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born-to-riot · 16 days

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I Know What You Need

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 7 (Free Day)

Summary: Amren comes up with an unorthodox solution to one of Nesta's problems....and by unorthodox I mean Amren and Varian invite Nesta to share their bed for the night.

[This all was inspired by a message I sent @acourtofladydeath that said: I think there is a sore lack of vamren in the community and shall I fix that by having them invite a third? Shall it be Nesta? Shall Amren show her how to harness her potential by taking it out on a needy overstimulated Varian?]

Found on AO3

What I Want.

Chapter 1 of 2

Looking back, Nesta isn’t quite sure how she found herself in this situation. Well actually that’s a lie, she thinks. Nesta shifts her weight to her other leg and releases a sigh as she tightens her bun for what feels like the umpteenth time. She has been standing outside the door of Amren’s apartament in Velaris for Cauldron knows how long, afraid to knock.

In truth, Nesta knows exactly how she ended up accepting her mentor and friend’s shocking proposal. It does not necessarily erase the thin but ever-so-present shroud of guilt and mortification hovering about her.

“You’re here for a reason.” Nesta quietly reminds herself, keeping her blue-gray eyes locked on the unopened door in front of her.

In a thin, black robe, Nesta Archeron stands tall. Made ornate by the roses and thorns sewn into the neck line, the silk clings tightly to her skin. Amren had asked–or actually she more so demanded–that Nesta arrive here tonight dressed minimally, so she had. As she, Amren, and Varian have all gone over several times prior to tonight, the scene will start as soon as the tiny fae opens the door.

“It might help if I knock on it first.” Nesta murmurs to herself.

It's been six months since the end of the war with Hybern and to be honest, Nesta has not been in the best place with her mind, her friends, or with her power. She’s not even going to start on the whole weird connection she feels with Cassian. The male has been super frustrating as of late and honestly, all Nesta wants to do anytime he comes near her is punch him in the face. More pertinent to the present matter at hand, Nesta feels like she’s been swept into a world she wasn’t ready to understand and placed into a body that she doesn’t fully know. She wishes she could take this transition in stride like Feyre. Recently, even Elain is doing better than she is. But instead Nesta feels like she is shriveling down to a fragment of herself, cowering under the weight of the unknown, from the fear of what has already happened, and the terror of what is coming next.

But alas, Amren has offered a possible solution, albeit an unorthodox one, to address some of her problems and Nesta would be foolish to deny this opportunity as not only it is much better than bedding random males every night, but also she is hopeful that she will be able to feel whole again after tonight.

“Come on, Nesta,” she tells herself, “Still, she refuses to acknowledge that her hand is most definitely shaking as she slowly raises it in preparation to knock on the red-painted door that stands between her and something that she knows she will never be able to come back from.

Nesta has to remind herself to keep breathing when the door swings open in front of her, her hand still raised in front of the now empty space. Not even a millisecond later, Amren appears in the doorframe, clad in sheer white oversized button down shirt, which–if Nesta wasn’t too busy attempting to stop her jaw from literally dropping at the mesmerizing sight of Amren’s elaborate lingerie set peaking through the frame provided by the unbuttoned shirt–she’d put her money on it being Varians. She doesn’t spend too much time pondering that thought, however, as Nesta is also currently trying to remedy the usual image of the harem-pants-wearing and fear-inducing tiny gremlin of a fae with the ethereal vision in front of her currently.

Amren is intimidating enough on her own; however, the additional height of her thigh-high seven-inch platforms brings her just a couple inches shy of Nesta’s own height and the closeness of her ancient silver hues makes Nesta’s heart start racing even faster. As Amren clearly is taking her time in assessing Nesta, she takes her own time to try to decide if she wants to top or be topped by the little fae in front of her.

Nesta isn’t reluctant to admit that she has not ever spent much time thinking about Amren’s breasts other than the fact that they were small. Now though, as she sees them held in an overbust mesh black steel boned corset, she can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like in her palms. Nesta also hasn’t given too much thought to women before in regards to the matter of sexual preference. In her defense, when she was still human she was mostly surrounded with women that were either related to her or were members of the blasted ‘children of the blessed’. She supposes she will have to be thankful that the whole ‘being dunked in a magical cauldron against her will by an egomaniac’ ordeal has allowed her to explore a wider avenue of carnal opportunities than she ever could have imagined. At that line of thought her traitorous brain and heart work together to form an image of a certain large red-siphoned Illyrian male and Nesta quickly shuts that down. Tonight is not about him, she reassures herself, it's about her.

Fortunately, there is something about Amren’s ancient aura combined with her ‘wiser than thou’ attitude that Nesta finds infuriating but at the same time inexplicably attractive. Amren lets out a purposefully audible sigh, shifting her weight onto her other leg and placing her black fingerless glove covered arms on her hip–barely visible past the rolled-up sleeves of Varian’s shirt. Still, the movement draws Nesta’s attention to the many rings on her finger–unsurprising–and the tiny fae’s manicure, her nails filed to such sharp tips they appeared to be claws. Not only that, but the movement adjusts the oversized shirt she was wearing over her lingerie set and now Nesta can’t stop the thrum of interest that rises inside of her as her eyes lock onto the bare skin of Amren’s pussy, which is on display through her crotchless mesh and lace panty.

“You’re late,” Amren’s voice shocks Nesta out of her self-induced stupor. She immediately lifts her gaze to meet the unimpressed one evident in the other’s charcoal-lined eyes.

She opens her mouth to speak–to try and come up with some sort of explanation for herself–yet she finds she is unable to do anything other than audibly choke on an inhale. Nesta closes her mouth, frustrated with herself. She is smart, she is beautiful, she is the eldest of her sisters and she will be Cauldron-damned if she lets herself get flustered by Amren of all people. Nesta straightens her posture and goes to speak again, intending to say something stupid about how ‘You’re lucky I came at all’ just so she could feel more in control of the situation. However, she gets interrupted again, this time though not by her own volition, but instead at the silent raising of Amren’s hand in a ‘stop’ motion. She feels a rise of anger filling her, absolutely furious at the audacity of Amren to just hold her hand up and expect Nesta to stop speaking. How dare she? A voice hisses inside of her, one that Nesta is not too sure is entirely her own, yet she is too caught up in her inexplicable rage to care.

“I don’t care for excuses, girl,” Amren interrupts her before Nesta even has a chance to voice her ire, rolling her eyes and stepping aside so that she can hold the door open– the action a clear invitation for Nesta to enter the premises. Nesta takes a deep breath, truly trying not to lose her cool at the elder for such a minor transgression and one that is just so quintessentially Amren. However, she nearly loses her composure again when her inner consciousness decides to remind her that ‘she does have a type.’ Nesta is fully aware that she apparently has a metaphorical hard-on for infuriatingly obnoxious assholes–the main culprit of this affliction being Cassian. However, usually, Amren is more of a smartass which keeps her away from the same category as the Ilyrian. Tonight, however, the ancient being seems to be cauldron-bent on trying to antagonize Nesta and for some forsaken reason the slight is turning her on.

Instead of falling victim to Amren’s goading, Nesta inhales the Velaris air one more time before taking a step past the threshold into Amren’s apartment. Upon her exhale, she finds herself in the same lackluster entryway she’s found herself in many times before. Amren, at least given what Nesta has observed so far in the time she’s known her, seems to prefer to save her decor for the deeper areas of the apartment–if she were to wager a guess, Nesta presumes the ancient creature would rather keep her jewels and valuables protected and hidden in contrast to Rhys and Feyre who display their wealth like a peacock does its feathers. Though, she supposes that is their right as the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. Nevertheless, Nesta still takes the time to let her eyes trail across her immediate surroundings. She recognizes the same little alcove to her left that has two emerald green club chairs on either side of a small end table as well as the rest of the entryway, the area being sparse apart from another closed door and a painting of some books. Despite the fact that she’s seen this all before, Nesta feels the hairs on her arms start to raise as her gaze finally lands on the empty hallway in front of her; she wonders if the chill in the air is a foretaste of what is to come of tonight.

Before she has a chance to determine what side of the scale the omen leans toward, the sound of the door slamming behind her shocks Nesta back into the moment. She whips around to face Amren, who is leaning with her back against the now-shut front door, smirking up at her. While she internally reprimands her subconscious for allowing her to show her back to such a dangerous creature, Nesta would also be lying if she says she did not feel a sense of satisfaction curl within her once she realizes that even with Amren’s heels, Nesta is still taller than her. Of course, this satisfaction doesn’t last, the second Amren lets her grin fall off her face and takes a step forward, Nesta feels as if a veil has lifted from her view, revealing the ethereal being in front of her. Everyone in Prythian knows that Amren is an otherworldly creature, full of knowledge and power. Nesta regrets to think that she thought Amren would somehow become less than she once was after she lost her power in the Cauldron all those months ago.

“This is your last chance to back out girl,” Amren says seriously, pure silver locked on gray blue, gazing into her eyes so directly Nesta almost feels as if Amren is able to see through her. Nesta is still trying to take in the sight of Amren’s silky black hair framing her sharp jaw-line, her small but supple tits barely visible but clearly evident, her tiny waist and lean muscle both obvious through the mesh and fit of her corset, the color a great contrast against her tanned skin. However, as Nesta eyes Amren’s freshly shaven cunt–the pattern of the lace on her crotchless panties perfectly framing her vulva–she feels her temperature rise with a combination of both desire and ire. Nesta doesn’t give a shit if Amren currently looks like some sort of goddess, how dare she question her surety.

“I know what I want,” Nesta narrows her eyes into a glare and straightens her posture, refusing to look away from Amren’s unusually sober stare. She understands that Amren is just concerned, but she wishes everyone would stop being so careful around her. She used to be able to rely on Amren to be the only one in her sister’s stupid fucking Inner Circle who was willing to be up-front with her.

“It's not a question of what you want, this is a matter of what you need, girl,” Amren stalks closer to her, her eyes somehow still bright and predatory despite the dimness of the room.

“There is nothing weak about having second thoughts,” she purrs, starting to circle around Nesta as she comes even closer, like a predator and its prey.

“Amren,” she snaps, frustratedly, tired of her friend’s game. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to be, Nesta bemoans the fact that it seems like the tiny fae truly derives some sick sense of pleasure from making everything ten times more difficult than it needs to be.

“Patience child,” she shivers at the sound of Amren’s tongue clicking right behind her, the ancient one’s voice sounding displeased. Before Nesta can even process why the disappointment in Amren’s tone causes her heart to jolt, the press of two dangerously sharp nail tips against the back of her neck pause all of her racing thoughts. She fights the urge to flinch as the nails start to slowly drag down the remainder of her exposed spine, pressing into each vertebrae it passes.

“Don’t make a mistake. Just because I allow you to play a dominant role tonight,” the female hisses, her breath warm against Nesta’s ear, the two dangerously sharp tips of Amren’s nails focusing on the vertebrae that sits right above the collar of Nesta’s robe, she continues, “doesn’t mean I’m not still willing to put you in your place.”

The words send a shiver of delight through Nesta, the tickle of Amren’s breath against her ear sends tendrils of electricity that spread throughout her whole body. She can feel the tingles reverberate in her chest and down her arms, until they land, pooling in her breasts. Nesta’s breath hitches and she as the indent of Amren’s nails start to shift, her nipples hardening at the drag of the claw-like sensation against the side of her throat. She doesn’t even realize that her eyes are closed until Amren releases the grip on her neck, Nesta opening her eyes to find the other in front of her with a distinctly pleased grin painting her sharp faerie features.

“Understand?” Amren asks expectantly, slowly moving her jewel covered hand to the flimsy piece of string that is holding Nesta’s robe together, causing the more modest of the two to blush. Nesta feels a piece of her strange newly awakened inner soul start to fight at the idea of conceding to anyone. However, she notes the tantalizingly slow speed of Amren’s outstretched hand and appreciates the fact that she is purposefully giving her plenty of opportunity to reject the advance if Nesta was to wish it so.

“Hmm?” Amren urges Nesta gently to respond, pausing her hand once it reaches its destination, tangling itself loosely in the string. As Nesta eyes Amren, she can’t help but think that this is probably the most considerate Amren will ever be of her wishes. Still, she looks at the hunger evident in Amren’s eyes, thinks about the heat filling her own body, and she knows she can’t put this off any longer. She thinks over the last couple months of angst and seclusion, about how she can barely stand to look at herself in the mirror, the flames in her eyes not feeling like her own. It’s time she takes the next step for herself. Nesta knows what she wants–no, she knows what she needs to do now.

“Yes Mistress, I understand,” Nesta replies, inclining her head as a sign of acceptance of Amren’s authority.

“Good girl” Nesta doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that the older’s praise gives her such a clear sense of security. However, it seems she doesn’t have much time to ponder on it further. With one swift movement Amren has rid Nesta’s robe of the tie keeping it together, the fabric falling open to reveal her bare skin underneath.

“What a treat,” a devilish smirk plasters itself onto Amren’s face as the female eyes her up and down. She has to admit that this, revealing her naked body to her friend, is one of the parts of tonight that she has been most nervous for. Now though, Nesta can only find it in herself to feel pleased as she watches Amren hungrily take in her bare body, her unyielding silver stare seeming to pause on her ample breasts and what’s visible of her cunt.

“You look absolutely delightful, he won’t be able to control himself,” Amren notes before turning on her heel and heading down the long hallway. Nesta is flattered and somewhat surprised that Amren said so– assuming the ‘he’ in question is Varian– Nesta’s body being a much different build than Amren’s. Nesta has been so caught up in Amren she almost is sorry to say that she might have forgotten about Varian, which is insane because Amren is quite literally letting Nesta fuck her boyfriend to help her feel normal in this new body of hers and to help her gain control of the great power that has been set loose inside her.

“Come on, girl,” Nesta will admit she barely registers the words that are coming out of Amren’s mouth, her eyes a little busy admiring the other’s well-defined ass. She supposes it makes sense, Amren is strong not only due to her position as Rhysand’s Second in Command, but also just through reputation alone. It would make sense that Amren’s glutes would reflect such strength, which Nesta once again feels bad for presuming that someone so small wouldn’t be able to have a wonderful ass.

“I won’t be happy if I have to repeat myself,” Amren notes, turning back to look at Nesta over her shoulder, raising a brow. Nesta quickly launches herself into motion, following the other female. As Amren comes to stop in front of one of the doors further down the way, Nesta wonders what lies behind it.

“Let the festivities begin,” Amren quips, opening the door in front of her and stepping inside. Nesta gulps as she follows behind her, not having a chance to see anything other than a dark room and the white of the shirt on Amren’s back before the other motions to her in a request to close the door behind her. Nesta turns quickly then, somehow hoping that the faster she moves the more it will lessen her nerves. As soon as she closes the door she notes that the lighting in the room dims significantly. She takes a second to inhale and exhale, clearing her mind of all of her worries, before finally deciding that she is truly ready to begin..

“What now?” Nesta asks, turning around in search of Amren.

“Strip” Amren orders, taking the moment to also shed herself of the oversized shirt she had been wearing over her lingerie.

Nesta takes a moment to assess her surroundings, noting that they seem to be in a walk-in closet. The only light in the room is provided by the flames of various candles throughout the many presumably empty shelves in the room, Nesta admits she hasn’t given the shelves too much attention as she is much more interested in the main focus of the room: a large ostentatious full length mirror. The mirror is absolutely gorgeous and is framed by two hanging lanterns so that whoever stands in front of it will be able to see themselves in lovely detail. So much detail that Nesta finds her nerves creeping up on her again, but she looks at Amren–waiting patiently next to the mirror for her– and slips the sleeves of her robe off her shoulders. The already-opened garment easily slides down the rest of her body and gathers in a puddle at her feet.

“Good girl,” Amren purrs, “now come over here and stand in front of this mirror for me, yeah?”

Nesta nods, trying to keep her eyes on Amren female instead of looking back at her own reflection. The air in the room chills against her now bare skin, Nesta feels the hair on her arms stand as she lessens the distance between herself and her destination. Although, as Nesta takes another step, she realizes that she is not exactly sure if the goosebumps are solely due to the cold.

“Tell me what you see, girl,” Amren orders her, Nesta finally arriving at a standstill. She hesitates to adhere to the ancient one’s wishes, biting her lip and taking note of the fact that she finds some form of comfort in the familiar face of her friend. It is not like she is a virgin. Nesta is guilty of having taken many random fae males back to her apartment over the course of the past six months. Despite the frequency of the occurrences, Nesta finds it hard to remember anything apart from going through the expected motions. She brings the male of choice to her bed, they fuck, the male goes home, and once again she is left feeling trapped in some suspension of reality–stuck in a time that is between the past and the present, no hope for a future.

But tonight, in this moment, in this closet, there is no denying the vulnerability that seeps through her every pore. In the candlelight Amren’s silver eyes look radiant, luminous like they were before she sacrificed herself, her power, for them all. Nesta is as guilty as the rest of the inner circle in that they all are waiting for the moment Amren breaks, that she lashes out at one of the others in jealousy, that she can’t take it anymore. But now, Amren stands in front of her more alluring than Nesta has ever found her before. The tiny fae is still leaning against the mirror frame, waiting patiently for Nesta to follow her orders. Nesta looks her up and down, once again admiring Amrens' lingerie–the combination of her heels, corset, fingerless gloves, and crotchless lace mesh panties all working well together to bring attention to her toned legs. Nesta finds herself overcome with jealousy too, that Amren could walk around her own house showing off her cunt so freely. However, she does appreciate Amren’s uncharacteristic show of patience and so Nesta nods at the elder before adhering to her wishes. She turns slightly to face herself in the mirror.

