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sarah-bae-maas · 3 years

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Gwyn wants to explore, and Azriel needs a friend - a Gwynriel fic - Part 1

In honour of this blog turning five years old, I thought I would treat you all to a two part/chapter Gwynriel fic that has been wandering around in my brain throughout countless days of lockdown and tortuous university classes.

I’m already well underway with part 2 of this fic, but I do have some assignments coming up, so expect it within the fortnight!

So please do enjoy this nearly 15k words worth of Gwynriel goodness <3

Masterlist Ao3

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She was staring at him.

Again.

Azriel had always paid special attention to Gwyn – not that he would tell her that, of course. It was a secret held deep in his shadows that she was his favourite Valkyrie, the one he thought the most brave and resilient. It would not be an unpopular opinion if he did share it, the other women looked at her with great admiration, and Nesta often sung her praises when the female wasn’t there to refute her words. But Azriel knew the presumptions people might make if they knew he thought it, and the last thing he wanted was for a misunderstanding to make Gwyn uncomfortable.

Gwyn was holding a bag for Emerie to kick, her stance strong enough that she didn’t flinch at all with each pummel. Her focus should have been on Emerie’s form, but rather her teal eyes were glued to him. Every time Azriel looked over at her, she quickly shifted her gaze to her friend, but his shadows constantly reminded him that Gwyn was once again paying her attention to him.

Cassian called the end of the session. Azriel was grateful, he was finding it harder and harder to train the women effectively when he knew Gwyn was right there.

He practically fled the scene, his cheeks brushed with red, barely nodding to the women who said their thanks to him as he passed. It’s not that he didn’t like her attention, but it made his stomach feel heavy, his hands shake, and he didn’t like how out of control he felt whenever she looked at him like that.

He settled in the dining room. Standing, he braced his hands on the table, a bead of sweat dripping off his forehead and tarnishing the wood. Nesta wouldn’t like if he got his sweat all over the table, even though her and Cassian had coated it in far more scandalous bodily fluids. He should do something productive, like work or eat or pester Rhys and Feyre to have Nyx for the afternoon, but instead he chose to close his eyes and picture the person who’d been haunting him.

He and Gwyn were friends. She was over nearly every night to eat with Nesta, their dinners a sort of lively Azriel hadn’t experienced since he’d lived in Illyria with Rhys and Cas. It was joyful to live in a space filled with such light, but also overwhelming. Azriel found that as much as he loved the time with the rag-tag team they’d made for themselves, his social timer still clicked in his mind as a constant reminder that sometimes dealing with people, even the ones you loved, could be utterly exhausting.

Not with Gwyn though, his shadows lamented, setting him straight. No, Azriel never felt tired with her.

“Az?”

As though his thoughts alone had summoned her, Gwyn’s voice startled him out of his reverie. He turned, his lips parting slightly at the sight of her.

She was still in her training gear – a shirt and pants lovingly stitched by Emerie with embroidered flowers decorating the seams – her neat braid falling around her face, framing her pearlescent skin in fire.

“Gwyneth. Do you need something?”

Her eyes were wide, her hands clasped in front of her as she wrung her fingers. It made Azriel tilt his head in confusion, not understanding why she was so nervous. They spoke every day, she mouthed off at him often, and her shift in confidence had him surprised.

“I have a proposition for you, but you must promise to not tell a soul.”

Azriel raised a brow, leaning back into the table. He spread his hands before him. “I’m listening.”

Gwyn swallowed, her cheeks turning the same shade of red as her hair.

“Imsturbalt,” she squeaked.

“What?”

“I masturbate a lot!” She smacked her hands over her mouth, as if betrayed at the words they spilled.

Azriel’s jaw went slack, his eyes near bugging from his skull. “Okay… that’s good? Self-exploration!” He half-heartedly waved a celebratory fist in the air, not sure what to say to her statement.

She groaned louder than a stabbing victim. “I was thinking that, I didn’t intend to say it aloud.” She rubbed her hands over her face, peeking at him through her fingers. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Your secrets are safer with me than they are anyone else.” Azriel smiled, trying to diffuse the obvious tension in her body. “So, your proposition?”

She tensed her jaw, moving her arms behind and looking at the ground as she spoke. “I guess my previous statement that will never be mentioned again to anyone if you like having the functional use of your organsperhaps wasn’t entirely irrelevant to what I’m going to ask you. But I beg, please let me finish before you say anything, and also don’t feel pressured to say yes.”

“Okay.”

“Silence.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She grinned at him, her eyes finally meeting his again. “As you know, better than anyone really, I have a difficult past.”

Azriel wished he could burn the images of finding her on that table from his mind. He’d had to actively teach himself not to envision her crying and screaming for her sister when she’d first became a permanent fixture in House of Wind. He’s seen many horrific things in his time, was no stranger to the worst humanity had to offer, but it was different when it was someone so vulnerable, so selfless, so important to him. It might have made him a bad person that he didn’t equate people’s trauma accordingly, but how could he possibly care for a stranger as much as he cared for Gwyn?

“What happened to me made me fear my body. Fear the sexuality I see women like Nesta and Mor own. They’re so powerful, and the things that have happened to them… They’re not broken. They’re not less. They’re not afraid.” She paused, sighing deeply. “I would never look upon anyone in the library as lesser than because of the things that have happened to them. It wasn’t until I met Nesta and Emerie that I realised I didn’t give myself the same grace. I want to own the parts of me that were stolen. I want to feel like my body belongs to me. I didn’t even know where to begin, but then the House gave me this book, some fluffy romance novel, and the girl in it was just like me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just felt so seen. Like the Mother herself had handed this smut piece into my lap to make me feel better.”

Gwyn moved to one of the lounge chairs that Cassian had haphazardly shoved into a corner one night when Nesta didn’t feel like moving from the dining room. Gwyn was effortlessly graceful as she sat and curled her legs up, her head resting on her fist.

“That’s where the masturbating comes in.” Her eyes avoided his again, focusing on patterns her fingers drew in the velvet material of the chair. “The girl in the book did it. She’d never had an orgasm either. So, I did too.” She laughed quietly. “It made me feel good. Not just the physical pleasure part, but the part where it was just me, empowering myself at a pace I was comfortable with.”

Azriel wished he could say something, but one, he knew to be silent and let her have this moment, and two, he didn’t know how to tell someone he was proud of them for touching themselves without it sounding weird. He was proud though, extremely so, at how strong she felt from acting on her wants. Her resilience had always astounded him.

“In the book, the girl meets this man.” Her voice lowered, barely more than a whisper. “He treats her so kindly, in a way that I’ve seen Cassian treat Nesta a million times, in a way I yearn to be treated. I’ve given myself a clean slate. This body, my body, has only been touched by me. I am whole. I was never broken, just healing. And I’m at a stage where I want more. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Azriel wished her could say yes, please the eager note in her voice that hoped he was on the same page as her, but even his shadows were silent to her desires.

She glanced at him just long enough to see him shake his head. She tipped her head back. “When Nesta first started sleeping with Cassian, I was so curious. What were they doing? What was he doing to make her look so satisfied? But when I tried to picture it, my stomach would churn. And then time passed. I grew stronger. I became a Valkyrie. And like many others before me and many more in the centuries to come, I walked in on Cassian and Nesta fucking.”

Azriel inhaled sharply. To hear the vulgarity fucking from a mouth so pure sent a bolt through him, and he chided himself for his inappropriate thoughts during such a serious conversation.

“They don’t know I saw, not that I think they would have minded. I would bet good money that if I asked for a demonstration on pleasurable acts Cassian and Nesta would be more than happy to comply. Where I might have once felt sick from seeing them, instead I felt-”

She cut herself off, looking for the right words.

“I felt burning desire. I’ve never been so envious of someone in my life. I didn’t want to have sex with Cassian, but by the Cauldron I wanted to feel the way that Nesta did. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t know you were such a good secret keeper. Or such a good friend.”

Azriel couldn’t bite his tongue any longer. “Gwyn, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to have sex with me.”

***

Azriel stared at his ceiling, his shadows dancing and rolling around him.

I want you to have sex with me.

He tested the words on his own lips. They tasted sweet. They also brought an uncomfortable amount of pressure to his cock. He refused to touch it though and kept both his hands firmly behind his head.

He’d told Gwyn he needed to think about it, and she understood. She said she didn’t expect an answer from him straight away.

Azriel had a lot to consider.

He was practically titillated that when Gwyn had decided she wanted to explore herself with a male, it was him who she thought of. She expressed that it was because she knew he’d care for her, that he’d respect her and because of how much she trusted him. There were not words to express how hearing such things felt to him. It made him want to do this for her, because his soul be damned he knew he would do right by her. Make her feel good, feel special, feel appreciated.

It would be amiss though not to acknowledge that if he did do this, let her warm his bed while he tasted her, it could ruin not just the friendship they had established but also the dynamic of the house. She had assured him that if his answer was no, they would continue their lives as if the conversation never happened.

Which brought a darker thought to his mind.

If not Azriel, then who? She would surely approach someone else. Someone not deserving of her, who might not treat her how she deserved to be treated. That was not to say Azriel thought that in all his bastardly ways he was what Gwyn should have – no, she deserved more than he could ever give – but at least he knew that she would be safe with him.

The thought of another male’s hands on her made him see red.

That was answer enough.

***

Nesta and Cassian were gone for the weekend, caring for Nyx while Feyre and Rhys had a romantic getaway for the weekend. Azriel secretly thought Nesta was using this as a trial to see if her and Cassian were ready for a baby.

It was the perfect opportunity to have Gwyn join him.

The day after she’d approached him, he’d slipped her a note after training to say that he was all in, and to meet him the next night. He tried not to watch her face as she read the note but couldn’t help it. She went bright pink, but she seemed exhilarated.

And now she was standing in his room.

They nervously looked at each other. Azriel wanted to give her the chance to speak first other than their obligatory greetings, but she was tongue-tied.

“I was thinking we should take this in steps,” Azriel said, sitting on the edge of his bed, watching her refrain from pacing back and forth.

“That seems logical. What sort of steps?”

“I was thinking tonight we take sex off the table.”

“What?” Her face fell, hurt evident in her expression.

“Just for tonight. Gwyn, have you had your first kiss?”

She shook her head no.

“Then maybe we do that. And anything beyond only what you want. I need you to know that you’re in control here. Whatever we do or don’t do is completely your decision.”

She nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. “That sounds reasonable. Like you’re my little puppet.” Her hands mimed using a marionette, and Azriel found it easy to reciprocate her smile.

She moved to his side, planting herself on the bed next to him. He couldn’t help but notice the how good she smelled, how carefully her hair had been arranged and how she’d worn her nicest dress. She had wanted to look good for him, and the thought made his heart squeeze.

He reached out and held the hands she clasped in her lap. It made her look at him, her teal eyes flashing in the room only lit by his fireplace.

“You’re a very good friend, Azriel.”

“Do you want me to kiss you, Gwyn?”

She nodded, turning her body to face him.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb, then her lips, before he settled on cradling her face. She leant her head into his hand, so trusting as she looked at him. His hand was so big that the fingers that lay on her neck could feel her hammering pulse.

She leant in the same time he did.

At first it was just a peck. Their lips brushing against each other’s so gently it made Azriel ache. He pressed his lips to her again, and again, getting her used to the feeling of his lips on hers. She enthusiastically reciprocated, her slender fingers running up his chest before meeting behind his head, tangling themselves in his hair. He smiled against her mouth, pleased at such a reaction when the real kissing had yet to even start.

His grazed his tongue along her lip, and she eagerly opened her mouth, letting his tongue slip inside her. The noise she made at the contact buzzed straight through him, and he was pleasantly surprised when Gwyn, in all her eagerness, took control of him.

She kissed him as though she had done it her whole life, like her mouth belonged on his, and the feel of her delicate tongue made him deepen their kiss, angling her head so they could better feel one another. She was practically leaning back, and if this had been a meaningless one night stand she’d have been on her back by now with Azriel’s mouth between her thighs.

She broke away from him, his mouth instinctively following hers as it wanted more, making her gleam in pride.

“I want to change positions,” she said, her hands still wired into his hair.

“Anything you want,” he replied breathlessly.

Azriel didn’t know what to expect, but it was not her getting up and crawling into his lap. She straddled his thighs, and there was no way she wouldn’t be able to feel his erection pressing against her. He did with his hands what any male would do in this situation, and her giggle was enough to know that she’d wanted him to do that.

“Your hands are on my ass,” she laughed.

“Is that okay?”

“Very much so.” She took a deep breath. “Take your shirt off. Please.”

He obliged.

“And you should – you should take off my dress too.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have a slip on underneath.”

His hands shook slightly as they ran up her sides and to her back, undoing each button on her dress. To give her a more authentic experience, he decided to lean in as he did, kissing a new spot on her neck with each button that came undone.

She raised her arms so that he could slip the dress over her head, and he averted his eyes when her slip rode up with it. He didn’t look back until she had adjusted herself. When he did, he nearly fainted.

She was divine in her beauty. He always saw lovely she was, anyone with eyes would. Her body was lean and tight. Her uniform may have hidden it, but she had the power of any warrior in her body. Azriel wondered if she purposefully hid her strength so that it was a secret part of her arsenal. Smart female.

He ran his hands up her spread legs before planting them back on her ass. Unable to resist, he squeezed his hands, making her groan.

“Your hands feel so good,” she gasped. “Do everyone’s hands feel like that, or is it just you?”

He snickered. “Anyone who is worth their weight knows how to make a female feel good.” He bumped her shoulder with his nose. “What would you like me to do now? Do you want to keep kissing?”

“Fuck yes I want to keep kissing.” She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest as she playfully nipped at his bottom lip. “But maybe we could do other things. Even better things.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Gwyn reached behind her and grabbed one of the hands resting on her behind. For the first time since they’d started, she looked nervous. Her legs were shaking, and Azriel was unsure if it was anxiety or anticipation for whatever she had planned.

She guided his hand under his slip until he was cupping her sex.

“You aren’t.” He swallowed hard. “You aren’t wearing underwear.”

She shook her head playfully. “I didn’t think I would need to.”

She pressed his hand into her, and he moaned at the wetness he found. She was so slick for him already, and all they had done was kiss. He did an exploratory brush through her folds, and as at the tip of his finger grazed over her clit, she arched into him, holding on tight to his shoulders.

He started teasing her, obsessed with the little noises she was making at the back of her throat as he did, but he soon realised something.

Usually, when Azriel was with a female, they got progressively more… turned on. Their bodies would react to his touch, and his fingers would be coated in their juices before he even attempted to enter them with either his fingers or his cock.

Gwyn was not.

It seemed the more he touched her, the more it was like her body didn’t want this. For all intents and purposes, she was… drying up?

His hand went still, and he could feel her body instinctively relaxing as his hand left her pussy.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, clinging to him.

“You don’t enjoy this.” He made her look him in the eye, and his throat tightened at how she looked. There were tears lining her eyes and a deep furrow on her forehead.

“I do, I promise I do. I’m just nervous. If we – if we just overcome this one thing-”

“No, Gwyn.”

“Please Azriel,” she said desperately, trying to guide his hand back between her thighs.

As gently as he could, he lifted her from his lap and placed her beside him on the bed. Her breath shuddered, and he couldn’t bear the shattered look on her face.

She didn’t say a word, just stood up and tried to locate her dress. Azriel didn’t even know where he had thrown it, but he stood and stopped her from looking anyway.

“Gwyn…” He grasped her hands in his, towering over her as they faced each other. “I want to do this for you, please believe me when I say that. But maybe we just need to take a few more steps first. Do something else before that.”

“What else is there?” She was dejected, her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what I’m doing Az. And I swear on the Cauldron I want this. Fuck, this is so embarrassing. I’m just so nervous, and I get in my head about everything I do-”

“Hey hey hey, stop that.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the ropable tension in her body started to ease out. She slumped against him, his arms wrapping around her in an embrace. “This is fine. Great, even.”

“You are such a liar.” She sighed, but at least she returned his embrace, tucking herself into him so they were as close as possible.

He tried to think of ways to salvage the night for her, to give her at least a little bit of what she wanted.

An idea sprang to mind.

“Gwyn?”

“Mmm?”

“Get on the bed. Lie down.”

She looked up at him hopefully. She didn’t need to be told twice. She practically flung herself at the bed, laying down on her back and resting her arms above her head. She grinned at him, and he didn’t miss the way she clenched her thighs together than spread them apart like a silent invitation.

Azriel couldn’t help but brighten at her enthusiasm. He undid the buttons on his pants and kicked them down so he was naked before her.

“I thought we weren’t having sex!” She jolted to her side, holding herself up on her arms and staring at his penis, her eyes practically bulging out of her head at the sight of it.

There were many things Azriel did not like about himself. But he had a damn fine cock.

He laughed at the look on her face and shook his head. “We’re not having sex. I’m not even going to touch you.”

She deflated. “Really? Not even a little bit?”

He followed her to the bed, climbing over her without touching her and planting himself next to her so they were lying side to side. He turned his head to her, and she looked at him curiously.

“We’re not just going to lie here naked, are we? It’s a bit cold for that.”

It was a little chilly. Her nipples were hard under her slip, which had ridden up to her stomach.

“No, but we can get under the blanket if you want.”

Her gaze raked up and down his body. “I’m happy above the blanket.”

They laid in a comfortable silence for a moment, happily taking in each other’s bodies. She was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen, and he was glad to see that their kissing antics had left her dishevelled. He liked that look on her.

“Are you actually not going to touch me?”

“I’m not. I think you should touch yourself.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll touch myself, too. It’ll be a way for us to be more comfortable with each other. For you to be in control of your pleasure.”

“Will you watch me?” she murmured.

“If that’s okay. You can watch me, too.”

She considered his words, and Azriel wondered if this was in fact not the good idea he’d thought he’d had. She pursed her lips, and he knew her answer when she grabbed the hem of her slip and pulled it off, leaving her naked before him.

They stared into each other’s eyes as her hand brushed over her exposed breasts, and Azriel had to hold himself back from taking them in his mouth, from pinching her perked nipples with his teeth. Maybe later, that could come; he thought she would quite like it.

Her right hand kneaded her breast and tweaked her nipple while her left dipped down between her legs. Two fingers ran over her core, and he studied the way she massaged herself so that he could do it to her in the future. At the sight, he tentatively grasped his cock, wanting to make sure that she was truly okay with him touching himself at the vision of her with her fingers dipping inside her, moistening herself before focusing on her clit.

Her eyes flickered to his stroking hand, and her response nearly made him finish then and there like a teenager exploring themselves for the first time. She’d seen him, and lifted her leg so that it was draped over one of his, giving her a better angle on her clit and twining them together.

“I’m used to being quiet,” she shuddered. “So that no one hears me.”

“Be as loud as you want. Scream for me.”

Her hand quickened, and his sack tightened as he matched her speed with his own hand, gripping himself tightly. He moaned so loudly that he was once again thankful that Cassian and Nesta weren’t in the house. Even the magic of the walls mightn’t contain the pleasure pulsing through him as he watched her.

Her legs started to shake, and the little noises she’d made before were no more. Her voice was loud as she no longer held herself back from feeling even ounce of her impending orgasm.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked, her hips starting to gyrate against her hand.

“You. All I can think of is you,” Azriel moaned. He pumped himself quicker, his grip becoming harder.

“What about you,” he whispered in her ear. “Are you thinking about what you saw Cassian do to Nesta?”

Her toes curled at his words. “I’m thinking of what I saw them doing, but it’s you and me.”

“What are we doing, Gwyneth?”

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her tongue licked her lips before she bit down on them. “We’re in the library. You have me bent over one of the desks, and you’re taking me from behind. One of your arms is around me, and you’re flicking my clit as I scream your name. You’re so deep in me, Azriel, I can feel every inch of you as I clench around you. Cauldron, you feel so good. The best thing I’ve ever felt, Az.”

His breath hitched, and he felt himself on the brink of coming. What finally did him in was her teeth biting down on his shoulder as she screamed his name, her orgasm making her whole body shake as it overcame over.

When they had both come down from their highs, they laid trying to catch their breath, both their bodies covered in sweat.

“That was amazing,” she sighed, turning to face him.

He grabbed a corner of the unused blanket beneath them to wipe himself off, then turned to face her, an arm going around her waist and his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead and cheek.

He wanted to look at her body, finally relaxed and languid, but his shadows had another idea. They bathed over her like silk, dancing over her curves and crevices, making her laugh.

“I quite like them,” she said, her eyes starting to drift closed.

“Are you tired?”

“Mhmm.” She snuggled into him further, stealing his warmth. His cock responded to her touch, but it was too soon yet to do anything meaningful.

“Move up for a sec.”

“Is that you trying to hint that I should go?” Her voice was joking, but the look on her face said that she’d go if he wanted her too.

“Absolutely not, you’re staying here with me. I’m just grabbing the blanket.”

She moved away just long enough for him to pull the blankets over them and pull her to his chest again.

She made a content noise and closed her eyes to sleep, and Az thought to himself that he didn’t care if this one day ended their friendship, because it might very well be the best time of his life anyway.

***

The next two weeks were filled with them sneaking away and feverishly touching themselves in all sorts of ways. Once, Gwyn sat in his lap naked while they stroked themselves, kissing each other the entire time. Another time, she pleasured herself by grinding against his thigh and he palmed himself – they hadn’t even bothered to take their clothes off. A late-night training session had led to her using a particularly shaped massage tool on herself in very a scandalous way while he watched, near feral at the sight of her pumping into herself. He did not return that item to the training ring, instead he kept it in his bedside drawer for future use.

It wasn’t until sixteen days and countless orgasms into their agreement that Azriel was finally able to touch her.

It had been a busy night. Rhys, Feyre, Nyx, Mor and Emerie were over for dinner, and it had been the most fun Az had had in a group since last solstice. At the table, he’d had Feyre on one side and Gwyn on the other, and her little secret touches to his thigh made him feel warm all over.

It wasn’t necessarily an arousing touch, just an affectionate one. When the group had started to disperse to drink, Nesta the sober adult taking care of Nyx, Az noticed Gwyn sneak away. He promptly followed her, making sure everyone was distracted as he did so no one noticed what they were doing.

Within a few minutes he was between her thighs tasting her. She had mentioned the night before that she wanted his tongue on her, and by the Cauldron was he happy to oblige. She was sitting on the edge of desk in the library that she’d described to him all those weeks ago, and whilst on his knees before her, he jerked himself off as she crumbled beneath his mouth.

Thankfully, by the time they returned, people were far too tipsy to question where they’d been.

Except for Nesta, who looked suspiciously between the two of them. Whatever she was thinking, it was at Gwyn’s behest if she knew anything. It was her decision, always, what happened between them, and if she wanted people to know about their sneakiness, that was for her to decide.

Seven days later is when she first touched him. Until that point it had all been about her, which is what Azriel wanted. They were on his bed, his fingers deep inside her as they kissed, when her hand brushed against his cock. He moved his hips aside, and she broke their kiss off with a noise of indignation.

“Stop swatting my hands away!” She flicked his nose with her finger.

“Huh?” He was still dazed on the sound of his hand gliding through her dripping wet core.

“Do you not want me to touch you?” Her voice was curt.

“I just want this to be about you. I don’t want you to think that I’m only with you for my own sexual gratification. The only thing that matters to me is your happiness, my soul purpose is you. You’re my priority.” He kissed her neck. “My desires are your desires.” Another kiss. “I can’t focus if you’re anything less than panting and satisfied.”

She pursed her lips, a familiar expression at this point. It turned into a joyful smile, and she smacked a kiss to his lips. “That was actually very sweet. After I get you off, I’m going to sit on your face.”

