#so is mr archeron | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stranger-fanfiction-n-things · 2 months

Text

DATE NIGHT

written December 14, 2023

a/n: I've read the first ACOTAR book in the series and a bit of the second book in the series. I immediately gravitated towards Azriel and of course wrote a blurb? one shot? About him and an oc. Her name is Ori, short for Aurora and she is the bastard child of Mr. Archeron. I picture her resembling Carmen Solomons the South African model. This thing in my head was inspired by the tiktoker ShannBailee. There's a video of her husband washing her hair and it was so sweet and beautiful to watch that I had to write something involving Azriel. I'm rambling. Enjoy.

Word Count: 3043

When Ori and Azriel decide to stay inside for date night, the Shadowsinger proposes a question that catches his mate off guard.

“Can I wash your hair?”

I stop detangling my hair turning to look at Azriel. He gazes down at me, honey brown eyes burning bright under faelight. I swallow, blinking slowly and open my mouth to answer, but the words die on my tongue. Azriel was well aware of my hair washing routine and often left me alone, not wanting to intrude on the vigorous and lengthy regimen I curated. Sometimes he would stay with me if we were deep in conversation, watching me detangle and coat my hair with various conditioners and hair masks. But wash my hair? The question caught me off guard.

His mouth twitches, a faint smile appearing on his face. I realize I'm gawking at him and close my mouth, shaking my head. A flush creeps up my face and I turn back to the mirror playing with my ends. A trickle of cool air whispered against my skin. Black shadows grazes my shoulders in attempts to get my attention. I glance at Azriel through the mirror where he lounged on the bed, leaning back on his hands, legs spread. He blinks at me, tilting his head to the side waiting patiently for my answer.

“You want to?” I breathe.

Azriel gave a nod, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling in between his legs.

“Are you sure?”

Azriel chuckles quietly. “Yes. I’m sure.”

I stare at him for a long moment before nodding my head. “Okay.” I note the way his eyes gleam with mirth, but don't comment. “I’m almost done detangling my hair. I’ll set up the bath when I’m done.”

Azriel rose from the bed, walking to the vanity. He places his cold hands on my shoulders and bent down kissing the exposed skin. “You sit and finish with your hair. I’ll set up.”

“Wait,” I say, holding his hand before he left. “You don’t know what products I use. I can show you—”

“I’ve seen you wash your hair several times.”

“But—”

Azriel brings my hand to his lips, kissing my skin. “I can figure it out, Ori.”

I watch him walk to the bath and after a few moments the sound of running water fills the room. I turn to the mirror returning to the section I was at and scoop a considerable amount of product into my hands, rubbing them together. I start from my scalp and run my hands down to my ends then comb my fingers through my curls making sure I remove all the knots. I crane my neck using my enhanced hearing to listen to what Azriel was doing in the bath, but his damn shadows. I can’t hear anything.

“I can feel you staring.” Amusement laces his tone. I can feel it through our bond. I fix my posture responding to the bond feeling bashful. Azriel chuckles quietly and I smile fondly focusing on detangling my hair.

The aroma of apples and water lily filled the air when I ease the door open. I peer around the door and find Azriel sitting on a stool hunched over with his hand in the water testing out the temperature. Bottles and jars of my hair products line the stone ledge of the bath along with a wide-tooth comb. I linger by the doorframe in awe of the set up. From my favourite candle lit on the other side of the bath, the light blue ceramic pitcher, to the goblet of red wine—when did he get wine, I thought in disbelief.

“I told you I’d figure it out.” Azriel spoke.

“How did you—” I struggle to find the words. Azriel smiles, big enough for his dimples to make an appearance, one very few got to see.

He rose to his feet strolling toward me. I take a step back to look up at him, his large stature overwhelming my pixie-like height. Azriel takes my hand in his leading me toward the bath. He stops right in front of the pool of water and I admire the pungent fumes of apples and water lily.

“Wow,” I gasp, gazing up at Azriel. “This is just—wow.”

“The water is at the temperature you like.”

I gaze up at Azriel lost for words at his attention to detail and begin to unwrap my silk robe. Azriel helps me out of the garment and assists me into the tub. I instantly sigh the moment my body descends into the water. It was the perfect temperature. Azriel sits on the stool beside the bath, thick, long legs spread open to accommodate his large size.

I turn my body to the side, placing my forearms on the ledge of the bath gazing warmly at him.

My stomach feels like it's full of butterflies fluttering around. I've always known Azriel was observant but this was…everything. Azriel picks up the light blue ceramic pitcher dipping it in the water, lifting it out when it was full. I wait for him to pour the water but he pauses for a moment leaning forward, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. My heart hums at the loving gesture. To the outside world, Azriel was distant and cold, observing the world from the outside looking in. But when it was only the two of us, he was gentle and loving; affectionate and doting.

I face forward, sitting upright in the warm bath with my arms wrapped around my shins, gazing at the rippling water. Warm water trickles down my head splashing back in the bath. I feel my long cinnamon red curls flatten along my back as Azriel fills the pitcher again, pouring water on my head in efforts to rinse out all the product in my hair. He repeats the motion again and again, running his scarred fingers through my hair, kneading my scalp to get the leftover product. I watch him in silence as he worked, my mind buzzing like a bee.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

I watch Azriel pick up a bottle of cleansing shampoo, pouring the smooth paste into the palm of his hand. He rubs his hands together until bubbles form. I turn around to face him, holding the ledge and he combs his fingers through my hair kneading my scalp.

“Nothing. It’s just…” I sigh as he began to scratch all around my head. My eyes nearly roll back to my skull at the pleasurable feeling. I am quiet for a couple of minutes revelling in pampering. Azriel stops to add more shampoo. “Why do you want to wash my hair? We could’ve done anything else for date night.”

Azriel lathers the soap onto the back of my head. A slight frown puckers between his brows in concentration. I bite back a smile, admiring his features. The elegant slope of his straight nose and refined tip, his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw. The way he bites his lower lip when he is lost in thought or a task. Light freckles dusted over his nose, giving him a boyish, youthful look, I always adored.

“I don’t know…” he mumbles, lifting a shoulder. “I just wanted to do it.”

Azriel was a man of few words and it was an issue in our relationship we constantly worked on. I found it difficult to open up to people, even my sister Feyre sometimes when things became too much. But with Azriel it was much more than not talking about things. He kept it all bottled inside and I want him to feel safe enough to let whatever was going on in his head, out. It took us both a while to get comfortable enough to communicate our feelings. It didn’t mean we didn’t struggle with it daily.

I stare up at him with round eyes. Azriel fills the pitcher with water pouring it over my head to rinse out the shampoo. He blinks at my silence peering down at me and I lean forward resting my chin on my arms, waiting for the rest of his answer. He gazes at me, golden brown eyes trailing over my face and hair. I lift my head feeling uncertain about what he was looking at and thinking about. Reassurance pulled on my heart, rippling through the bond.

“How do you use this all the time?” he asks, referring to the pitcher.

“I usually dunk my head in the water to rinse my hair. Using the pitcher all the time would take way too long.”

Azriel chuckles quietly setting the pitcher back on the ledge. I giggle turning to the front and ease down to my elbows, tilting my head back submerging my long hair in the water. Balancing on my right elbow, I used my left hand to knead the remaining shampoo in my scalp out. A flush crept up my chest and the back of my neck feeling Azriel’s intense stare on my body. The water, though sudsy, barely covered my nakedness. I arch my back more and my chest hovers out of the water, the cool chill prickling my nipples to hard peaks.

I swish my head from side to side before sitting up, feeling the warm water trickle down my back. Azriel’s eyes flickers up to my face at the last second. His eyes darkening and I can feel his desire reverberating through the bond.

“What?” I ask softly, feigning innocence.

Azriel licks his lower lip. “Turn around.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice the gold goblet of wine. “Wait,” I said reaching for the glass. “I can’t forget about this.”

I sit on my backside holding the stem of the glass between my fingers. I take a sip of the cool red wine humming in content at the acidic and sweet tangy taste bursting in my mouth. Azriel scoops up my long hair, wringing out the excess water before letting it hang over the edge of the bath. He opened up a jar of my conditioner scooping out what I hoped wasn’t a considerable amount based on the size of his hands and runs his fingers through my hair.

I sink deeper into the bath letting the water reach just above my chest as he repeats the motion, evenly distributing the product so that no strand is left untouched. Azriel rearranges himself on the stool grabbing the wide tooth comb on the ledge and sections my hair into four. I feel him hold the first section in his hands and the scraping of the comb against my ends. He combs my hair from the ends to my scalp, untangling any knots I may have missed when detangling my hair prior.

We fall into our usual comfortable silence. Azriel taking his time to comb through each section of my hair and I sipping leisurely on the glass of wine. I never gave much thought on how intimate the act of washing someone’s hair was. The gentle attention and appreciation for your mate. The trust and vulnerability.

My stubbornness gets the best of me. I'm still not satisfied with Azriel’s answer.

My mate kisses my temple breathing deeply and I lean into his touch before turning back around to face him. Azriel takes the goblet of wine out of my hand setting it down on the ledge and inclines forward nuzzling his nose against mine. I gaze up at him waiting for his next move. Azriel closes the distance between us, pressing his full soft lips against my own. My eyes flutter close, smiling into the kiss knowing he couldn’t go five minutes without touching me in some way. He pulls away not before kissing me again, this one quicker than the last. His hand lay on my knees rubbing small circles on my skin while the other grabbed the pitcher again, filling it up to pour water on my head.

I play with his fingers, softly trailing my fingers against the intricate designs of his marred skin. It took some time to be able to touch his hands without feeling sadness through ripple through our bond. It was still an adjustment but slowly and surely, he was learning to like the scars.

“Az,” I spoke.

“Mm?”

“Why did you really want to wash my hair?”

Azriel pours the water on my head again and shrugs. I almost zap him with my powers. Sensing my impatience, a faint smile ghosts his lips. I open my mouth to protest but he speaks.

“I watch you do your hair all the time,” he begins filling the pitcher with water. “And I love how much time and effort you put into your routine.” I kiss his palm coaxing him to continue. “I’ll admit though, sometimes when you talk about your hair products and a new regimen you came up with, I’m looking at you, nodding my head as if I understand what you’re talking about but honestly, I don’t. I’m not listening.” He laughs when I squeeze his hand at the confession. Azriel pause and looks at me. “It’s not because I don’t want to,” he explained. “It’s because I can’t stop admiring you. Your hair is your expression, creativity, your freedom and I want to completely immerse myself in that part of you.”

Azriel returned to his task as if he said something so casual it didn’t require much thought. I shake my head.

“Gods, you’re so frustrating.”

Azriel stopps mid-pour. My response catching him off guard.

“Why?” He frowned.

I scoff. “Because how could you be any more perfect.”

Azriel rolls his eyes and continues to pour, shaking his head. “I’m not perfect,” he said flatly.

I hold his other wrist, halting his movements and bring his arm down. I gaze in his beautiful hazel eyes. “You are to me,” I say strongly. “You’re perfect and thoughtful and loving and—” Azriel cuts me off with his lips on mine.

I giggle leaning away from him, smiling when he purrs, chasing my lips. I indulge him closing the distance. The kiss deepens, Azriel licking into my mouth. My heart stutters at the fierceness of the kiss. Passion and devotion thrums through our bond as Azriel brings his hand up the back of my head, curling his fingers through my wet hair. I lean forward fisting his black shirt in my wet hands, desperate to feel his body against mine. A low groan escapes his lips sensing my desire and Azriel nips my bottom lip pulling away.

“You might take back those words when I’m done with your hair.” He breathed against my lips, amusement in his tone.

I grin. “So far you’re doing well for someone who doesn’t listen when I’m talking about my hair care routine.” Azriel growls playfully and the sound sent vibrations between my legs to my core. He leans back, the tips of our nose touching.

“That’s all you took from what I told you?” He spoke lowly, carefully.

“Yup.” I respond cheerfully, pulling away.

Azriel smiles, kissing my cheek before asking me to dip my head in the water again.

“I think we should think about your hair care regimen.” I muse, rinsing my hair out. It feels so silky and smooth against my fingers. Azriel hums a response, pulling strands of hair out the comb. “Yes, so you can stop using my shampoo.” I arch my brow knowingly at him. His hair has been smelling like pears and roses lately.

He grins, white teeth shiny and straight; dimples indenting his cheeks. It takes my breath away.

“What do you suggest?”

I sit up treading my hands through the soapy water. The tips of my fingers tingles with power surging through them. The soap in the water faded away becoming fresh and clean. I manipulate the temperature of the water making it a little hotter. Steam soon wafts in the air. Leaning back on my elbows again, I purse my lips in thought.

“A hair mask to lock in moisture. Flying dries out your hair,” I say. “Oh, and there’s this conditioner for wavy hair I saw at the market the other day.” Azriel rinses his hands in the water and combs his wet hands through his dark hair. I sit up observing him. “Other than that, I just think you need a haircut.”

“I thought you liked my hair.”

I do like it. I love it actually. He had grown it out, thick waves falling just above his shoulders. I was accustomed to his low taper fade, thick waves falling above his hazel eyes. Long hair somehow made him look older, despite his boyish looks. I love playing with his hair when he snuggles up against my chest or helping him put half his hair in a bun before training. But I miss his short hair.

“I do!” I promise, sitting up on my bottom. “But any longer and you’ll look like Cassian.”

Azriel tips his head back and laughs. I join rising to my knees, reaching up to card my fingers through his hair moving the strands of hair that fell over his face.

“I’m done,” he said, golden eyes trailing down my exposed body, drinking me up. I shiver at his intense stare. He drags his gaze up to my face looking into my eyes and I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him close. Azriel’s arms envelopes around my small figure, not caring I am wet.

“Thank you,” I murmur in his ear.

Azriel pulls away reaching a scarred hand up to caress my cheek. I lean into his touch and his cool finger brush my lips. I take the tip of his thumb into my mouth, biting softly. Azriel’s eyes darkens and desire thrums through the bond. He lowers his lips to mine in another deep kiss. His lips were warm and soft, parting slightly allowing my tongue to slip inside. I press into him feeling his heartbeat against my chest. Azriel sucks on my tongue eliciting a whimper from my lips. He pulls away, breathing deeply against my lips.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #acotar fanfiction #azriel one shot #azriel shadowsinger #poc reader #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic #oriarcheron

53 notes · View notes

slytherhys · 5 months

Text

12 Days of Christmas - ACOTAR Edition

In the spirit of the Holidays, I will be writing & posting short stories about the ACOTAR characters for the next 12 days. Please note that some will be shorter than others and that this is simply meant to be a fun time for everyone that loves these characters as much as I do!

PS. I'm open to requests.

AO3

1st day of Christmas - Christmas Decorating

New Traditions (Modern Elriel AU)

Living with Elain Archeron, Azriel had found, implied a great many things. For starters, there wasn’t a windowsill that wasn’t peppered with colourful vases, the leaves green and luscious all year around. The kitchen, now covered in all kinds of baking supplies he couldn’t even begin to name, was constantly in such a state of disarray that the simple task of getting a glass of water easily turned into a hefty task. He couldn’t complain – not when every day he was greeted by a different kind of pastry his girlfriend was eagerly trying for the first time.

These, however, were details Azriel had been expecting when he first asked Elain to move in with him. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the sight of the enormous garland covered in berries, orange slices and small pinecones, hanging on their front door. Nor did he expect the tiny, chubby snowman sitting on it, staring at him with unwarranted joy. Azriel scowled.

It was the first day of December.

He opened the door, briefly wondering if Bing Crosby’s voice was crooning from their neighbour’s living room and not theirs. If the sweet voice singing along wasn’t his girlfriend’s – who couldn’t possibly be decorating on the 1st day of December – and belonged to Mrs. Allis instead.

Such wishful thinking was short-lived.

The house, Azriel noticed, smelled distinctively of ginger and cinnamon, and the wooden table in the foyer, usually covered in random knickknacks and their house keys, now sported entirely too many candles and a knitted reindeer wearing a Christmas sweater, welcoming him home with an innocent smile. Azriel settled his keys next to it, feeling oddly disturbed.

Azriel eyed the kitchen with concern. He wouldn’t go in – not yet at least – but he could glimpse Elain’s baking supplies on the counter, as well as a plate filled with red velvet brownies. Azriel swallowed a groan, fighting the urge to eat one – Elain knew how much he loved red velvet, but this felt premeditated. It felt like a bribery.

He kept walking, following the sound of Elain’s voice as he pointedly ignored the gingerbread house kit on the kitchen table (and the fact it remained unopened). Apprehension coursed through his body as he eyed the mistletoe hanging in the archway leading to the living room. As it was, Azriel usually decorated on the week before Christmas, and that was if Cassian nagged him enough that he’d just give up and put up whatever crappy decorations he had gotten throughout the years (read an old, plastic Christmas tree and a few random Christmas ball that didn’t really look good together). Azriel rarely spent Christmas in his own house, so it had never made much sense to decorate in the first place.

Elain, however, clearly had different plans.

Sure, this was their first Christmas together, but he couldn’t say he had expected this much…dedication on her part.

Azriel stopped in his tracks just as he reached the living room, eyes widening as he took in every single detail. Their once cosy living room was no longer. Their couch, a beige, dull thing by default, was covered in a fuzzy, checkered blanket, white pillows dotting its cushions. The usually empty mantelpiece was now covered by a green garland, dotted with fairy lights. Hanging from it, two stockings – one with an A stitched into it, the other with an E (if he seemed to smile at the sight of it, it was purely a muscle spasm).

He fought the urge to groan, side-eyeing the checkered blanket with horror once again. At least, he thought, there were no knitted animals in the living room.

Needless to say, he wasn’t entirely convinced on the Christmas decorations.

His girlfriend, however, was a sight to behold. He crossed his arms, fighting to not let his amusement show as he watched her. Even in her pyjamas and frowning at the tangled Christmas lights in her hands, Elain was lovely. Her cheeks were slightly pink, lips pursed in concentration as she appeared to fight the knotted mess in front of her (it seemed to Azriel she was losing, but he refrained from commenting on it). There was an old Christmas hat on her head, one Azriel faintly recalled taking home from one of Cassian’s holiday parties. It was entirely too big on her head, but it only made her all the more charming.

She was sitting on the floor, right next to a very tall, very bare Christmas tree. More boxes littered the floor around her, but Elain remained humming, unconcerned and completely unaware of Azriel’s presence in front of her.

Azriel hated to ruin her peace, but the checkered blanket seemed to mock him from the couch. He cleared his throat, face stoic ever as Elain yelped and looked up, eyes widening as she blushed.

“You’re home!” She greeted, standing up as she unceremoniously dropped the Christmas lights on the floor. Azriel raised an eyebrow, watching her as she turned down the volume of the music.

“What are you doing?” He asked, briefly wondering if this was one of those times Nesta had accused him of taking himself too seriously. Whatever that meant.

Elain, however, wasn’t deterred by his seriousness. She smiled prettily. “Decorating.”

Azriel made a show of raising both eyebrows. “It’s the 1st of December.”

“Yes.” She simply said, as if that explained everything.