“I see myself,” Nesta answers the question without a thought. She spies Amren frowning at her response from the corner of her eye and Nesta struggles not to do the same. Respecting the process is hard when the process is asking her what she sees in a mirror, what the fuck else is she supposed to see other than her reflection?

“Try again,” Amren says, clearly displeased. This time, Nesta doesn’t bother to hide her frown. She doesn’t know why she's trying to be polite when she’s here naked in front of Amren. Still, she swallows as she takes note of Amren’s figure entering the mirror’s field of vision, the ancient creature clearly assessing her.

“I don’t know its a fucking mirror, Amren, what else am I supposed to see?” Nesta snaps. She has never been one to hold herself back before, she doesn’t know why she should stop now. Maybe if Nesta demands some answers from Amren, then their night can get started faster.

“I will give you one warning to keep your temper in check, girl,” Amren hisses, the flickering candlelight bouncing off her naturally tanned skin as she approaches Nesta, her figure becoming larger as she gets closer to Nesta.

“You know what you signed up for, I don’t like brats,” Amren comes to a stop just slightly behind her, Nesta is able to see her claw-like nails rhythmically tapping impatiently upon her cocked hip.

Nesta closes her eyes with a sigh. She does know what she signed up for, and if anyone knows how to deal with being shoved inside a different form it's Amren. She inhales and tries to clear her mind of all her inhibitions, she knows that in order for this to work she needs to step into it fully rather than keeping one metaphorical foot out the door. Nesta opens her eyes, looking straight into their gray-blue reflection as she decides she’s ready to try again.

“I see…” Nesta trails off, her throat suddenly dry as the mirror confronts her with a bare body, the body that she knows is supposed to belong to her, the body that looks almost the same as it always has, the body that no longer feels like her own. A stranger.

“You see…?” Amren urges her to continue. The heat radiating from her breath tickles against Nesta’s ear, causing her nipples to tingle slightly. She pushes that thought aside though because she remembers Amren has asked her a question..

“I see….myself?” she replies less sure than before, watching her own shoulders hike up in the mirror, noting that her breasts bounce slightly with the motion. Despite the fact that she utters the same response as before, anyone who has two eyes and two working ears would be able to tell that Nesta’s tone is completely different than it was before. She stares at her reflection in the mirror.

Nesta knows this body, she recognizes her fair skin, she recognizes her golden-brown hair–still tied up in a bun, and she recognizes her sharp jawline. Her ears are definitely different but oddly enough it doesn’t bother her, she supposes it suits her face and she still has her same long neck. As she lets her eyes trail down her reflection further she can see her arms are more toned than before. Her breasts are a tad bit bigger than when she was human too–which she chalks up to the amazing food in Prythian. In her opinion, there is nothing particularly remarkable about her stomach or legs, they are the same size and length as before. Nesta is familiar with this body, so she doesn’t know why she feels so out of place in front of this mirror.

Nesta can’t help but let her eyes focus on her least favorite part of herself: her cunt. It's not like she’s had a lot of others to compare hers to before, but she has always felt like hers was rather ugly. Nesta lets her eyes glance slightly to the right to take a peek at Amren’s cunt where it's peeking through her crotchless panties in the mirror. The ancient fae’s pussy was free of all pubic hair, her vulva looking smooth. Based on the fact that Nesta doesn’t see any signs of Amren's inner labia, she assumes that Amren is one of those lucky bitches with shorter ones. Nesta glances back to her own, her own pubic region is covered in hair in addition to her inner labia hanging down to where they are visible in her reflection.

“Good enough,” Amren, thankfully, interrupts her negative spiral of thoughts. Nesta is also grateful that Amren accepts her answer, probably able to sense the change in Nesta’s energy.

“On your knees!” Nesta didn’t even notice Amren move before she felt a distinct boot-like pressure on the backs of her knees, causing them to buckle. Before she even has a chance to be upset about this turn of events, she feels Amren’s hand grip the back of her neck, focusing Nesta’s attention back on both of their reflections in the mirror.

“First, we’re taking care of this pesky bun,” Nesta gasps as Amren roughly snaps the hairband she was using, yanking it out of her hair. Nesta can’t even appreciate the tickle of her golden-brown hair falling upon her shoulders, she gasps out a moan as Amren adjusts her grip to include the back of her hair, yanking it back roughly.

“Then,” she uses one of her nails to bring Nesta’s head up to face her. From this position, Nesta has a really good perspective of Amren's vulva, her dark inner labia symmetrically framed by the beautiful lace of her panties. She guesses she understands now why Amren and Varian spend so much of their time in the bedroom, if Nesta had a partner who looked like that she wouldn’t be able to stay off of them.

“Listen to me,” Amren continues to speak, adding pressure to her grip on the back of Nesta’s neck, moving the other hand–finger still on her jaw–down to rest upon the column of her now exposed throat, “you are never going to get over this malaise of yours if you don’t acknowledge that you are more now.”

Nesta isn’t exactly sure how she’s supposed to be paying attention to anything other than the feel of Amren’s finger, the sharp edge now tracing down the line of her throat–now that Nesta can actually feel the edges of Amren’s nails, she knows that if Amren wanted she could slice through the skin of her neck with one flick of her finger. Still, Nesta tries to ignore the trail of electricity that seems to be shooting out of wherever her skin makes contact with Amren’s and instead tries to focus on the conversation that she is supposed to be participating in.

“No, I know…,” Nesta starts, the sudden absence of Amren’s grip startles her, “I know-”, she tries to continue, tracking Amren’s reflection in the mirror, the tiny fae keeping her one finger anchored in its position on Nesta’s neck while swerving behind her so that she is now standing behind Nesta’s left side. “I know that I’m… different,” Nesta finishes, trying not to flinch away from the sudden softness of Amren’s knuckle circling the area of skin around the indentation left behind by the sharp edge of her nail.

“Different isn’t the same as bad, child,” Nesta doesn’t know why the use of the term ‘child’ suddenly bothers her, Amren is so old that it makes perfect sense why she would view all their friends as such. Yet, for some reason, the term strikes an odd cord within her, leaving behind a slight residue of ire. She doesn’t think she is in the place to complain about it now, though. Especially as she both witnesses Amren’s reflection and feels the fae move behind her, now straddling her left calf and hooking her chin over the back of Nesta’s shoulder. Her nipples harden immediately, the combination of Amren’s breath ghosting over her shoulder—breezing past the side of her neck—and of the warmth against her completely nude back transforms Nesta’s body into an oversensitive vessel.

“I remember when I first saw you, and these,” Amren starts, her arms reaching out from behind Nesta, her tanned hands—peeking out from fingerless gloves—now taking a hold of Nesta’s breasts, “these for sure are different.”

Nesta bites back a moan as she makes eye contact with Amren through the mirror, the other fae having an almost feral grin on her face as she begins massaging Nesta’s breasts. Despite the fact that Amren’s hands are small—not able to encompass the entirety of Nesta’s rather large breasts—she makes up for it with her vigor. Amren starts rolling Nesta’s nipples between her index finger and thumb in combination with the rhythmic pressing of her other fingers, each one making contact with a pressure point Nesta didn’t even know was there..

“Mhmm” Nesta moans a response, unable to hold back the effect of the pleasure arising from Amren’s kneading. It feels like there is fire inside her, each roll of Amren’s fingers on her nipples causes a ripple like sensation shooting straight to her cunt, leaving a pathway of sensitivity leading straight to her steadily heating core.

“And this,” Amren says lowly, nibbling at Nesta’s left ear as she releases her grip on her right breast. Both silver and gray-blue eyes track Amren’s hand through the mirror–watching as it disappears behind Nesta’s back briefly.

Nesta loses track of the room around her as she feels two of the pads of Amren’s fingers press ever-so-lightly against her spine between her shoulder-blades. This teasingly light touch combines with a particularly well timed squeeze of her left breast, triggering another round of the spark-like sensation inside her. Nesta tilts her head back to the right almost subconsciously, her body submitting to Amren and readily exposing her neck. She ignores the inner rage that emerges from that same deep place as before, especially when she feels Amren’s fingers start to trail their teasingly-light touch down her spine–the fae seemingly enjoying the feel of the dips and ridges between her vertebrae as she makes her way down.

“This is your greatest error,” Amren ghosts the words over the exposed skin of her neck, Nesta shivers at the sensation.

“What is?” Nesta asks, she internally curses her ancient friend’s inability to refrain from sounding cryptic whenever she speaks.

“This,” Amren repeats, immediately releasing her other breast. Nesta is too confused to register the jiggle of her tit as it settles back into its place on her chest. ‘This’ still isn’t an answer, Nesta thinks. Thankfully though, she isn’t too far caught up into the ‘enigma that is Amren’ to miss the fact that Amren’s right hand is currently resting on her ass, the palm of her left hand–the one that has just released her breast–now pressing on the region of skin just above her pelvic bone.

“How dare you deny this cunt as your own,” Amren demands. Nesta gasps as Amren moves her hand that is resting on Nesta’s ass down to cup her vulva from behind, igniting a whole new round of heat inside of her. Nesta can feel Amren’s fingers tangling themselves in her pubic hair, she can see the tips of Amren’s nails in the reflection from the mirror.

“I-I didn’t tell you that,” Nesta stutters, the heat of Amren’s hand below making it difficult for Nesta to retrieve her thoughts, her clit throbs in anticipation and she can feel the distinct sensation of wetness starting to build up inside of her.

“I know,” Amren smirks, Nesta making eye contact with her reflection, “But you poured your soul out into this mirror, girl. I can tell, that’s why I know exactly what I need to do to fix you.”

Nesta can’t even begin to try to wrap her head around that sentence; as soon as Nesta opens her mouth Amren presses her palm harder into Nesta’s front, causing a loud moan to escape her lips instead of whatever it was she intended to say as the added pressure discharges quivers of pleasure straight to her clit. Nesta is beginning to get the feeling that Amren enjoys making her speechless.

“And w-what’s that?” she manages to ask, truly desperate to know how Amren is going to fix Nesta’s fractured soul.

“How about you stop asking questions so that I can show you,” Amren replies instead of answering, Nesta pauses, noting that this is the first time tonight that Amren has sounded anything close to borderline impatient. Amren relaxes the pressure on Nesta’s front, seemingly waiting for the younger to respond before she continues.

Nesta quickly pushes aside the massive amounts of lust that are coursing through her body at the moment and instead makes eye contact with Amren again through their reflections.

“Yes Mistress, I apologize,” Nesta says dutifully, only feeling slightly bad that she irritated Amren. Still, she knows she made the right move as Nesta spies Amren’s shoulders relaxing as she rehooks her chin over Nesta’s left shoulder.

“Good girl,” she praises. Nesta watches Amren’s eyes flash before she starts moving her left hand up and down Nesta’s stomach. Nesta can do nothing but swallow as Amren starts to move her right hand.

“Now, are you seriously trying to tell me that these don’t belong to you?” Amren hisses. Nesta jolts as she feels Amren grip the lips of her inner labia, slowly rolling them between her fingers.

“These are nice, full, begging for attention, why do you hate them?”

“I don’t-” Nesta tries to start.

“Don’t lie to me,” Amren cuts her off, igniting another distant unfamiliar rage inside Nesta, one that she does not completely understand. As it seems to keep happening tonight, Amren doesn’t give her a chance to respond as Amren places a particularly strong tug on her inner labia, pulling the lips down before releasing them, the sound of Nesta’s wetness subsequently echoing in the quiet tiny room.

Amren forms two of her fingers into a V, pressing them just outside the area surrounding her clit before she starts massaging the area in a circular motion.

“Fuck.” Nesta whimpers, Amren’s teasing is absolutely agonizing. Nesta’s clit throbs, with the other’s fingers so close, it can’t help but send pulses of need throughout Nesta’s body in time with each move of Amren’s fingers around it.

“I need you to understand that this power of yours is not something you should be afraid of,” Amren stops the circular motions and instead presses two fingers directly onto her clit through its hood. Nesta swears the pleasure is so intense, it feels as if a fire is rising inside of her. The base of it originates from her core, the smoke rising up to keep the rest of her upper body warm too.

“It wants to work with you,” Amren lets out a gasp as she starts to grind her own pussy down on Nesta’s leg which she has been stradling this whole time. Nesta bites her lip as she feels the moist beginnings of Amren’s own juices impressing upon her calf. The fingers of Amren’s right hand aren't moving, instead they keep a constant thread of pressure on her clit. Nesta’s poor clit, she can tell it’s desperate for attention, it sends constant pulses as if it is asking her to move to give it some sort of relief from all the stimulation Amren is providing.

Nesta watches Amren through the mirror. She can both see and feel Amren’s right hand splaying out across her stomach, using it for balance as she grinds against her calf and uses her other hand to attend to Nesta’s cunt. Despite the impressive multitasking that Amren already has going on, Nesta notices Amren’s assessing silver gaze is locked on her own, as if Amren is waiting for her to realize something.

What though? Nesta wants to ask, but she refrains because she knows Amren won’t take it well. But how the fuck is she supposed to know what Amren wants? Amren is older than Prythian itself and Nesta has been High Fae for less than a year. All Nesta knows is that she is more turned on than she has ever been in her entire life, sitting completely in the nude between a mirror and the scantily dressed body of one of the people she feels the most comfortable around lately–which in itself is saying something as it is Amren she is talking about.

“Look inside yourself,” Amren says as she slows the pace of her gyrations, “can’t you feel that you’re not alone?”

Nesta lets out another moan, closing her eyes as Amren starts driving the fingers that have been fixed on Nesta’s clit around, dragging her clit into a circular path. This, of course, causes Nesta’s hips to jerk into the motion, chasing after the pleasure. She also tries to decipher what exactly Amren means with her statement that ‘she’s not alone.’

It is quite hard to do so though when she feels like there’s a sweltering heat inside her body, begging for escape. Nesta has been horny before, she knows what it feels like. Cauldron knows that she has been a victim of it tonight. Fortunately, thanks to the overstimulation that Amren is so happily providing, Nesta is able to take a deeper look at what’s going on inside of her.

Nesta closes her eyes, trying to center herself past the pleasure that’s overwhelming her senses. As she inhales, she ignores the rocking of Amren’s pussy back and forth on her calf, she ignores the sting of her painfully hard nipples, she ignores the rhythmic squelching coming from her own pussy as Amren’s hand keeps her lips in motion and pressure on her clit, Nesta ignores it all. As she channels into her soul, deep inside her, Nesta realizes that Amren is right, once again, she is clearly not alone.

It’s a hard thing to describe, a soul. Nesta certainly isn’t expecting to find hers feeling like it's coated in some sort of substance similar to live-wire. It definitely seems to be working in overload–constricted behind some sort of mental block–the area around it seems electrically charged. She tries to paint a mental picture of it, of this charged substance locked deep inside her persona. Nesta thinks it could best be described as a worn steel cage that just barely contains a ball of pure energy. For some reason, Nesta’s gets a sudden feeling if something other than her tries to reach out for it, this hidden piece of her soul, fire would lash out through the holes in the cage, almost like an intentional solar flare. She mentally reaches towards it, trying to catch a read of it–and inwardly gasps as she realizes she recognizes it.

“By the Cauldron,” Nesta gasps, coming back to the present with a jolt, the shock of her realization causing her to sit back on her calves–a space in which she notices Amren is no longer occupying–not being able to kneel properly any longer. She’s definitely sweating, she can feel its sheen gathering upon every inch of her body.

As she struggles to catch her breath, Nesta remembers something that Amren had said when she first was explaining the benefits of this whole ordeal to Nesta.

“Every being in this world has the potential for magic, child. Even some humans if they so chose to tap into that part of themselves. Its residue lies along the lines of the needs that unite all living creatures in all the worlds–eat, sleep, fuck. Your walls have been built too high, girl. It’s time we break them down.”

“Don’t you see now?” Nesta snaps her attention towards Amren, the female now standing, pressing her weight against the side of the mirror–one heeled boot crossed over the other–and inspecting the nails of her right hand, the one which had just been intimately involved with Nesta’s folds.

Nesta decides to ignore the fact that she has no idea when Amren even left her prior position behind her. She’s so close to understanding what’s going on with her, she can taste it. She doesn’t even care that Amren stopped touching her right before she would have most definitely orgasmed–well, she does a little… a lot, but gaining control of herself and her power is much more important, she reminds herself.

“It’s my magic…” Nesta breathes, moving her hands to the floor behind her to support her weight.

“It’s my…” Nesta trails off, noticing her own flushed appearance in the mirror.

“Yes,” Amren answers, redirecting Nesta’s attention back towards her, “it’s You, girl.”

This time, Nesta’s ire in response to Amren’s addressment of her is much more palpable, she can feel it crawling under her skin. How dare she, her inner voice speaks, louder than ever before.

“And Nesta,” Amren calls and Nesta turns her attention back towards her immediately, shock coloring her cheeks further. She can count the times that Amren has used her actual name on one hand.

“Yes?” she asks before she has a chance to take the vision of her in, heart freezing as she registers what Amren is actually doing.

Amren, still radiant in her lingerie, isn’t even looking at Nesta. Instead, she has her eyes closed, head tilted back against the edge of the mirror frame, and is actively humming. Nesta can do nothing but watch as Amren lifts her index and middle fingers–the ones belonging to the hand that the female had been inspecting previously–and brings it to her plump red lips.