What was even better than the heavy petting and intense make out sessions was the talking. Sometimes for hours they would just tangle themselves together and divulge their life stories. Azriel knew all about her sister and mother – Gwyn confessing that she felt guilt when her twin wasn’t on the forefront of her mind, but sometimes she pushed her away because the memory of her was overwhelmingly devastating. Az wiped her tears away, desperate to see her smile again. But he also knew of all the good times she’d had growing up, and it made him feel alight inside to know how loved she was. Az told her mostly of Rhys and Cassian and the family they had made for themselves, about how it was so hard to be away from his mother, but he wouldn’t have survived another day in his father’s presence. Gwyn cried for him sometimes, and Azriel had never known such empathy from another.

When they were alone in the House, Nesta and Cassian off on one of their sexcations, Gwyn would spend her evenings and nights with him just as a friend, doing housework and menial tasks that she didn’t have to while humming various tunes. Az would tell her to stop working, but she would just grin and say she liked feeling like part of a home too much to not pretend that she lived there too. So he would just hum with her, his shadows dancing and swaying the way they always inevitably did around her. Then they would fall into bed together (or any surface really) until they were spent and exhausted.

Azriel had never known happiness like this.

***

Azriel was buzzing with excitement. He’d left Gwyn wrapped up in his bed, the sun not yet risen, and made sure to leave her some breakfast on his nightstand and the fire burning to keep her warm without his body next to hers. Usually he would wake her up early with his head between her thighs so she could go back to the library, but she had already told the acolytes she roomed with that she would be staying with Nesta, so no need to sneak around when no one was expecting her.

Before they’d gone to sleep the night before, Gwyn said something to him that left him smiling even now as he made his way to Rhys.

I want to have sex, Az. I’m sure. I know I’m safe with you.

Az didn’t know why Rhys needed him, but if it involved leaving Velaris, he would barter for a few more days so that he might be with Gwyn before he left. An odd feeling entered his chest at the thought. He couldn’t name the feeling; he just knew he didn’t want to leave Gwyn alone.

He landed on the doorstep of Feyre and Rhys’ home. Before he had the chance to let himself in, Feyre opened the door, a grave look on her face.

“Quick. Before they start yelling.” Feyre pinched her nose, the other hand holding Nyx on her hip.

Azriel pushed past her, and it wasn’t hard to find the source of Feyre’s frustration.

“Once again you fucking asshole, you need to back off. How dare you-”

“Nes, calm down-”

“Tell me to calm down again Cassian and I’m out of here. As I was saying, how fucking dare you accuse her of such things, Rhysand, High Lord of Shitting me up the Wall.”

“Nesta, for fuck’s sake you’re getting defensive for no reason!”

“No reason?!” she spat, Cassian holding her back before she lunged at Rhys.

“Too late,” Feyre muttered at him as she walked into the office, sitting at the desk to remain neutral in Nesta and Rhysand’s pissing match. Azriel would love to know what had riled them up so much that they were nearly screaming at each other, but any guidance from his brothers was not there.

“You have to admit that it’s suspicious, Nesta!”

Rhys threw his arm at Azriel as he approached, looking triumphant. “Azriel will agree with me.”

“He will not.”

“May I ask what I might need to agree to, or will it remain a mystery as to why you’re yelling so early in the morning?” Az crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for them to stop acting like children.

“Rhys accused Gwyn of being a spy,” Nesta growled.

“You’re twisting my words! I said I’d had reports of her acting strange, of her behaviour being completely different, and I suggested that it was worth looking into. We have to consider the safety of Velaris, and Gwyn would be the perfect plant.”

Azriel was sure Rhys was going to say more, but he was interrupted by Azriel’s uncontrollable fit of laughter. His laughs shook his whole body, and he felt tears in his eyes from how hard his fit was hitting him. He had to bend over to try and catch his breath, clutching at his chest as though his lungs might leap out of it.

“What’s so funny,” Rhys deadpanned.

Azriel shook his head and walked to Nesta, putting an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you serious, Rhys? Gwyn? Gwyenth Berdara?”

“Yes, I’m serious. Both Clotho and Merrill have approached me. Clotho, because she was worried, and Merrill, because she thought that Gwyn was being insubordinate. Clotho has had multiple girls come to her in fear for Gwyn, saying she’s been disappearing at night and coming back early in the morning. They she’s tired, unfocused, and that she’s exceeding every expectation they had for her in training and acting like a different person in the library. This has all been reported over the last month.” Rhys picked Nyx out of Feyre’s arms to calm himself before continuing. “Gwyn knows incredibly sensitive information about us. She helped us with the Trove, she treats the House of Wind like she bloody lives there. She’s awfully comfortable for a person who previous to knowing us refused to leave the library.”

Any humour Azriel felt had been leeched from his body. Nesta’s verbal beating of Rhys had been justified and then some.

“With all due respect, you can go fuck yourself,” he bit at his brother.

Feyre made a noise in the back of her throat and took Nyx back from Rhys before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her.

Too much swearing for such little ears! she said into their minds as she was leaving.

“What the fuck, Az?” Rhys looked startled.

“I knew he’d side with me,” Nesta said smugly.

“She’s ‘awfully comfortable?’ Yeah, she is, because she found a fucking family. Nesta is like a sister to her, and she’s over at the House a lot not because she’s entitled, but because we want her there. You might not make that much of an effort with Nesta’s friends because of your own personal shit, but Cassian and I consider her a close friend. Accusing her of anything unbecoming, to me, is as bad as if you’d dragged me in here to tell me Cassian was working against us. You sound ludicrous. Also, need I remind you, it’s not your fucking House anymore. Who we have over is none of your damned business.”

Rhys scoffed. “It’s not your House either.”

“Sorry, High Lord Rhysand, I’ll manage my expectations.” Az clenched his jaw at Rhys’ words. He was right. Azriel didn’t technically have any property, neither had Cassian until Rhys had given Nesta the House as a mating gift. Azriel didn’t technically have a home beyond the sky, nothing worth giving to or sharing with another person. Even now, Gwyn was waiting for him in a bedroom that technically wasn’t is. He wouldn’t dare leave though, not when he knew it was one of only two places that Gwyn felt safe in.

“Why are you getting so defensive? You know what I’m saying is reasonable.”

“It would be if we didn’t know her. She is… there are not words to describe her.”

“Yes, there is,” Nesta piqued. “She is competitive. She is feisty. She’s a Valkyrie. She is the kindest soul in Velaris. She is so brave, and strong, and the most selflessly loving person I’ve met in my entire life. If you weren’t so thick headed, you would see that she’s like Feyre in a lot of ways.” Nesta paused. She left Azriel’s side to stand in front of Rhys, her shoulders back and her head high. “If you accuse her of something it would break her heart. I won’t let you hurt her.”

“I would never hurt her, Nesta.” Rhys rubbed a hand over his face. “If you’re so convinced that nothing is going on, can you explain her strange behaviour.”

Nesta turned away from Rhys, so that he couldn’t see her face. When Nesta looked over at Azriel, she didn’t need to say a single word for him to know that she knew the exact reason Gwyn was acting different.

It was because of him.

“I don’t need to explain it because I trust her. I’m also with her nearly every minute of every day. Do you not think I would not notice if she was conniving against us? Or are you truly that foolish?”

“I agree with Nesta,” Cassian said. “She’s either with us training the Valkyries, or she’s working with Nesta in the library. Who cares if she’s a little distracted, we all are sometimes.”

“And you’re sure of this?” Rhys directed his question at Azriel, almost as if he couldn’t trust Cassian and Nesta to be impartial because of how close they were to Gwyn. Huh. If only he knew.

“I have never been surer of anything.”

***

“Azriel, wait.”

Azriel was stalking through the front gardens. He would walk until his head was clear, then he would go home – go to the House of Wind – and spend the morning with Gwyn. Nesta had other plans.

“What is it?”

“Gwyn-”

“-will be safe. I won’t let Rhys near her.”

“I’m not worried about that. What is going on between you two?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not blind. All the things Rhys described? Sure, might be espionage, but it might also just be someone falling in love.”

“We’re not together.” Love? What a preposterous thought. Gwyn had been very clear from the beginning in what she wanted from him. She needed someone to fulfil her physical needs, and Azriel was happy to do so. All the other stuff, the talking and friendship, was just icing.

“Then what are you doing? Setting yourselves up to get hurt?”

“This is a conversation you should have with her.”

“She trusts you so much, Az. Please, don’t do anything that would hurt her. She’s come so far since we met.”

“Nesta, I promise you I couldn’t dream of hurting her. The thought alone makes me feel visceral pain. What we do, what we are, is just her making decisions and doing what she wants. How did you even know there was something going on?”

Nesta smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I guessed she had a flirtation with someone. I knew it was you from the way she started saying your name.”

Azriel felt his eyes burn, but he did not know why. “The way she says my name?”

“I’ve heard the way she says it a million times. From Cassian and I. From Rhys and Feyre. I can’t describe it beyond that.”

Azriel shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted where he stood. “Have you told Cas?”

“I don’t need to, he knows.”

“So you guys have talked about it?”

“No. I haven’t told him that I know. But I know he knows. And he also knows I know.”

“So he knows you know even though you haven’t told him you know and you know he knows even though he hasn’t said he knows?”

“Exactly,” she laughed. Her smile was more genuine now. It was a look she’d only had since her mating ceremony. It sung contentment, something she, like him, struggled to have.

She came to him and linked their arms, resting her head on his shoulder. Her friendship was invaluable to him, as much as it was a surprise when it first started to form.

“I have one other thing to say, and then I’ll let you go home to Gwyn.”

“Yes, Nesta?”

“The House of Wind is as much as your home as it is mine. You can stay there forever if you want. It is your home, Azriel, and I wouldn’t dream of it being anything else.”

***

Gwyn was awake when Azriel returned home. She was humming a song to herself in bed, wrapped in his blankets like it was a cocoon. She had the breakfast he made for her in her lap, and when he entered the room, she pulled the blanket aside and opened her arms for him to fall into to.

Maybe he still looked stormy after his talk with Rhys, or maybe she just wanted to hold him. Either way, he fell happily into her embrace.

***

Gwyn had set a date. She did not intend to be so clinical about it, she just wanted to give herself a chance to mentally prepare for what was about to happen, and she needed a few days to do so.

The month she’d had with Azriel had been… Cauldron, she did not know how to exactly describe it. When she had approached him, she honestly did not think that he would say yes to such a ridiculous idea. But he had, and he’d given her nothing short of the best month of her life. Her cheeks ached from how much she was smiling, and even if she was tired when she worked, she wouldn’t give up her restless nights for anything.

It would also be remiss for her to not acknowledge that perhaps what she had with him was more than an arranged bargain, but any time the thoughts propped up she promptly put them to the side.

She had not gone to see Az last night, needing the time to do extra work so that she could be missed for a day. Or two. Maybe even three.

Gwyn didn’t know how long this marathon might last, but if it were anything like Nesta and Cassian’s, it could be a while.

She had also warned Clotho and the females she shared her room with that she would be staying at the House of Wind for a few days. When asked why, she just said she was doing something with Emerie without going into any detail.

So, tonight it was. She was ready.

She was so fucking ready.

The moment dinner was served in the library she made a run for it, having to physically restrain herself from skipping out of the library. She was so excited, her body literally vibrating with energy, that she didn’t even see Nesta before their bodies slammed together.

They went to a ground in a tangled fumble, and Nesta was too busy laughing to listen to Gwyn’s repeated apologies. The brisk evening air greeted them, the stars starting to peek through the violet dusk as they laid on the path that took them from the library to the training area to the House.

“Well, you made looking for you much easier,” Nesta said, brushing off her dress as she stood. She offered Gwyn a hand, which she gladly took. Nesta started walking towards the House, their hands not dropping as they swung them between them like children.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Emerie is here with Mor and Feyre. I wanted you to join us for dinner.”

“I have dinner with you every night.”

“I know, but I wanted you to know that you’re not just welcome but also invited.”

Gwyn smiled at Nesta, love for her friend filling her heart.

They approached the House, Nesta’s face falling as they walked in and saw Rhys standing in the middle of the room, confused looks on the faces of Mor and Emerie as everyone just looked uncomfortable.

Nesta’s hands squeezed Gwyn’s, and for just a second it felt like Nesta was about to pull Gwyn right back to the library.

“I’m not sure what the problem is,” Mor said slowly. “We go out in Velaris all the time, why can’t we tonight?”

“You’re more than welcome to, I would just rather stay here,” Azriel replied.

Gwyn knew the look on his face. It was the same look he’d had a few days ago when he’d returned from Mother knows where after Rhys summoned him. Gwyn assumed Azriel had just had to do one of the many hard tasks expected of a spymaster, but perhaps there was something else if his face was a mirror of that again now.

“What’s going on?” asked Nesta.

They all turned to look at them like they were surprised to see them. Not even Azriel had noticed their entrance, although Gwyn self-admitted that Azriel tended to be surprised by her sudden appearances quite often. She didn’t know for sure, but she thought maybe his shadows didn’t bother warning him when she was near. It’s not like she was a danger to the guy.

“Rhys came and said we should try the new restaurant on the Rainbow! The one near Feyre’s studio? I’ve heard really nice things about it, and the family that opened it are really beautiful.” Mor beamed at them all, trying to disperse the odd tension. “And then maybe we could go dancing.”

The idea sounded wonderful, and Gwyn wistfully wished she could join them. In reality, just the thought of going into the city set her heard racing. The only time she had ever left the library or the House, other than to go to Emerie’s house which landed them in the Bloodrite, was to officiate Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony. Although the memory was one of her most treasured ones, it was not something she thought she would be able to do again. Not yet.

“I’ve heard great things about that place,” Nesta replied, her stomach audibly grumbling at just hearing about the exquisite food it might receive.

“You are all more than welcome to go.” Azriel swept a hand out between them. “But I don’t want to.”

His gaze flickered to Gwyn, and suddenly the eyes of everyone were on her.

A blanket of understanding washed over the room. Most eyes were understanding, Mor’s held the pity that Gwyn hated, and Rhys looked indifferent, if not satisfied.

Azriel’s resistance became evident. It wasn’t just that it was the night, their night, but he didn’t want her to be left alone whilst everyone else galivanted through the city having the time of their lives when they knew she wouldn’t be able to join them.

“I don’t want to go either. It’s been a long week and I’m tired,” said Nesta.

Gwyn narrowed her eyes at her lying sister but couldn’t hold it in her heart to be angry. In face, she had to stop it from swelling with how loving their words felt. They didn’t want her to be alone. They wanted to stay with her.

“You know,” spoke Emerie softly, “I can’t imagine anywhere making food as well as the House.”

Mor’s eyes shot to Emerie, and Gwyn wondered if she was imagining the slight betrayed look in them.

“Guy’s, c’mon. Rhys and I made a reservation, they’re expecting us! It would be rude not to go,” Mor pleaded.

Azriel opened his mouth to snap back, but Gwyn interrupted. “She’s right. You should go enjoy yourselves.”

“But Gwyn-”

“It’s okay, Nesta. Please, I really think you should all go.” She made a point to look at Azriel. “It sounds like it would be a lot of fun.”

“It’s not fair to arrange activities that we can’t all participate in.” Azriel’s voice had softened as he looked at her, and if she didn’t have better self-control she would stride over and plant a kiss on his pouting lips.

“How could Mor have known that Gwyn would be here? It’s not her fault,” Rhys interjected.

“That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard-”

“Stop, just stop.” Gwyn clutched her hands in front of her and stepped away from Nesta. She needed them to see her as an adult, as someone who was strong and to be taken seriously. “It’s fine. Really, truly. I have a lot to do anyway.” She turned to Feyre and waved her fingers at Nyx. “If you would like, I can take care of him so you can enjoy some grown-up time.”

For a second Feyre looked hopeful, but then she schooled her face into neutrality. Rhys stepped between the two, and Feyre had to put an arm on his shoulder.

As if to stop him stepping any further.

Gywn blinked, feeling like she should blanch away but not sure as to why.

“That won’t be necessary,” Rhys said. She’d heard him use that voice before. It was his political voice. His I-have-an-agenda voice. Now it was her turn to look confused.

“No worries,” Gwyn whispered.

She looked away from the High Lord’s searing gaze and back to her friends. She hoped her face didn’t speak of her sadness.

“Please go. I would feel awful if any of you stayed on my part. If anything, by going and having a great time you’d be doing me a favour, because I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

“You could always just come with us,” Mor said, tucking her hair behind her ears in a way that was comically similar to how the ‘popular’ girls in her smutty books would behave.

Gwyn bit her lip, thinking about it. Of course, logically, she would be safe. They would all be there, Azriel would be there, but she genuinely felt like she might vomit at the thought. A bead of sweat dripped down her back, and she despised how her eyes stung with tears. She breathed the way her and Nesta had learnt from Valkyrie texts and pulled herself back to reality. Sometimes the logic of actions did not dictate how you would feel, or react, to a situation. Gwyn reminded herself once more to be kinder to herself.

“Thank you for the offer, Mor, but I am happy here.” Gwyn smiled brightly at them all, and they seemed to relax – all but Az and her sisters.

She shooed them out of the House, hoping that one day she would be able to join them.

***

It was odd. Gwyn had spent much time over the last few years alone, but it had never affected her. And although the House was quite good company – it had dinner and dessert ready for her with a box of tissues and chocolates even before Cassian had finally flown off with the resistant Nesta – it wasn’t the same as spending time with someone who could talk back to you.

She only just made it through her meal when she crawled into Azriel’s bed, hoping the scent of him would make her feel better.

It didn’t, but the sight of his room did. There were unlit candles lining the room, and flowers adorning every surface. The cheeky male had even installed a mirror on the ceiling above the bed, and she blushed profusely at the implications.

He had tried to make it romantic, and she adored him for it.

She had no idea when he would be back, and she scolded herself for wishing it would be sooner rather than later. She wanted him to be out and about with his family, even if it made her burn with envy that everyone would be able to enjoy him but her.

She rolled over, stuffing her face into his pillow and groaning. She should take off her day clothes and resign herself to pyjamas. Maybe she should sleep in a different bedroom so as to not torture herself with what this night could have been.

Her night with Az. The night with Az.

“That’s it. I am so over this,” she said aloud before springing up. She stomped out of the room and towards Nesta’s, flinging her closet open to inspect her clothes.

It was just a restaurant. It was safe. She would be fine. Besides, how could she overcome her fears if not to face them? She had gone to Emerie’s and survived. She had gone to Nesta’s mating ceremony and survived. She had won the bloody Bloodrite!

As she looked through the dresses, she quickly realised they wouldn’t fit. They would hang loose at her hips and chest, where Nesta was beautifully endowed and she was not.

“Not to worry, I’ll just take a coat then.” Taking the first one she saw, light but soft enough that warmth wouldn’t be an issue, Gwyn shoved her shoes on approached the door that led to the ten thousand steps that would take her to Velaris. She didn’t know where to go from there, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she would be able to find her friends with enough willpower. And since meeting Nesta and Emerie, since being empowered by the strongest females she knew and since empowering herself, she knew she had that willpower in abundance.

“Let’s fucking do this.”

***

She didn’t know at what point the House had left her, its omnipresence not connected to the stairs, but she was doing just fine even if she felt its absence. She counted in her head to keep track of where she was.

One thousand. Feeling good. Coat in arms.

Two thousand. Out of breath but in a good way.

Three thousand. Fucking shit.

Four thousand. Maybe she should turn around.

Five thousand.

Six thousand. How has Nesta done this multiple times?

Seven thousand. She had this! This was easier than Ramiel!

Eight thousand. If she died here no one would find her.

Nine thousand.

Ten. Fucking. Thousand.

Gwyn realised that there was no way she’d be able to eat with them. They would be having dessert if they hadn’t already moved on. She just needed to find them.

As Gwyn took the last step, her toes touched the streets of Velaris for the very first time.

It was so beautiful she thought she might cry. There was colour everywhere, the laughter of adults and children alike, and she could smell delicious food as the many restaurant’s wide-open doors let the scents pour into the streets. The faelights lining the streets reminded her of the stars she often gazed at with Azriel, the thought of him like a caress to her mind.

Azriel loved Velaris, would die for this city if he had to. How could she been afraid of something he loved so much?

She took one step. Then one more. She was sure to anyone that glanced her way she must have looked like a lunatic, her eyes wide in wonder as she moved at a snail’s pace, Nesta’s coat bundled in her arms because after all those steps she didn’t need it.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, equal parts fear and excitement, as she walked through the city. She got a few odd looks, but she could see it was out of curiosity for a newcomer in a city that had been locked down for centuries, and not for violence. She wasn’t leered at or bothered. In fact, the only time someone even talked to her was when a toddler sprinted from his mother’s side, his legs too quick for his body to keep up, and he fell into her.

The mother apologised profusely but Gwyn didn’t care at all. How could she be mad at the pudgy little baby?

It was easy to find her way to a district clearly dedicated to all things food. If possible, she slowed down even more. She peeked inside every restaurant looking for the four sets of wings that would set her friends apart from everyone else.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of searching but was probably closer to forty minutes, she saw them.

Azriel and Rhys were standing outside the restaurant Mor must’ve been talking about. Light and music drifted from its open windows, the streets still full of roaming people. Gwyn knew they wouldn’t be able to see her yet, and she wondered how she should approach them.

Azriel… did not look happy, and the tense set of Rhys’ shoulders and back let her know that his face likely looked the same, even if he was facing away from her.

Before she could think of a strategy, Azriel looked up, his eyes meeting hers.

Gwyn could not describe the feeling that filled her as they drunk in one another. Still standing twenty steps from him, his gaze made her feel like she was wrapped in his arms.

She raised one hand in a wave, and it was like Rhys didn’t exist at all.

Azriel shoved him to the side, Rhys making an indignant sound as he did. He ran to her, and she dropped Nesta’s coat so she could wrap her arms around him as they crashed together. People in the streets backed off at Azriel’s display, and in that moment she couldn’t have cared less about where she was, as long as she was with him.

His wings wrapped around her, creating a shield between them and the outside world.

“Gwyn.”

“Hey Az,” she whispered, her arms around his neck and his face tucked to her shoulder.

“What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” He straightened and brushed the hair from her face. It had stuck to her skin from how much she had sweat while taking the stairs, but she didn’t care how she looked. She knew he certainly never would.

He looked ready to fight an invisible threat, and it made her throb in unspeakable places.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just – I. Um.” She hadn’t rehearsed what she would say to him, but it’s not like she could blurt out Hey! Just wanted to near you at all times and rub my body against yours!

“Did something happen? What do you need me to do?”

She shook her head. “No, no, Az, really, I’m fine. I just regretted not coming out with you all.”

He must have been able to see the honesty on her face and smile, because he relaxed, his wings folding back.

The look on his face was adorable as the realisation dawned on him that she was here for him.

“Did I miss everything? Are you all done?”

He didn’t answer, but he did look behind him. Rhys was standing there with his mouth open, his face laced with something Gwyn couldn’t put a name to. Before she could greet him, Rhys stormed back into the restaurant.

Azriel turned back to her, and he didn’t hesitate when he lifted her chin and kissed her.

She gasped but reciprocated zealously. She pushed her body into his, and his arms went around her as he lifted her off her feet, cradling him to her as he kissed her like she was the wind that let him embrace the skies. He tasted like air, like gold, like this was his final breath and he was he was sharing it with just her.

***

Azriel sat with Gwyn while the rest of their friends danced. She hid it well, but he could tell that she was nervous being in this new environment.

She had been so good, so brave when she went into the restaurant and greeted Azriel’s family. Nesta and Emerie jumped up when they saw her, and Nesta held her tightly while Emerie rushed to get another chair. Nesta was trying to be subtle, but Azriel saw the happy tears she shed as she held Gwyn. Emerie then insisted that Gwyn sit and eat her strawberry and mango cheesecake with her, which earned an inexplicable scowl from Mor. Interesting.

Once Gwyn was satisfied and protesting the consumption of more food, they all walked together to one of the classier bars Nesta used to frequent so they could go dancing. Everyone was light as a feather, except Rhys, but life was hard as a fucking asshole, so Az wasn’t surprised he was feeling surly.

