing her fake ID with painstaking attention, and if he kicked her out, she'd have to take a cab home on the least ideal hour to be waiting alone on a street corner.

“One who doesn’t have enough friends, since you’re alone,” he replied, with cruel sincerity but no apparent intention of hurting her.

“My friends are in the band,” she corrected him quickly, a tinge of annoyance creeping into her thoughts anyway. She hadn’t really bonded with anyone at the Academy, after all, she’d only just moved when she met Tamlin. As quick as their relationship started, his friends became hers and the interests of the group everything Feyre had to worry about outside of school. It wasn’t bad, having someone make the boring decisions for her, but after a while it got monotonous, and obviously dangerous, given her current situation.

“Then you should find yourself some new ones – I went to check why they’re taking so damn long, and apparently they figured it was better to entertain a few rabid fans than earn the hefty fee we’ve offered, but I probably just can’t see the appeal of these budding idols…” the young man commented, as if he was much older than Tamlin and Ianthe. Maybe a year or two, but nothing that would allow him to behave so condescendingly towards them. In her regards, on the other hand… If she had been smart, if she hadn’t been so young, scared and annoyed at her boyfriend for having something that wasn’t her as his priority, she would’ve thanked the stranger and returned to her evening, but the three men, she knew it, were still lurking somewhere, and when musicians got lost explaining the making process to someone willing to listen, there was little to do but let them vent.

“Since you’re familiar with the place, you should tell me where to look for them,” Feyre retorted with the hint of a smile, and in an instant she found herself following her saviour to the uncomfortable bar stools. He offered her a suspiciously light beer, while for himself he chose a large glass of whiskey worth way more than it should’ve.

“Before I advise you,” he said between sips, “I need to know a little more about my damsel in distress. Heaven knows how guilty I would feel if I find you bored to death by an upscale soirée full of art critics.”

“What if I like art?” she asked, unable to stifle that haunting instinct that led her to flirt with every enigma she stumbled upon. Perhaps it was just a desire for adventure, for a lightness she constantly sought and, in the process, became more and more unattainable, but the thrill of astonishing others, of revealing herself to be much more than her scruffy aesthetic, made her euphoric.

“In that case, I am the friend you’re looking for,” he replied, without taking his eyes off hers, without implying she needed to be different to be somehow worthy of such occasion. To be totally honest, she was ready for that eventuality too. Not him asking her out, that was surprising, but the chance to mingle with the right crowd, as her father would call them. Deeply hidden in her wardrobe, away from Tamlin’s eyes, a large number of dresses from another life were meticulously hanged, designer pieces slightly out of style but still waiting for a situation requiring a strapless gown or a backless jumpsuit.

“Actually…” she stammered, wondering why she suddenly felt so embarrassed. “I… have… already started to see someone.”

To say she was just seeing Tamlin was the biggest understatement she'd ever uttered, worse than when she swore she was only pranking Nesta when she locked her in the basement for four hours straight. Feyre shared almost everything with her boyfriend: they always ate together, he picked her up from school and brought her back to class the next morning, and even when she painted or sketched sitting in the shade at Central Park, he was always nearby to provide the proper background music. They were a quiet couple who did well in solitude, and though the peace was sometimes disturbed by Ianthe’s influence on his choices, things were fine.

“I know, I know, the blonde douchebag has a heart of gold hidden under his enormous chest and he’s not as self-centred as the lyrics of his songs suggest, it’s just people like it more when you sing of something as relatable as the hardships and the guilt of having perfectly treatable avoidant disturb. The fact is that I didn't ask you to die by my side like we’re in the final act of a Shakespearean tragedy, but to come to an exhibition organized by a dear friend of mine,” he remarked, gulping down the rest of his drink.

“You said you don’t understand their charm, but it seems like you at least listened to their top track,” teased Feyre, wondering when he would put her in her place, how long he would let her play with fire before reminding her flames burn.

“One doesn’t exclude the other,” he replied. “It’s important to know where you put your money, especially in a city were a single misstep would turn even the most loving neighbours into bloodthirsty vultures. Unfortunately, this leads us to how you’re going to pay for my ruined tattoo.”

Feyre’s smile froze on her lips as he turned slightly, showing her four deep cuts on the back of his left forearm, no doubt the product of the adrenaline rush she had in her system when he saved her from the three men who wanted to take advantage of her. Thin red rivulets descended almost to his elbow, intertwining with the dark lines of the ink, a symphony of darkness speaking to her soul more than to her eyes.

“I suggest four platonic dates,” said her saviour, when he realized he would receive nothing but horrified silence. “And if at the end of these four outings you want to see me again, we can consider each other friends.”

“And in the meantime?” Feyre asked, wishing she could eat her tongue as soon as the half-thought words left her lips. How would she explain to Tamlin she was going out with another guy with no romantic intentions? How would he react? Would he be angry? Would he scream? Sometimes it happened, and it hadn’t been pleasant, but she’d never been afraid he might hit her or anything like that.

“In the meantime, you can say you’re apologizing to Rhysand.”

************************************************************************

February 8, 2023, Sacramento

Elain took a deep breath in front of the mirror, wondering how many more it would take before her nerves calmed down and the air flowed smoothly from her nostrils. She shouldn't dilate them too much, or at least that's what the Beauty Assistant recommended by Rita, her wedding planner, told her. According to Graysen, her future husband, she was the best in Sacramento, and even though her friends disliked the idea of someone so young always around one of California’s most eligible bachelors, Elain really trusted him. Otherwise, why organize such a sumptuous wedding? Mrs. Calloway, as she called her before their relationship became more informal, told her she was the youngest bride she ever took under her guidance, and although it was kind of an unwritten rule for her to never go under twenty-five, for Mr. Archeron’s daughter she made an exception. Nothing special about that, she was used to receiving preferential treatments wherever she went, and she was certain things could only get better by marrying the only heir of the Nolan family, yet she felt infinitely sad and angry. For the first time, her boyfriend said no to one of her requests. Her wish wasn’t that unreasonable, every bride wanted a wedding shower at Oak Point Events, but he argued it was an unnecessary expense and it was wiser to focus on good entertainment for the day itself. Elain was sure they could afford both, but since she had no desire to make a scene, she bit her tongue and came back to her home, empty since her father was on vacation in the cabin on the Great Salt Lake. She was undecided if she should envy or resent him. Running away like this when she needed him most was a cowardly move, but Mr. Nolan became incredibly pushy with his business proposal, and since he didn’t feel like hurting her soon-to-be father-in-law’s feelings with a reminder he was retired and Nesta was the one to deal with, he packed his bags and left, abandoning her to a whirlwind of facials and dietician appointments. No sweets had been the first terrifying rule she’d been given, and as hard as it was, she respected it so far.

“Don’t make that sad face,” Graysen told her, laughing. “It’s for the best. Just imagine how good the wedding cake will taste after you had nothing but salads for months.”

Although she wasn’t entirely sure his words were true, she kept silent and listened to him praise all the wonders she selected for the dinner menu only he had the privilege of tasting. No one cared if a man put on a few pounds, and it was nearly impossible when her boyfriend was so muscular and obsessed with workouts and meal prepping. At twenty-five, Graysen was in top form, while Elain, who had a notorious sweet tooth, had soft hips and a full bust, aberrant when the hottest dress for the season had a sweetheart neckline and her fianc��’s favourite was equipped with a reinforced bodice. So, they put her on a diet, and the story changed completely when she lost the famous twenty pounds. Elain didn’t feel so different, and although she liked her new, more athletic form, she was sure she wouldn’t continue to undergo the gruelling training sessions proposed by her personal trainer, suggested by the owner of the boutique where she bought all her bridal wardrobe. Truth be told, Elain had a little secret hidden away in her closet, a treat she would give to charity as soon as the ceremony was over. She called it her backup dress, something she could slip on in case the tight skirt of the one she purchased made her feel too uncomfortable. Rita said the lace off-shoulders screamed old Hollywood, and it didn’t matter that Elain liked her natural curls more than those stiff waves covering her right eye, everything was part of the theme, and the Nolans had been adamant on the idea that every guest should have the concept of old money well imprinted in their mind from their arrival to the last farewell. Nesta obviously liked it, she lived for silks and diva trains, and though Feyre might’ve been a good ally in her aversion for discomfort, she was now in New York, lost in her romance with a penniless guitarist, and her opinion would’ve worth little. She was outnumbered, as always, and expressing such opinions as the childish dream of a fairy-tale wedding, with the cake covered in edible flowers and candles as the only lightning source, would make her entourage act like she was throwing a tantrum more than expressing her preferences. Her friends endured it all with stoic resignation, until, on the day she’d been told that throwing dried petals instead of rice was tasteless since her father was a food mogul, they booked an appointment at Kleinfeld. For any women between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five, Say Yes to the Dress wasn’t just a TV show but an institution, an unattainable dream if you were on a budget and didn’t reside on the East Coast, but Elain had different means than all the other young dreamers and so her friends, which was how, under the pretext of accompanying her to visit her younger sister, they dragged her through the famous doors of the atelier. After a brief cognitive interlude, they went straight to the section dedicated to Pnina Tornai, where lace gloves and vertiginous slits were the boring and predictable norm, and even if it took all the poor sale assistant’s patience to satisfy everyone’s tastes, the effort and the subterfuges were repaid by a Tony Ward with a deep v-neckline enriched with a myriad of floral Zibeline appliqués. The voluminous skirt looked like a cloud, and Elain struggled to take it off, even more when they paired it with the cutest veil she ever saw, a shoulder length opaque thing with a little bow on top.

“With such beautiful hair, you’ll look gorgeous,” the saleswoman who finalized the purchase told her, mistaking the gleam in her eyes for tears of joy. Lost in memories, and in whatever it took to repress the disappointment and guilt of being so materialistic and stubborn, she hardly noticed the phone buzzing on her bedside table. Ready to put on her usual brisk tone, she glanced at the name on the display. Was her father planning to return? Perhaps he would’ve helped her to compromise at least on the music, because nothing sounded worse than a first dance on the notes of Frank Sinatra.

“My dear, don’t worry…” whatever the rest of the sentence was, Elain already had the car keys in her hand. An accident on the snow, that’s how her reckless father defined a displaced fracture of the femur and the consequent lesion of the right cruciate.

“Any struggle could make it worse,” explained the doctor who treated him at the Salt Lake hospital. “I’m not saying someone has to take care of him day and night, but if there was the possibility of some occasional visits, it would be ideal.”

Useless words, for Elain was already on the I-80 E and was about to face the longest road trip she ever took. She’d been the last in the family to get her license, and the craziest thing she’d done with the Camry was drive Nuala to San Francisco to adopt a cat she’d seen on Instagram. She’d never done anything illegal, and had never been outside California, which would inevitably happen at mile 120 of her first insane act. She was hysterical, drunk on her little rebellion, and even if her father didn’t really needed her, nor he wanted company with such urgency, still she sent pre-set messages to anyone she agreed to meet and cleared her schedule for the next week, intending to extend her stay at the cabin until the end of the month, if necessary. No one would’ve suspected it was the pressure that pushed her so far, they would only think the love she felt for her father was so great she couldn’t tolerate the idea of leaving him alone on a wheelchair. Maybe Graysen would understand and join her on Valentine’s Day, to hell the format and fonts for the ceremony program nobody would pay attention to. At the moment, though, he just seemed angry. He’d told her to come back at least a dozen times, and all the while Elain kept repeating she was past Reno now and there was no point in a senseless five hours drive when she would reach Lake Point in nine. Nine and a half, to be honest, and only if she didn’t make any stop, which she though quite impossible since she already had to pee, but he didn’t need to know that. Less than ten minutes later, it was Rita’s turn, who asked in an anxious voice if she would be able to return in time to sort out the thank-you gifts. Elain couldn’t hold back a sight. Not even a greeting, not even a hint of concern for her father’s health, which she tried to make seem considerably more instable than it actually was.

