#fuck rhysand and his perfect ugly face

[nikethestatue]

The Little Black Dress That Could

May the 4th Be with all of us! Today is my favorite holiday. 4th of July, Independence Day.

This is also for Caroline, whose birthday was yesterday. Happy birthday girl! You don't have to keep drinking virgin pina coladas anymore.

What happened during Winter Solstice at Hewn City between Elain and Azriel? What did he think of her ugly black dress? Read on and find out.

“By the Cauldron,” Nesta exhaled obnoxiously loudly. “It’s ugly.”

Elain made a face. 

It was ugly.

“Fucking ugly,” Nesta added.

Fu-gly.

That’s what the dress was.

It was a fugly dress.

With that, Nesta left. 

Well, good riddance.

It was fine.

She was fine.

Everything was fine.

Her sister hated her.

Elain had to wear this revoltingly ugly dress to a ball. Her first ball since she became Fae.

She had to stand there, in her ugly dress, allowing everyone else to shine…which would be fine. Normally, Elain Archeron wasn’t envious or petty. But she had to be dressed in this frumpy frock, knowing that he would be there. He would be resplendent  in his elegant leathers, his siphons shining with their ethereal light, his handsome face perfect and grave. Ugh. He would be perfect. He always was. He could wear a potato sack, and still look like a Prince.

Rhysand tried to be like Azriel, but failed. No one could be like Azriel, the mysterious and deadly Shadowsinger. The quiet authority that he always conveyed. The darkness. The secretive nature of,

“Hey Elain!” 

Cassian’s voice boomed behind her and startled out of her thoughts, she blurted out,

“I am not sleeping with Azriel!”

Cassian looked at her like she was drunk and yet, said calmly,

“I mean, no one would blame you for wanting to sleep with Azriel,”

“What?” she choked. 

“What? He is handsome and stately, muscular, but compact, built like a,”

“I am not sleeping with Azriel,” she noted dryly, “but I am not sure about you.”

“What?” he glared at her.

She folded her arms on her chest. 

“I am not! I haven’t,” he began muttering defensively. “We haven’t…I mean, there was that time when,”

“WHAT?!” she cried out.

“Nothing. Nothing.”

There was an awkward, strange silence and they just stared at one another. 

“Why are you here?” she demanded at last.

“You seen Nes?”

“Maybe.”

“You gonna be all mad because I might have, like 300 years ago, kiss-”

“I don’t. Want. To. Know.” she snarled at him, pressing her hands to her ears.

 He stepped back in fright and hissed through his teeth,

“Oh Mother…these Arecheron girls are rabid.”

“Oh rabid are we?” she yelled at him, and he actually took a step back, trying to avoid a physical altercation with the flower girl. Somehow, he feared her more than anyone–perhaps not physically, but somehow, he knew that he’d be torn to pieces by both Nesta, and probably Aziel. He wasn’t sure about Azriel, but there was…something. Some feelings that Cassian couldn't discern, but felt in his gut. Anyway, he wasn’t going to fight with Elain. Thought he couldn’t help himself and asked,

“You’re wearing this?” He raised his brow, glancing at the dress that hung on the hanger.

Elain sighed and said gloomily, “yes, I am wearing this dress.”

He whistled and murmured, “Mother’s tits…”

“Not helping, Cassian. Not helping.”

“Well, alright then. I guess I’ll see you at the Court of Nightmares. You know…” he paused, and then added softly, taking her hand in his giant bear paws, “you don’t have to go…”

Her expression softened and she murmured, 

“I want to go, Cassian. I want to do my part.”

Cassian and Elain were milling about the foyer of the River Estate in awkward semi-silence. Both were waiting to be winnowed to Hewn City. Azriel was already there, and Mor was going to pick the two of them up. Nesta would travel with Feyre and Rhys.

“Are you excited to stand at Azriel’s side?” Cassian asked, trying to sound casual.

“Pardon?” Elain whirled to him, eyes wide.

“You know…By the throne? Nesta will be next to me, and you’ll be next to Az,”

“Why should I be excited about that?” she demanded, but her cheeks were awfully red for her to be simply angry.

Cassian smirked.

He was definitely picking on some vibes. He wasn’t going to be fooled.

And he was pretty sure that he was the only one to be catching these vibes between his brother and Elain. Yeah. He was always the first one to notice things, especially between couples. He was observant like that.

“I don’t know…I think Nesta is excited to stand next to me,” he shrugged.

Elain’s chin rose and she declared,

“Why shouldn’t he be excited to stand next to me?”

Pacifically, Cassian immediately assured her, “I am sure he is very excited.”

Hewn City was outfitted beautifully for the three day-long celebrations of the Winter Solstice. There were black candelabras, wreaths of holly, silver and gold ribbons wrapped around the obsidian columns, the floors were polished so brightly, they reflected all the attendees and the lights. Enormous arrangements of pine branches bedecked in faelights, white roses and night blooming jasmine were placed all around the ballroom in crystal vases.

Azriel, Shadowsinger of High Lord Rhysand’s Night Court felt quite at home here. He didn’t like it–or rather, he didn’t like the present Steward of Hewn City–but he’d spent enough time in these ancient, hallowed halls to have grown accustomed to the place. It needed some sprucing up and something cheerful around here, but overall, he didn’t mind it. It was always especially beautiful around Solstice. 

It was especially beautiful right now, because Elain Archeron stepped into the ballroom. 

Oh yes, he’d noticed them all–Morrigan in her usual red dress, Cassian, standing right across him, brooding and tense, awaiting Nesta’s arrival. When the darkness of Rhysand’s power poured out of the massive doors, which opened silently to reveal the High Lord and the High Lady, and their heir inside of her. There was an audible gasp when the attendees beheld Feyre’s pregnant belly, but Azriel was used to that as well. Nothing surprised him much anymore, other than…

Elain Archeron.

She looked like a goddess.

She looked like the Mother.

Her long golden brown hair was unbound, streaming like a bronze halo around her, pinned with two pearl combs. And her dress…Was the most beautiful dress he’d ever seen. It fit her perfectly. It was simple and stunning.

Nesta was wearing something overly elaborate–tuile, and sequence, and gems and silver, and while it all looked very nice and all, his girl looked sublime. She didn’t need any extra ornamentation.

Well, maybe just the gift that he was planning to give her on Solstice night. The delicate necklace that he had designed and commissioned especially for her. It would look perfect in the little divot between her lovely slender collar bones. 

It was Nesta’s night to shine, but Elain looked like a queen. His Lady. Though to him, she was always simply his girl. His Elain.

The two sisters stood by the dias of the two thrones, Nesta next to Cassian, and Elain next to Azriel. He couldn’t offer her a wink or a smile, not in front of all these people, but she stood close enough, for him to gently, covertly rub his pinkie against the side of her palm. She didn’t flinch and didn’t react, but a tiny sweet smile touched her full lips. His girl liked it when he touched her–when they exchanged glances, and brief brushes of fingers. When he skimmed his fingers over hers at breakfast, when she offered him his mug of tea. Or when he could place his palm on the small of her back for a few moments when he followed her into the room, or out of the house. Or even better, when she adjusted the lapels of his jacket, and stroked his chest. No. She never minded when he touched her. 

Now he wished that he could place her small hand on his forearm so they could walk together–without hiding, without fears or accusations. It was impossible, but Azriel held onto hope. He had nothing else. Just hope, and his dreams of walking arm in arm with his girl, with Elain, who’d be his wife. He didn’t care about the bond at all–not hers, or a hypothetical one for the two of them. Did he wonder why the other two brothers received mate bonds with the two sisters, and she was given away like a sacrifice to Lucien Vanserra? Every day. But it was also pointless to ponder the ways of the Cauldron. He didn’t need a bond with Elain in order to love her. He liked her and loved her just because she was Elain–he loved her face, he adored her wit and her sense of humour, he admired her resilience, he enjoyed her mind and her intelligence. They fit each other like a pair of gloves–easily. What felt torturous with Morrigan for the past 500 years, felt absolutely natural with Elain. She took what he offered, and didn’t pressure him for more, and he gave bits of himself willingly and gladly.

One day, sweetheart. One day. You and I. 

Rhys was gifting Eris a Made dagger, and everyone began dancing as the first notes of the waltz filled the vast space.

Elain stepped closer to him, and he lightly ran his knuckle over her spine. Her back was bare, the dress held together by thick ribbons, but it offered enough of her silky skin for him to observe that he was forced to bite the inside of his cheek just to hold back a groan. 

“Do you want me to Make you a dagger too?” she whispered, without looking at him, pretending to be interested in the gift exchange. 

“I already have one,” he murmured with a smile, his lips brushing the back of her head, inhaling the scent of jasmine.

“Hmmm…would you like me to Make you anything?”

Yes, I would like for you to make me your husband. 

“Make me dinner, and I will be a happy male,” he decided.

“Then I will,” she promised simply.

Eris’s muddy eyes landed on Elain and she grunted through clenched teeth,

“Time for me to shine!”

“I can kill him for you, if you’d like,” Azriel offered calmly.

“Tempting, but you never know how others might look at the murder of the Heir to Autumn by the shadowsinger.”

Smart girl.

He stepped away, allowing another Vanserra’s eyes to skate over his woman. 

It was intolerable.

But Elain made a good impression of pretending to be mildly interested in Eris. 

And Eris, vain and predictable, was visibly disappointed by the modesty of Elain’s gown, by her demure appearance.

Azriel could only smile to himself. 

Thank the Cauldron for the prideful son of Autumn, who did not see the diamond in front of his eyes.

No matter.

Yes, Azriel wanted everyone to admire Elain like he did, but he also wanted to keep her for himself–his secret, a thing of lovely beauty. 

Eris offered Elain a bland smile, and then made a beeline towards Nesta.

His loss. Azriel’s gain.

Elain’s smile was finally genuine, and shining in his direction.

The guests were oohing and ahhing over Nesta and Eris in the dancefloor, and Azriel moved back to stand beside his beautiful girl, while they watched the other couple twirl and spin across the floor. They looked incredible–there was no doubt that in another life, in another world, Nesta and Eris would’ve made an excellent match. 

But that thought quickly evaporated, when Azriel sensed the rage, disappointment and unhappiness of his brother, who was almost gnashing his teeth in frustration. 

Elain wordlessly took Cassian’s hand and squeezed it affectionately.

“Cass, don’t cut in,” Azriel warned him.

Elain looked at the General with sympathy in her warm brown eyes and whispered,

“It’s not real, Cassian. They are not real.”

“But,” he began, and she cut him off,

“She is the one for you, Cassian. You know it. She is your girl.”

Azriel quickly looked at his own girl, and wondered how the Hel did she know? How did she always know?

“Give her the opportunity to complete all her spins,” Elain chuckled, “and then you can cut it.”

“Would you like to dance, Elain Archeron?” 

Azriel had danced with Nesta, after Cassian swept her away from Eris and completed his own circle on the dancefloor. Cassian was not as good of a dancer as Eris, but he and Nesta looked…right. They looked like they belonged. And maybe he was stiff, and didn’t move with a courtier’s grace, but Cassian danced because he knew that tonight, Nesta needed him. She needed him, and his strength, and his support, and she needed to be in his arms almost as much as Cassian needed to take her into his own. 

“She really is his girl,” Elain smiled softly, watching the two glide among the guests.

She turned and looked up at Azriel.

“And yes, I would love to dance with you.”