And now here they were. Azriel and Gwyn seated with the others dancing to their hearts content. Mor was spinning around with a giggling Nyx, Feyre and Rhys were swaying but it was obvious they were speaking to each other through their daemati bond, and Emerie and Nesta were terrorising Cassian in a three-way dance.

“How are you feeling?” Azriel asked, his shadows silent to her moods. If it had been anyone else, he would have known she was coming to the restaurant before she’d even left the House. But his shadows didn’t like to spy on her and revelled in him being surprised by her.

“I feel good.” Her gaze was focused on the dance floor, and Azriel glanced over to see what was so entrancing.

Nesta and Cassian were finally dancing alone, Emerie now with Nyx and Mor. The way Cassian and Nesta were grinding on each other was nothing short of pornographic as they moved into the shadows of the dance floor. Nesta’s back was to Cassian, his hands clasped on her hips as his lips were on her neck as she pushed her ass back against him.

Azriel snorted. They’d be fucking in an alley within the next fifteen minutes.

“Do you want to dance like that, Gwyneth?”

She turned to him, a lovely flush spreading from her face to her chest. “No,” she said unconvincingly. She slid her chair closer to his, the bar stool so high she had to hop onto it to sit. It was frightfully cute, and Azriel had to restrain from kissing her again.

He couldn’t help it in the street. The sight of her – rumpled, breathless, her face alight with joy – was too much for him.

She was beginning to be too much for him.

The longer he was with her, the more of her he was allowed to have, the more he feared he could never go back to just a simple friendship. This female would either be his salvation or his ruination, either of which he would happily accept if it meant he could savour every minute he had left with her.

Under the table, she linked their hands, and Azriel thought he might very well die from the touch.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to enjoy our plans.” He rubbed his thumb against her finger.

She smiled his way, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “It’s okay.” She looked down, biting her lip. “I went to your room. I saw what you had done.”

He swallowed hard. “Did you like it?”

She removed her hand from his and placed it on his thigh. “I loved it.”

He shifted in his seat, glad that the tablecloth was long enough so that anyone around, if they looked, would only see their ankles. “You’re playing with fire right now,” he chucked under his breath as she continued to stroke his thigh.

“I especially liked the mirror on the ceiling. May I ask, what purpose does it serve?” Her smile may have been all innocent, but the way her hand was moving was anything but.

She leant against him so they were touching shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

“It was for your pleasure.”

“Is that right?”

He brushed his lips to her ear, grateful that the dim lights of the bar kept them in the shadows and that the dancing bodies kept their scents hidden. And over the live music, no one would hear them. “Mhm. It was so that, no matter what position I put you in, you could watch me.”

She tipped her head back, humming in acknowledgement. Her hand, already in dangerous territory, swept down his increasingly hard length.

He grunted, laying both his hands on the table and fisting the cloth.

“Is this okay?” she asked, breathless.

He nodded, taking a swig of his drink to distract him.

She brushed her hand down again, bolder this time, and he squirmed in his chair.

“I would take it out, but I fear it would be seen over the table. So inside it stays,” she sighed. “It must be hard being so large.” She put her lips to his ear, mimicking what he had done to her. “I do love it though. The size, the taste, I think about it constantly.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he choked out. “But at least I’d die happy.”

Her hand slipped inside his pants, and he couldn’t help but thrust up into her hand. He tilted his head back in pleasure as she worked him, getting the angles just right as she pumped him. He was unbelievably aroused by the public act, barely able to believe that she’d do something so audacious. But Cauldron have mercy, he would do anything if it meant she was touching him. She could ask to ride him right now in the middle of this bar and he would blissfully indulge.

“I’m going to finish soon,” he warned her.

“I can’t wait for you to finish in me.”

Her words were his undoing, and he felt the edge of the table splinter under his grip as he contained his moan of pleasure.

He stared at her as she pulled her hand from him, offering him a serviette to clean himself like she hadn’t just given him a mind-blowing orgasm where anyone could have seen.

“Az?” she asked after a few, content minutes of silence.

“Yes, Gwyneth?”

“Do you think we could go dance?”

***

Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she had been this relentlessly happy. Azriel flew her and Emerie back to the House of Wind, the latter looking forlorn as they finally left the bar in the small hours of the morning.

Rhys and Feyre had left much earlier, Nyx too small to stay up that late, and if Gwyn was being honest she was surprised they lasted as long as they did. Feyre seemed fine, but Rhys was in a shocking mood. Every time she asked Azriel about it, he just muttered about Rhys being a jerk without elaborating. She could tell that whatever it was, it was sensitive, so she didn’t push him.

Her and Nesta put a very intoxicated Emerie to bed, stripping her and putting her into some pyjamas before tucking her in nice and tight with some herbs on her nightstand that would help her head in the morning. Azriel and Cassian had already gone to their respective bedrooms, and Gwyn contemplated how she was going to sneak into Azriel’s room when Nesta stopped her.

“Can we talk for a second?”

“Of course.”

Nesta led her to the library, and they plopped themselves onto one of the plush couches. Gwyn faced her as she sat, tucking her feet under Nesta’s thighs to keep them warm.

Two hot chocolates appeared to them on a table, a dish of marshmallows to the side. They whispered their thanks to the House, claiming the warm drinks. Gwyn pressed hers up against her face, liking the warmth on her skin.

“What do you want to talk about?” Gwyn asked, taking a sip.

“Azriel. You. You and Azriel.” Nesta patted her shin, and Gwyn put her drink down. This wasn’t a hot chocolate kind of conversation.

“I don’t know what you’re talk-”

“Do you love him, Gwyn? Because if you did, or even if you don’t, you don’t have to sneak around Cassian and I and pretend nothing is happening. You can live here, forever if you want. All four of us in the House.”

“Nesta-”

“Imagine if we both had our families and babies here. It’s a big place, we wouldn’t get in each other’s way. And maybe Emerie could come too and she could fall in love too and we’d all be so happy. Okay, I’m rambling and that was weird. What I’m trying to say is – is that you can Azriel are so obviously together and I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out why you’re keeping it a secret from us, not that I care that you have secrets you’re an adult and you don’t have to tell me everything, and I’m so fucking happy for you, Gwyn, and I want you to know that you can be publicly happy, if you want.”

“Nesta…”

“I just love this. You and him. I’ve never seen Azriel so happy and you just smile all the time. And, oh, it reminds me of Cassian. In the way that I can see ourselves reflected in you two, and I wonder if maybe if I hadn’t been so,” she gestured at her head, “you know, then I could have just been this happy from the start of us, with him, like you two. So I need you to know that if you want that, if you want him, I am so incredibly supportive and I will do anything you want if it means you get your happily ever after. Okay, I’m done.”

“Nesta.”

“And I also would just love to know how this all began. Like the secret little smiles and observations that I’ve had for as long as I’ve known you just changed one day. And I know you guys used to train alone sometimes and I know you were always here with him, and me and Cas but I can’t pinpoint when your friendship turned into this.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I really am done now.”

“Are you sure?” Gwyn pinched her cheek lovingly, and Nesta swatted it away.

“Yes.”

Gwyn took a second to think about her words, and as nice and idyllic as they sounded, Gwyn wasn’t sure they were the truth.

“Nesta, we aren’t together.”

“What?”

“We have a…” Gwyn struggled to find the words. “Deal? Agreement?”

“A sexy agreement?”

Gwyn laughed. “No. Well, yes actually.” She launched into the story of how her and Azriel had started their bargain, detailing how Azriel had agreed to help her overcome her fear, and how much they practised towards her ultimate goal of sex. Gwyn also expressed how their closeness was something she treasured, as spending so much time together naturally led to a deepening in their friendship. Her face stained pink as she told her of some of the things they had done, but how, after over a month together, that hadn’t actually sealed the deal.

Nesta was silent the entire story, letting Gwyn speak her truth. She was contemplative over Gwyn’s words, not saying anything until she was done speaking.

“Before I say anything, I want to let you know how incredibly proud of you I am, and how much I support wanting to explore yourself and your sexuality. No matter what I say, I need you to know that.”

Well, that wasn’t a good start.

“I understand, Nesta.”

“Gwyn, do you love him?”

Gwyn took a deep breath. It was a topic she often pushed from her mind, unable or not wanting to broach the subject. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a yes or no, Gwyn.”

Gwyn shrugged her shoulders. “What if it’s a ‘I’m not sure because I so thoroughly blurred the lines between what was real and what I asked him to do to help me?’ What if it’s a ‘I don’t know if I could say it to him but if he said it to me, I would say it back in an instant?’”

“Do you know how he feels about you? Has he said anything?”

Gwyn shook her head. “I know we’re friends. I know he cares about me. I know he would do anything I asked of him. I know he must love me, in some way, but I don’t know if it’s love-love or platonic love.”

“And he’s never given any sort of indication of his intentions?”

Gwyn pondered how thoughtful he was, how detail oriented he was to her pleasure and how he was the best part of her day. And as she thought about it, about him, who was so caring and lovable and agreeable, and she realised that a lot of what he did for her – the comfort, the talking, the support – he would do for anyone.

“I’ve never asked.” Her breath shuddered, and Nesta put a hand to her cheek.

“Maybe you should.”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way as I do? What if I’m just an obligation?”

“Oh, my love.” Nesta repositioned them so that Gwyn was lying down, her head in Nesta’s lap, as Nesta lovingly stroked her hair. It reminded Gwyn so much of what Catrin used to do that she couldn’t help the tears that started to shed.

“It’s better to know what you are to him. If it’s any consolation, I think he cares about you a great deal. Maybe even loves you. It’s hard to tell when he’s naturally so cold.”

He wasn’t cold, she wanted to say, he was the warmest person she knew. Instead, she cried, and she let Nesta comfort her like she always did.

***

A few days passed, and although Gwyn never left the House, her sexual relations with Az didn’t progress. Rather, they stopped altogether. He didn’t mind at all, he was just glad for her company. They talked and trained, and Azriel was surprised that somehow he could be even more impressed of her than before.

She also started doing what he called her ‘casual kisses.’

They would be doing something monotonous, like sorting weapons for training the next day, and she could kiss him as she walked by him. Or they would be sitting in bed reading, and she would lean over and brush her lips to his temple.

It became a game, who could casually kiss the other first if the opportunity arose, and it was the best game Az had ever played.

He felt himself looking forward to the nights even if the only touching they did was cuddling until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Azriel wondered if this is what home felt like.

It was late, and Gwyn decided that she needed to return to the library before people started to question where she was. Az didn’t have the heart to tell her they already were.

“I had the most interesting conversation with Nesta the other day,” she said as they reached the door that would take her away.

“What about?”

Gwyn fiddled with her fingers, trepidation oozing from her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, worry starting to maw at him.

“I’m fine.” She turned to face him, and he took the opportunity to kiss her on her hairline. He loved the height different between them, it made him feel bigger than he was. “Nesta asked me about us. She has suspected for a while.”

He schooled his face into neutrality. As far as Gwyn knew, this was new information to him.

He hadn’t told her a word of what had happened between them and Rhys, and it would stay that way. All it would do was hurt her, and Azriel was serious when he said no harm would ever come her way from him. She did not need to know that Rhys was acting like a tool.

In more ways than one. Azriel didn’t need to read minds to know that Rhys was highly suspicious of them both. And more so, as much as it pained him to admit, how much Rhys disapproved. He wasn’t sure why, and he couldn’t bear to ask, but he had a good idea. Rhys, as much as he loved Az, must know that he would never be good enough for Gwyn. The idea had plagued him for days, and the only thing that drove away the dark thoughts were the casual kisses Gwyn would bestow upon him.

“How do you feel about that?” he asked her, snapping back to their conversation.

She shrugged. “At first I was worried, but now I’m actually kind of relieved.”

“Why were you worried?”

“You know, it’s weird. I had it in my head that if people knew I was on this mission to achieve some ultimate, empowering orgasm that they might judge me. But Nesta never would, and I felt like an idiot as soon as she looked at me and told me she knew we were,” she gestured between them, “touching.”

Az snickered. “Touching is one way to sum it up.”

“She asked me something I couldn’t answer.”

“What was that?”

“She asked me what we are.” She brushed her hands over his chest absentmindedly. “What I am to you.”

He clasped her hands and held them to his heart, trying to make her look at him when she was purposefully focusing on the floor.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth. That I don’t know what I am to you.”

“Gwyn…”

“I need to say something, and I beg you not to interrupt until I’m done.” She sniffled, and he hated the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

She took a deep breath and wiped her tears away, facing him with steel. “I genuinely approached you with nothing but friendship in mind. I had a plan, to sleep with you once and then go back to how we always were before – me, as your overly competitive but absolute best student, and you as, as this God of a man that I could not believe even walked the same existence as me, let alone be someone I considered a friend. You were my ribbon Az. The thing I wanted to be as good as. And then you said yes to me. I didn’t expect you to. I half-thought you would laugh because you thought I was joking. But you didn’t, and you said yes, and I have made the grave mistake of developing feelings I swore to myself I wouldn’t.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she put a hand over his mouth before he could.

“I had every intention of having sex with you until Nesta asked me what I was to you. And then I realised that if all I was to you was a proposition to uphold, I couldn’t do it. I can’t be with you just once. I can’t be just friends if we take that last step. So, Az, I’m asking you, and please don’t feel obligated to say anything you don’t feel, but what am I to you?”

He couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like his ribs were being ripped apart and then shoved back together until his lungs were caged too tightly. He knew what he wanted to say, that of course she was more than that, she was everything, but then he thought of her spirit being crushed by his inadequacies, and how she could do so much better now that she was ready to. She was pure, she was light, and she deserved more than his darkness.

He had been quiet too long.

Watching her was like watching a porcelain doll shatter after being dropped. Her face crumbled, and she pulled her hands away from him as she tried to contain herself.

“You’re my best friend.” He finally said, his own tears stinging at his eyes. “I can’t lose you.” Which he would, if she stayed with him and realised how truly broken he was.

A sob fractured her chest, and Az hated the way her voice sounded when she spoke. “You’re my best friend, too.”

And then they were kissing. It tasted like salt from their tears and was more passionate and heart-wrenching than any of the kisses they’d had before. They were drowning, their only hope at salvation one another as they clung to each other with all the strength they had.

Azriel didn’t want to let her go. He knew once he did that it would be over. His month of bliss, of final contentment, would be over. Part of him wished Nesta had never opened her mouth, or that he’d been able to tell the truth, but all of him wished that he was someone else, or that he was more like his brothers, so that he was good enough for her.

When they finally stopped kissing, it was not so she could leave. They still clung to each other, breathing in each other’s scents, well into the night.

When she whispered goodbye, part of his soul left with her as she walked away.

He lied to her by staying silent. He should have told her the truth, that what he was feeling went deeper than affection, maybe even deeper than love. But this lie protected her, and he would take it to his grave.

#acosf #fanfic #gwynriel #azriel #nessian #feysand #acotar #acomaf #acofas #acowar #sjm #sarahjmaas #tog #koa #emorie #mor x emerie

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nikethestatue · 3 years

Text

Depth of Your Eyes

Extreme Fluff.

Domestic fluff. Babies!

Elriel Month - Day 24

“Why do you hate me?” lamented the feared and exalted Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

Feared and admired, worshipped for his immense Illyrian power, for his stealth and strength, he, the great and mysterious spy master, the male who made enemies tremble and flee, and females swoon, failed utterly and completely at this one task—having his chunky newborn son open his eyes for him.

When his son was born, the first thing that shocked everyone—parents and healer and midwife—was his very impressive size. How the delicate, slender, elegant Elain even managed to bear him—without much difficulty too—was a mystery.

But the Cauldron loved Elain and strove to make Elain happy. It gave Elain an almost painless labour, though it was lengthy and uncomfortable nevertheless, and while Azriel was out of his mind with worry and trepidation, not knowing whether the baby’s wings would cause damage or even more serious issues, Elain was serene and happy.

The nightmare that was Nyx’s birth was still fresh in Aziel’s mind—the blood, the gore, Nyx’s tiny lifeless body in Mor’s arms, and Feyre, with a horrific gaping slash across her abdomen, bleeding out, Death hovering just above her. Therefore, Azriel dreaded Elain’s labour. For ten months he was a wreck. He was too happy, too elated, too content, too joyful in his life, and there bound to be repercussions for all that bliss.

The baby was conceived momentarily. “Let’s make a baby,” Azriel proposed a little drunkenly to the giggling and smiling Elain. They were enjoying a glorious sunset on the sea, in a tiny town with whitewashed buildings and blue roofs, in the Summer Court. It was far from Adriata, far from visitors and everyone else and they indulged in endless white sand beaches, fresh seafood and lots of local wine, swimming in the azure waters of the sea and enough lovemaking to leave them both sore and hoarse. “Now?” Elain kissed him. He shrugged, “why not now?”

And it happened—‘now’. When they returned from their holiday, she found out that she was expecting their baby.

Azriel couldn’t lie, but he was feeling rather smug.

“What the fuck kind of seed you got, brother?” muttered Cassian. “You just knocked her up in a day?”

Azriel only shrugged innocently.

As if this was to be expected. Of course he’d impregnate her in a day! But it wasn’t at all what he thought would happen—he thought that as with all Fae, this would be a lengthy process full of false starts, crushed hopes and nerves. But the Cauldron loved Elain and wanted to make her happy.

Now, he was holding his chunky son in his arms. Calm and peaceful, the baby took after his parents in temperament. He was mellow and not fussy, docile and good-natured. His appetite was monstrous though. He ate and ate and ate. At his already great size, Azriel muttered ‘you are going to be Cassian’s size by the time you are three’. And because he ate so much, he was rather plump, to put it kindly, which meant that his hamster-like cheeks obscured his eyes. At three weeks, their baby mostly slept and ate, so periods of play and interaction were minimal—hence, Azriel’s failure to actually see the colour of his son’s eyes.

Elain claimed that the eyes were hazel. Nesta insisted that they were ‘Archeron’ eyes. Cassian’s assessment was ‘I think brown. Like dirt’. Amren went with ‘I don’t know, I didn’t look closely’. Yet they all claimed that they’d seen his eyes.

Azriel was seated on top of the covers in their bed, propped against the cushioned headboard. His wing curled around Elain, who was sleeping next to him, pressed to his side, her arm thrown over his stomach. Their son, sturdy and large, almost the size of Azriel’s forearm now, was sucking noisily, eating like he hasn’t been fed in a week. He was fed less than three hours ago.

The bottle—a new invention from Dawn—wasn’t widely used just yet, but Azriel loved it. At first, Elain was reluctant to utilize it, preferring to breastfeed at all times, but then…well, then she came to accept how convenient this bottle invention was. Especially because Azriel was a nocturnal creature and had no issues with staying up or waking in the middle of the night. And with their gluttonous son demanding food all the time, she was still able to function and rest and sleep, since he didn’t really care which way he was getting his food, as long as he was getting it.

Azriel was looking down at the delicious bundle in his arms, and thought that his baby would end up looking very much like him, if he wasn’t so chubby. Right now, he was all round and soft and filled with folds that others wanted to bite and pinch.

Cassian, in fact, did bite his nephew’s little fat wrist, and Elain caught them, warning that Cassian wouldn’t be allowed to feed him if it happened again. “but it didn’t even hurt!” he defended himself feebly. “Just a little nibble…He is such a fatty!”

“No. Biting.” ordered Elain. “Or you’ll be off bottle duty!”

That was a serious threat that Cassian took to heart, because he absolutely adored feeding the baby with the bottle. He and Nesta were enthralled with him, quietly arguing and fighting about whose turn it was to feed him next. Elain and Azriel frequently overheard ‘you did it last time!” “no, but he likes me more…” “gods above, he does not like you more! He clearly prefers me!” “he was crying with you!” “yes, that’s because you made him cry!”

“We only have two choices,” said Azriel with a sigh, watching Cassian coo and babble to the baby one day, rocking him and singing him all kinds of bawdy Illyrian songs. “We either forbid them entry into the house,” at that, Elain frowned. “Or, we just let them be and simply assume that our son’s first word will be ‘fuck’.”

Adhering to the Illyrian tradition of not naming a child until he was one month old, the baby remained nameless. Well, Elain and Azriel knew what he would be called, but speculation ran rampant.

Elain had officially asked Cassian and Nesta to be the baby’s Guardians, a very important and respected position in the Illyrian society. It would fall on Cassian to start teaching his nephew how to fly—and when Elain formally requested for him to become the Guardian, Cassian shyly teared up.

“Yes, Petal, of course,” he nodded nervously, with aching sincerity, “it would be an honour. Are you sure?” Cassian still worried, “are you sure you don’t want to ask Rhys?”

Elain embraced the General gently and lovingly, and whispered, “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Cass. Only you. I’d only trust him with you and Nesta.”

It was Elain’s right as the mother to select the Guardians for her child, so while Azriel suspected who her choice would be, he waited for the official announcement along with everyone else. Eventually, the Guardian would present their son with his first sword, and begin teaching him to fight.

“Well, I want my baby to have the best,” said Elain, kissing Nesta’s flushed cheek. “Who is better than the Commander General of the Night Court armies and the Valkyrie herself? Will you two do us the honour of accepting him into your Guardianship?”

“Yes!” both of them almost yelled their acceptance.

Now, Nesta and Cassian was preparing something grandiose for the Naming Ceremony.

But first things first.

“Hey lovie, why don’t you look at me?” murmured Azriel, rocking his son gently against his chest. At first, the baby leapt towards his nipple, received nothing from it and gave an angry squeak of disappointment.

“Sorry, my friend, at this point, I think you should already know where the good stuff comes from,” said Azriel, as he offered the bottle. “I know, I know, not the same, but close enough. Believe me, I tried it straight from the delicious source and I agree, it is much better,”

“Stop being gross,” moaned Elain, and slapped his stomach.

He laughed.

“I am not being gross. Just honest. If I can suck on your titties,”

“Oh, gods, yes, I know. You’d rather suck on my titties than a bottle. I’ve heard this before,”

“And I stand by my opinion. So does my son. He has good taste. Now, go back to sleep.”

Elain ran a sleepy hand over the edge of his wing and turned around, pressing her lush ass into his thigh.

He drew his knuckles over her cheek and she reached for his fingers with her lips, kissing them, before tumbling back into her slumber.

Gods, he loved her.

The baby didn’t like all this jostling around him, and grabbed Azriel’s hand with his stubby fat fingers, steadying him and the bottle.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured and looked down, stroking his baby’s soft brown curl that jutted out proudly on top of his head. “Mama is such a beauty…we can’t forget her either, even with you. I love you both very much.”

The baby nodded sagely, as if agreeing with his father. Yes, indeed, his mother was gorgeous and beautiful and very nice, and required his father’s attention. It was very understandable.

But this male, this father of his—he liked him very much as well. He was very kind and he fed him and changed him, and sang songs with him, and played with him, and…well, he loved him.

Azriel was smiling softly to himself, watching the baby, and then, suddenly, his son opened his eyes and grinned at him. Grinned a huge toothless smile—his very first one. He never smiled for anyone before, but this was it.

This was for his father.

This male, who’s waited for him for a long, long time, hoping against hope that one night, he’d have him in his arms and receive this huge, satisfied smile, which was meant only for him. An undeniable, glorious reward for centuries of suffering and sadness. He grabbed his father’s scarred finger in his fist and blinked at him with the depth of his Archeron eyes.

#azriel #azriel and elain #elriel #elain #elain archeron #elrielmonth21 #elrielmonth #my writing #elriel fanfic #cassian

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

Note

i remember that you once said something about privateer nesta could you elaborate? please? *shrek cat eyes*

WHO TOLD YOU I AM COMPLETELY VULNERABLE TO THE CAT EYES??

okay, so admittedly I don't remember the context in which I said this?? But I still SUPER super love the idea

and it matches with what we'll call the Dream ACOTAR Extended Universe Plot, almost canon.