“I’m sure we can postpone it to a more convenient time, or at least deal with it remotely,” replied Elain, fighting to keep on the polite façade as she started to grow bored of the Nevada landscape she would’ve to endure for another five hours. She had once been a loner, a child fond of gardening and baking. Graysen changed her, and now she just didn’t know what to do with all this static free time. It used to be devoted to introspection, something Nesta didn’t consider particularly important and Feyre avoided like the plague. Meditation was vital, though, maybe even more than all those crazy exercises she underwent in hop to achieve a butt as firm as a Victoria’s Secret model’s. A stray tear, threatening to ruin her light makeup, forced her to put the reins back on her negative thoughts. Rita, Graysen, even his father, they all wanted only the best for her and if she had to lose weight in order to avoid some hurtful gossips, she would. Once the storm passed, she could enjoy all the desserts and relaxation she craved for on her honeymoon, and after that… Elain sighed again, this time louder. Obviously Mr. Nolan would’ve wanted a grandchild as soon as possible. What happier occasion to celebrate? No scene seemed more out of the American Dream than a young couple surrounded by children, and even though Elain didn’t have a real aversion to becoming a mother, if she had the choice she would’ve liked to travel first, explore the world and herself before devoting all her time to another human being. She wanted to be an excellent mother, who filled her children with attentions, love and the proper care. It was a nice image, perhaps a little empty of feelings, like an advertisement intended to sell a lifestyle rather than a product, but it could be worked on in the squalor of the little city where she stopped for a quick lunch. It was a matter of putting things in perspective: she wasn’t the globetrotter she wished to become, but at least she wasn’t going to sleep in dodgy motels or have permanent jet-lag undereye bags.

“Tell me Nolan is out of his mind because you left him to run away with a handsome Caribbean stripper,” she heard as soon as she replied to Cerridwen’s call.

“No runaway bride, sorry. Dad really broke his femur,” she replied, trying to suppress and amused smile. Her friends never told her outright Graysen wasn’t the man for her, nor had they ever stood in his way, but she knew deep down they hoped they would all die spinster in a house full of sick and crippled animals and they never missed an opportunity to make innocent jokes.

“Did you really heard him from your house?” Elain asked, wondering if it was guilt or satisfaction the feeling rising in her chest. The always impeccable Graysen lost his temper over so little. He too must’ve been exhausted and ready to leave all the preparations behind.

“For a moment, we feared he was talking to you, but eventually we figured out he was just venting to someone else and we calmed down, but we were ready to kill him with our bare hands,” Nuala replied, relief evident in her voice. She was on speaker, as always, for what one of the twins knew had to be knowledge of the other too.

“Is he still home?” Elain inquired, using to her advantage the fact her boyfriend and her best friends were practically neighbours. When they found out, they laughed for hours and promised to keep it a secret, so they could exploit the situation until the lovebirds built their nest elsewhere. For now, and if all went according to plan for a little longer, nobody spilled the truth and Elain had her own wonderful spies she repaid largely with cakes and manicures,

“He must be at Rita’s, maybe this time they’ll try to put make-up on him too,” muttered Cerridwen, who kept repeating to whomever listened that her friend was beautiful even without all those interventions.

"If it were up to me, you'd have to get married barefoot by a lake," she'd told her during one of their sleepovers. They were all pressed into Elain’s bed, the duvet covered with finished packets of potato chips and peanuts, and until sleep got the better of them, they chatted like little girls dreaming of an impossible future.

"I can see you, half naked and with a garland of flowers in your hair," Nuala teased, and though Elain had laughed, the image wasn’t far from her reverie. When they were younger, Elain posed for Feyre with Nesta, the painting long forgotten somewhere, but the experience of empathizing with a water nymph still fresh in her mind. She had enjoyed being wild, at least for a day, and though after a while she had started to shiver, she stood in the water the whole time, one with nature.

“Should we go check if the Wicked Witch is keeping her hands to herself?” asked Cerridwen, pulling her from the grip of melancholy. If only they both hadn’t been so busy, she might’ve seen Nesta a lot more, but even though they lived in the same city, it had been months since they’d last shared a coffee.

“Don’t worry, maybe I’ll call him later to let him know I’ve arrived in Utah,” Elain cut short, and soon she was again alone with her thoughts and the rapidly setting sun. The change in visibility wouldn’t have bothered her if she hadn’t been driving for so long, but her eyes were getting tired and since she forgot her glasses at home, maybe it was time for a stop, though judging by the nowhere she was in, the nearest town must be at least thirty miles away. Just before dusk, a heavy sleet made the road slippery, catching her off guard, and though her destination was just over half an hour away, Elain didn’t feel like moving any faster than she already was. In the dark, the snowflakes illuminated by the headlights engulfed her in a hypnotic embrace, a disorganized dance coming to an abrupt end on the warm windshield and of which even the memory was erased by the wipers. Maybe it was the monotony of those mechanical movements, or maybe tiredness just got the better of her, but in a blink of an eye the Camry went from being with its wheels on the wet asphalt to bouncing between rocks and small shrubs, making her stomach turn with tension. She fell asleep, and to say she felt stupid was an understatement, but what was more concerning was the completely unbalanced car, as if someone stole the left front wheel while it was in motion. She didn’t need to leave the hot cabin to know she had a flat, but said heat wouldn’t last forever, and Elain had no intention of spending the night alone by the side of the road. The only sensible option was to call her boyfriend and have him explain how to change a tire, any quarrel forgotten, and even though he was two states away, she was sure he would help and support her as he always did. On the fourth ring, however, Elain began to suspect her plan would fail. Maybe he was still working, or he was angry enough to ignore what he thought was a courtesy call. Elain tried again, and again, and on the fifth attempt, bitter tears began to sting her eyes, as blind panic crept into her mind. After a couple minutes of total silence and immobility, her phone ringtone made her jump on her seat. She replied in a split second, without even checking who was calling, sure it was Graysen, but it was her father’s concerned voice that reached her from the other side.

“Why are you stuck in Skull Valley?” he asked, without mincing words. Like a fool, Elain glanced forward, as if she expected to see another car parked by the side of the road, her personal saviour in a white Range Rover. There was no one, and the darkness unsettled her even more. Turns out her father installed a tracker on every car he so generously gifted to his daughters, and even though she was shocked at such an invasion of her privacy, deep down she was infinitely grateful. After he begged her no to worry for the car, he sent a friend to pick her up, and in the half hour of waiting, Elain wondered what acquaintances her father might have in Utah. Maybe kind neighbours, other middle-aged men who liked to spend the cold days in front of the fireplace drinking bitters and the sunnier ones on the ski slopes, or maybe locals, people able to recommend the best restaurants and used to the rapidly dropping temperatures. Certainly, she hadn’t expected a guy slightly older than her, with long red hair sticking out of a heavy wool cap and a deep scar crossing half his face. Something, whatever it was, took away his right eye, which had been replaced by a bizarre golden prosthetic.

“You should’ve waited in the car!” he exclaimed, taking off a jacket that would’ve been several sizes too big and draping it around her shoulders, regardless of whether she was actually uncomfortable and before she could even know his name. Elain sank into the warm fabric, smelling of cinnamon apple fritters and cedarwood.

“Your father will never stop bragging about his daughter who drove nine hours just to take care of him,” Lucien said when they were finally out of the snow, now a thick white layer ready to welcome their footprints. Elain had barely been able to introduce herself, too concerned in avoiding to stare openly at someone who so kindly pulled her out of a jam he had nothing to do with, but he didn’t seem to notice, and filled the silence as best as he could, leaving her just enough time to answer the few questions he asked.

“I guess we’ll see each other again soon,” he said as a goodbye, and though Elain should’ve told him something about Graysen, she just thanked him, convincing herself there hadn’t been the time or the occasion.

**********************************************************************

February 8, 2023, San Diego

Nesta learned from an early age that planning, calculating and observing could save her a great deal of unpleasantness, but planning to avoid disappointment wasn’t always easy, a fact which revealed itself in all its unnerving clarity under the dim lights of the first pub she had come across on the way from his new home to the city centre. She’d been sitting on the same stool for two hours now, but she had no intention of returning to deal with boxes and suitcases, or the solitude of her empty bedroom. Well over halfway through her fifth cocktail, Nesta looked more heartbroken than she actually was. If her love life hadn’t been such a mess, the merging, if you could call that the purchase of a competitor who could no longer stay afloat in an increasingly competitive market, would’ve been perfectly manageable remotely, but Cassian did his best to make things difficult, so they brutally broke up before she could even introduce him to her family. It was for the best, he wanted a wife and a horde of kids while she was a young businesswoman in charge of one of the biggest food companies in the world, but his insistence and his pathetic attempts to get back together that bordered on stalking had gotten on her nerves far more than their last furious fight. She moved right after she found an apartment in a nice area, and under the guise of waning to quickly handle the arrangements in person, she packed her bags without even telling her sisters.

“This is the last one,” the waitress announced, eyeing her half-empty glass. “I wouldn’t want you to forget your way home and spend your first night here wandering the streets.”

“Is it that obvious?” Nesta asked, hiding a guilty grin.

“This place isn’t famous and I’ve never seen you before, so you’re not a tourist nor a local, which narrows the field considerably,” the woman replied, polishing the glasses that had just come out of the dishwasher.

“You’re too perceptive to be someone who lives on tips,” Nesta commented, downing the rest of the reddish liquid.

“If you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you mine,” the barman joked, a faint smile on her red lips.

“No big secrets,” Nesta admitted. “I’m from Sacramento and I’m here on business.”

“Then why are you getting drunk alone and ignoring a slew of messages?” asked the woman, who must’ve been used to entertaining her customers with sagacity and sarcasm. Nesta rolled her eyes. The alcohol hadn’t only helped her pass the time but it also silenced the unnerving buzz of yet another apology from Cassian. For a moment, she was tempted to block him, but she was kind of sure he would show up at her front door if she did.

“He wouldn’t leave me alone at home, he probably doesn’t see why he should do it now that I can’t punch him,” explained Nesta, imagining how much effort would it take to hit that behemoth square in the face. When they first met, Cassian caught her attention for his statuesque, masculine figure. For a moment, she even deluded herself he wouldn’t feel threatened by her position and her independence, but she soon realized it wasn’t going to be the case. For a while, she’d been able to tolerate the jealousy, how he obsessively marked his territory by always sticking by her side, his large hand all over her, but in the end she blurted out and poured all the nastiness she’d so expertly reined. She’d been cruel, and she’d hit right where she knew he would bleed, but she hadn’t cared, and maybe deep down she thought he deserved it. Facing reality never hurt anyone, or at least she’d convinced herself of that in the days directly following their fight, but he must’ve taken it personally and he started doing too much, making a fool of himself.

“What do I have to do to have an Old Fashioned?” asked a new patron from a few stools away, his voice strong enough to snatch her from her sea of thoughts. The guy must’ve been a few years older than her, his choice in clothing too carefully designed to look casual. For a split second, their eyes met, warm amber and freezing ice.