Amren opens her eyes then, and Nesta once again finds herself trapped in the other’s primordial gaze. Amren moans again as she pushes them past her lips, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks on the digits before pulling them out–the action releasing a wet popping sound that seems very loud in the tiny room, the only other sound being Nesta’s increasingly rapid breathing.

“It tastes good,” Amren replies simply, as if she didn’t just do one of the sexiest things Nesta has ever witnessed, “you, taste good.”

“I’ll be right back,” Amren says, disappearing behind the mirror–the one that is so large that Nesta didn’t even know the closet extended further behind it until just now. She doesn’t really care about her abrupt departure though, not when Amren’s words have just launched her into what feels like a state of estrus.

There is a new wave of boiling heat inside of her. Nesta knows that this heat is different, it almost stings yet it is somehow still satisfying, it’s comforting, and it vibrates against seemingly every possible organ inside her body. She can do nothing but gasp as she feels her magic finally free itself from its steel trap. This power, her power feels just right inside her veins, like her heart needs it just as much as it needs oxygen.

It’s about time, the magic chides her, and Nesta is overcome by feelings of regret. How could she have denied this part of herself for so long. She understands why Amren was so insistent upon helping her now, why she had been so disappointed in her. Nesta clutches her breast to try to ground herself as she feels her soul reuniting with her heart underneath the skin.

Of course though, the serene moment is broken by Amren who throws a pile of clothes at her face, breaking Nesta from her trance. This time, Nesta is ready to snap at Amren, in sync with her newly awakened power.

“Now stand up!” Amren orders. Nesta tries not to let her temper get the best of her as she slowly rises, still able to feel the other’s wetness from where it leaked against her calf. Amren speaks again before Nesta actually has a chance to rip her head off, though.

“Put this on, this is taking a little longer than I was initially anticipating,” Amren says before she promptly disappears behind the mirror yet again. Nesta’s inner irritation quickly dims as she notes a slight tinge of concern dimming Amren’s usually confident eyes. Nesta remembers then, she and Amren are not the only two participants of tonight’s activities. Where exactly is Varian? Nesta wants to find out.

She quickly puts on the clothes that Amren picks out for her and slips her feet into an expensive looking pair of black stilettos. As she starts to turn around so that she can get a good look at herself in the mirror, Nesta can’t help but ponder about how the hell Amren knows her shoe size. She assumes the tiny fae must have bullied Azriel or someone into finding out the correct size instead of just asking Nesta outright, which actually sounds like a very ‘Amren-type-thing’ to do now that she thinks about it.

Nesta’s jaw drops as she comes face-to-face with her reflection. Amren has dressed her in a black wet-look teddy which features a low cut open bust, a criss cross neck, gold zip up front, cut out sides, criss cross back straps with O-ring details, a tie back, and a cheeky cut bottom. The way the teddy sits on her emphasizes all her curves in the best way possible, Nesta thinks as she raises her arms to adjust her hair. There is no hiding the monstrous size of her breasts with this low cut open bust. There is a perfect path of bare skin that travels from between her tits down to the visible zipper of the front. Fuck, Nesta thinks as she shifts slightly to see the back of the teddy, she looks delicious. The realization causes the already blistering temperature inside of her to somehow elevate even more.

“If you’re finished getting dressed, come back here!” she hears Amren call from behind the mirror. With the added height provided by Nesta’s heels, she is sure that the size difference between the two females will return to the usual. Still, Amren’s presence is so strong and foreboding–especially tonight–that Nesta would rather die than point this out to her friend. Still, Nesta follows Amren’s order without question and feels a gasp escape her lips as she steps past the edge of the frame which Amren has been hanging around all night.

“Oh my,” Nesta can’t help but say as she takes another step into the hidden part of the closet that she and Amren have been spending so much time in this evening. Lining each and every single shelf in front of her is the widest variety of sex toys that Nesta has ever seen. She always suspected that Amren was a hoarder, however, when she first formed that suspicion Nesta was thinking more along the lines of jewelry. She is not entirely sure what she should make of the display of dildos, paddles, chains, straps, vibrators, and plenty more in front of her.

“Wha-How long have you been collecting all of this?” Nesta asks, unable to stop herself. She turns towards Armen who has been waiting for her, leaning against the only wall in this little hidden area without any shelfs occupying it.

“I’ve been alive a long time,” Amren replies, mirth filling her gaze. Nesta considers that to be a fair response.

“Anyway,” Amren starts, pushing herself off of the wall and strutting forward until she stops right in front of Nesta, “pick what calls to you, girl.”

“Excuse me?” Nesta asks for clarity while trying to keep her inner beast in-check. Nesta doesn’t even know where to begin. However, she remembers that this isn’t her first time racking her mind to try to find something that Amren has told her to, Nesta thinks back to when she was trying to feel out the location of the Ouroboros. She also ignores the utter ridiculousness of Amren’s request, does she really want Nesta to tap into this great power of hers just to find the perfect sex toy? One thing she has learned throughout her relatively short time being friends with Amren is that the other female always has her reasons. Nesta supposes she will try to do as she’s asked.

“It’s quite simple. Your magic is awake now, let it guide you,” Amren coos before brushing past Nesta, purposely bumping into her shoulder as she passes by.

“You look great in that by the way.” Nesta jolts as a quick slap meets the flesh of her ass, turning around to find Amren laughing. She will not deny she enjoys the warmth that emerges from the affected area of her skin after the impromptu spanking. However, Nesta eyes the other female with a glare, she swears she’s never been more willing to attempt to tear Amren's throat out then she is right now. Nesta isn’t even entirely sure why, usually her subconscious would make itself known at this point to try to guide her away from such a rash decision. However, now that her soul is complete, Nesta cannot feel anything within her aside from a pleased rumble of agreement.

“How will I know?” Nesta asks, turning back towards the treasure trove of sex toys displayed before her.

“There is only so much I can tell you, try trusting your instincts,” Amren answers softly, the sound of her footsteps echoing as she takes a couple steps back, clearly giving Nesta space to work with.

Nesta inhales a deep breath before exhaling softly, closing her eyes so that she can try and concentrate. Nesta lifts her hands–palms up–and holds them there, her elbows remaining in a position at about the same height as her waist. She tunes out the room around her and focuses in on the flames that have been joyfully traveling around her body ever since she finally accepted their presence, she focuses in on her power, tapping into the electric bundle at her core and then refocusing her energy on the area in front of her.

As she mentally scans the toys with her power–eyes still closed–she hopes that she is able to tap into whatever instincts Amren is referring to. As she keeps scanning though, she feels the electricity inside her getting more painful as she gets closer to a certain area. Here, Nesta knows where to go. She keeps her eyes closed as she moves in that direction, each step causing the stinging to travel to a new area of her body. Finally, Nesta opens her eyes as her stiletto covered toe meets the edge of the shelf of toys.

The sight of a black riding crop makes her mouth water, yes this, we need to use this, we need to keep others in line. To make things even better, the crop had a beautiful diamond encrusted handle. Before she has a chance to pick it up, Nesta realizes her power isn’t done screaming at her, something more, we need something else.

“I need to pick another,” Nesta turns her head over her shoulder slightly to make eye-contact with Amren, noting that her silver eyes blink slightly in surprise before she shrugs her bare shoulders.

“As I’ve been saying the whole time, listen to your instincts,” Amren steps back up to the shelf next to Nesta, gesturing for her to carry on with her business as Amren picks up the riding crop to hold for her.

Nesta turns back around to follow the second trail of sparks that had been nagging at her. Only after she picked up the riding crop did Nesta actually realize that she was meant to be following two different paths. Not that it matters anymore, now she knows what to do. Nesta doesn’t even bother to close her eyes, instead she makes her way straight for the shelf of strap-ons, her sights locked on this massive red dildo.

Nesta is a bit confused though once she gets closer, although it satisfies her instincts–the fact that this is the thickest dildo she has ever seen in her life makes her clit throb–she can’t help but notice the inside of it is hollow. Nesta picks up the toy and turns back around again to ask Amren what it is.

“Oh!” Amren’s eyes light up in delight as she eyes what Nesta is holding, “I haven’t had a chance to use that with him yet, this is wonderful!”

“Why is it hollow though?” Nesta asks, a bit nervous about the fact that she thinks Amren actually skips as she makes her way over to grab the toy from Nesta. She also tries not to focus on the fact that she thinks this is the most excited she has ever seen Amren outside of her talks with Lucien about whatever sport it is that they both like.

“Oh child,” Amren starts, the term once again annoying Nesta and causes her to roll her eyes, “this isn’t a strap on for you.”

Nesta shoots her head back up at the ancient one’s words. Oh?

She eyes Amren, who is stalling at the edge of the mirror frame.

“It’s for him,” Amren grins at her, a mischievous spark in her eye. Nesta feels another wave of heat wash over her entire body as she imagines the implications of this knowledge. However, Nesta also gets hit with a sudden sense of insecurity as Amren leaves the hidden section of the closet.

“Amren, I have a question,” Nesta calls out as she follows her. As she crosses into the other section, she spies Amren placing the toys that Nesta has selected in one of the empty spaces on the shelves between candle displays, the tiny fae’s back turned away from her. Amren sighs and lets her head hang forward before turning around to meet Nesta’s gaze.

“What is it now, girl?” Amren is no longer hiding her impatience, not even bothering to reprimand Nesta for failing to call her Mistress. Nesta doesn’t feel bad though, how could she when she finally feels like she belongs in her own body. There is one question she still needs to ask.

“How do I know that this magic is truly my own? How do I know this was meant to belong to me?” Nesta has never felt better or more like she belongs in her body than this moment in time, she is just worried that this is a trick, that it won’t stay that way, that she’s not strong enough.

Amren glares at her as soon as Nesta finishes spitting out the question, visibly incredulous that she had the gall to even ask the question.

"I have watched many a reign come and go girl, you dare question me?" Nesta gulps as Amren storms up to her, no longer teasing in her grip as she grabs Nesta’s arm and swings her around so that she faces the mirror again.

“I thought we went over this already but let me try to explain it one more time,” Nesta sees Amren frown through the reflection, the tiny fae standing on Nesta’s left side this time rather than behind her because of the added height of Nesta’s stilettos.

“Close your eyes!” Amren orders. Nesta does.

“What do you feel?” she asks, holding Nesta at the waist as she massages little circles into the skin of Nesta’s hips, visible through the cutouts of her teddy.

Nesta sighs before emptying her mind, trying to focus purely on her inner core.

“I feel fire, it's everywhere. My nipples are hard, my pussy is wet, and it feels like my flesh is being scorched from within, I want-” Nesta cuts herself off. She wants so much. She wants to dominate, she wants to take, she wants to own, Nesta can’t even keep up with all the urges running past her mind, she knows for sure though that she’s never felt more hungry than she is in this moment.

“Open your eyes, girl," Amren orders just as Nests feels like the fire in her chest is about to break past her ribcage. Again, if it was any other time Nesta would rip her a new one for continuing to call her ‘girl’. Now though, what other option does she have other than to listen?

Nesta opens her eyes and is met with their reflection, flames clearly dancing within her gray-blue hues.

"Your power wants to work with you,” Amren hisses, splaying one of her hands on the bare skin below Nesta’s breasts, “it's meant for you to wield."

"Feel this?" Amren presses her palm into the region above Nesta’s pelvic bone, the added pressure sending waves of pleasure towards her cunt, her nipples raging with electricity as they beg for similar attention.

“Feel how good it aches," Amren whispers, moving her other hand to play with the zipper on Nesta’s front. She cries out a moan as Amren adds even more pressure to the area above her pelvic region, I do feel.

"Feel how it makes your body cry for more?" she asks, and Nesta is starving.

"This is what true power feels like girl, this is the feeling that men climb, cry and fight for, but they always fail," Amren brings her lips to Nesta’s ear and Nesta would be lying if she says she’s anything other than horny as fuck.

"But us," Amren whispers, her soft breath causing Nesta to become somehow even more sensitive than before. Amren removes her hands from Nesta’s lower body and instead brings them up to slide beneath the fabric of her teddy, the cut providing easy access to her breasts.

"Creatures like you and I…," Amren continues to whisper, squeezing Nesta’s breasts a couple times as Nesta feels even more wetness pool between her folds.

"We will prevail," Amren whispers, leaving a kiss under Nesta’s ear before letting go of her and backing away, out of the mirror’s line of vision.

“I see” Nesta closes her eyes once more and reflects. She finally thinks she gets it now, at least for the most part. Because how can she deny who she is any longer? Who is she to decide that she isn’t meant to be here? The magic is in her now, it breathes with her and it craves her every waking desire. Her journey in this new world has been like a battle between Nesta’s old beliefs, her family, and the grim reality seemingly standing before her. Now though, Nesta Archeon is done being afraid.

She opens her eyes only to immediately realize the lighting in the room has changed. The flickering yellow-orange flames from Amren’s candles are no more, in their stead, to Nesta’s utter astonishment, are silver flames, casting the room in a flickering white glow instead. In a similar tune, almost as if her magic is rejoicing at her inner revelation, Nesta feels another round of flames lick up her inner viscera, making her insides feel warm and comforting like a hearth. This body is no vessel, it is her own flesh and blood.

“I believe it's time,” Amren says quietly, softly, like she doesn’t want to accidentally startle Nesta into closing herself off from her magic again.

“I’m ready,” Nesta replies in the same tone, nodding at Amren through the mirror to show her that she is genuinely grateful for her assistance. It is actually quite insane to think that all it took to set her head straight was to be brought to the edge of an orgasm.

“I’ll give you a minute, I’ll be waiting in the hall.”

Nesta inhales as she nods in acknowledgement, once again admiring Amren’s petite figure as the female makes her way to exit the small room. Nesta feels yet another bout of heat spurn within her as she spies Amren grabbing the toys that Nesta has selected to use for tonight before she leaves.

“Remember what you can be, girl,” Amren tosses over her shoulder just before the door slams behind her, setting silence upon the tiny room where Nesta still stands. She waits a moment, listening. Judging by the increasingly quiet clack of the tiny Fae’s heels on the wooden floor, Nesta presumes that Amren is going to place them wherever she has stashed Varian thus far.

Nesta closes her eyes, reveling in the swirling thrum of sparks inside her, she would like to think that it is her inner beast coming to say hello, she really would. But Nesta is an intelligent woman…an intelligent woman who knows that the jump in her arousal is most definitely because she notices that the strap-on–the massive hollow toy that she intends to use tonight–is close to over half the length of Amren’s forearm. And the thickness… cauldron. She knows that a male-strap-on has to have a certain level of thickness in regards to the girth because it has to allow for a cock to fill its hollow opening. However–Nesta thinks as she opens her eyes, seeing the flames inside them staring back at her through the mirror in front of her–she wonders exactly what type of toy is hanging between Varian’s legs that requires a dildo as thick as her wrist. She is witness to her own reflection as a devilish grin forms on her own mouth–Nesta is more than ready to leave all that was before in this room.

“It’s time,” Nesta speaks aloud to the empty room. She refuses to let herself cower in the face of power ever again, especially when it's her own. Nesta straightens her posture, taking one last look at her reflection.

It’s time to take what she needs.

___Preview of Next Chapter____

“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry, did we leave you alone too long,” Amren coos to her lover. Varian sits exposed on a simple wooden chair in the middle of the couple’s bedroom. The Summer Court male’s head is hanging low, his white tendrils of hair acting like a shield in front of his face. Nesta did not pick up on any sort of response from the male that indicates that he acknowledges their presence. She takes a quick peek over at Amren and decides not to worry after finding the other female to seem emphatically unconcerned. Nesta watches on silently as the tiny fae takes a couple soft predatory steps towards the subdued male. Nonetheless, she stills to take in the view of the delicious specimen of man in front of her. Nesta can admit fully that she has never really given much thought to Varian before, not really having much time to assess him in the short three months after the war with Hybern. However, now, she can’t seem to look away from the large male’s thick muscular thighs, his heavy cock, his beautiful dark skin–fuck, Nesta feels her cunt throb in anticipation.

“Baby boy,” Amren releases another coo, causing Varian to finally raise his gaze to meet his Mistresses and causing Nesta to shiver for a different reason entirely. Now, not only does she have a better view of the male himself, a white blindfold and ball gag rendering his sight and ability to speak obsolete; but also she can see his nostrils flaring and his muscles twitching. Nesta is absolutely enraptured in the scene in front of her as she watches Varian suddenly seem to try to lunge in Amren’s direction, the man trying and failing to get closer to her, his muscles bulging in their effort to win a one-sided battle against his restraints.

But it isn’t until Nesta spots Varian’s collar, large and heavy on his neck, that she feels her nipples harden and another bout of wetness starting to form between her folds. Here, on Varian’s neck, in Amren’s apartment in Velaris, is one of the Summer Court’s infamous blood rubies. The massive jewel's weight was supported by a two-inch thick diamond encrusted platinum band. She knows it must sit heavy on his neck, it seems almost impossible that a jewel that large could be fixed upon a collar without falling, yet there it stands.

Last Nesta had checked, the source material of Prythian’s most common nightmares had decided to use this ‘threat’ as a paperweight. Although, she can’t deny how much the pathway to her center steams at the thought of the Summer Court male being made to wear a sign of ownership stamped with the ultimate symbol of betrayal of his own court, an invocation of a feud on a personal level.

Nesta can’t help but muse over what the thrill of incurring such a depth of loyalty from another must taste like, she wonders too, greedily and needily what it feels like to be such a fearsome predator to surpass the laws of societal expectation. Is this Amren’s subtle yet personal way of invoking her own feud, a remnant of the possessive creature that once roamed inside of her that is furious at the land for claiming ownership of something that she marked as hers. She also wonders heatedly, enviously, what it would be like to be wanted that furiously. Need starts to play at the strings of her core, she can feel it heating and readying itself for something more.