“It’s the first of December.” He said again, not sure she had heard him correctly the first time.

“I’m aware.” She said, pushing the beanie away from her eyes. She did look adorable. “I’m in a festive mood. I wanted to do some light decorating.”

“Light?” He was vaguely aware he sounded like a crabby old man. Elain was too if the twitch in her lips was any indication. “Isn’t this all too much?” He still asked, eyeing the blanket.

He truly didn’t like that thing.

Elain blinked. Then she blinked again, taking in their living room. The couch, the tree, the mantle garland. Then she frowned. “Are you messing with me?”

Azriel scoffed. “Why would I be messing with you?” He took a step in her direction and Elain eyed him suspiciously. “There’s a gingerbread house in our kitchen.”

“No, there’s a gingerbread house kit in our kitchen.” She explained very slowly. “We’re going to build it together.”

“No, we’re not.” He chuckled, but his smile quickly fell away at her raised eyebrows. “We are?” He asked, frowning even as she walked towards him, a pretty smile on her lips.

“We are.” Elain said, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down as she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “But I made you red velvet brownies as a reward.” She whispered.

Azriel groaned, pressing his head against her neck, making her squeal as his beard tickled her skin. “You can’t distract me with brownies.”

“Are you sure?”

Azriel chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist as he pushed the Christmas hat away from her eyes. “I am.”

“Well, can I distract you with something else?” She asked, her fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck. Azriel hummed, pressing his nose against her neck, taking her in for the first time in hours. He was almost distracted. Almost.

“Can we at least get rid of that blanket?”

Elain frowned, eyeing the couch. “What’s wrong with the blanket?”

Well, its very existence was wrong, in his opinion, and he opened his mouth to say just that.

“Nesta gave it to me.”

He promptly closed his mouth. The blanket was staying, then. Mother’s tits.

He cleared his throat. “And the tree?” He asked instead, trying to swiftly change the subject. Elain eyed with him a cheeky smirk, making it clear she was fully aware she had won the fight before it even begun.

Gods, he loved her.

“Were you going to start decorating it now?”

“Oh, well. No.” Elain turned shy, chuckling nervously. “I actually wanted to decorate it with you.”

“Right.” He nodded. “On the 1st of December?” He asked. Just to be sure. Elain chuckled, playfully pushing him away even as he tightened his hold around her.

She looked at the tree, avoiding his eyes. “I just wanted to give you a new tradition.” She shrugged. “Our own tradition.”

Oh. Oh.

He was an absolute fool.

Azriel looked at her, his heart beating wildly inside his chest. “You did, love?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If you want to, that is.”

It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and show her exactly how much he did.

He kissed her instead, his tongue seeking hers, his hands roaming around her body. He groaned at the taste of her, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. Elain smiled against his lips.

“Is that a yes?” She asked, gasping as his hands found her ass.

“How could I ever say no to you?” And little did she know how much he really meant it.

Which would explain why, merely hours later, Azriel could be found wearing a stupid Christmas hat, ignoring the stupid checkered blanket, and helping Elain put up the last of the ornaments on the too big Christmas tree. And if he had a smile on his face…

Well, that had everything to do with the girl in his arms.

82 notes · View notes

cherhys · 1 year

Text

Northern Lights

Cassian x Reader

Summary: When your best friend Cassian invites you on a trip, it quickly turns to full-fledged hiking and camping. But don’t worry, Cassian has a surprise up his sleeve that’ll make it all worth it...

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: I think my teeth may have rotted after writing this; read at your own risk

Notes: We’re back with fic number two! I’m swamped with midterms (not sure how I managed to write this tbh), but who can resist Cassian right? ;)

The wind is shocking with the lack of its usual abrasive bite. Instead, the breeze would be enjoyable if you weren’t starved, tired and gauging the exact angle at which to hit Cassian to knock him off of the steep pass he’d taken you on. When your friend approached you three days ago with that boyish smile you could never say no to, how were you supposed to know that “a short trip up North” would equate to roughing it out in the wilderness?

Your sigh is loud enough that Cassian turns around, the large pack on his back seeming to bother him little. Yours is half the size and yet you were borderline about to topple backwards if your shaking legs and sweat-soaked shirt are anything to go by.

“You alright back there sweetheart?” Cassian has barely broken a sweat, the tan column of his neck on display as he reties his thick locks. Usually, you’d take your time to ogle him but his good looks only infuriate you further.

“Of course Mr. General. I am having the time of my life.” Your tone is as dry as the sparse vegetation around you. The winter season was fast approaching, but the Steppes were always perpetually frozen, although Cassian doesn’t seem to mind.

A sly grin spreads across his face, “That’s what I like to hear hon.” He pointed to a ledge that seemed infinitely far from your current position, “That’s where we’re camping for the night.”

You squinted against the sun, the reflection of the snow banks blinding, “I know you have to be kidding. Please say you’re kidding.”

His grin stretched impossibly further, “Afraid not. The winds are shifting so we will have good protection up there.” A groan had left your mouth before he’d even finished speaking. This was simply unfair. You may not have been an Illyrian warrior, but you certainly weren’t out of shape. An Olympic hike through knee-deep snow just wasn’t on your to-do list for the week.

“Oh c’mon sweets,” Cassian pouted and leaned in, “Surely spending time with me isn’t so bad?”

His leather and sandalwood smell overwhelmed your senses but you tried not to inhale lest he notice, “I could’ve spent time with you in the House of Wind, sitting on a cozy couch, by a warm fire, with food in my belly, and a book in my hands.”

He waved his hand through the air as if the godly evening you had just described was smoke in the wind, “But this is so much more fun! And,” he grabbed your hands to pull you against his chest, “It’s just the two of us for miles and miles.”

When you agreed, the trip seemed like a good opportunity to spend more one-on-one time with your best friend, as he (and everyone else, including yourself) had been busy as of late. A twinge in your chest reminded you that your recent unavailability isn't the only reason you agreed to this trip, but you'd be loath to admit anything else. Cassian was your dear friend and that became more apparent than ever with the recent addition of a certain Archeron sister to the House of Wind. That reminder had you pulling your hands away from him and swatting his chest.

“I’m cold and hungry so let’s go.”

His smile faltered but he swiftly recovered and started at a brisk pace back up the path.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

“This is perfect.”

Cassian stood in the center of your makeshift campsite, his hands on his waist. He had dug out an impressive firepit, bracketed by stones, with a large pot hovering above. A fire was already blazing, casting shadows on the two tents you had pitched.

He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he’d done, “I am just too good.”

“Careful Cass. Your head might get so big that you’ll float away.”

You sat on a log by the fire, warming your hands in the rapidly cooling evening. You had made surprisingly good time to the campsite and the sun was only now setting. Just as I projected, Cassian had spouted but you both knew that was bullshit.

The crackle of the flame is interrupted by your growling stomach. Your cheeks redden at the sound–the hike had certainly taken its toll on you. A booming laugh drowns all noise out as Cassian approaches his pack, a soft smile on his face.

“Hungry, sweetheart?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes as you press your hands to your stomach, “Yes, I’ve decided to turn to a life of cannibalism in the absence of any other food.”

You bare your teeth in what you hope is a menacing enough look, the fire only further exacerbating your pearly whites. Cassian paused in the rooting of his bag, and wiggled his eyebrows, “I bet I’d taste delicious.”

You huffed an unimpressed sound, rubbing a strand of hair between your fingers, “You’d be too chewy with all that muscle. Not a pleasant experience.”

He let out a low whistle, looking at his covered arms as if he could see through to his rippling biceps, “I am well built aren’t I?”

You frowned, “Is that all you gathered–”

Cassian’s sudden exclamation had you jumping, “Found it! Here you are, m’lady.”

He dramatically kneeled before you, and with a flourish presented you with a honeyed nuts and oats bar. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you at his foolish antics. The heat of the fire reached something delicate in your chest, a soft warmth sweeping through you. He always did know how to make you laugh.

Not to be outdone, you took the bar from his hands and stood, “Thank you, brave warrior. For your service, you shall be knighted with the highest honour.”

Using the snack, you graciously touched each of his shoulders while he watched you with an unreadable look on his face.

“Rise, Sir Cassian.”

He chuckled as he stood, the sound more tender than his usual roguish laughter.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Although I think a lady like you is more deserving of a proper meal.”

You smiled teasingly and looked around the snow-covered hills, “Is there a Rita’s around the corner that I missed?”

He leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice, “Even better.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, letting him play into his grand reveal.

“I,” He placed a strong hand on his chest, “Chef Cassian, will be preparing your meal today.”

You blinked. Never had Cassian offered to cook for you in all the years of your friendship. Frankly, you weren’t even sure he could cook.

“Alright then, I'd be happy to assist you Chef Cassian.” However, he was shaking his head long before you finished speaking.

“Unfortunately there’s only enough space in the kitchen for one amazing chef, sweets.” You glanced around–kitchen, ok sure.

Before you could protest he turned you by your shoulders and began to lead you toward your tent.

“In the meantime, you will get some much-needed rest and I will wake you up once I’m done.”

You tried to slow him down, but it was futile against a male as large and strong as Cassian. Succumbing to your fate, you narrowed your eyes at him over your shoulder, his own shining with mirth.

“Are you calling me ugly right now?”

“No, I’m saying you look tired.”

“Those are the same thing, how dare you–”

“Please go and sleep, sweetheart.” Once you reached your tent, he relinquished his hold on you. While regaining your balance in the kicked-up snow, Cassian caught you off guard and placed a swift kiss on your cheek.

You froze, not expecting the burst of affection but he had already turned and made his way back to the fire. Slowly, you unzipped and entered the tent, falling into a quiet sleep with your cheek still burning from his touch.

♡𝌀𝌀𝌀♥𝌀𝌀𝌀♡

The delectable smell of food and the gentle caressing of your hair rouse you from your slumber. The large hand is warm and sure against your head, a comforting weight that only relaxes you further. Nails scratch lightly against your scalp and it takes everything in you not to lean into the touch and moan.

“Wake up, sweetheart.” The deep voice is unmistakable and you quickly realize whose hand it was in your hair.

You briskly sit up, startling Cassian at the sudden movement, his hand still poised in the air. You hastily fix your hair and shift in the sleeping bag, attempting to put some distance between you both.

In your hurried movement, you fail to notice the slight downturn of his lips. He watched you pull away and he couldn't help but clench his fist, the feeling of the tresses of your hair still fresh in his mind. He opens his mouth to speak, to say anything to relax the tense look on your face but you compose yourself in the blink of an eye.

“Is the food ready? It smells delicious.” With a speed that even his most experienced warriors would envy, you swoop to put your boots on and exit the tent into the night.

You halt your rapid steps, floored by the work Cassian so painstakingly put in. The food he had prepared–it was your favourite. He had spread the meal out on a larger stump, your plate already portioned for you. There is even a bundle of snowdrops he must’ve collected himself, placed as a makeshift centrepiece.

Your breath is caught in your throat, unable to fathom that he had done this. Done this for you. I mean, of course, this is your best friend just showing he cares right? Your chest is nearly bursting with a feeling you have avoided acknowledging for so long.

“I told you I was an amazing chef.”

Cassian’s comment snaps you out of your emotional stupor, turning to look at him as he sidled up beside you. He wears a cocky grin on his face, but his hand is rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Yes,” You breathed softly, your words clouding before you, “You are amazing.”

His eyes widened at your admission and even in the cold, you could see the pink creeping across his cheeks. You held Cassian’s stare, his hazel eyes molten in the firelight. He cleared his throat, bringing you both back to the chill around you.

“Well, dig in sweetheart. I’d hate for the food to get cold.”

He gestured to the logs around the impromptu stump table, and you didn’t need to be told twice. After the surprisingly tender moment, all you were left with was your ravenous hunger. Food had never smelled so delicious.

You both sit and begin to devour the various dishes. The warm flavours melt on your tongue. Everything is spiced to perfection, and exquisitely cooked. The different textures dance in your mouth, and you couldn’t help the little moan that slips out at the delicacies he’s made. It isn't lost on Cassian’s ears and he’s licking his lips, despite the array of food before him.

While the meal has warmed you, a gust of wind has you shivering.

“Cass, if you really wanted to cook for me, I’m sure you could’ve done this back at the House.” You joke, rubbing your hands up and down your arms.

He looks contemplative for a second, “Yes, I could have. Except then I wouldn’t be able to show you what I’ve been looking forward to.”

Your eyebrows furrow as he gestures around you. You had thought the spot he picked to camp out was, more or less, random–certainly not one that he had picked with the intention of showing you.

Cassian stands and dusts his legs off, reaching for your hand. He leads you over to sit on a log a little ways from the fire.

“This place is called Aurora’s Peak. Yes, Velaris has a gorgeous night sky, but even there the light pollution dulls the effect,”

His voice is clear in the night around you, a comforting beacon you fixate on and lean into. His hazel eyes are bright but never brighter than the smile on his face.

“The real beauty of the starry night can be seen here, far away and secluded from any cities. Look.”

You do as he says, and look up at a sight that takes your breath away. Never have you seen the cosmos so clearly. The constellations twinkle brighter than ever, thousands of stars illuminating the darkness. But it's the dancing glow in the sky that mesmerizes you. Green, pink, purple and yellow light curtain the horizon, like streaks of paint on a canvas. In your centuries alive, it is a beauty you’ve never witnessed.

While you gape in awe at the dynamic flickers, Cassian watched you–his beauty. His eternity. He lightly brushes his fingers against the apples of your cheek, sweeping across not unlike the lights in the sky. You turn, breathless for so many reasons. You wear your bottom lip between your teeth; that all-consuming feeling in your chest is back again. The enormity of your feelings for the male before you consume you, and even under the vast sky, they seem boundless. But he isn’t yours.

Your eyes flutter shut; you can’t keep looking at the reflection of the stars in his eyes, at his rosy pink cheeks, and his lush lips.

“Cassian–”

He cuts you off by placing his forehead against yours. You both breathe the cold air in, exhalations mingling. In all your centuries you’ve never been so close. Never dared for fear of crossing that unspoken boundary.

He slowly–ever so slowly–caresses his cheek against yours, revelling in the feel of your skin against his. He moves back across to the other cheek, delighting in your soft touch. You’re shaking like the nettles in the pine trees around you, Cassian daring to sweep you away like a gust of wind.

He moves in an arc from your cheek to your forehead and presses a light kiss there, his plush lips burning your skin. You’re both breathing heavily, and you lift your hands to where his palms are cradling your head. He spreads his calloused fingers gently, encircling yours with his own.

Unspoken words pass between you as you pull back slowly to look him in the eye. His gaze is searching–questioning and worried even now. But beneath that, there is tender love. A passion as old as time and a fierce longing that overwhelms one’s very soul. With one spoken word, with one denial–you know he would lock it all away if you so wish.

As if you could ever deny him.

You tilt your head up slowly, and he moves in without hesitation and claims your lips for his own. His kiss is exactly as you imagined; sublime, perfect, and so very Cassian. Your lips move to a tune of their own as if you have embraced each other a million times before. Your hands move to his soft hair, eliciting a groan from him when you let it down from the pesky leather tie. The brush of his tongue is soft against your bottom lip, and a new wave of adoration washes over you.

Your love, your heart–they were always his. Always had been. Even your soul was his, as a spark brightens deep within you–

You pull away, gasping and you feel it then–that light in your chest, a thread that glows with every colour of the northern lights above you, connecting you to Cassian’s very soul. He feels it too, evident by his mirror gasp.

There are no shocked glances shared between you. You both had always known this is who your eternity lies with. With glistening eyes, you pull him into your embrace.

You whisper into the nape of his neck, before the stars as witnesses, “I love you.”

He tightened his hug and placed a kiss on the side of your head, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Cassian enveloped your body in his strong arms and took you to his tent, snow crunching beneath his boots. For now, the passion can wait, as you both simply bask in the glow of the bond.

Final Notes: I hope you enjoyed reading this! I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights...

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian/reader #cassian x y/n #cassian fanfic #cassian #cassian acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #cherhys

351 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 6 months

Text

I decided to rewatch Pride and Prejudice and the similarities to Elain's current situation continue jumping out to me.

First Elain (aka Elizabeth) was not the sister expected to find the best match in marriage. In P&P, Jane was the "most beautiful" one (in ACOTAR that's technically Elain) but the fact that Jane (aka Nesta) was almost guaranteed to secure a wealthy husband is similar to how Mother Archeron raised Nesta on the belief that she was their hope for an advantageous marriage. Neither Mrs. Bennett nor Mother Archeron believed Elizabeth (or Elain) to be their "meal ticket", so to speak.

In the end, while Jane (Nesta) did marry someone with an impressive pedigree, it was Elizabeth who ended up marrying someone of an even higher station. Just like Elain is mated to someone who (unknown to them at this time) is set up to become a High Lord.

But before Elizabeth ended up with Darcy, she showed an interest in Wickham, having washed her hands of Darcy after their first meeting (and a few thereafter). It's clear that though she was still drawn to Darcy on some level (talking about him even if it was just to complain, paying close attention to his conversation with Caroline Bingley, showing surprise / confusion after he helps her into the carriage), we see her continually remind herself and others that she has "sworn to loath him for all of eternity" because of the initial impression she had of him.

I always find it strange when people compare Az / Elain to Darcy and Elizabeth because Darcy and Elizabeth's romantic tension is born from their initial disdain which is what makes their later glances and lingering touches so memorable. Her thinking that he has hated her from the start and then being surprised when his actions suggest otherwise (in that way, Lucien would be more like Elizabeth's character, thinking that Elain has no interest in him).

But Az and Elain are completely lacking in the enemies to lovers department.

To me, Az would be more like Wickham in the story.

Elizabeth has convinced herself she has no interest in Darcy and instead turns her eye to Wickham who begins showing her attention. She's convinced that he's a good man and that Darcy is further proven in the wrong until we later find out Wickham is the one who kept truths from Elizabeth (which is line with Az telling the reader that Elain had no idea the things he had done meaning he hides parts of himself from her). And just as Elizabeth's favor of Wickhams fell once she learned of his true colors, it seems Elain's favor of Az has fallen after he called her a mistake. After the truth became known in P & P, there was no real confrontation between Elizabeth and Wickham because their relationship never really got off the ground and I imagine the same will be said for E/riel.

Even though Elizabeth eventually realizes that Darcy is a great man, she's still stubborn and unwilling to admit it until the end (hence why her father, mother and Jane are shocked to find she wants to marry him, they were convinced she hated him - sounds a lot like Az's line of "she has no interest in him anyway").

P & P ranks as one of the greatest love stories of all time and it doesn't make it to the top of those charts because she had a sweet and gentle romance with Wickham, who looked like the "healthier" of the two possible love interests at first glance. Were Elizabeth and Wickham not at first friendly and agreeable towards one another, like E/riel, versus how Darcy and Elizabeth initially got along?

When Darcy first refuses to dance with Elizabeth then later does dance with her but barely makes conversation, is that not similar to Elain's refusal to get to know Lucien?