“She’s too busy for you,” the waitress warned, but the young man didn’t seem to hear and moved next to Nesta, asking if she wasn’t up even for light conversation.

“I’m a pretty boring person,” she replied, studying the rows of bottles displayed on the wall behind the counter. Judging by the collection and the bartender’s skills, she could’ve asked for something more complicated than five Manhattans.

“I doubt it,” the guy retorted, forcing her to turn to study his amused expression. His face was beautiful, the features sharp and delicate at the same time, nothing more different from Cassian’s prominent jaw. He looked like a good distraction, someone she could lower her guard around, at least for the night.

“Eris, please, don’t torture my clients,” the waitress begged with a hint of exasperation, loud enough to be heard even as she was serving a long line of shots to an impossibly sad-looking middle-aged woman sitting alone at one of the tables. The small place was gradually filling up, and although the owner seemed gentle and the chatter of the patrons was good company, she couldn’t stay at the counter with an empty glass and no intention to order a mocktail.

“Why did your parents name you after the Greek Goddess of Discord?” Nesta wondered, desperately delaying her departure and at the same time working up the courage to ask for the bill and put an end to her night.

“My paternal grandfather was Greek and he was tired of hearing my mother argue with my father about baby names, so he put an end to the screaming matches in the only way he deemed appropriate,” he replied, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. Given his tone and choice of words, he must’ve once been displeased with that decision, but now he seemed chill about it, as if he got used to those kind of questions.

“The hair is definitely not Greek heritage,” Nesta commented, alluding to the red mane stroking the collar of his shirt.

“Irish,” he confirmed, gesturing to the waitress to bring him something else. “But now I’m curious to know why you said so.”

“You’re not the only multicultural being of North America, you know?” she teased him, certain he would soon take the bait she was throwing. She wasn’t going to mess up that trip with yet another clingy man, but having her drink paid for seemed like a nice accomplishment.

“Let me guess,” he said, studying her so intently she nearly blushed. “Half Greek and half Eastern European?”

A bright smile spread on Nesta’s face, and she dared him to get the right country.

“What if I do?” he asked, his voice reduced to a purr. “What would I get in return?”

“What would you like?” she inquired, leaning slightly towards his seat. She wanted him to breathe in her perfume, to clearly see the deep neckline of her top, barely hidden by her light blazer. She wanted to bewitch him and leave him hanging, for statistically it was extremely unlikely to get the correct answer on the first try and from personal experience she had never met anyone who remotely came close to it.

“A whole day with you,” he decided, sitting straighter, as if he was used to that kind of deals. Maybe it was his way of flirting, maybe it was just part of his job, but Nesta liked it and jumped straight into business mode, never lowering or averting her gaze.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve already been told I’m a very busy woman,” she replied, unable to predict what his next move would be.

“I can be your chaperone,” he offered. “I would very much like to have a taste of corporate life, just to remind myself why I choose a different career.”

“You have to guess first,” she reminded him, but something in his victorious expression told her she wasn’t going to win, as if he knew who he was dealing with.

“There's a lot the press doesn't know about you, Nesta Archeron, but your mother's nationality isn't one of them.”

[litfanatic]

Different but Not Less Than

Elucien One-shot Modern Au

Read on AO3

Summary: In which Elain observes Lucien buried under a mountain of children and thinks about how far they've come in their relationship.

Elain Archeron drummed her fingers against the marble countertop as she watched him from across the room. His suit jacket had disappeared along the way, his tie loose and hanging around his neck. A few strands of his hair had escaped his carefully pulled back bun. He didn’t seem to care as he was tackled to the ground by children covered in various degrees of finger paint.

His warm laughter permeated the air–the waves of it seeping down to her bones. She shivered.

It was such a contrast to the first day of the camp.

Such a contrast to the first time that she met him.

Even as he laughed with the kids, she saw him occasionally duck his head, hoping to hide the scars.

But they all had already seen them.

It had done something to him when some of the children had reacted negatively to his scars that first day he came to help her offload the snacks for the day camp, but he’d showed up again to help her.

Day after Day.

She grimaced as she thought back to how she was with him. Not that his scars had ever bothered her–Lucien Vanserra was the most beautiful man that she’d ever come across. 

His auburn hair shone like it was molten metal. His skin was the most beautiful bronze. No one looked like him. She thought of the fantasy romance books that she’d curled up in front of the hearth to read–he deserved to be a love interest in one of them. He sure did look like one.

Tall, lithe, sinewed arms, and a tongue that would enslave anyone to him. The scars did nothing to detract from his beauty.

That wasn’t what had affronted her about him. It was her sister who was trying to play matchmaker. Telling her what the best way was to get over someone. But she had been still in love with Graysen. He had walked away with a piece of her.

Literally.

She still couldn’t believe that she’d donated a piece of her liver to him.

Granted, the organ had repaired itself, but still.

And he left her.

After months of being by his side, nursing him. Putting him before her goals. Before the idea of her opening her own bakery.

He wanted more than her, and he'd just left her cruelly.

Feyre had tried to set her up on dates. The busybody. With her art department colleagues, with her husband’s brother, Az, who she didn’t even want to begin to decipher.

Lucien was her sister’s last attempt at matchmaking with Rhys even insisting that he was “a good male.” 

Nesta was the opposite, insisting that she didn’t need anyone in her life. Didn’t need a partner, but Elain wanted one. Wanted someone to see her. To know that it was okay that she was different from her sisters. That it didn’t make her less than them. That she still had her own thoughts and opinions. That her strength was different, but still strength.

He wasn’t Graysen. That was who her heart was still longing for.

That was until she realized that she was only in love with the idea of him and what their life would’ve looked like. 

She’d been conditioned for that life.

But she knew now that it wasn’t what she wanted.

Wasn’t what she needed.

What she needed had been in front of her. By her side. Constant. Even when she didn’t want to see him. When she thought that he only wanted to know her because she was Feyre’s sister.

He never forced her. Never pressured her, but he was there. Was always this quiet, calming presence except when they played their game. The one where he would deliberately rile her up to get a reaction. She was secretly glad that he thought her worthy of his wit. He had a knowing look on his face whenever she matched his banter—as if he knew that she had it in her all along.

That was the trick of Lucien Vanserra, and she’d realized it too late. 

Elain had chosen him.

Had fallen for him.

She was deeply, relentlessly and soul-crushingly in love with him.

She’d survived Graysen, but she wouldn’t survive if Lucien left her. Graysen might have taken a piece of her literally, but Lucien was a part of her soul.

Not that he ever would leave her.

He was loyal to a fault, and according to him, more in love with her than she was with him.

She thought that was debatable .

Elain remembered their first kiss. How he was wild with it. Unconstrained unlike others before him. Others that thought she would break.

Thinking of his passion made her toes curl even now. He could be gentle if he had to, but he’d learned her. He’d learned what she wanted. He gave and she gave equally.

No one had ever made her feel like how he did, and she wanted to do the same for him.

So she did as often as possible. When he kissed along her collarbone and made her arch her back, she whispered sweet words of undying devotion. She kissed the scar that made him him. She raved to him about his beauty—about his heart.

Because Lucien Vanserra had a heart even bigger than hers, and he gave love more than he took it.

So she would pepper him with it until he learned to take it—until he learned that he deserved love.

Lucien groaned as he attempted to rise, children dangling off of his long limbs. A smile as bright as the sun.

Her sun. 

Her light.

His eyes flickered over to her—one of russet, one of gold.

A knowing look on his face as he saw her watching him. His smile impossibly brighter than before.

He tilted his head, gesturing to the children. A contemplative brow raised and she could see it.

Little ones with gold-spun copper hair. Him buried under a mountain of them, pulling her down to join.

Elain could hear the laughter

And the laughter

And the laughter

Her heart quickened at his silent question. A question that she answered with her eyes, and she could almost hear his heart beat in response.

Yes.

[aphroditelovesu]

Care to explain ACOTAR lore to someone who doesn't read many books of the genre?

Of course, anon! Contains spoilers for the books.

Basically it's a fairy romance and book 5, Silver Flames, is a fairy porn, but for those who like it, everything is fine.

A Court of Thorns and Roses is the first book in the saga. The story follows Feyre Archeron, a young huntress who kills a wolf in the forest, but ends up being taken to the mysterious land of Prythian as punishment. There, she discovers that her captor is Tamlin, a powerful fae and the High Lord of the Spring Court. As Feyre learns more about the fae world and her own destiny, she finds herself drawn into political intrigue, magic, and a complex romance. She is taken Under the Mountain and meets Amarantha, the High Queen who tortures her in various ways until she is defeated and killed by Tamlin. The book mixes elements of fantasy, romance and action, creating an engaging plot that continues throughout the series.

She becomes a fae at the end and after that continues the story of the second book, which is A Court of Mist and Fury, my favorite, by the way.

Feyre deals with the trauma she suffered in the first book after the events of Under the Mountain and deals with an abusive relationship on the part of Tamlin, who, after seeing Feyre's death, became very protective and abusive. She escapes her marriage to him on behalf of Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, to Velaris, and after Tamlin locks her in his mansion, Feyre leaves him for good and begins a new journey of healing with Rhysand and the Inner Circle: Rhysand, Morrigan (Mor) , Cassian, Azriel and Amren. After some conflicts, Feyre discovers that she and Rhysand are mates and she accepts the mating bond.

Feyre's sisters, Nesta and Elain, are captured by the series' main villain, King of Hybern, and are turned into fae, traumatizing them both. During this moment, it is revealed that Tamlin was collaborating with Hybern to get Feyre back and screwing everyone over. Feyre returns with him to the Spring Court to make him pay and at the end of the book it turns out that Rhysand has sworn her in as his High Lady. She is the first High Lady in history.

From there, the events of the third book, Court of Wings and Ruin, begin.

The book starts with Feyre in the Spring Court and she is pretending to love Tamlin again to destroy his Court. She meets the nephews of the King of Hybern, Brannagh and Dagdan, and speaks a little with Jurian, a human warrior who was resurrected after he was killed by Amarantha. After some time in the Spring Court, she breaks the hand of Ianthe, a High Priestess who had sold her sisters to the King of Hybern. She escapes the Spring Court with Lucien, a friend, and heads to the Night Court again.

They deal with internal conflicts and because of Hybern's threat, they meet with other High Lords to discuss the war. The meeting is held and the High Lords agree to help, with the exception of Beron, the High Lord of the Autumn Court, but after Tamlin threatens him, he agrees. War is waged, many fights and battles, some minor conflicts occur, but they win.

A very rough summary, but that's it for the third book.

A Court of Frost and Starlight is a very small book and only tells some of their comforting moments, about the Winter Solstice. Nothing much happens that's really worth mentioning, at least for me (since I'm not a fan of this book).

A Court of Silver Flames is a spin-off, in a way, and tells the story of Cassian and Nesta. The book shows Nesta's healing journey and the development of her relationship with Cassian, along with the fact that Feyre was pregnant and the baby could kill her because it has wings (don't ask me). The book is basically a Nesta and Cassian porn, where they spend most of the book desiring each other and having sex, but there are some cool moments and others that I loathe, but that's it. Nesta makes friends with two other faes, Emerie, an Illyrian, and Gwyneth, a priestess, and together they help revive the Valkyries.

Not much happens in this book, but Nesta gives up her powers to save Feyre and the baby and she and Cassian are revealed to be mates and they end up together.

Like I said, these are pretty rough summaries of the stories, but I like the books for the most part. If you have any questions, feel free to send them! ❤️❤️

~ Lady L

[possumsandprose]

Elriel Part 4: Peace and Quiet

Hey all! Here's my take on how Elriel live their peace and quiet.