“Well then give me your little hand,” he ordered, smiling, as he extended his palm to her. She lay her fingers against his and he sighed with pleasure, as he wrapped his arm around her body, pulling him to him. Her head rested on his shoulder. 

One day.

Soon.

Wife.

Not a bad Solstice celebration after all.

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel and elain #azriel #elain x azriel #cassian #elain #cassian and nesta #The Little Black Dress That Could #elriel fanfiction #my writing #acotar fanfiction #acosf fanfiction #Elriel fanfiction #Elriel fanfic

[ratabrasileira]

“He locked you up because he knew—the bastard knew what a treasure you are. That you are worth more than land or gold or jewels. He knew, and wanted to keep you all to himself.”

Instagram Twitter Speed Painting

#fuck rhysand and his perfect ugly face #feyre tho she looks gorgeous #acotar #acotar fanart #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand archeron #feyre #rhysand #rhys #artists on tumblr #digital art #nessian #gwynriel #elucien #elriel #tagging everything i discovered that this disrespectful thing that brings feedback #cool #tw: blood #blood

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Fifteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: NSFW!!😈😈 please disregard colorado window tinting laws for this chapter

***

Cassian has yet to regret getting Nesta that personalized record, despite the fact that she plays it everyday on repeat with a near obsession. Is this what true love is? Letting your girlfriend blast the same songs through your home again and again, and never tiring of it? Never tiring of her?

He doesn’t get to ponder on it, because while Nesta spends the week lazing pantsless around the house (“I’m getting ready for the party,” she states while he rubs her feet. “Spiritually and all that.”), Cassian has to figure out how to turn the cabin into an inviting space for forty wealthy guests.

All of Nesta’s shit gets shoved in the back of his bedroom closet. Personal items and framed pictures of the two of them are swiped off any surfaces. Lights go up around the house. Catering is secured.

By the time it’s all finished, the cabin has been stripped of all warmth and familiarity and turned into something chic and upscale, suitable for a small gala. Nesta stares around at the space when it’s done, her face revealing nothing.

Cassian points to the small sitting area on the second floor, directly above the open living room, that leads outside to the wraparound balcony. “We’ll be able to see fireworks from there,” he says. He turns to see Nesta’s face is still carefully blank, the way it is when she’s thinking too many things at once. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks. “It’s not too late to cancel the whole thing.”

She looks at him in horror. “It most certainly is. The party’s tomorrow.”

“Still not too late.” Cassian might not have that much power in the overall Night Court hierarchy, but for Nesta he could figure it out.

She smiles wanly but shakes her head. “We’re doing this, and we’re not letting it go to hell like last time.”

***

Nesta knows her sisters are aware that she’s on the guest list for the party (though she can’t imagine what Cassian’s explanation for that one was), but she still stiffens when she enters the cabin through the open door. Her eyes fall on various men and women that she’s never seen in her life, all glammed up and dripping self-importance, until recognizing Feyre and her boyfriend laughing with an older couple in a corner. The only thing that brings Nesta a little peace is that the snide woman, Amren, isn’t here tonight, having chosen to spend New Year’s with her boyfriend in California instead.

Nesta eases up when nobody takes notice of her, though a few nearby guests throw appreciative glances in her direction. She looks like a disco ball in her sequined wrap dress, and a freezing one at that. She shuts the door behind her, sealing the winter air out, but quickly pulls her hand away from the knob. It feels like the door isn’t hers to touch. She realizes that even though the cabin is her home, no one here except Cassian knows that.

Speaking of Cassian, she needs to find him. Nesta is not such an advanced creature that she knows how to survive in a room full of strangers on her own, and she no longer cares if anyone finds her clinging to Cassian weird.

She makes it three feet before she’s accosted by Morrigan, carrying her usual champagne glass like it’s an extension of her.

“Nesta!” she exclaims, loud and bright as ever. She smiles broadly, with too many teeth. “You’re here.”

Nesta blinks in response. She doesn’t understand how Morrigan benefits from this exaggerated excitement. Is it supposed to be insulting or polite?

“By the way,” Morrigan adds when Nesta doesn’t reply, “what exactly are you doing here?”

A heavy arm slides around Nesta’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I invited her,” says Cassian with a smile. “Because she’s my friend, and this place is practically hers.”

“Oh, I think that’s an exaggeration,” Nesta says sharply, trying to step away from Cassian.

He holds her closer. “No it’s not. We were roomies for over two months, remember?”

Morrigan winces, looking between the two of them. “Right,” she says slowly. “I keep forgetting that. Cassian is like this with everybody,” she says apologetically to Nesta. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

Nesta nods solemnly, wanting this conversation to be over. “I won’t.”

Her exit is made clear when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” she says quickly, escaping from under Cassian’s arm.

Hurrying to the door, she swings it open.

Eris Vanserra stands looking irritated on the other side. He freezes when he sees Nesta, and then his face lifts into a smug grin. “Oh, this is too good.”

“So Cassian Madani was your sugar daddy all along?” Eris asks her later.

“Say sugar daddy one more time. I dare you.” Nesta stands near the stairs with her arms crossed, trying to pretend she isn’t associated with Eris. Which is more than a bit difficult when he keeps badgering her with questions, and Cassian is giving the two of them odd looks from across the room.

“I mean, what are the odds?” he laughs.

“My sister is dating his CEO brother.”

Eris throws her a look of surprise, but Nesta says, “How do you even know him?”

Eris sticks an hors d'oeuvre from a nearby platter in his mouth. “He manages security and logistics at every event Night Court is involved in. Can be a real pain in the ass to work with when I’m trying to get shit done for my dad’s company.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she retorts.

They’re interrupted by Feyre and Rhys appearing before them, Feyre with her hostess smile and Rhysand with an inquisitive look on his face. Nesta can’t tell which one of them is more attached to the hip of the other.

“Eris,” Rhysand greets smoothly.

“I see you’re already acquainted with my sister,” Feyre says. Her tone is tense, either because she’s still pissed at Nesta or—even worse—she feels protective of her.

“We’re classmates,” Nesta says tightly. “Does it matter?”

Feyre tries not to look hurt. “No—I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Ladies,” a new voice says warningly. Cassian’s left whatever droll conversation he was stuck in and made his way over to them.

“Is the entire party congregating here?” Eris looks around himself.

“No, we are not,” Cassian says, all his usual friendliness gone around Eris. “I just came to ask Feyre to talk to the representatives from Spellbreaker before they pull all their money out of our latest operation.”

Feyre’s eyes go wide and her tattooed hand goes to her chest. “That’s not really my job—”

“Oh, come on, darling.” Rhysand slides a hand around her waist. “I’ll go with you; the art of negotiating is easier than it looks.”

Nesta nearly pukes in her mouth, but she maintains a careful blank face until Feyre and Rhysand are successfully out of sight. Cassian turns to Eris with a stony look. “You’re still here?”

Nesta sighs internally; this man has never hidden his feelings in his life.

Eris shares an amused glance with Nesta as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Is there anywhere else I should be right now?” he replies.

“Maybe in hell.”

Nesta claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and fakes a smile at Eris. “Tell your brother hi for me,” she says while pulling Cassian away. “I miss talking to a sensible redhead.”

“That’s because you have awful taste,” Eris calls after her. Nesta drags Cassian deep into the hallway, where no one lingers.

She releases him without flourish. “Are you doing okay? Because it seems like you’re having a harder time with this than I am.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian defends. “I was just hit with a terrible memory back there.”

“Like what?”

“That you’re friends with Eris.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Friends is a very liberal term, but she won’t correct Cassian while he’s acting like this. “Thank you for helping with Feyre and Mor,” she says instead. “I didn’t need it, but I still appreciate it.” It’s a hard thing to admit, but she wants him to hear it.

“I was just trying to get you alone,” he says, leaning against the bathroom door. “I’ve been trying to get you alone all night.”

Nesta looks him up and down, from his white dress shirt and tied back hair to his uncharacteristically polished shoes. “For what?” she says warily. “If this is about a sex thing, don’t bother. There’s nowhere in this house for us to go without raising suspicion.”

Cassian pushes off the door with a dark look. “I wasn’t going to suggest staying in the house.” He holds a bronzed hand out toward her. “Wanna get out of here?”

***

Cassian doesn’t remember how he ever managed to fit all six-four of himself into the cramped backseat of his truck when he was fucking girls in college, but for Nesta he figures it out somehow.

Her pretty little dress is shoved down to her midriff, baring her arms and flushed breasts, and her skirt is bunched up high enough that Cassian can watch as he moves his fingers inside her. The glow of lights from the cabin lands on her perfect face as she throws her head back in pleasure, and he can only watch her in awe.

He laughs lowly when she whimpers and eases a third finger into her wet heat, in no rush to return to the party anytime soon. Let them all wonder where he and Nesta wandered off to.

But Nesta has far less patience than him; she pulls him in for a frenzied kiss and uses the distraction to slide her hand into his boxer briefs, palming his cock. He groans into her mouth as she pulls out the length of him from his unzipped pants, and it’s at that very moment that two voices interrupt their panting.

“Thanks,” a muffled female voice says from outside the truck. Cassian looks up through the dark tinted windows to find—Jesus Christ—Mor accepting a cigarette from Rhys. The two of them stand some feet away from the truck, unaware that anyone is occupying it.

“Some way to end the year,” Rhys is saying, watching the clear night sky. Nesta’s gone completely still beneath Cassian, not needing to get up and look to know who stands in the driveway. “Would have been even better without Nesta terrorizing Feyre at every turn.”

Sickness turns Cassian’s stomach at hearing such ugly words about Nesta come from his brother, but that sickness is quickly replaced by rage as Mor huffs a laugh. “She’s not that bad,” Mor says, taking a pull from her cigarette. “Though I could do without the attitude at every damn gathering.”

Rhys clicks his tongue. “She’s always been like that, even when the sisters were kids. It kills Feyre.”

Cassian glances down at Nesta, terrified of what he’s going to find on her face. But Nesta doesn’t look hurt or enraged like he expects. Instead, she’s listening closely with her brows furrowed, studiously intrigued.

Noticing Cassian’s attention on her, she meets his eyes and her breath hitches. A blush takes over her cheeks, and she clenches involuntarily around the fingers still deep inside her. Cassian realizes that his fury is written all over his face. And she likes it.

His anger at his friends flickers—or rather, transforms. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of Nesta. He sits up a bit straighter and kneels properly on the backseat, earning a curious look from her. Hunching so his head doesn’t hit the truck ceiling, he wraps his hands around her thighs and maneuvers her legs up, up until they’re hooked over his shoulders. She nearly chokes at the new position.

He adjusts them so his cock is pressed right up against her sex, and looks out the window again, where Rhys and Mor are still talking. It’s all idle gossip, he knows, but... “What do you think, baby?” He slides his length over her slick folds. “Should I go out there and defend your honor?”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta gasps, shaking her head.

“And it’s like when she’s not quiet as a brick, she’s being rude,” Mor rants outside, flicking her cigarette. “I know Cass is friendly with everybody, but I have no idea what he was thinking inviting her here.”

“Oh, she’s not so quiet when I have my head between her legs,” Cassian murmurs at Mor. He glances down at Nesta with a knowing smirk. “She’s not so rude when I give her the right incentive, either.” He pats her bottom lip with his thumb, the bright red lipstick smearing. “Isn’t that right, Nes?”