We begin with the final battle against Hybern. Tamlin dies, closing the loop of his tragic, misspent life. Amren stays dead, a magical being on to the next adventure.

Rhysand stays dead.

He functionally (magically) threw himself on a bomb, and took the whole blast. He's not the Cauldron- and no one man could repair what it once was, but he could contain the fatal, drastic implosion of an object that was meant to endure forever, fractured into more and more peices.

Why is this important?

Because it leaves a world where Feyre Archeron- twenty-ish, romantic hero, prop, prisoner- becomes High Lady in her own, true right.

(I don't think she's necessarily good at this job, because why would she be? It's not even her fault- Feyre has no idea about how faery politics work, no real tangible knowledge of her own inherited kingdom.)

But both the men who stole her and defined her and loved her and hurt her are dead.

And it not only sets her on a journey to become, on her own, an actual character in her own life, but it galvanizes the Archeron sisters.

Feyre's basically fucking comatose after the battle. Elain has been a mess this entire time, but after that last fight with Grayson, walking into the war and stabbing a king in the throat- she is as vital and herself as Nesta has seen her in years.

Nesta just watched her father die and felt nothing- and she hates herself for it. She and Elain had taken the head of the man who stole everything from them- and she doesn't have a single regret.

Feyre screamed until she could no longer- there's so much magic seething out her it hurts to look at-

There's a dark well inside herself that could rise. But why should Nesta let it? So what, if she doesn't mourn her father? He'd never cared about her and Elain- not when they were young, too busy and important to even speak to his own children. Not when they lost everything, and he'd tried one last time to sell them both into marriages to recoup the family loss. Not after, in the starving cold, no matter what she'd tried to force him into action.

Nesta had been mourning all along a human girls human life- what is an absent, neglectful, shitty in the most ordinary of ways human parent if not a part of that lost future?

Their sister owns a fucking country- their sister is, at this minute so hemmed in by her followers no one can see her, much less comfort her- there's a war camp falling apart around them- there's Nesta, Elain, and Azriel, unhurt, upright, alive.

(she does not let herself think that an hour before she'd been ready to die and thought it right, the ending the meant to be conclusion of her story. she does not think about how she'd wished Cassian healed beneath her hands and that he had healed, that she'd wept to learn she could do more than destroy.

that she'd still been weeping, her mouth bright with his blood, when he'd pulled away, dragged himself to Morrigan's waiting arms)

Nesta Archeron is alive. Her sisters are alive. They're free, and she'll be fucking damned if this all falls apart before Feyre can heal.

Nesta turns to Azriel and asks if he can take control of the legions.

She has no time for his blank, angry eyes- she knows he's hurt, he's mourning, he's lost- but she needs him. Cassian's...down. Rhys is dead. Feyre and Morrigan are not coming out of that tent.

And he just listens. Thoughtfully. Asks what Nesta intends to do.

And Nesta looks at Elain- soft, kind, gentle Elain who'd never once wavered now when life was on the line. Who hadn't cried a tear for their father, or for the man who'd kidnapped and then married their baby sister.

The danger wasn't over- and neither had the steel faded from Elain's spine.

Nesta tells Azriel she's going to find Keir.

Nesta isn't blind- she's walked the Hewn City, spoken to the eldest darkness. She was also at the joke of a Summit- Autumn wants new territory, Keir wants to rule Night. And here Night is, weakened, a lamb to slaughter.

Nesta's not going to lose again- she's not going to give these ancient, cruel lords another chance.

Elain grabbed her hand and squeezed- the one person, always, who Nesta never need explain herself to.

Aren't the High Fae technically Morrigan's Elain asked, a bare whisper as they walked through the camp.

It went without saying yes, but Nesta had never seen any indication they respected her enough to listen to her. She made a face, and Elain made one right back, rueful. She had eyes too, after all.

They're not going to listen to us in these clothes, Elain also told her.

She was right, of course. They were High Fae, and that mattered to those vile pricks, but they'd been outfitted for flight. She would do almost anything, actually, to be free of leather pants.

Which Elain, a gleam in her eye that Nesta was learning meant magic, dreamy and happy- led her precisely to a gold topped tent, stepped inside, bowed, and asked without a trace of hesitation if Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day, would perhaps do them the favor of loaning them some garments.

Solid gold eyes gleaming against blood and smoke tinged dark skin, beautiful, glorious Helion, smiled.

Day-white against Night- but also, Nesta knew, taking care with her crown of a braid, the splatter of blood left on her throat, her mouth, her cheeks like fine paint- white was the color of death.

Elain covered herself completely- shawl wrapped over her hair, tucked around her neck, breathing easier now, in human modesty- but hung from a golden belt that Helion, with the clear air of someone who knew something about seers, had found, metal hammered with stars and flames, was Truthteller, the long blade without a sheathe, black metal swallowing up light.

Keir was easy to find, and in fine form, surrounded by Darkbringers, who looped back behind the sisters the second they were close.

Nesta was not afraid- she'd thrown power into the sky and it had hurt. Not in depth, but because she was still holding on- it wanted out-it wanted to devour-

Elain dipped a flagrantly rude, swallow bob of a curtsey. Nesta didn't even bother- just let Keir hail them, royal family that they were. He liked the sound of his own voice, but he was also clever- they'd come here of their own volition and now they were trapped.

She could smell the reinforcements, the utter Autumn reek.

Nesta interrupted, and asked Keir to come and swear fealty to her sister.

It was never going to get the right answer, but it had to be said. It had to be heard.

She'd been right- they'd been right- Keir enjoyed the cruelty of getting close to Nesta, denying straight to her Archeron face that no, Rhysand's bloodline was ended. It was time, it was right, for the House of Truth to once more hold their throne.

He spoke his treason aloud, looming over Nesta- close enough to touch.

So Nesta did.

She'd willed Cassian alive and whole. It was so, so much easier to remember fire, death, drowning, to push and want the revolting man's destruction.

And when he fell, silvered fire that had filled his lungs spilling from his throat, Nesta did not flinch. She looked to the next lieutenant, a frankly indistinguishable golden haired pale-eyed blandly handsome man in black armor, and asked, if he, as the new commander of the Darkbringers, would like to give a different answer.

He did.

Azriel met them halfway back to Feyre, grim mouth flickering for a second at the sight of Elain, before looking, stone-faced, at Nesta beside her, leading a crowd of the highest ranked Night Court faeries she could find.

Keir? He asked.

Dead, Elain answered, and that was that.

The Shadowsinger fell in step with the Seer, a threatening shadow to two pale beacons.

It was Azriel who actually went inside the tent. Who said what needed to said, what made Morrigan splutter loudly enough to be heard outside, before she burst out the tent in a whorl of hair, before blanching.

Nesta had just enough control not to roll her eyes. They come to swear fealty.

And Morrigan, chewing her lip with all the dignity of a child- Elain and Nesta had been trained out of such gestures at eight, what did she think was happening here? - shook her head. She's not well, it can wait.

No, Azriel said, from behind her, it can't.

He was supporting what looked like the entirety of Feyre's weight. Dead-white, blue eyes a blaze, Feyre looked blearily out at all of them like she recognized no one.

Elain, treasure that she was, came forward to take her sister's other hand, whispering both condolence and explanation.

And so the High Houses of Night knelt in battlefield mud, and swore eternal loyalty to the youngest Archeron.

It was only after they were gone that Nesta hugged her sister- hard enough Feyre protested, a fresh batch of tears soaking Nesta's shoulder even before Elain joined them.

It's Azriel, voice a little less like a phantom, who tells Feyre they're handling things. That if she wants to rest more, that's fine.

She was so clearly shattered- Nesta half wondered how much of that Azriel can literally feel/hear with his shadow...things.

Feyre protests that there's things to do- Feyre makes it halfway through a sentence about plans before she says Rhysand's name like he's still alive and collapses in on herself like a wave crashing.

Nesta and Elain tuck Feyre back into the blanket pile. Nesta manages to kiss her forehead before Morrigan is there, hugging Feyre putting herself bodily between the sisters.

They leave, and outside, Azriel is waiting.

To hand Nesta a gaudy, enormous platinum ring. The seal of the Night Court- Nesta recognizes it from shipping manifests, but she'd never actually seen it as an adult. Here, as a faery.

Her thoughts on Azriel's powers hold true, as he answers the dismay: Rhys only used it when he had to. It had passed between the whole Court of Dreams hands, there had not been a vizier, a lord of stars, since the time of Rhysand's father.

Nesta puts on the hideous ring, barely flinching at the brush of magic, it resizing to her hand.

Elain grasps her other, squeezing, and asks Azriel who is next.

They work ceaselessly, pausing only to sleep. Azriel, Nesta is quite sure, isn't sleeping at all- until she goes looking for him with a question and finds him finally, finally out cold, face tucked in Lucien Vanserra's neck.

In silence and gestures, they come to something of an agreement- and when the Night Court comes to the table to talk peace, it's with Lucien. Jurian, who Nesta immediately liked.

By the time they return to the North, there is not a Lord one who does not know the names and nightmarish qualities of all three Archeron sisters.

Feyre mourns, and learns to govern slow. Cassian goes back to Illyria and does not return for a long, long time. Morrigan becomes Feyre's second- Nesta laughs, not altogether kind, when Lucien tells her this. No one has been able to answer her as to why, if Morrigan is so powerful, why did she not fight? what does she actually do?

What answers to her questions she does find are appalling. Why does Winter block our every turn? oh, Rhysand killed more than a dozen children. Why is Summer refusing our trade? Well, Rhysand stole their ancestral pride. Why is the Hewn City so wrathful at even the slightest form of intervention? Because Rhysand had left Keir to rule alone.

Nesta doesn't want to rule the fucking court. She thinks she could leave all of these politicians to rot- but she won't let Feyre misstep her way to death, shouldering a burden of her dead mate.

There's nothing they can give Winter but apology and so that's what Nesta does. On her knees, in a gilded palace of ice, stars caught in her hair and the seal on her. Kallias, bright and young, seems to know something about inherited problems- he does not ever forget, but he forgives, at least, the Archerons.

Summer is more complicated- but Nesta does what she can. Gives them every melted, ruined piece of the Book. Offers reparations for the next millennia. Ends up paying for what she is appalled and embarrassed to learn is a two hundred year old debt for a building the head of the Night Court's armed forces- Cassian, fucking Cassian the ghost haunting Nesta- had destroyed. During a brawl. At a solstice party.

She deals only with Cressieda, and they come to understand each other very well.

Nesta was not raised for politics and bullshit- her mother wanted her to marry a crown, but Nesta wanted the family empire. Trade. The Archeron legacy, denied to a girl. She likes Summer more than any place in Prythian, and she doesn't hide that. She relearns old lessons of tide and routes in secret, before Cressieda reveals that of course, she knows who the Archerons were.

It goes well, until Morrigan finds out what she's been doing, and tells Feyre.

The youngest Archeron had been doing better. Morrigan has been right by her side, through everything. Cassian is in Illyria, and Feyre understands why, writing him letters. She writes letters to Rhys too, if only to have a way to direct the words.

Azriel, spectral and busy she sees the least of, but Feyre never doubts his presence, keeping her safe. Elain comes, drags her out into sunlight, brings Lucien and it makes Feyre happy to see them together. Nesta comes too, with them both and alone, with papers from Feyre to sign, with affection sharp-edged but true.

Feyre knows she owes them all more than can be said- she's not stupid, she knows they're keeping Night together. That slowly those responsibilities will fall to her, when she's ready.

She does not think about how much of those responsibilities is cleaning up the tangled mess of betrayal Rhysand left behind. In her head, there is only Rhys- beloved and shadowed, kind and tortured.

Until Morrigan tells her that it's been acknowledged, in public, by Night, that Rhysand was a thief, and a murder of children.

Feyre loses her shit.

Rhysand had done what he had to. Who was Nesta, to say such things? She'd always hated Rhys. Rhys had always hated her, maybe he was right- the children. Rhys had mourned them in screaming nightmares, but he hadn't hurt them-

(Feyre does not stop to think it strange, that Rhys could have nightmares of memories not his own. That he might have fractured just a bit, under Amarantha. That the Red Lady had no daemati- that was why she'd kept Rhys all along.)

The fight is as ugly as can be imagined. And what proceeds is of course, worse. Feyre says terrible things she will ultimately regret and apologize for, but what becomes clear is that Morrigan thinks that Nesta means to hold power forever.

That she's taken advantage.

And Cassian, called home by rage, believes her.

That is, more than her ungrateful sister, more than the ongoing weight of cleaning up after a man she despised for good reason, the end of Nesta Archeron's Night Court career.

She'd thought she loved him- she'd been willing to die with him- but they'd lived. This was the life, the next life, and what did he think of her? That Nesta was a power hungry snob. That she was paying too much heed to politics.

That Nesta belonged quietly at home. That she should have learned to fight somewhere along that way- a point so convoluted it made Lucien laugh- that she hadn't learned anything that mattered.

That she had no right to kill Keir, because it had hurt Morrigan.

Had he ever, Nesta would wonder later, even liked her? Enjoyed anything about her but for that magical tether, telling him he was blessed with something special?

Nesta was something special, and she knew it.

And so she returned the ring to Azriel, packed up her possessions, and left.

First to Day, where Elain had bought a house. Fury and tears both met the explanation of what happened- fury and tears that turned to getting inadvisably drunk in sunlight, when Lucien and Azriel snuck away to join them.

For the first time in Nesta's adult life, she had no obligations. Magic, money, freedom- the whole world was out there.

She stopped wearing black. Learned pants where actually lovely, when they fit correctly and weren't made of leather. Learned Azriel could laugh, and Lucien was as clever as she'd always thought.

She read books, she ate fruit, she took Helion up on several of his more lascivious offers.

She thought of Cassian, and it ached, but not enough to go backward.

Elain's house was by the sea, right on the water. The scent of salt reminded Nesta of Summer- but also of her oldest, most secret dreams. The warehouses of goods, like mysteries to solve. The account books she stole, learning by candlelight the trade in her blood.

Ten years after the war, Nesta bought a ship.

She set out to be a merchant, use what she knew, but what happened was this: Nesta Archeron did not care anymore for rules. And so when she came upon Hybernian remnants-for they were an island kingdom, even more one with the water than Prythian- pillaging a Summer town, she destroyed them.

She stole their treasure, gave much of it back to the people.

Found, unexpected, that she had much more of a taste for marauding than she would have expected. There was still trade of course- proft made and shared- but Summer needed someone willing to do some destroying out on the sea.

Twelve years after the war, Nesta Archeron became a privateer under the Summer flag, pearls in her hair and a true smile on her lips.

Things grew, as all things do. Feyre wrestled herself the reins of government, stymied by the councils Nesta and Azriel set up as much as she often was by Azriel himself out of truly petulant action. Morrigan remained second, golden blades bright as her gowns within reach. Cassian became a sort of seneschal, reigning over Illyria in Feyre's name cold and alone as the wind through the mountains.

(Feyre thought he might never get over the war, but Azriel knew the truth.)

Elain took herself wherever the future led, a sort of mediator and councilor, walking in all Courts- but always back to home, that isolated green, green cove, where Nesta would land.

When war came again, there was no great Lordly alliance, no cut-throat summit. There was a fleet of ships whose sails where edged in purple, whose announcement across the water was silver fire, whose accompaniment were monsters of old.

Violence did not touch Prythians human shore, because Nesta Archeron did not let it.

She was death on the tide, and she remembered what shores had borne her.

She had a home in Summer, a place in Day, her family across the continent- she had her ships, full of faeries from every walk of life, who wanted as she did the freedom as much as the profit, the endless, endless blue, where sea meets sky.

It was eternity, and the Archeron sisters, free, had made it their own.

#i'm sorry this is literally a novel #but!!!#this is my dream plot actually #all about legacy and complicated feelings #the total failure of cassian as a partner #of rhys as a ruler #of feyre as a sister!!#there's so much love in the end but its not easy love #and they do have to fight for it #Nesta Archeron has always been exactly who she is and that shouldn't have to change #Elain has never GOTTEN to be who she is and that should change #Feyre standing alone is all i want yall #a true overturning of the patriarchy actually #yes this a luzreil universe #Elain...mhmm.... definitely just has a string a very romantic love affairs #marriage as a prospect caused her so much pain #she's done #I feel like Mor comes off almost too badly in this #but like #she would??#she's SO possessive of her people #and totally weird about Feyre's sister's from the start #Nesta having power?#Nesta having Azriel's backing?#NESTA BEING CASSIAN'S MATE?#its never going to go well

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Text

Fifty-Six part 3 | Feysand

Okay last one, the smut finale. There's still no plot, blame @asteria-of-mars it's her birthday and this is what she asked for 🤪

Part 1 Part 2

Chapter 3: Return of the King

After that, Feyre suggested they not have males in the house for a while, and Rhys grudgingly agreed. Feyre had Mor around to help with the map she was making, and Rhys was writing a letter on the other side of the library.

The peace lasted for all of twenty minutes, until Mor said “Oh, Feyre you’ve got an ink smudge on your cheek.” Feyre swiped at her face. “No, not there, it’s… never mind, I got it.” Mor licked her thumb and rubbed the offending mark. And Rhys was shoving her bodily out of the room.

“Oh come on!” Mor wailed at the closed door. She thumped her fist against the wood, before storming out grumbling under her breath. Rhys did not get their clothes completely off before he was fucking Feyre against the door.

Amren, of course, refused to be Rhys’s next victim.

“No,” she had said flatly when they asked.

“I need exposure therapy!” Rhys said. “I’m sure I can get this bond thing under control.”

“And he wouldn’t dare mess with you,” Feyre added.

“Boy, get this through your head. You’re newly mated, and you can’t be around other people right now. So go hole up in the townhouse or the cabin or wherever you people live, and call me when your brain is functional.” Rhys opened his mouth, but Amren cut him off. “Until then, stop forcing us to be around all this lovey-dovey, over-possessive, hyper-hormonal shit. Now get the fuck off my doorstep.”

So they winnowed home, and when they got to their bedroom Feyre turned and stared at Rhys with her arms folded.

“Don’t say it,” Rhys warned.

“I told you!” Feyre yelled.

“I said don’t say it,” her mate sulked.

“I told you you weren’t ready!”

“You did.”

“I told you we should have stayed at the cabin another week!”

“Yes.”

“And now our friends won’t have a bar of us!”

“No.”

“Well??”

“Well, don’t stand there and pretend like I’m the only one affected by this thing!”

Feyre stared at him. “I might be affected, but at least I still have some semblance of self-control.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

Rhys stiffened all over, and a mask Feyre had not seen for a long time settled itself over his lovely features. The air cooled so fast it took her breath away a little.

“Is that so?” Rhys asked. Dangerously soft.

“Of course,” Feyre said, but it did not come out as certain as she wanted it to. She wasn’t quite sure what was happening yet.

Rhys put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to one side. There was a steely glint in his eyes, and for a minute Feyre wondered whether she had made him angry. She felt the bond to see if she could get a better reading on him, but all that came back was a dark and pulsing energy.

Rhys walked slowly toward her, and Feyre found herself backing away.

“You’re perfectly in control, are you darling?” he asked. Feyre gasped and put her hands out as her back hit a wall. Rhys was now towering over her, power and shadows coiling around him like black smoke. He lifted a hand, and his fingertips were onyx talons. He hooked the claw of his index finger in Feyre’s neckline, and dragged it downward, tearing fabric like it was paper. All the way to her navel. Feyre shivered as the air hit her bare skin. Rhys bent his head and ghosted his lips along the shell of her ear. “Shall we test that theory, you and I?”

Rhys's gaze traveled down her torn dress and back up to her lips, and Feyre felt the hot line of it searing her skin. He moved his head, inches from hers, and she thought he might kiss her but instead he just moved a curl behind her ear. Feyre's heart beat fast, half willing him to touch her and half willing him to let her go.

And then he leaned in and took soft, slow, sucking bites: behind her ear lobe, against the side of her throat, in the hollow at the base of her neck, in between her breasts. As he did so, his hand slid up her thigh, and he stroked her softly through her underwear. Feyre whimpered. His free hand landed on the wall above her head, and now he was watching her with eyes that burned as the fingers between her legs moved lightly up and down. Made small circles against the cotton. Feyre let out a shuddering breath, and sank down a little further, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze but unable to look away.

Rhys stood up straight again, leaning his forearms on the wall either side of her face and her thighs clenched together at the loss of contact. “Now, Feyre darling,” he said. His breath blew against her face like an ocean breeze, and Feyre's eyes glazed over. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he watched her. “I know you’re rather new around here, but I’m going to have to teach you a lesson in control.”

Without warning, Rhys ducked down and picked Feyre up under the thighs. She yelped and grabbed a hold of his shoulders, and Rhys put her down on the bed. Smoothed her limbs down, then vanished her ruined dress with a thought.

“So,” Rhys said. He lay beside her, ankles crossed and propped up on his elbow. He trailed a finger from the tip of her nose, over her lips, all the way down her sternum. “Since you are so unaffected by this bond of ours, and I am nought but a wastrel of a male buffeted by the tides of my desire, you can demonstrate for me the virtues of self-restraint.” Rhys lifted her arms above her head. “You’re going to keep your hands there, until I say you can move them. And if you don't I'll tie you up so you can't. Think you can manage that, my sweet?”

Feyre lifted her chin. “Of course,” she said. This game was new. But she was fairly certain that after the way Rhys had been behaving all week, she could take him.

“Good girl,” Rhys purred, and then his finger kept moving, down her stomach, circling around but not touching her clit, and then deep inside her. Feyre moaned. “I do love you naked,” he said. “Laid out on the bed for me like this. Already dripping for me. Mine to play with.”

“And you?” Feyre panted. She eyed his jacket meaningfully.

“Why Feyre darling, this is an exquisite suit. I think I’ll keep it on for now.” And he started moving his hand, adding his thumb over her clit. Feyre’s eyes rolled back as his free hand cupped her left breast, and his closed his mouth over her right. His tongue flicked over her nipple in time with the movement of his fingers, and Feyre started to unravel under his touch.

“Oh and Feyre?” Rhys said, lifting his face but speeding his fingers.

“Mmmm?”

“You’re not to come unless I tell you.”

Feyre’s eyes popped open at that, and she opened her mouth to protest but then he curled his fingers, pressing hard against the most sensitive spot inside her and she had to bite down hard on her lip not to climax on the spot.

“Good girl,” Rhys said again, and that was it. She was going to obey. She would earn his praise, and prove him wrong, and win the game.

If you don’t want to play anymore, a soft voice said in her mind. Just say ‘sunrise.’ And I’ll stop and take care of you. Feyre nodded, and bucked her hips into his hand.

Rhys chuckled, and put his lips on her pussy. Sucked her clit into his mouth while his fingers worked inside her, and she could feel herself soak his hand. Rhys confirmed it when he groaned against her. “So fucking wet,” he murmured. “Give it all to me honey.” The vibration of his groan traveled all the way up her spine, and his free hand smoothed up toward her neck. He gripped her throat, just lightly, just enough to hold her down on the bed. And then squeezed harder when it made her moan. Her hands, remaining above her head, curled around the top edge of the mattress.

“Is that good, love?” Rhys asked her.

“Yes,” Feyre mouthed. “Yes, yes, so good….”

“You taste perfect, do you know that?” Rhys said, before rubbing the flat of his tongue fast against her clit. Feyre cried out, release bursting before her eyes- and Rhys withdrew. Took his hands and his mouth off her and she was mewling and writhing on the bed.

“You weren’t going to come, were you darling?” Rhys asked, head cocked to one side.

“Nnn… no,” she stuttered.

“Because we had an agreement,” he went on. “And you have such control as to not be trifled with a little orgasm delay. Right?”

Feyre nodded, her eyes closed and her hips still searching for him.

“Good,” he said. “Say, is rather warm in here, don’t you think?”