When Elizabeth begins to soften a bit towards Darcy then completely withdraws and refuses his proposal after she learns of the part he played in separating Jane and Mr. Bingley, is that not reminiscint of Elain walking with Lucien, inviting him back to Velaris at the end of ACOWAR only to do a complete 180 in the novella and SF where she all but ignores him?

The odds being stacked against two people because of misunderstandings and miscommunications since their first meeting, yet the couple still finding their way to one another is why the HEA feels so hard fought yet well earned for Elizabeth and Darcy and there's is no setup more similar to that than Elucien.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #acotar mates

74 notes · View notes

tswaney17 · 23 days

Text

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 46

Sorry all, the last week got a way from me. But here is the next part of IDBTWY as we count down to the finish. Can't believe we're almost there. 🥺🌸💙

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW (minor descriptions)

Word Count: 5,177

It had been a long day and it was only noon. Elain leaned against the nurse’s station, swigging from her water bottle. She already attended three surgical consultations, two patients who required stitches, one who needed theirs removed, and a laceration of an abscess.

The work wasn’t hard, but at six months pregnant, the almost five hours on her feet were putting her through it. She knew her ankles were swollen, and even with Azriel’s daily foot massages, the swelling wasn’t going anywhere until after the birth of the twins.

If she were being honest with herself, Elain was predicting her OBGYN to advise her on beginning her maternity leave early, rather than waiting till the week before her due date, which was the last thing she wanted. Elain loved her job, even if it made her sore and achy by day’s end. She wasn’t quite ready to go on leave just yet. But the swelling was concerning and she knew her blood pressure was up higher than it should be, so she was likely going to be left with no choice in the matter.

Setting her water bottle down, she grabbed the iPad, checking the charts for her next patient when she heard Fenrys calling her name. Elain glanced up to see the golden twin jogging over to her, two police officers following behind with Connall.

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she made her way over to her security detail. “Fen, what’s going on?” she asked once he reached her.

“They’re here to talk to you. They have a few questions for you.”

That surprised her. Eyes widening, Elain realized one was the same man from the bank robbery nearly two years prior. And if the way he was watching her, she knew he recognized her as well. “They didn’t say what they wanted?”

Fen shook his head. “No, said it was confidential.”

She pursed her lips. “We’ll see about that.” Elain stepped around her security detail, approaching the two officers. “Hello, can I help you?”

The one she recognized stepped forward. “Miss Archeron, can we have a word in private? We have some questions to ask you.”

“It’s Mrs. Archeron-Knight, but I’m sure you knew that,” she corrected, a warning in her tone to not make that mistake again. Motioning for them to follow, she led them to the employee break area, shutting the door behind them.

Both officers looked at the two men standing behind her warily. “This may be better off in private,” the younger one said. He looked even younger than her, maybe mid-twenties if she had to guess, and most likely fresh out of the academy.

But Elain waved off their concern. “Fenrys and Connall have signed non-disclosure agreements with my husband and are my protection detail. Whatever you have to say can be said in front of them.” A pillar of force, those two were. She could feel the intensity they radiated, dedicated to her safety as they stayed close to her backside, guarding her even if it was from the police.

The older man shrugged as if whatever he had to say to her wasn’t worth arguing about the privacy of this conversation. “What was your relationship with Elias Hewn?”

The warning bells in her head sounded and she felt both of the twins tense behind her because the question sounded more like an accusation about something else. “Excuse me?” she demanded.

“What was your relationship with Elias Hewn,” the fucker repeated like she was deaf and not in utter shock.

“There was no relationship between Elias and myself. He was my husband’s business partner, and now he’s not.”

The younger officer, wrote down her words before asking, “So, you weren’t in a physical relationship with him?”

“What the fuck did you just ask me?” Elain hissed, taking a single step forward before Fenrys’s large hand came down on her shoulder and halted her movements.

The kid looked taken aback by her hostility like he didn’t just accuse her of infidelity. “Apologies, ma’am. We’re just trying to collect all the pieces.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she snarled, growing angrier by the second. How dare they come in here asking such vile questions. Azriel would have a field day once he found out.

The elder officer crossed his arms. “Elias Hewn was found dead by a private investigator a few days ago.”

She stopped in her tracks. He was dead? That was news to her. But Elain has a sinking feeling it wasn’t news to her husband. “How did he die?” she asked instead.

“We’re still determining the cause.”

Lie. Elain could smell the lie on his tongue. They knew exactly how Elias was killed and were just seeing if she’d reveal something to them. “So, why am I being questioned?”

The older officer nodded at his protégé. “We found a connection between Elias Hewn and the teen involved in your car accident a few weeks back. A wire payment transferred through multiple offshore accounts in the amount of five hundred thousand dollars.”

Was the floor moving beneath her feet or was she swaying? Her world tilted throwing her off her axis. Words were being said but she couldn’t hear anything but muffled sounds like she was underwater. Her chest constricted; she couldn’t get in enough air. Was she suffocating?

“Elain,” Fenrys voice broke through the fog. “You need to sit down.” His careful hands guided her into a chair that Connall brought over for her, both twins fluttering around her like two fussing hens.

She was definitely swaying then. Elias paid a teen half a million dollars to kill her and Azriel. She was going to be sick. Her chest grew heavy.

The younger officer stepped forward. “Elain—”

“You do not address her like that,” Connall snapped.

His face turned red, but before he could correct himself, Elain asked, “Where is the teen now?” She had a feeling she already knew the answer to that question.

“He turned up dead a week ago,” the older one replied.

Her heart ached for the boy, not because he was innocent, but because she knew he likely had no choice and was searching for a way out. She sighed heavily, feeling her racing heart slow as she took a few careful, measured breaths. Elain turned over the information in her head, still trying to determine why, exactly, they were here asking her questions. “Why are you here?” she asked, finally looking back up at them.

A pause before the older man gave in. “I know the kind of man you married.” He said it so casually, that her temper flared. “Did he kill Elias Hewn because you were sleeping with him, or because he tried to kill you?”

Elain launched herself from her chair and sent it toppling backward from the force. “Are you asking me to incriminate my husband?”

“Are you willing to protect a murderer while maintaining your oath as a doctor?” he shot back, head cocked in a predatory way. She knew after that first conversation, he had it out for her, but more so for Azriel. He’d be recognized for his work in taking down an organization. That’s all this was for him.

But then she realized why they were here, asking her questions without Az’s presence. Because they had nothing on him and were looking for her to slip up. Elain’s lips turned up at the corner in a menacing grin, something she’d learned from watching her husband work. “You’re here because you have no evidence to back up your wild claims.” She shook her head, laughing to herself. “Let me go ahead and tell you that this conversation is over. And the next time you even dare come to question me, you will have to go through my husband’s team of lawyers first. And if that doesn’t scare you, perhaps tossing in my sister, Nesta Mazaei, will. I know the havoc she wrecks in your cases and she’ll tear you to shreds when she finds out about this.” Elain flicked her chin towards the door. “See yourselves out.”

Connall moved without her asking, flinging the door open to escort them out.

She would be eternally grateful that the Moonbeam twins had her back without question. Through the glass, her eyes found Thesan, watching as the two officers were escorted out of the employee area. His gaze caught hers and then he was moving, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Elain…is everything all right?”

No, not really. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Is it okay if I take an hour to run an errand?” she asked instead.

Her boss saw the deflection for what it was but let it slide. “Of course. I’ll have the residents come down for consultations. Take whatever time you need.”

~~~

Twenty minutes later, she was riding up the elevator at Knight Securities to her husband’s private floor, the doors pinging open to announce her arrival. Like a woman on a mission, she strode—okay, she waddled with a purpose—into the lobby area.

“Elain!” Nuala started. “What are you—”

“Is he in his office?” she interrupted, storming past the reception desk.

“Er, yes.”

“In a meeting?”

Keyboard clicks, then, “No. Nothing scheduled till this afternoon.”

She was entering the hallway that led to his closed doors. “Good. Block his calendar for the next hour and ensure nobody enters this floor.” That was all she got through before swinging open the heavy oak door to his office.

Azriel looked up from his desk, surprise dawning on his face. “Elain, love. What are you—”

“Did you kill Elias?” she demanded, stopping in the middle of the room across from his desk and crossing her arms over her heavy breasts.

His mouth dropped open before he caught himself, leaning back in his seat to steeple his fingers. “Yes.”

He said it so casually that she saw red. “What the fuck, Azriel? How could you be so careless?”

Despite her attitude, he kept his composure calm. Azriel never dared to raise his voice at her no matter how mad she got over something. “Careless? No, love. Killing him wasn’t careless. Letting him live after what he did to you, to us, was careless. I should’ve gutted him when our merger ended but I didn’t and look what happened. He went after you. He tried to kill you while you were pregnant.”

“He didn’t know I was pregnant,” she said feebly.

“Do you think that would’ve made a difference? Because I don’t.”

She sighed in frustration, knowing most of her emotions were hormone-driven but was still angry anyway. “We are about to have three children, Azriel. Three! Kaden’s adoption is finalized in a matter of days and the twins will be here before we know it. This life does not bode well for them if we don’t play this smart.”

His face softened at the mention of their children. “I am playing this smart, El. Elias would always be a threat to us, to our kids. He had to be eliminated and now that he has been, it’s over.”

Her fury resurfaced. “Only it’s not over, Azriel. Whatever you did, wherever you tried to dispose of the body didn’t work.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the police came to question me. I mean that they are looking at you and are trying to use me as leverage to point the investigation in your direction.”

That had him rising to his feet. “What did they ask you?” he demanded.

For a second, a split second, she debated whether or not to tell him the truth because she knew it would set him off. But she couldn’t do that to him. They were a team through this even if she wanted to scream when he made decisions like this without consulting her first. “They asked if I was having an affair with Elias, which pushed you over the edge in blinding rage.”

Azriel’s face darkened to a deadly place she had only seen once before. When they were in that warehouse fighting for their lives. “I will fucking rip that police force to shreds,” he growled viciously, storming from around his desk as if he would go there to do just that.

But Elan stepped into his path, forcing him to stop. “Az, look at me.” He did. “I handled the officers. They won’t get to me again without going through the lawyers, but you cannot take the bait. They want a reaction from you. It will help their case. Let it go.”

His temper flared. “I will not let it go!”

She placed a calming hand on his chest. “Please, Az. For me. Let it go.” Elain saw the internal turmoil behind his raging hazel eyes. She knew what strings to pluck to bring him back down when he became this angry. Because right now, the last thing they needed was for him to add to his kill count.

He let out a heavy breath, dropping his forehead to rest on hers. His body shuddered with restraint, his need to defend her overwhelming his every thought. “I’m still furious that they accused you of that,” he murmured, cupping her face between his scarred palms.

Elain twisted her head to kiss the rough, damaged flesh. “I know, I am too. But whatever they want to believe doesn’t matter. We know the truth and they can’t prove otherwise. Besides, we have other things to worry about.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Like what?”

She stepped out of his embrace, aiming for a chair to get off her aching feet. Az was instantly there, hand under her elbow and guiding her into the leather seat. “The police told me that a private investigator found Elias’s body,” she said, giving him a moment to take in her words.

His eyes widened in the realization of what she was hinting at.

“Somebody was looking for him.”

Az swore, running a hand through his thick hair. “It has to be the Illyrian Mob. Nobody else would be searching for him.”

“I’m assuming he didn’t have a wife, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he did and still acted that way.” She leaned back in her seat. “No other family that could have hired somebody?”

His head shook. “No, he pushed his parents away when he followed in his Uncle’s footsteps. And where he was found would’ve only been something that somebody in my…line of work would’ve figured out.”

She was almost afraid to ask. “Where did you dispose of his body?”

Hazel eyes bore into hers. “I buried it,” he said matter-of-factly. Well, that wasn’t very unpredictable. “On top of Kier Hewn’s body in his grave.”

Oh. Elain pursed her lips. He was right. A private investigator wouldn’t have looked in a grave unless they were prompted in some way shape or form. And that prompting had to have come from the Illyrians if not Nicklaus or Frankie themselves. She said as much out loud. “Which means—”

“Which means killing Elias may have just started a war with the Illryian Mob,” Az breathed. “Fuck,” he swore, leaning against his desk.

Fear clenched her heart in a vice-like grip, threatening to choke her. “Azriel, I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me that the Illyrian Mob follows the same morals as you do. That they won’t go after our kids as an act of revenge against you.”

Devastation lined his beautiful face. “I can’t.”

The emotions spilled out of her before she could think about reining them in, tears welling in her doe-eyes. “I can’t let anything happen to them, Az,” she croaked. “Oath be damned, I’ll torture, maim, and kill anyone who comes for our babies.”

He was on his knees in front of her in an instant, hands gripping hers in comfort. “That won’t ever happen, Elain. I promise you that nothing will ever touch our children.” He brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing them in the lightest of kisses. A reassurance to her no matter how ineffective. But still a reassurance nonetheless. “I’ll figure something out, Elain. I promise you I will.”

She sniffed, releasing his hand to wipe under her nose. “No offense, Az, but you ‘figuring something out’ is what put us in this spot,” she huffed a laugh. “You once said I was a Mob Queen…perhaps it’s time you start letting me help you make decisions for it too.”

Azriel gazed at her, thumb running along the back of her hand. “I didn’t want this life for you, El,” he said carefully.

Elain released his hands to cup his face, his stubbled skin scratching her palms. “I walked into this relationship—this marriage—with my eyes open, Azriel. There is no part of you I can’t handle. That I don’t love and admire.” She leaned forward to kiss him softly. “You vowed to share your life with me, Az. So, share it. Let me help you wade through your burdens, the messes. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

Tears lined his eyes as he surged forward, capturing her mouth in a heated kiss. “I love you,” he breathed against her lips, the words sending sparks cascading down her spine until they found a home in the depths of her soul.

Oh, how his words made her burn. His touch could set her on fire, but nothing could compare to how his words branded her very being, marking themselves into her essence so she lived and breathed him.

Just as their kiss turned deeper, more passionate, his phone rang from inside his pocket. Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead onto hers as he fought to catch his breath.

Elain giggled at his expression, tipping her head up just slightly to kiss the tip of his nose. “You should get that.”

“I should throw it across the room,” he growled, but still slid the device from his pants and checked the caller ID. A contemplative noise escaped him before answering. “This is Azriel.”

She sat back in her chair, readjusting her scrub top that had been skewed from her husband’s wandering hands as she listened to the one-sided conversation.

“Really?” he said to the other person. “Yes, we’re interested. No, not Friday, but we can come Saturday.” He glanced at his watch. “Yes, ten AM should work. Great. We’ll see you then.”

Her brows furrowed at the odd phone call. “Who was that?” she asked when he hung up.

His eyes locked on hers, the hazel brightening to pools of amber. If Elain could describe her husband with a single word at that moment, it would be giddy. Which was peculiar because Azriel was anything but giddy. “That was Amren, our realtor…She has a house for us to look at.”

~~~

Elain earmarked a few moments from her life in her memory bank. Special occasions she never wanted to forget. The day she graduated from college and earned her doctorate. Her first day as a resident. When she and Azriel got back together. The day of his proposal and then their marriage. When they found out she was pregnant. And the day they decided to adopt Kaden.

Today was one of those days that would get earmarked forever. Because today was the day they got to officially make Kaden their son. They had a court appearance at eleven that morning, but seeing as it was Friday, both Elain and Aziel took the day off to celebrate the momentous occasion with their boy, starting with breakfast.

“How are your waffles, Kaden?” she asked, seeing the syrup smeared across his pink lips.

The sweet boy flashed her this biggest grin. “They’re good, momma!”

She leaned over to press a kiss to his hair, loving every time he called her that. It had only been about a week since he started, but he had yet to give Azriel a fatherly name—her husband being equally happy for her and jealous at the same time.

“We are adopting him tomorrow and he still won’t call me dad,” he had complained the night before while getting ready for bed.

Elain was already tucked under the sheets, watching the bathroom doorway where her husband had disappeared. “You know how he is about men, Az. It’ll come at the most random time, but it will come. I promise you.”

The bathroom light switched off and then he approached, crawling up the bed to plop down next to her. “I know what else could be coming tonight,” he teased with a wicked smile, digits trailing over the swell of her stomach. His mouth began to place featherlight kisses along the delicate skin of her neck.

She laughed softly at the terrible innuendo, melting under his machinations. “Is that so? Pretty cocky are we?” Elain’s fingers threaded through his dark hair, tugging the inky strands until he was groaning into her throat.

“Who said anything about a cock?”

That had her freezing. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have sex with him. Her drive was still fairly high and even with the new kid in the house, they still had sex pretty regularly—just typically at night after Kaden had gone to bed. But Elain’s stomach was large enough that grooming had become too difficult to manage. She was a bit embarrassed and had been avoiding letting Az go down on her ever since.

He noticed her hesitation immediately, bringing a scarred palm up to cup her cheek. “Talk to me, Elain.”

She sighed, feeling heat rush to her cheeks and making a blush spread across her body. “I can’t exactly reach down there anymore.” At his blank expression, she added, “To maintain…”

Azriel blinked at her in confusion. “So, what’s the problem?”

Elain groaned, head falling back into her pillow. “Because it’s embarrassing!”

He shoved himself up to look at her better. “Do you think I care about that? I told you that what you do with your body is up to you. I don’t care either way.”

“I know you don’t,” she admitted, feeling her emotions rise until she had to blink back tears. “I’m just uncomfortable with myself right now, is all.” It was more than that. Even though Az consistently showed her how much he loved her pregnant, told her how gorgeous she was, Elain was at the point in the pregnancy where she felt like a beached whale. And it was messing with her head.

Her husband stared at her, reading between the lines of what she was saying, and what she wasn’t. “Elain, you know that you have always been, and always will be, the most beautiful creature to ever walk the face of this earth, right? That I’m practically on my knees whenever you enter a room? I mean, fuck, El, you’re glowing right now—”

“That’s sweat, Az,” she muttered.

He waved a hand. “Semantics. The fact remains, you are gorgeous, and I want nothing more than to let my mouth show you just how much I mean that.”

Well, it was hard to resist when he put it that way. She gave him a single nod, just a small dip of her chin, before he pounced, crushing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss; slowly making his way southward until he made a home between her thighs.

Azriel spent a good half hour feasting on her, bringing her over the edge several times until her body went limp with pleasure and she dragged him up her body to taste herself on his mouth.

Too tired and sensitive to fuck, Elain reciprocated by leaning her head off the edge of their bed until he spilled down her throat.

“Elain?”

His voice drew her from her memory and she found him smirking at her, having already picked up on where her mind had wandered. “Hmm?”

His deep chuckle had goosebumps erupting over her skin. Fuck, maybe she was hornier than she thought.

“I asked if you were ready to go?”

Her face heated. “Oh! Yes, I’m finished.”

Azriel grabbed the bill to sign the receipts, slipping his black card back into his wallet.

“Kaden?” she refocused her attention on her son. “Do you have to go potty before we head to the courthouse?”

He was already nodding. “Yes, pwease!”

“I got it,” Az said, lifting the boy from his seat. “Come on, Bubba.”