Tw: none

Word count: 1K

Azriel was tired. This was hardly surprising to anyone who knew him, but it was true. Between sleepless nights in some far off land, the constant nagging of his shadows, never learning what information needed to be told, and interrogation after interrogation of friend and foe alike, Azriel could say with confidence that he was tired. When he was a boy, all he knew was silence. Locked in the dark cell, apart from the mockery of his brothers and stepmother, all he ever heard was silence. It was so silent, he could hear his own heart beating, and it terrified him. Since then, complete silence had scared him, made him feel as if he were 8 years old again, trapped in a cellar beneath his father's manor.

But now it was ceaseless noise. He loved his shadows, and his family, and he had learned to enjoy most parts of his job as spymaster. However there was never any quiet. It was constant noise, constant turmoil, and since he was the quieter sort of male, he found that he tried to escape both. The silence of being away from everything, and the noise of being around others. But in his 500 years of being alive, he had not yet found the balance, not yet found a place in which he felt truly contented. At some point in there, he had given up hope of ever feeling truly peaceful.

Then, he met Elain Archeron. She was the perfect balance of Feyre's level headedness and Nesta's steely determination, the silent, beautiful woman who had caught his eye when they had first met in the Archeron manor. But then, when she came out of the Cauldron, she became even more beautiful. And, for some reason, she had chosen to cling to him. She had sought him out to speak with, to share her plans, her hopes, her dreams. And he loved every second of it. He would never tire of listening to Elain talk, no matter the subject.

Sometimes he would even picture a world where they were together, and in those fantasies, he was happier than he'd ever been before. On Solstice, when Elain had appeared, allowed him to put the necklace upon her, and even almost kissed him, he thought his every dream, every prayer to the Mother and whatever gods dwelled above had finally been answered.

All of those dreams were shattered when Rhys appeared, and forbade him from ever seeking after Elain again. Though he was a stoic male, known for his calmness, he had shed tears that night, and in several nights following, knowing that Elain would never look at him the same again, and there was nothing he could do.

As Az was stewing over these thoughts, he was flying through the beautiful night sky of Velaris, without really planning on where he wanted to go. All he knew was he needed to get away from the House of Wind, as he had just heard Cassian and Nesta begin to argue, and he knew how that would end. He realized that he was flying towards the townhouse, and since it was unoccupied, he decided it would be a good place to stay for the evening.

Az landed on the lawn, and headed towards the entrance. His shadows were buzzing at him, but strangely he could not decipher what they were trying to tell him. As he opened the door, he saw the faint glow of a candle, and smelt that telling sign meaning that there could be one person inside: Elain Archeron. Of course she was here. Now he understood why his shadows were so agitated, as they always were when she was near. He entered into the main room, and found her curled up on the large, comfortable couch in the centre, reading a book.

She was wearing a pale white nightdress, and was wrapped in a cream coloured blanket, and clearly had been intending to sleep on the couch where she was reading. She looked up as he approached, and though she was momentarily surprised did not look alarmed.

"Hello Azriel," she said in a voice filled with drowsiness, "what brings you here?" For once in his immortal lifetime, Az found he did not know what to say.

"I-I came from the House of Wind. I intended to stay here for the evening, however I would not wish to intrude. I hope you have a pleasant evening," he said finally, and turned to leave.

"Wait." Elain had risen to a sitting position, book resting on her lap. "Stay here, with me." Az was shocked, why did she even want to be in the same room as him? However, her doe brown eyes were full of pleading, and he could not deny her anything.

He approached her slowly, as if scared she would run away if he moved to quickly. However, she just shifted over so he could sit and offered him a spot under her blanket. He sat down, and she wrapped them up in the blanket. He looked at her, realizing this was the closest they'd been since Solstice. As she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, an understanding passed between them, that all was forgiven, and perhaps, just perhaps, Elain knew the real reason Az had left her there.

Either way, it brought Az an indescribable amount of joy that he could be here, curled up in the townhouse on the sofa, with the crackling fire roaring, and the one he trusted more than anyone else sitting next to him. He pulled a book out of the shadows and began to read, relaxing for the first time in a long, long while. As time wore on, he realized that Elain had fallen asleep, and her head was resting on his lap, with her golden brown curls splayed across his legs. He smiled, a true smile, and gently pushed her hair behind her pointed ear. He found it, he knew, that perfect type of quiet. Finally, he had his peace and quiet, and he believed she had found hers.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! I personally feel like in Elriel's book we need a scene where one falls asleep next to the other because of their calming presence. As always, comments are very much appreciated, and constructive criticism is always welcomed. Much love to you! <3

Taglist:

@elriel-month

[f-cursebreaker]

''Fantasy'' books are not here to fulfill your expectations from real world. Our 21st century expectations, realities, social rules do not apply in fantasy worlds. You won't be so disappointed if you don't attach more meaning to fantasy worlds and characters than they can give you.

[azrielsbaby]

i don't like this notion in the fandom that to be a badass woman you have to kick men in the balls everyday.

you can be a housewife and still be called a badass woman. you can be a gardener and still be called a badass woman. a student. a librarian. a mother. a anything.

how you guys came for feyre for getting pregnant and saying she can't be anything now because she's a mother and basically a housewife she has now was disgusting. how you guys think nesta without her powers will make her boring is disgusting. how you guys think elain is weaker than everyone else just because she prefers the quieter lifestyle is disgusting.

woman in reality don't have powers or can wield swords but we are still badass for going on about our life in a world that hates us. yes it's s fantasy novel and these characters aren't like us and we want to escape reality. but that's the difference in sjm's books. her characters are so unlike us yet can't be more similar.

and besides the archeron sisters would still all drop kick a man if they so much as look wrong at them.

[smallerinfinities]

mad woman: iii (nessian)

a/n: *taps mic* does this thing still work? OH hey! hello! yes, this fic is properly old now and probably everyone thought I abandoned it but joke is on everyone including myself lmao...turns out I love these two..and after acosf well I would 10/10 die for them. so here we go! a ride to be sure! people do be getting naked!

warnings: 4.8k of smut (like woah). language. guilt. 

Nesta wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing.

It had seemed like a good idea. Everyone in certain social circles knew the truth about Hewn City. Knew the dance club for the front it was for the shadowy bowels beneath. Here, she had thought yesterday morning, here she could be on even ground with him.

Him.

Cassian's hand was still in hers as she led them both down the long hallway toward room 3B. His words before hadn’t completely hidden his reactions to her clothes, her face, her body. She smiled to herself remembering the slight widening of his eyes. He probably thought he hadn’t reacted, but she knew. All men are weak. Just put on a dress and show some thigh and she knew she’d get his attention. Even if it was probably all for show. Cassian was a fine actor.

She thought back to four days ago. Or was it five, she thought. They had started to bleed together after the bender she’d gone on after wishing Cassian death on the phone with Amren.

Feyre was in her apartment for the second time in a week. An unprecedented occurrence. If the judgment in her eyes was any indication, she had come to check on things. Baby sister coming to her rescue. How rich. She stood on the carpet again, with her perfect heeled sandals and her tidy camel trench coat. Thankfully, she’d left the hat at home this time. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest as she surveyed the room.

“I see you’ve already made yourself at home again,” she observed, picking up a half-empty bottle of gin, “I’ll send Alis this afternoon.”

“I don’t want anyone else in my fucking apartment, Feyre,” Nesta cringed at the lingering slur in her voice.

“So you can drown yourself in this shit alone?” She held up an empty bottle of vodka in her other hand. “Nesta, it’s only been a few days since I was here the last time. Can you even stand right now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nesta sneered, settling back into the couch cushions. She couldn’t, but Feyre was a bitch for even asking, so she spat back, “At least I cope with my problems legally, High Lady.” In a fantasy world, smoke would have curled from her lips when she exhaled those last words.

Feyre stilled, breathing evenly. Nesta wasn’t sure if she was containing her rage or accepting the shame she had to be feeling.

“I see you gave Amren a call.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Nesta was surprised. Amren had seemed like one of Feyre’s inner circle, no matter how much money the High Lord and Lady may have given her.

“No, I told Amren that what you did with her number was your business,” she wrung her hands. She was….nervous. How odd. Feyre Archeron was a lot of things, but nervous was rarely one of them.

“Well,” Nesta exhaled, the anger fleeting like wind taken out of her sails, “yes, I called. Everything was very cryptic until someone showed up here who was not a therapist and started taking his clothes off. Honestly, what were you thinking, Feyre?!”

“I…” she hesitated, sinking down on the other end of the couch with Nesta, bracing her elbows on her knees, “I don’t know. I was desperate. I just want you to feel something again, Nes.” She hadn’t called her that since they were children. Nesta felt a little pang in her chest. I need another drink. “I know it’s...unconventional, but it really does help. Rhys and I...well, you know there’s a lot of stress involved in our lives.”

“So you fuck it out with strangers that you pay to keep silent??” Nesta asked incredulously.

“When you put it like that it sounds a lot seedier than it actually is, but,” she huffed, swallowing back some kind of emotion, “yes. There’s a lot of….relief, if you just give into it. Amren knows what she’s doing.”

“Are you and Rhys having problems?” It was the only explanation Nesta could understand for this. I mean it was one thing to hire a hooker if you weren’t getting any, but from the forced lunches and “sister dates” that Elain made the three of them go on, Feyre had always seemed to have a very active sex life.

“Oh, God, no,” Feyre visibly relaxed, caught off guard by even the implication. That made Nesta’s stomach relax. She hadn’t even realized she cared. “Rhys and I are fine, stronger even. There is power in giving up power, especially when you grapple with it on a daily basis. But this isn’t about me or Rhys.” Feyre leaned over and reached out to take Nesta’s hands, but stopped when Nesta visibly tensed at the mere idea of contact. “I’m really not lying when I say I think a little relief would help you.”

“Why do you insist I need help?” Nesta ground out through her teeth.

Feyre sighed and stood. There was something settling over her face, deep in her eyes. Sadness. “Suit yourself, sister.” She stood and, to Nesta’s surprise, took a swig from the half-empty gin bottle she’d pushed in Nesta’s face earlier. Her face screwed up in a grimace, “Jesus, how do you drink that shit?”

“I don’t even taste it anymore.” Nesta looked off, toward the window. Toward the empty corner where the wedding dress had hung for months. She’d taken it down that night after he had left.

That bone-deep sadness returned to Feyre’s eyes, “Alis will be here this afternoon.”

She left without another word.

Nesta sighed, catching Cassian’s attention, but she said nothing. She kept a steady flow of booze in her veins after Feyre left for three more days, sometimes just laying in bed for hours while the world spun. She saw Tomas, saw Elain, but most often she saw hazel eyes and bold, dark lines inked across a broad, tanned chest. Those were the torturous hours, when the desire would rise in her, when she would feel something just like Feyre said. Even if it made her soul burn. He was haunting her. He’d left her alone, angry and wet, for what? Because she refused to accept his “help”? Wasn’t this all just fucking anyway? What difference did it make how she responded?

The frustration had overwhelmed her until she finally realized that it didn’t matter how much she drank, he wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t chase him into a whiskey-soaked oblivion like she could the memories of her fiancé and her sister. He was real. He was still breathing. He was making her life a living hell.

He was going to pay for it.