“Bastard.” Nesta squirms, trying to line up her entrance with the head of Cassian’s cock. She’s not even listening to the conversation outside anymore.

“I think he likes her,” Rhys says, his breath clouding in the freezing night air. If only he knew. “We don’t always use reason when it comes to people we like.”

“Maybe,” Mor ponders. “But I can’t imagine it going anywhere. They’re too different.”

“I disagree,” Cassian mutters. He finally gives in to Nesta’s efforts and pushes inside her, sliding to the hilt in one thrust. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

“There are plenty of things we have in common, don’t you think, Nesta?” He sets a steady rhythm with his hips, pumping in and out of her. “Like how well we fit together.” Her head bumps the car door with every thrust.

“You—you’re gonna rock the truck,” Nesta tries to whisper. Cassian hides his smile in the crook of her knee at the rare use of informal contraction. She’s adorable.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” he teases, leaning forward to take a pert nipple into his mouth. A whimper slips past her lips; she’s nearly bent in half beneath him. With this new, deeper angle, Cassian moves slow enough that Nesta feels every solid inch of him.

His loose hair falls around his face as he drops his head to the center of Nesta’s chest. It takes every bit of restraint he knows not to suckle at the space between her breasts, not to leave reddened marks there that everyone will be able to see when they go back inside. But damn if this position isn’t driving him crazy.

Mor, Rhys, everything beyond the haven of the truck falls away. He doesn’t know if anybody is still outside, or if people have noticed his and Nesta’s absence from the party. He doesn’t care, not as he swears and thrusts particularly deep into her tight warmth.

Even her hand can’t contain the sound she makes at that.

Cassian moves one of his own hands to the crown of Nesta’s head, creating a barrier between her and the car door. With his other arm, he locks her thighs into place against his chest, and begins slamming relentlessly into her.

“CassianCassianCassian—”

He silences her with a searing kiss, and flicks her clit with a calloused thumb. Nesta scrabbles at his arms, at the seat upholstery, as her orgasm crashes into her. Her walls milk his cock almost painfully, and with a few more thrusts he’s coming, too.

As he rides out his climax, he intertwines their fingers together and presses them to the freezing window. Outside, there is no one to see the handprint they leave on the fogged up glass.

***

Nesta needs a moment to catch her breath while Cassian zips himself up. Leaning against the hard truck door, she achingly fits one arm back into the sleeve of her dress, then the other. “I think I have a bruise from where that seatbelt buckle stabbed me in the ribs,” she mutters.

“Where?” Cassian looks her over, but she waves him away and reaches over to dig in the back pocket of the driver’s seat, finding a packet of makeup wipes she left there some weeks ago. She plucks out a wipe for herself and tosses the rest of the packet at Cassian’s chest, which is covered in her lipstick marks.

He accepts the wipes with a “thanks” and begins rubbing at his reddened mouth and neck. Nesta watches him instead of wiping at her own lipstick, taking in whatever the light of the moon highlights: his unbuttoned shirt, his loose hair that fell forward into her face while they fucked, his skin peppered with her marks.

He notices her stare. “What?” he says, smiling.

“Have you ever done that before?” She nods outside to where Mor and Rhys were standing ten minutes ago. It wasn’t exhibitionism since nobody had seen them, but it still felt... dirty.

Cassian snorts, starting to button up his shirt. “I’ve done far worse.” He meets her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off to the sound of other people shit-talking my girl, though, so that’s new.”

Nesta blushes, and pretends to look around for her shoes to hide the reaction. She’s always known her bedroom experience was pathetically limited, but she’s just now starting to realize how much of that was Tomas’s fault. Not only was he boring when it came to sex, but he left her too hurt and untrusting to try anything with other men until Cassian came along.

Cassian nudges Nesta’s knee, and she finds him already holding her heels. Instead of letting her take them, he takes her feet and starts putting them on for her. “Clean yourself up,” he directs as he buckles a silver strap into place. “It’s almost an hour to midnight.”

Right. Cassian tosses her her panties, and she uses them to clean up the mess between her thighs before discarding them on the floor. “Don’t—” he tries to protest, but sighs and gives up. “You’re filthy.”

“You love it.” She picks up her forgotten makeup wipe to scrub at her smeared makeup. “Do I look okay?” She turns her face to him after a moment so he can check.

“You missed a spot.” He takes the wipe and rubs at her chin. “There,” he says softly, gazing more intimately at her than usual. “Beautiful.”

She most certainly doesn’t look beautiful right now, with the mess that’s been made of her face and hair. But he seems to believe it all the same.

I love you. The thought comes to her suddenly, unexpectedly.

“What?” Shock turns Cassian’s face.

Nesta blinks, realizing the words weren’t only in her head. “What?”

“You said—”

“I said ‘Let’s get out of here’,” she says quickly, swinging her legs down from the seat and reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go!”

She shoves out of the truck without waiting for Cassian and foots it for the cabin, breathing harshly like she just fell from a great height.

***

Nesta goes straight to the master bedroom to redo her makeup and pick up a new pair of underwear. She knows it’s cowardly to leave Cassian downstairs, stuck chatting with wealthy donors and unable to follow her, but she won’t let him confront her about the confession that spilled back in the truck. Not yet.

When she finally finds the courage to stick her head out of the room, she nearly jumps at the sight of Azriel leaning against the hallway wall.

“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” he says, as if he was waiting for her to come out.

The best lies are half-truths. “Avoiding people,” she answers vaguely, exiting the room fully and shutting the door behind her. She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Snooping.” He pushes off the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve seen you all night, and now I find you in Cassian’s bedroom of all places.”

What is this, an interrogation? “I’m good at blending in,” Nesta says. “Few people ever notice me.”

“And I’m good at observing,” Azriel retorts, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze. “Where did you run off to earlier?”

Nesta looks him up and down, too bored to bother answering him. “I’m going to go now.” She shoves past his shoulder and walks away, leaving him too stunned to follow.

She comes across Elain near the top of the stairs.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise. Her brown eyes flicker past Nesta’s shoulder, to where Azriel still lurks in the hallway. She looks back to Nesta. “I wasn’t sure if you actually came tonight. I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging around.” Nesta waves a dismissive hand. It’s like Christmas Eve never happened between them. That’s the wonderful and terrible thing about sisters, Nesta supposes: there are no apologies, only moving on and moving past.

“Well, you look like you’re doing good.” Elain seems distracted. “I wish we could talk more, but I don’t have time for a fight tonight.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Azriel says, who’s snuck up behind Nesta. “If it’s me you’re worried about, I was just about to leave.” He’s addressing Elain, but won’t quite look her in the eyes. He turns to Nesta instead. “Happy New Year.” And then he’s gone down the stairs.

Elain stands there looking torn, wondering if she should go after him or not, but then Nesta says, “Why do you assume I would start a fight?”

“I—”

“Because if I remember correctly, our last fight was started by you.” She crosses her arms.

Elain sighs. “I just said I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m asking a question in response to a comment you made unprovoked.” When Nesta is calm, she can talk circles around Elain all night.

Elain throws her hands up. “It was just a stupid comment! I said it because we argue all the time. I can’t remember the last time we talked without arguing.”

“September twenty-eighth,” Nesta snaps.

Elain’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You got the loan for your flower shop approved and you called me to celebrate. I was happy for you.”

Elain shakes her head, but Nesta can’t read what she’s feeling. “You remember the most inconsequential things.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult, so Nesta shrugs. “Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” She turns to go on her way. Of course, Elain doesn’t stop her. She’s never been one to get in the last word.

***

It’s ten minutes to midnight and Cassian still hasn’t been able to get a hold of Nesta since she ran from the truck. He doesn’t know why she’s running from such a simple truth, but he doesn’t plan on giving her much more time to hide. He has so much he needs to say to her—

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he’s about to slip away upstairs to find Nesta. Cassian turns to find Rhysand there, wearing the serious face he only uses for work-related business. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Cassian is not in the mood. He already had to repress the urge to find Mor and Rhys and tear into them when he returned to the party, and now he’s not sure if he can manage a conversation with his brother without snapping. Without spilling everything he’s worked so hard to hide.

“Not now,” Cassian says, trying to act chill. “It’s almost midnight and I’m trying to catch the...” He trails off as his eyes catch on Nesta, who’s appeared at the second floor sitting area with Eris.

“...fireworks,” he finishes. He turns to Rhys. “Let’s go upstairs to watch.” Half the guests, including the rest of his friends, are probably already outside for the countdown.

He keeps his eyes on Nesta as he climbs the stairs. Watching as she takes notice of him and quickly turns away, smiling at Eris instead. She lets the dickhead place his hand on her back to guide her out to the balcony.

Rage and disbelief take Cassian by the throat. Hiding in another man’s arms to avoid him? Coward fucking move, Archeron.

She steps outside with Eris, and before Cassian can follow he’s stopped once again by Rhys grabbing his arm. “Cass, will you slow down and listen to me for a minute?”

“What is it?” he snaps impatiently. They’re stopped at the top of the stairs, and other guests flow past them as they head for the balcony doors.

Rhys inhales, getting visibly irritated. He says, “I got a call from one of our overseas partners the other day—”

“Rhys!” Feyre calls from the balcony doors, waving her arms at him. “Get your ass over here, it’s almost midnight!”

Rhys turns to his girlfriend, his face lightening. “Be right there, darling.” He gives Cassian a sharp look. “We’ll finish this later.”

Cassian only nods and whirls on his heel, nearly shoving people out of his way to get outside. To get to Nesta.

Up on the wraparound balcony and down below on the frosty ground, guests are lined up with their partners, wrapped up in coats and eagerly awaiting midnight. He barely feels the cold, but he knows Nesta must. He should have grabbed a coat for her.

“Thirty seconds to midnight!” someone announces, answered by loud cheers.

Spotting shining red hair, Cassian grabs Eris by the suit jacket and whirls him around. “Where’s Nesta?” he demands over the loud chatter.

Eris makes a face like he’s been manhandled by a filthy dog. “Clearly not with me,” he retorts, shoving Cassian’s hand off him. “She got all pissy and went that way.” He gestures at a faraway section of balcony where most of the guests are crowding, hoping for an optimal view of the fireworks.

“TEN!” Someone starts the countdown. Others quickly catch on.

“NINE!” Cassian heads in the direction Eris pointed, searching through the sea of glitter and gold for a glimpse of Nesta.

“EIGHT!” He hears his friends calling after him distantly, asking where he’s going.

“SEVEN!” He catches sight of Nesta.

“SIX!” He doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he navigates through the crowd, reaching for her. But he knows she’s shining brighter than the moon right now. He knows he’s been fooling himself since the moment she stepped into his cabin this past September.

“FIVE!”

He closes in on her, her back turned to him.

“FOUR!”

Let’s not go out of our way to hide this anymore, they agreed after Christmas Eve. Let’s just be ourselves around our friends and family, and they’ll find out when they find out.

“THREE!”

In Cassian’s defense, he’s simply being himself in this moment.

“TWO!”

He takes Nesta by the elbow and spins her around. She meets his eyes in surprise. “Cassian. I was looking for you—”

“ONE!”

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

***

a/n: punk 57 was a shit book but i gotta give it credit for the truck scene

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au #for some reason i’m not showing up in the tags?? #i’m gonna kill everybody

[story-scribbler]

(un)welcome back: chapter two

fic masterlist

read on AO3

comment ‘taglist’ or reblog if you want to be added to the tags!