“Clean off his face, too. I think he has syrup on his temple.” His answering laugh made a smile bloom across her face. He was such a doting father already. Elain had never questioned the amount of love he could give, even when he had. Wiping her hands clean, she took one last sip of her decaffeinated coffee—oh what she would give to have a cup of the real stuff again—and shoved her way out of her chair.

She turned her back to the crowd to grab her bag, the bell over the door dinging to announce a new customer when she heard a voice that she hadn’t heard in nearly seven years.

“Ellie-belly.”

Elain whipped around, brows raising as she beheld her father. “Dad,” she breathed. “Wha—what are you doing here?” The last time she had seen her dad, he was being placed in handcuffs for convicted DUI manslaughter and was sentenced to ten years in state prison.

He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her into a stiff hug. “Sweet baby,” he said, his brown eyes lighting up—her eyes. Elain was a spitting image of her father. “Look at you, all grown.”

When he tried to kiss her cheek, she stepped back, bumping into her chair. “What are you…how are you…” She couldn’t quite catch up with her mind, his presence shocking her to her core.

Her dad didn’t seem to notice the tenseness of her shoulders, launching into a casual conversation like it was normal. “I got out for good behavior about six months ago. My weekly sobriety meetings are just up the street. I like to come here after for the cranberry-nut muffins.”

He stepped closer into her personal space, an endearing smile pulling at his lips. “Look at you so pregnant.”

She glanced over his shoulder, spotting Azriel stepping out of the men’s room with Kaden’s hand clutched in his. He paused, immediately recognizing the man in front of her, and raised a brow in a silent question of if he should interfere.

But before she could signal yes or no, her father reached out to try and touch her rounded stomach. Elain pushed his uninvited hand away, and that was enough to have her husband moving across the room.

Seemingly oblivious to her obvious discomfort, he asked her, “And how is my son-in-law, Graysen?”

“They’re not Graysen’s.”

That had his eyes snapping up to look at her face. “I beg your pardon?”

He didn’t know—hadn’t seen the engagement blasted on the front page of every magazine and newspaper in the city. Didn’t see the press release Azriel’s PR team dropped the day they left the Summer District for their honeymoon, announcing that they had been wedded. Or the single wedding photo that she and Azriel agreed to be a part of the announcement that was headline news for two solid weeks.

It had been a tactical plan to reduce the likelihood of them being ambushed by paparazzi on their return—and it worked. But as Elain stood staring at her father, she realized he had been released after they returned home from their honeymoon, therefore missing the tabloids and believing she had married that scum of an ex.

Either way, it needed to be corrected. “I’m not carrying Graysen’s children. I never married him.”

A look of confusion crossed his features, followed by what could only be described as disdain. “Well if they’re not his, and I’m assuming you didn’t let some bastard impregnate you because you have a ring on your finger, then by all means, tell me who my son-in-law is.”

The corner of her lips turned up in a smirk as she indicated to the looming presence behind him, “You remember Azriel.”

Her husband stepped around her father to take his place at her side and gently tucked Kaden between their bodies. “Mr. Archeron,” he said, voice deep and threatening. “Lovely to see you again.”

From his tone, it was obvious that was a lie.

Her father looked him over, taking in the man Az had grown into, from the size of his body to the expensive clothes. “Didn’t you break her heart some decade ago?”

“Dad,” she hissed, but Azriel just waved a hand.

“It’s fine, love. It’s no secret that I hurt you back then,” he said, taking her hand in his to let his thumb brush over the back of her knuckles. “But I am doing everything I can to make up for that mistake.”

He scoffed. “Like taking her from a perfectly good man.”

“That man,” she spat, “attacked me. Good is not an adjective I would use to describe him at all.”

“A mistake he could’ve made up for.”

Elain blinked in shock. “Why are you defending him? I am your daughter.”

“His father and I are good friends, Elain. We had set you two up as a perfect match. And then you blow it for this?” he waved a hand in Azriel’s general vicinity who so much as didn’t even flinch at the remark.

Actually, her husband looked quite bored with the conversation, and well, she was finished with it too. Elain knew how stubborn her father was, alcohol or not. If he was set in his ways and opinions, there was no swaying him.

“I think there is nothing left to discuss here. We have a family court appearance to get to.” She turned to walk away when his hand reached out and snatched her around the crook of her elbow.

“I can fix this, Elain. Let me talk with Nolan and make this right?”

Azriel’s scarred fingers shot out to encircle his wrist. “Take your hand off my wife,” he spoke with a deadly calm she’d only seen used on Elias.

But it worked, her father’s grip loosening until he let go of her completely.

“Here’s the thing, Dad. There is nothing for you to fix here. I am the happiest I have ever been with Azriel and this family we’ve grown together.” Her hand settled on the swell of her stomach. “If you cannot find peace with that, then you are not welcome to be a part of it.” Elain looked down at her son who had been quiet the entire exchange to ruffle his hair and then back up at her husband. “Let’s go.”

Azriel wasted no time in swooping to lift Kaden onto his hip, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her toward the entrance. Not a single one of them looked back at the man she once considered her father.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved most of my fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist:

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

@the-regal-warrior

@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

@eloeloeheheh

@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

@curiositywoman

@karsyn-b2

@elainsweetcobalt

@emilyondemand

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

48 notes · View notes

thelov3lybookworm · 7 months

Text

The Elites

Day 7: free day

Summary: old debts need to be paid.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: mafia lucien is soo 🤤 also, I know this is pretty cliché. So what? Its just a one-shot. All that matters is Lucien is hot 😏

(should i do part 2...?)

@lucienweekofficial

•○🌑○•

Lucien sipped on his coffee as he read through the reports in his hand, the TV in front of him playing some news channel, the volume turned low. Not loud, but audible enough that he could listen to it.

Or his assistant could. At the moment, she was lounging in the chair on the other side of his desk, staring intently at the TV.

Something occurred to Lucien as his attention flitted to the TV for a moment. The man that was currently being interviewed looked familiar.

"Have we yet found the man who stole from my father?" He questioned, setting the reports down on his desk.

His assistant– Alice– glanced at him.

"No." She replied flatly.

Lucien nodded, his eyes not moving from the man. He grabbed the remote without looking and increased the volume, leaning back in his seat and grabbing his coffee again.

"Who is that guy?"

"Some random billionaire. He's recently became very famous. Has four daughters."

Lucien let that information marinate in his mind.

This man definitely looked familiar, and Lucien wasn't going to let that slide.

Could that be him?

"Alice?" He called.

"Hmm?"

"Think you can get me the file my father had on all his business partners? Also the file he kept on who all he had lent money to."

"Sure." She got up, fixing her skirt and shirt, clasping the few top buttons she always had open. Lucien eyed her for a moment before looking away. She always did that when in his presence, opening her shirt buttons until her chest was practically falling out of it.

"Thanks. Please make sure it's recieved by the next hour."

She nodded and left. And then Lucien pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello?"

"Festus. I want you to–"

"You know you can call me Jurian, right? It's my name after all." The voice was cheerful, meant to be deceptive. And it could fool people if they didn't know that he, Jurian Festus, was private investigator for the elite mafia families. Lucien's family was one of those elites.

"Festus. I'm going to need you to get me all the information you can about this new billionaire. Apparently, he's recently become very famous."

"Mr Archeron you mean? Oh yeah I can get you information about him."

Lucien felt his eyes narrow. "How do you already know who I am talking about?"

Jurian laughed. "I was just researching about him for fun because I had nothing else to do. Turns out, he'd been a very wealthy man, trading in jewels and what not. He suddenly went off the radar for some years, almost a decade. He's now back, claiming he'd lost all his wealth due to a shipwreck or something. Apparently, he recently found out the ships never stopped sailing."

Jurian took a pause, then continued. "The youngest of them is married into the Night family. Has beef with the Springwell family. The second oldest is the favourite of Mister Archeron. Doesn't really give a fuck about the oldest and third daughter."

Lucien took all of that information in before responding.

"Get me all the background on him and everyone he associates himself with."

"Sure. Did you try the new drink–"

Lucien hung up before Jurian could agitate him further.

•○🌑○•

"Alice. My office. Now." Lucien spoke into the telephone.

He had recieved the reports on the Archeron father, and turned out the man really was familiar.

"Yes?" Alice pushed open the door, strutting in like she owned the place. Her shirt buttons were again undone almost halfway, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

"Get my car ready. I'm going to meet someone."

She cocked her head. "Who is it that you are going to see?"

Lucien stood, setting the reports aside.

"You are my assistant, Alice, not my mother. I do not need to let you know of anything if it does not concern you. Do not make me repeat myself. Get my car ready."

He could see her fuming, steam practically coming out of her ears. But she nodded and turned away, walking out of his office.

Lucien pulled out his gun, making sure it was loaded before he left his room.

This was going to be a fun trip.

He found his car waiting for him in front of his house. It was a black SUV.

When he went to open the door, a hand shot out to grasp the handle. He slowly turned his head to look at the person, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

Alice gave him a charming smile.

"Were you planning on leaving without me?"

Lucien gripped her hands, tightening his hold until fear entered her eyes. "Get out of your limits again, and you'll lose your job."

•○🌑○•

The Archeron home was huge, but it was humble compared to the Cleaver's estate.

It didn't even begin to compare.

Lucien walked upto the door, his group of guards and security right behind him. As soon as he rang the bell, the sound of footsteps greeted him.

The door opened, and he expected a servant to peek out.

But he found himself looking at a woman, barely any older than him. She was beautiful, her eyes captivating as she stared at Lucien.

"How may I help you?" She raised an eyebrow.

Lucien blinked, then cleared his throat. "Uh– yes– I'm here to meet with Mister Archeron."

Her eyes roamed over his security team, incredulity taking over her features. "Alright..." She drew out the word.

"Who is it?" A firm voice asked from behind the lady, and she glanced back.

"I don't know. He says he's here to meet father."

From the slight gap over her head, Lucien could see a similar looking woman, though older, standing there.

"I'll get him. Don't let anyone in."

A few moments passed, and the woman who had opened the door inched it open slowly, leaning against it as she pulled a novel out of nowhere and began reading.

Lucien found himself studying her, and by the time Mister Archeron arrived, Lucien had memorised almost everything on her body. From her features to her clothes to the accessories she wore, everything.

"Who is it?" An irritated voice questioned from inside the house, and Lucien looked to find the man he'd seen on TV that morning walking towards the door.

"Lucien Cleaver." The man paled, and Lucien smiled, ignoring the questioning look the woman sent him. "That last name mean something to you?"

"No. Absolutely not. Y/n, why don't you go read somewhere else? Let me handle this now."

Y/n. A beautiful name. Lucien thought.

As soon as the girl was out of sight, Lucien got to the point.

"I know you know who I am, so let's not pretend. The contract will stands, and according to it, you are obliged to get our money back."

"I don't know what you are talking about. Leave the property before I call the guards."

Lucien smiled slowly. "You don't want to do that."

The man swallowed, realising he could not get out of this one. "I can't return the money. I don't have it right now."

Lucien studied the man. He knew Archeron was lying, but maybe Lucien could get something out of this facade.

"That's okay then."

"Is it?" Archeron looked at Lucien warily. Smart.

Lucien smirked. "You can have all the time you want to return the money, and in the meanwhile, you are supposed to hand over something precious to you."

"What do you want? Jewels?"

"Your daughter."

"No. You will not have any of my daughters."

"I'm not asking for your favourite Elain. I'm good with Y/n too."

The man's eyes turned from wary to contemplative. "I... if I do that, will you leave me alone?"

Lucien shrugged. "You will have her back once you return our money."

Archeron sighed. "Fine. Have her."

It took all Lucien had in him not to shoot him them and there. Lucien hated people who were ready to trade away their kids so they could have some money in their pocket.

But lucien didn't do that, because if this man was ready to let his daughter leave with someone he didn't know, then he didn't deserve to have her.

"I'll get her ready."

•○🌑○•

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife

70 notes · View notes

c-e-d-dreamer · 9 months

Text

But I'm Only Looking At You: Part Four

A/N: And we're back to Regency Cassian! And this time, there's no squinting needed for the prompts because Lion Hearted was the original day this fic was meant to be posted back when it was still meant to be just a one-shot and not 5 parts.... Anywho! Hope everyone has been enjoying @cassianappreciationweek and this fic. As a warning, this chapter is NSFW ;)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

It’s over a week of being in Glasgow before Nesta wakes up to sunlight streaming through the windows, golden streaks dancing across the floors and the blankets on the bed. The bright, early morning light paints the gardens and the blue skies above in soft hues, the faintest hint of fog still yet to be chased away.

The gloomy gray clouds and rain had stuck around longer than Nesta would have liked, clinging to the skies with a stubbornness that she swore rivaled her own. It had certainly matched the gloominess in the manor at least.

If she and Cassian weren’t screaming at one another, it was tense silence scraping its nails down their skin, burrowing into the expanse between them and stretching it wider still. Most days, it left Nesta feeling untethered, lost in those roaring waves that separate them. It seemed the only thing missing was claps of thunder, but even the weather seemed hesitant to mirror their sharp words.

With more energy than she’s had in days, Nesta throws the blankets off her legs and clambers out of bed. She steps on light feet closer to the window, eying the way the blades of grass twist and dance in the summer breeze. When she finally pulls herself away from the window, she calls for a lady’s maid to bring her a fresh, warm pitcher of water, setting about her morning routine of washing and pulling on a fresh dress.

When she walks downstairs and into the breakfast room, Nesta is surprised not to see Cassian there. Instead, the head of the table is decidedly empty, the member of staff clearing away the dishes the only sign he was ever there. Despite her best attempts to squash the feeling down, disappointment still churns in her gut, still twists and squeezes around her heart.

“I’ll be taking my morning tea in the library, thank you,” Nesta declares before turning on her heel and marching right back upstairs.

Unfortunately, the library doesn’t offer the sanctuary that Nesta is hoping for once she’s inside. Despite being in the large armchair that’s become her favorite, become her chair, Nesta still has to take a deep stuttering breath, still finds herself pressing her hand against her chest to soothe the sting there.

If she closes her eyes, she swears she can feel the slide of gentle fingers down her temple, down her cheek. Swears she can hear the gentle whisper of her name, a caress in that deep timbre. Swears she can feel strong arms slipping beneath her knees, her shoulders, can feel the warm chest she was cradled against as she was carried to bed.

She opens her eyes and spies her book from last night sitting on the tea table, a ribbon caringly placed between the pages so she wouldn’t lose her place. The sight has warmth spreading through her at the same time that ache that’s taken up home between her ribs grows and twinges.

The sound of the library door opening makes Nesta almost jump out of her skin in surprise, her traitorous heart filling with hope for just a moment. She snaps her attention toward it just as Mrs Reynolds steps inside, a tray with tea and toast poised in her hands.

“My lady,” Mrs Reynolds offers, dipping into a small curtsy before setting the tray on the tea table. When she straightens again, she reaches into the pockets of her skirts. “This arrived for you this morning.”

Nesta takes the letter that Mrs Reynolds holds out to her, surprised to see the Archeron family seal pressed into the wax. She turns the paper over in her hand, her breath catching when she sees Elain’s familiar, looping scrawl. She wastes no time breaking the seal and unfolding the paper, barely even noticing the housekeeper seeing herself out.

She devours Elain’s words, all of the updates her sister has provided. Apparently, in the time since Nesta’s marriage and departure to Glasgow, Elain has gotten engaged. Nesta always knew that Elain had a thing for Duke Helion’s only son. It was one of the things she was worried about after Cassian had so thoroughly ruined the Archeron name, that Lucien wouldn’t sully his own family’s name, that he’d stop his courting, but it seems the Duke’s son didn’t care and asked for Elain’s hand anyways.

Nesta can’t help but smile as she continues to read, at how Lucien simply laughs any time someone dares bring up that they think he’s making a mistake, when they try to warn him off. Honestly, if anyone should be reconsidering, it’s me because he can truly be such a rake sometimes. But I love him anyways. The last line has Nesta chuckling softly, pressing a hand against her mouth.

She flips to the next page of Elain’s letter, learning about how Cassian’s friend from school, Rhysand, of all people has started calling on Feyre more often, clearly intent on courting her. But with each new sentence that Nesta reads, the looping letters of Elain’s scrawl start to blur more and more, tears slipping free past Nesta’s eyes and splashing down onto the page until she has to set the letter down lest she completely ruin the ink.

She presses her knees against her chest, against the pressure building there, against the way her heart seems to writhe and crack between her ribs, and lets out a stuttering breath. Her mind feels like a jumble of emotions, threads tangling tighter despite her best attempts to unravel the mess.

She can’t stop thinking about when her mother told her about Tomas’s proposal, how when Nesta tried to tell her no, her mother reminded her that Tomas’s title would save them. Save their family. Save her sisters. Nesta could save her sisters. She can’t stop thinking about when her mother found Cassian’s letters that night, the way her mother laughed in her face and told her that love was for fairytales, not ladies, before tossing them into the fire. She can’t stop thinking about when they got back home after the failed wedding with Tomas, when her mother had spat and shouted at her. Told her she was a failure, that she’d failed her sisters, that Elain and Feyre would end up on the streets now, no better than common whores. She can’t stop thinking about the way Elain had cried that night.

And now both her sisters are perfectly well. Elain is engaged to the son of a Duke, and if Rhysand has his way, soon, Feyre will be engaged to a Duke. It fills her with such immense relief, knowing that her sisters will be okay, that despite everything that’s happened, they aren’t ruined. That she hasn’t ruined them, hasn’t been the cause of her sisters’ misery.

But there’s no denying the anger that simmers low in her gut too. If their mother had her way, Nesta would be married to Tomas right now. She would be crumbling under the hands of a cruel man, and it would have all been for nothing because what is a Viscount compared to a Duke? She would have given up happiness and love, a fairytale as her mother said, for what?

Although, perhaps, she’s already given up happiness and love anyways.

Because beneath the relief, beneath the anger, it’s regret that sinks its claws in and twists. She’d been so frightened for Elain and Feyre’s fate, so furious at the way that Cassian hadn’t even cared about the repercussions of his decision, that she’d pushed him away. She’d ignored him and snapped at him and threw cruel words at him and burned and burned and burned. She burned herself from the inside out with that fiery rage. She burned the bridge between her and him. She burned it all until here she stands, in the ashes, cold and alone with a letter from Elain and nothing else.

With a determined huff, Nesta scrubs her hands down her cheeks and straightens her spine. She swipes her forgotten book off the tea table, tucking Elain’s letter neatly inside the cover, and strides out of the library. Her heartbeat starts to thunder in her chest as she makes her way downstairs, but when she reaches the ground level, the manor is quiet. Too quiet. Her eyes flicker toward the door that leads to Cassian’s study, and it’s a sinking realization that he must be at the factories again today.

She swallows hard around her hurt and annoyance, letting out a quiet scoff that seems to echo through the quiet hall. Just her luck. Perhaps, this is the Mother’s way of punishing her. Determined to at least take advantage of the nice weather, Nesta turns on her heel and heads for the bowels of the manor instead. She glances around when she reaches the kitchen, her mouth twisting as she considers her options.