So, she’d called Amren back. Had made him meet her here of all places. Had put on a dress and a pair of heels and more makeup than she’d been planning to wear at her own wedding. A costume. A mask. If he was going to “help” her, at least it wouldn’t seem like her that he was helping. She’d fuck him out of her life on her terms. Just once wouldn’t damn her to hell, right?

Nesta had never been to Hewn City before. Clubbing had never been her style. She was more of a library, bookworm kind of girl. But now that she was here, she kind of liked the secrecy of it all, the discretion everyone had whispered about. It made her feel like a character in one of her books, a different kind of escape than booze offered, with the rouge-tinted lights and shadowy, padded hallways. She could be anyone here. She would be anyone here. Anyone but herself.

“I think this is it,” Cassian’s deep rumble sounded behind her. They stopped in front of a painted black door, the marker flickering “3B” in the light of the candle sconce behind them. Nesta fit the key into the lock and turned it.

The room was cooler than the hall, but she wasn’t sure the temperature was what made her break out in gooseflesh. There was a massive four-poster bed in the center of the room covered in black satin sheets drawn back against a deep crimson comforter. Only a handful of hanging exposed bulbs lit the space, giving the boudoir decoration some industrial finishes. It was like a scene out of some vampire film noir. The light reflecting off heavy restraint cuffs at each corner of the bed only heightened the effect. A dark armoire loomed in the corner. Nesta was sure that if she opened it, she would find any number of instruments with which to tease and taunt Cassian with. This place was a sex dungeon and she had paid to be a mistress tonight.

Cassian’s mistress.

Nesta took a deep breath and settled into this new character, some confident woman who knew exactly what she wanted and knew exactly how to take it from a willing participant. She sauntered over to the foot of the bed and leaned back against it to look at him. He was so quiet tonight, looking around the room like she had, taking it all in.

“Cat got your tongue?” Nesta proded.

“No,” he hesitated, stuffing his hands into his front pockets like an embarrassed school boy rocking forward on his toes. It only lasted for a second before he hid it behind a smirk, “no, just a little….confused?”

“About what?” She crossed her feet at the ankle and let the deep slit on her dress fall open, revealing almost every inch of her long legs. His eyes widened momentarily before he cleared his throat. Was he….nervous?

“Well, uhh,” he was stammering now, the false bravado unable to keep up with the situation unfolding in front of him, “if I’m being honest, I’m not sure what to do.”

“You mean, Cassian, self-proclaimed sex therapist, doesn’t know what to do?” The teasing in her voice blushed his cheeks pink, “well, color me surprised. I thought it would have been clear by now.”

“It’s not that it’s...you’re…” he cocked his head, “different.” His eyes followed every inch of bare skin from her painted toe to the top of the slit an inch below her hip. “Something changed.”

Why does he make this so damn difficult?

“Yes, well,” she replied, biting her bottom lip for effect, “I decided that I want you to help me.” His head straightened.

“Do you?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, emphasizing the size of his biceps. His nervous energy cooled in seconds, giving way to something else, something that had been simmering beneath the ice.

“I do,” she slipped back a little farther onto her palms, tilting her head back. She was a predator, setting a pretty, needy trap for him. If he got off on a savior complex, she’d play the part until she got what she wanted. “I just want to feel normal again.” She smiled internally as she watched her words wash over him. Watched him take a few deep breaths, watched him move for the first time since they walked in the room.

He kept his body closed, his arms a barrier between the two of them, as he stalked forward. Nesta stopped breathing, feeling his gaze shift from confusion and questions to calculated assessment. He paused in front of her and bent down, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of her slim waist. The space between them was thinner than the air atop the mountains in Illyria.

“I think…” he looked her in the eye, no blinking, no touching, just a wisp of mint from his mouth, “that’s a load of bullshit.”

A rush of fury, so white hot it blinded her, licked down her arm. She raised her open hand and ripped it through the air.

Only to be caught in an iron grip.

“Ah, ah, dear Nesta,” his lips curled up on one side, “I like a little pain with my pleasure, but not without my consent.”

All she could do was stare him down as she huffed, imagining the breath leaving her nostrils in puffs of hot smoke. A caged dragon in pretty clothes begging to get out. But hell would freeze over before she moved first. She could feel the tension between them, feel the electricity pulsing through him where his fist gripped her wrist. Maybe it was her pheromone-laced delusion but she thought he might want this as much as she did. He wanted her challenge, her adamant wall. He wanted to break her, remake her. Little did he know that you can’t break what’s already broken.

Just a character, just a role to play...

“Oh, come on, Cassian,” she tried to free her hand but he remained hard as stone around her wrist. He hadn’t pinned her legs though. She slid one bare leg up the inside seam of his jeans. The muscles flexed and contracted underneath the well-fit fabric, higher and higher, until she reached the apex. He hissed. A feline smile spread across her face when she felt it, felt him, hard and begging for her. “I think you want this a little more than you’re willing to admit, more than you’re allowed to admit.”

His nostrils flared, barely imperceptible, but even the smallest changes in him drew her notice. Why? It was a question she didn’t want to even ask herself, but it kept coming, night and day. Why did this night feel like the edge of a dangerous cliff? Why did his agreement to come tonight feel like more than just a business arrangement? Why did the tension between them feel like her only anchor to this life? She pressed harder into him, needing to move, to get this over with, to fuck him right out of her head.

“Nesta.” His voice brought her back from those questions that haunted her like the inked lines hidden underneath his t-shirt. So close now, so close to her fingers, her mouth. She looked up at him, aware of her knee still cradled between his legs.

“Cassian.” Her voice practically sang. The song of his own personal siren.  

He was so still. If he hadn’t said her name she wouldn’t have been sure he was even breathing. He placed his hand between his groin and her knee and stepped backward. His pupils were wide, endless pools, black as tar and eating at the hazel surrounding them. He was drunk on the lust, drowning in it just like she was.

“Take off that dress before I rip it off.”

A bone-deep shiver ran from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes at the command, reaching back up to settle between her thighs. She flushed from the heat of his gaze on her skin as she stood, reaching behind her neck to loose the three pearl buttons between her pride and her desire. Fuck it. The dress pooled at her feet.

The corner of her lip tugged upward when she heard his breath catch. She wasn’t wearing anything under the dress. Lingerie had felt like too much and her regular cotton cheekies would have been too conspicuous beneath her close-fitting dress, so nothing had been the only choice. The right choice if Cassian’s jeans had anything to say about it, clearly growing tighter by the second.

Nesta backed herself onto the bed again, digging in with her heels to push herself toward the headboard as gracefully as she could while burning alive. And she was burning under his gaze. Every flick of his dilated pupils, from her bare legs, to her full breasts, to her smooth stomach, to her glistening cunt, she burned. When her head thudded against the carved cherry wood headboard, his eyes finally met hers. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat.

“See something you want, Cassian?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone innocent, indifferent.

“Depends, Nes.” She ignored the heat that pooled at the nickname, especially when he said, “what are you offering?”

She bit her lip at his words. And spread her knees open for him. Now, come and take it.

He went wholly still as pink creeped into his tan cheeks. He was fucking blushing at her cunt on display for him. A filthy thought entered her head and before she could shut it down, she reached between her legs and traced a finger over her slit. The low lights flickered in the reflection off the wetness laced there before her finger disappeared….

Right between Nesta’s wine-colored lips.

His eyes tracked that finger in and out of her mouth as she sucked and swirled her tongue around it, moaning at the taste of her arousal, the eroticism of the gesture. She released her finger with a pop and smiled wickedly at him.

“Want to taste?”

Cassian moved swift as a thunderclap, as if her words were paddles jumpstarting his heart into quick, heavy beats. He pulled off his shirt. Those thick, black lines of ink that haunted her dreams were on full display, curling around his biceps and across his broad shoulders. She wanted to trace them with her tongue, taste the salt on his skin. He didn’t bother with some cliché striptease. His fingers fumbled with his belt, fumbled with the top button and zipper of those tight jeans. He tripped out of them, splaying his hands across the rumpled comforter as he kicked his pants somewhere across the room, losing his shoes and socks at some point between.

She would have smirked at the clumsiness, questioned his self-proclaimed prowess as a sex therapist, if her throat hadn’t gone completely dry at the size of him. Even through his underwear there was no mistaking it—massive, just like every inch of the rest of his body. Of course, he had a cock to match.

He grinned, following her eyes, guessing her train of thought. The bed dipped as he crawled toward her, full prince of cats on display again. A man who knew what people saw when they looked at him and enjoyed that power, that raw sexual energy dripping from his every pore. With that glint in his eye, she was happy to play along—for now.

Every thread in the expensive duvet cover beneath her set a thousand sparks rocketing across her skin. His movements were measured, purposefully kept from touching her skin. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of him with every inch forward, every inch toward where she wanted him. All of him. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Nesta started to fidget with anticipation, ready for him to spread her open and take, take, take, but she wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t reach or claw or whimper, no matter how much she wanted to.

Feyre might be paying, but she would own him before the end. Even if she had to sacrifice her soul to do it.

When his mouth finally made contact with her skin, a whisper of a kiss along the inside of her thigh, it was a struggle not to moan. Loud. She was strung tighter than a bowstring and he knew. Her traitor body was going to beg for him with or without words, so she opened her mouth instead.

“Gonna fuck me senseless, Cassian?”

His head jerked up from between her thighs, that feline smile turning her molten. “You know, Nesta. I think I’ll shut you up instead.”

Someone as big as he was shouldn’t have been able to move that fast. Shouldn’t have been able to cover her entire body with his and claim her mouth between one second and the next. His hands curled behind her neck to pull her firmly to him and devoured her. Their tongues clashed, dancing together, as she moaned into his mouth. Whether it was surprise or pleasure or both that pulled it from her, she wasn’t sure. The mint and adrenaline still laced his tongue, this time with a natural smokiness that she hadn’t noticed before. He licked at her, sucked at her lower lip. She nipped at him, teeth as much a weapon as her words, her hands. She dragged her nails down his naked back and drew a hiss from him, maybe some blood too if the tang of iron was any indication.

It only spurred him.

“You know these lips taste better when they’re not liquor-stained,” he panted. He studied her face, she knew it must be flushed from his kiss, and slowly ground his hips into hers, with the same bruising intensity he claimed her mouth, drenching himself in her through the thin fabric of his underwear. Those really need to disappear. Her fingers continued their violent path down his back to the waistband of his boxer briefs, the only barrier left between everything she wanted. Wanted, never needed. They danced around to the front of him and sought purchase.

Another moan, loud and throaty filled the space between them.

My God.

“Off, off, off, off,” she was chanting when he finally released her mouth to move down to her neck, surely to mark her like she’d marked his back. It was going to be tit for tat with him. “OFF,” she clawed at his hips. He raised up and smirked at her.

“You just have to ask, Nes.” His lips curled to the side, “maybe say please.”

She held his gaze. Please. It was a chant in her head but she couldn’t say it. He saw it there, the challenge, the struggle, but this was a battle of wills. And Cassian was a seasoned general.

He ducked his head and nosed at her jaw, along her throat, peppering her skin with close-mouthed kisses. “Just say the word,” he ground into her again, not nearly the friction she wanted. His hands found her peaked breasts and traced her nipples, slow circles at first, then quick pinches accented by his teeth at her throat. There was no pattern, no guessing, no preparation. Every nerve ending was a live wire, screaming for his touch.

Nesta Archeron was going to die here. The flames in her belly were going to consume her and she was going to die at a high-priced sex club. And maybe she should. It might be worth it. Rhysand would never live it down. She wouldn’t sacrifice her pride for an orgasm. But, as his hips did another slow roll against hers and he scraped at her neck with his teeth, her resolve imploded.