Rhys stood and, very casually, removed his jacket, taking care to drape it carefully over an arm chair. Then he stood at the end of the bed and took off his shirt, taking his time over the buttons while Feyre watched him like a starveling.

“Roll over on your stomach,” he said, and she did so. Rhys hummed his approval. “There’s that beautiful ass,” he said. He dropped to his knees at the end of the bed, and squeezed his hands over her backside. “No one has an ass like yours, darling dear.” While he kneaded her flesh, he tugged her back toward him and started eating her out from behind. Feyre moaned his name, and was rewarded with a deep push of his tongue inside of her. Meanwhile, one of his hands wandered down to the seam of her, and his thumb rubbed against her asshole. Feyre cried out at the new sensation, and her hands scrabbled at the sheets in front of her. She rocked her hips on his tongue, and tried to tilt her pelvis to get friction on her clit, too.

It was all so much. It was delicious. The pleasure curled tight in her belly as the three pressure points collided, and she was lost, lost in the swirling heat and honey and…

And then nothing at all as Rhys pulled back yet again. Feyre cried out in disappointment so sharp it almost hurt, and Rhys clicked his tongue.

“Now now dove, you’re not even trying to hold back.” He spanked her hard across the backside and stars burst before her eyes. “Where’s that self-control I’ve heard so much about?”

Rhys sat on the edge of the bed and kicked his boots off. “Roll back over and keep those hands up.” He removed the rest of his clothes, folding them equally neatly with the jacket. When he turned back to Feyre, she couldn’t help it. She looked down at his hips. At the rock hard length of him. Rhys grinned toothily.

“Oh, so that’s what you want,” he said, like it was only just occurring to him. He knelt on the bed, straddling her waist. “But darling you promised me. You won’t come until I say.” Feyre nodded.

“I won’t,” she whispered. Rhys smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip gently.

“I know,” he said. And then pushed two fingers into her mouth. Feyre sucked hard on them as he dragged then back past her lips and then reached behind to touch his wet fingers to her still-throbbing clit. Feyre lifted her hips to his touch, relieved that the contact had returned. Then with his free hand Rhys guided his cock to her lips.

Feyre licked at the head of him, reaching all that she could with her hands still above her head. Rhys groaned slowly, moved the tip of his cock back and forth over her tongue while the fingers between her legs slid inside of her. Feyre craned her neck to try and take more of him into her mouth, and was gratified when Rhys’s eyes slid closed momentarily and he moved his hips to slide further in. Feyre’s grip on the mattress tightened, fighting the urge to wrap her hand around around the base of him. Instead, she tried to move her head back and forth, range of motion very limited in this position. Rhys’s hand cupped the back of her head and held her up while he started fucking into her mouth, his fingers in her pussy speeding up at the same time, so she was being filled twice over. Rhys added another finger, and ground the heel of his palm against her clit while she sucked him off, and this time when her climax built, Feyre clamped down hard on it.

She tried to concentrate on swirling her tongue around Rhys’s head, focusing on his pleasure instead of hers. But when he moaned her name, she found herself in deeper peril than before.

“Cauldron fuck, Feyre,” Rhys groaned. “You feel incredible around my cock. Just wanna keep fucking your pretty mouth like this until I come,” he said. “Can you take more? Can I fuck your throat a little?” Rhys pushed further in and Feyre’s eyes watered, but she took it. “Fuck yes, Feyre. So good. So good taking my cock like this.”

She wanted him to come first. Surely if he came then she would be allowed to. But the dirty talk was turning her on like crazy, and she tried to hold her hips still to cool some of the heat off. Rhys was having none of that. He pushed a third finger inside her, and the sudden stretch pushed her over the edge. Feyre tried to hide it, but couldn’t stop her body from clenching and shaking beneath him.

Quick as a flash, Rhys had gotten off her, rolled her over and slapped her hard on the ass. Feyre gasped and sobbed as her climax was cut off.

“You wicked thing!” Rhys scolded. He sat down the edge of the bed and dragged her face down so her ass was across his lap, and then landed a spank with each word of his next sentence. “Didn’t- I- tell- you- not- to- come!” And then a final slap sang out right over her desperate pussy. Feyre cried out, and tears filled her eyes as her skin was shot through with electricity all over. She was over-sensitised everywhere; the air was too cold between her legs and the sheets were too rough on her skin.

“Rhys please!” Feyre screamed.

“Oh please is it?” Rhys asked, incensed. “You deliberately disobey instructions and now you’re asking for favours?” He rubbed circles against her clit, but then as she lifted her hips, spanked her pussy again.

"Oh! No don't- please, please Rhys please," she blurted as she was left cold yet again.

He slid out from under her, then pulled her hips up again so she was on all fours. “Fine,” he said coldly, and then lay on his back with his head between her knees. Pushed down on her lower back and held her there so that her pussy was in his face, and then sucked hard against her clit.

But it was too much now, she wanted him to touch her but needed him to slow down.

“Not so much,” she gasped. Rhys ignored her, moved his fingers inside her again at an alarming pace while he continued to suckle against her clit. Feyre’s elbows gave and she dropped to her forearms. Her body had started to shake now, and Rhys's tongue was relentless.

“You’ll take what you’re given,” Rhys said. He gave her a cruel smile. “Since you wanted it so badly, pet.” Underneath her, he slid up the bed to take her nipple in his teeth. She was dragged down his body, and felt him absolutely everywhere. The sensation piled up, and Feyre was falling apart at the seams. His tongue rolled the hardened point like he had her clit, and all the while his fingers pumped inside her. Feyre tried to move but he held her tight against his body.

Rhys pushed up again, and now he was shoving her hips down against his and grinding his hard length against her. She was coating him with her wetness, clenching everything as her pussy was slid over and over the ridges of him but not where she needed it. The tip of an index finger pushed into her ass, and his other hand was sliding along her scalp to fist in her hair. His nails scratched that back of her head, and Feyre didn’t know what feeling was coming from where, couldn’t find focus, couldn't stop shivering.

“Too much,” she gasped. “Please, please Rhys.”

“What do you need, honey?” Rhys asked. He continued to slide his cock up and down her bare, drenched pussy while her eyes rolled in her head. “You need to be fucked?” Feyre couldn’t even manage to nod. “You need to come?” Feyre just wept while she tried to hold her body up over Rhys’s. “Mating bond a little rough there, is it darling?”

“Yes,” Feyre babbled. “Yes, it hurts, I need you, please oh fuck please...”

“You know, you look gorgeous undone,” Rhys crooned, and then he rolled them over, grabbed a hold of her hips and slammed his cock into her, again and again and again, fucking her hard and fast like maybe, just maybe he had been torturing himself a little, too.

"Holy fuck," he groaned. "Fuck you're perfect, perfect and mine."

But Feyre didn't hear him. She was stretched and filled and the didn't know anything except for the pounding repeating and repeating. Her vision blacked out and the pleasure exploded behind her eyelids, and the unbearable pressure finally ignited, pulling her right off the bed with its force. By the time Rhys was coming too, Feyre’s screams had gotten so high they’d lost their sound, and all that could be heard was her name falling off Rhys’s lips as he shuddered his climax.

Feyre lay, completely spent and near comatose on the bed. Rhys pressed reverent kisses to her lips, her chest, her stomach.

“You can come now,” he said, voice sparkling with amusement. Feyre was going to roll he eyes, but then he kissed her slowly right over the clit and to her great surprise, she actually came again on his lips. Just a little.

When she had come down, she was sure she was dead. Rhys pulled her into his arms and kissed the back of her shoulder.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “Maybe I don’t have any self control either.” Rhys chuckled into her neck.

“It’s okay love,” he said. “We’ll work on it.” He slid a hand behind her head and gently massaged her there. “Besides,” he said. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been given orders to stay home and fuck.”

Feyre laughed, but winced as it tugged at her exhausted muscles.

“Oh poor darling,” Rhys said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Was I little rough with you?” His free hand stroked soothingly over her flank.

“Yes,” Feyre sighed. “It was divine.”

“I love you,” Rhys whispered, and then sleep claimed her.

****

And that's the end. Just had to squeeze in some of Liz's favourite CoN!Rhys for the final chapter there, and yes I am a cheeseball and named this chapter after Liz's *other* love. I rather like the idea of king of the nightmare court, don't you? Happy birthday darling xxx

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #liz's birthday present #oh so much smut #the most smut i think i've ever written in one go #what if i've used up all my smut?#i think i should be banned now #anyway happy birthday angel!!

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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I mean *I* personally don’t want a Manorian novella lol but I for sure don’t want the crossover. I think she’s running out of ideas at this point. CC is honestly an indication that, even though it was a rough idea in her mind (bc she did have a Pinterest board for it for a long time before it sold), it wasn’t fully formed and she went with it because she wouldn’t have had anything after TOG and ACOTAR ended (it would also explain why she even extended ACOTAR past the third book). It would also explain why CC is her weakest series, and one most readers aren’t really into that much it seems. She just doesn’t seem passionate about it

You mean you don't want to read about manon pegging dorian?!

I think she said she worked on cc for a long time in between books but it's the least memorable. Putting a read more to not clog up people's dashboards with my ramblings.

When teasers were released of cc2, I honestly could not pinpoint a character who would have said it, for example the counting abs one, that could have been pretty much any of her male characters except for maybe Lucien or Chaol.

I really liked Bryce in the first book, but then in cc2 she felt way too much like Aelin in terms of "I have a cunning plan that has saved us all - which nobody, including the reader, had any clues about!". It's sloppy writing to not even drop crumbs for the reader about plans. It's the same with Danika. I really despise her character because if I was Bryce and I'm uncovering so many secret plots from my best friend after her death, I'd be so insecure about our friendship. Danika knew Bryce's heritage but didn't tell her about her father, her mate, the rebels' plots, working with Sophie. I'm sure Danika will also have somehow contacted Aelin or Rhys in their universes too. It's lazy writing!!!

It's annoying as I really liked Bryce and Hunt together too - but sjm has a habit of making her couples so damn boring once they're together. The women lose personalities and are always so submissive whereas the men can do no wrong either - and I don't want that to be hunt and bryce.

The repetition is dull now. I don't want Flynn and Ariadne to be mates but they probably will be because he feels a pull to her. I don't want Ethan and the alpha wolf from the mystics being mates but they probably will because he feels a pull to her. I don't want Ruhn and Lidia to be mates but they probably will because he feels a pull to her. Not everybody needs to be mated. It's not rare when everybody has a mate bond. Mate bonds could be really interesting if the bond happened when someone was already in an established relationship with another, if they absolutely detested each other, if they were enemies, if they rejected the bond. Love without the presence of magic forcing them together is also good. I think it's more special to find love simply because you love that person rather than "I can feel a magical pull and we will be together FOREVER".

Nesta's story now just seems to be a set up for finding the trove for Bryce which makes her "healing arc" even worse and shows how little the author cares for Nesta or Cassian. The plots for both cc books were slow, slow, slow.

The hype for CC2 lasted a few days and all of it was detracted by the spoiler leak/final page. Are you really telling me the leak wasn't an inside job to drum up sales too? Conversation straight away went to all about Rhys and ACOTAR. I felt angry for Bryce, like this is her book and Rhysand has taken the attention. Even Feyre doesn't get names, she's just that woman covered in paint. Just as in Nesta's book, it was the Feysand show again. People who argue that Elain will get a book because the story is about three sisters... no, it's about Rhysand. It's always been about Rhysand. Even when Aelin was blasting through universes at the speed of light, she could still notice how handsome he was. Like we get it, you have a hard on for your imaginary character and can't function without mentioning him!!! But it is so freaking dull by now.

The thing that bothers me most is that sjm has somehow been given this crown as "the queen of foreshadowing". There are so many details that she skips out, under develops or completely ignores down the line. She wrote that Lucien resembles Beron in ACOTAR then retconned that so his father has a whole different ethnicity and now Lucien suddenly has Helion's nose. Feyre had to teach herself to swim in a pond, but nesta says their mother ensured they could swim because her cousin (?) was drowned by fae. One sister says the only person their mother respected was the father, the other says she was cold with their father. We still do not know the name of any of rhysand's family, none of their surnames, no cousins/siblings are ever mentioned, no other places names are ever included. In acotar, Kallias is described as the cunning lord of winter... and we never see any of that. arghhhhhhh so many inconsistencies and lack of development but I can get 3 pages of cassian's juices still seeping out of nesta's gleaming sex

#anon asks

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Fourteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: my quickest AND longest update to date?? who am i??

merry christmas for real this time. thank you sm for reading i never voice my appreciation for yall but it’s there i swear

tw: abuse mention

***

Cassian’s plan to grab his stuff and get the hell back home is intercepted by Feyre, who pulls him aside and proceeds to spill everything about her fight with Nesta to him.

His heart hurts for Feyre—he of all people knows what it’s like to feel unwanted by your biological family. But what did she really think would happen? Their entire friend group is about placing chosen bonds over blood bonds. Feyre can’t be that offended if Nesta prefers the company of her friends over her little sisters. And trying to talk to Nesta about her therapy? Jesus.

But Cassian has a feeling it’ll take both Feyre and Elain a long spelling out of things before they can begin to understand Nesta the way he does, and he doesn’t have time for that right now. He’s too distracted to even provide the comfort Feyre came to him for.

Somehow, he makes up an excuse and detaches himself from the conversation, leaving to find his coat and keys. Azriel spies him on the way to the door and gives him a look.

“Not a fucking word,” Cassian growls as he passes. Everyone else is engrossed in a game of poker and getting progressively more drunk. Feyre now sits on Rhys’s lap, once again content. Azriel only smirks but shakes his head, letting Cassian slip out of the penthouse unnoticed.

He takes the long way home, needing the night air and flashing headlights to clear his head. Once he gets off the freeway leading to town, though, he picks up his phone and calls Nesta.

She doesn’t pick up.

On the fourth call that goes unanswered, Cassian gives up. Fine. She doesn’t want to talk to him tonight. But still he finds himself driving past her neighborhood, once, twice, as if he’s listless without being able to talk to her. He has too many feelings he needs to get off his chest, and she’s the first person he always goes to for those things.

Try to consider her feelings.

It’s that thought that forces him to turn around and drive back to the cabin. They’ll both feel better in the morning, anyway. He can find her and talk as soon as the day starts.

It’s past midnight when he finally pulls up to the driveway, and still he’s disappointed to not see Nesta’s car there. Still he’s disappointed to enter an empty cabin.

The Christmas tree they decorated together sits unlit in the corner of the living room, their presents untouched under the fir leaves. Without turning the lights on, Cassian trudges upstairs and heads straight to bed.

Any sleep he finds is short and restless. His eyes shut sometime around three in the morning, and when they next open, early dawn light is streaming in through the windows. Snow flurries gently against the glass.

Giving up on the prospect of genuine rest, Cassian accepts that he’ll have to seek out Nesta with dark circles and a half-functioning brain today.

He already has a list in his mind as he heads downstairs: get coffee and breakfast for Nesta, get dressed, be at her door by the time she wakes at nine.

Then he reaches the foot of the stairs, and realizes none of that is necessary.

Straight out of his dreams, Nesta is sitting cross-legged on the ground before the coffee table, inspecting a puzzle piece in the cutest sweater he’s ever seen.

Cassian freezes with his hand on the banister, wondering if he’s still asleep. He watches her bite her lip intently, trying to fit the puzzle piece into a corner of the puzzle. It doesn’t fit.

“Fuck,” she swears softly, tossing the piece aside. Cassian clears his throat.

Nesta’s head shoots up, her focus broken. “You’re awake.”

“You’re in my house,” he says dumbly.

“That’s what the key you gave me is for, isn’t it?”

Hesitantly, like he’s approaching a wounded bear, Cassian walks farther into the living room. “Are you—I mean, are we…?”

“Use your words, baby.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. She doesn’t seem upset. There’s so much he wants to ask her: did she sleep well? Where did she get her Christmas sweater from, and does it mean she’s secretly been a fan of Christmas all along? Does she want hot chocolate or coffee with her breakfast?

“How was your night?” he settles on. He moves to sit across from her at the coffee table.

“Find where this goes,” Nesta demands, handing him a new puzzle piece and pointing to their nearly finished puzzle.

Cassian obeys, and Nesta talks while he works. “I was pretty pissed when I got home last night,” she says. “I wanted to tell you all about this stupid fight I had with my boyfriend, and how I knew he was right but I was still furious at him, until I remembered that you were my boyfriend, and I didn’t want to see you.”

Cassian pretends to focus on the puzzle, letting Nesta get her words out.

“So Gwyn called to say thank you for her present—you were right, by the way, she loves it—and then we ended up talking the whole night, and I told her everything about my sisters and,” she waves a hand, “the other shit.

“And at one point I realized that I was telling her the stuff I needed to be telling you. So I came here as soon as I hung up with Gwyn.”

Cassian looks up. “When was that?”

Nesta shrugs. “Five in the morning?”

“Nesta,” he scolds. “You’ll fuck up your sleep cycle.”

“Will you let me get to my point, damn it?”

Cassian shuts up and sits back.

Nesta is staring down at the puzzle, fiddling with her fingernails. Carefully selecting her next words like an attorney would. “I wanted to apologize for—the things I said last night. I was projecting my insecurities onto you, and I’m sure you already know it, but that doesn’t make it okay.” She looks up, face serious. “My sisters and I bring out the worst in each other. We always have. But I let that affect how I treated you when you had nothing to do with it.”

“But you were right.” Cassian can’t stay quiet anymore. “I mean, a lot of what you said was wrong, but at the heart of your point you were right.” It took Cassian all night to sift through what Nesta had said, to separate the truth from the meaningless words of hurt. He finally sees it now.

“I should have watched out for you last night, even if I couldn’t claim you as my girlfriend. I know how you are in new environments with new people and I left you to the wolves.” The wolves are his most trusted friends, sure, but they aren’t Nesta’s. And he was an idiot to forget it.

Nesta fixes another puzzle piece into place, and for the first time this morning, true regret passes over her face. “I didn’t enjoy hurting you. I hated every second of it while I was doing it. So as long as you know I didn’t mean any of it, I’ll be fine.”

We were good distractions for each other in your lonely little cabin, but deep down you know we wouldn’t last a day in the real world.

You were sad and desperate for acknowledgement when we first met, and you’re the same way now.

Cassian nods once. “I know,” he says softly. “You could never lie to me.” Even if some of her words had struck a little truer than they should have. Cassian realizes bitterly it’s because her insecurities are the same as his.

“So are you going to tell me about what the real problem was yesterday?” He dares to broach the elephant in the room.

Nesta stiffens, refocusing on the puzzle to avoid his gaze. “I already told you,” she says. “My sisters and I bring out the worst in each other.”

“There’s more to it than that, though.” When Nesta doesn’t respond, he adds, “Feyre told me her side of the story. It probably wasn’t all of it, but if it makes you feel better, I agreed with you.”

Nesta snorts derisively. “She was being unreasonable, but I made it worse. You know that, don’t you?” She raises a brow. “You know how I am.”

Cassian remembers their screaming match from the time he tried to get her a doctor’s appointment, and oddly enough, smiles. “I know you hate it,” he says, “and I know it’s frustrating as hell, but people stop taking your arguments seriously when you start flinging insults. It probably isn’t fair, but you’ve been in a courtroom. You know how it works.”

Nesta grimaces. “Believe me, the future lawyer in me is not proud of how I held up in last night’s fight.”

“Right there.” Cassian slides a section of green pieces over to himself and fits them into place, completing the rolling hills of the landscape scene. There’s only a handful of pieces left, all in the sky area. He waits for Nesta to be ready to speak.

After several moments of working in silence, she says, “My sisters have never really accepted me the way I am. I used to think Elain did back when we were kids, but then I stopped prioritizing her and she stopped understanding.”

Cassian knows Elain is pissed that her once-closest sister no longer cares to talk to her. But what he wants to know is why Nesta stopped answering her calls. Why she pulled away and went into isolation, and wouldn’t come out for anyone until a few short months ago.

Nesta clears her throat. “I was not a well-adjusted kid. I’m not a well-adjusted adult, either, but—I was even worse in my youth. I had a deadbeat dad, who I hated while my sisters adored him. I hated the life we had to live because of him, and I let that hate seep everywhere. Into everything and everyone else.” She blows out a breath and shakes her head. “There was no place closer to hell than that fucking one-bedroom apartment. I hated the person I was in that place—like I had no control over my emotions, my tantrums, my entire self. I was stuck in this childlike state of rage and I couldn’t move on, couldn’t grow up.

“No one could figure out what was wrong with me, so I had to take care of my issues myself. I read more books, I went out more often, I always had headphones in—I learned how to escape. I learned how to limit the destruction. Once I did that, I could care for Elain more openly. I could have civil conversations with Feyre, too. That’s where we went wrong, I think. I gave Feyre hope that I could be a better person, and once she latched onto it, she refused to let go.” Nesta picks at the sleeves of her knit sweater. “She never understood that I was cold and removed just because I was. She always had this belief that deep down, I secretly had a heart of gold and a shit ton of love to give. I never bothered telling her she was wrong, so her expectations of me grew. And so did Elain’s. And then I graduated high school.” She shrugs.

Cassian frowns. “That’s when you left your family and moved here?”

She nods. “The distance helped. For a short time, I thought I was free. No responsibilities or people to answer to. But then I met Tomas—my ex—and Feyre and Elain followed me to Colorado not long after my dad died. And even then I stayed optimistic, because most people would be lucky to have their sisters and boyfriend all in the same place. I thought I could finally have all the relationships a normal person my age was supposed to have if I just put in the effort.” She meets Cassian’s eyes. “I never told you much about Tomas, did I?”

His stomach sinks, but he shakes his head.

“It was not a fun first love. But the only reason I didn’t tell you about it earlier was because I didn’t know how to describe it myself.” She rubs her palms down her thighs, but it isn’t enough to hide their tremble.

“I know what to call it now,” Nesta says. “It was abusive.”

Cassian says nothing. He can’t. But his hands curl into hard fists under the coffee table.

“Lana made me work up to using that word.” She rolls her eyes, like the whole thing annoys and embarrasses her. “He was abusive: physically, verbally, emotionally. I’m not going to go into the details or anything, but it’s what was happening to me during those college years that my sisters needed me to be there for them.”

Cassian would never in a thousand years ask Nesta for information she isn’t ready to give, but in that moment he’s overwhelmed with the need to know everything—every little thing that’s ever been done to her, so he can draw up a list and exact calculated revenge for all of it. His voice is rough against the lump in his throat, out of fury or despair he doesn’t know. “Nesta…”

“I promise I’m almost done.” She holds up a hand.

Take your time. Tell me everything.

“This isn’t about him,” Nesta says. “This is about my sisters. Because even if I hadn’t been stupid enough to let that man waste almost four years of my life, I would have ended up in the same place with Feyre and Elain. They’d still be disappointed when they realized I couldn’t be what they wanted me to be.” She wraps her arms around herself in a hug, and Cassian wishes he’d sat beside her so those could be his arms.

She shakes her head. “I did my best so I wouldn’t be cooped up with them, wouldn’t be lashing out at them… and it still wasn’t enough. They wanted me to be nice, friendly, talkative. So I tried doing that too, even though I hated it. But around the same time things with Tomas started to get unbearable, Feyre found Rhysand and you guys. So now I had to hang out with my sister while she had a group of strangers constantly surrounding her, and go back home to a man who hated me at the end of the day.” She looks up at Cassian then, and her blue-gray gaze hits him with the force of a truck. “As soon as Feyre moved away to Velaris, I saw my way out. I finally broke up with Tomas. I gave up on all my relationships and I let go, and I don’t care if you or anyone else thinks it’s pathetic, or the bare minimum. It’s all I had to give.”

Cassian swallows roughly, unable to find his words. “It’s not pathetic, Nesta,” he finally says. “There’s nothing pathetic about doing what doesn’t come easily to you.”