“My lady?” Nesta whips around to find Michael, the cook, watching her curiously, his hands buried up to the elbow in a large bowl of dough. “Can I help you find something?”

“I was planning to take advantage of the sunny weather,” Nesta explains. “And I’ll admit I was hoping to take a treat with me to enjoy while I read.”

Michael offers her a friendly smile and a nod. “Of course. I will have someone bring something out to you.”

“How will they know where to find me in the gardens?”

“Will you not be under the willow tree?”

Nesta’s heart skips a beat, the breath stolen straight from her lungs. “There’s a willow tree on the grounds?”

“Aye. Cassian was still a young lad when he had it planted. He said it was for someone special.”

Nesta doesn’t even know what to say to that, words and emotions clogged in the back of her throat. Somehow, she’s able to nod her head in thanks. She heads out of the kitchen and out of the manor house, winding her way through the gardens until she finds where the willow tree stands, leaves and branches gently swaying in the summer breeze.

Her steps are slow as she walks closer, hand reaching out to slide along the bark. For someone special. Nesta can’t help but smile as she thinks back to the willow tree near the stream by her family home. It was her favorite place to sneak off to. A place where her mother couldn’t bother her with more lessons, a place where she could read, a place where she could relax and be herself without any expectations or worries weighing her down.

Cassian would always find her there.

Sometimes they would tease each other back and forth. Sometimes they would talk. Sometimes he would just sit there beside her while she read her book. It was there that Cassian found her after one of her grandmama’s particularly harsh lessons before the older woman passed, gentle fingers helping to wrap her hand. It was there that he told Nesta about the letter he received from his father, about the news of his mother, Nesta sitting with her head on his shoulder to comfort him.

Nesta swallows hard and shakes her head of the memories. She settles in the grass beneath the tree, tucking her knees up to her chest and balancing her book there. As she opens up to her last page, she lets the memories, the emotions of the day, the world, fade away. The only thing there is is the sun high in the sky, the rays of light breaking through between the leaves and branches to create a kaleidoscope of gold. All there is is the breeze that tickles across her cheeks and ruffles the stray strands of her hair. All there is is the characters and the story splashed in ink across the pages of her book.

“Hello, Nes.”

Nesta’s head snaps up from the chapter she was engrossed in at the sound of that voice. She finds Cassian standing in front of her, a small, almost nervous smile tugging up the left side of his lips. There’s a basket clutched in one of his hands, and he uses the other to push his fingers up and through his hair.

“I should have known I’d find you here,” Cassian continues, stepping forward beneath the canopy of the willow tree. He settles in the grass beside her and places the basket down near their legs, removing the cloth that’s been draped over the top and revealing a chocolate tart. “I was given very strict instructions from Michael to bring this to you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Nesta tells him, closing her book and setting it aside.

“I wanted to.”

Cassian pulls out a small plate from the side of the basket, setting it neatly in the space between them. He grabs the knife tucked into the basket next, cutting a piece of the chocolate tart and placing it on the plate. Nesta’s eyebrows dip in confusion as she eyes the slice, the larger than normal serving size of it.

“Are we sharing?”

Cassian chuckles quietly, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging up his lips. “We both know that if I ever try to steal a bite from your chocolate treat, you’d chop my hand off. Just for you, sweetheart.”

“It’s quite a large piece.”

“Chocolate is your favorite.”

He says the words so matter-of-factly, so simply, and Nesta can feel all those emotions from before bubbling back inside her again. All that relief and anger and regret, it twists in her stomach and squeezes through her chest. She still remembers all those times her mother would scold and remind her of the expectations of a good wife. Still remembers seeing Lady Mandray in town, the almost gaunt look to her face, the implication, the promise of the future clear. Still remembers when the Mandrays came over for dinner after the engagement was announced, the shameless comments her mother and Lady Mandray had made right then and there in front of her.

Nesta doesn’t even realize she’s started to cry again until Cassian’s hand reaches up, his touch so gentle, so warm as his palm cradles her cheek. His thumb slides across her skin, catching the tear that slipped free.

“Nes…” Cassian whispers, his voice almost pained. “I’m sorry. You came out here to be alone, for some peace and quiet, and I’m ruining it.”

Cassian pulls his hand back, and Nesta feels the loss like a crack through her chest, the cold needling at that spot on her cheek in the absence of his warmth. Cassian starts to clamber to her feet, and desperation claws at the back of her throat, words tangling into a lump, until all she can do is reach for his wrist, fingers curling into the sleeve of his shirt.

“Please don’t,” Nesta chokes out, not releasing her grip until Cassian settles back into his spot.

Cassian sighs softly, his hazel eyes swimming with sadness, with wariness, with shame, as he watches Nesta. “I’m still sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry. For all of it. I’d take it all back if I could.”

Those words have Nesta’s stomach sinking as she whispers, “do you regret it then?”

“No… I don’t know… I just…” Cassian lets out another soft breath, reaching up and dragging his thumb along her bottom lip. “I’d give anything to see you smile again. Just once. I told myself I was okay with you hating me forever as long as it meant you were safe, but I think it might be killing me.”

“I don’t actually hate you,” Nesta promises quietly. “I could never hate you.”

Nesta gently pulls Cassian’s hand away from her face, but she doesn’t let go of it, settling their joined hands instead in her lap. She traces the lines and calluses across his palm with the tip of her finger, the touch grounding, keeping her steady, as she finds her courage, finds her words.

“My family lost everything right before the season started. There was a bad storm, and my father’s ships went down at sea, with everything on them. It left us with nothing. We barely had enough to pretend nothing was amiss and get through the season, and Tomas is a Viscount. He could save us. I could save Elain and Feyre so they didn’t end up on the streets. It’s all I could think about it. I was willing to do anything if it meant my sisters would be alright. And I didn’t know how to say all that in a letter, to explain it, so I simply never wrote back after your last one arrived, and I hoped you would simply move on, that you'd forget about me, but then you showed up anyways, and still all I could think about was Elain and Feyre and what it would mean for them, what would happen to them.”

“Nesta, I swear I—”

“But I received a letter from Elain this morning. The Duke, Helion, his son, Lucien, has proposed to her. It sounds as if he’s quite smitten and doesn’t care about anything that’s happened. And apparently, your friend, Rhysand, keeps calling on Feyre.”

Cassian’s free hand tilts Nesta’s chin up, forcing her gaze back on his face and his growing grin. “So, it’s all worked out then. No more worries for that pretty little head of yours.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I love how much you care for your sisters,” Cassian explains, shifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “Because you said that you don’t hate me.”

“It's you that should hate me. I said some awful things to you.”

“You think I care about that? It’s all part of our witty repartee.”

Nesta huffs fondly but still annoyed. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” Cassian assures her. He moves the plate between them out of the way, his hands curling around Nesta’s ankles and tugging her closer until her legs are draped over his lap. “I love you. I’ve loved you for years. And I’m going to keep loving you for years to come no matter what you throw at me. I told you, I can take it.”

Nesta smiles softly, reaching her own hand up to trace the scar that runs through Cassian’s eyebrow, fingers sliding along his cheek and the stubble of hair there before settling her palm along his jaw. “I love you too.”

“Really?” Cassian asks teasingly, his smile especially wide and hazel eyes glinting.

“Stop looking so proud of yourself and kiss me, you idiot.”

“That’s the Nesta I know.”

One of Cassian’s arms wraps securely around Nesta’s waist, his other hand cradling her face. Nesta’s breath hitches in her lungs, and for a moment, she swears she’s not breathing, her heart skipping a beat before it starts to thunder. It’s as if the whole thing happens in slow motion, Cassian leaning in close until his nose bumps hers, until their breaths mingle in the small space between them. The first brush of his lips against hers is sweet, almost tentative, but then he firmly slots their mouths together.

Nesta had often thought about what it might be like to kiss Cassian, but her imaginings were an ill comparison to the real thing. With every slide of their lips together, warmth floods through her chest, sparks ricocheting through her nerve endings all the way down to her toes. Cassian’s arms are a steady, welcomed weight where they’re wrapped around her, and when Nesta buries a hand in the dark curls of his hair, he groans into her mouth, hauling her closer still until she’s fully in his lap.

Nesta settles her knees on either side of his hips, pressing her chest against his and meeting him stroke for stroke. Cassian pulls back enough to press searing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, Nesta releasing a gasping moan when his teeth scrape along her pulse point.

“Cassian,” Nesta pleads, tugging at his hair again.

Cassian groans against her skin, his whole body shuddering at the sound of his name falling past her lips. “You're going to be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“Good.”

Nesta uses her grip on his hair to pull him into another kiss, but Cassian laughs against her, nipping at her bottom lip in retaliation.

“Haughty witch.”

Nesta can't help but laugh at the return of the teasing nickname. For a moment, Cassian's eyes widen at the sound, the gold of them so bright, until a soft smile settles easily across his face. Nesta matches that smile with one of her own, happiness light and bursting between her ribs.

“Gods, you're so beautiful,” Cassian says quietly, his voice awed, reverent. “I must be the luckiest man in the whole world.”

Heat creeps up Nesta's neck and she can feel it threatening to spill across her cheeks. Rather than answer, she crashes her mouth back against his. Cassian's grip tightens around her, his tongue slipping past her lips as the kiss deepens. Nesta starts to rock her hips, and she can feel his desire for her nestled against her. It only spurs her on more, chasing the heat building within herself, the friction. One of his arms shift to under Nesta's ass and then Cassian is clambering up to his feet with Nesta hoisted up against him, Nesta letting out a squeal of surprise.

“Cassian, what are you doing? Put me down!”

“Sorry, Nes,” Cassian tells her, moving back toward the manor. “But the things I want to do to you are not proper for the gardens.”

“That doesn't mean you have to carry me. I can walk just fine.”

Cassian makes a big show of sighing dramatically, but he sets Nesta back down. Once her feet touch the grass, he grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together and rushing toward the manor. A few of the staff eye them curiously when they all but burst through the doors, but Cassian doesn't seem to notice or care, leading them up the stairs and to their bedroom.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Cassian is back on Nesta, hands cradling her face and kissing her with a fever that has Nesta's head spinning. Just their mouths pressed together has her melting against him, fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt to hold herself upright. His own fingers slide down from her cheek, along her neck, her collarbones, and a shiver rakes its way up Nesta’s spine in response, goosebumps pebbling across her skin.

Cassian pulls back enough that he can press his forehead to Nesta’s, those fingers tracing along the neckline of her dress and his voice quiet and breathless. “May I?”

Nesta nods her head, stepping back enough that she can turn around. Cassian’s hands make quick work of the stays of her dress, and when the laces are loose enough, Nesta tugs the sleeves down her arms and lets the dress go so it pools at her feet. She goes to turn back around, but the feel of Cassian’s hands in her hair gives her pause. Slowly, he tugs the pins free until her hair falls in soft waves down her back and around her shoulders.

“Beautiful,” Cassian whispers, and Nesta half wonders if he’s speaking to her or to himself.

He gently pulls aside the neckline of her shift, dipping his head down to press a kiss to her exposed shoulder, to the constellation of freckles splashed across her skin there. The touch is so gentle, the gesture so tender, and Nesta’s heart skips a beat even as her blood starts to simmer and warm. She spins back around and presses up onto her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him properly again. Cassian walks them back until the backs of Nesta’s knees hit the bed, and she breaks away from the kiss to slide up onto the mattress.

Cassian takes a moment to tug his shirt free from his pants, reaching a hand back to fist in the fabric and pull it off. Nesta’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him, her eyes tracing down the expanse of golden brown skin on display. The bulge of his arms. The ridges of his abs. The deep v-lines. The tented proof of his arousal.

“See something you like, Nes?”

Nesta’s eyes snap back up to his face, taking in his wide, cocksure smirk, and rolls her eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to…”

Nesta’s words trail off as Cassian suddenly pulls his pants down and kicks them aside, and she has to swallow hard. She’s never seen a naked man before, and Cassian is certainly something else. His thighs are thick, large cock standing hard and heavy between them, the tip already glistening in the low burning candle light.

“You were saying?” Cassian teases, kneeling up onto the bed.

“Always so full of yourself,” Nesta fires back, but the breathless quality to her voice betrays her.

Cassian's hands find home at her shins, sliding up over her knees and pushing the hem of her shift with them. When he looks back up at Nesta, there's a clear question swimming in his gaze, and Nesta answers it, sitting up enough that she can tug her shift up and off. The movement brings their faces close together again, and for a moment, Nesta can do nothing but stare, feels captured in his gaze. The golds and greens of his hazel eyes have melded together around his blown out pupils, hair a tousled mess from her fingers where it falls around his face. And the slow smile that tugs its way across his face, it has her heart skipping a beat.

She wastes no time pulling him back into her, their mouths moving together in what is quickly becoming a practiced dance between them. Nesta leans back down against the pillows, dragging Cassian with her until he's cradled comfortably in the space between her thighs, her legs hooked around his hips and her hands buried in his hair.

One of Cassian's hands slides up to her breast, and Nesta moans into Cassian's mouth as his fingers knead at her flesh. He breaks the kiss to move his mouth's attention to her other breast, tongue swirling around her nipple until she’s practically arching up into him.

Nesta's entire body feels like it's blazing. The graze of Cassian's stubble against her skin, the way he's moving his mouth, she can do nothing but toss her head back and moan, nothing but give in to the electricity sparking through her veins. She gets a small reprieve when Cassian pulls back with a soft pop, but he merely switches to lave attention to her other breast.

“Cassian,” Nesta pleads, nails scraping against his scalp.

She's not even sure what she's begging for, but she knows that she needs more. Cassian, at least, seems to understand her unspoken request. He presses kisses down her sternum, down her stomach, sliding down her body and the bed. His hands slide tantalizingly slow up her legs, goosebumps pebbling across her skin in their wake.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

Nesta takes a moment, a breath, to try and calm her racing heart. “Yes.”

It's the truth. In the privacy of her bed chambers, particularly late at night, she would sometimes slip her fingers beneath the blankets, between her thighs. Especially when she got her hands on some of Sellyn Drake's more salacious novels. Although, sometimes, she found it difficult to imagine the heroes of those stories. If the hero was a little too blonde. If the hero had blue eyes.

“And who did you imagine?” Cassian dares to ask, his hands sliding up her thighs, so close to where Nesta really wants him.

“If you're expecting me to fuel your ego, you'll be waiting a long time. It certainly wasn't you.”

Cassian's smirk is beautiful, but Nesta bites her tongue around that thought. “Have I ever told you that you're a terrible liar?”

“And you're a terrible tease.”

Cassian chuckles, but his fingers tighten their grip, spreading her thighs wider until she's on full display for him. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re already dripping for me.”

Nesta whines high in the back of her throat, her hips trying to buck up, but Cassian’s hold on her is firm. He dips his head down, hot breath fanning across her, and Nesta is about to make another remark to urge him on, but any words die in the back of her throat when Cassian presses the flat of his tongue against her. He groans, the vibrations skittering all the way down to her toes, and then he absolutely devours her.

His tongue alternates between swirling around her clit and licking long thick stripes, and Nesta can do nothing but hold on. She rocks her hips against his face, pressing closer still, and uses the hand in his hair to keep him where he is, but from the way he moans and groans against her, she has a strong suspicion that Cassian is right where he wants to be already.

He sucks her clit between his lips, and Nesta practically bows off the mattress, a choked off moan of Cassian’s name tumbling past her lips. He shifts one of his arms so it's draped across her hips, keeping her still. His other hand slides up to join his mouth, and he sinks a finger into her. It's certainly thicker than Nesta's own fingers ever were, but the stretch feels too good, and when he presses in a second finger beside the first, when he curls those fingers, Nesta is sure she's not going to last much longer. Already, she can feel that familiar heat coiling tighter and tighter in her gut, can feel herself climbing closer and closer to that blissful precipice.

He pulls his mouth away to look up at her, fingers continuing to pump in a steady rhythm, and the sight shouldn't be as erotic as it is. His eyes are almost completely swallowed up by his pupils, the hazel color that remains a molten gold. His lips are swollen and pink, a combination of saliva and her arousal smeared around his mouth and through his stubble. The smirk he settles her with is downright devilish, eyes pinned wholly on her as he pointedly licks his lips.

“My sweet wife is better than any chocolate tart or dessert,” Cassian tells her, his voice a deep rasp, before he leans down and licks another thick stripe from where his fingers are buried to her clit, almost as if proving his point.

“Fuck,” Nesta whispers, unable to form any other coherent words. Unable to form any other coherent thoughts. The sensations are somehow too much and not enough. The feel of him. The sight of him. His words.

“You're already so tight around my fingers,” Cassian continues, squeezing in a third finger, eyes tracking the way Nesta arches and keens. “Can feel you squeezing and fluttering around me. Are you close, Nes?”

“Yes,” Nesta moans, her hand reaching down to curl around Cassian's wrist, nails digging into his skin. “Don't stop. Gods, please, don't stop.”

“You sound so pretty when you beg, But I'll bet you look even prettier when you come.” Cassian curls his fingers again, leaning down to drag his tongue over her clit. “Come on, sweetheart. Be my good girl and come all over my fingers.”

The praise finally breaks the last tether. Nesta practically shouts Cassian's name as release tears through her. He works her through it, fingers continuing to move until she melts boneless back into the mattress. He presses sweet and soothing kisses along the inside of her thigh, tracing a path up over her hip bone.

He spends extra attention at her breasts when he reaches them again, languidly swirling his tongue and suckling at the flesh there. It pulls a whine deep from Nesta's chest, her blood already beginning to heat again under his ministrations. When he's finally had his fill, he continues up over her collarbones and to her neck, teeth and lips nipping and sucking at the skin until Nesta is sure she'll have a mark tomorrow.

By the time his mouth finally finds hers, Nesta is practically putty in his hands. She moans at the way she can taste herself on his lips, pressing her tongue against his greedily.When Cassian finally breaks the kiss, both their chests are heaving again, and Cassian rests his forehead against hers, eyes closing as though he needs a moment to gather himself.

“We can stop,” Cassian promises quietly. “We don't have to do anything more. We have time.”

“But I want to,” Nesta assures him, lifting her legs to lock around his hips. “I want you.”

“I'll go slow.”

Nesta reaches her hand between them, palm cradling his cheek. “I trust you.”

Cassian kisses her again, but it's softer, sweeter, every emotion between them seared into that press of lips. It feels right in a way that's as terrifying as it is thrilling. In that moment, Nesta swears a golden thread winds around them, tying her heart as surely to Cassian's as his is tied to hers. In that moment, she swears some part deep within her soul lets out a relieved breath, whispers home. In that moment, she swears she sees those same feelings reflected in Cassian's own eyes.

Cassian shifts his hips and reaches his hand down between them, lining himself up. As promised, he sinks into her slowly, Nesta gasping at the stretch, the fullness. Her arms wrap tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his back as she tries to get used to the feeling.

“Relax, Nes,” Cassian murmurs, pressing kisses along her neck and kneading at her breast until he draws a moan out of her. “That's it. Fuck, you take me so well, sweetheart.”