“Please,” she croaked. She felt his smile against her skin.

“What was that?”

“Please,” she said a little louder, still barely a whisper.

“That’s awfully quiet, Nesta,” he licked at her collarbone and made her eyes roll back into her head. “Makes me think you don’t really want it.”

“Please,” she repeated, her head thrashing, “please, PLEASE.”

“Okay, okay,” he pushed up to lean back on his heels above her. “No need to shout.” The tease in his voice forced an impatient growl from her. He cocked an eyebrow as he toyed with the elastic waistband on his underwear, slowly pulling it down below the defined V set low on his abdomen, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin, until finally they were gone and there was nothing left between them but sexual tension and a promise of release.

Her eyes raked down his muscled body, unable to keep her hand from reaching to touch the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, reaching lower. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Uh, uh, princess,” her cheeks flamed as he lifted her hand to his lips and left a tender kiss on her palm, “it’s my turn.”

She blinked and his mouth was on her. His hair, tufted at the back of his head, bobbed between her legs as he lapped up the wetness that had been pooling since they started their games tonight. Since he first leaned against her door frame, if she was being honest with herself. His lips wrapped around her clit and when he moaned around her, she saw stars. Her toes curled. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Her knees bent to capture his head forever between her thighs but he caught them before she could crush him with the force of her pleasure.

It might have been hours, days. He held her spread open and licked and suckled and fucked her entrance with his tongue. Careful, slow strokes to stoke the fire ripping through her veins but not enough to send her to her peak. Her thighs began shaking; her fingers knotted into his hair and held his mouth against her. His name was a holy chant in this unholy place.

“Cassian,” she sobbed as a tear rolled down her temple and into her sweat-soaked hair.

He groaned and release ripped through her. Waves of pleasure locked her body in a silent scream, her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. He kept stroking her through it, his tongue undulating against her clit over and over as her body jerked involuntarily once, twice before relaxing completely, melting into a warm, soft puddle of flesh.

There were no words. No thoughts. Nothing inside her head except for the truth of it. No one has ever made her feel like that, forced that kind of pleasure from her. Her harsh breaths were the only sound in the room as Cassian traced patterns on her inner thigh. She blinked furiously, clearing her eyes of any emotions that might betray her. Looking down, she caught his eye and his answering smile made her forget her own name.

He was looking up at her, his cheeks pink from the heat and pressure between her thighs. His hair was a fucked out mess. He looked...content. As if her orgasm was all he wanted, like he could do it again and again and not care if she ever touched his cock even though she’d never wanted anything more in her life.

But...what if he doesn't want that?

She tensed suddenly. He was an escort after all. This wasn’t his choice. What if all of this is just an act? She knew she shouldn’t care. She was a paying customer and shouldn’t care what he wanted. What his desires were. She should just take her pleasure, satiate her own desire, and leave. That had been the plan when she came here. Hell, she had just been acting when this all started.

Until he gave her the best orgasm of her entire fucking life. Until he called her on her bullshit, got naked, and got on his knees for her. Until he made her gasp his name and fucking cry for the privilege.

This was wrong. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—

I don’t deserve this.

Her breath caught in her throat. I need to get out of here.

She sat up so quickly her head spun. Her fingers caught on the restraints attached to the headboard and she recoiled. What am I doing? Why did I think this was a good idea? Cassian jerked up from between her legs at the motion, the perfect window for her to rip her legs from his vicinity and swing them to the floor.

“Nesta, what’s wrong?”

She heard him, confused, still panting, but she couldn’t find the words to answer him. The panic was bitter, the taste in stark relief to Cassian’s tongue. Stop! Where is my fucking dress? Her head swiveled frantically. A slip of navy stuck out from under the armoire in the corner. She lurched forward, grabbing and pulling on the dress that barely covered her ass, left nothing to the imagination. What have I done?

“Nesta, what is happening?” Cassian was louder this time. Loud enough to draw her eyes. He was leaning on one elbow, wide-eyed and still painfully hard. At this angle, she could see the angry red marks across his shoulder, darkening with dried blood in some places. A damning souvenir for what she had done. A claiming.

She couldn’t ignore the voice in her head. A betrayal.

“Was��” he sat up and leaned on his knees, “was it not good?” Some unfamiliar emotion danced across his eyes as he waited. She stared and stared and stared. “Did I—“ he kept hesitating, “did I not make you feel good?”

It was the doubt, thick and traitorous, in his voice that made her silently turn around and walk out the door.

------ *runs away*

tags: @sleeping-and-books @greerlunna @sjmships @cupcakey00 @queenestarcheron @awesomelena555 @mysticalunicole​ @lordof-bloodshed​ @courtofjurdan​

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Three

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: tw for abuse mention. i hope this chapter is readable bc a lot of it was written when i should've been sleeping.

***

“...expecting heavy snow, possibly even a snowstorm, by the end of the week.” The TV blares softly in the background as Nesta types away on her laptop propped on the arm of the couch. The fireplace is up and crackling, and Cassian has to stop in the threshold between kitchen and living room to take in the scene. He’s getting a little too used to this, he worries sometimes. She’ll be gone as soon as her apartment is fixed, he reminds himself, and pushes off the wall to circle the couch and approach Nesta.

He sets the steaming mug of coffee down on the table before her and takes a seat beside her. She doesn’t even stop typing as she glances up and murmurs a “thank you” before returning to her paper.

Cassian doesn’t want to interrupt her work, so he settles into the comfortable habit of watching her. They watch each other a lot— Nesta claims it’s because she’s bored and there’s nothing else to look at. Cassian has no such delusions.

She’s in a wool sweater and thick leggings today. Her hair is pulled back in a worn braid and her glasses are pushed all the way up her nose, but what catches Cassian’s attention tonight is the way her baby hairs escape her braid and frizz around her temples. Yesterday it was the way her cheeks flushed in the firelight, and the day before it was those damn glasses. Today it’s baby hairs.

The fantasy is quick and sneaky, there in his mind before he’s even aware of it.

Getting up to sit on the floor before her. Nudging her legs apart with slow hands while her fingers stutter over the keyboard. Pushing the hem of her sweater up, and pulling her leggings down. “Focus on your work,” he says when she tries to push her laptop away. “Finish your paper for me.” Tracing the inside of her thighs with his lips until his head is right—

The slam of a laptop snaps Cassian out of it. Nesta makes a frustrated growl and rubs her hands across her face before shoving her laptop aside to reach for the coffee.

He raises a brow, endlessly amused by everything she does. “Writing troubles?”

“I deserve a break,” she grumbles.

“I could help with that.”

Tucking her feet beneath her legs, Nesta ignores him and gestures at the TV with her chin. “Think we’ll get snowed in?”

Cassian almost hopes so. Any excuse to build more fires and stay inside with Nesta. “I’ll have to make a shopping trip,” he says casually. “You want anything?”

“I want to be in a state where there aren’t blizzards in October.” She looks over at him. “I miss Tennessee.” It’s a simple admission that brings Cassian to attention. She never gives out details about herself unprompted.

“I didn’t know you still got homesick.” Feyre never talks about her childhood in Tennessee. The only indicator of the Archeron sisters’ pasts is Elain’s sweet little Southern belle accent, which Cassian has a feeling is more for show at this point than anything else.

Nesta shrugs awkwardly in response, but he keeps going. “Rhys’s mom had a summer house in the Smokies. We would go down there each year without fail until college.” Rhys thinks it was fate that the summer home was so close to the small mountain town where Feyre grew up. Cassian thinks that’s a stretch.

“Yeah?” Nesta sips her coffee. “Have you gone back since?”

He shakes his head. “Rhys and Feyre are renovating it right now. You should come vacation with us when it’s done.” He perks up at the sudden idea.

Nesta gives him that familiar weird look from the corner of her eye. “Mm-hm,” she hums noncommittally.

“I’m serious,” Cassian insists. “We could have fun.” He’s already imagining it, getting to show Nesta around the place he grew up. Hearing what she has to say about the rocks and corners he would hurt himself on when he played with his brothers, maybe even hearing about her childhood in the Smokies. But Nesta looks stuck, unsure of how to turn him down.

“It doesn’t sound like a good idea,” she states finally. “I wouldn’t be welcomed there, and I would be the odd outlier the entire time at best.”

Cassian already knows Nesta has no interest in getting friendly with the rest of Feyre’s friend group, and he can respect that. But he still wants her there.

“You wouldn’t have to hang out with everybody there,” he says. “You’d have me and your sisters. That’s three whole people.”

She looks surprised at that. “Since when did I have you?”

Oh. Cassian shrugs. “We’re friends, right? I like you, so you have me.”

She straightens even further at that. He continues without waiting for her reply. “That’s why I want you to vacation with us. I like you, and I’d like having you there.”

Nesta sits back against the couch, staring at him, and then her coffee, then him. “This is new,” she finally says.

Cassian is lost. “What is?”

She considers for a moment, chewing her lip. “I’ve had people say they love me,” she says slowly, “but I don’t think anyone has ever liked me very much.”

The words are so incomprehensible that Cassian just sits there like a fool. She’s making even less sense than when she told him she used to come around to Feyre’s all the time and he never noticed. “I don’t get it. Who doesn’t like you?”

Nesta frowns deeply. “Don’t make me come up with a list. It’s not nice.”

Cassian might need a list, because he wants to have words with these people. “Okay, then. Why wouldn’t anybody like you?”

Nesta’s eyes narrow into a glare and she scoffs like he just said something offensive. “Jesus, I don’t know. Why don’t you call up my ex and ask if you care so much?” She sets her empty mug down and stands up, gathering her laptop and notes as she goes.

Cassian doesn’t know what he said wrong. “Wait, Nes—”

“Thanks for the coffee, I’m going to finish my work in my room.” She pushes her glasses up her nose and speedwalks out of the room, ignoring Cassian’s calls to wait.

***

Cassian can’t sleep that night knowing Nesta is upset with him. He tried knocking at her door when he came upstairs an hour after Nesta had, but the lights were off and he received no reply. Now in bed, he listens to the howl of late autumn wind outside and goes over everything Nesta said earlier.

She misses Tennessee. She feels that nobody likes her. She has an ex that definitely doesn't like her.

It's the last two details that bother Cassian the most. He’s about to spiral into another hour of overthinking when his phone lights up on the nightstand.

Subconsciously thinking it's a text from Nesta, his hand shoots for his phone. He has to smother his disappointment when he sees it's only Feyre checking in.

Feyre: how are things going with nesta? is she causing u any trouble?

Maybe he’s still upset about his conversation with Nesta, but the text rubs him the wrong way. Nesta sounds like a pet or a rowdy child.

Cass: not at all. she’s perfect

He quickly erases that last word and hesitates, trying to think of another one.

she’s lovely wonderful great. He settles on great and clicks send.

A reply pops up a few seconds later.

Feyre: lmao sure

Cassian frowns at his phone. What’s that supposed to mean?

Another text appears: just tell me if you need anything and i’ll take care of it. i know this isnt easy.

What isn’t easy? Having a roommate? Cassian replies, We don’t need anything, we’re fine. He uses capitalization and everything, feeling offended for some reason. And then, not really wanting to see a reply from Feyre, he turns his phone off and leaves it facedown on the nightstand.

He shuffles deeper under the covers and pushes his friend out of his mind, thinking about ways to make up with Nesta tomorrow instead.