There’s a million other things he needs to say to her, to make sure that she knows she isn’t stupid, or embarrassing, or not enough. But it all floats right out of his head when she heaves a big, dramatic sigh, as if a great weight has been lifted off her chest. As if Cassian’s measly words were all she needed to hear to feel alright.

She snatches up the final remaining puzzle piece and clicks it into place. “And we’re done,” she declares.

Cassian looks down at the table between them, which is now fully lit by the beaming morning sun outside. His eyes land on an empty space near the corner of the landscape, and his face falls. “There’s a piece missing,” he says.

“No way, where?” Nesta leans closer.

Cassian is already on his hands and knees, checking under and around the table for the missing piece.

“This is all your fault,” Nesta is saying above him. “You bumped into the table that time we were making out and all those pieces went flying.”

“Well, how fucking far could it have gone? Help me find it.” He’s serious now, searching the floor with intent. They can’t leave the puzzle unfinished. It was the only thing he could find in his garage all those months ago that could distract Nesta from anticipating her MRI results. And after the diagnosis, it had been a way to lift her mood, to give the two of them an excuse to spend every evening together—

“Sweetheart, it’s just a puzzle.”

Cassian sits up straight at that. “Just a puzzle?” He narrows his eyes at her.

“Well, it’s either that or an overextended metaphor for our relationship—are you crying?”

“No.” He blinks quickly. If there’s wetness there, he doesn’t know how Nesta glimpsed it.

He’s had a hard twelve hours. Nesta even more so. “I just feel really bad, about last night and everything else.” Because even if she acts like what she just spilled to him isn’t a big deal, he’ll never forget it.

He looks up to find Nesta laughing. Hand-over-her-mouth cackling. Before he can ask what’s wrong with her, she’s climbing up onto the coffee table, breaking up the puzzle and sending pieces scattering as she crawls across it. “Nesta—” he starts to protest.

She drops into his lap, winding her arms and legs around his powerful body. And she leans in and kisses him, long and deep and sweet. His hands settle into the curve of her hips, where they’ve always fit perfectly.

She breaks the kiss to fit her palm to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she says. She never says that. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.” Her lips quirk up teasingly, but real guilt from the night before lingers in her eyes. Cassian realizes in that moment that Nesta could never hurt anybody more than she hurts herself.

“Don’t waste your apologies on me.” He nudges her nose with his. “Save them for people who’ll actually need to hear them.”

A real smile starts to bloom on her face. “I’ll try.”

Pride and love take his breath away, but he manages to say, “Thank you. For sharing so much of yourself with me.”

She makes an embarrassed noise and waves him off, but emotion shines in her eyes. Just to spare her, Cassian changes the subject. “Now what in the world are you wearing?”

She glances down at herself, frowning. “You don’t like it?”

“I love it.” The sweater looks hand knit, bright red with a green Christmas tree in the center. Balls of colorful fuzz decorate the tree as ornaments. “I want you to wear it every day,” he says.

“Over my dead body. I’d rather you help me take it off.”

Nesta’s hips feel especially snug against his as heat rushes to his crotch. She smirks like she caught him on a hook and leans in to whisper, “You look tired. Did you stay up thinking about my dress last night?”

Cassian swallows roughly. It might have crossed his mind a few times—not just the dress, but the fact that she had picked it out for him. He didn’t know that Nesta cared about things like that.

She rubs a thumb under his weary and reddened eyes. “After your anger faded, did you think about all the make-up sex we were going to have? Because I did.”

“Nesta,” he groans, dropping his head to rest against her chest. Either she plays him too well or he’s too easy to play, because Cassian is half a second away from damning everything to hell and dragging her to the living room carpet.

Until Nesta’s stomach growls loudly.

That’s when he remembers: it’s Christmas morning, he’s with the love of his life, and they’re both starving and sleep-deprived.

He looks up to find her eyes screwed shut in frustration. Before she can protest, he warns, “Don’t even think about it.” He pats her thighs. “Let’s get some food in you.”

***

Cassian makes them chocolate chip pancakes, and Nesta, feeling clingier than usual today, hangs piggyback off his body the entire time he cooks. She hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, yet she feels like she was born anew this morning.

In the middle of breakfast, Cassian’s phone vibrates. He hardly even glances at it before turning it over.

“Who was it?” Nesta asks through a mouthful of pancakes. She hasn’t asked him about how his own night went, but she expects that his friends will want to call and talk to him at some point today.

“Feyre,” he says without looking at her. “She asked where I went last night.”

“Why’re you ignoring her?” She raises a brow.

Cassian looks a little surprised. “I thought we were mad at her.”

“No.” Nesta sets her fork down. “I’m mad at her. What’s your excuse?”

He shrugs. “Solidarity. I’m mad that you had your Christmas Eve ruined. I know what it took you just to show up there.”

“You’re the only one that knows.” Nesta supposes that not everything has been cleared up with Cassian after all. “Listen,” she tries to soften her blunt tone. “Whatever is between me and my sisters… you don’t need to concern yourself with it. You’ll never have to choose sides between us.”

He watches her closely, carefully. “Even if I want to defend my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flutters at that inconsequential word, but she doesn’t show it. “Even then. Feyre looks at you like an older brother. I’m sure Elain does too, a little bit. Don’t let me get in the way of that.” He probably feels guilty every time he texts Feyre, the loyal bastard.

Cassian looks at his plate, then nods resolutely. “I can do that.” He adds a moment later, “For what it’s worth, I do get where the girls are coming from. Even if they had a shit way of going about it.” His eyes darken as he remembers.

Nesta doesn’t know what he was told about the fight, but she chuckles at his moody face anyway. “I expected you to. You’ve always loved spending time with your family, and you’ve never known anything different. But the reality is this: the closeness you have between you and your brothers isn’t something that can be forced onto every group of siblings. And the more Feyre and Elain try to force it, the more I push against it.”

“It sounds stifling.” His face is open, understanding. “To feel like you’re always too much but never enough.”

Nesta pauses, stunned. Cassian is almost too empathetic sometimes, like he carries a thousand past lives within him. Maybe he spent his time learning Nesta by heart in those lives.

Or maybe she’s getting too damn sentimental. She chokes out a dismissive laugh, going back to her pancakes. “Just text Feyre back. Then we can have the rest of the day to ourselves.”

***

Late morning brings heavy snowfall and a chill that infiltrates the walls of the cabin. The Christmas tree in the living room is lit—something Cassian didn’t notice earlier when he came downstairs to find Nesta in his house. Realizing that she’s the one who lit it up first thing in the morning does something to his chest, but he pushes the feeling down where it can’t scare Nesta away.

The weight of the past day must finally catch up to her, though, because by the time Cassian finishes lighting the fireplace, she’s knocked out asleep on the couch.

“No makeup sex then, Nes?” he says softly. Getting up from the hearth, he goes to pull the fur couch throw over her body. Cassian settles at the end of the couch near her feet, taking care so she doesn’t wake, and picks up his laptop from the coffee table. He’s been slacking with his work ever since he got with Nesta, and he might as well catch up on it now before Rhysand takes notice.

The first email that pops up in his inbox is a corporate reminder about the annual New Year’s Eve fundraiser gala, hosted in some high-class hotel in Denver this year. Cassian reads the email once, twice, three times before reaching for his phone.

Rhys answers on the first ring. “Oh, so you don’t hate us,” he drawls.

“What?” Cassian is confused.

“Because with the way you’ve been acting at family events lately, one would have reason to think you don’t want to be around your family much.”

“Oh—no, this isn’t about that.” Cassian refuses to let Rhys linger on this topic. “I called about the New Year’s party.”

“What about it?” he says. “Other than that tacky hotel.”

Cassian decides to spit it out. “I’m not coming.”

Rhys is stunned silent over the line for a moment. “What do you mean, you’re not coming?” Cassian never misses company events, no matter how much he hates dressing up and driving out to the city to schmooze with donors.

But too many of his holidays have gone to Rhys instead of Nesta this year, and he finds himself unwilling to give more.

“I’ve been stressed as hell lately,” he lies, trying to stay quiet for Nesta. “I’m always the one driving hours to see everyone else, and I can’t go all the way out to Denver for another party. I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit,” Rhys responds. “You have nothing going on at work and nothing going on outside of it. What could you be stressed about?”

Cassian makes a mental note to find a hobby that doesn’t include his brothers, if only so he can use it as an excuse to spend time with his secret girlfriend in the future. For now, he has to settle with the truth. “I can’t tell you.”

It’s a petty card to play, but it’s a valid one. No matter how nosy his family might be, they know how to back off when a line is drawn, no explanation required.

Rhys’s voice softens. “Is it serious? Is it a health issue?”

Cassian nearly laughs, even though he feels bad for making Rhys worry. “No, nothing like that. But I still can’t come.”

“What can I do to make it easier for you?” Rhys tries again. “New Year’s isn’t the same without all of my family in one place.”

Cassian snorts. “Come over to my place then.” He says it half-jokingly, but then Rhys doesn’t answer, as if he’s thinking.

“The gala guest list is too big to fit in the cabin…” he ponders. “But I guess I could have it narrowed down at the last minute. The Mayfairs certainly won’t be happy about it, though.”

Cassian’s eyes widen, and he looks over at Nesta’s sleeping form. “Uh…” He scrambles for something to get him out of this.

“New Year’s at a luxury cabin, all of us reuniting at your home for the first time in months? I love it,” Rhys declares. “Better than fucking Denver, that’s for sure.”

Cassian coughs, then covers it up with a forced chuckle. “I’ll have the place ready by next week.”

The call is over before he knows it, and all he can do is stare at the phone in his hand wondering what the hell just happened.

You didn’t entirely lose, he thinks to himself. You’re spending New Year’s with Nesta.

Yeah—New Year’s with Nesta and his entire family. He drops his head back against the couch and groans quietly.

***

Nesta wakes up late in the afternoon to Cassian presenting her with a mug of eggnog and bad news about New Year’s Eve.

The idea of another party, especially one with her sisters present, so soon after the last one makes Nesta’s very bones ache. But she supposes she’ll just have to take the next week to recover and prepare, because she isn’t missing out on a holiday with Cassian for anything.

The way she’s started romanticizing simple things like the new year should probably alarm her, but it doesn’t.

They sit down to open presents with the TV playing lowly in the background. It’s nothing serious, and Nesta isn’t expecting to get anything much until she unwraps her present.

It’s a vinyl record packaged in an elaborate sleeve with the words Nesta’s Mix etched across it. She slowly pulls the record out of the sleeve, staring at it. “What’s this?”

“It’s called a vinyl.”

She spears him with a look. “I got that. What’s on it?”

Cassian turns sheepish, sprawled out across from her on the carpet. “I stalked your Spotify to figure out what you listen to. Then I made a playlist based off what I thought you’d like and got it turned into vinyl. It’s all new music…” He trails off at the look on her face. “But if you hate it, the B-side has your favorite songs on there. You can listen to it either way.”

“I don’t hate it.” Nesta blinks her burning eyes rapidly, staring down at the gift in her hands. She’s not used to receiving thoughtful gifts—or pricey ones. “Thank you,” she says plainly, trying to let her feelings speak for themselves in those two words. “I love it.” She knows she should be saying more, damn it, but what can she say?

Cassian reaches out to put a hand on her knee, his thumb stroking circles across her leg. She looks up at him and realizes she doesn’t need words. Leaning forward, she lands a kiss on his cheek and can only hope that it’s sufficient. “Where am I going to play it?” she asks.

“I was close to getting you a record player when I remembered I already have one. I’ve never used it in my life.” He looks at her more gently now. “So it’s basically yours.”

Nesta’s chest tightens painfully. Not because he’s giving the record player to her, but because he’s suggesting they own it together.

“My present is going to look so stupid next to yours,” she says quietly.

Cassian grins. “Now I really need to see it.”

Nesta buries her head in her hands in humiliation while he tears open the wrapping paper of his gift, and only looks up when she hears him laugh aloud.

He’s holding a copy of one of Nesta’s favorite romances, and the first of many of her books that he’s ever stolen from her and read. He turns the vintage paperback around in his hands. “I remember this one. I totally had a sex dream about it.” He gazes in reminiscence at the busty blonde on the cover.

Nesta snorts, but scoots closer to him eagerly. “Look inside.”

He flips it open to find dark scribbles along the margins, in every single margin.

“I annotated it,” Nesta says hesitantly. “With my thoughts and analysis on each scene. It’s probably dumb to critically analyze a ninetie’s erotica novel, but I thought you’d find it funny.”

Cassian is flipping through the pages more slowly now, taking his time to read each one. “I don’t think it’s funny,” he says after a moment, his eyes still on the book. “I think it’s more than anything I could have asked for.”

“Well, that’s a bit dramatic for a romance book—”

“Not the book.” He looks up at her with something in his eyes. “It’s all your thoughts.” He looks back at the book in wonder. “Written out for me in detail to keep.”

He starts to smirk, searching for a specific page. “I already know how you feel about the boat scene, but now I need to read about it.”

Nesta makes a noise of protest, grabbing for the book. “Don’t spoil the good parts yet.” She can hardly believe it. He finds her joke present good. “You always spoil the good parts first and get sad about it later.”

He makes a face. “True.” He lowers the book, growing serious. “Nesta.” He clears his throat, and her heart starts pounding. She can hear the words before he says them—

“You’re a really good gift giver.”

Nesta’s breath shudders out of her, in relief or disappointment she doesn’t know. Cassian is still staring at her in amazement, and she can only respond by throwing herself at him, her arms holding him tight.

He doesn’t falter under her weight, but pulls her closer. “Thank you,” he says into her ear.

She pulls back far enough to see him. His beautiful face is outlined with too many emotions for her to read, yet somehow she knows exactly what he’s feeling.

Overwhelmed, she leans in to place a soft kiss above his upper lip, then on his mouth. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers against his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Nesta.”

***

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#ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #a favor #nessian fic

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wildlyglittering · 3 years

Text

The Space Between

I have a few pieces of Nessian fan fiction already pre written so I’m just going to drip feed them into my feed every Sunday.

Enjoy (I hope!)

***

Cassian left Velaris far later than intended.

He meant to fly at first light but with the previous night’s send-off drinks for the Inner Circle, all due to go their separate ways for the summer, that first light turned into the hot midday sun.

For Cassian, his departure was routine. It was a regular schedule now, this constant flying back and forth between Velaris and the Illyrian mountains. Rhys kept him busy but the camp kept him busier, so much so that at times he was more a creature of the sky then land.

The prior evenings political discussions of Rhys, Feyre and Az’s imminent stay in the Dawn Court was mindless chatter to Cassian’s ears and he tuned them out with political thoughts of his own. How many recruits did the camps have now? Was Devlon training the females? Were the rumours of an uprising true?

All throughout, one thought was stronger than the others.

Nesta.

Always, Nesta.

Between the mountains and Velaris lay the expansive wilderness where Nesta made her home. Part of Cassian’s schedule was to visit her on his flights between places but it had been months since he’d last seen her face.

Distance, he'd once told her, only makes my heart grow fonder. She'd rolled her eyes at the saccharine sentiment but a delightful blush spread on her cheeks which indicated she wasn't as stone-cold as she'd have others believe.

It was a half-truth on his part.

To say he longed for her was an understatement. Nesta occupied his mind continually and she now owned a space in his heart he once didn’t have for anyone. Distance made him yearn but it also made him cautious.

Nesta’s decision to live away from Velaris was something Cassian once thought as an attempt to distance herself from him. She wouldn’t return to the mountains, he understood why, but it was her refusal to come back to Velaris that surprised him as he thought she’d found some peace with the city.

Her refusal hadn’t been about Cassian, he understood that now. There had been an opportunity for her to regain her independence and, though she never expressed it aloud, a way for her to establish a new identity for herself in this world.

She took it.

Despite this, Cassian hoped she would eventually come back with him to Velaris. He hoped that this new version of Nesta was transferable and that she could thrive on the cobbled streets next to the shining river of his city as she had amongst the expanse of wildflowers.

It ate away at him, Nesta, however powerful, out in the nothing all alone. Still, if that thought ate at him than others consumed him, the gnawing set into motion by others he loved.

Will the bond last? Mor asked. It's uncommon for mates to be apart like this and unfair for one mate to deliberately part themselves from the other.

Nesta isn't a wing, he told Mor. Without her physical presence he still functioned and besides, the emotional connection was unbreakable.

I worry about you my friend; Rhys said. If I can't be with Feyre within minutes I don't know how I would bear the day.

Cassian deflected their words with a smile and a wave and clad himself in invisible armour.

He’d landed, finally, although hours later than he wanted. Sweat tricked down his back and face, his leathers clung to the thick muscles of his arms and thighs. The journey was over half a day’s flight from the city but he always made it in less.

The mountain peaks were visible from the wilderness but only barely, appearing so small it looked like an ant could crush them. There was a small forest and stream within walking distance but aside from those and a cottage it was nothing but thick stalked wild flowers for miles, colouring the landscape with pinks and yellows.

It was a combination of summer heat and protection spells which caused the cottage to shimmer.

Cassian had landed a slight distance away, wary of the protection magic that was always a little too keen to exert itself, and wandered through the flowers to the grey stone building ahead. Mor had expressed incredulity that Nesta hadn’t demanded a mansion with servants while Rhys joked, she was too sour to keep them even if she did.

Cassian ground his teeth but said nothing. Nesta’s experiences weren’t his to share, he justified.

Despite the poverty, despite going to bed with an aching belly and fears of starvation.0 the memories Nesta held of small cottages remained untainted. In mansions, she’d been dragged from her bed and forced to watch her sister drown before water then filled her own lungs. In palaces, she was made to recount those events to eager eared strangers. In tents, she listened to the screams of the dying.

It was those places where she’d started to lose piece after piece of herself until nothing remained.

It was this place, this small cottage, where Nesta found herself once more. The old Nesta flared again, a small spark which turned into wildfire.

Cassian let himself in, the latch opening to him easily.

The main living space doubled as kitchen and comfort. An overstuffed sofa sat in front of an oversized hearth with a butcher’s block next to it, complete with mortar and pestle and the fresh herbs Nesta gathered from her garden. Three rooms branched from this one. The first was the bathroom, the second Nesta’s bedroom and the third was empty.

There was no sign of Nesta and a glance through the window towards the garden showed Cassian that Nesta wasn’t there either. It was likely she’d grown impatient of waiting and had wandered to the woods to gather supplies.

Cassian weaved around the stacks of books, one pile fast becoming as tall as himself, to go find her when a heavy clunk of a handle sounded behind him. Nesta appeared from one of the smaller rooms, it just surprised him to see which one it was.

"Hey sweetheart," he drawled, "what were you doing in there?"

Something moved down the bond but Nesta had muted it somehow and Cassian could sense a sheer kinetic energy rumbling outside of his reach. She said nothing but took a deep breath before standing aside, leaving the room behind her open to his view.

***

The third room was no longer empty.

Cassian stood in the middle; every muscle tensed for battle; his wings snapped taut behind him.

Nesta had opened the window to clear the lingering musk and the beginnings of a soft summer breeze drifted in ruffling the delicate lace curtains that now hung from the frame.

The lazy dancing curtains were the only movement in the room. Cassian remaining locked in place with Nesta just as rigid beside him.

His heart started pound on the bones of his ribs, and he imagined it bursting straight out of his chest to land in a bloody heap on the floor.

The walls had been painted a soft yellow, reminding Cassian of the pats of butter served in small dishes when Feyre and Rhys had 'proper company.' The new bookcase and shelves, both empty, were a thick, rich cream.

His pulse beat out a rhythm on the roof of his mouth.

A rocking chair draped with a downy feathered blanket sat in the corner but the most prominent feature, positioned against the wall, stood the crib.

Waiting.

The pulse was behind his eyes now, the objects in his vision dancing as he heard the whispers that travelled down the bond. Nesta hadn't moved but those sharp blue-grey eyes stared at him all the same.

Were his legs always this clumsy? he wondered. Did he often give full control of his body to something else? Cassian was moving but they weren't his feet. He loomed over the crib like a grotesque gargoyle and touched a giant, calloused hand to the wood before reaching in to grasp at the blanket.

These weren't his hands, he decided. His were designed to clutch the handles of blades, to wrap around throats and squeeze until faces turned blue. They weren't meant to touch small blankets embroidered with bees.

I can rip this with both hands, he thought. Turn it into shreds within seconds. I am the Lord of Bloodshed and I tear things apart.

His pulse pounded in his ears now, his tongue feeling like it had engorged in his mouth ready to block his windpipe and choke him like he'd choked many others. Nesta was glaring and throwing her panic at him until he swallowed it down.

His knuckles had turned white clenching the blanket. Cassian envisioned a small body, sleeping and breathing and dreaming in this bed, relying on Cassian's hands to hold it, to keep it safe.

There was no more air in the room, no more breath in his lungs and his ears were filled with the beat of his own heartbeat, and Nesta's, and now one other joining them.

***

The later afternoon sun had dipped and outdoors had cooled significantly which was welcome, the open blue sky more so.

They were in Nesta's small garden, amongst the vegetables and flowers, and yet it wasn't obvious to Cassian how they arrived.

His chest hurt, he remembered that. His lungs were burning like flames had leapt down his throat and scorched everything they touched. He'd been grasping at his skin, digging his nails into the hollow of his throat to claw a way for the air.

Cassian walked out here. He must have. Nesta following.

She stood in front of him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the pulse in her wrists jumping. Cassian viewed every beat so clearly from his vantage point on the ground, the solid hard ground where he'd crumbled.

The breeze, the one which had danced around the curtains in the nursery -- dear Mother, the nursery -- was as welcome as a kiss from a long-lost lover as it caressed across his wings.

Come, it sang, fly away. The sky is yours.

Something else was singing, no screaming, down the bond but Cassian pushed it down. Panic had emanated from Nesta, rolling off her in waves and he thought he could handle it. But now, after he fled from the cottage, she was drowning him.

On the surface she appeared ready for battle, her face as sharp as one of Cassian's blades and as deadly. Had she spoken? Her voice was small as though she wasn't close at all but standing miles away, the words travelling through wind and across the mountains.

From their positions, his knees digging in the dirt, his face was level with her stomach. One glance was all he allowed himself before his eyes darted away.

Nesta still looked like Nesta. There was no glow or scent to her skin, no softness to her face or additional roundness to her already full curves. Her abdomen remained flat, giving no sign of the life existing within, the life that Cassian helped create.

It would be smaller than one of my fingers, he thought and his wings twitched. The breeze and the sky calling him to freedom.

She'd seen.

The noise fogging his mind was cleared away by a sudden blast of magic.

Nesta's voice reached his ears clearer this time.

"What exactly are you intending to do?" Her tone was so chilled he was amazed his flesh didn't blacken from frostbite.

Cassian dug his hands into the ground before lifting them to cover his face. The fresh grass and earth lingered on his fingertips, and he inhaled deeply in an attempt to tether himself.

What did he intend to do? His thoughts splintered, images and names racing through every possibility he considered. Fly away, he told himself, fly to the mountains, fly home to Velaris, fly, fly, fly.

Rhys would know what to do.

Rhys always knew what to do, as did Mor. He would seek them out and get them to decide what was best. Their presence would be a soothing balm for him and while not quite as soothing for Nesta they had an authority she would have to acknowledge. Rhys and Mor would know what is best, he thought. Nesta wouldn't think so at first but they would want to be involved.

Everything would be easier for all of them this way.

He wanted to explain but it was hard to concentrate, the whirling tornado of his mind pierced with the frozen shards of Nesta's. The more he thought of Rhys and Mor, the more the breeze turned into a wind whipping across his wings.

"We can't do this," he found himself saying. "I can't do this; you can't do this." Here. Alone. That's what he meant to add but his voice cracked and the words wouldn't come.

He dropped his hands and glanced up at her, his Nesta. On her face she wore something close to devastation, not even an expression he'd seen after the Cauldron when she was trying to bathe again, laying sprawled and soaking on the floor of the bathroom.