“Don’t be shy now, boy,” Amren instructs Varian, the man immediately turning his head in the direction of her voice, clearly desperate for her touch. Nesta would be lying if she said the palpable smell and taste of his desperation didn’t cause her clit to start to throb.

The sweetness of the pair in front of her simultaneously puts Nesta on edge as well as incurs yet another thrum of heat inside of her. Amren is never sweet. Nesta watches on as her mentor finally reaches her lover–no, her pet. Amren looks Varian up and down with a hungry gleam in her eye before grabbing his chin roughly, causing what sounds like a gruff moan to escape the large man’s lips. That’s all it took? Nesta thinks to herself.

“You haven’t even been touched boy and you’re already sweating?” Amren tuts, roughly maneuvering his chin as she gives him a thorough inspection, the male seemingly keening into the contact despite its roughness. Nesta tries not to get whiplash as Amren softly pats the male’s cheek twice with her free hand before letting it drop to rest on her waist.

“Pathetic,” the ancient one scoffs, finally releasing her other hand’s grip on his chin.

Nesta realizes that the male in front of her is not the same one that has been a frequent guest at their dinner table over the last couple of months. No, tonight she is not looking at the same captain of Tarquin’s guard nor the commendable battle tactician that she has come to know. Instead, Nesta finds herself looking at Amren’s pet. As soon as the thought crosses her mind though, Nesta is hit by a shudder that rolls through her entire body, a shock of a reprimand from something deep in her core, something primal.No, Nesta reprimands herself, straightening her posture as she starts to make her own way towards Varian. Tonight, he is her prey.

_______________________

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witch-and-her-witcher · 3 months

Text

Chapter Fifteen

nessian | E | marriage of convenience, first hybern war AU, angst, whump, emotional slow burn

War brings them together, a bond binds them - but is that enough for two broken people to find love with each other?

Thank you @popjunkie42-blog and @wilde-knight for your beta reading and handholding. <3

For my darling @asnowfern!

Ao3 | Chapter 15/30

~*~

The smell of sex is obvious on them even to Nesta’s human nose as they descend the stairs sometime later. She’s wearing a more appropriate gown, ignoring Cassian’s complaints about hiding her backside from him.

The room falls silent as they enter and take seats alongside each other.

Nesta primly ignores the ogling from the males as she pours herself a fresh cup of tea, Azriel making a pointed face at his brother, while Elain looks anywhere but in their direction.

“Feel … reconciled?” Azriel asks, stony voice undulating on the last syllable.

“Yes,” Cassian says, with an annoying amount of male pride. “My wife and I are aligned on … matters. That we needed to address. We've been apart for some time and —”

“— that's plenty of explanation on our private discussion,” Nesta cuts in, sipping her tea and razor-sharp gaze on the other hulking bat who is fighting a tremor of amusement.

“It sounded like a thorough enough discussion from here, details would be unnecessary,” Lucien quips.

Nesta and Azriel both glare at him. The Spring emissary is cozied up beside Elain and the audacity is enough to throw Nesta off of his fresh comment, instead clenching her teacup to keep from pushing herself between them and “saving room for the Mother” as Lady Archeron had always tittered at dances.

As she adjusts her seat in annoyance, a rush of hollowed out satisfaction floods upward from her core. It’s a very welcome ache. Welcome enough to ease Nesta’s temper — she decides to let the proximity pass. How can she deny her sister silly flirtations and attention from a handsome male when she has just been taken care of so thoroughly?

Shouldn't she want the same sentiment for her sister?

But the bedroom eyes Lucien has roving over her younger sister … No. No, she doesn't have to want the same for Elain, it's her job to protect her from the wolves — of all shapes and sizes, but especially this suave in nature.

Before she can loosen her sharp tongue on him, Cassian’s low rumble of a voice snaps from her side. “Have you seen to your business, emissary? No need to remain sniffing around.”

The protective edge is plain.

Unused to having back up, Nesta preens. She lets her arm brush against Cassian’s as she plays at fixing her skirts once more. A reward for good behavior.

The bond tightens appreciatively.

Elain frowns, seeming to pick up on the united front, but Lucien settles back into his seat with much more confidence than suits a male facing two mighty Illyrians and an irritated Archeron. “I wanted to ask after the search for the missing Prince of Night while I'm here.”

“Why?” Azriel demands, and Nesta isn't sure how the redheaded male is even still breathing from the time they were away.

Poor Elain must be exhausted from playing mediator. Maybe that’s why she’s allowing Lucien to get away with —

“Azriel,” Elain coos, “Let the emissary speak. We made an agreement, remember?”

Azriel grumbles but falls back against the wall he's been leaning against without any more fight. The flicker of heat in Elain’s gaze at the submission …

Oh.

Perhaps her sister is not so exhausted from the task. It almost appears to be intentional, catching the slightest press of Lucien’s lips in response to the exchange — only there fleetingly before melding back into his courtier’s vapid smirk, but long enough for Nesta’s well-trained eye.

Nesta wonders when Elain became so interested in dancing between two males attentions, but she’s also not blind to how attractive Lucien and Azriel both are.

Lucien flashes his sharp, pearly white teeth in a smile as Elain taps his elbow to continue.

“I ask because as you know, Rhys has history with the new High Lord —”

“— and what has High Lord Tamlin done with that friendship? He's not aided our effort in the least,” Cassian says curtly, dropping into the full military facade. “Our requests for passage through the wall have been denied, requests for information from fae still passing through the open section of the border denied.”

“Have you considered that stomping your feet and making demands like entitled children is why you haven't gotten far? Tamlin values his friendship with Rhys, but he can't afford to let other courts believe they can bully him in his new position because they knew him on the battlefield. He's owed proper respect.”

“The fucking Prince is missing, excuse us if we don't want to sit down for tea and shove Spring crumpets up our asses just to put in a request.”

Lucien’s russet eye flares with indignation. “There are protocols for a reason. We are trying to gain some semblance of stability in the shitstorm of post-war ruling. Remind me again which part of your land was used as a killing field for years and was then sawed apart to appease a Treaty that somehow didn't loosen any land from the tight fists —”

“What information do you want in exchange, Lucien?” Nesta asks with an eyeroll. These males are doing everything in their power to chase away her post-orgasmic bliss. “I can't listen to this pissing contest.”

The tension in Lucien’s shoulders releases and he smiles around a centering sip of tea. His half golden gaze flicks between Nesta and Cassian.

“If the High Lord of Night would meet with the High Lord of Spring —”

“No chance.”

Lucien shrugs indifferently, but the muscles in his jaw coil. “Alright then. I would expect more of the same if you’re unwilling to play.”

Cassian shoots to his feet, the bond running hot with emotion. “This isn’t a game to play!”

“I’m well aware, which is why I say again, stop acting like entitled younglings.” Lucien slowly rises, as if proving how unflustered he is. “You ask what we need in exchange, and that’s solid allies willing to legitimize Tamlin’s rule after such an unexpected change of power.”

“I will address it with the High Lord,” Azriel cuts in before Cassian can vent his rage further. His expression has gone unsettlingly still, his shadows look poised to fight over his shoulders.

Elain wrings her hands in her lap.

“What in the hell is all this ruckus?”

#nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta #cassian #acotar #acotar fanfic #CYLMWIHM #my writing

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nikethestatue · 8 months

Text

Princess Tea Party (Part 2)

A Walk in the Park

Elain Archeron Week 'Free Day' @elainarcheronweek

Warning: Explicit

Part 1 Azriel and Darius Night

Elain Archeron, Nesta Archeron, Feyre Archeron

“He said that?” Nesta’s normally cool, composed voice was sounding semi-hysterical.

“Yep,” Elain popped the ‘P’.

“He literally said ‘I am gonna fuck all your holes’?” Nesta demanded. “Just like that?”

“Yep.”

“That’s some next level dirty talk right out of the gate,” Nesta muttered, sighing with what Elain had assumed was admiration. “Do you even understand what that means?”

“What does it mean?” Elain asked weakly, throwing her legs up on the back of the sofa.

Once she was able to process what had transpired–and that was a bit of an exaggeration that she ‘processed’ it, because truthfully, she sure as fuck didn’t process anything that Azriel had said to her–she went to call her sister. She had to share this crazy ass day with someone. She needed to share Azriel with someone!

“And what did you say?” Nesta inquired like they were discussing what to get for lunch.

“Ummm, I certainly didn’t tell me ‘please fuck all my holes, Darius’s dad, whose last name I don’t know!”

“You don’t need a last name to have a guy all up in your business,” Nesta noted.

“Your moral compass is all skewed,” Elain replied, wondering how they were even sisters.

“What does he look like again?” Suddenly Feyre’s voice popped on the line and Elain groaned, having not noticed that Nesta got their younger sister on the three-way call.

“Apparently, he is an Armani-model-biker-gang-leader-mafia-pornstar,” Nesta reported unhelpfully.

“He is not a pornstar!” Elain objected nervously.

“He talks like one,” Feyre argued reasonably.

“He told her he is gonna fuck her ass,” Nesta piped in, and Elain begged, “ohmagod, please stop!”

“Wow, first convo butt sex…the gentleman does not believe in wasting time,” Feyre laughed obnoxiously, adding a low whistle to the mix.

“Oh and he told her he was gonna finger her too,” Nesta added, while Elain was glad that she wasn’t facetiming with them, because her face was burning up.

“Is that before or after the butt stuff?” Feyre inquired.

“That was a whole separate conversation,”

“Ellie, you sure you are still a virgin?” Feyre teased. “After this much dirty talk, you might have naturally de-virginised yourself! Or he,”

“Screw you both!” Elain hissed. “I am not a virgin. I got a kid!”

“Still kind of a virgin,” Nesta said decisively. “And imagine his skills in the bedroom if he can dirty talk you up like that? He can probably hammer your pussy to the point where you don’t know which way is up or down,”

“Are you kidding me now?”

“Not at all. This is one confident man!”

“So,” Feyre interrupted, “do we have a pic of this studly dirty-mouthed baby daddy?”

Elain sighed dramatically and then said prissily,

“Okay. I took a pic. Before the party started.”

“Ahhh you did!”

“I want it. I need it!” Feyre begged like a needy teenager.

“Oh god. I’ll send it, but I don’t want you to make a fuss,” Elain warned, but Nesta immediately shot that down.

“If he is worth making a fuss over, we’ll make a fuss!”

Wincing, Elain sent the photo to her nutty sisters.

It was a really cute photo–seven girls, all dressed up as princesses and holding plaques with their names on them–Isabella, Tay, Karo, Nell, Tee, Caroline, Cassie and then, there was Darius, who held a sign that said ‘Dari’ because when Elain made it, she didn’t know he was a boy. She and Azriel stood in the background.

“Sweet baby Moses,” Feyre gushed breathlessly.

“Let him do the butt stuff with you!” Nesta encouraged immediately.

“I knew this was gonna happen,” Elain moaned.

“And Oh. My. God. His kid!” Feyre’s voice became screechy on the other side.

“He looks like a cartoon character,” Nesta laughed. “This is the cutest darn kid in history. He looks like a little paperboy from ‘Peaky Blinders’,”

“He is wearing suspenders,” Feyre cooed softly. “I wanna pinch him and his fat cheeks!!!”

“But look at this prime piece of male real estate,” Nesta commented. “Oh-la-la. I’d ride him up and down the highway of all this very black, and very expensive clothing,”

“You are sick,” Elain muttered.

“No sweetheart,” Nesta interrupted, “this is a hella hot man.”

“He looks like a Pinterest model,” Feyre agreed. “All broody and tattoo-ty.”

There was a pause, and Nesta added, her tone more serious than before, “As I look at this, I can say that you two honestly look really good together.”

“What?” Elain wasn’t sure if her sister was joking, but it didn’t sound like it.

“Yes, I agree,” Feyre said. “You look like you…belong. Even though it’s obviously ridiculous because he is this tattooed hunk of burnin’ love and you are a fairy tale princess,”

“I am not!”

“You are. And yet, you two look really good together.”

After her sisters were done ogling the photo, Elain asked,

“What do I do with him?”

“You go for it!” Feyre said immediately.

“Surprisingly, I agree with her,” Nesta added. “This is a not-to-be missed experience. Besides, he is hot for you. You don’t need to work for it. I mean, you could be sitting on Tinder, swiping up and down, right and left, but you got this gorgeous man primed and ready for you–pop quiz, what do you do?”

“I take it I should go for it?” Elain asked quietly.

“That’s a resounding ‘yes!’,” Feyre boomed.

“But like…he is so big…”

“That’s your excuse? He is ‘big’?” Nesta challenged.

“But he is! He is like 9 feet tall!”

“Okay, well then, you know he is hung. At least you’ve got that going for you,”

“I don’t want hung,” Elain muttered feebly.

“No, you definitely do want hung. Trust me,” Feyre assured her. “You don’t want a guy like that rocking a decapitated mushroom down there. You pray he is hung.”

Groaning loudly, Elain didn’t answer.

“Pray tell, what does the young gent do for a living?” Nesta asked. “Considering the state of his wardrobe and the fact that he puts his son in Burberry pants, I’d say he is pretty well off.”

“I think he is a photographer,” Elain answered lamely.

“A photographer?!” Feyre was laughing. “I think he is a drug dealer,”

“What does he drive?” Nesta piped in.

“He is not a drug dealer,” Elain snapped. “A Maybach.”

“I am sorry. WHAT? A Maybach??”

“Yeah, I was surprised as well.”

“Where does he live?”

“I don’t know, but they brought cookies from the Cherry Creek Whole Foods and they walk around Wash park, so I guess somewhere around there?”

“Shit,” Feyre whistled again. “The dude is loaded! Forget what I said about the decapitated mushroom for a penis. Even if he has that, that’s okay. At least you can cry about it in your Maybach.”

“You are so gross,” Elain was shaking her head.

“Practical, babe, I am practical. Not gross,” Feyre insisted. “Also, I vote for ‘drug dealer’. Or, or–maybe he is in the mafia?!?! That would be cool!”

“Yeah. So cool.”

“Final question,” Nesta interrupted them.

“Thank the lord,” Elain muttered.

“Does he have a brother?”

“In fact he does. His name is Cass.”

“Feel free to hook me up with this Cass character,” Nesta suggested.

“What happened to Tomas?” Elain asked in confusion, though her older sister wasn’t exactly known for high rates of fidelity. She went from man to man like it was her god-given right.

“Keeping my options open,” Nesta said breezily.

“Well, y’all have fun with your hookups. I am 20,” Feyre announced. “I am going to Barcelona. That’s what I care about.”

“Oh, Ellie,” Nesta cooed. “Make sure to wax everything. Most guys are not into…forestation.”

“I don’t have any forestation!” Elain screamed.

“Good for you, girl. Keep it that way.”

Azriel and Darius Night

When Darius was in the bathtub, it resembled a baby elephant splashing in a kiddie pool. Messy, wet and hilarious.

Azriel was absolutely drenched by now, as he tried to wrestle Darius into the towel and dry him.

“Go potty before bed,” Azriel ordered him, while he went to get Darius’s PJs, which he’d have to lasso onto him the moment his son was off the toilet.

Darius didn’t know how to pee standing up yet, so he sat on the toilet, kicking his legs, pontificating.

“Dada.”

“Yeah,” Azriel returned to the bathroom and pulled off his soaking wet t-shirt, before putting Darius’s pyjama top on him.

“Why you don’t talk to me today, da?”

“What do you mean? Of course I am talking to you,”

“No,” Darius shook his head. “We talk a lot. Today after party, we don’t talk so much.”

Azriel couldn't argue. He was surprised that Darius noticed it, but his boy was correct.

Azriel’s head was filled with something else–namely, Elain Archeron.

That woman took him completely by surprise–it’s not that he even had a type, but he certainly didn’t think that she would be his type. And yet, here he was. He found her blindingly beautiful, but there was more to it than just basic sexual attraction. There was a warmth about her, and something so genuine that she seemed tailor made for him, for his needs and wants. The fact that she seemed to really like his son didn’t hurt either. She was inviting, and had an incredible combination of steely strength and delicate fragility in her, which made the inner Neanderthal in him roar with protective urges, and the man in him wanted to dominate and take her as his. He equally hated and liked that Elain kind of blew him off. That she was innocent was obvious, but she also stood her ground, despite the onslaught of him. Normally, he wasn’t that pushy and mouthy, but fuck if she didn’t make him lose his cool. The need in him for her was rabid. Yet his girl was all ‘nope. You ain’t getting a piece of this any time soon’. And as frustrating as that was, he respected her and her wishes. Though he also very much hoped that she’d change her mind.

“Sorry, Dari,” Azriel helped him into his pyjama pants and then Darius climbed into his bed.

He yawned and admitted, “I tired, dada. This party was fun, but I tired.”

“It was a fun party,” Azriel agreed. “You don’t want me to read you a book?”

Darius shook his head and said, “no, no book today. I wanna sleep.”

He clutched his stuffed bat Brute to his chest–Brute the Bat was Cassian’s present, obviously, because it was totally normal to give babies toy bats–and reached to turn off the light on his nightstand.

Azriel stooped and kissed his son’s forehead.

“Good night then, Dar. Sleep well.”

Just before Azriel exited the bedroom, Darius said quietly,

“Dada, you know I don’t have mama.”