*

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck.

Crap.

FUCK.

Rhysand continued to watch me, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards in amusement at my obvious surprise. That fucking smirk.

Memories came flooding back, breaking through from the depths of my mind where I’d banished them three years ago.

Rhysand laughing, the deep baritone of his voice ringing out, filling my soul with warmth.

Rhysand dancing with me in my apartment, grinning at me, bright and unrestrained.

Rhysand leaning in, his lips quirking up in that fucking smirk, brushing them gently against mine.

Rhysand touching me, his hands skimming my bare chest, drawing patterns only he could see upon my skin.

Rhysand—

Rhysand leaving.

Rhysand ignoring my calls.

Rhysand walking out of my life, and never turning back.

Tarquin nudged me gently, shaking me out of the grasp of my memories. “Are you good?” His eyes shone with concern, brows furrowed slightly.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Yeah, um.” I wrenched my eyes away from Rhysand’s figure, focusing on Tarquin. “Just saw someone that I…. who I haven’t seen in a long time.”

I breathed deep. Get it together, Feyre. Yes, Rhysand was here. Yes, I was fucking confused and surprised and hurt.

But I had a job to do. And I’d be damned if I didn’t do it well.

I forced myself to smile at Tarquin, gesturing for him to take us to our table. I could feel Rhysand’s gaze burning into my skin as we crossed the ballroom, and I sighed in relief as we finally made it to our seats. Our two-seat table was tucked into the corner of the ballroom, hiding us away yet giving us a perfect view of the entire hall. No doubt the credit for our isolated, yet strategically placed table was due to Alis and her many, many, many connections in the art industry.

Now, it was time to make use of those connections and earn the gallery some money. I scanned the program at my place, Tarquin doing the same next to me. The orchestra was slotted to play for the next hour, and I could hear the faint strains of the ensemble tuning from where they were seated on the opposite side of the hall. Typically, the wait staff passed out hors d'oeuvres and champagne during these types of performances, making it a good time for us to go out and mingle. Alcohol always loosened tongues. And wallets.

“Once the guests at the front tables start moving around, then we can go,” Tarquin said. “I can take the back tables, and you can go try talking to Helion.”

I smirked at him, mustering up the bravado that had come so easily to me before. “Just you wait. I’ll have Helion in our pockets by the end of the evening.”

He smiled softly at me. “I have no doubt of that.”

His words sent a rush of warmth through me, and I returned his grin, although not as easily as I did before. Rhysand’s presence still weighed heavily on my mind. And on my heart.

We sat for a few minutes, just long enough for me to get antsy. I drummed my fingers on my silk-covered thighs, tapped my heels against the marble floor. Sitting still made my mind wander, wander over to thoughts of violet eyes and black hair and sensual smirks and fiery kisses. To empty apartments and unanswered calls and ignored texts. To the three years ago, when my life felt like it was just beginning. To three years and three months later, when it all went to shit.

The orchestra began to play, sliding into the strains of a gentle melody that perfectly matched the ambiance of the room, yet didn’t overpower it. Tarquin nodded to me before pushing his chair back and gracefully striding across the ballroom. I did the same, heading in the opposite direction as he did.

I wove my way through the ballroom, between the veritable maze of tables and chairs, nodding to the guests I recognized. Emerie, a friend of Nesta’s, was seated in the middle of the ballroom, chatting animatedly to a red-haired woman. She waved to me as I passed her table, and I returned the gesture, not wanting to interrupt, before continuing on, recognizing the head of auburn hair standing in front of me.

I snuck up behind Lucien, grabbing his shoulders from behind. He startled, whipping around as I relished in the look of surprise on his face.

“Jesus, Feyre.” He shook his head at me in mock annoyance, auburn hair swishing with the movement. “A simple ‘hello’ would’ve been fine, you know,” he snarked.

I bit my lip to restrain my cackling. It wasn’t often that I could sneak up on Lucien, and I was enjoying my victory. “Hey Lucien.”

My relationship with Lucien was strained, after …. everything, but he had reached out a few months before, asking to meet for coffee. We had been friends since our freshman year of college, when I had met him and Tamlin. After almost eight years of friendship, I missed him, and from what he said, he missed me, and our friendship. We weren’t necessarily friends again yet, but hopefully, we were getting there.

“You look nice,” he said, before asking bluntly, “You know that Rhysand is here, right?”

I winced. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Lucien was somewhat aware of the Rhysand situation, having asking after all my friends at our coffee date. He didn’t know all the details, but he knew that it was an ugly situation. Despite the rather unpleasant reminder, I was grateful that Lucien thought to warn me.

He looked at me sympathetically. “Good luck with that. He’s sitting with Helion too.”

“Yup,” I said tightly. Apparently, my tone told Lucien all he needed to know.

“Let me guess, that’s your target for the night.” It wasn’t a question.

I grimaced.

“Well. Good luck with that,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “It’s time for me to go rub elbows of my own.”

I waved my fingers at him as he walked away, shooting me finger-guns as he went. Lucien was a curator at the Velaris National Museum of History, which meant that he too needed to go squeeze donations out of the wealthy guests.

Speaking of, I really needed to go talk to Helion before someone else monopolized his attention. I snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, forcing myself to not chug the entire thing in one go, lest I look like an unsophisticated heathen in the midst of all this finery. Regardless of the fact that I would most certainly need something to get me through this night.

Because I was about to go talk to Helion. Who was at the same table as Rhysand. Who I hadn’t heard from in Three. Fucking. Years.

Steeling myself, I maneuvered myself over to where Helion was now standing, chatting with Kallias and Viviane, Kallias’s hand resting gently on Viviane’s back. A rush of relief sank through my body upon seeing his company. Rhysand was nowhere to be found, and Viviane was a friend of Mor’s, which meant that starting this conversation wouldn’t be awkward.

Luckily, Viviane spotted me as I approached them.

“Feyre,” she called out, gesturing for me to join them. She smiled mischievously at me. As a friend of Mor’s, she knew that I was a curator, and that my entire purpose for tonight was to get donations and sell gallery pieces. She was also well-aware that Helion was extremely, extremely, extremely wealthy. And being the smart woman that she was, she likely connected the dots between me coming up to their group, and Helion’s presence there.

I sidled up to their group, accepting Viviane’s hug of welcome.

“Viviane, Kallias,” I smiled warmly at the couple. “It’s good to see you both.”

Kallias inclined his head in return. “Likewise, Feyre. Have you seen Rhys—”

I stifled a laugh as Viviane not-so-subtly elbowed him in the stomach. He took the hint immediately, wincing apologetically in my direction. I smiled gratefully at Viviane for her intervention. As a friend of Mor’s, Viviane was also aware of what had happened with Rhysand, but apparently, Kallias hadn’t remembered.

Beside me, Helion took in our awkward expressions with curiosity before smirking down at me.

Viviane jumped to attention. “Helion, have you met—”

“Feyre Archeron,” he drawled, taking me by surprise. I didn’t think he would remember my name, but apparently, I was wrong.

He extended his left hand, the other being occupied by a wine glass, and I shook it firmly.

“Helion Dayes,” I purred back, matching his tone.

Amused delight shone in his eyes. “Let me guess, you’re here to swindle me out of my money.”

“So what if I am?” I smirked at him. “It worked out so well for me before.”

Indeed, the last time we had met, I managed to get a sizable donation of a few thousand. As well as convinced him to buy a few of the more expensive pieces from the gallery. In total, I got about $80,000 from him. Alis had gifted me some very expensive wine in gratitude, which Azriel and I had enjoyed immensely as we spent the night getting drunk off our asses.

Despite the fact that Helion himself had been drunk off his ass when he made the donations, it appeared that he still remembered opening his wallet that night.

Helion sighed exaggeratedly. “I’ll spare you the posturing, although I know you’re good at it. Will a twenty-thousand donation suffice for my lady?”

Well, that was easy.

Not letting my surprise shine through, I shrugged nonchalantly. Twenty-thousand was more than enough, but if Helion was in a particularly generous mood…. Well, I might as well take advantage of it. Beside us, Viviane and Kallias watched with amusement.

Helion clicked his tongue, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Feyre.”

“What can I say?” I said, meeting his gaze. “I’m very good at my job.”

“I bet that’s not the only job--”

Kallias coughed loudly next to me, shooting a warning glare at Helion. Viviane was practically shaking with restrained laughter, lips quivering as she fought to keep them shut.

I simply quirked an eyebrow up at Helion. If that was intended to fluster me, well, Cassian and I had certainly traded lewder insults than that.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head at Kallias, before turning his attention back to me. “Do you have any gallery pieces that I’d be interested in?”

“Depends on what you’re interested in,” I said lazily, sipping my champagne.

“A Feyre Archeron original, perhaps?” he said as he fixed me with that piercing gaze of his.

“Excuse me?”

What the fuck.

“Well, it’s just that I’ve heard, from a very good friend of mine, mind you, that you’re an extremely talented artist.” His eyes danced with amusement as he took a long drag of his wine. He knew, then.

Fucking Rhysand.

Rhysand was one of the few, apart from my other friends, who knew about my painting. Helion knew then, knew about Rhysand and I. Whether it be through the rumor mill, or from Rhysand himself, he knew.

I forced myself not to squirm, even as I could feel Helion’s hidden amusement. “It appears that your source is mistaken. After all, other than Viviane and Kallias here, I don’t believe we have any mutual friends.”

Helion cocked his head to the side, opening his mouth. He cut himself off, however, eyes flicking up to look behind me. He smirked. “Give him hell for me, why don’t you,” he said, sauntering away.

And a voice that I hadn’t heard in three years sounded from behind me.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

*

bolded won't tag

if you want to be removed from the taglist, just let me know!

@feysand-loml

@scatterbrainedgirl

@thecrispypotatochip

@highladysith

@charincharge

@angelofmusic81

@suppengott

@ousttwothirty

@thebonecarver

@feysandandnyxsworld

@rhysandswingspan

@angelofmusic81

@tillyrubes10

@live-the-fangirl-life

#my writing #(un)welcome back #feyre #rhysand #feysand #feyre acotar #feyre x tarquin #chapter two

[rhysismydaddy]

An Artful Revenge Pt. 1

First part of The Archeron Damnation series. 

~Rhysand~

Have you ever had everything you’ve ever wanted dropped in your lap like a present? 

It makes it so easy you almost don’t even want it anymore. 

Before today, this had never happened to me. For over thirty years, I’ve worked and fought and killed for everything I’ve wanted. Nothing about my life has been easy. 

Until today. 

Until a young, beautiful woman paused to look at a piece of art, oblivious to the monster who stood behind her. 

As soon as I looked up and saw her, I felt like an anvil fell on my chest and robbed me of air. I couldn’t fucking breathe.

For the first time in my long, miserable life, I was utterly speechless as Feyre Archeron tilted her head contemplatively, as if the slab of paint was something that required great concentration. 

Her focus was so singular it gave me more than enough time to figure out what I wanted to do. 

But I couldn’t concentrate enough to even do that. Not yet. For now, I just took her in. Photos didn’t do her justice, honestly. Sandy blonde hair, a slight frame more than pleasing to look at from the back, defined cheekbones, full lips. Beautiful. 

It was almost unfair for someone like her to be so beautiful.

She had a hand on her chest and was completely still as she looked at the work in front of her, like she almost couldn’t stand the rush of emotions it gave her. 