Her words came without hesitation.

"Get out," she hissed. The sharpness she pushed through the bond at him was done with intent. If she had been ice before then Cassian couldn't describe this now, other than a swift stab to his gut with a spike.

The link between them was now blocked.

"Nesta...." he trailed off. The wind hurt now, cold and stinging against the membranes of his shivering wings. There was a violence, an unnaturalness to it, and Cassian understood underestimating Nesta was a dangerous thing.

The surrounding torrents blew stands of her hair from her braid and ruffled her dress but didn't make much else of an impact, her body remained upright and unyielding while Cassian's began to bend.

There was a chance to stop it. Nesta's magic could have been blocked with his siphons, and he could have stood, placed his hands on her arms and told her all this was a misunderstanding.

He didn't do any of them.

Nesta had offered him an opportunity to flee and so, while her storm raged around her small garden, Cassian opened his wings and let it carry him off into the sky.

***

It was evening when Cassian returned.

The brilliant blue of the mid-afternoon sky had turned into a deep navy with streaks of ruby from the setting sun.

Everything was silent, that silence extending to their connection through the bond.

Now, when he reached out it was as though he were touching the abyss. Whatever else she might do from this point onwards; retreating from him and blocking the bond was something Nesta had already done.

Earlier, when he'd left, he'd flown over the wilderness and was halfway back to Velaris when he changed his mind. His flight was half to clear his mind and half to flee to sanctuary.

He couldn't complete his journey and continuously turned round over and over in the sky, battling with himself. To fly forward or back was the question he struggled to answer.

Could he not do both?

Now he was calmer he would explain to Nesta it was more dangerous for her to be alone during this... situation. Perhaps what happened in the garden was a lack of control, her hormones playing havoc on her abilities.

He couldn't leave her here, unable to defend herself properly if the need arose. She couldn't go with him to the Steppes, not now, but maybe he would be able to convince her to be under the protection of Rhys and Feyre.

Nesta wouldn't love his plan but this was a plan put in place because of how much he loved her.

That was the intention.

He'd landed heavier than before, an extra burden pressing down on his shoulders. Everything remained unchanged from earlier aside from when he neared the cottage and he felt a new pressure on his body.

His wings flared on instinct, to brace himself against an invisible enemy’s onslaught but none came. Each step was as though he was trudging through mud, each one clunkier than before. When he reached the border of Nesta's boundary he realised he could no longer move.

When Cassian turned to walk back where he came, the strain lifted and, along with it, so did his feet.

He tested this a few times, the weight growing with every effort he made towards the cottage until he had to give up. When he did and turned back, the feeling his spine was going to snap into two melted away.

Nesta’s shields were always up but until this point her magic had never extended to Cassian.

She'd blocked him from reaching her, physically and through the bond. He stood outside staring at the grey stones of her walls wondering if she knew he was here.

She knows, he thought. She just doesn't care.

He'd left her for a moment, for a stupid moment, and now she'd rejected him absolutely.

Cassian convinced himself Nesta’s powers were unpredictable and this was adding to the evidence she should be among others. He was sure when she realised, she would lift her barriers and come to him.

So, he waited.

She never came.

***

The summer in Illyria had been brutal and so had Cassian. The sun scorched his skin and he fought through sweat soaked leathers, pounding his knuckles into the flesh of other Illyrians, his brethren, until the heat made his head throb.

It was only when the trainees were on the verge of collapse did he allow them to rest.

His reputation of fearsome was fast becoming one of cruelty; but he didn't stop, couldn't stop, until one day he observed an Illyrian child watching him, all skinny scabbed knees and curious eyes.

Cassian reached out a bloodied, bandaged hand as a gesture to show the boy some defence moves only for the child to flinch and curl his small, developing wings around himself as some form of meagre protection.

At that point, Cassian knew he had to temporarily turn the reigns over to Devlon, however reluctantly. His head wasn't where it should have been, thoughts of Nesta and the long silence between them which now lasted over a month had taken prominent place.

He hadn't attempted to reach out to her.

It was best, he decided, to leave everything until she was ready. This situation’s resolution had to be on her terms. But there was something else stopping him. He didn't want to discuss what they evidently needed to discuss, and he was scared, that if he tried to connect with her, she would refuse him again.

He would protect himself for the pain of her rejection by not giving her the chance to reject him at all.

Cassian had arrived back in Velaris in the afternoon, the new autumn air holding the residual warmth from summer within the city. He stood on top of the House of Wind, letting the breeze drift across his wings. He'd arrived without notifying anyone, not that there were many to notify. Feyre, Rhys and Az remained in the Dawn Court and Amren had decided to live out an eternal summer in the Summer Court itself.

He didn't mind. He wanted to take a moment, to gaze out on the place he called home and feast upon the red brick rooftops and shining surface of the Sidra without interruption.

Velaris was always a welcome sight and returning was the equivalent of someone throwing a blanket over Cassian’s shoulders to ward off the chill. This time though, it was as though the cold wind he’d experienced at Nesta’s had stalked him via his bones.

Something was disjointed now. He was happy to see his city but Velaris didn't hold the same thrill of excitement he usually experienced. Now it was as though it was a muted song, still remaining a pretty melody but harder to hear.

Was this how Nesta experienced Velaris? Or did she view it with more ambivalence? Was the city received with vitriol? Less a song and more a scream.

He thought of her, as he always did, alone in her cottage but now not alone. He'd learnt to turn the thoughts off quick; the pang in his chest made him want to cry.

Perhaps his sadness radiated outwards or maybe there was a part of him which called for help without realising but as he stared outwards, a soft and warm hand slid through his unwinding his clenched fingers.

"Hello, you."

Cassian looked down to see the golden hair of his best friend as she rested her head against his arm.

"Hello, Mor." His voice didn't crack but it was close.

She raised her face, her smile slipping into a frown. "Oh, my darling," she said. "I sensed you were back in Velaris but thought it was strange you didn't come to say hello."

Mor studied him for a moment, those deep brown eyes of hers absorbing every inch of his face, seeking out the truth which wouldn't take her long to find.

"You've had a fight with Nesta. A serious one."

It wasn't a question, Mor already knew the answer.

The years had melted away some animosity but it would be a lie to say it had disappeared. Time had patched over the intensity but was unable to purge the resentment completely.

Nesta removing herself from Velaris had gone some way to soothe the mutual dislike but the resolution was more a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ than any deeper healing.

Cassian knew Mor had felt a sting of rejection when he and Nesta had bonded and on some level, she had taken it as a strike to their friendship. Mor had advised him all those years ago to not accept the bond, and he'd proceeded regardless. Her fear, she told him, was that Nesta would burn him out with her anger.

Mor's concerns were from a place of love, but he'd accepted the bond from a place of his love. Besides, there was a kernel of truth in Nesta's statement to him that Mor didn't want to lose the life she'd spent centuries crafting and how Cassian was part of that.

Even though, regarding him and Nesta, there was part of Mor waiting for what she deemed inevitable but Cassian chose to ignore the tinge of hope he heard in her voice at her statement.

"Yes," he replied, "but it was my fault. I didn't respond to the news particularly well."

"What news?"

The truth would out, how could it not? Before his cowardice crept in again, he told Mor everything and watched as her eyes grew wider.

"Cas," she breathed and stepped in front of him, her arms stretching around his body, her cheek pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her as tight as he could. He needed this; he needed a friend.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed. "I don't know if I want to do this at all."

The memory of the small child he had once been morphed into the image of the boy he had inadvertently terrified at the camps. That image warped again into something smaller and more precious, an image he quickly discarded.

"Death and destruction are my talents; I doubt I'd be soothing anyone's pain away with kisses and cuddles." He let out a mirthless laugh.

Mor pulled back, standing on her toes, so she could reach her hands to his face and positioning him to look at her. "You're the best of us, Cass. You have so much love to give anyone. You love without question, defend without question and you'd die for those you love. I don't expect you'd do anything less for your child."

She squeezed his cheeks together until he grinned at the ridiculous expression she was making him wear. "You'll make a wonderful father; I know you will."

Mor let go of his face and stepped back into his arms for another hug. Cassian held onto her words as tightly as he held onto her.

"I wish Nesta were in Velaris," he sighed.

Mor tensed in his arms.

"Oh."

"She's strong but the wilderness is no place for a pregnant female. I don't think isolation is the best place for her right now. Or for a baby."

"I agree," Mor said. "So, bring the baby here. We have space in every one of the houses for a nursery, two nurseries if you want. And we have Nuala and Ceridwen on hand. Plus, the rest of us will dote on it and when you need to go to the camps any one of us will protect it with our lives. Can you imagine such a fantastic life in Velaris, with all these aunts and uncles around?"

Something wiggled its way through his stomach, an unease which twisted like a worm. Cassian let his arms loose from Mor's body. "And Nesta."

"What?"

"Nesta will need to be here too."

Mor stepped back with a look on her face that told him she'd tried to forget Nesta was part of the equation and didn't want to be reminded. It disappeared fast into a practiced smile. "Of course," Mor waved her hand in the air like she was batting away a fly. "And Nesta, of course."

"Except I don't think she'd come," Cassian continued, watching as Mor marched to the roof edge to look down. Her body was as rigid as Nesta's had been when he had last seen her.

"Make her."

"Mor..."

"What?" Mor turned to face Cassian. "It's not just her anymore, is it? If she wasn't so selfish, if she wasn't so..." she trailed off.

Cassian's skin began to itch, like he had grown too large for it and now it wanted to split open. His tongue pressed upwards against the ridges of his mouth where his pulse began to click.

A forced smile slipped onto Mor's face. "I just mean, she's renowned for being stubborn but sometimes, in the past, her actions haven't exactly been beneficial for her, have they? Right now, she's being stubborn and though that may benefit her, it's not benefiting you or the baby. It makes sense for her to be in Velaris at this stage, so she has immediate access to healers. You just need to convince her this is for her own good."

"Even if I do, she won't stay."

"Don't make her."

His head began to hurt again, the heartbeat a pressure against the back of his eyes. "Mor, you're not making sense. First you're telling me to make her come here and now you're telling me I can't make her stay."

"Once she's here and can see how much better it would be for the baby to be in Velaris she might stay," Mor's voice conveyed enthusiasm even if her face didn't. "But if she decides she doesn't want to stay she doesn't have to. Nesta may realise it would be better for everyone if the baby was here. Think of all you can give it; think of all we can give it. What can Nesta provide in her hovel in the middle of a field? If she wants to go back let her, but she shouldn't be allowed to force that life on your child."

What he experienced with Nesta in her garden came back in an instant. His heart beating hard against his ribcage, the pulse reverberating into his skull, while his breath squeezed from his lungs.

There was an emergence of something he hadn't felt towards Mor before, something which itched and crawled in his skin the more she spoke.

"I can't begin to fathom what she'd be like as a mother, Cass. You would have all the love in the world for your child, but would she? How fit is she? Do we want to wait to find out?"

If there was a spark which existed in Nesta that turned into the occasional furnace then it was true the same could be said for him. The difference was Nesta was ice until she became fire, Cassian was warmth until he became flame.

In Cassian’s mind lived a million images of Nesta but there were always ones he visited first. She'd held his hand once on a battlefield, tended to his wounds with gentle fingers. She'd pressed her body against his ready to die with him.

When he'd been poisoned in the Illyrian civil war, she'd stayed with him when the troops moved camps, knowing he was too ill to fly and too weak to fight.

During one of Cassian’s first trips to her cottage she spoke about her plans to make a little garden all the while chopping vegetables for a broth that was his favourite.

Her cheeks blushed a dusky pink and her hair looked orange against the firelight. Cassian thought if Nesta had any siphons that would have been their colour, flame for a creature of heat and warmth.

His siphons, the seven red ones, were now glowing.

"Cass?" Mor's voice was concerned.

Mor��s words had pierced his skin like poisonous barbs and though the venom wasn't intended for him, he was not immune. Still, it alarmed him, that some primal part existed within to trigger his power. It was only his reflexes caused the surge to mute.

"What's happening?" Mor's voice was small and croaked, the verge of a teary outburst imminent. He wasn't the only one alarmed at the indication that some part of him wanted to blast his lifelong best friend from the rooftop.

"I think we're done."

Nesta, while never fond of Mor, hadn't said a word about the other female since moving away. Part of her healing was to let go of what caused her pain, and she had deemed Mor something to let drift away.

These words Mor said freely stung him. Cassian and Nesta had chosen to honour the bond and so when Nesta was struck then Cassian must also suffer the blow. Although there was a consequence of their love living in Nesta's body that he didn't want to face, it didn't negate his love for Nesta.

"I have to go."

"Cass, please... wait!"

The siphons had dimmed, back fully under Cassian's control and Mor ran forward, clutching at his arms with wide eyes as the ripples of her panic spread thick throughout the surrounding air.

Mor called after his retreating back even as he took to the sky. The irony didn't escape him, that for the second time in several months Cassian flew away from a female he loved.

***

Every morning Cassian was drenched in sweat like he’d been fighting through the night.

Screams echoed in his mind along with the splashing of water as Nesta sank beneath the Cauldron, Hybern’s leering face never far away. Dreaming of memories was nothing new but now as the images raced through his mind, he dreamt Nesta with a swollen stomach and as she screamed it was followed by the shriek of a baby’s cry.

Cassian had tried not to dwell on what Mor had said, the questioning of Nesta’s ability to mother, although those images also came unbidden. He saw an empty crib, a baby lying on the cold ground while Nesta walked away and Cassian remained absent.

He shook those thoughts away and sharpened his anger at himself and at Mor for forcing these thoughts into his head.

Cassian had managed to flee from two females but now, three weeks after his encounter with Mor, he actively sought out a third.

Elain lived on the estate of Feyre and Rhys’ river house and had done so for decades.

There was a complicated history between Az and Lucian, of which Cassian didn’t know the full details. Whenever he’d asked Nesta, she pursed her lips like she was sucking on something sour and refused to say a word.

Cassian assumed Nesta was upset that Elain chose to reside so close to Feyre and Rhys, that she hadn’t wanted to forge ahead with her own path. But Cassian never understand why Elain would want to be anywhere else when everything she needed was at their doorstep.

A cottage had been built for Elain in the gardens, some considerable distance from the house to allow for privacy for all residents. Thick trunked trees and tall flowers took care of the rest and the walls were draped with wisteria, covering everything aside from the windows and doors. If you weren’t looking, you wouldn’t have known it existed.

The door was wide open, as if she knew he would come, and Cassian stepped inside the stone floored hallway and followed Elain’s humming to where she stood in the kitchen. Her back was to him, her golden-brown hair so like Nesta’s, loose down her back and scattered with greenery. Elaine didn’t turn to greet him, concentrating on arranging flowers in a vase even as she spoke.

“Shame you and Mor still aren’t speaking.”

Cassian hadn’t spoken to anyone about their argument and to his knowledge, neither had Mor. He shouldn’t be surprised that Elain knew, Elain had a strange way of knowing everything but she sounded far too pleased about the development for her sympathies to hold true.

“Mor spoke out of turn.”

“Doesn’t she always?”

“Yes, but...” Cassian trailed off. Yes, but this time she went too far. This time. This time. To say it was a sad acknowledgement of the other times and the shameful fact he’d let them slide.

Elain turned, waiting for the completion of a sentence she knew he wouldn’t finish.

She was usually the gentlest of the sisters but there was nothing gentle about Elain at this moment. Out of the Archeron’s, it was Nesta and Feyre who looked most alike but there was something currently hard and cold about Elain that reminded him of his mate. His chest ached.

“Why are you here?” Elain’s tone was sharp, dismissive as though Cassian were a greenfly on her rose bushes she needed to squash out.

“I need your help.”

Elain raised a delicate eyebrow and leant back on the wooden table behind her, her fingers trailing through the flowers laid across it. “Go on.”

“I’m worried for Nesta, she’s all alone in her cottage and too far from help if she needs it - not that she’d ask for it, which is a concern itself.” He sighed at Elain’s immoveable expression. “I just want her to be someplace safe, just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

All the images rushed in at once, all his fears. Just in case someone breaks in and drags her out of her bed, just in case someone throws her into the cauldron, just in case someone tries to poison her, tries to set her cottage on fire, just in case she gets ill.

“Just in case she can’t cope.”

“You think you can’t?”

Cassian groaned and tugged his hands through his hair. “I don’t know! But at least if she can’t and she’s here then she’d have you and Feyre. Well at least you, Feyre is barely here.”

“And you?”

“What?”

“And you? You’ll be here and ‘not away.’”

“Yes, yes of course. And me.”

Elain picked up a flower, a cream one with splashes of pink, and twirled it. She seemed to be fixated on the petals as they spun, round and round, as the silence grew in the room. Eventually she spoke.

“You want me to convince her to come here and you think she’ll listen to me because it’s me.” It was almost a whisper how soft she spoke it.

The scene changed so fast.

Splotches of crimson appeared on Elain’s neck and Cassian watched her fingers tighten around the stem of the flower. “It’s history repeating all over again. Drag us to Velaris because you want it, exile us to the camps because you want it.” She scoffed. “And so, she comes to Velaris, for what? Nesta will watch as Feyre and Mor and Rhys cluck over the baby because it’s yours while they try and forget that Nesta had anything to do with it.”

Cassian’s mouth dropped open, a void had formed between his brain and mouth and no words took shape.

“We can’t just be shuffled around like pieces on a game board for whenever suits the High Lord.”

“I haven’t.... I don’t.... I haven’t spoken to Rhys about it. I don’t even think he knows Nesta is even.... it’s my idea. Mine. To keep her safe.”

Elain let out a shuddering breath and released her fist. The flower, its stem now a green pulp, slid from her hand and landed on the floor. “Do you believe that Nesta isn’t safe where she is?”

Cassian thought of the expanse of blue sky over Nesta’s head, the mountains looming in the distance and the dark green tops of the woods. The fields were filled with nothing but wildflowers and aside from her little stone cottage and garden there was nothing for miles and no one but Nesta.

He could imagine the sound of the wooden door breaking, the splintering as the wood split as fae forced their way in. It hadn’t happened but ‘yet’ was never a word far from his mind.

Her magic was strong though and her will greater.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, “but I do know I want her here.”

“That’s even worse,” Elain said looking him straight in the eye, her voice taking a harder quality. “No. Until Nesta herself wants to come back I won’t be involved in asking her. I’m not going to conspire with you or with anyone to take away her freedom no matter how desperate you are.”

She grabbed the vase and pushed past Cassian, “I’m grateful she was even able to get out.” She placed the vase on a ledge and stared at it for a moment before facing Cassian again. “Do you want this for her?” She gestured around.

Cassian couldn’t understand what was wrong with ‘this.’ A home, safe in the grounds of their High Lord and Lady. Constant protection and constant company. If they built a cottage next door to Elain than all sisters would be in the same place. Nesta didn’t even need to live in the house if she didn’t want.

He sighed, the truth edging free. “I don’t. She’d hate it.” He scrubbed a calloused hand over his face, “I just don’t know what to do. Maybe Rhys and Feyre will tell me, they always know what to do.”

A snort, far from ladylike, emitted from Elain. “They would bend everyone to their will if they could, trap everyone in this place until it suits them.” A faraway look entered her eyes, “I should be with Lucian, in Spring, Day and Autumn, floating between them all like a butterfly. They have such beautiful colour.”

There was another moment of silence, wherever Elain was she was no longer with Cassian. “Elain,” he asked, “why are you here?”

It was an assumption on his part that she loved living in the Night Court, that her heart was here along with her body.

His question snapped her back to him and she scoffed again. “I’m a piece of the game they play with Lucian, of course. An heir to Autumn, an advisor to Spring and the sole heir to Day? Mother forbid he decides to not play nice with Rhys.” Vitriol spilled from Elain’s tone. “Feyre, sweet childish, Feyre thinks I want to be here because that’s what Rhys has convinced her to think and your precious Morrigan lost her best buffer between her and Az so she needed another one. Don’t think I didn’t hear her egging Rhys on to keep me here.”

He didn’t know. Truly didn’t. That Elain was held in a prison of flowers and pleasantries. Cassian knew that her and Lucian hadn’t an easy start to their mating bond, there was some entanglement with Az yes, but this was always her choice.

It worried him how little he knew.

Maybe Elain detected something in him as her eyes softened. “People respond in extreme ways when they’re scared,” Elain continued. “You and Nesta have that in common. Unfortunately, she’s significantly more stubborn than you.”

Elain took one of the flowers from the vase and crossed over to where he stood, tucking it into a band of his armour, the peach petals a strange sight against charred black leather. At least he wasn’t completely without Elain’s grace.

“Have you tried to contact Nesta?” she asked him. “Really tried?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then I don’t want to see you again until you have.”

***

Immortality and time were complicated bedfellows. One moved quick and left the other one floundering. What were years when there were so many decades? What were decades when you could live centuries?

Months were nothing. Weeks even less.

Feyre, Rhys and Az had arrived back from Dawn at the full change of the season. The greens of the trees had long turned gold and red and now, another cusp awaited. The trees grew barer and the petals had long since fallen from their stalks.

This was the longest he’d gone without speaking to Mor and he hadn’t tried to approach Elain again.

This was also the longest he’d gone without Nesta and Cassian believed he would have suffered less if someone slid a blade between his ribs.

He trained at the House of Wind; he ambled through Velaris. His body was one place and his thoughts another. He was in the training arena when Rhys returned.

“I’d say congratulations my friend but I don’t think that’s what you’d want me to say.”

Rhys was leaning against the wall, a grin on his face. Cassian sighed. He was in little to no mood for one of Rhys’ cocky moments.

“I don’t think I deserve a congratulations.”

“Well I’m sure you had some involvement in this escapade.”

Cassian grit his teeth. The conceiving of a child between mates wasn’t something he would refer to as an ‘escapade’ but he could hardly defend himself.

“Funny,” Rhys continued, “how the Mother works. Some she blesses with the joy of motherhood and some she curses with a joyless mother.”

That feeling wormed its way again into Cassian’s stomach, irritation? Frustration? Whatever it was, it was an ever-increasing desire to take his knuckles and smash them into Rhys’ sculptured cheekbones.

“How was your trip?”

It was deflection at its finest and Cassian watched as Rhys’ face sparked. “Excellent. We managed to get what we wanted and Feyre decided to-”

Cassian let Rhys’ voice drift into one ear and out the other. He didn’t care about the trip or negotiations or whatever wealth Rhys managed to accumulate for the Night Court. He didn’t care for what silks and jewels Feyre was now re-gifting. He wanted to ask his friend, his brother in all but blood; ‘Was the Cauldron wrong in choosing us? Will I make a good father? Will Nesta be a good mother?’

He couldn’t. He couldn’t show his High Lord that Cassian, General and Commander of his armies, was scared of something he could cradle in the nook of his arm. It was like a dying dog showing its bare throat to a hungry wolf.

“I’m disappointed to hear from Mor that you aren’t speaking to her though.” Cassian snapped back into the present.

Cassian shrugged and leant on the wall opposite. “We had a disagreement,” he said as disinterested as he could.

“Well she’s upset. Make it better.”

There, Cassian’s skin prickled again, his blood burning hot in his veins. Rhys not knowing, or worse, not caring why the silence occurred in the first place. Cassian’s feelings were irrelevant in this situation and what Mor said about Nesta seemed to be no concern.

Rhys had moved the conversation on again, such surety that Cassian would call to heel. Cassian thought of Elain slowly crushing flowers.

It was at the mention of Nesta’s name that Cassian dipped back in.

“They had a ‘disagreement’ too and now she won’t speak with Feyre either. Whatever slim thread of rationality that your female had has now completely gone and Feyre is distraught.”

Of course, Feyre had made this about herself. Of course, she has. Cassian’s thought was so like Nesta’s voice that he wondered if Nesta had re-opened the bond, even for a minute, to listen to his conversation. But the walls were still up and it was just his own voice inside his head.