At that, Azriel turned abruptly and stared at the tiny mound under the blanket. Darius had never mentioned not having a mother before. He always just kind of accepted that it was him and his dad. And now, it was he, his dad and his uncle. But he never complained about not having a mother, or even acknowledged the fact.

“You have me,” Azriel said firmly.

“Yes. I know. I love you, da,” Darius nodded calmly. “But if Lain wanna be mama, then I am happy.”

“What?” Azriel murmured, his palms suddenly feeling clammy. This wasn't what he was expecting his son to tell him.

“Yeah, I like Lain,” Darius decided. “She is pretty and nice. And if she wanna be family with me, then this is good and I want it.”

“Okay,” was all Azriel managed. It wasn’t much, but he was literally lost for words.

“If you want to ask her, dada, you do it. I can ask too. And then Isa is gonna be family too.”

“I’ll try, Dari. I promise. But I don’t know…”

Darius yawned again and muttered, “she like me, dada. And she like you too much.”

At that, Azriel gawked at his strange child and asked, feeling both foolish and hopeful, “why do you think so?”

“She wanted to give you hugs and kisses,” Darius told him with utmost confidence.

Azriel chuckled, “nah, big guy, I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, she did,” Darius nodded. “You just don’t know it.”

Sunday.

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

On Wednesday, at 5:30pm Azriel perked up, when he saw a woman in shorts and with a ponytail appear near the start of the trail at the pond. She was holding a little girl’s hand too.

But it wasn’t Elain.

And that realisation smacked him in the chest like a ton of bricks.

He wanted it to be Elain.

Thursday.

Friday.

He didn’t have her phone number.

He considered accosting her at the preschool, but he also promised her that he wouldn’t bother her. That the next steps would be up to her. And he wanted to keep his promise. But he was also desperately depressed by now. A whole week passed and Azriel still thought of Elain. Craved Elain. Wanted Elain. Fantasised about Elain. Spoke to Elain in his head. He relieved all the small details of their afternoon together. The jokes. The confessions. The stories. He recalled her sweet blushes and how she got so flustered with his come-ons. He just loved the way that she was–her beautiful golden skin, her freckles which clung stubbornly only to her cute nose, her absolutely lush brown hair and the dark brown eyes the colour of chocolate. Those soft rosy lips that resembled a tulip and her small, scarred hands, with neat square nails, which he dreamt of and wished to feel on his skin. She wore simple leather sandals with her white dress, and she had the prettiest toes, her nails varnished with the same pale pearl colour as is on her hands. He loved everything–he loved her thick lashes, her toes, the birthmark on her neck, the tiny tattoo on her wrist with an ‘I’ and a marigold flower wrapped around the letter, the simple gold chain around her throat, the way her plump breasts created the most tempting cleavage in the cut of her dress.

He imagined what it would be like to wake next to her in the morning–to watch her sleepy and satiated and not on her guard, because she was comfortable with him and trusted him. He imagined her padding barefoot to wake the kids and then he’d make breakfast for everyone and she’d kiss his neck when she finally came to the kitchen, wearing only his t-shirt.

He imagined many things.

Only none would come to pass. Because it was Friday.

And Elain certainly hasn’t been thinking about him.

Until…

This wasn’t his proudest moment, but he’d spent hours searching for Elain’s Instagram page. Who knew that there were like 300 million cooking pages out there? But he was determined to find hers, so he spent hours every evening typing everything from ‘Elain Archeron’ to ‘healthy cooking’ to ‘salad recipe’ to ‘Denver cooking’ and on and on. Nothing. Yes, he’s gotten a 1000 more salad recipes, but no Elain.

That was the frustrating failure on his part, until last night, when something struck him–the marigold flower on her wrist. So he typed ‘Marigold Catering Denver’ and lo and behold, there she was. He found her cooking blog page, and there, a link to her Insta. And then he proceeded to watch videos of her cooking, moving, smiling, dicing, slicing, expertly flipping pancakes and steaks and omelettes and looking luscious and gorgeous in the manner of Nigella Lawson. She had a similar aura–unpretentious, unfussy, attractive, effortlessly trustworthy and watchable. It was a bit of a con, of course–no one was that polished, while looking beguiling, yet adorably inept. It was a front that seduced the audience into thinking that they could also do this–look like a slightly dishevelled model with a messy braid, sumptuous breasts and a tiny waist, preparing healthy, yet delicious looking dishes, while assuring everyone that it was ‘simple and easy’.

The last two videos were recent–one from last week, the other, from Tuesday.

He clicked on the one from last week which was called…The Princess Tea Party. There, Elain was giving the blow-by-blow of how to make a ‘healthy’ afternoon tea. All those cakes and pastries that the toddlers were gorging on were apparently sugarless, mostly gluten free and full of healthy ingredients. Could’ve fooled him!

And then finally, he clicked on the most recent video.

It felt voyeuristic. He was observing something private, which was of course ridiculous, but at the same time, this was the only video where they’d already been acquainted. He already knew her and wanted her. She shot it after he’d touched her and for whatever reason, it felt intimate. He held those small delicate fingers in his hand, and the pearly nail polish was the same as at the tea party.

I made a new friend over the weekend, Elain was saying into the camera. She was smiling, her hair artfully tossed over her shoulder, her voluptuous figure cinched into a silk cobalt-blue blouse with fluttering sleeves. And on her wrist, a silver bracelet. Azriel’s heart jolted in his chest when he saw it–she didn’t take it off and it dangled over her wrist like his own personal brand. She continued saying and he made us this incredible salad! I should’ve been paying more attention to what he was doing and what he put into it, but we were having a good time and there was white wine involved…

A cute, but sexy giggle escaped her pink lips, while she began listing out the ingredients.

He was a miracle worker with this salad. So I hope that I can recreate it and do him justice.

So…maybe she was thinking about him after all?

He watched the video four times, back to back.

He studied every smile, every flirtatious movement of her shoulders, the innocent expression of her big brown doe eyes. He watched her chomp on lettuce, pop tomatoes into her mouth, crunch on a cucumber slice. It was perfect.

“You forgot the radishes, baby,” he whispered in the end. Smiling at last.

“Dada, let’s go already!” Darius demanded, loitering by the door, being super dramatic about waiting for five minutes.

“The park is not going to go anywhere,” Azriel told him, looking at his phone.

Darius pouted and muttered, “you be mean, dada.”

“I am not being mean,” Azriel argued. He wasn’t. But he was in a foul mood.

He couldn’t believe that a week later, Elain didn’t show up, and he was still absolutely desperate for her. He was not a desperate guy. He could probably have most if not all women that he wanted. The problem was that he didn’t want any women. Not until he’d met Elain. For the past year, back in NYC, he hardly even got laid, mostly because he didn’t want to leave Darius with a sitter and because it all just seemed like a tedious production. He couldn't take a woman to his house, not with his baby son there, so it either had to be her place or a hotel, and then it all seemed too complicated somehow, and he just lost interest.

Elain was different though. She already saw him with Darius, she knew who he was and what mattered to him. Nothing with her would be a production. It would be natural and organic.

“Alright, let’s go,” Azriel took Darius’s puffy hand in his and they left the penthouse.

“Is Lain and Isa gonna come?” Darius asked hopefully.

It came harsher than he intended to, but Azriel all but barked ‘no’.

Darius gave him an accusing look, pursing his lips.

In the elevator, he pressed the button and then said, “I think maybe they gonna come, da.”

“I doubt it. They have their own lives, Darius. They are busy.”

“Hmmm,” Darius only offered a doubtful hum and didn’t say anything further.

In the vast lobby of the building, the three concierge guys waved to them.

“Hey Darius!” they greeted him.

He was a popular staple around here, and he immediately veered off and went to the reception desk.

“Hi!” he said. “You have good day?”

“We are having a pretty good day. You going on your daily walk, buddy?”

“Yeah, with dada,” he nodded.

“You want a sticker?” one of them offered.

“Your shoes are cool!” said another.

“When I die and come back in another life, I want to be Darius,” muttered the third.

“Can I have two stickers?” Darius requested.

“Dari, you don't need two,” Azriel scolded him lightly, nodding to the guys in greeting.

“Yeah I need it, dada,” Darius insisted. “If Isa come, I have to give her one.”

“She is not coming,” Azriel said abruptly, but Darius ignored him and extended his hand for the stickers.

“Who is Isa, Dari? Your girlfriend?” the concierge asked, as he gave up two stickers.

“Yeah, she is my good friend,” Darius confirmed, taking the stickers and then politely thanking everyone.

“Whatever you did with this kid, man, you did it right,” one of the guys said to Azriel.

And Azriel smiled. Because if nothing else, he had an amazing son.

It was a decent half a mile walk to the park, so Azriel usually carried Darius, so he didn’t get too tired and could still run in the park. Darius was clutching his two stickers in his hand, loudly contemplating which one he wanted more.

Suddenly, he yelled ‘dada, see! Lain and Isa! Lain! And Isa!’

And then he nearly fell out of Azriel’s arms, startling him to a near heart attack.

“Darius!”

But Darius was running at full speed, waving and yelling ‘Isa! Lain! I come!’

That’s when Azriel saw them.

His girls.

Elain glowed like the sun at dawn, her hair lit up with streaks of bronze and gold. She was wearing a maxi skirt, flat sandals and a form fitting white shirt which reminded Azriel of a corset or something. Whatever it was, it did wonders to her breasts.

Darius and Isabella were hugging like they hadn’t seen each other in months, when it’s only been a few hours since they parted in school.

Azriel approached slowly, taking his time and taking in Elain’s beauty.

At last, he reached her and said, keeping his voice oh-so-casual, “Well, took you long enough.”

She huffed a shy laugh, and he watched her blush prettily under his scrutiny.

“Maybe I missed you,” she said at last.

“Maybe you did.”

“Did you miss me?” she asked softly.

“Desperately,” he confessed heatedly, all teasing and joking leaving his tone.

There was a moment when they stood there, looking at each other. And then Azriel asked, his voice quiet, and somehow broken,

“Why did you come, Elain?”

“You told me to come…” she reminded him breathlessly.

He put his heavy hands on her shoulders and then threaded his fingers behind her neck, keeping her in place.

“What if I didn’t tell you? Would you have come otherwise?”

She licked her lips and murmured in response,

“I’ve been dreaming of you every night since we’ve met. And last night, I dreamt that I was happy. With you. You made me so happy. So I figured, why not try it outside of the dreams? I want to try to be happy with you, Azriel.”

“Okay then. You will come to my home and I will feed you and your daughter.”

She smirked.

“That’s a thing with you. Feeding.”

“What can I say,” he shrugged.

“Also, I missed Darius,” she admitted. “A lot. He is someone who leaves an impression.”

“He certainly does.”

Releasing her neck, Azriel took her hand firmly in his, and tugged her alongside him.

The sun was barely beginning to set and the park was full of joggers, people with their dogs and with their babies, families and couples.

“How do we do this?” Elain asked, her voice timid and uncertain.

“Together,” he answered. “We do it together. I make you fall in love with me and then you are mine.”

She barked a laugh.

“Is that the plan then?”

“That’s it.”

Elain Archeron

The building where Azriel lived was one of the best in Denver. Elain had passed by it a few times before, but it was exclusive and tucked back behind a vast courtyard. She never really paid attention to it, seeing as that she was never going to step foot into it. How wrong she was.

The lobby was huge, with plush couches, a grand piano!, armchairs, two reception desks, lots of glass and steel and wood and artwork. There was even a coffee station that made all kinds of drinks, and Darius demanded ‘I want hot chocolate!’ to which Azriel told him that he’d get it after dinner. Unsurprisingly, Isabella also asked for hot chocolate immediately after.

“Is that Captain Sandy from ‘Below Deck Mediterranean’?” Elain whisper-shouted and Azriel smiled at her and nodded.

“Yeah, she lives here. A bunch of football and basketball players too. From the Broncos and the Nuggets.”

“That’s wild! I’ve never even seen a celebrity,” she confessed.

“You are in the right place to spot them.”

They took the elevator to the top floor, while Darius pressed the button with one finger, and grabbed Elain’s hand with his other hand, holding onto her. Azriel noticed it, but didn’t comment.

To get inside Azriel’s apartment, you needed fobs and codes and passes of all kinds and when they entered, Elain understood why.

It was massive. A glass cube, perched on top of the building, with a wrap around terrace and 365 degree views from every side.

She just stood there, gawking, while Darius grabbed Isa’s hand and said, ‘wanna see my room?’

They disappeared at once, talking loudly, laughing and saying stuff only they understood, while Elain just stood there and took it all in. One side of the apartment overlooked downtown Denver, the other, Wash Park, the third looked out at the mountains in the distance, and the fourth had a sprawling view of the city.

“Are you a drug dealer?” she asked quietly.

At that, Azriel burst out laughing, as he shook his head, and moved towards the incredible kitchen which was far beyond anything seen on HGTV or Insta. This was something else–with expensive appliances, stunning cabinetry, designer lighting, chrome and marble–this was an Architectural Digest kind of a kitchen.

“No. Not a drug dealer. I am a photographer,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, it’s like saying that Martha Stewart is a ‘caterer’. What do you photograph, exactly?”

She did notice really impressive black and white photos scattered strategically on the walls. They were artsy and sharp, some completely abstract, others of cityscapes, and even faceless people.

“I used to be a fashion photographer,” he explained, as he tied an apron around his slim waist. It only emphasised the breadth of her massive shoulders and Elain swallowed discreetly, very taken with the very presence of him. She was reminded yet again of how truly devastatingly handsome he was.

“Like models?” Elain inquired, as she made a slow circle around the vast open space that was the apartment. Azriel watched her, while he washed his hands, before nodding.

“Yes. Editorials for various magazines–Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, Marie Claire. It was a fluke really. When I was in the Marines, I liked to take photos of just random things.”

“You are a Marine?” she whirled and looked at him in shock.

“I am. So is my brother Cassian. But we are retired. Anyway, I took some nice photos, and my buddies put on a little exhibition. From there, word spread and the next thing I know, I am being invited to photograph barely dressed girls. It was a strange transition, but I spent about 7 years doing shoots all over the world. Not a bad job.”

“Apparently,” Elain frowned at him, and then asked, “and Darius’s mother? Was she one of the models?”

“She was,” he confirmed, as he began pulling things out of the refrigerator. “You probably know her,”

“She is famous?”

“She is. She goes by The Morrigan. I always told her that the ‘the’ is dumb,” he rolled his eyes, but Elain was gawking at him. The Morrigan was one of the biggest models in the world–even those who didn’t know anything about fashion, knew who she was. She was equally famous for her unruly behaviour, as she was for her bombshell beauty. And Azriel was in a relationship with her.

Elain didn’t respond, but only continued her slow perusal of the apartment. The bedrooms were in the back, and she heard the kids’ voices coming from a corridor.

She didn’t want to think about the fucking Morrigan, or was it the fucking The Morrigan? She wasn’t sure, but she didn't want to imagine Azriel with her. Didn’t want to imagine him with any models, frankly.

Suddenly, while her brain was working in overdrive, conjuring wild images of passionate embraces between Azriel and faceless naked models, Azriel’s muscular arm slipped around her shoulders from behind, and he rested his chin on top of her head, whispering ‘come here’. Elain wrapped her hands over his thick forearm and he kissed her temple.

“Don’t think about them, beautiful. I am not a player like that, and truthfully, that part of my life is over. Seven years was enough. I am not a drug dealer or a coke head. I’ve made a name for myself and a shit ton of money and that’s all that matters.”

“And now?”

“And now, I still photograph, but I specialise in celebs now–their private photos, or their editorials. That’s what pays the bills–the money is very good.”

“I can see that,” she noted dryly and he laughed.

“I like action photography–sports, nature, cities. That’s what I do for myself and for sales. That’s where my heart is at. Not celebrities and their weirdly named babies like Lucky Charms, and Huggie Lovie, or Baby Mr. T, and Antarctica.”

Elain was shaking in his arms with laughter.

“Rich coming from a man who named his son Darius!”

Pretending outrage, he cried out, “Excuse me?! What the hell is wrong with Darius?”

“It’s a hella name for a baby.”

“He is fine. He carries it well.”

“I love Darius, actually,” she admitted.

He said nothing, but only nosed into her head, holding her against his massive chest, the steel bands of his arms wrapped tightly around her chest.

“I am scared, Azriel,” Elain breathed.

“Of what, baby?”

“Of not doing this right. Of losing you before I even got you,”

“You got me, beautiful,” he insisted. “Don't worry.”

“But what if I am just not good enough? You dated The Morrigan,”

“You mean the chick who got pregnant, dumped her newborn with a guy who fucked her a couple of times, and then walked away never to even inquire about her son again? Yeah, she is a real prize!”

Elain chewed on her lower lip, thinking.

When he put it like that…

…”Stay with me,” Azriel murmured, his voice pleading, verging on desperate.

“I have to go home,” Elain argued feebly.

It was just the two of them.

They had dinner, and it felt like a family, the four of them seated around the table, not at the counter, like usual, but a proper table. They ate amazing lobster ravioli, which Azriel had admitted he didn’t make, but got freshly made from his favourite Italian place. He did cook an incredible fresh tomato and light cream sauce, which was truly mouthwatering. Elain had helped him, by making a simple salad, dressed with lemon juice and olive oil–he had the good, expensive Italian stuff, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. The kids drank mineral water and Azriel had opened a bottle of Chablis, which went surprisingly well with the ravioli. He had cloth napkins and nice, white dishes. And as she ate, Elain thought that truly, they were a different kind of pair. They were not…usual. Neither she nor Azriel liked to rush. They enjoyed the nicer things in life. She had less money than he did, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t strive for the best for herself and for her daughter. They liked conversation. They liked involving their children in everything, and they treated them with respect and understanding. There were no phones at the table, nothing to disturb the connection. And not for the first time this week, Elain thought that perhaps she could build something with this strange man. They matched. Maybe too much, which was both a little scary, but also extremely exciting.