***

Nesta stays up all night berating herself for how she reacted to Cassian’s innocent question. She wasn’t expecting him to pry for details because no one ever pries into her life, and she freaked out instead of rationally assessing the situation.

A part of her is satisfied now, having seen this coming from a mile away. It happens with everyone she meets, when she says or does something wrong and inevitably pushes them away. Maybe she should keep pushing him away, and keep him at arm’s length for the rest of her time here.

A larger part of Nesta is embarrassed at having caused a scene, and worse, mentioning Tomas. Because that’s exactly where her mind went when Cassian asked that question— to the man who used to say he loved her, but who never truly liked her. Intrusive memories from years past attack Nesta until the sky outside turns a light gray: dressing up for fancy business events and having his arm wrapped around her waist in an illusion of affection. Him pinching her side hard enough to make tears spring to her eyes when nobody was looking and leaning into her ear to lovingly whisper everything wrong with her that night. Going home and having makeup sex.

She’s still flustered from Cassian and can’t keep the thoughts out as well as usual. When she finally does drift off into a restless imitation of sleep, it’s by holding her thumb to her wrist until the steady beat of her pulse soothes her worn nerves.

Nesta wakes up cramping.

It takes her a few moments to pull out of the fog of sleep and recognize the feeling, and she groans aloud. This can’t be happening to her right now.

She was stupidly hoping that her period would hold off until she moved back into her apartment. Her premenstrual cramps are telling her she has two days at most.

She refuses to go through that experience in the same house as Cassian. Her family doesn’t even like being in the same house as her when she’s on her period. Her ex would outright leave their apartment and stay at a friend’s until she got over it. So this…

She groans once more and pulls herself out of bed. A quick phone check tells her it’s only been three hours since she fell asleep, but she’s given up at this point.

Nesta tiptoes hesitantly out of her room, not wanting to face Cassian just yet. It’s only when she reaches the stairs that she realizes the house is unusually quiet, even though it’s almost eleven.

Frowning, Nesta pads into the kitchen to find two things: a covered dish sitting on the island and a green sticky-note stuck to the fridge. She goes for the note first.

In messy handwriting it reads: Went out for groceries. Text me if you need anything. Beneath the words is a dark, almost furious scribble of ink, as if Cassian had written something there only to forcefully scratch it out.

Without overthinking it, she gets out her phone and texts Cassian that she needs pads. It only occurs to her after she’s sent the message that that’s probably not enough information.

Having Cassian know Nesta is on her period is one thing, but him knowing the size of her pad? The heaviness of her flow? She might need to enforce that rule about him never speaking to her again.

In her best attempt to not be viewed as a walking blood gusher, she asks for a smaller size pad than usual and turns her phone all the way off so she can’t see any replies.

Once you’re out of this house you’ll never have to see him again, so it won’t matter if you’re the rude bitch who cried and bled a lot while she was staying at his place.

Going over to the kitchen island, she uncovers the plate she assumes is for her. She isn’t expecting anything much, maybe Cassian’s leftovers from breakfast, so she hesitates when she sees a full stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Carefully decorated with berries and syrup, they’ve long gone cold, but— still.

Nesta reaches out as if they might not be real, or not meant for her, but nothing happens. Mouth tightening, she snatches the plate and grabs a fork.

Cassian comes in through the kitchen door twenty minutes later, long after Nesta’s cleaned off her food and washed the dishes in the sink. He throws her a smile as he shakes snow out of his hair and sets down the bags of groceries on the island by Nesta’s laptop.

“Oh, is it snowing already?” She throws a concerned glance outside, not having noticed while she was working.

“It’s light for now, but it won’t be for long.” He starts taking off his coat, and Nesta gets up to help with the groceries. She quickly finds the bag holding her stuff and discreetly sets it aside, but then Cassian grabs another bag and upturns it, its contents sprawling all over the island. “I don’t know what your period’s like, but we’re gonna be snowed in for a while so I got some of everything just in case.” He looks hesitant.

“Oh— thank you,” she says, overwhelmed. There’s three different types of painkillers, all that she already owns, and ten different types of junk food. And they're all for her. Nesta plucks up a package, stunned. “How are gummy worms supposed to help me on my period?”

Cassian leans his elbows on the marble and shrugs. “They’ll make you happy.”

“I’m allergic to gelatin.”

His face falls. “Oh.”

But Nesta just places the gummies in front of him and starts sorting the rest of the stuff. All the chocolates end up on her side, and the candies and gum and hot chips on Cassian’s side. When she's done, she finds him watching her closely. “Did you want some chocolate?” She offers out a Twix bar, her favorite. “I can trade you.”

“Uh, sure.” He accepts her Twix in exchange for his Hot Cheetos.

Silence ensues as Nesta tears open a Toblerone package and breaks off a triangle of nougat, when she remembers she has to tell him something.

“Thank you.” Her words are out of place and out of nowhere, spoken during the wrong time mark of a film and ruining the rhythm of the scene. Despite this, she powers on. “Thank you for breakfast, but also for this. Thank you for everything, really.”

Cassian perks up. “Did you like breakfast?”

Nesta nods through a mouthful of chocolate. “Chocolate chip pancakes are my favorite, and you’re good at making stuff.”

He raises a dark brow. “You mean cooking?”

“Same thing.”

“Well, I’m glad you liked it.”

Nesta slumps in relief, thinking her necessary talking points are over with. She's thanked him for shopping and for breakfast. What more could be— damn.

She clears her throat, even though she doesn't know what to say yet. She won't apologize— she doesn't know if she's physically capable of it, to be honest, but she can still seem regretful.

“Are we over last night?” she says bluntly. So much for regretful.

Cassian seems startled that she's even brought it up, which is perhaps a good sign that he already forgot about it. “Of course,” he says. “Nesta, I really didn't mean to offend you—”

Oh god, he’s not over it. “Don't apologize,” Nesta demands, throwing her hands up to ward him off. “You didn't even do anything, why would you apologize?”

“Well, you looked upset,” he says seriously. Cassian’s apologetic face looks an awful lot like hurt, though Nesta doesn't know why he would possibly feel hurt. Still, she has to pin her stare to the dark cabinets so he can't hurt her in turn. He keeps talking. “I know I promised to push your boundaries, but I never want to hurt you.”

His sincerity is more than disarming; it makes her ache.

“And I hated not talking to you last night.”

That gets Nesta's attention, and she suddenly feels two things at once: a swoop of joy that he likes talking to her, and a heavy drop of guilt that she ignored him all last night, even when he knocked on her door and apologized profusely.

“I fell asleep early,” she decides to lie. “I wasn't ignoring you.”

Cassian smiles softly and reaches out to brush a thumb over the tired circles under her eyes. “I can tell,” he says.

She's gone dead still, but she doesn’t flinch. She doesn't even want to flinch. Cassian clears his throat and drops his hand, and Nesta’s eyes follow him closely. “We’re good,” she says in finality. “Let’s go back to normal now.”

Cassian nods, his face carefully blank. “Okay. Then stop stuffing your face and help me with the rest of the groceries.” He moves off the island and elbows her on the way.

That makes Nesta smile, which makes Cassian smile even harder, and just like that, they’re back to normal.

***

a/n: two things: 1) cassian definitely texted feyre that morning and asked what nesta’s favorite breakfast was, and 2) can you tell im in love with writing nesta archeron?

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08

[lynyrdwrites]

In the Stacks

I was in a Nessian mood and remembered that @accidental-rambler had sent me a prompt of Highschool/college au + “how do we finish this joint assignment without killing each other”  + “oh how come you love the same books as me, damn, now you’ve just become annoyingly attracttive”.  I don’t really state HS or college, so choose your poison. Hope you enjoy!

---

The sun was being blocked.

              Cassian had stayed up late the previous night playing video games with Azriel and Rhys, and he was regretting it now. He had a free class, and figured he’d use it to catch some sleep on the bleachers by the track field. But now his sun was being blocked and he liked the sun.

              It made him feel warm and cozy.

              He let one eye drift open  lazily, and the other quickly followed when he saw who it was.

              Nesta Archeron, with her slim frame and high cheekbones, always deserved his full attention. Even if she always seemed to scowl whenever he gave it to her.  He knew she was capable of smiling, he had seen it before – an elusive quirking of her lips, one he sighted when she was with her sisters.

              “We need to work on our English assignment,” she said shortly. Cassian levered himself up and pushed to his feet while Nesta took a quick step away from him.   Nesta was tall, but Cassian was even taller, and he often found himself thinking that it would be  so easy to tilt her chin  up and kiss her tempting, full lips.

              He had done it once, when he had found her amongst the stacks  of the library.  She had made a comment about him reading, and Cassian had found her impossible to resist, with that glint of fire in her eyes.

              Her lips had been  soft beneath his, and she had tasted like the chocolate mints he knew she loved, because Cassian knew far more about Nesta  than he would ever admit.

              “Nervous, Sweetheart?” Cassian asked, a smirk quirking her lips. “Remembering the last time we were in the library? I am.”

              “You’re a prick,” Nesta murmured, reminding Cassian of her sister, Feyre, for a moment.  She looked away from him, red flushing high on her cheekbones.  “As for…previous meetings in  the library – they’re irrelevant.”

              Cassian narrowed his eyes on Nesta as she primly turned her back on him, carefully making her way down the bleachers. Nesta favored long, flowing sundresses that were quick to catch the wind and show off the shape of her legs.  It did so now, and Cassian was distracted, but not so much that he failed to react when her sandal caught  on her dress and sent her tilting.

              She let out an exhale of air that blew into  his face when he caught her, his arm around her lower back. It was ridiculously easy – almost natural, really – to stretch his other arm beneath her legs and heft her up. She was warm against his chest, and the hand she braced against him, her fingers   grazing the skin bared around his neck by his tank top, made goosebumps rise along his arms.

              “Put me down, you  barbarian!” Nesta snapped, her nails digging into his skin slightly as he began to carry her down the bleachers.  Her other hand grasped his shoulder, turning her body into his. Cassian was very, very aware of her, as her breasts pressed into his chest.  

              “No, I’m good,” Cassian replied cheerfully.  He reached the ground and headed in the direction of the library, his grin widening when Nesta slapped her palm against his shoulder.

              “Cassian, I swear if you don’t be down I’ll-”

              Cassian raised a brow at her as Nesta cut herself off. She wrinkled nose in frustration, and Cassian wasn’t sure he had ever seen a more adorable sight.  Nesta was usually so very cool – when  he gave a set down, the burn was from ice, not fire – but right now she was… flustered.

              He liked her flustered.

              “You know, you’d probably be more comfortable if you wrapped your arms around my neck. Go on, give it a try.”

              Nesta’s expression was anything but impressed, and when she dug her fingernails into his skin again, it was on purpose and made him yelp and nearly drop her.

              In response, her arms went around his neck, her body tense.

              “Well,” he mused, unable to scowl at her over the pain when it had gotten him exactly what he had wanted. “I think you just played yourself, Miss Archeron.”

              “I hate you.”

              Succinct. No one would accuse Nesta of speaking too much.

              They reached the library, and Cassian set her down, missing the warm weight of her as she quickly put what she viewed as an acceptable distance between them, her hands smoothing down the front of her dress.

              “After that, if you even try to suggest something lame for our project, I’ll punch you.”

              “Oh? Do you even know how to throw a punch, Miss Archeron?”

              “Stop calling me that,” she replied, and it was almost a disappointment, that the ice was back in her voice, in the stiff way she held herself, turned away from him as though she couldn’t be bothered to look at him, now that he no longer held her.  But then he caught the quirk of her lips, before she made sure he was unable to see any of her face. “I’d get Feyre to punch you for me.”