Inch by inch, Cassian sinks into her, until their hips are pressed flushed together, until Nesta feels so incredibly full. She clenches down around him, almost testing, and Cassian groans, his head dropping down to her collarbones.

“So big,” Nesta whispers, clenching down around him again.

Cassian chuckles, and Nesta can feel the rumble of it everywhere they're pressed together. “What happened to not wanting to fuel my ego?”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me, remember?”

“I’d love you more if you’d move,” Nesta bites out, trying to buck her hips up against him.

Cassian lifts his head enough that his lips brush against hers when he speaks again, “So demanding today.”

“Cassian, please.”

“And still so pretty when you beg.”

Despite his teasing words, Cassian pulls his hips back just to press back forward again. The drag has Nesta’s toes curling, has her moaning as she moves her hips to meet Cassian’s every thrust. And yet it’s still not enough. She still needs more, ready to tumble headfirst and give into the fire blazing through her veins and begging to be released.

“Cassian,” Nesta begins, but when Cassian’s movements pause completely, his eyes clouding over with concern, Nesta reaches a hand to run soothingly through his hair. “I won’t break.”

“Fuck me, Nes…” Cassian pushes out between gritted teeth, his words trailing off into a groan.

He crashes his mouth back against hers, fingers digging into her thigh and hiking her leg higher against his waist, and then he starts to snap his hips against hers in earnest. Each press into her is hard and deep, and it’s exactly what Nesta needs, Cassian’s name falling past her lips like a prayer.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you. You feel so good, so perfect.”

Already, Nesta can feel herself racing closer to that edge, but at least Cassian seems to be teetering there with her, his movements beginning to stutter. He reaches a hand between their bodies, finding her clit with ease and moving his fingers in time with his building rhythm.

“Come on,” Cassian continues. “Be my good girl and come around my cock. Want to feel you squeezing me.”

Cassian continues to play her body like an instrument, sending her careening through another orgasm. Cassian works her through it, keeping his hips moving until he presses in deep and stills, warmth spreading through Nesta as he finds his own release.

They continue to lay there, tangled up together as they catch their breath, before Cassian carefully moves off of her. He pads over to the bathing chamber, returning with a damp cloth to clean them both up. Once that’s discarded, he pulls back the blankets and encourages Nesta to slip beneath, sliding into the bed beside her. His arms curl around her waist and tug her close, Nesta shifting until she can comfortably lay with her head pillowed on his chest.

Cuddled up this close together, Nesta can leech all of the warmth that always seems to radiate off Cassian. She can relish in the strength and comforting weight of his arms secure around her. She can hear the beat of his heart beneath her ear. It has Nesta sighing contently, and when Cassian turns his head enough that he can press a kiss to the top of her head, she doesn’t even bother biting back her smile.

“So, what happens now?” Nesta asks, tracing senseless patterns across Cassian’s chest with her fingertip.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess…” Nesta lets out a soft breath, tilting her head so she can meet Cassian’s gaze. “I just spend so much time worrying about Elain and Feyre, so much time being angry, that I almost don't know what to do now.”

“You can do whatever you want,” Cassian assures her, reaching a hand up to gently brush the hair away from Nesta’s face and tucking the strands behind her ear. “You can come to the factories with me. You can spend all day in the library until you've read every book in there.” His expression morphs into that cocksure smirk of his. “We can spend all day here in this bed.”

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly at him. “Spending days on end in bed sounds like a terrible business model.”

Cassian chuckles, the warm sound curling around Nesta’s limbs, but then his face turns serious again, that soft look Nesta knows is only for her flooding through his hazel eyes. “Whatever you want, Nes. I told you all I care about is you, and I meant it. As long as you're here with me, as long as you're happy. That's all that matters.”

Nesta’s smile grows even more at that, her heart fluttering with so much joy, so much love between her ribs. “Cassian MacLeod, the big sap. Who knew?”

“Only for you, Mrs MacLeod.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @girl-of-many-floods @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head

#nessian #CassianAppreciationWeek2023 #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #regency au #my fic

98 notes · View notes

moodymelanist · 6 months

Text

I Guess It's Half Timing (And The Other Half's Luck) Chapter Eight - October

down to the wire but we made it hehe. happy Halloween, everyone! I can’t believe there’s only one chapter left after this and then the epilogue 🥹🥹 see y'all back here same time next month hehe

✷✷✷✷✷ Cassian

After that first night of holding Nesta close, Cassian just… kept sleeping in her room. It wasn’t a routine thing until it was; she had so many nightmares during those initial two weeks of living together that Cassian found himself used to waking up in the middle of the night to go check on her, and eventually it was just easier for him to stay with her all night rather than pretend like he was just really thirsty at two in the morning.

Nesta was sleeping a lot better with him there the entire time, so at least that was something. Cassian was torn between being pleased that she wasn’t even more exhausted than she already was and terrified that she’d tell him she didn’t need him to keep the other side of the bed warm, but even as the nightmares went away, she didn’t ask him to go back to his own room.

Getting to fall asleep next to Nesta was almost as amazing as waking up next to her every morning. She was the last thing he thought before he drifted off and the first thing he thought about when his eyes opened in the morning light, and if he thought he’d been happy getting her to move in with him, it was nothing compared to having her so close for so many hours. Cassian was sleeping better than he had in years, even though Nesta’s toes were like icicles and sometimes he woke up cuddling one side of her special body pillow instead of the woman he so desperately wanted.

Because that was it, wasn’t it? He’d been falling in love with her for months, and it seemed sharing a bed had been the final nail in the coffin of his feelings for her.

He wanted to shout the truth of it from the rooftops. He wanted to keep his feelings safe and tucked away where nobody could change that warm rush of affection he felt every time Nesta so much as twitched in his direction.

Maybe he was a little confused about where to go from here, but he was absolutely certain about being in love with one Nesta Archeron. The only problem? She didn’t seem to have a clue in the fucking world.

Keep reading on AO3 here!

#acotar #acosf #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #moodymelanistwrites #acomaf #acowar #acofas #pro nessian #pro nesta archeron #pro cassian #cassian acotar #pro cassian acotar #pregnancy Nessian fic

69 notes · View notes

velidewrites · 1 year

Text

Summary: Nesta is having the worst time on her vacation—until she spots a handsome stranger in a restaurant. Lucky for her, he's determined to show her a good time.

Pairing: Nesta x Cassian

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Smut, mature language, Mrs Archeron

Read on AO3

The only source of light in the restaurant were the candles, laid atop each table and flickering whenever the evening breeze dared to gently whoosh inside. There were no windows in the space—the climate here was warm enough to not have to bother with such things—so instead, someone had opted to carve rounded, open archways into the sandstone walls. Every now and then, the wind would find its way in, prompting the small flames into a dance that threatened to smother their enthusiasm for good.

Such cruel fate had been suffered by the fire burning over at Nesta’s table, its only remnant the thin swirl of smoke that was now slowly trailing upwards. Nesta’s eyes, however, remained fixed on the blackened wick, as if she could still feel the soft flame casting shadows over her face.

It had only been seconds, and yet the wax had already begun freezing into place as it dripped down the candle’s ivory length. To Nesta, though, the moment had somehow managed to extend into eternity—a fate even more cruel than the flame’s unfortunate death. Right now, she would do just about anything to simply evaporate into the nightly air.

A light click sounded somewhere near her side, and time resumed in an instant. A symphony of voices poured into her ears—conversations in too many languages to discern, tangled between the music playing quietly from the speakers hung in the gap between the back wall and the ceiling. Everything became too loud, too rushed, like an impending wave of the sea, the same kind that was now crashing into the shore overlooked by the restaurant. With a will of their own, Nesta’s eyes squeezed shut, as though shutting off one of her senses could somehow ease the fervour of the other, and she quickly blinked, realising there were too many gazes on her to allow an escape into her own head.

When her eyes opened again, her candle was burning anew. The fire rose from from the spent wick, resuming its dance as if never interrupted at all.

Nesta blinked one more time before finally looking up.

The waiter stood over their table, a sleek, electric lighter in his hand. He flashed her a smile, his perfect set of white teeth nearly brighter than the flame itself.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked in a thick accent. Nesta thought it made his question sound like a song. Rich and lovely—each word enunciated, each syllable important.

She opened her mouth when another movement caught her eye—a glimpse of lustrous silk, reflecting the light softly. Pink.

Nesta’s mouth closed with a flat exhale. Elain always managed to select the perfect fabric for the occasion—as if she could somehow predict how the setting would best compliment her outfit. Indeed, her own pencil skirt and a sleeveless top were no match for her sister’s dress, which could probably challenge the very sun with its own gleam. Nesta’s all-black ensemble, on the other hand, seemed to suck in all the light.

Seated to her left, Elain’s brown eyes narrowed as she scanned the menu carefully. “Do you have any vegetarian options?” she asked, brows creasing in worry.

Another movement—opposite from Nesta, this time. Her eyes darted to its source, just in time to catch the wave of their mother’s dismissive hand.

“She’ll have the octopus,” she told the waiter, whose own frown mimicked Elain’s before he quickly jotted down the order. “We’re at the seaside, after all.”

Elain’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“My eldest will have the calamari,” their mother continued, gesturing to Nesta. “Grilled, not fried. And the mussels for me.” And with that, she returned her gaze to the menu.

Elain cleared her throat pointedly, though the sound was hardly acknowledged as the woman flipped onto the last page, already examining the restaurant’s wine selection. Their mother did not deign to look up as Feyre spoke.

“I’ll have the salmon, please,” she said quietly, something strained in the back of her throat.

All the numbness Nesta had carefully cultivated in her chest prior to this evening vanished at the sound, a fire much more angry than the candle’s filling her instead. A ruthless, icy flame.

Her fury must have been evident in her eyes, because before Nesta even managed to make her feelings about mother’s obvious dismissal perfectly clear, Feyre’s slender hand wrapped around her wrist.

Nesta’s head snapped toward her little sister.

It’s not worth it, blue-grey eyes told her, even as their mother continued to question the waiter about the bitterness of the local wine.

Nesta swallowed. Hard.

Then, she looked to Elain—who shook her head quickly, honey-brown curls shifting over her shoulder.

Fine, then.

Nesta let out a deep, deep breath, and did not stop until all the fire was out and that familiar numbness filled her again.

She never thought she’d say this, but Nesta missed New York. Missed her apartment, however small, and the peace and quiet it offered on days like these—days when she felt forced to exist in the moment, to flow with its relentless current. She would give just about anything right now to be able to curl up on the grey couch in her living room and disappear under her favourite, plush blanket. She’d left a book on the coffee table beside it—she meant to bring it along for the journey, but it seemed that her mind had been too preoccupied with the destination to remember. The story—four hundred pages of her favourite romance—would have been the perfect escape for this occasion.

Frankly, Nesta had wanted to turn back and go home the moment she’d stepped on the plane. Her mood had only darkened when she discovered a raging six-year old was seated right behind her. The child had been intent on making her life even more miserable, opting to spend over half of the ten-hour flight frantically kicking her seat until his legs finally gave out about two hours before landing. The insufferable kid had been carried out by his mother, sleeping soundly in her arms and no longer resembling the devil’s spawn that he was—until they’d reached baggage claim, of course, where he’d taken the carousel for his personal playground, jumping right over her suitcase before Nesta had managed to fish it out.

The air had been warm and humid from the minute she’d left the airport, and it had only grown heavier since then. Not even the occasional breeze seemed to lift it as it swept over her face—as if mocking the beads of sweat that had begun to gather under her hairline. The climate didn’t bother her that much, to be honest—the island was beautiful, after all. The golden sand sparkling in the beaches, the turquoise water surrounding it. The palm trees growing on both sides of every stone-clad alley. Perhaps, in different company, she’d even be able to appreciate this place.

But alas, this trip was not the case. She and her sisters had been putting off this trip for two months now, though none of them had ever voiced their lack of enthusiasm aloud. Feyre would always cite her classes as an excuse, Elain was quite literally elbows-deep in work, and Nesta…after her fifteenth job interview, she was practically losing her mind.

Now, though, with the semester over and summer quickly approaching, the three of them found themselves with a lot of free time and too many missed calls from their mother. And so, when Nesta suggested they get on the plane and get the whole thing over with, neither one of her sisters even tried to protest.

It wasn’t that Nesta didn’t love her mother—they all did, truly. But love was a complicated thing, almost as complicated as the woman herself, and sometimes…sometimes it overwhelmed her.

She did feel guilty, of course. Mother’s health had been deteriorating over the past few years until finally reaching its critical point in early January. Her doctors strongly recommended a change of climate—a place where chaos didn’t thrive as wildly as it did in New York. Somewhere warm—somewhere quiet, where she could live out the rest of her days undisturbed by other worldly afflictions.

All of it was merely delaying the inevitable—even their mother knew that too well. Still, Nesta supposed, a remote island far away from the rest of the world did not seem like the worst place to turn to for comfort. She would have probably done the same had she found herself in a smilier predicament.

Except that comfort seemed to elude Mrs Archeron no matter where she fled—in fact, Nesta was starting to believe there wasn’t a single place on Earth that the woman could truly be satisfied. Even here, surrounded by nature’s radiant beauty, there was something missing. Sometimes, it was her favourite boutique in New York. Other times, the friends she’d left behind there, the weekly card games they always held at the Plaza. And lately, it was her three daughters, who, after all had not visited her in six months.

She’d seemingly forgotten that it had been Feyre who’d helped her move all the way across the world—who’d taken care of all the planning and paperwork until their mother had set foot in her new, beachfront suite. Her youngest sister had missed an entire week of lectures because of that trip, and would later sacrifice her sleep to catch up on the material overnight.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Nesta blinked, the question snapping her focus back into the present. The waiter was long gone—instead, mother had now seemed to engage Elain in a conversation, from the exasperated flush on her sister’s cheeks.

“Nesta,” Feyre murmured.

God, she needed to get it together.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta said carefully. “I got distracted for a minute. You were saying?”

The woman let out a long-suffering sighed. “You spend too much time in your own head, Nesta, and I know very well why.” Nesta’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I’ve always told you should read less—or at least, read something more productive than those silly rom-coms I’ve seen on your shelf.”

Suddenly, Nesta regretted ever inviting her mother to her apartment. She’d only come over for tea once—and apparently, it had been enough for her to restock her ammunition for later.

Forcing a smile which came out a bit crooked, Nesta met the woman’s gaze. Blue-grey eyes, the same exact shade as hers and Feyre’s, stared back, adorned by wrinkles not yet smoothed out by botox. “What was your question, mother?” she asked.

Another sigh, aimed to make her disappointment clear. “I was saying you should perhaps speak to your boss about Elain,” she suggested.

Nesta angled her head slightly. “Whatever for?”

“Mother,” Elain cut in, “I told you it’s not—”

“A job, of course,” she said, dismissing her daughter completely. “You work for a high-profile company.” It was the closest to a compliment Nesta had ever heard fall from her lips. “Surely they could find something for Elain, too.”

“Elain already has a job,” Nesta reminded.

Her mouth twisted in distaste. “A different job.”

“There is nothing wrong with what I do now,” Elain spoke again, her tone sharper now, colder.

Their mother raised a hand, the golden rings on her fingers glistening under the candlelight. “Of course there isn’t, dear. You misunderstand me again.” She turned to Nesta. “I’m only saying you could ask your boss if there are any opportunities. I’m sure Elain could use the extra money.”

“I’m doing perfectly fine where I am, mother. But,” Elain added through gritted teeth, “thank you for your concern.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I take it business is going well, then?” She never called Elain’s bakery by what it was—as if the mere thought of her daughter spending her days dabbling in flour already filled her with some unimaginable horror.

“Yes,” Elain said tightly. “Perfectly well.”

Mother shrugged. “If you say so. Still,” she looked to Nesta again. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

Elain’s face practically burned red.

“Fine, mother,” Nesta quickly said, making sure to squeeze Elain’s hand under the table. “I will.”

She sure as hell wasn’t asking Tomas Mandray for anything. As of Monday, she’d never have to see him again.

Her mother didn’t have to know about the resignation latter, saved on her laptop and waiting to be sent out the second she returned. If she found out Nesta was planning to quit her stable, corporate job…not even the island’s lovely climate would save her.

Mrs Archeron nodded. “Good. You should ask him about your promotion, too,” she added. “I keep hearing about it, and yet nothing ever happens.”

Nesta tried not to cringe at the displeasure in her voice.

“A fine man, that Mandray,” she mused innocently. “Good looks…good social standing.”

Dread began to build in her stomach. Please, don’t, she begged her silently. I hate him.

Something twinkled in her mother’s eyes, and she opened her mouth.

“Greysen and I broke up,” Elain announced loudly.

Mother’s face whipped to her middle daughter, and Nesta’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Why?”

A one-shouldered shrug, so similar to the one mother had given her only a minute ago. Thank you, Nesta wanted to shout across the table, though she suspected Elain hardly needed her gratitude. She was clearly enjoying this—especially as she added, “He wasn’t good for me.”

Mother was practically seething. “Greysen Nolan is a good match,” she said, as though unaware they were living in the twenty-first century. “His father and I are friends.”

“Just how good of a friend is he?” Elain shot back.

Nesta stilled.

Beside her, Feyre’s eyes widened.

Slowly, their mother leaned back in her seat.

“Ladies,” a deep voice sounded. “Your drinks.”

The waiter appeared as if out of nowhere, leaning to set their wine atop the table. Nesta had never reached for her glass quicker, urging the crimson liquid to flush down the heart lodged in her throat. Feyre, it seemed, had opted to do the same.

Only when the man pulled back, moving to approach another table, did Elain finally sway the wine in her hand, her gaze still levelled on her opponent. While mother had taken Nesta under her wing from a very young age, and completely dismissed Feyre as anything other than a tiresome presence in her house, she’d never seen Elain as anything beyond her looks—it was no surprise that she’d quickly become their father’s daughter—calm and unyielding, unafraid to face her head on and risk her disapproval. Mother had always underestimated her.

She seemed to realise that at last, as lightning seemed to rage in her blue-grey eyes, just barely restrained—an ancient storm ready to ravage a blooming land.

Not good.

So Nesta spoke, “Mother, did you know Feyre passed all of her finals with an A this year?” Feyre’s head snapped to her at that, even the freckles on her face paling. “Tell her about your post-colonialism class, Feyre.” And when Feyre didn’t manage to utter a single word, Nesta turned back to their mother, explaining, “It was the most difficult one, and she got the best grade out of her entire cohort. At NYU.”

Feyre released a breath. “It’s nothing,” she murmured.

Those icy flames licked at Nesta’s chest again. Acknowledge her, she wanted to scream. Praise her.

“It’s not nothing,” she told her sister. “You’ve been brilliant, I—Mother?” Nesta frowned, realising the woman had already risen from her seat.

“Oh, please, keep going,” she waved a hand. “Don’t let me disturb you—I’m just going to go find the restroom. I need to freshen up.”

And with that, she was gone, the light click of her heels on the stone floor following her to the back of the restaurant.

Nesta eyed the movement, willing that inner fire to stifle its rage—until her eyes settled on something else entirely.

“You broke up with Greysen?” Feyre spoke beside her, but her voice was distant now, as if sounding from miles away. “When?”