“I told Feyre being ignored by Nesta isn’t such a bad thing,” Rhys chuckled and then stopped at Cassian’s look. “Sorry, my friend.” Rhys leant across and rested his hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “I jest.”

Yes, and he always did. Joke after joke. Time after time. Small barbs of poison like Mor’s that landed on Cassian’s skin and sank into his bloodstream.

“She tried to convince Nesta to come to Velaris. Feyre’s also tried to convince Elain to get involved because she’s the only one Nesta is speaking with. Elain wouldn’t have it,” Rhys shook his head. “She’s becoming more like Nesta each passing day.” He let out a sigh. “Were it the other way round.”

Would Rhys want that? Cassian pondered. Nesta stuck in a cottage on his estate, nursing an infant at her breast and glaring at him as he approached. It would be more than flowers Nesta would be crushing. Cassian suppressed a grin at the thought.

“I wouldn’t want that for her,” Cassian said.

“What? You wouldn’t want a safe, contented life for her? Not that she’ll be content with anything.”

Cassian thought of the turn of last autumn and Nesta joyfully showing him a full basket of berries she’d picked and how she planned to turn them into jam. There was a sharp tug, right under his rib cage and he brought his hand up, pressing his palm against it.

Rhys had noticed the movement, the arrogant smirk finally sliding from his face. What little love he had for Nesta, he still had volumes for Cassian and his friend in pain wasn’t something Rhys would revel in.

“I can bring her into Velaris if you want?” His voice was solemn. “Talking her into it won’t work but I can command her as High Lord and she wouldn’t be able to refuse.”

There was a part of Cassian that leapt at the offer. Nesta would be safe among the Inner Circle, she would have Elain as company and eventually she would speak to Feyre again. She’d be safe.

She would also hate Cassian for the rest of their lives.

“No,” he replied, “I couldn’t do that to her.”

Rhys shrugged. “If that’s what you want. If you change your mind, let me know. I’ll do it for you and Feyre. And for the child. I can’t be entirely convinced Nesta wouldn’t eat her own young.”

***

Cassian was really living up to his reputation of violence and brutality. The blood, not his own, that he washed from his fist turned the water a pale pink at the bottom of the bowl. It had been an hour, maybe less, since the rooftop ‘conversation’ with Rhys.

There was a soft noise from the corner of Cassian’s suite, an exhalation of air that could have been either a disappointed sigh or restrained laugh. “So, you’re getting into fights with Rhys now?”

“Yes,” Cassian replied, “and once I’ve cleaned up, I’m going to go back to the roof to continue my brooding before I was so rudely interrupted.”

There was a definite chuckle and Az stepped from the shadows, a smile gracing his mouth. “Don’t go swapping talents with me now, I’d hate to have to go around punching my High Lord in the face.”

“Rhys has a nose like a rock, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

The smile slid from Az’s face as he came closer, stepping next to Cassian in the designated wash corner of his room. The ornate mirror, some monstrosity chosen by Rhys or Feyre, hung above the basin and Cassian could see both his and Az’s reflections on the surface.

“I’m worried about you, brother,” Cassian watched and then felt, as Az’s scarred hand came to rest on Cassian’s shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

Cassian felt his jaw lock into place, he didn’t want to engage in another discussion today that wouldn’t go well for either party. “I’ll warn you now, if you want to be dismissive about Nesta this won’t go well.”

Az raised his hands in surrender. “Why would I be dismissive about Nesta? She’s your mate and soon to be mother of your child. Besides,” he said with a grin, “I’m not stupid.”

Cassian snorted and turned, giving Az an affectionate thump on the arm before picking up a dry cloth and walking over to his bed. He sat on the cover, scrubbing his hands dry, minding the broken skin on his knuckles. “Go tell that to Rhys and Mor.”

Az’s grin slipped away and he walked to sit beside Cassian. “Rhys knows he crossed a line and that you were defending your pregnant mate. I’m sure that’s why he didn’t hit back.”

“It was a long time coming,” the words were a truth that Cassian had taken an even longer time realising. He was filled with shame at how long.

“Yes,” Az replied, “it was.”

Cassian didn’t hide his flinch.

“Mor however doesn’t understand what she’s done wrong.”

Cassian buried his face in his hands. “Of course, she doesn’t. I’ve let her get away with comments about Nesta for years, decades even. But they’re questioning Nesta’s ability as a mother now, damning her before she’s even had a chance to prove them wrong.”

“You’re sure she’ll prove them wrong?”

“I know she will.”

“Then why not wait and let the evidence speak for itself?”

“Because I know Nesta wouldn’t want them thinking this about her, I don’t want them thinking this about her.” The next part came out as a whisper, “I don’t want to think this about her.”

Az raised an eyebrow, “You’ve thought she’ll make a terrible mother?”

“It’s crossed my mind but then I don’t think I should be anyone’s father.” He paused. “We shouldn’t be having a baby.”

There. It was what on been on his mind the second he knew about its existence.

Never mind the enemies they’d collected over the years, what if he and Nesta managed to emotionally damage the child beyond repair? What if they hurt it physically? What if it died? What if Cassian died and left it fatherless the same way Cassian had been?

He couldn’t hide how much he lived for war. It called to his blood. In times of peace he worried he was bored, worried the bloodshed was too invigorating. That’s why he craved Nesta’s company and the eternal battles using their words.

Nesta never tried to turn him into a creature of peace but instead provided an outlet for his energy, even their card games by the fire turned itself into fierce competition where only one would hold ultimate dominion.

They were happy. It just wasn’t an environment for a child.

“You won’t be ‘any’ child’s father though Cass,” Az said, “and Nesta won’t be ‘any’ child’s mother. It’s a child of you both, it will exist as part of you both.” It was like Az had read his mind, “Whichever way you raise it will be the right way – for you both and the baby.”

“I ran from her.”

“You can run back.”

“I wanted her to come here.”

“Are you going to make her?”

Cassian shook his head with vehemence. “Never.”

A hand clapped him on the back. “My friend, you’ve known for a long time what needs to be done, now you need to stop avoiding Nesta and face your future. It’s a glorious one.”

“Our resident seer has seen that has she?” It was a joke said with a smile, a way to lighten the tension of the room but Cassian saw Az’s face grow sombre. Az once loved Elain, maybe still did, but he clearly had his own issues he’d been avoiding.

“You could ask her. Even better, you could make it happen itself.”

“I need to talk to Nesta,” Cassian said, “truly talk to her.”

“You have this,” Az told him, “both the conversation and fatherhood. Nesta and you, you’re well matched. It’s agony to be around at times, but you’re well matched.”

Cassian clapped a hand onto his friends back, “You are my favourite Az, just don’t let any of the others know.”

***

The feeling was like someone had come along and removed rocks from his shoulders. Purpose, Cassian decided, gave you strength.

His leathers were on, his windows wide open and Cassian had finished wrapping his newly retrieved bundle into the satchel on his bed when Elain walked in.

He started, amazed at how she trod so gently that his fae ears couldn’t hear her approach.

Elain’s hair was bundled into a messy bun, sprigs of mistletoe decorating the strands. She’d switched to winter clothes, thicker material but still softer colours and it was jarring to see the pale pastel blues against the dark wood of Cassian’s rooms.

Cassian hadn’t thought that Elain even knew where his rooms were.

“Can you give Nesta this? She’s got back ache and I told her I’d send her some Scia Root.” Elain held out a lumpy muslin cloth tied with ribbon.

Cassian frowned as he took it. He’d realised after his conversation with Az that he was ready to go to Nesta, to grovel and beg her forgiveness. He would have thrown himself down at her feet if he needed to but he’d kept his intentions to see her quiet, telling no one.

“How did you-,” he trailed off. There was no point in asking. Elain just knew what Elain knew. He felt a sliver of something along his spine, maybe there were other reasons Rhys didn’t want Elain and Lucian together. All that power. All those Courts.

It wasn’t his concern. Elain’s comments about Nesta’s back ache however was and he shoved the roots into the side of the satchel. There was much he missed and Nesta’s body changing and the baby growing were two of those things.

Elain stood at the end of his bed, head cocked and smiling. “The baby will have your eyes you know.”

His breath stopped short, hands stilling on the strap of the satchel that he was adjusting to fit his width.

“And Nesta’s smile,” Elain continued. “I know that seems a contradiction but you’ve seen it, she has a beautiful smile.”

He had. It was. Rare but like most gifts, the most precious were rare.

He knew that there would be a baby. Obviously. His focus had been on how small, and fragile it was, how him and Nesta had unlimited potential to let it down. He’d just never really considered it as a separate entity, one comprised of him and Nesta and a whole component that would be uniquely its own.

He swallowed over the lump in his throat. “You’ve seen a vision of the future then?”

“Oh yes,” Elain replied and Cassian watched as she ambled about his room looking at every artifact she could see, her fingers touching every surface.

“Is she smiling in this vision of yours?”

“Nesta? Oh yes. The baby smiles a lot too. It’s very loved.”

“Good, that’s.... good.” He said the words flippantly, as though his heart weren’t pounding in his chest again, as though the spots of light hadn’t re-entered his line of vision. “Am I in this vision?”

Elain stopped in her meandering and turned to face him, those deep brown eyes of hers, bottomless with what they could now see, scanned his face. “It depends Cassian.”

“On what?”

“On whether you want to be.”

He’d had enough debates with Rhys and Az on fate versus free will to last him a thousand lifetimes over, often with him arguing the power of the Mother. In this moment he would argue the other way. The future was in the hands of those who would carve it out for themselves.

“Yes, I do,” he replied. “It’s taken me too long to realise it.”

“It took the time it needed.”

Cassian wanted to reassure Elain that he was ready and if there were times he wasn’t then he would make himself ready.

He wanted to say that he would always defend Nesta, he should have always defended Nesta and that he would murder and maim before he let anyone rip Nesta and their baby away from the place Nesta considered home and that included those he considered family.

He didn’t say all this because he suspected Elain already knew and besides, those words needed to be for someone else.

Before he left, he turned to Elain as she stood, having moved to the window next to him to watch the first flakes of snow.

“I hope-” he began and trailed off. “I mean for you and Lucian that-” again he stopped. Words weren’t his strength. Elain didn’t turn around but he saw her nod and a slight smile in the reflection of the glass.

It was a smile that spoke of war yet to come.

***

The wilderness was covered with blankets of thick white snow and spiked patterns of frost. Icicles hung from the branches of the forest trees and the ground was long in its sleep, not a trace of life to be seen.

The flakes that swirled around him as he flew caught in his hair and eyelashes until all he saw were blurs of white.

To say not a trace of life was incorrect because life bloomed in the cottage in front of him. Smoke billowed from the chimney and lights shone from every window lighting up the place like a solstice tree against the darkening sky.

Cassian squeezed the satchel strap until his knuckles turned white before he took a deep breath and strode forward. He felt himself pass though the magic barrier, the one that shielded Nesta from unwanted visitors, the one she’s turned on him all those months ago.

He didn’t know whether the shield for him was down recently or had been brought down months ago. He was too ashamed to ask.

The air shifted as he neared the cottage, she knew he was here, probably had done since he landed. It was possible she knew the second he left Velaris. As he neared it, he could see the door was slightly ajar. Nesta may not be greeting him with open arms but in her way, this was gesture enough.

Much had changed inside.

The piles of books that threatened to crush a fae under their groaning weight had been cleared away and stacked onto bookshelves. The knives that casually adorned the butchers block had been tidied away out of sight.

The fire crackled and spat behind an iron gate and a pile a green wool lay strewn onto the sofa, two knitting needles embedded into the skein. Part of the wool had already transformed into a bootie for a foot and the shape of a leg was forming.

Cassian wandered over, picking it up between his fingers and marvelled at how soft it was against the calluses of his fingertips and how small it sat in the palm of his hand. I’ll protect you, he thought, me and your mama and there’s no one more formidable.

Maybe his thoughts were a beacon for all to hear but there was a clunk of a door latch and Nesta once more emerged from the room that was now the nursery.

If Cassian thought the cottage was much changed, it was nothing in comparison to his mate before him. Nesta’s hair seemed longer but that could have been because it was loose down her back and not braided into its usual coronet.

Her hair tumbling in waves also made her face appear softer and rounder or at least that’s what Cassian thought until he realised that Nesta’s face was softer and rounder. Her sharp cheekbones may have been less pronounced but her skin glowed as though a flame was lit within her.

The greatest change was, of course, her stomach.

Even if Cassian had wanted to continue avoiding the evidence of his impending fatherhood he wouldn’t have held much of a chance. Nesta’s stomach protruded from her slight frame and straining against the fabric, the impression of her belly button pressed against the material. Cassian found himself fascinated at how glorious it looked.

Something else was edging its way in now, pushing down the shame and fear. The primal, ferocious part of him that existed was screaming to snatch Nesta away and carry her somewhere even more secluded then where she currently was.

He was still staring at her belly, still holding the woollen sock when Nesta’s hand came to rest on her stomach followed by a not so subtle cough.

Desperately shoving the nerves down, he looked back at her face. The softening of her face and glow of her skin hadn’t dampened the sharpness residing within. Her eyes were tired but not sad, a resolve existing in them that whatever happened with Cassian, whether he was there or not, she would be.

Cassian opened and closed his mouth like a fish gulping in the air unable to find the words that would ever convey how sorry he was.

Nesta just fixed him with a stare before she spoke. “I was going to make some stew. Are you staying for dinner?”

He stammered out a confirmation and watched as Nesta’s eyes flitted down to where he still clutched onto the sock before she turned away.

Though the cottage was small and the physical distance between them minimal, Cassian felt the gulf.

Sorry, he wanted to say. Please forgive me, was the other. If she wanted nothing to do with him or if she wanted him to have nothing to do with their child it was within her right even if both those decisions would smash what was left of his heart.

Nesta began chopping vegetables in silence and Cassian finally put down the sock and the satchel and turned towards the nursery.

From the corner of his eye he saw Nesta pause as he approached its door.

“May I?” he asked and she nodded without looking, continuing with her task.

The room had been filled with more items than when he’d last seen it. The lace curtains still adorned the window but now fae lights twinkled around the pane and Cassian could see snowflakes as they danced and twisted in the air.

The rooms dusty, unlived smell had completely disappeared to be perfumed with both with Nesta’s scent and that of a bouquet of flowers sat on a table and enchanted to permanently bloom.

Cassian recognised it from Elain’s kitchen, the very ones she was arranging when he visited. He thought of the peach petals of the flower she gave him and how vibrant and alive it looked next to his leathers.

The bookcase was now filled with books, all bound in cream, yellow and green and clearly recognisable as children’s stories from the Night or Day Court. There were a few that Cassian didn’t recognise but he knew enough to understand they were from the Mortal Lands.

The ones that had a shelf of their own; bashed and burnt edged, tarnished and worn with dark brown leather trims were unmistakably Illyrian.

Even though she couldn’t be sure that Cassian would be there, even though he couldn’t have been sure he would, Nesta still found a way to secure items from half their child’s heritage.

The rocking chair was now prepped with a cushion and the crib, still the most prominent feature in the room waited patiently for its impending occupant. A mobile of stars and winged creatures hung down above the centre and swayed when Cassian trailed his fingers over it.

He’d missed so much already; he’d almost missed so much more. The fear was there but next to it, deep in his belly, now lived something else. Excitement had started to take shape.

When he returned to the kitchen he strode to where Nesta stood as she buttered bread and pretended to ignore him.

“Nesta,” he murmured and she paused. Her face had affected an air of disinterest but her hand trembled as she held the knife and he remembered months ago when her clenched fists did the same.

How had he been so stupid? In his previous terror he mistook those signs for rage and yes, she had been angry, but there was the undercurrent of something else. She’d been terrified too, still was, and he’d let his own fear confirm hers.

“Nesta,” he said again and turned her so that she faced him, their bodies so close that her full belly brushed against his. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead choosing to focus on a point on his chest.

But she wasn’t pulling away.

“I’ve been such a fool,” he said and reached forward to cup her face in his hands. Nesta closed her eyes and a solitary tear slid down her cheek. “Such a fool,” he repeated as he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, caressing it against her cheek.

Nesta let out a shaky sigh and nodded and that seemed to break her, a sob wrenching its way free from her mouth.

He pulled her closer, wrapping her in his arms and revelled in her presence, her scent, her everything. Another sob came from her mouth, pressed against his chest and he heard her muffled voice, “Stupid hormones.”

***

They sat side by side on the couch in front of the fire. Their bowls lay empty on the floor and Cassian’s bare foot rested against Nesta’s as she tucked herself next to his body. He played with a strand of her hair, twisting it in his fingers and watched as her eyes grew heavy until they closed, her hands resting on her belly.

The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and although he didn’t want to interrupt their fragile peace, he knew he needed to.

“Nesta,” he began and felt her tense by his side. “I need to-”

“It’s fine,” she said sharply, cutting him off. Although she had let him back into her home there was still ice left to thaw. He could leave it, accept the battle was done but he knew the hurt he’d caused would fester. Someday, maybe not soon, but someday, the wound that Nesta hastily patched up would only re-open.

As Cassian was the cause of that wound he needed to ensure he healed it.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know my father. I imagined to myself that he was an exalted Illyrian warrior, maybe even Illyrian royalty, and it was war or some other disaster which tore him away from the female he loved. I convinced myself he’d died, either fighting or fighting to get back to her.”

Nesta remained silent but Cassian continued.

“I also managed to convince myself that he would have thought my mother’s pregnancy the best thing that had ever happened to him, that he was overjoyed with his peasant female and the son she would give him. I always hoped, if he had died, his dying thoughts were of us.”

Cassian stared into the flames behind the grate.

“They were the wishes of a child. My father either didn’t know she was pregnant with his bastard or didn’t care. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was one of the best warriors we’ve ever had, he fucked a launderess in a camp and that’s where it ended.” Saying the words out loud caused a different kind of ache in his heart but to move forwards, he had to close the past.

“If he knew she was pregnant,” he continued, “then it didn’t matter - he left us. I told myself I would never do that and yet, that’s exactly what I did.”

Nesta let out a shaky sigh. Cassian continued to let the strand of hair twirl between his fingers, the firelight shading it a brilliant copper.

“I don’t know how to be a father,” he admitted. “I was scared – am still scared – that I’m going to ruin both your lives. I shouldn’t have run. I still don’t know how to be a father but I’m not going to run again.” Cassian placed a kiss on the top of Nesta’s head. “I will always be sorry.”

Nesta let out another sigh and turned in his arms to face him. “Cassian,” she began and glanced away to take a breath before facing him again.

“You’re not the only one who’s scared. My parents were present but they were never really there. You know about my father and my mother – she loved my father deeply but she resented having children. I’m scared that I’m like her and the way I was with Feyre...” she trailed off and Cassian saw her throat bob as she swallowed.

“You were a different person then. You and Feyre have made amends.”

Nesta shook her head. “When she sent me to the camps, I hated her. Hated her. Back then I would have done anything to tear her life apart.” She looked at him, reaching forward to clasp his hands in hers.

“That feeling’s gone, I’m just so tired now. Except...” Nesta took another breath. “It was something you said, about needing to speak with Rhys. I was terrified that Rhys and Mor would take my baby away. I was scared you and Feyre would let them.” She looked away again, her eyes someplace other than the room. “I knew what I would have done to you all if you tried.” A smile briefly touched her face.

Decades had passed since Cassian watched her hack at the neck of Hybern until the gristle and bone finally snapped. She’d held the severed head in her hands, her face splattered with blood and a smile, wide and ghastly, stretched across her face. It was the shadow of that smile that appeared now.

Cassian thought back to the recent conversations with Mor and Rhys, how Rhys was willing to use his authority as High Lord to bend Nesta to his will.

Even though Cassian had once wanted her in Velaris, had tried to convince her it was the right place, had considered that her and the baby should be made to live there, he would never have allowed it.

Nesta never would have allowed it.

He looked down at his hands, currently clutched in Nesta’s. His own blood had run down his knuckles and into the ground. He had wrapped those hands around the throats of traitors, had used those hands to wield blades, slicing them into the guts and hearts of enemies. His first kill was a throat split so wide he’d almost severed a head himself. He pictured the faces of his friends, the fae he had called family. If any one of them had tried to take Nesta’s baby away from her, Cassian wouldn’t have just let the rampage happen, he would have joined in.

“You’re not your mother,” he told her, flipping their hands so hers were now clutched in his. His calloused thumbs caressed her soft skin. “I’m not my father. This baby is ours, no one else’s.”

“I know,” she looked at him with fierce eyes, “I would take down anyone who would try and take it away from me. Even you.”

“I would never do that,” he said, “I promise.” He kissed the top of her head again and she let out another sigh, this one so soft it was barely audible. Cassian took a moment to breath in her scent before shifting to the satchel he brought with him, his stomach twisting.

Nesta slid away, so that she faced him, eager to see what he was doing.

The leather was old and worn but it was sturdy, protecting its plethora of contents over numerous centuries and now protected the precious gift Cassian had brought back with him from Velaris. The parcel he pulled out was misshapen and wrapped in plain linens tied with brown string but he hoped the contents would be significantly more impressive. He cleared his throat and held it to Nesta. “It’s for you,” he said. “Well actually the baby.”

Nesta took the parcel from him and unwrapped it with careful hands, a gasp escaping her. Cassian knew that Nesta was intrinsically aware of what this was, of what this meant to him.

Even after all this time the blanket was soft. The edges may have been a little frayed but nothing that was detrimental, it was still a good blanket. The colour was a light dove grey and, embroidered in a dark thread, were the symbols for growth, strength and health.

“It’s an Illyrian baby blanket,” Nesta breathed.

Cassian nodded, his eyes not leaving her face. “Yes, mine.”

It was the only item his mother left with him at the training camp. She’d given the instruction to hide it and hide it well as the others would assume it as a sign of weakness. Cassian did exactly as he was told, burying it beneath a tree and only digging it up when the training camp moved to new ground.

For him it wasn’t a sign of vulnerability, it was a vestige, the last sacred remnant that someone had loved him. Now it was to be gifted onwards, now he had someone extra to love.

Nesta’s smiles were delicate things that could be snared by a passing doubt or remembered fear and which left her face almost as soon as they appeared. This smile, this wonderous smile now present, would be etched into Cassian’s memory forever.

“I don’t want the baby growing up without experiencing some of Velaris,” he said, “and I want it to see the Steppes but it’s going to be spending a lot of cold winters here. Even early spring has a bite so I decided it needed something warm.”

Nesta bundled the blanket up and touched the fabric to her face, rubbing it against her skin as if to test the softness.

“I want the baby to live where you’ll be most happy,” Cassian continued. “I would like to live where you’ll be most happy. Perhaps I could, in time?”

Nesta shot him a sly look. “Perhaps,” she said, “in time.” Cassian watched as she buried her nose in the blanket, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “It smells of the sky somehow,” she said, “and the woods. It smells like you. Thank you.”

Nesta put the blanket down and leaned forward, kissing Cassian gently. His heartbeat raced in his chest like it always did when their lips touched.

She reached forward and took his hand placing his palm over the girth of her belly, resting hers on top. When she pressed in slightly there was a movement in response, a shifting of life that had been disturbed and so it kicked out in protest.

Cassian gasped. “That’s....”

“A foot,” Nesta continued, “she’s a kicker.”

Cassian grinned as he felt the kick again imagining small toes pressing against the inside of Nesta’s belly. “Wait,” he said as Nesta’s comment dawned on him, “she?”

“Yes, we’re having a girl.”

There was nothing he could say to that. A new fear now existed, to be a father of a daughter, to have two strong willed females in his life who would present him with new challenges that he couldn’t begin to fathom. The fear was part of the process, he knew this now, it would make him work harder.

Cassian would let fear sharpen him, make him stronger.

“We’re doing this,” he said, “we’re doing this together.”

Nesta smiled again, her fingers clasping round his.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “together.”

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