I understood the feeling. 

My friends often tell me I should go on the road as a mind reader or fortune teller or some other bullshit. The point is, I’m pretty decent at reading people. 

And just from the way the woman in front of me is looking at an overpriced, ugly piece of art, I know she’s innocent. 

She has no idea who she used to share a bed with, no idea what kind of evil she invited into her life with a smile. 

I also know I can’t let it change things in the slightest. Innocent or not, beautiful or not, I’ve been trying to find the perfect moment to worm my way into her life and turn it fucking upside down. 

And she’s just handed it to me on a silver platter. 

I’ve been looking for her, and I’ve finally found her. 

She’s mine.

~Feyre~

“You like it?”

Gasping and pressing my hand harder against my chest to calm my racing heart, I spin around to face whoever just asked such an obvious question. 

And the first thing I can think is, He’s more beautiful than the painting. 

The stranger’s casually leaning against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, confidence and wealth and class draped over him like a very impressive, very handsome mask. 

He’s concealed in a jet black suit, but somehow I can tell he’s impressively built; it’s like strength and power are radiating off of him. His face probably took the gods years to craft, the sharp angles of his jaw and slash of his brows perfectly creating the most alluring thing I’ve ever seen. 

Dark hair, piercing violet eyes that scan me head to toe, and smirking, sensual lips complete his features. 

He’s the most attractive male I’ve ever seen. And I’m an art major who frequently finds herself painting models, so that’s saying something. 

“You like it,” he states, whatever he finds on my face taking away the need for a question mark. 

“I do,” I confirm, forcing myself to turn back to the painting and stop gawking like an idiot. 

He surprises me by asking openly, “Why?” 

The painting in question is one of the most revered paintings in the world: Dancers in Blue by Degas. But he’s asking in a way that makes it clear he genuinely doesn’t know why people pay to look at it.

Running my hand through my hair, I try and put it into words. “There’s just so much... energy in it. The background’s nothing but a bunch of paint splatters, and yet you can feel it almost. The dancer’s excitement, the energy of the crowd. It’s breathtaking.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I cringe inwardly, thinking of how weird that probably sounded. 

Then, “Would you like it?”

Only four words and they almost knock me on my ass. I spin back around so fast he chuckles, eyes wide, and sputter, “Would I what?”

I mean, it’s clear he’s rich, but there’s rich, and then there’s buying a Degas rich. 

“I was planning on buying it anyway. It should belong to someone who loves it as much as you obviously do.”

“What?” I repeat, still not understanding why he would offer something like that to a total stranger.

“I presumed you to be intelligent, but if you keep asking that question, I might have to amend that.”

I narrow my eyes, somehow intelligent enough to pick up on the insult. “I’m just confused. I mean, you look rich and all, but that painting’s worth $45 million dollars. And you just asked...”

“If you want it.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I regard him speculatively. “Which psych ward did you break out of, exactly?” 

He smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can accept the painting and stare at it from home, or I can buy it and hang it with the other one and never give it a second thought.”

My mind can’t stop running, and I think if I wasn’t determined to not completely embarrass myself, I’d collapse to the ground and sob at the impobability of this situation. “What do you mean the other one? You already have a Degas?”

“The pink one,” he confirms casually, flicking a nonexistent fleck of dust off his jacket. 

“You have Dancers in Pink?” He nods, lips twitching at the look on my face. “And why, exactly, are you buying priceless pieces of art if you don’t like them?”

“It’s not priceless. You just told me it’s worth $45 million.” I scowl at the non-answer, and he shrugs. “Someone I don’t care for likes them.”

I connect the dots slowly. “So you buy them so he can’t.”

He nods. 

My mouth falls open, making him smile again. It’s dangerously attractive and distracting, but I still demand, “Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger laughs outright at that, strolling forward and offering me a tan, tattooed hand with practiced ease. I notice there’s a platinum, engraved ring on his pointer finger, and I stare at it for a moment because it looks strangely familiar. 

He seems to pause as I look at it, holding his breath. I’m probably acting like a total weirdo, so I snap out of it and take his hand. 

Because he’s rich and confident and beautiful, he feels entitled to drag his calloused thumb across the back of my hand. 

And because I’m poor and stupid and at the end of the day, just a woman, I blush. Which only gets worse as he notices and smirks. 

“My name is Rhysand.”

“Rhysand what, exactly? Rockefeller? Vanderbilt? Carnegie?” I run out of rich families and fall silent, and he gives me a look like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across. 

“Rhysand Azara. When you google me, you won’t find anything of consequence, I’m afraid.”

The way he says when instead of if makes me blush again, because I’d been waiting for him to leave so I could pull out my cracked, struggling little phone and do exactly that. 

He looks at me expectantly, and I realize I haven’t said a word, just held onto his hand like a toddler being led across the street. “Oh, I’m Feyre.”

Rhysand just raises an eyebrow. 

“Feyre Archeron.”

“And what would I find if I were going to google your name?”

I notice his statement has an if, but I answer anyway, stating facts nervously like an army cadet reporting for duty. “I’m an art major at UChicago. From Missouri.”

“What else?”

“There’s really not much else.”

He tsks, telling me this answer is unacceptable, but doesn’t press it. Instead he shocks the hell out of me once again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

It isn’t a question, but it isn’t quite a demand, either. It’s a statement, and it’s said like he already knows what my response is going to be. 

But like I just told him, I’m a college student. 

Which means for the past three years, I’ve been dealing with college boys. 

I’ve been asked to “hang,” “smash,” and even to go to coffee on a few rare, wonderful instances. But never, in my entire life, have I been asked---or told--to go to dinner by someone like him. 

I realize it’s because I’ve never met anyone like him. 

Even my ex-boyfriend, who’d been well off and older, was nothing like him. Compared to the man in front of me, everyone else seemed... juvenile. 

They were boys, toddlers even, compared to the man still gripping my hand.

It prompts me to ask, “How old are you?”

He smiles. “Too old for you, I’m sure. Have dinner with me anyway. For the sake of the painting.”

I’m halfway sure I’m in the middle of a fever dream, about to wake up covered in sweat and wondering what the hell just happened, because this cannot be real. 

“You’re... are you actually... you’re offering to give me a $45 million painting if I have dinner with you?” I sound incredulous and wheezy to my own ears, but I don’t even care. 

Who the hell is this guy? 

“You’ll be my second most expensive date.”

“You’re insane.” I look down to where he still holds my hand, entire focus narrowing on the strength in his grip. How would it feel to have him grip me somewhere else? Rhysand gives me a look like he knows what I’m thinking, so I look at the ceiling. Then declare, “I can’t have dinner with you.”

It almost hurt to say it, honestly, because I really love that painting. 

He waits until I look back down at his face before asking, “Why not?” 

Blushing to high hell, I murmur, “It feels a little like... prostitution.”

Rhysand throws his head back and laughs, a full, wonderful sound I hadn’t been expecting. It’s easy and contagious, and I find myself grinning, even though what I said was true. 

“Dinner, gorgeous, was the deal.” He leans in close and whispers, “You coming home with me won’t have anything to do with it.”

I push him away, mind set on giving myself a few feet away from him to compose myself, but I’m so dizzy and confused and strangely turned on I almost fall. His hands shoot out, landing on the bare skin of my shoulders, and I pause. 

And really, really contemplate my life. 

Yesterday I was sitting on the floor of my dusty apartment in my underwear, eating Ramen and struggling to figure out what the fuck to put in the background of my painting. Today I’m being asked to dinner by a probable-billionaire. On the condition I accept a very expensive form of bribery. 

“I’m not going home with you, but I’ll have dinner with you.” He starts to smile, so I cut him off, “Only if you promise to not buy the painting.”

His brows narrow, a silent demand for information. 

“I come here almost every day to see it anyway,” I explain. “Besides, there’s no way I can accept it. It’ll get stolen or damaged or... I just can’t accept it. And the thought of you putting it in some forgotten hallway depresses me.”

He sighs dramatically and re-puts his hand out. “No painting. Just dinner.”

“And no sex.”

A very male look crosses his features. “We’ll discuss that later, I think.”

I roll my eyes but shake hands with him, a strange sense of finality settling over me. I shake it off, telling myself the bare mention of having sex with him is why I’m so nervous. 

~

Four hours later, I stand at the door, purse clutched in one hand, keys in the other. I’m staring at the door, practically foaming at the mouth, waiting for a knock on the other side to hopefully shock me out of my crazed state. 

I’ve been like this for ten minutes already, for some reason not wanting him to wait for a second after he got here. Or maybe I just don’t think he’s actually coming. 

Maybe I’ve been on some horrible practical jokes show, and Rhysand Azara isn’t even a real person. I’ll probably end up on television, blushing and beyond naïve, having been convinced a man who looked like a male model wanted to buy me a Degas. 

I snort, shaking my head at myself. And then almost fall down when a soft yet somehow insistent knock sounds through my small apartment. 

“Holy fuck, he’s here.”

I have no idea why I state it aloud, to myself no less, but I feel like it should be said. Hell, it should be written down in history books. If I kept a diary, I’d write in bold, underlined letters: I HAVE A DATE WITH A VERY STRANGE, VERY HANDSOME MAN.

After fluffing my hair and checking my makeup in a mirror, I stop stalling and open the door. 

He, of course, looks like sex on a goddamn spoon. And for a split second--just a moment, I swear--I debate grabbing him by his expensive lapels, dragging him backward into my apartment, and finding out what his mouth feels like against mine. 

“Feyre,” he greets, snapping me out of my perverted daydream. “You look beautiful.”

I know it’s dumb to be flattered, because it’s fairly standard to tell a girl she looks nice when you pick her up for a date, but it does my ego no harm because how I look right now took some fucking work. 

I shaved from the eyebrows down, exfoliated, scrubbed, cleansed, plucked, and spent thirty minutes deciding what to wear. 

I’d taken a gamble he’d wear a suit and dressed to match in a black dress, unremarkable save for the very low back, and simple heels. 

I step outside with him, grateful for the warm weather, and turn to lock the door. 

Rhysand makes a humming sound, and I freeze as I feel a finger drag down my spine, stopping right at the edge of the fabric. Which happens to be very, very close to something indecent. 

“Beautiful,” he states again, and hell if I don’t feel like it. 

I finally manage to get the lock closed, then spin around to face him. Up close, there’s silver flecks in his eyes, like starlight. Oh, and he smells amazing. Something manly and wintery and not sold in a bottle. 

I. Am in. So much. Trouble. 

I have no idea why this man has taken an interest in me, but I know it can only end in one way: me in love, him long gone. 

But even though I know it, I’m ready. Five minutes with him makes me feel more alive than I ever have, and even though it’s a disaster in the making, I can’t bring myself to care. 

He offers his hand and pulls me towards a--surprise--black car, one that looks expensive. After depositing me in the passenger seat, he goes around and climbs in beside me. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m making a guess about something.”

I glance over at him. “Have you ever realized you don’t give actual answers?”

"Yes,” he responds with a grin, turning the stereo on. 

Twenty minutes later, I’m practically bursting at the seems to know where he’s taking me. 

What kind of guess is he making? Also, what does that even mean?

He pulls up in front of a nice looking place I’ve never been to--again, surprise--and comes around to open my door. Despite the crowd, as soon as the hostess sees the man leading me through the restaurant, we’re ushered into the back. 

Turns out the place has private rooms. It’s quiet and cozy, and I’m pretty sure only the president gets this kind of treatment. 