“Last month,” Elain answered. “But he had it coming long before that, really,” she added quickly.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Feyre. You were dealing with your finals, I—I didn’t want to add more onto your plate.”

A sigh. “I get it. Just—please know you can always talk to me?”

“Of course. Besides, Nesta was—Nesta?”

But Nesta had long stopped participating in the conversation.

For sitting at the table a few away was the most ridiculously beautiful man she’d ever seen.

She would’ve spotted him right away had it not been for her mother’s seat shielding him from view the entire night. It was impossible not to take notice of him—and not simply due to his size, the broad chest, the strong, golden-brown arms, their muscles practically glistening under the soft light. He looked like he’d spent the entire day on the beach, his dark, windswept hair loosening a few strands over his forehead—over his hazel eyes, bright with amusement as he listened to his companion.

And his companion…of course he’d come with a date. A woman so beautiful she seemed as though the sun itself had crafted her, her golden hair cascading down the red silks of her dress, down her exposed back. What the hell did they put in the wine in this place?

From the corner of her eye, Nesta could just barely make out Elain following her gaze.

“Go talk to him,” she urged.

At that, Nesta turned, schooling her features into cool indifference. “Who?”

Elain’s brown eyes narrowed. “Don’t act stupid now, Nesta. You were practically drooling.”

“Is it a crime to appreciate a good looking man?” she asked innocently.

“It’s a crime not to do anything about it.”

Feyre huffed a laugh. Nesta shot her a glare.

“Just do it, Nesta,” she told her.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s clearly here with a date.”

“Could be his sister,” Elain supplied helpfully, though there was little confidence in her tone.

“They look nothing alike.”

Feyre sighed deeply. “Nesta, just go talk to the guy.”

“She’s right, you know.” Elain’s head tilted slightly to the side. “When was the last time you’ve been on a date?”

Nesta’s jaw clenched. “I’ve been busy.”

“Exactly,” Feyre said. “And now you’re on vacation—you deserve to…let off some steam.”

Elain chuckled.

“Is that so funny?” Nesta challenged. “Maybe you should go talk to him, Elain—a little rebound’s never hurt anybody.”

Elain sipped from her glass. “Normally, I would,” she started, a small twinkle appearing in her gaze. “But I don’t think Lucien would appreciate it.”

Feyre’s jaw practically hung open. “Lucien? NYU Engineering Lucien?” She shook her head. “No, scratch that—my friend Lucien?”

Pink bloomed on Elain’s cheeks, and Nesta suspected it had little to do with the wine. “He came by the bakery a few days after your party.” That’s right, Feyre’s end-of-exams party—the one she’d quite literally begged her to show up to. The one she’d told Tomas about when she requested a day off—and so naturally, he’d made her work overtime well into the early hours of the night. “We’re going on a date next week.”

Feyre’s arms folded over her chest. “I can’t believe that asshole didn’t tell me,” she grumbled. Lucien may have been two years above Feyre—but he was still a good friend. At least, that was Nesta’s understanding from the one time she’d met him.

“I know what would lift your mood right up, Feyre,” Nesta suggested, a sly smirk curling up the corner of her mouth. “Go talk to the guy.”

Her eyes gleamed with challenge. “I will if you don’t do it first.”

She gestured towards his table. “Be my guest.”

Feyre groaned loudly.

“Nesta, would you please stop being so stubborn?” Elain begged.

“I’m not going to make a fool of myself,” she huffed.

“We’re literally on the other side of the world,” Feyre argued. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

What indeed?

Nesta considered—they were leaving after the weekend. If the golden woman really was his date, and Nesta was about to face a blatant rejection—she’d never have to see him again. She would probably have to avoid every beach on this island for the next two days, but now that she thought of it, she’d always been more of a winter person, anyway. And then, she’d simply go home and never think of him again.

If he was single, on the other hand…

Nesta sighed. “Fine.”

Elain squealed in delight.

“Ask him what he ordered—it’s good small talk,” Feyre advised.

“I can see what he ordered from here,” Nesta protested. “Besides, his plate looks horrible. Who orders steak in a place like this?”

“You’re starting to sound like mother,” Feyre cautioned.

Oh, god.

“Do it your way, then, Nesta,” Elain hurried. “Just go.”

Alright then.

Nesta set her glass, rising from the table carefully. She did not nearly have enough wine for this, she realised. Her body felt warm—but not warm enough to untangle the knots that had managed to form in her stomach. It wasn’t like her to put herself out there so…publicly. Honestly, she’d never had to work this hard to catch a man’s attention before.

“Have fun.” Feyre smirked. “We’ll be watching.”

Nesta hissed, “Don’t you dare.”

The sound of her sisters’ quiet giggles carried her through the space. She didn’t think she’d ever walked more slowly in her life, each step determined to drag this out for as long as possible. God, did she at least bother to check her hair beforehand? What if she’d smudged her mascara by accident?

Too late—she was so close now that she could make out just how perfectly the man’s stubble shaped his sharp jaw. Could see how large his hands were as he clasped them together, seemingly in excitement at whatever the woman had just told him.

She could see the perfect fullness of his lips as he leaned over the table and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Well, shit.

Nesta practically lunged for the bathroom, making a turn so sharp she almost slipped on the polished stone floor. Damn her and her stupid heels—everyone wore sandals in this place, anyway. What devilish forces pushed her to leave all of her flat shoes back home, she did not know. She could only pray no one saw her obvious escape—or the heat that was no doubt burning her face red.

The restaurant had been booming with conversation and music all night, and despite this, the only sound she was convinced everybody could hear now was her heels, loudly carrying her away as she disappeared into the corridor that led to the restrooms.

The door swung open before she’d even managed to reach for the handle.

“Ah, Nesta,” Mrs Archeron said, and Nesta almost stumbled back a step. Her mother reached for something in her handbag as she continued “Here, use this.” She fished out a small packet of tissues and pressed them into Nesta’s palm. “Public restrooms are an atrocity.”

And just like that, she left.

Nesta stared at the packet for a few seconds before finally entering the quiet room.

It was a cozy space, with golden-framed mirrors, hanging from an old mural of the sea, and marble sinks. She placed the tissues atop one of them and faced her reflection at last.

Well. She did not look half bad, at least.

Her makeup was still intact—by some miracle, even the dark wings of her eyeliner remained sharp. She’d braided her hair into an updo earlier, and though a few loose strands had fallen out to frame her face, the entire ensemble looked somewhat presentable. Nesta reached for one of the tissues, dabbing it lightly over her face in places where the heat of her embarrassment melted her foundation slightly, and sighed. What was she thinking?

She made herself count to ten before going back into the dining area, her mind already crafting a pathway back that did not involve walking past the guy’s table. There was a staircase on her left, in the corridor right by the bathroom door, that she hadn’t noticed before. The sign next to it had been written in a language she did not understand, though the message seemed pretty obvious—no entry. Shame. Nesta would have done just about anything to hide upstairs for the remainder of the night.

“I was wondering where you went,” a voice appeared beside her.

Nesta stilled. He sounded exactly as she’d imagined.

Please, let this be a dream, she begged silently. A hallucination from the humidity.

If only.

Slowly, she turned from the stairs and faced him.

Up close, he was almost criminally beautiful. He knew it, too, there was no doubt in her mind about that—not as he folded his golden-brown arms over a powerful chest, leaning against the wall with a smirk. He was so ridiculously large that he shielded most of the restaurant from view—barely, just barely, she could make out her sisters’ forms, sure to be watching them intently.

The idea made her thoughts sharpen, like a fog lifting from her gaze—pretty or not, he was still a man, and Nesta was hardly one to fall at their feet at first glance.

And so, schooling her features into what she hoped was cool indifference, she asked “Excuse me?

A chuckle.“When you left your table, I was hoping you were coming over the say hello,” he mused, his voice like a melody sang by the darkest night—low and smooth over her skin, penetrating every fibre of her being. Nesta nearly gritted her teeth as a new fire awoke inside her—hot, teasing and wet.

He’d sought her out.

“I don’t think your date would share the sentiment,” she said, careful to keep her tone aloof.

His brows knitted over hazel eyes—from up close, she could see the speckles of green dancing around his pupils. “My…” he paused, a shadow of confusion clouding his face as he took in her words. “Oh.” A smirk curled the corner of his lips. “Mor is a friend.”

“You have very pretty friends.”

He hummed. “Wouldn’t hurt to have one more.”

She couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at her own lips. “You’re very cocky for a…” A what? With a face like that, she couldn’t really blame him.

He flashed her a grin, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her mind—and enjoyed every last bit of it. “What’s your name?” he asked. God, she liked his voice. She liked everything about him.“Nesta,” she said, extending a hand.

He lifted himself off the wall, stepping in close enough to take her hand into his. That delicious heat stirred in her again at the contact—at the warmth of his skin, the slightly calloused fingers. She began wondering what he did for a living—until all thoughts evaporated from her head as he leaned to brush his mouth over her knuckles in a light kiss.

“Cassian,” he said, and the liquid fire descended down to the deepest, most aching part of her.

“Cassian,” Nesta repeated, testing out the name on her tongue. It did not sound nearly as nice on her tongue as it did on his—though Cassian hardly seemed to agree, from the way his eyes darkened at the sound.

He released her hand much too soon for Nesta’s liking. “I was about to have some dessert. Would you like to join me, Nesta?” he asked, motioning to the stairs and up.

Nesta’s brows furrowed. “Upstairs?” she questioned. “Isn’t it a private area?”

Cassian smiled at her again, and suddenly, she stopped caring about signs altogether. “Oh, it is,” he said. “Lucky for us, my brother owns this place.”

Lucky indeed.

“What of your date?”

He snorted. “I told you—not a date.”

“You know what I mean.”

Cassian jerked his chin to his table, a secretive twinkle in his eyes. “She was waiting for somebody else.”

Nesta followed his gaze—to where the beautiful woman, Mor, now smiled openly as she took the hand of her new companion. The woman who had taken Cassian’s seat returned her expression, her dark eyes shining brightly.

“Oh,” Nesta simply noted.

“Yes,” Cassian agreed, something like amusement creeping into his tone. “What’s your final verdict, then?”

Nesta shot a quick glance at another table—where Feyre was now giving her what seemed like a thumbs up.

“Lead the way,” she told him.

Cassian, it seemed, did not need to be told twice.

The room upstairs was a lovely studio, the interior similar to that of the restaurant. A small but well-equipped kitchen made up the corner on the left side of the entrance, divided from the rest of the space by a dining table of dark, polished wood. A couch stood by the windows toward the back wall, overlooking the village beneath. Nesta moved closer to the sight—it only took her a few steps to reach the other end of the apartment—as though unable to help herself, to admire the soft lights glinting from inside every household. The sea laid on the other side of the building, but she could still hear the gentle rustle of waves docking ashore. Now, with a peaceful view and a change in company, she felt her appreciation for this place grow.

“It’s beautiful.”

Somewhere behind her, Cassian hummed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Nesta turned on her feet to meet his gaze—only to find it occupied. Cassian’s eyes surveyed her closely, sweeping over the curve of her hips, her waist, her breasts—until they finally settled on her mouth, something bobbing in his throat at the sight.

For some reason, Nesta’s mouth felt dry. “Do you stay here often?” she asked, but her words felt distant, absent even as she spoke them.

Cassian shook his head, his gaze reluctantly moving to meet hers again. “Only sometimes. My other brother usually watches the place.”

“You have two?”

He nodded.

“I have two sisters,” she said.

He took a step towards her. “I saw.”

“You were watching me?” she asked, the question no more than a breath. He was so close to her now—she could wrap her hands around his neck if she wanted to.

His voice was hoarse as he admitted, “I was.”

Nesta went molten, all the heat he’d rallied inside her fluttering in her belly and swirling down to her core. She needed him to touch her now—anywhere, everywhere, all at once. She wanted to know how those fingers would feel as they traced the curve of her breasts, how they’d stroke that aching place deep inside her that thrummed under his stare.

He saw her—had spotted a stranger in the sea of candlelight and decided to wait for her move. The thought sent a shiver down her spine—she fascinated him just as he did her.

Perhaps this trip had not been such a bad idea after all.

Feeling bold, Nesta closed the distance between them and laid a hand on his broad chest. She tried not to gasp at the hard muscle she felt underneath—at the heartbeat that began to race under her touch. She couldn’t help but smirk.

A large palm covered her own. “So, Nesta,” Cassian said, the low rasp of his voice caressing that desperate tightness inside her. “Tell me what brought you here tonight.”

She had a feeling he didn’t mean the restaurant. “I wanted to have some fun.”

Something twinkled in his gaze as he asked, “Not enjoying your time on the island so far?”

She slid her hand up to his neck, her thumb reaching to brush the roughness of his stubble. She could’ve sworn he shuddered slightly at the touch. “Could be better,” Nesta teased.

His eyes darkened. “Let me show you, then,” he pleaded. “Let me show you a good time.”

“Yes,” Nesta breathed.

In a quick and definitely practiced move, Cassian grasped both her hands in one of his palms, lifting them above her head. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as he pinned them to the wall behind her, his grip on her deliciously firm. Nesta’s exposed shoulders brushed the stone, its cold touch instantly smothered by Cassian’s hot breath on her skin as he leaned down to crash his lips into hers.

He tasted like fire and the richest of wines, the feel of him nearly dizzying, consuming. His other hand rested heavily on her waist, trailing upward as if wanting to explore every last inch of her. Nesta’s lips parted slightly when he cupped the side of her breast, and his tongue slipped forward to meet her own like a hungry flame.

His body pressed in closer, and Nesta arched into him, desperate for more friction. Like a bolt of lightning, pleasure rocked through her she felt the hardness bulging under his trousers, digging into her stomach in repressed need.

“Take this off,” she commanded between breaths. Cassian chuckled.

As he pulled away, sliding his shirt off in one, swift motion, Nesta allowed herself a moment to admire the man before her. With his chest laid bare to her, he looked like one of the marble sculptures that decorated the space downstairs—like some kind of ancient warrior, crafted from iron and flame. He was intoxicating.

With her hands freed, she moved to trace the cords of carved muscle with her fingers, delighting in the sight of his chest falling in uneven rhythm. “I was right,” she mused, more to herself than him.

“About what?” Cassian asked, his question no more than a rasp.

Nesta flashed him a smile. “This is going to be fun.”

His lips found hers again at that, the kiss deeper now, more desperate, as if he wanted to ingrain the feel of her into his memory forever. A rustle of fabric signalled his hands on the hems of her shirt, and Nesta raised her hands, suddenly feeling very smug about her decision not to wear a bra for the evening.

A low, feral noise escaped Cassian’s throat as he took in the sight. Nesta shivered, and it had little to do with the breeze that made its way in through the open windows she was nestled between.

His hands slid down her body, and Nesta stopped breathing entirely as he circled the tip of a finger around her pebbled nipple. Her nails dug into his arms, the sensation of his touch on her sensitive skin tantalising. She needed more of him—and she needed it now.

Then, Cassian flicked her nipple, and a wretched moan ripped free from her throat. Cassian snickered in delight and flicked again, the touch drawing just enough pain this time to spur another, clawing ache that dripped between her thighs.

“Cassian,” Nesta pulled away, panting. “Wait.”

He stopped immediately, moving back an inch to meet her frantic stare. “What is it?”

“The windows.”

Cassian frowned slightly. “What about them?”

“They’re open,” Nesta said, her breath still uneven. “There are guests downstairs—”

A very satisfied smile curved his lips upwards. “Well,” he teased, his hand on her side moving to wrap under her thigh. “I guess you’ll just have to be very quiet, then.”

And with that, he lifted her up.

A thrill shot down Nesta’s spine as he pinned her to the wall again, and she hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him in to settle between them.

“Just like that,” he praised, his other hand sliding down to grip her ass. There was a feral edge to her smile as she looked up at him, and a low rumble reverberated through his chest. “Nesta—”

She let her name drown in his mouth as she brought her lips to his, her legs wrapping tighter around him. The core between her thighs throbbed with her need, her anticipation, begging to be filled—to be given what she so badly wished. Keeping one of her hands on his neck, she slid the other down to the buttons of his trousers, working them quickly until another, grey fabric appeared.

Cassian groaned into her mouth as she skimmed her hand down his length.

“Who’s quiet now,” she mocked, her fingers teasing him again.

“Bossy,” he panted, his own hand moving to spring himself free at last. Any smug retorts her mind began crafting died on her tongue as she took in his cock, the breath in her chest hitching at its size, at the velvety shaft promising to completely and utterly wreck her.

He pulled her own, black skirt up to her hips before she’d even realised, as desperate for her as she was for him. Cassian’s hand moved to cup her ass again, fingers digging into the pliant flesh deliciously, as the other reached down to guide himself to her entrance.

His cock brushed the thin layer of her underwear, practically soaked with the pleasure he’d coaxed from her. “You’re killing me,” Cassian breathed, feeling the wet heat welcoming him, urging him in. She could not longer endure it—the feel of the blunt tip of his cock so achingly close, and yet not nearly close enough.

He seemed incline to agree as the sound of a ripping fabric filled the space between them. Cassian discarded her underwear to the floor before Nesta managed to open her mouth in protest, the darkness in his eyes drowning out the hazel.

“You won’t be needing it anymore,” he told her simply, his hand returning between her legs.

Her gaze followed the movement. “Is that so?”

The asshole had the audacity to wink. “I promised you a good time, did I not?” he asked, another wide smirk blooming on his beautiful face as he lazily teased a finger at her entrance, her aching cunt coating him in her slick. “Seems to me like you are,” he hummed, crooning his digit inside her.

Nesta gasped, her walls immediately clenching around him, pulsing with need. He hissed at the sensation, his cock twitching impatiently beside his hand, begging to take its place. Nesta could not agree more—she needed more, needed to feel the fullness of him inside her, to find out just how deeply she could take him. Her vision glazed with lust as she watched him add another finger, stretching her with ease.

“Cassian,” she urged, her voice tight now, strained as those fingers retreated and dipped into her again, stroking in a slow, steady rhythm that threatened to push her over the edge. Too soon—she had to find out now, had to get her craving satisfied, had to have him fill her entirely before she exploded. “Cassian,” she said again, louder, this time as her thighs shook slightly around him. It felt so fucking good and he knew it, from the smile she felt on her neck as his mouth lowered to nip at the exposed skin.

“So impatient,” he purred, his breath hot beneath her ear and shooting that familiar lightning through her again, setting every nerve in her body on high alert, tingling. His pace quickened, pulling in and out of her increasingly tightening centre, and she rolled her hips into his hand, pushing him deeper, her efforts messy, needy. “I want you to come for me, Nesta,” he told her, his lips descending on her neck again as he added, “Before the real fun begins.”

Release crashed into her without warning, her inner muscles clenching him tight as she moaned loudly, unable to contain her the sweet, white-hot fire inside her any linger. Cassian’s mouth found her own again, the kiss muffling out the sounds of her pleasure from any unwanted spectators as his fingers continued to ride her through it. Nesta’s tongue darted into him, scraping over his teeth, not nearly satiated enough—she wasn’t sure she would ever get enough of him.