              Cassian watched her retreat into the library, his eyes narrowed on her back.  Had Nesta Archeron made a joke?

              He was pretty sure she’d made a joke.

              It made his heart soar.

              “What does lame mean, in the literary world of Miss Nesta Archeron?”

              “Anything by a man,” Nesta replied promptly, moving through the  stacks in a way that said she knew this building.  She stroked a hand along the spines of the books, her expression softening into a look he’d only ever really seen her wear around Elain.  It vanished when she looked up at him and realized exactly how close he was, that faint flush coloring her cheeks again.  “And stop calling me Miss. You make it sound dirty.”

              “It could be,” Cassian replied thoughtfully. “I’ve always had this fantasy where you’re wearing gla – oomph!”

              Air escaped him as she shoved a book into his chest. He looked down at it, and then looked at her again.

              “Now, I may not have your love of books, Sweetheart” – she scowled, but if he couldn’t call her Miss Archeron, then she’d have to put up with it – “but I’m pretty sure Bram Stoker is a man.”

              “He is, but if we’re going to do a comparison of horror novels of the 19th century, then  sadly men have to be involved.”

              “Horror novels?” while Cassian had been delighted to be assigned to be Nesta’s partner, he truly hadn’t anticipated actually enjoying their literature project.  Not when he’d already heard other students talking about The Great Gatsby or Moby Dick –both favorites of their asshole teacher, Beron.

              Beron hated anything he viewed as “frivolous” – which meant anything involving magic or science outside the realm of belief.

              “Beron will hate it,” Cassian pointed out. He loved the idea, of course, but he also knew Nesta had, and was proud of, a flawless GPA.

              “If I cared what Beron liked, I would be doing a project on how Jonathan Franzen is truly the voice of our generation.” Her scathing tone said exactly what  she thought of that notion, and Cassian reached past her, his grin genuine.

              “Well, we can’t talk horror without The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”  He placed the book on top of Dracula while Nesta blinked in surprise.

              “Well… no, we can’t. We’ll need Frankenstein, of course. And Carmilla.”

              “Lesbian vampire,  why Miss Archeron, are you trying to give Beron a heart attack.”

              Nesta held the book in question to her chest, her knuckles clinging so tightly they turned white.  She looked at Cassian as though she’d never seen him before, and he began to feel a little self-conscious.

              “I mean-”

              “You’ve read Carmilla?” she asked, cutting him off.  Cassian rubbed the back of his neck a little sheepishly, because no one outside the Inner Circle – his tight group of friends – knew about his little horror novel addiction, and he wasn’t sure if the way Nesta was looking at him was good or not.

              “Yeah.  Just once. I mean, I liked it, but it wasn’t quite Jekyll and Hyde for me.”

              “What about The Witch of Ravensworth?”

              “Sure. Rhys and Az didn’t get the humor of it, but they’re weird like that.”

              Again, he wasn’t sure if Nesta’s expression was good… but she did take a step closer.

              “Wagner the Werewolf?”

              “Yes. Look, Nesta, if it’s horror written by someone who’s dead now, I’ve probably-”

              “Clermont?” Cassian didn’t understand it, but there was something almost desperate in her voice as she took another step closer.

              “That’s technically 18th century, but yes, I ha-”

              He suddenly found his arms full of Nesta, the books scattering to the floor.  She buried her hands in the hair just above his ears, not caring that it loosened the bun he’d pulled it into, and pulled his lips down to hers.

              She tasted like mint and chocolate again, and if Cassian could get her a lifetime supply of the stuff, he would. Those flavors would always scream Nesta to him, and this kiss was even better than the last, because this time he knew she was every bit as desperate as he was.

              He walked her back into the stack behind them, and one of her hands released him to cling to a shelf above  her.  The other remained buried in his hair, kept his lips firmly attached to hers.   Not that Cassian needed her help to keep kissing her. He could kiss her  forever, if she’d let him.

              She  felt so good, her body pressed against his, his hands holding her hips.  He would have never pulled back, except that he was desperate for air and starting to get light-headed.

              They both breathed hard as they pulled  apart, and it was incredibly difficult, not to admire Nesta’s chest as she breathed deeply.

              “I’ve read Bungay Castle, too,” he offered when his breathing calmed somewhat.

              “You fight dirty,” she informed him, and pulled him in for another kiss. Cassian tilted his head, Took her bottom lip between his and nipped it lightly with his teeth. She tugged on his hair in return, which made Cassian run  his hands up her sides, so he could wrap her in his arms, and lift her slightly, so she was on her tiptoes.  Her hands came to land on his shoulders for support, and when her nails dug in this time it just made him purr into her mouth.

              There was a coughing – light, and just to their right.

              Nesta ran her tongue along his bottom lips, and then changed the angle of her head so their kiss became somehow, impossibly, even deeper.

              ”Ahem!”

              They  stopped kissing, but didn’t break apart.  Instead, Cassian continued to hold Nesta while they both looked to the left, where Rhys was leaning against the stacks, his expression amused, while Feyre stood in front of them, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

              “What are you doing here?” Nesta asked, her voice somewhat dazed.  “You don’t even like reading.”

              “I’m dyslexic and suck at it,” Feyre corrected dryly.  “There’s a difference. It’s not quite…. Carmilla?  But it’s progress.”

              She held up a  book, some generic paperback romance, even as she bent down to pick up one of their discarded books.

              “We were really coming here for the same reason as you,” Rhys offered brightly.  “But you distracted us.”

              Feyre elbowed him sharply in the ribs, while Nesta stepped quickly away from Cassian, as she realized how they’d been found. She tried to  smooth back her hair, and Cassian realized that, at some point, he must have ran his fingers through it, because her usually immaculate braid  crown was tumbling loose.

              “We were discussing our literature topic,” she said primly. “It turns out we have similar tastes.”

              Feyre stared at her sister, and Nesta just stared back, raising a brow. It was the silent communication that came from a lifetime of knowing someone.  Cas could do the same with Az, Rhys, and Mor, and sometimes even Amren, when she wasn’t being difficult.  Whatever Feyre was seeing from Nesta had her shaking her head.

              “You have the same taste in books.  Of course. I shouldn’t even be surprised.”

              “Go away,” Nesta responded.

              “Now,” Rhys interrupted. “That’s not very-”

              “Nesta’s right,” Cassian agreed. “Go away.”

              It was their turn for that silent communication, and Rhys’ chuckle was pure amusement as he turned away.

              “Fine. We’re going.”

              “Good – stay gone!” Cassian called after them, and then sighed heavily, because of course they would have to ruin this.

              “We should start on the project,” Nesta stated, not looking at him as she gathered the books.  Cassian sighed again, and bent down to help.  Their fingers grazed as she handed Jekyll and Hyde to him while they straightened, and it sent a shiver of awareness through them both. Nesta stilled, her fingers still on his hand, and their gazes met.

              She didn’t move away.

              “Th-there” – there was a tremor in her voice, and she cleared her throat, looking away briefly, before meeting his eyes once more in that direct, Nesta way – “there are web series about some of these.  Have you ever watched them?”

              “No,” Cassian replied. “Are they good?”

              “I like them.”  She bit her lip thoughtfully, as though in an internal battle. She probably was – this was Nesta.  Frustrating, cold as ice, stubborn, contradictory Nesta.  “Would you like to watch them?  With me?”

              “For the class?” Cassian asked. Because as much as he liked to tease Nesta, he would be damn sure of what she was asking him right now. Nesta rolled her eyes at the question.

              “No, obviously not for the class. I want to make out with you again, you idiot.  And I’d rather not do where my sister or, God forbid, your other friends, can come observe us.”

              “Oh,” Cassian hadn’t expected her to be quite that blunt, which did make him an idiot, because he should have.  “Okay… yeah. But I do also want to watch the episodes.”

              Nesta tapped her lip thoughtfully.

              “We’ll figure it out,” she said at last. Then she turned her back and headed for a table.  When Cassian just stayed in place, staring after her, she turned around with a scowl.  “Well, get moving.  We need to get this project outlined.”

              Cassian chuckled to himself and got moving.

[bookiemonsterph]

A Court Of Thorns And Roses

Synopsis:

Feyre is a huntress.

She thinks nothing of slaughtering a wolf to capture its prey. But, like all mortals, she fears what lingers mercilessly beyond the forest. And she will learn that taking the life of a magical creature comes at a high price...

Imprisoned in an enchanted court in her enemy's kingdom, Feyre is free to roam but forbidden to escape. Her captor's body bears the scars of fighting, and his face is always masked - but his piercing stare draws her ever closer. As Feyre's feeling for Tamlin begin to burn through every warning she's been told about his kind, an ancient, wicked shadow grows.

Feyre must find a way to break a spell, or lose her heart forever.

Title: A Court Of Thorns And Roses Series: A Court Of Thorns And Roses Author: Sarah J. Maas ISBN:  1408857863 (ISBN13: 9781408857861) Pages:  419 pages (Paperback) Published: May 5th 2015 by Bloomsbury Children's Characters: Amarantha, Feyre Archeron, Tamlin, Lucien Vanserra, Rhysand, Nesta Archeron, Elain Archeron Genre: Young Adult, Fantasy, Romance, Retellings

A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES is nothing I expected to be. Originally, I expected it to be a great fairy tale retelling with a Katniss-like heroine. That is the expectation. What this book is, it goes beyond my expectations. It is legendary, and Sarah J. Maas is the queen (as said before by many). She has written THRONE OF GLASS and its sequels, but this beauty is the crown jewel (the masterpiece) of Maas's works.

A retelling of "Beauty and the Beast," A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES holds some similar storylines to "Cupid and Psyche." But Sarah J. Maas never fails to amaze me, despite the familiar subplots and tropes used. Feyre is a dangerous girl, who has a stern heart of gold and the spirit of a true huntress. Tamlin, who is a dangerous faerie with awful skills for courting and deathly ways with a weapon (or no weapon at all), is full of layers and slowly becomes someone understandable.

The plot circles and circles around a single point. It goes very fast, and though the book is long (four hundred or so pages), the pacing is perfect. Every moment is amazing, every scene is absolutely splendid, and every page is worth a reread. (I admit I reread A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES at least four times because of how good it is.) The book is told from first person, and Feyre's voice reminds me very much of Katniss Everdeen and other tough huntresses of legends and myths.

The romance between Feyre and Tamlin is great and amusing to watch, and it has a surprisingly large role in the story. The conflict and the villain of the story makes their romance even more difficult and simpler, all at the same time. Of course, the love between Feyre and Tamlin would never happen if it weren't for the cunning and dangerous villain, who I admire very much. She is a tricky character with horrible servants hanging onto her every world, a sharp mind, and an even sharper streak of cruelty. Her bloodthirsty ways are quite shocking and graphic.

The ending of the book is one of the best parts. The last chapter or so is so satisfying that readers would probably read it over and over twenty-two times in the row. In one sitting. It is that satisfying. Despite obvious loose ends, the conclusion to this book can be seen as a strong ending to a standalone. Still, I'm rather eager to see where the author will take the trilogy and hope that she doesn't turn the romance into a love triangle. (The "romance into a love triangle" is a discussion for another time and place.)

In conclusion, A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES is a whirling fairy tale retelling. With a tough and strong heroine and a lovable beast, this story is totally worth a reread. Every time. Many can probably live and breathe on the words of Sarah J. Maas.