“No, you don’t,” he insisted.

His big palms cupped her face and he looked down at her.

“You don’t have to go,” he repeated. “It’s Friday night. There is no school or work tomorrow. I am sure both Isa and Darius would love to have a sleepover.”

Elain’s throat bobbed.

He smelled good. He felt even better. His massive hands felt heavenly on her skin. His eyes were warm and his voice urgent.

“I would say that I’d be a gentleman and not try anything,” he continued, “but that would be a lie. Because all I want is to make love to you. Let me. Let me make love to you and be your first.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” she whispered, her heart beating wildly in her chest and she was considering whether he should call 911, because she might be suffering from some kind of cardiac emergency. Was it normal to be so hot? Was 25 too early for hot flashes? Because that’s how it felt–she was engulfed in heat.

He huffed an indignant huff.

“Come on, we both know that that one time was just to make Isa. He was just a sperm donor, nothing else. The only reason for him to have existed in your life is to make your gorgeous daughter, and she eventually brought us together. You and I, beautiful, were written in the stars. There is no denying it. You know this in your gut. Everything led us here, and it’s up to you to take the bull by the horns.

“It’s all pipes,” he concluded.

“All pipes?” she laughed a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, the universe is working really hard to bring the two of us together. All pipes.”

“What happens after?” she managed to ask, doubt still rearing its ugly head inside of her.

“After? After we live,” he pressed his lips to her brow. “We do our best, the way we always have. Only we do it together.”

“You are relentless.”

“You have no idea.”

She nervously fingered the hem of her shirt and then whispered, “will you stop…if I don’t want it?”

“Well, I am not going to rape you, if that’s what you are asking.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she argued instantly, blushing profusely.

He didn’t answer, but instead, called ‘Darius, Isa! Come here!”

They ran into the room a few minutes later and stopped, watching him expectantly.

“Mama and I wanted to see if you guys wanted to have a sleepover?” Azriel asked, his arm casually draped over Elain’s shoulders. When he said ‘mama and I’ it did something to her–something warm and amazing and needy in her belly.

“Yes!” Darius declared immediately. Then asked, “what this be sleepover?”

Elain attempted to hide her smile, and buried her face in Azriel’s shoulder.

Azriel handled it perfectly, simply explaining, “you and Isa are going to sleep in your room.”

“Oh, that’s fun!” Isa exclaimed.

“Yes, I want it so much!” Darius agreed, bouncing on his toes.

And just like that, it was all decided and settled.

Isa was dressed in Darius’s PJs which were in fact big on her. There was a convertible armchair in Darius’s bedroom, which they made into Isa’s bed, and she was thrilled to be sleeping in a new place.

“I love sleepover!” Darius concluded, as soon as he was in bed and tucked in, Brute the Bat next to him. As any good host he offered Brute to Isa, who politely declined, and instead, opted for a stuffed rabbit.

“Good night you two,” Elain told them and then went to kiss them both.

“Night, ma! You gonna have a sleepover too?” Isa asked.

“I think that I will,” Elain admitted.

“You have fun Lain!” Darius recommended and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll take care of her,” Azriel wrapped his arm possessively around Elain’s waist and tugged her to him.

“Dada is nice,” Darius informed Elain seriously. “You can have sleepover with him, Lain.”

The moment the door was closed behind them and they took two steps into the hallway, Azriel turned to face Elain. His face was beautiful, but intense. He watched her without blinking, and then stated, ‘you are nervous'.

“I am,” she confirmed, her voice hoarse and weird.

God, she was sweating again. Her back was dripping with nervous sweat and she felt like she was about to faint.

“Don’t be,” he whispered.

Suddenly, his big hand threaded into her bun and he wrapped her hair around his hand, pulling her face back for a moment and looking down at her from his massive height.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he urged her, his voice even rougher than hers.

She loved the gesture of dominance, him holding her like that, but she also loved that he was asking her so politely.

“Kiss me then,” she said at last and without missing a beat, he crushed his lips to hers.

His was a hungry, needy kiss, the kind Elain always wanted to experience, but never had the chance. The kiss no one ever offered her before.

Azriel’s lips were soft, and there was gentleness about them, about how he enveloped her mouth with his, but at the same time, he took what he wanted from her. Her lips parted for his tongue without any prompting and she leaned into him, momentarily forgetting her nervousness. It didn’t matter somehow–it felt too good. The nearness of him, the hold of his warm hands on her body, the way he clasped the back of her head so he could keep her the way he wanted her–it felt incredible.

“So beautiful,” he whispered into her mouth, holding her close, while she wrapped her arms around his torso, unwilling to let him go. Now, if he wanted to stop this, she probably wouldn’t let him.

“Ahhh, now you want it, my beautiful girl,” he teased, his hot, wet tongue swiping over her lips, her teeth, learning of her and her taste. “But if you want me to stop,”

“Okay, don’t stop,” she panted, kissing him endlessly, feverishly. Azriel barked a laugh at her words and returned to kissing her.

Good god it felt good. So good to be wanted, to be genuinely liked. Under her shirt, Elain’s breasts felt achy, swollen, and her nipples were so hard, they’d probably rip right through her bra. However, she and Azriel haven't even made it to the bedroom yet!

As if reading her mind, Azriel’s hand fell down the small of her back and he grabbed a handful of her ass, squeezing it appreciatively.

“God I can’t wait to be inside of you,” he moaned. “You are so incredibly delicious…Every bit of you is just so fine.”

Half-dragging her next to him, they stumbled down the corridor, ambling towards the bedroom. Thankfully, it was at the end of the hallway, quite removed from Darius’s room.

If she were being entirely honest with herself, Elain didn’t care right now. He could probably fuck her right on the floor here, and she wouldn’t bat an eye. They bumped into walls as they pawed at each other, kissing and biting and licking. He kissed her neck hungirly, tasting her skin, his warm lips gliding up and down, from her clavicle to her jaw. Elain whimpered when he dragged his tongue over the pulsating vein of her neck and he chuckled, “My eager girl,” as he returned to her mouth, kissing her savagely and deeply.

Shouldering the bedroom door he opened it swiftly, and then kicked it back to close it behind them.

He dropped Elain on the bed and then stepped back.

“On your knees, sweetheart. Hands on your lap,” he instructed, and Elain followed his command at once. She could barely even understand what he was telling her, and moved to the sound of his voice instinctively, as opposed to actually listening to his commands. But she liked it–innately, she liked it when he told her what to do and she didn’t know why.

“Beautiful,” he approved, as he stroked her cheek and moved surprisingly slowly towards her, watching her with endless fascination. No one’s ever looked at her like that and saw her. She wasn’t just a pretty girl, or someone he wanted to fuck–she was desirable to him. The emotional connection was unsettling, crossing into intimacy, but perhaps that’s what Elain craved deep down. Her hands were shaking on her lap. But she wanted him to continue looking at her like that. It was a combination of possessiveness, need, curiosity, and some strange protectiveness, as if in the end, he wanted to keep her safe and whole.

“Do you trust me, baby?” he asked, his tone soft.

Elain nodded. She did. Again, instinctively. She trusted him to do right by her–whatever that looked like for the two of them.

With one hand, he pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor without ever taking his eyes off Elain. Seeing his body made her jaw go slack. His muscles were lean and perfectly defined, his skin decorated with tattoos, his arms scarred to the elbow, the V leading into his jeans so prominent, it was almost indecent. Elain’s never seen such definition on any actual human (Olympic athletes notwithstanding).

“Lie down, pretty girl,” he told her and she did, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, other than Azriel’s stunning body and his face, and she was only vaguely aware that his bed was huge and that the city was twinkling with lights somewhere outside the enormous windows. “Spread your legs for me, baby,” he requested and Elain slowly did as she was told, her long silk skirt falling down her thighs and pooling on her stomach. She was barefoot already, having taken her sandals off after dinner, when they played with the kids.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, and sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on her belly and quickly unbuttoning the two buttons at the waist. He pulled the skirt off her hips then, and flung it on the floor, where it joined his shirt. Elain could feel herself soaking through her cotton panties–she didn’t have the fancy kind, so she went with her usual plain cotton and lace ones. Now, she was getting so hot and bothered that she felt herself leaking for him. And he saw it. He looked right between her thighs and smiled, running her thumb straight down the centre of her. Elain jerked on the bed, a jittery, pathetic moan escaping her parted lips. Azriel leaned over her, and kissed her again, his tongue gently sweeping inside her mouth, sucking her own, making her delirious with his kisses, while he gingerly worked her panties down her legs.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he murmured, once she was laying half naked in front of him. “So gorgeous and all mine,” he added, lightly, but firmly pushing her thighs further apart, spreading her widely.

“Az,” she groaned loudly,

“Yeah, beautiful?”

“I need more.”

“And you will get more,” he kissed her bare knees, “I just want to look at your pretty pink pussy right now…Remember what I told you I wanted to do to you?”

She licked her lips, feeling exposed, but also so, so sexy, lying like that in front of him. No man’s ever seen her like this, certainly not in such explicit detail, but she liked it. So she opened her thighs even wider, eliciting a muffled groan of appreciation from him.

“Finger me,” she recalled, blushing from the words, which made it real somehow. The words were crude, but her position didn’t bother her–she was tense as fuck, but from arousal, and not fear or discomfort.

“What else?” he pressed, and then carefully pinched her folds and pulled them apart, while she moaned and arched her back for him, grabbing the bed covers violently and wrenching them in her hands.

“You wanted to eat my pussy,” she choked out, closing her eyes and feeling like she was losing her mind.

“Is your pussy sweet?” he asked rhetorically, kissing the inside of her thigh.

“I don’t know,”

“Well, let’s find out, shall we?” With that, he dropped to his knees in front of her by the bed and pulled her roughly forward, pressing her feet into his shoulders. He leaned forward, pushing her legs to her chest, his massive shoulders immobilising her, while he picked up her ass in his large palms and brought her closer to his mouth.

Elain stilled. She really hoped that she wouldn’t have a massive coronary right then and there. This was a man she hardly knew, who was not just staring at her bare pussy, but who was…oh lordy lord…yep, he licked it.

Her pained inhale was so loud, it sounded like a moan.

“Azriel…” she wept. He kissed her. Kissed her slit, the way he kissed her mouth. He kissed her opening. He kissed her folds. He kissed her firmly, deeply over her clit, making her buckle and wail, while he held her down and close to his mouth. He was unperturbed by how she strained against him, but only stroked her legs up from her feet all the way to her upper thighs, as he gently, but insistently sucked on her swollen bud.

“Az, Az,” she whimpered desperately, but he only swirled his tongue around the clit, and sucked on it insistently, his mouth so warm, and so wonderful that it was turning her inside out. He licked and he sucked, steadily, with rhythmic slurping around her dripping slit, caressing her body as he went at it with a blissed out expression on his face.

She hardly dared to look down between her legs, for seeing his hazel eyes watching her and her reactions was almost painfully intimate. But the noises of satisfaction, and his grunts of pleasure told her everything that she needed to know–Azriel was enjoying tasting her just as much as she enjoyed being sucked and licked. It was wet and sensual and she loved it when his tongue swirled inside her hole, but she never ever imagined that this could feel as good as he was making it.

Her legs were shaking, but he kept stroking them soothingly, as if knew that she was experiencing things that she’d never felt before, and she needed extra support from him. But he wasn’t gentle. He bit the wet folds of her pussy with little nips, before clamping his teeth over her clit and holding it hostage, while he licked on it fervently with the flat pad of his tongue. Her toes curled on his shoulders and she tried to hold back the scream that was building inside her chest from the delicious, sublime pleasure-pain that he was offering her so willingly.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” she chanted brokenly and he gave her a stern look over her heaving belly, though he didn’t interrupt his sucking of her clit, and shook his head.

“Azriel,” she corrected herself, and he smiled into her pussy, nodding his approval.

Pressing his teeth tighter over her swollen, painfully engorged clit, which felt like it was buzzing from the inside, he slowly eased one finger into her, pushing bluntly inside her hole.

“Oh fuuuuck,” she cried pitifully, because he slipped a second finger, and then a third, in quick succession. It hurt. She was sloppily wet, but she was tight and his long, thick fingers stretched her to a painful point. But a cry of ‘more, more, please,’ tore from her, as she pushed her slit into his face. What if she killed him? Suffocated him with her pussy? But considering how hard his hand was working inside of her, fingering her with brutal, stunning determination, she figured that he was far from death. His hand battered into her, merciless and wonderful, and she moaned loudly and endlessly.

It was too much. All of it was too much.

She should’ve taken him on his offer a week ago and let him finger her in the kitchen. Because this…

This was insane. Astounding.

His hot, harsh-skinned hand snaked up her stomach and he pulled her bra cup down without any preliminaries, baring her aching tit to the cool air. He squeezed it roughly, and Elain loved it–how he was able to hold her whole breast in his hand, and how he pinched her nipple in his fingers. This man was like a damn octopus–he had 40 hands and 20 suction cups in his mouth, because he managed to overstimulate every part of her body.

And the fingering…oh god…the fingering was beyond fantastic. It was beyond anything Elain ever dreamed of. The feeling of that massive penetrating hand, how he pushed the walls of her pussy apart, how he stretched and moulded her over his hand was so pornographically erotic that she’d lost all inhibitions. There were no inhibitions for her to even think about. He’d stripped her down to her core and forced her to let go and enjoy every moment of this.

When he removed his hand from her breast, she whined from the loss, but also watched him unbutton the top two buttons of his jeans, exposing the most delicious-looking trail of hair, which she yearned to lick. She could see the huge bulge in his jeans and the size of him made her feverishly excited, and nervous. She understood why he was fingering her so hard–he needed to prepare her for his massive-looking dick.

“More…” she begged desperately, her body arcing so hard off the bed, she was almost sitting up by now. And then he bit her. He bit her clit hard, and rammed his fingers deeper, which made her lose her mind and she screamed a loud, trembling cry, which filled the space between them. Hot and sweaty and shaking uncontrollably, Elain came and came and came. She orgasmed so hard, her ears popped.

Azriel tore his face from her pussy, giving her clit one parting lick and then she watched him, almost in slow motion, release his cock from his jeans.

The moment of clarity made her gasp and hiss ‘Jesus fuck’ at the sight of him.

That’s what happened when you dated a guy who was over 6”5. He had an ‘over 6”5’ dick.

He looked at her and then cupped her flushed cheek in his hand.

“You want me inside, baby?” he asked hoarsely, and Elain reared upwards and licked his wet face, tasting herself on his skin.

“Yes,” she breathed. “More than anything,”

He gave himself a few hearty rugs, which Elain found mesmerising.

“Funny how this happened,” he chuckled.

“What?”

“Well, I wanted to taste you, finger you and watch you come–and just like that, I’ve accomplished it all!”

Before she could respond, he grunted,

“Take that dick then, beautiful,” hefting her back up on the bed and then propping himself on his hands and knees above her. Elain knew that she looked a mess, with her shirt still on, falling off one shoulder and hastily unbuttoned, her breast bare, her bra askew, but he also looked dishevelled, still wearing his jeans, his thick, perfect cock bobbing at his navel. Yes, his cock was perfect–straight, thick, long, smooth. He propped her legs on his forearms and then slowly, but steadily eased the thick head of his dick inside of her.

The push of his shaft was unwaveringly firm, solid and the thickness of him made Elain’s eyes roll back in her head. She didn’t even know if it was pleasure or pain–some unholy combination of both–but she convulsed wildly around him and the heft of his burning hot dick.

“Laney, my baby, you feel like melted butter,” he smiled at her, while the progression of his shaft continued inside of her. “How does it feel?”

“Please never stop,” she begged, as tears slipped from her eyes. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Because it felt incredibly good? Because he cared about her? Because she was falling in love? She didn’t know, but she was being honest–she never wanted it to stop.

And then he was thrusting into her, deep and hard, his hips steady and powerful, as he filled and emptied her again and again. Elain couldn’t keep her eyes open, and she panted heavily, unconcerned about the crazed sounds that she emitted. She was just feeling him. She felt overstuffed, wet, hot, exhausted, pumped up, desperately horny, and massively overstimulated. Her clit rubbed into that fabulous patch of hair and against his stomach, and with every pump of his hips, Elain rose higher and higher, crying like a madwoman, shaking and thrashing beneath him. His rough hands roamed about her body, feeling her, stroking her, squeezing her, while he pounded into her savagely, building her up with every shove of his dick.

“Azriel, it’s…how…what is…what is this?” she babbled mindlessly.

“That’s your dick, beautiful. Use it and come all over it.” he ordered her, and increased the speed of his thrusts.

“It feels too good,” she whispered weakly. “I can’t…”

“It feels just right,” he insisted, kissing her voraciously, and licking her tongue with impatient swipes of his tongue.

She ran her hands over his tattooed skin, burning with warmth and misted with sweat beneath her palms. And then she was orgasming again, over and over, all around his relentless cock. He watched her from his position, smiling at her and whispering words of encouragement and praise, while she screamed his name into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. In some feat of astonishing athleticism, he held her up, as she hung onto him like a needy koala, his cock still firmly buried in her, moving rapidly inside.