He did not break apart from her as he wrapped both arms around her again, taking them to the couch a feet away. She straddled him the moment his back rested against the cushions, the feel of his hardness against her now dripping core rekindling that greedy fire inside her. She rolled her hips once, twice, relishing in the feel of him, in the guttural sounds he was making in return. His palms rested on her sides, lifting her slightly before flashing her a wicked smile.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he teased, the broad tip of his cock nudging at her entrance again.

God, she was in such deep shit.

Without another thought, Nesta slid her hands to his neck and drew him inside her.

All the air was sucked from her lungs at the stretch of him, of every aching inch as she lowered herself on his cock. Cassian hissed sharply, his grip on her hips tighter now, as though he needed to restrain himself from thrusting deep inside her, to give her a moment to adjust to the thickness of him.

But Nesta was done waiting.

She grasped a hand at his shoulder, urging him to move closer, deeper, to move with her until she could no longer see anything but stars. She could practically hear how wet she was as his strokes grew steadier and devastatingly precise, each one of them reaching further into her core, each one making her breaths go shorter and her legs grow weaker.

“Nesta,” Cassian panted, his head dipping to the crook of her neck, “You feel incredible.”

Maybe it was the way he spoke her name, low with a flash of possessiveness in his dark eyes, or the praise he’d thrown at her, but she shuddered with delight as she sunk fully onto his length, her walls gripping him tighter. Cassian swore loudly, the curse in that language she didn’t understand yet still shooting jolts of pleasure through her body. She looked down to where they joined, to where she was split open around his cock, where he dragged himself up and down the slick folds of her cunt.

Her pace quickened at the sight, something in it breaking the last shred of composure within her.

Nesta mewled as he pushed in deeper than ever before, his cock hitting the back of her cunt, stroking that sensitive spot inside her that made her melt entirely. She moaned his name, no longer caring for whoever might hear—there was only the fire erupting inside her as he filled her, the sound of his heavy breaths as he matched her pace, the wildness in his eyes as she moved on him, deeper and deeper.

She felt the inevitable tug of another climax, creeping in closer and closer with every thrust, every flutter of her cunt around him. Her legs trembled, threatening to give in the next time his cock found that secret spot inside her, her breasts bouncing with her movements.

“Cassian,” she choked, throwing her head back as his hands slid up to cup them.

Cassian’s mouth closed around one of her nipples, and she exploded.

Her walls clenched around him hard as she came, Cassian following swiftly after as his thrusts became messier, more chaotic until he finally gave in. His groan reverberated into her body, settling deep beneath her skin, caressing every shuddering inch of her as she rode them both through their joint release. They recovered together, their heaving breaths syncing into one, and it felt so good and so right that she never wanted to leave.

When Cassian’s eyes searched her own again, flickering brightly, Nesta couldn’t help but grin.

“I believe you promised me dessert,” she told him.

His gaze swept over her body, over the mess she’d made of him, and when it returned to hers at last, it was filled with a new hunger that sent heat into her once more. “Yes,” he hummed. “I believe I did.”

Taglist: @sv0430 @queercontrarian @asnowfern @helhjertet @isterofimias @octobers-veryown @fieldofdaisiies @teamazris @a-frog-with-a-laptop @jmoonjones

169 notes · View notes

the-lonelybarricade · 8 months

Text

In From the Snow - Chapter 1

Summary: With her sisters missing and her father dead, Nesta is forced to brave the coming winter and the contempt of her fellow villagers on her own. That is, until a mysterious dog appears and refuses to leave her side.

My contribution to @nessianweek Day 4: AU.

This is the Nessian installation to my They Are the Hunters series. While I would recommend reading the Elucien/Feysand stories, I did my best to give this story enough context to stand on its own. I really hope you enjoy!

Also shout out to Mr. LB for letting me borrow his computer to post this!

Read on AO3・Series Masterlist

The first snowfall of the year had always been a terrible omen.

Every year, as it laid siege to their poorly insulated cottage, Nesta’s family would wonder if they would live to see the snow melt in the spring.

This year, Nesta had known before the first snow arrived that their father would not survive the winter. His health had been deteriorating for a long time, and the news of Elain’s disappearance had devastated him, accelerating his decline until he could do little more than sleep beside the fire. She was a wretch for thinking it, but Nesta had long decided the day he didn’t wake up would be a relief. It was one less mouth to feed, especially when that mouth was hardly capable of swallowing for itself.

The firewood was dwindling. Nesta had used up so much of the excess in the days she had refused to leave the house, expecting the authorities to be waiting just beyond the front door, ready to carry Nesta and her father away to certain death. It didn’t matter if Feyre had been the one to steal the traveler’s horse or that Elain had allegedly been the one to murder her own husband. Neither were here to show for their crimes.

But the authorities never came. And her sisters never returned.

Surely, if either of them had been caught, the authorities would have come for the remainder of the Archerons? Nesta hadn’t yet braved the village to confirm, which meant that she and her father were on the brink of starvation, too.

Given that Nesta’s own constitution was rapidly weakening with the cold, it was no surprise at all that when the first snowfall visited in the night, it took their father with it. She didn’t feel relief when he didn’t open his eyes the next morning. She felt… numb.

Like her face when she opened the cottage door to a blast of frozen air. Like her fingers as she gripped the splintering shovel. Like her palms, rubbed raw from the repetitive motion of digging the metal into the cold, solid earth, then depositing it into a pile at her side.

Nesta had never had a good relationship with her father. She had always assumed that when he died, Elain would be there to express whatever sweet sentiment she felt he was owed at his burial. Unlike Elain, Nesta buried him in silence—just as he had been on the day Elain set down on a path to be married to a Lord’s son against her will.

Elain had never blamed him. Had always insisted it was out of his hands, just like their mother’s death. Just like their family’s fall from fortune when they were children. Elain was quick to forgive, always focused on what lay ahead. But Elain had never looked at their father’s ledger. Nesta had.

Not that any of it mattered now. Their father was dead, and Nesta likely wouldn’t be far behind. At least there had been someone to bury him in the ground, which was more than she could say for herself.

That night, she drank a cup of boiled water and fell asleep curled up beneath a thin blanket in front of the hearth. The fire crackled, close enough to coat her face and hair in soot as the snow continued mercilessly falling outside. Nesta knew that if she didn’t go to the village in the morning to find something to eat, soon she would be too weak to make the trip. And she would die.

By the time she fell asleep, she hadn’t decided which she would prefer.

She woke to sunlight filtering through the frosted window pane and the sound of scratching at her door. Nesta stilled, reaching for the fireplace poker as she wondered if this was it. Someone from the village had finally come for her. The authorities? Or was it just someone taking advantage of a lone, defenseless woman?

A creature sniffed at the small gap between the rickety door and the cold cottage floor. Gods, had someone brought their dog to chase her down? Nesta held her breath, watching the shadow pass in front of her door. Once, twice, three times, like it was moving in slow circles. And then it laid down, effectively barricading her in. She listened carefully for any sound of someone commanding the creature. There was only howling wind.

Fine, Nesta thought, creeping carefully into the room she had once shared with her sisters. The bed felt so empty without them—so much colder than sleeping in front of the fire. The room had a single window, just big enough for her to crawl through to make her escape. She pushed the latch open as quietly as she could and pulled herself through the gap.

Her landing was not overly graceful but quiet enough that she thought she wouldn’t be heard over the wind. Yet, when she turned to make her break, there it was. A dog so large she could have mistaken it for a bear. It had come around the house to watch her sneak out the window, and now it sat directly in her path.

It cocked its head, hazel eyes curious. If she didn’t know better—and she did—Nesta would have thought it looked amused with her stunt. Keeping him in her periphery, Nesta turned her head to assess if its owner was nearby, but nobody was around.

He didn’t look vicious. But he also didn’t look like a stray. He looked too well-fed, and his coat was clean. Well-groomed.

“Go home,” she said, making a small, shooing motion. “I don’t have any food to give myself, let alone some overgrown mutt.”

He was blocking the only way to the village. Ang grinning like he knew it. Cautiously, Nesta took a small step forward, then another, weighing the animal’s reaction. His posture remained friendly enough that she kept moving, still giving him a wide berth once she was on the main path.

The dog swiveled to face her as she stepped around him. And when she started down the path towards the village, he followed. The entire shivering trudge there, Nesta tried to convince him to leave. She’d have enough trouble convincing someone to sell her bread on her own, let alone with a gigantic dog following at her heels. Feyre’s cat had been the exact same way, and Nesta wondered why animals seemed to adopt such strange fixations on their family.

“Go,” she tried one last miserable time on the outskirts of the village. When he still refused, she stomped the rest of the way to the baker’s shop, determined to pretend the stupid thing wasn’t there at all.

It was harder to do so when she saw the baker’s face. “Nesta,” he said warily. His attention flickered to the dog at her feet, then back to her face. She didn’t miss the way his nose curled with distaste. “Hello.”

Never mind all the hours she had spent tutoring his daughter, then. Years of fostering goodwill with his family in exchange for a stale loaf of bread, dismissed on rumor that Elain might have murdered her husband. The village acted like the Archerons had the plague, and even if Elain had murdered Graysen, the reaction was certainly overblown. As far as Nesta was concerned, the Nolan men had been insufferable, and Elain had done the village a favor.

“Hi.” She pressed three copper pieces to the counter. “I just need one loaf.”

He stared at the copper pieces, not moving to collect them.

“What’s wrong?” She asked hotly. “My family’s coin was perfectly fine a month ago.”

“I’ve increased the price,” he said stiffly, pushing the coin back with his arm. Like touching the same coin would somehow mark him as the next Archeron victim. “This is not enough.”

“You used to charge me a copper,” she seethed.

He gestured towards the window. “Winter has fallen. Times are growing harder.”

“And if I asked Claire Beddor how much you charged her family this morning, what would she say?”

The baker shrugged, calling her bluff. “Why don’t you ask her?”

Claire Beddor wouldn’t speak to her. No one would. Not since Tomas, and certainly not since Lord Graysen’s murder.

Gritting her teeth, Nesta pushed a copper onto the table. The baker stared blankly at her, until she slammed down another. He shook his head.

“This is all we have,” Nesta said desperately, even though it wasn’t true. Feyre had stolen enough from the passing traveler to feed them for months—or it would have been if the villagers weren’t raising their prices out of contempt.

The baker opened his mouth, and Nesta truly believed he was going to send her onto the street to starve when the dog at her side began growling. The baker took one look at the creature’s bared teeth and turned pale. He quickly grabbed the extortionate amount of money from the counter and tossed a loaf at Nesta with a strained, “Get out of my shop.”

She’d take it, even if her blood was boiling. The loaf would be enough to last her a week, at least. It would buy her time to figure out how to deal with the villagers. What to do with the remaining coin. If she could just find someone willing to sell her passage to Velaris, it would be enough to get to Elain. But no one from this village would be willing to help.

“Here,” Nesta said, pausing outside her cottage door. The dog stopped with her, watching curiously as she tore a piece from the loaf of bread and held it aloft. “You take this, and we’ll be even, okay? You’ll leave me alone. Deal?”

The dog nodded, though she was certain that had more to do with how she bobbed the piece of bread in the air.

“Ready?” She said, raising the piece over her head. He shuffled back, keeping his eyes on the piece of bread. “Go get it!”

Then Nesta launched it as far as she could towards the treeline, watching as the dog launched itself after it, disappearing in the shadow. She used the opportunity to quickly slip back inside the cottage, hoping that when he returned to see the door was closed and that she wasn’t going to let him in, he would move on to harass someone else.

Nesta woke the next morning to a strange, rhythmic thud cleaving through the forest.

She wasn’t certain if it was the sound or the vibrations that trembled through the old wooden floorboards of the cottage that eventually dragged her from sleep. She rose, blearily fixing her eyes on the hearth that had died at some point in the night, the soot now jostling loose with each powerful blow outside.

Her concern was delayed, seeping slowly through the cracks of the frost-fogged window as she slowly steadied herself in the waking world. It didn’t take long, though, for the ice to leak through and grip her chest tightly.

Then, she was crawling toward the window, careful to keep herself obscured as she slowly raised her face to the frozen glass. It wasn’t the villagers finally come to mob her, thankfully. Though she couldn’t say for certain that the strange man standing over her family’s splitting block was any less alarming.

He held a familiar long-handled axe in his large bare hands. Nesta couldn’t count how often Feyre had warned her not to leave the axe outside. Enough times for Nesta to leave it willingly, half in pettiness and half because she couldn’t stand the sight of the thing. And now it was in a stranger’s hand, lifted over his dark head of hair with discomforting ease before he let it fall onto the upright block of wood he’d placed atop the flared stump. A clean, precise cut.

The man didn’t even survey his perfect work before he chucked the two pieces aside into the pile of wood he’d accumulated over what looked to be hours. Or maybe not. He retrieved another block and split it beneath the axe so quickly that Nesta didn’t doubt he’d be able to clear the whole forest by nightfall. He didn’t even stop to wipe a broad hand across his brow before he was chopping the next block, then the next.

Drawing away from the window, Nesta quickly surveyed the kitchen for something—anything—she could use to defend herself against a man with an axe. A knife seemed useless, but… Feyre had left her bow and arrow behind when she’d fled the village. Nesta didn’t know how to use it, not as effectively as Feyre, but he didn’t know that.

Feyre tried to teach her once. A few winters ago, when the harsh conditions had brought Elain looking so close to death that Nesta had felt desperate enough to learn. But she’d barely caught so much as a rabbit mimicking Feyre’s techniques, and by the time spring rolled around, Nesta resigned the skill back to her sister and took to other avenues of ensuring their survival, like making friendly with the woodcutter’s son.

Not that any of it mattered anymore. All that was left of her family was the rotting cottage and Feyre’s abandoned bow. Her youngest sister might have laughed had she been there to witness Nesta kick the door open with the string pulled to the corner of her lip.

The man paused with the axe raised over his head. He looked over at her, blinking as he took in the notched arrow pointed towards him, then her dressing gown, her bare feet. He raised a dark, slitted brow and grinned slowly as he rested the axe casually over his broad shoulder.

“Careful, sweetheart.” A pair of unnervingly clever hazel eyes raked her over. There was an edge to them, a wildness that seemed well suited to the forest at his back. “You’re going to poke someone’s eye out with that thing.”

“Get off my property.” Her breath clouded in front of her face. So did his—steady puffs of air through his wide nose, a sharp contrast to her heavy exhale even though he had been the one chopping wood.

Did he notice her ragged breath, her trembling hands? Hopefully, he was too busy eying her nightgown, how it’d been sewn for a body a few years younger, tight in the chest and hips because they hadn’t been able to afford a replacement in years.

“Or you’ll what,” he said, with infuriating calm, “shoot me?”

She tightened her grip, pulled the string back further like she intended to release.

He laughed. “Go ahead.”

He believed she didn’t have it in her, the bastard. Nesta kept the bow trained on him, entertaining shooting him just for the crime of underestimating her. “Why are you chopping wood here?”

“I thought this house was abandoned.”

Lie. He’d have been able to see the smoke drifting from the chimney in the hatched roof. Though, Nesta had no way of knowing when the fire had died while she slept. She wished she could go back in and feel the stone to gauge how recently it had stopped burning.

“And why would you be chopping wood at an abandoned house?”

He set down the axe. Her axe. And raised his palms as though in surrender. “I was planning to sell it.”

“You’re going to sell the wood,” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said proudly.

“At the village?”

“That is typically where one sells wood, is it not?”

“I’ve never seen you before,” Nesta said, examining his clothes. His winter cape, lined with wolf pelts she would have believed he’d hunted himself, had been discarded in the snow, leaving him in a belted fur-lined tunic of simple make. A pair of leather gloves was tucked into his belt, and his dark hair was tied off his face, though pieces of it hung loose at his temples, his neck. Better off than a common woodcutter, but certainly no lord’s son. “We already have a woodcutter in this village.”

“Is there not room for two?”

The Mandrays wouldn’t think so. It wasn’t Nesta’s problem, but it could be. If they knew he had been at this cottage first, chopping his wood here. Thomas was already looking for any excuse to throw her at the village’s mercy and with the rumors surrounding Elain and now Feyre… Nesta didn’t think she would survive whatever retribution Thomas would seek if he thought she had any association with this woodcutter.

“No,” she said, tipping her chin defiantly. Her fingers were growing numb, the string crooked round her finger cutting off whatever circulation was left. She gritted her teeth. “Go terrorize the next village over.”

As if he didn’t hear her, the man unlooped the belt around his waist and began gathering the wood into a pile.

“I said stop,” she hissed.

“What if I offer you a cut of my profits?”

Not good enough. The villagers wouldn’t take her money. They’d sooner accuse her of stealing it and hang her for the crime.

Besides, she didn’t trust a strange man threatened beneath a bow to return with any measure of good intentions. Particularly not once he discovered she was here alone, with no father or sisters or anyone to protect her, to hear her scream. It was better if this man forgot who she was. All she needed was to survive the winter, then she could attempt the journey to Velaris in the spring. And surviving meant keeping her head down, her mouth shut. Her bow unstrung.

“Leave a few pieces of wood,” she said. “And tell no one that you were here. That’s my price.”

There was something very dangerous about how his mouth quirked to the side. He began placing several logs in a new pile as he asked casually, “Afraid of making one of the boys in the village jealous?”

Nesta’s spine straightened. He might be asking out of ordinary interest, like any gentleman might inquire if a lady’s heart was taken. But from the predatory way he watched her, the way those eyes practically begged her to release her fingers on the drawstring, she thought it was more likely that he was probing for information, determining whether someone would come looking for her if he decided this cottage and its sole occupant were ripe for the taking.

“No one will buy from you if they knew where you chopped this wood,” she said, praying that alone would deter him.

His laughter rumbled through his chest. “Is that because you threaten all your guests with a bow?” Nesta thought it sounded oddly like a question and a compliment in one. She kept the arrow trained on him, kept her jaw clenched as he grinned. “Alright, alright. Understood.” He crouched to grab his cape, throwing it carelessly over his shoulder before lifting the stack of wood by the makeshift sling. He offered a nod of farewell as he set down the path towards the village, “See you around, then, sweetheart.”

Nesta waited until the sound of footsteps faded, and his large frame was eclipsed entirely by trees before she lowered the bow. He’d left the axe behind, embedded in the wood, and she cautiously ventured forward to retrieve it, as well as the generous pile of wood he’d left behind.

She hoped he was wrong. She hoped she never saw him again.

But she couldn’t get the sight of his eyes out of her mind. The way he’d watched her with a hunger that she knew intimately. Her heart was racing in fear, she told herself. If she’d learned anything from her sisters, it was that the desire of men was dangerous.

So when she heard something sniffing and scratching outside her door later that evening and peeked through the window to see the dog lying in front of the cottage, she let it inside.

Just in case the man returned and expected to find her alone.

#Nessian #Nessian fic #Nessian fanfic #Nessian fanfiction #Nesta x Cassian #Cassian x Nesta #They Are the Hunters #In From the Snow #Nessianweek2023

97 notes · View notes