Once I’m seated across from him, menu in hand, I have to ask, “Was your guess correct?”

“I don’t know, do you like French food?”

I smile because j’adore French food, and he grins back because he somehow knew that already. 

The waiter comes to ask for our drink order, and I gesture at Rhysand for him to order mine. I know nothing about wine, and he obviously does, because he orders something fancy and expensive sounding. 

There’s soft music playing in the background, candles in the corner, and a handsome man sitting across from me. It’s the most romantic situation I’ve ever been in, hands down. 

He braces an arm on the table, watching as I take a small sip of the wine. Trying to maintain some sort of maturity, I say, “You have good taste.”

“I do,” he replies, but his eyes are on me, not the wine. “Are you almost done with school?”

“One more year,” I answer, trying not to cheer as I say it. Four years of education for an art major is kind of ridiculous to me, but it would’ve been stupid to turn down a full scholarship. 

Rhysand hums, nodding. Even though he asked, I somehow feel like he already knew that. Weird. 

“Did you go to college?”

He gives me a strange look. “My formal education stopped around seventh grade.”

It’s an effort to keep my jaw off the table, and I’m proud of myself when I say mildly, “Impressive.”

“Being uneducated impresses you?”

I scowl. “No, but having everything you do despite not being handed anything is.”

His face stays impassive, but there’s a twinkle of respect in his eyes. The waiter comes back and asks what we want to eat, and because the menu I’ve barely even looked at is in French, I get the same thing as Rhysand. 

When we’re alone again, I ask, “Okay, spill. How’d you know I love French food?”

Rhysand shrugs. “I’m good at reading people.”

I wave a hand, because that wasn’t answer enough, and he continues on a sigh. “You’re kind of... easy to read. No offense.”

“Interesting you say ‘No offense’ after calling a woman easy,” I note.

He laughs, but points out, “You’re not easy. I offer to buy you a Degas and you won’t even come home with me.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Once again, you haven’t answered my question.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “You like French food because you like Impressionist art, and both Degas and Monet were French. Your dream vacation also happens to be Paris, and eating French food makes you feel closer to that goal.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs soundly at the blatant display of shock, but before I can ask how the hell he knew that, the waiter comes with our food. Identical displays of delicious-smelling pasta are set in front of us. 

I reach for my fork, but he grabs our plates and switches them. 

When I raise a brow, he shrugs and says, “In case you were thinking about poisoning me.”

I snort in a very ladylike manner, tucking into my food. A soft moan escapes me, and he looks up at me, bite halfway between his plate and mouth. 

“Uh, sorry,” I murmur, blushing down the neckline of my dress. 

Rhysand just smiles, making me feel young once again. “Don’t be. I quite enjoy the sound of a pleasured woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I take another bite, managing to refrain from sounding too pleasured. “So, Paris. How’d you know?”

He doesn’t really give me an answer, just says, “I bet you have a little Eifel Tower trinket on your desk and everything.”

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of me, because I do. I totally do. I’ve had it for three years and look at it every time I’m tempted to drop out.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask, trying to get us back on even ground. I feel like he somehow knows everything about me, and even though I’ll have to ask questions, I’m finding out at least one thing about him. 

“I’m in real estate.”

I nod, ready to just accept that answer. Then I look around us, remembering how crowded the restaurant was, and start giggling. “You own this restaurant, don’t you?”

A sigh. Busted. “Yes, I do.” 

I tsk and give him a judgmental look. “You can’t take me somewhere you own for a date. That’s cheating.”

He takes a sip of his wine. “How so?”

“It just is.” I sigh, just to tease him. “Shame. I was feeling so romanticized, maybe enough so to go home with you. Not anymore, though.”

He rolls his eyes, the gesture making him younger. “Eat your food.”

I do, and by the end, I’m so full I probably look pregnant. “Holy fuck, that was good.”

Rhysand smiles, like it’s adorable that I cursed, and pushes back his empty plate. “Dessert?” I shake my head. “Coffee?” 

“I’m so full I might die.”

Rising with fluid grace, he extends a hand. “Then come with me.”

Not bothering to ask questions at this point, I just take his hand and follow him out, noticing the city has a slight chill now that the sun’s gone down.

“Why is it women can never plan for the sun going down?” he ponders, wrapping me in his suit jacket.

“It’s a test to see if you’ll let us freeze to death.”

Rhysand chuckles and slides his hand into mine, so casually and simply it seems like a mundane thing we do every day.

I know I’ve known him for a total of five hours, but everything about today has been... easy. Natural. It’s like we just click, and I’m not stupid enough to question it right now. 

“You’re quite the gentleman,” I remark, bringing up our intertwined fingers to look at the tattoos on his skin. He’s silent for a minute, and when I glance over, he’s looking at the ground as we walk, a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You’re probably the only person in this entire world who believes that.”

I scoff, because the idea that the man next to me, holding my hand and running his thumb across my fingers, is anything but a gentleman is absurd.

“What other paintings do you have?” 

It’s a question I’ve been dying to ask since he mention his other Degas. 

“It’s a shame you’re determined to not go home with me. You could see them yourself.”

I drop his hand and shove his shoulder, my lips twitching as he laughs. “You asshole. You’re leveraging access to a private collection for sex? Men are horrible.”

Rhysand chuckles, throwing an arm around me and pulling me close. “I have a Monet,” he whispers in my ear, placing a featherlight kiss to my temple. “And a Rembrandt.” 

“I hate you.”

He releases me and grabs my hand again, then pulls me toward a dark alley I hadn’t noticed he’d been guiding me toward. “Um... where are you taking me?”

He, of course, doesn’t tell me. No, he shushes me. 

“I will not be quiet while you drag me down some seedy alley!” I’m beginning to panic a bit, because besides spending way too much time alone, I like to watch Law and Order, and this is turning into the beginning of a familiar episode. 

“Is this because I said I won’t have sex with you tonight?” Before he can respond, I blurt, “Because I probably will at some point, I’m just kind of nervous-”

“I’m not going to murder you, Feyre darling.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

Pouting like a sullen child, I shut my mouth and accept my fate. He tugs me further down the black alley, and eventually I can’t even see. Can he? Is he some sort of vampire? Am I really asking myself that?

The glow of his phone illuminates the dark for a second, and I catch the time 11:59. “One more minute.”

“Until...?”

He’s silent for thirty-eight seconds, then he says, “Until this.”

Suddenly, the space above us lights up, colors shooting all around us in a kaleidoscope of reds and blues and greens. 

Gasping, I look up to see the air above us full of glass lanterns, the surfaces painted with swirling black paint. The alley is covered wall to wall, and the end result gives the walls around us beautiful designs and dimension.

I laugh in surprise, twirling around to take in the entire place. “What is this?”

“We’re in the artist’s quadrant of the city. I don’t know why, but they do this every night, exactly at midnight.”

I spin around in a circle, arms out, smiling from ear to ear. He watches with a grin, leaning against one of the walls casually. I walk down the alley, eyes up, taking in everything. 

It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. 

The lanterns are each unique, like they were done by different people. Some are solid colors, others are mixtures. 

I look back over at Rhysand, beams of red and blue and pink bouncing off his face, a smile playing at his full lips. It’s obvious he took me here because he knew I’d love it, and it makes me feel insanely special. 

Still giddy with happiness, I bound over to him, put my hands on either side of his face, and press my lips to his. 

For a second, we probably look like idiots, just standing there pressing our smiles together. 

Then, like we’re in synch, the smiles fall away and we start to actually kiss. 

His hands slip inside the jacket, linking at the small of my back and pulling me closer to him. He’s still leaning against the wall, back against the brick, and I put my hands on his chest, fingers digging into the corded muscle I find there. 

Rhysand pulls back for a minute, traces his fingers over my face lightly. He looks so surprised and confused, I’m tempted to ask what’s wrong. But then his mouth is back on mine, moving more fervently, and I forget all about it. 

His hands cup my jaw, tilting my face to where he wants it, then slide in my hair. 

He tastes like honey and citrus, and I slide my tongue in his mouth, desperate for more. I moan at the taste of him, and he suddenly moves, like the sound unleashed something in him. 

One hand grabs the back of my thigh, the other wrapping around my waist, and then I’m the one against the wall. The brick digs into my shoulder blades, but I hardly even notice, because he wraps my leg around his hips and presses us together. 

His mouth is sliding down my jaw, sucking on the spot between my neck and shoulder softly. I make a low sound, slip my hands in his hair, and prepare to eat him alive. 

And then the world goes dark. 

The lanterns above us turn off, casting us in darkness, but we don’t stop for a few minutes. When we’re both breathless, he pulls away with a low chuckle and releases my leg. 

I slide down him slowly, leaning against the wall for support. 

What the hell was that? 

Did I really just make out with a complete stranger in an alley? 

The answer to that question--and the one of if I’d do it again--is hell yes.  

He runs a hand over his lips, almost in disbelief, then takes a healthy step back and holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

I take another look at the disheveled hair, swollen lips, rumpled shirt. And I know without a doubt that if he were on my doorstep, looking at me with those bedroom eyes, I’d pull him inside without a thought. 

“I think I should take a cab.”

Rhysand smiles, knowing exactly why. “I’m flattered.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, pushing him away and starting back toward the busier street. 

Even though the street’s deserted, he manages to hail a cab easily, the bright yellow car slowing to a stop next to us. I open the back door, kiss his cheek, and slip inside. “Thank you for dinner. Even though you cheated.”

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind me. “I’ll call you.”

I nod, feeling a little ridiculous for how happy that statement makes me. Tonight was... like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It was just dinner, I remind myself, but it doesn’t do any good. 

It feels like the beginning of something. 

The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror and laughs. “That good, huh?”

I don’t even respond because yeah. That good. 

I’m halfway home before I realize I never even gave him my number. And I honestly wonder if I’ll ever see Rhysand Azara again. 

_________________________________________________

Part 2

@elorcan-trash @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2​ @claralady​ @tswaney17​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @thegoddessofyou​ @jlinez​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @bamchickawowow​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​

#feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #rhysand

[celestialhighlady]

Title:Rhysand as your (non-bio) older brother

Requested: No

Type of post: Headcanons

Content warning/ trigger warning: some swearing, mentions of blood and fighting, mentions of a pub

Word count: 1289 Words

Author’s note: Is this me projecting my wants and needs on a fictional character? Yes. Do I care or am I ashamed of it? Absolutely not. Also I’m working on a request for Az but It’s killing me so please bare with me and thanks

⭑⭑⭑

At first you hated his guts, like ‘One more word and I’ll make you see the mother’ type of hate

Honestly, you couldn’t see why people liked him

Sure. he’s the Highlord and he’s crazy powerful, yada yada. but there is nothing more to it

For you, he was nothing more than an annoying prick

He would go out of his way to annoy and to tease you

‘Who pissed into your tea’

‘What?’

‘You’re making such a sour face. Oh wait, that’s your natural face- My bad’

Overall, you can’t stand 2 seconds in the same room with him

That until you go out with the IC on a visit to the summer court and you hear someone bad-mouthing you

It really wasn’t anything new, people are meant to be assholes so you didn’t care what some random stranger had to say about you, especially someone you’d probably never see again

Still, it did sting a bit

Rhysand seemed to notice it, and before you could do anything about it, he found the person responsible

‘Hey, you’

‘M-me?’

‘Yes, you. What did you just say about them?’

‘N-nothing, high lord’

‘It better be like that, because I do not appreciate my people being talked down upon. This time I’m letting you go out of respect for Tarquin. Next time won’t end that pretty.’

Suffice to say, you found the fact that he stood up for you strangely endearing

That doesn’t mean you didn’t smack the back of his head as soon as you could, because dud, that was embarrassing

From that day onward, you noticed that your relationship has gotten slightly better

Rhysand would still act like a prick, tease you and be mean, but you noticed that it was never too far

He knew when to stop and you appreciated that immensely

Overall, he wasn’t as bad as you thought and you’ve grown fond of him (not that you would ever say that out loud)

He was like the annoying older brother you’ve never had

He would constantly pull the ‘I’m older so you have to listen to me’ card when you refuse to do stuff

Also he plays the High lord card

‘High Lord my ass’ you’d mutter while still doing the thing he asked you to do

On that note, he often says ‘When I was your age…’ so you just counter with ‘When I was as dumb as you’

You have extremely weird nicknames for each other and with each day the collection grows

You guys fight over the stupidest shit in existence

One time you fought about the color of the carpet

‘Who the hell thought that this color looks good’

‘Me?’

‘Damn, you’re stupid AND you have bad taste in interior? I feel bad for Feyre’

‘Says the one who doesn’t own a single pair of matching socks’

‘Tf gotta my socks have to do with that’?’

At some point you guys started playing g´fight for entertainment and then it erupted into a sparring match on top of the House of wind

It always ends up with either you or Rhy on the floor with a bloody nose because ‘ You’re already ugly so a broken nose might actually make you pretty’

Mockingly repeating what you say to each other because you can’t stay serious

At day you always fight, but at night you guys are always at ease

Like, you guys lounge in the living room, drinking anything and having deep convos

One time, Mor wanted to get water from the kitchen and she saw the light in the living room on

When she saw you guys sitting across each other, talking in a hushed voice without fighting, she almost screamed

It was such an unnatural sight that she went straight back to bed

The next day she was convinced it was a dream because you were back to going at each other's throats

He randomly will knock at your door at 3 am and ask you if you wanna go to Rita’s

‘Bitch, bet. But you’re paying.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you want me to with you’

On your birthday, he would get you some weird knick knacks and pretend it’s your gift but then he would give you your actual gift

He often acts like he can’t stand you, but if someone else insults you-

Oh boy, someone save us from the havoc

Both of you bond over food

He can cook while you’re more of a baker

So naturally, you have food competitions at 5 am in the kitchen

It’s a mix between you guy whisper-yelling at each other, laughing and trying not to wake up everyone else, and crying while cutting onions

The next day, everyone is wondering why the kitchen smells like the food and everyone is confused you just pretend to not know where the smell is coming from

I also should mention that you get along with Cas and Az

Cas is just extremely ecstatic that there is someone else around with whom he can annoy Rhys

Az is just kinda amused because you get in Rhys nerves so well

You often team up with them for new prank ideas

Az is extremely good with coming up with weird shit to prank Rhys with

Cas is always just laughing his ass off and adding more bizarre shit to the mix

You and Feyre also get along pretty well

I mean, she’s the epitome of perfection??

You often joke with her and Rhys sometimes gets annoyed because you give her exclusive black mailing material

‘Soo, a little birdie told me you slipped up on floor once’

‘You mean a little devil told you?’

And once Nyx is born you make it your mission to tell him stories about his dad

Like, you took notes just for this moment because you want Nyx to know every single embarrassing thing

On a different note, you adore Nyx

Usually, you don’t care much about children but he’s literally an angel and you love him so much

It’s quite concerning actually-

‘ I swear to the mother Rhysand,how did you, of all people, end up with such an angel as a child?’

Rhys just sulks while everyone laughs at him (‘they’re kinda right tho? I mean he probably has it from Feyre but still’)

Rhys gives good advice and is emotionally aware, I will die on this hill

He always fights with you but knows when you’re feeling down, so he will gladly listen to you and offer you some great advice

It really doesn't matter on what, this man is like a guide book to life

Sometimes you’ll feel like an idiot after opening up because the problem that is bothering you isn’t really that significant but he will slap you and tell, you that it is significant because it’s bothering you

After some silence you’ll just giggle and tell him it’s weird that he had good advice.

‘You kinda fucked up a lot, why didn’t you use that advice for yourself?’

Cue the pillow being thrown at your head

Overall, having Rhys is an older brother is quite the experience

He’s annoying at times, yes and you guys fight a lot, but you know he has your back and so do you

#rhysand #rhys #night court #high lord #velaris #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosaf #acosf #azriel #cassian #feyre cursebreaker #headcanons #rhys headcanons #y/n #amren #nesta #gwyn #nyx #feysand #feyre x rhysand

[rhysismydaddy]

Inmate Intimacy pt.1 (Nessian)

“Nesta. New patient.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, but nodded at her assistant. “You mean ‘inmate in need of healthcare,’ but okay. Send him in.”

The heard the usual shuffle of chains a moment later, and then a heavy body settled down on the exam bed.

“Suddenly, I’m not so upset about getting locked up. I had no idea I’d have such a good view,” inmate #9356 said in a cocky voice that somehow rolled over her like honey. Nesta rolled her eyes again. After two years working in the Pyrantian Correctional Facility--an all male prison--she was beyond used to getting hit on.

She was entirely unprepared, however, for what she saw when she turned around. 

A very large, very handsome man sat on the bed, golden eyes boring into hers.  He had long, curly hair pulled back in a bun and a delicious amount of stubble on his square jaw. Two complete sleeves of tattoos covered his arms, and she could see they ran across his chest and shoulders through the thin cotton of his shirt.

He was without a doubt the most handsome man she’d ever seen. 

He’s a criminal.

“I’m sure your high opinion will change after a few weeks. Your chart says you’re in for Type 1 Diabetes?”

“Yep. So just go ahead and give me that insulin pack and I’ll be out of your hair.” He held out his hand, and her breath hitched a little at the bicep the gesture exposed. Her eyes also noticed the tattoos extended all the way to his fingertips, which would be strange on anyone else but somehow managed to look sexy on him.

How annoying. 

“Yes. Smart plan. I’ll give insulin, something people could sell on the black market here, to a convict. And a needle, so he could stab other inmates.” She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes yet again. “You’ll come in once a day for your shot.”

“Then I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” He didn’t sound upset about it in the slighest.

Nesta narrowed her eyes, motioning for him to hold out his arm. She grabbed the shot and wrote down the dose.

He extended his arm. “If you ever want to see any more of me, just let me know, baby.”

She jabbed the needle into his arm a little aggressively as he watched her with amusement. 

“You didn’t even flinch.” She’d have to stab him harder next time. 

His smirk grew into a grin. “In case you didn’t notice, I have a few tattoos. I’m not exactly afraid of needles.”

“Yes, Cassian. I’m quite aware.” She put a cotton swab on his arm.

Said grin grew into a very wide, very happy smile that showcased almost all of his perfect teeth. “Oh, you know my name? Been reading up on me, baby?”

Nesta leveled a glance at him. “It’s in your chart, and I happen to possess the ability to read.”

“Wow, a smartass with a great ass.” The inmate didn’t stop smiling. “I love that in a woman.”

Reminding herself that she was a medical professional was the only reason she was able to fight the urge to stab the needle through his eye. Once she’d repeated her Hippocratic Oath about ten times, the blood finally stopped rushing through her head.

It was about time to put him in his place. 

She leaned close to him, firmly ignoring how he smelled like fucking heaven, and smiled. In a soft, completely inappropriate voice, she said, “You’re funny.”

Still stuck on the topic of her behind, he told her seriously, “Wasn’t joking. I can tell even through she scrubs.”

“Oh, no. I know I have a great ass. I meant about you thinking you have a chance. Really? Flirting while you’re incarcerated?” She pushed away and flipped through his folder. “And for assaulting an officer no less.”

He opened his mouth, probably to tell her it was all a misunderstanding or something, but she just shook her head. She’d heard it way too many times. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cassian.”

A guard came in to escort him out, and she had to smile. Men in here really thought it was alluring that they were locked up. 

They should know she was a little old to date a man with a bedtime. 

~Cassian~

Cassian was walking in the yard an hour after meeting the Nurse, thinking of the little smile on her face as she’d insulted him.

Damn. If he wasn’t locked up and eating gruel for the next two years, he’d be all over that. Literally. 

He grinned to himself, not paying attention where he was walking, and slammed his shoulder into someone.

“Watch it,” she stranger snapped. An ugly, vertically challenged man stood before him, looking like a pissed off bull with a stick up his ass. 

“Maybe I didn’t see you because you’re so short.” A low blow, but he wasn’t about to be someone’s bitch on his first day. “Watch where you’re going, prick.”

Bull-man squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes up at Cassian, two of his goon friends coming to stand behind him.

“Apologize,” the bigger one said, obviously the enforcer.

A crowd started to circle around them. Cassian gritted his teeth. If he did what the asshole wanted, it’d set a dangerous precedent for him.

“Fuck no,” he growled, squaring his shoulders and staring them down. He had height and weight on all of them, but the odds still weren’t favorable. Unless he surprised them.

With that in mind, Cassian didn’t regret it one bit as he swung his fist towards bull-man’s face, hitting him right across the temple and knocking him out cold.

His goons didn’t hesitate, but Cassian was faster. He kicked the big guy’s knee out before tackling the other idiot and starting to pummel him.

After landing a few hits, the other goon pulled him off. He got a lucky shot through Cassian’s guard, but a well-placed blow had him on his back.

The crowd that had gathered backed away from Cassian slowly, a few mutters going through the ranks.

That ought to keep people off my back.

~Nesta~

Nesta shook her head as her new patient walked in the next day, muttering, “I should’ve known you had something to do with the three guys that came in yesterday. One of them has a broken knee, you know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, gorgeous,” he said, although the smirk on his face said something completely different.

Nesta bit her tongue and motioned for him to hold out his arm.

“I figured you’d be use to violence after working in this joint.”

She leveled a look at him. “Oh, yeah. Violent criminals just do it for me.”

“Listen. The police officer thing is just a misunderstanding. I’m not a bad guy.” He pouted and gave her sad eyes.

“Mmhm, of course. Tilt your head back and let me look at your eye.” It seemed one of the three men had tagged him pretty good. 

He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. You probably hit harder than that asshole.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Tilt your head back and you won’t find out.”

“And you say I’m violent,” he muttered, tilting his head back like a good little puppy. 

She stepped closer and placed a gloved finger on his bruised eye socket. He looked up at her with those dammed golden eyes, somehow forcing her to meet his stare. She couldn’t help it. Who the hell has golden eyes?

He leaned closer, lips parting softly.

“You know, it’d probably feel better if you kissed it.”

She flicked the bruise, and he hissed.

“You were right,” she said sweetly. “You’re completely fine.”

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he laughed.

At that, Nesta let out a chuckle. “I’m also one of only two woman on base.”

“Well, I’m sure all three of us could have a very good time,” he murmured, sliding off the exam bed to stand in front of her.

“You’re a confident man.”

“Do I have a reason not to be?” 

Cassian ran his eyes over her, and for the first time in her adult life, she didn’t want him to stop. 

What was going on? Had he gotten closer? Why couldn’t she breathe?

Remembering his question, she reached toward him slowly, and he grinned. Until she jangled the chain holding his wrists together.

“It appears you do.”

“And what if I weren’t in here?” He waved his hand around at their surroundings.

“Then I might let you buy me a drink. Or maybe hire you as a bodyguard.”

He laughed. “Baby girl, I’d never let anything happen to you. You wouldn’t even have to pay me.”

That made her grossly happy, so she just winked and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, inmate.”

~Cassian~

Two weeks later, he still hadn’t made any ground with the nurse. Except in his dreams, which woke him up every freaking night. Hell, he didn’t even know her name.

Every day, he joked and flirted and found new ways to make her blush. But yet, she still laughed him off when he talked about taking her out.

He knew he wouldn’t be locked up for long. His best friend and personal lawyer, Rhysand, was working on getting him out. But Tamlin, the asshole cop Cassian had punched, was doing his best to stop it from happening.

He’d hated them for years, ever since Rhys had “taken” his girlfriend from him.

He’d told him he’d be in for a max of two months before he him got out, but Cassian was getting annoyed.

All he wanted to do was take that nurse out on a date she wouldn’t forget and show her a good time. In more ways than one.

Celibacy was about a thousand times more difficult when you had a woman like that in front of you, looking up at you with bright blue eyes, smiling with those perfect lips he’d love to see wrapped around his-

He was knocked out of his thoughts by shouting in the main cell block. He recognized the sounds as a riot, something that happened a little too frequently here. He’d already gotten used to the noise.

He was settling onto his bed, preparing to go back to his daily daydream when he heard something that was not at all familiar. Cassian’s feet were on the floor before he could even form a thought.

He sprinted towards the sound of feminine yelling, shoving people aside as he ran through the block.

When he caught a glimpse of her golden hair, he raced over and started throwing punches without a thought.

He heard her yelling at him, but all he could see was her thin frame pressed against the wall, holding a syringe like a knife.

And the four assholes that had surrounded her.

One by one, they hit the floor, and then he finally let himself look up at the nurse.

~Nesta~

Nesta felt herself coming a little bit unraveled as she watched Cassian pound another inmates face in.

When he decided to stop using his human punching bag, he drug the limp men out of the cell, pulled the bars closed, and turned to her.

“I told you I’d protect you.” He was panting, but he still smiled. “Are you okay?”

The wild look in his eyes, bloody knuckles, and mused hair was making it hard for her to concentrate. 

She stared at him, well aware her mouth was hanging open. 

“Baby? You okay?” He strode towards her, powerful body eating up the ground. He was completely focused on her, ignoring the raging riot less than twenty feet away. 

Nesta ignored it too as she gave into the adrenaline, threw herself at Cassian, and slammed her lips into his like she’d been dying to do for two weeks.

If he was surprised, he hid it well. His lips were smiling against hers, but when she slid her hands in his hair and pulled, the smile fell away and he actually started kissing her back. 

Kissing her? No. More like devouring her.

His mouth was insistent and soft and firm and yet gentle and-

Strong arms wrapped around her, then she was being backed her up against the wall. 

Nesta ignored the fact that it was cinder block. 

His tongue swept into her mouth as her legs found their way around his waist, and she moaned softly as his body aligned with hers. 

It had only been a few moments of this, but she was on fire, practically squirming with need.

Cassian’s hands drifted up the back of her shirt, callouses scraping her skin, and he pressed his hips into hers in a way that made her back arch, chest tight against his. 

He ripped his lips away from hers long enough to mutter, “Holy fuck,” then kissed his way down her throat. 

“Cassian,” she breathed, voice sounding raspy to her own ears, “I need-”

“I know, baby,” he interrupted, a hand moving down her pants to palm her ass. 

He was halfway done working them down when an alarm sounded, loud and insistent, interrupting them and bringing Nesta back to reality. 

And what a harsh reality it was.

Oh my God. Oh, no no no no.

Her feet found the ground as the bars next to them slid open again. Cassian’s arms were still around her, hands pressed into the wall above her head.  

“I’m so sorry,” she said, refusing to meet his stare as she straightened her scrubs. 

He brushed her hair off her forehead and shook his head. “For what?”

“That was completely unprofessional, and stupid, and a terrible mistake, and... bye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She didn’t give him enough time to respond before she ducked under his arm and ran--yes, ran--away from the cell block back to her office. 

What the hell had she done?

______________________________________________________________

Part 2 | Part 3

@sjm-things @cursebreaker29 @justgiu12 @maastrash @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life

#nessian fanfiction #nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acowar #acomaf #acofas #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

[rhysismydaddy]

Can u do Nessian: “i bet my friends twenty bucks that i could get ur number if u give it to me ill split it with u”

Cassian Azara sat at the bar, watched the love of his life shoot down yet another potential date for the evening, and sighed like a little bitch, hoping no one heard how pathetic he was.

Unfortunately, his best friend heard the sound and started laughing. “Just go talk to her.”

“Rhys,” he said, trying to make him understand yet again. “I’ve watched her reject twelve guys tonight. That’s enough for a full game of basketball, bro.”

“So you’re just going to sit here and stare at her like a stalker, then?”

He shrugged, not even insulted considering it was true. “That’s the plan.”

Rhysand sighed, sipping his beer in fake defeat. “You’re probably right, anyway. She’d reject your ugly ass.”

Azriel, the third in their little trio, sighed and took the shot of vodka in front of him. Considering he was the quiet, calm one of the bunch, he was probably beyond fed up with their bullshit. 

“You know what, you talk a lot of shit for someone who just got dumped,” Cass pointed out, rubbing his nose in it just a little bit more. 

“Feyre didn’t dump me.” Rhysand smiled a coy smile. “She’s just taking a few days to realize how much she misses me.”

Cassian snorted, eyes going back to the woman at the other end of the bar, who looked so damn beautiful it should be illegal. 

Her dark blue shirt complimented her skin tone and sandy blonde hair, both stark against the bright blue of her eyes. 

“This is just sad. How about this; I’ll give you thirty bucks if you go get her number.”

Azriel took another shot.

Cassian considered the proposal. 

“Fifty.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “So scared of rejection?”

Not usually, but this woman was in a class of her own. Cassian just shrugged. 

“Fine. Fifty bucks if you get her number.”

He grinned, and turned to walk over with renewed confidence when Azriel murmured, “A hundred if you kiss her.”

Both Rhys and Cassian looked at him in shock. 

“What?” he asked, sounding cold and amused as usual. “You get boring when you don’t have some chick bossing you around all the time.”

I hang out with such assholes. 

Cassian kept that to himself and just nodded, making his way towards his future wife. The knowledge his friends were watching, as well as being a cocky bastard, made him smile as he approached her.

His confidence, as well as any sort of pickup line, flew out of his head as soon as her eyes met his. 

Shit, what was it about this woman? He’d met--and done a lot more with--a ton of beautiful women. 

But somehow, her crystal clear blue gaze seemed to paralyze him while also make his heart start thumping like crazy. Just one look, and she’d practically shot him down already. 

“Hi,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to her and channeling his usual, non-pussy self. 

“So, you finally decided to come over.” she observed, voice like honey instantly warming his entire body. “Or are you just planning on staring from a closer vantage point?”

Damn if he didn’t like a sarcastic woman. 

“Well, I’ve been staring at you, but I figured I’d give you the chance to return the favor.” 

A bit of humor graced her features, but she replied smoothly, “I’m good, thanks.”

Fuck.

He’d lasted twenty seconds. 

New strategy. 

“In all honesty, my friends were giving me a hard time for being such a little bitch and not coming to talk to you,” he confided, leaning in and smiling. “They told me they’d cough up fifty bucks if I got your number.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“And I’ll give you have of it.”

She shook her head, but a smile was on those full lips he couldn’t keep his eyes off. “Men are so ridiculous.”

“I blame beautiful, scary women.”

She smiled for real this time, and he couldn’t think of a single other time he’d been this effected by a woman. If he’d thought she’d been beautiful with a scowl on her face, it was nothing compared to that smile. 

“Fine. Give me a napkin.”

Holy hell, that worked? 

Cassian slid over a napkin, flipping Rhys and Azriel off behind his back as she wrote her number down in neat, concise penmanship. “You know, you should probably write your name down, too.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Makes the story more believable, of course.”

“Mmhm, of course.” She rolled her eyes, but wrote Nesta. 

“Nesta, huh? Pretty name for a pretty lady. I’m Cassian.” He extended a hand, and she shook it firmly. 

“Well, Cassian, this was fun. Tell your friends to pay up.” 

He gave her a dramatic, sloppy frown, not wanting their interaction to be over so soon. “But I haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

Nesta sighed, making his lips pull up a little. “What’s the best part?”

“They said they’ll give me fifty more if I kiss you.” He couldn’t hardly breathe as she took in that information. Her head tilted to the side, and she looked him up and down in a smooth, calculated way that made him want to run for the hills.

“Fifty bucks for a kiss? Feels like prostitution to me.” 

A laugh escaped him at that. But in the back of his mind, he noticed she hadn’t told him to fuck off. Progress.

He edged a little closer, smiling down at her. “What if I give you the whole hundred?”

“You’re really desperate for a kiss,” she said, but she’d tilted her head back to hold his gaze, lips parted softly.

You have no idea. 

Cassian smiled, reaching down to pull her stool closer. “Do we have a deal, Nesta?”

He was either bat-shit crazy, or there was a little flare in her eyes as he brought his face within an inch of hers. Nesta looked over his face, and something about it made him feel like he was completely naked. She bit her lip as she studied him, and his concentration narrowed to that spot. 

Then she shocked the hell out of him, murmuring, “Deal.”

A smile forced its way onto his face, and he mentally thanked Azriel for being bored tonight and pushing him to do this.

Bringing one hand around her waist, the other supporting the back of her head, Cassian dipped her backwards off the stool, smiling at the look of shock on her perfect face. 

Then he kissed her.

And after the initial surprise faded, she kissed him back.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, fingers digging into his muscles, and her lips were soft against his, her body perfect in his hands. He knew it was probably all a game, but it was still the best kiss he’d ever had.

Nesta’s lips opened, and he didn’t hesitate before before sweeping his tongue into her mouth. She moaned softly, and he took the kiss deeper, unable to help it. 

When it was beyond clear everyone in the bar was staring at them, he pulled her back up and released her mouth.

They stared at each other, both panting. 

He started to release her, but her hands found their way into his hair, keeping him where he was. “I don’t think your friends were watching.”

“I don’t think they were,” he agreed, leaning in to kiss her again. This time she took more control, sucking on his bottom lip in a way that made him shiver. 

Cassian gently bit her bottom lip, then ran his tongue over it, and she made a soft sound that he knew would be replaying in his head for the rest of the night. 

Before he could act on the now-overwhelming urge to throw her up on the counter and kiss her where he really wanted to, he pulled back, cupping her face.

Her hair was ruffled, lips swollen and pink, and there was electricity in her eyes as they met his. “You look thoroughly kissed, Nesta.”

“I don’t know about thoroughly, but I was definitely kissed.” She was breathing heavy, leaning on him, and her arms were still around his shoulders, so he considered it a big fat win. 

“I’ll go get your money, then,” he said, making absolutely no move to leave.

“Well.” She ran a hand through her hair. “You could always just use it to take me on a real date.”

Cassian smiled, pressing another kiss to her cheek and not believing his luck. “Let’s go then.”

______________________________________________________________

Thank you for the ask!!