Elain was so beyond understanding what was going on, she didn’t even comprehend their ridiculous position. But Azriel held her up, as she clenched around him, her ankles wrapped tightly around his back, her mouth starved for his tongue.

“Come for me,” he murmured, “let me have this perfect pussy…”

“It’s yours,” she wept breathlessly.

She was floating somewhere in her head, her body still rocked by the aftershocks of the earth shattering orgasms that he offered her so easily and freely. Her core was stretch to the limit, and yet he still rode her, his arms tense, his powerful body coiled from strain of fucking her and holding her up.

“Let me come in you, my beautiful girl,” he muttered, kissing her head, her face, her lips.

“I want it, Az. It’s yours,” she panted, her pussy pulsing and milking him, “it’s for you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he kissed her and gently laid her back on the mattress, holding her knees apart, as he pumped hard and fast into her.

He came deeply and voluptuously, the hot seed painting her womb, a guttural moan of pure pleasure tearing from his throat.

It felt…magical. Everything about him was raw and hard and passionate, and Elain took all of it. Everything that he gave her.

He tweaked her nipple in his fingers, and then stroked her face with his knuckles, looking down at her with complete adoration.

“You are perfect,” he whispered. “And mine.”

“I think that I am,” she nodded, chasing his fingertips with her lips. He let her kiss them and pushed hard into her, keeping his cock and his cum deep inside of her.

“Do you want to taste me, baby?”

Elain licked her lips, looking him up and down, his stunning torso and his pleasure-tinted expression.

Before she could answer, he pulled her up and said, “open up” as he withdrew his cock from her and then thrust it firmly in her mouth, easing between her lips.

“Good girl,” he approved and patted her head, while she looked at him, trying to acquaint herself with the girth and heaviness of him in her mouth. He was covered in her wetness and his cum, but for some reason, it didn’t bother her.

“Have you ever sucked dick before?” he asked, massaging the back of her neck slowly, wiping her sweaty brow with his knuckles.

She was barely able to move her head, but she shook it ‘no’.

He smiled and ordered, “you’ll suck me off, pretty girl.”

Elain was nervous because she’s never done this before, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t want to. He placed his hand on her head, keeping her in place and his cock nudged forward, sliding in carefully, but firmly. The head of him bumped into the back of her throat and she gasped, but seeing the tremble that her involuntary suck caused, she held onto him, opening wider. His eyes closed and he began slowly, pushing in and out of her wet mouth, allowing her to acclimate to the feel of him. But he was firm as always, holding her head motionless and thrusting slightly deeper with each push.

“That’s my good girl,” he approved. “Take me deeper, sweetheart.”

He gained speed and set a brisk pace, using her for his pleasure, just like she used him before.

She cleaned him completely with her tongue and now just used it to swirl over the head and the underside of his shaft, sucking noisily, breathing through her nose. He gagged her a few times, but she didn’t mind it and he didn’t change his rhythm.

“I want to come in your mouth,” he grunted, his breathing heavier, and his movements becoming jerkier. “Shake your head if you don’t want me to.”

Elain looked up at him with her tear-stained eyes, and didn’t move her head.

“Oh thank god,” he panted, holding her head between his palms and pushing his cock harder into her mouth. “Choke on it,” he muttered, when she did. “You are so beautiful.”

Elain dug her fingers into his iron-hard ass, slipping them beneath his jeans, while he fucked her mouth hard. Maybe she was beautiful to him? By the look of his deeply pleased expression, it seemed like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Swallow everything, baby,” he trembled with exertion and exploded in her throat. Elain swallowed greedily, wanting every drop of him. He was hot and salty and heady, and maybe it was strange, but she found him absolutely delicious.

He came long and hard, and she swallowed everything, stroking his thighs, his hands, watching him. His breathing was shallow, and when he finally took his cock out of her mouth, he dipped down and kissed her.

“You are everything I’ve ever wanted, Ellie,” he admitted, finally pulling his jeans off and sliding next to her on the bed. Elain rolled on her side and watched him, while he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. Maybe he was everything that she wanted as well.

…It was later in the night, when she was sleeping in his arms, both of them naked and comfortable, that she wondered if history was about to repeat itself.

Epilogue

9 months later

Azriel opened the door and entered the lounge. It was like the Sleeping Kingdom from Sleeping Beauty.

Darius and Isabella were asleep next to each other on the love seat, a pink blanket draped over them. In an armchair opposite of them, Feyre was curled into a ball, dead to the world, snoring lightly. Finally, on the larger couch, Cassian sat with his head thrown back, his posture relaxed, his legs spread comfortably. Nesta’s head rested on his thigh, which she was using as a pillow. It didn’t escape Azriel that even in their sleep, their hands were clasped and fingers threaded together.

Gone was his brother the Mountain Man. Cassian Night cleaned up his act for his woman.

On the floor, there was an array of toys–dragons, princesses, finger puppets, books and whatever else Cassian chose to entertain his niece and nephew with. He always went overboard and the kids loved it.

Cassian’s eyes fluttered and then opened, as he straightened immediately and peered at Azriel.

“You were supposed to be babysitting,” Azriel chuckled, shaking his head.

“We technically are!”

“Yeah, three adults in the room and everyone is asleep.”

‘I am not asleep. I am just resting my eyes.”

Then, Cassian paused and finally asked, a smile on his face.

“So, what do I owe you, brother? A bottle of Glenfiddich or a bottle of Cristal?”

“Glenfiddich,” Azriel whispered, smiling broadly, his eyes moist with tears. And then he clapped his hands and announced, “we have a boy! My gorgeous stunner of a wife just gave us a son. Our baby Lance was born at 3:14 am. He is 10 lb 4 oz. and 23 inches.”

“A boy?” they heard Nesta’s awed whisper, as she raised her head from Cassian’s lap.

“Congrats to us, Nessie. We are an aunt and an uncle. AGAIN. Which means we are next, Nes!” Cassian announced jovially.

She gave him ‘the look’ and muttered, “Excuse me?”

“Yep. We should have a little girl. We’ll name her Sutton,”

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Yeah, Sutton Night.”

“I am not having Sutton!” Nesta protested.

Cassian cupped the back of her head in his enormous hand and planted a hearty kiss on her lips.

“Yeah, you are,” he insisted. “They,” he jerked his shoulder at Azriel, “have three! We have none. It’s time, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but we are not naming her Sutton,”

He kissed her again and said,

“Whatever my lady prefers is fine by me.”

“Let’s go look at that baby,” Nesta decided.

Lance Night was born exactly nine months and a week after the Princess Tea Party where his parents met, and started a new family.

#elriel #elainarcheronweek2023 #elainarcheronweek #princess tea party #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #elain #pro elriel #elain x azriel #Elriel fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

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acourtofthought · 6 months

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Tamlin gave Feyre an engagement ring. Something I'm guessing he never gave to anyone else.

It didn't make them endgame.

Az let Elain borrow his dagger. Something he'd never done for anyone else.

It doesn't mean they'll be endgame.

Tamlin gave Feyre jewelry which she accepted but then gave to the water-wraith.

The giving of jewelry didn't make them endgame and Feyre easily parting with it was foreshadowing.

Azriel gave Elain a necklace which she accept but then easily returned (not to be confused with Nessian considering Nesta flat out refused her gift from the get go).

Why can't that also be possible foreshadowing for the end of E/riel? At this point she's got a stronger connection to Graysen than Az considering she refused to return his ring when he demanded it back. To me that demonstrates Elain is the kind of character to hold on to something when it still has meaning to her versus Nesta who refused gifts that had too much meaning.

Tamlin had such lust for Feyre, he told her the magic of Fire Night had him searching for her.

That didn't make them endgame

Az spent a year pleasuring himself to fantasies of Elain, but only in the dead of the night when his shadows were asleep.

If Tamlin being drawn to Feyre during a ceremony which brings magic to their lands for an entire year still didn't make them endgame then why would Elain being Az's dirty little secret have more staying power?

Feyre was frustrated at being expected to wear dresses in the Spring Court.

That was foreshadowing that she wasn't meant to stay there and was only truly comfortable wearing them once she ended up in the NC.

Elain was noted by both Cassian and Nesta as looking bad in black (a Night Court color) and Elain herself refused the Illyrian leathers.

Why can't that be foreshadowing that she's meant to leave the NC just as Feyre left Spring?

Feyre once said the night Tamlin kissed her was the happiest moment of her life. She also enjoyed painting in the Spring Court at one point and felt she found a friend in Ianthe.

We all know how that turned out.

Elain seems somewhat adjusted in the NC with hobbies and "friends".

Is it not possible that just as we later discovered Spring was not where Feyre was going to thrive despite the initial evidence to the contrary, we'll find out the same for Elain but in reverse?

Tamlin only wanted to protect Feyre too, keeping her safe from harm, despite the fact that she told him she wanted to be more involved.

That didn't end up together.

Az doesn't think Elain should be exposed to the darkness of the Trove which is essentially him wanting to keep her safe despite the fact that she expressed the desire to do more.

Why would they end up together when Tamlin and Feyre didn't?

Feyre was initially very afraid of Rhys, to the point she said she'd never want to paint him. He twisted her bone, forced her to dress and dance proactively and manipulated her into a bargain.

Yet in ACOMAF she fell in love with him before hearing his reasoning for his actions in ACOTAR, later listened to his reasonings and the acceptance of the mating bond reigned supreme.

Elain already knows what happened in Hybern was a mistake and not what Lucien intended, she sees that Feyre continues inviting him around for holidays (therefore seems to grasp that no one is holding a grudge over what happened with the king) and her only real struggle in regards to romance at this point is knowing that she lost her fiance because of the mating bond and being turned. Knowing that fate thinks it knows best for her (which tbh, it kind of does 😂).

If SJM worked her magic and had us believing in Feysand, if Feyre could fall in love with Rhys without initially knowing why he scared Tamlin into sending her back to the human lands, got her drunk, forced her to dance in front of everyone, and trapped her into an agreement with him, then why is anyone acting like Elain and Lucien have bigger obstacles to overcome?

I love Feysand and I have no grudge over what happened in their past but let's be honest, what he did to Feyre was 10x worse than anything Lucien has ever done to Elain. The things Feyre had to overcome to end up with Rhys were a much bigger deal than Elain finding out she had a mating bond with Lucien, something Lucien did not do to her but was done by the Mother / Fate itself (and really, the same thing fate did to Feyre and Nesta).

Elain has her own traumas to work through and I'm not saying they're less traumatic than Feyre or Nesta's, they've been / will be equally as difficult for her to work through.

But anyone claiming there's too much water under the bridge when it comes to her and Lucien needs to go back and read how SJMs other endgame relationships started.

Lucien has been practically perfect in comparison to the way Rhys and Cassian acted with Feyre and Nesta at times.

Elain's biggest problem is not going to be forgiving Lucien but letting go of her prideful stubbornness. All she needs to do is stop being put out over the fact that maybe fate did know a bit better than her (because really, she's holding a grudge that she couldn't even get her mother's one expectation of her right by choosing Graysen) and her every single desire will come true. SJM has made it obvious that Lucien is absolutely perfect for her and they could share in a life beyond her wildest dreams.

Right now Elain is her own worst enemy and that's so very Pride and Prejudice of SJM.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #anti e/riel #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #elain and lucien #elucien bond #antie/riel #antielriel

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lorcandidlucienwill · 1 month

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So I think we can all agree that the Archerons were so weird because they didn’t bicker like real siblings, so here’s a snippet of a fic I’m writing where all the sisters are arguing. This takes place during a dress fitting for Elain’s wedding. Warning: lots of inner circle slander

Nesta scowled at her reflection as faeries fussed over her, adjusting the gown she was wearing.

“You look lovely, Nesta,” Feyre said from the seat beside her. “Easy for you to say,” Nesta muttered. Feyre looked magnificent in an electric blue halter top paired with black slacks and boots. A circlet of small crescent moons lay upon her forehead. “I look ridiculous.” Nesta glared at the gold dress she had been shoved into again. “God, it’s the same as my hair. Can’t you get a red dress, at least? This makes my skin fade out.” At last, the dressers obeyed, pulling the ill-fitting monstrosity away from her body.

“You looked pretty in that dress, Nesta,” Elain said gently, her hair up in a jumbo bun at the top of her head, wildflowers surrounding the band holding it up. She wasn’t getting fitted today, but she had come to see what dresses Nesta and Feyre would be wearing. Not like Elain would have any difficulty with her dress. She looked perfect in everything she wore, except perhaps that black dress she’d once worn in the Hewn City. It was annoying.

“Quit lying Elain, I looked like wallpaper,” Nesta snapped. Then she sighed. “Red is truly my color, but that blonde bitch everyone thinks is sooo beautiful is always wearing it, so I usually opt for black.”

“Don’t speak that way about Mor,” Feyre said sharply.

“I’ll speak of her however I like, little sis. She’s not my friend, and frankly, she isn’t really even yours.”

Feyre glowered at her. “She saved me from Tamlin.”

“Did she do that for you, or for little Rhys-rhys? Has she ever stood up for you in front of Rhysand? She certainly despises me; thought me fit to throw into the court of nightmares. I highly doubt you’re much different.”

“Yeah, I am. Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch all the time, people would treat you differently.”

Nesta laughed sarcastically. “Because 500 year old uber powerful Fae warriors can’t handle a 23 year old formerly human woman handing their asses to them, can they?”

“You’re really going to start this now, with my wedding just around the corner?” Elain complained. Nesta whipped her head around to her. “Oh, sure! I absolutely care about this sham of a wedding! Feyre’s mate is a jackass, my mate is a jackass, but perhaps third time’s the charm with you, huh, Elain?”

“Lucien is ten times the man Rhysand will ever be,” Elain said coldly, her temper causing her voice to raise volume. Nesta opened her mouth to say that this doesn’t mean much considering Rhysand is a small boy stuck in a man’s form when Feyre interrupted. “Wait a damn minute. You both despise my husband?” she demanded.

“What gave it away, Feyre?” Nesta drawled. “Me constantly insulting Rhysand, resisting his orders, and declaring him not my high lord? Me not wishing to live with the rest of you? Elain literally leaving Night to get away from him?”

“I thought Elain left Night because of Azriel!”

“Azriel?!” Elain let out a snort which turned into such mirth that Nesta stared. “That broody, brainless bat not man enough to speak about his feelings in any capacity? You think I’d leave because of him? As if! I left because I got tired of your fake family’s fake welcome and decided Lucien was better than the lot of them.”

“Lucien let me get hurt in Spring!”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Feyre!” Elain shrieked, and Nesta gasped. Elain cussing was something Nesta frankly thought she’d never hear. “Lucien told me his side of the story, and it seems as if your head was too far up Rhysand’s ass to realize everything Lucien has done for you!”

“Just like Feyre never acknowledged the work we did around the house when we were in the cottage,” Nesta muttered. Elain nodded. Feyre stalked up to Nesta and slapped her face so hard her neck tilted. “Oh no you didn’t,” Nesta snarled, and she shoved Feyre into a coat rack, taking her and the rack to the ground. The two of them began wrestling, Elain crying, “Stop, you idiots, stop!” in the background. “Help, there’s a fight going on in here!”

#nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron #idk what this is lol #archeron sisters #fanfic

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a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire · 2 months

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Hellow, i just reblogged that post about the cauldron loving elain and I have been seized with a need to figure out what the hell is going on with that so I shall read one (1) chapter if acomaf to bring me closer to my goal. For the record, I did know about the cauldron loving elain and hating nesta because idk, nesta was angry and annoying when she was dunked into it but elain was just so sweet and demure about it probably, i did not think it was. romantic love. but this is a sjm book so I was foolish to assume there would be a male character whos not insanely horny. Actually, is the cauldron even male? He is in the german version but thats just bc the word cauldron is masculine grammatically. Quick someone draw like, a tumblr sexyman humanized version of the cauldron. actually no, tumblrsexymen are traditionally twinks and sjm hates those. Quick someone draw like, a super buff shirtless man with golden hair, or whatever the color of the cauldron is

anyway, PREVIOUSLY ON: THE FLAMES AND DARKNESS LIVEBLOG we had the Court on Nightmares Under The Mountain Reenactment Scene as I like to call it and can we talk about how Feyre has known Rhys for like a year and only liked him for like half a year and yet she was perfectly fine sitting in his lap nacked and letting herself be sexualized by him. Like, I dont even have any kind of sexual trauma, you would still need to build up sooooo many years of friendship and good will for me to do that for you and you would NOT be allowed to jerk me off!! whatever, lets get on with this, its time for chapter 43

I hate that Rhysand is being all like "i shouldnt have brought you, i didnt want you to see this side of me" when its like, buddy you didnt have to do all this shit you couldve just walked in an been like "Im your high lord and demand your orb" and they wouldve given it to you because youre their high lord and youre demanding their orb. And if he thought they wouldnt have given it to him, he couldve easily come up with a different distraction he just went with the one that sexualizes Feyre because hes weirdo. Like, if hes so cruel on every other day then he shouldve acted really nicely, greeted Keir by giving him the biggest hug and being like "uncleeeee!! :D long time no see :)" and Feyre should have been dressed up as like, the embodiment of spring in pastel green soft shades of pink and but Rhysand still treats with the utmost kindness and respect, now that would throw the Hewn City for a loop

Okay so the reason Rhys broke keirs arm is because the word 'whore' triggered him which is understandable but like, Feyre thought of herself as the Highlords Whore in a very deliberate parallel to Rhysand being known as Amarantha's Whore and Im pretty sure she even straightup thought something about being in the position he had for so many years but she was like, horny about it and the narrative just isnt acknowledging it. Like, theyre not talking about it even though their mindlink was presumably open the whole time bc I remember them flirting through the link, and Feyre isnt even like "oh man, I feel bad for thinking that when its so upsetting to him" its so weird

Rhysand basically said "I will never try to protect you by locking you away, instead I will protect you by killing anyone who upsets you, even when they dont actually upset you and they just upset me" like he and Tamlin are not fundamentally any different from each other, its just that Rhysand is a coldblooded murderer. but its fine cuz he wears black leather i guess

I just realized. Rhysand had a boner when Feyre was sitting in his lap. did that go away when he broke Keirs arm or did he walk out of that meeting with his dick fully hard

Listen, maybe its just because its 3am and Im a little sleepdeprived but this conversation barely makes any sense, these bozos are just completely talking past each other at this point

Rhysand just said something about how Tamlin just locked Feyre up and let her waste away and almost die and Feyre was gonna say "He was trying his best" but Rhys interrupted her like "Dont compare me to him, stop comparing us" when she didnt say anything about that ??? my guy is projecting so hard rn he thinks theyre having a conversation that theyre not even having

And like i would argue that Feyre doesnt even compare Rhysand and Tamlin that much, the narrative definitely does it a LOT, but Ive been reading Feyres thoughts throughout this whole ordeal and I feel like she barely even thought about Tamlin since she sent him that letter

This scene is supposed this big turning point for their relationship and its clearly meant to be really emotional but the only emotion i can feel rn is annoyance with Rhysand because its like, he did have genuinely traumatic things that happened to him but not only is he barely affected by any of them, those are not even the things that the narrative brings up whenever its trying to get me to sympathise with him instead its always just "whaaaaaaa everyone thinks Im nasty and evil just because i keep doing nasty and evil things T-T"

Feyre is being very cruel but in a kinda funny way because its directed at Rhysand rn, i would insert the quote but I am in no state to translate anything at the moment but shes basically like "of course you have to hide your true self from your friends, they wouldnt wanna hang out with otherwise, you burden"

Idk why but the prose being like "my arrow struck him too deep" is so funny to me, it has the same energy as the vampire fics i read where the weird gay one gets his heart broken and he goes "it wouldve hurt less if he staked me in the heart"

Feyre is like "i cant believe he was so vulnerable and shared his sorrows with me and just threw all of it in his face" and I could not give less of a shit, but ive been on a big emotional abuse kick lately so now Im thinking about what if Feyre was just faking having feelings for Rhys in order to make him fall in love with her and be vulnerable with her only to then tell him the truth and reject the mating bond and make him completely break down as revenge for UTM. now that would actually be empowering

Now Feyre is thinking about how shes been using Rhysand for a long time now and come onnnnnn there is such a big power difference between them, I genuinely think its basically impossible for her to do that. Like, hes the most powerful guy in the history of guys or whatever, if anything you were doing bothered him that much he could simply make you stop doing it. hm. now Im thinking about what if rhysand was actually a huge masochist. Now that would actually be hot

Feyre is talking about how all the members of the inner circle suffered and are traumatized and theyve all learned to live with it and, not to extend too much sympathy to Rhysand, but all of the ICs major traumatic events happened centuries ago, his traumatic event happened one (1) year ago and it lasted 49 years i think its gonna take a little more time till hes all better

ughhhhhhh dont remind me of Amrens stupid romance subplot im gonna kill myself

Starfall is called Die Nacht der fallenden Sterne [the night of the calling stars] in german which is so much cooler and more whimsical, shoutout to my gal pal Alexandra Ernst for attempting to reinsert atleast a little bit of whimsy into this joyless world

Also, apparently its expected that Rhysand spend the first starfall in fifty years with his people, his people in this case referring to the Verlarians in the city that no one knows exists and not the people living in his courts actual capital. then again, i guess those bozos are all trapped under a mountain and wouldnt be able to watch it anyway so who cares

Amren said "hes not lucky to have us, we're lucky to have him" like yeah, hes paying you all exorbitant salaries just for being his buddies

God, amrens jacking rhys off so hard rn I cant believe she didnt wanna have sex with him when he asked

btw Im not even gonna dignify all that vaguely meta bullshit about how Tamlin is the golden prince and rhysand is the villain in the stories but the villain in stories is the guy who locks maidens away in towers and rhys freed her with anx kind of commentary because its just stupid, its just sjm bashing you over the head with how subversive she is when Tamlin and Rhysand are basically the same guy with different aesthetics at this point, like Feyre is not making a choice between the goodboy hero and the badboy villain, shes making a choice between a Bad Boy with a Heart of Gold (green) and a Bad Boy with a Heart of Gold (black)

#anti acotar #anti acomaf #anti rhysand #anti feysand #flames and darkness liveblog

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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year

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May I Have This Dance?

A/N: So apparently when the latest Magic Mike movie was doing press work, they hosted these Magic Mike dance classes. It led to this particular TikTok which then led to @dustjacketmusings enabling my love of TikTok inspired fics which led to me deciding this is absolutely Cassian and Nesta, so here we are! Happy Day Five of @nestaarcheronweek! Celebrate the birthday girl and enjoy :)

Link to AO3

“Okay, watch your step, and now keep coming forward, keep coming forward, and stop.”

Nesta lets out a soft sigh, finally dropping her hands back to her sides. “Can I take the blindfold off now?”

“Yes,” Gwyn declares, the excitement in her voice bubbling over until it bursts into a giggle.

Nesta tugs at the fabric covering her face, pulling it up and off. She blinks a few times against the sudden brightness of the lights overhead. It takes a few moments, but her eyes adjust again and the wide grins on her two best friends’ faces swim into view. Gwyn’s eyes are wide and bright, but it’s the all too familiar mischief dancing in Emerie’s brown ones that has warning bells beginning to blare in the back of Nesta’s mind. Ever since college, that look has spelled trouble, and uneasiness starts to crawl up Nesta’s spine seeing it now.

Slowly, Nesta turns her head away from her friends, finally taking in their surroundings. They seem to be in one of the dance studios downtown, tall, floor to ceiling mirrors lining the wall to their right, large cursive letters declaring the studio's name painted along the white brick wall directly in front of them. It certainly explains why she was instructed to wear workout clothes for this surprise. Although, Nesta still isn’t quite sure what’s so exciting or surprising about a dance class. She already attends one weekly.

It also doesn’t explain Emerie’s expression.

Nesta looks to the left next, taking in the table that’s been neatly placed along the back wall of the studio. Complementary waters, a fruit tray, and a platter of cookies are displayed on the table, but it’s what’s beside the table that draws Nesta’s attention. A large poster sits on an easel, a photo of a shirtless man’s chest and abs taking up most of the frame. Just below the photo, large black and purple block letters answer all of Nesta’s questions.

Magic Mike Dance Class

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nesta mutters, barely holding back an eye roll.

“Happy birthday,” Emerie announces, holding out her hands and wiggling her fingers in a semblance of jazz hands. “I hope you know that since this is the class with the live show’s dancers, everyone wanted tickets to it, and I got them for you for your birthday.”

“I thought Cresseida got us these tickets?” Gwyn cuts in to ask.

“Okay, Cresseida was able to get us the tickets to this,” Emerie concedes with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Her cousin is one of the dancers.”

“Is that why she’s not here with us?” Nesta asks, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

“I mean yeah, she said it would be too weird seeing him like that, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is we’re going to spend the afternoon learning a bunch of sexy dance moves for your birthday, and afterwards, you’re going to ask one of the sexy men for his number to keep the birthday celebration going.”

Nesta can do nothing but gape at Emerie’s declaration. “I am not doing that.”

“You are picking a man, Nesta Archeron,” Emerie repeats, her tone firm and leaving no room for argument.

Nesta opens her mouth, prepared to continue arguing, potentially to demand they leave, but before she can utter a word, the door to the studio opens again. Five men step inside with a blonde woman that Nesta assumes must be the instructor for the studio or even just the class, the small group stepping toward the front of the room and stopping in front of the mirrors to chat. All five men are dressed similarly in joggers and tank tops, some form fitting and others loose bro-tanks. It draws emphasis to the muscular arms of each of them.

Nesta spots who must be Cresseida’s cousin, his hair the same white shade as hers and braided down along his back. But it’s the man standing to the right of Cresseida’s cousin that really draws Nesta’s focus. He’s certainly the largest of the group, a wide set of shoulders on full display thanks to the tight, black tank he’s wearing. It also gives Nesta the perfect view of his golden brown skin and the dark swirling ink of tattoos that twist around his shoulders and down his biceps like vines, the lines continuing along his collarbones before vanishing beneath the cut of his tank.

His dark hair is pulled back and away from his face, gathered in a bun at the top of his head. Normally, Nesta isn’t a fan of a man-bun, finds that most of the men who wear the style are just pretentious, but somehow it works for this particular man, highlighting the cut of his jaw and the dusting of stubble along the skin there.

He has his arm slung casually across the shoulders of another of the men, his hair a dark shade that almost seems to reflect blue in the lights overhead. Whatever Man-Bun is saying, it has the left corner of his lips ticking up in a cocksure smirk before he tilts his head back and laughs. The sound is booming, seeming to fill the entire space of the studio, but it’s warm and easy, curling around Nesta’s limbs until goosebumps pebble across her skin.

As if he can feel Nesta’s gaze on him, Man-Bun turns and looks right at her across the studio. Nesta catches a flash of hazel before she quickly looks away, desperately swallowing the heat she can feel threatening to scatter across her cheeks. She schools her features back into cool neutrality and turns back to face her friends.

“So?” Gwyn asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Any of them catch your eye?”

Nesta scoffs and lies through her teeth, “none of them are my type.”

With everyone present, the class finally begins. They start by introducing all of the male dancers, and Nesta learns that the one who caught her staring before is named Cassian. The blonde instructor—Mor she introduced herself as—starts to walk them through the steps of the routine they’re learning today. It involves a lot of floor work and a lot of hair flipping, but Nesta picks up the different eight-counts fairly quickly.

“You’re quite good,” the dark haired dancer, Rhysand, comments from where he and the other dancers have been walking around offering pointers where they can.

“That’s because I’m an actual trained dancer,” Nesta quips back, purposefully raking her eyes over him and raising a pointed, unimpressed eyebrow.

The blow hits its mark, Rhysand scoffing in offense. “Are you saying we’re not trained dancers?”

“Sorry, I must have missed the day we learnt dry-humping the floor in my ballet class,” Nesta remarks dryly, earning a deep chuckle of amusement from someone behind her.

“It takes a lot of core strength to be able to do that night after night up on that stage, you know.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it does when that’s the only action you’re used to seeing.”

Rhysand’s face shifts from mild offense to full blown annoyance at that, eyes narrowing and a sneer starting to curl his lip. He spins on his heel and walks away, Nesta unable to bite back her satisfied smirk when she hears him mutter to the other dancers about her being a fucking bitch.

“Alright, everyone,” Mor calls out to the class after they’ve learnt all the steps and run through the full routine twice for practice. “Time to do the routine for real. If you want it filmed, you can hand your phone to one of the dancers now.”

Gwyn is quick to rush over to her bag and dig her phone out, handing it to Tarquin happily before returning to her spot beside Nesta and Emerie. “I can’t wait to post this on Instagram later.”

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but doesn’t say anything, taking the time to shake out her arms and roll her shoulders. There’s a moment of silence, the anticipation bubbling in the studio, then Mor starts the music and counts everyone in. Nesta makes sure she throws her all into the routine, hitting every pose and move of the choreography with everything she’s got. By the time the music ends, her chest is heaving slightly, hair a bit of a mess around her face, but she finds herself smiling regardless, feels the warmth of pride swelling between her ribs.

“That was so fun,” Gwyn declares, wrapping an arm around Nesta’s and Emerie’s shoulders and tugging them both into side hugs. “We should do this more often.”

“Maybe a proper dance class next time,” Nesta suggests.

“Spoil sport,” Emerie teases with an unimpressed look aimed toward Nesta. “Admit you had fun.”

Nesta sighs softly. “Fine. It wasn’t terrible.”

“Good,” Emerie tells her smugly, unable to hide the smirk tugging across her face. “Now keep the fun going. Which dancer did you decide you’re asking for their number?”

“I’m still not doing that.”

“Yes, you are,” Gwyn sing-songs over her shoulder while she goes to retrieve her phone.

“That was really great, everyone,” Mor announces to the whole class, effectively cutting off Nesta’s argument to her friends. “Now, we have a bit of a surprise to end the class. Our amazing dancers are going to perform for you! Unfortunately, though, if you came in a group, you will have to pick one person since we only have our five amazing dancers.”

“Well, that’s an easy choice for us,” Gwyn snickers quietly.

“Don’t you dare,” Nesta warns lowly, turning her head to glare at each of her friends in turn.

“The birthday girl will be the volunteer for our group,” Emerie declares loudly, all but shoving Nesta forward.

Five chairs are placed in two rows across the studio, and begrudgingly, Nesta settles into the one closest to her. She can still hear Gwyn and Emerie giggling behind her, and she’s sure that Gwyn already has her phone recording to memorialize the moment. The one silver lining to Nesta’s growing annoyance at this turn of events is that Rhysand is her assigned partner it seems, and judging by his face, he’s as unimpressed as she is.

“Are you going to show off more of your core strength?” Nesta asks innocently.

Rhysand rolls his eyes, but before he can make any sort of remark back to her, Cassian sidles up beside him, grinning widely. “Hey, Rhys. I thought we’d switch it up this time with you in the middle. What do you say?”

“Oh, thank the Cauldron,” Rhysand mutters before Cassian even finishes speaking, moving away to the chair placed in the middle of the group, offering the brunette sitting there a friendly smile.

“How’s it going?” Cassian asks Nesta now that it’s just the two of them. “I’m Cassian by the way.”

“I know. Did you forget that they introduced you all at the start of the class?” Nesta shoots back, tilting her head slightly. “Maybe all that Axe body spray has gone to your head.”

“Actually, I prefer Armani. You’re welcome to take a whiff,” Cassian offers, his grin wide and cocky, as he gestures down his body suggestively.

Nesta scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Hard pass.”

The dismissal somehow has his grin growing even more. “Are you going to tell me your name, birthday girl?”

“It’s Nesta, and it’s not technically my birthday until Tuesday.”

“An early birthday present then. Or if you’d prefer, I can wait until Tuesday and wrap myself up in a bow for you.”

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would actually,” Cassian answers, a fire sparking in his hazel eyes that has Nesta unsure if he’s still just teasing or not. “I bet you would too. I saw you staring earlier.”

Nesta’s eyes widen at being so blatantly called out. She tries desperately to swallow down her blush, but already she can feel it creeping up her neck and pooling across her cheeks. She grasps at a clever remark to fire back, the sharp retort that will finally cut this man down where he stands, but she feels so out of her element. She’s not used to playing this game. Not used to someone meeting her every barb stroke for stroke. To someone who not only doesn’t balk from her bite, but seems to relish and excite in it.

“Okay, our five lucky ladies,” Mor cuts in loudly, pressing play on the music. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

That smirk still firmly in place on his face, Cassian settles his large hands on Nesta’s shoulders, sliding down her arms to her wrists. She can feel the calluses on his palms, and she pointedly ignores the way the feel of them against her skin, the warmth of his hands, has goosebumps skittering in their wake.

Cassian leans down to press his lips against Nesta’s ear, breathing quietly, “I hope you’re ready, Nes.”

He drops down to one knee in front of her, taking her right hand in both of his and bringing it up to his mouth. He presses a kiss to the knuckles all while not breaking eye contact, and Nesta tries to subtly swallow hard, staring into the maze of greens and golds. He leans in close again, making as if he’s going to press a kiss to her cheek, but instead, his face presses down toward her lap. As if that’s not startling enough, his head slowly rises until he and Nesta are practically nose to nose, and he fucking winks at her.

The next move of the dance has Cassian standing to his full height, legs straddled either side of Nesta’s lap. He reaches down and grabs her wrists again, placing her hands right on his ass. Nesta hates that she can feel how firm it is beneath her hands, hates that she’s sure her face is flaming red by now. Cassian starts to move his hips to the beat of the music, and it takes everything in Nesta to taper down the startled, uncomfortable laughter from tearing free from her throat.

Cassian steps back from her, and Nesta lets out a soft, relieved sigh, glad she’s finally able to breathe again, but then, Cassian is reaching down to the hem of his tank, pulling it off. It gives Nesta an eyeful of the remaining swirls and lines of his tattoos, of the endless expanse of golden skin covering a hard set of abs and the deep v leading to the waistband of his joggers.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” Cassian teases, a hand under Nesta’s chin lifting her head slightly as he walks around the back of the chair she’s in.

Cassian drops back down to a knee beside her chair, twisting until his shoulders are pressing into her knees while he continues to thrust his hips. Nesta dares to slide her hands down his shoulders and over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the muscles there. He twists again and stands up, this time pulling Nesta to her feet as well. He twirls her around once and pulls her back against his chest, arms secure around her waist while they sway to the final notes of the music.

The other four partners are quick to separate, everyone else in the studio applauding and cheering, but Cassian seems content not to let Nesta go. Nesta clears her throat awkwardly and extricates herself from his arms, keeping her back to him so he won’t be able to read anything on her expression. Already, her heart has started thundering away, and she’s sure he could probably feel it where they were pressed together.

“So, am I asking for your number or are you asking for mine?” Cassian asks, those teasing undertones to his voice letting Nesta know he’s definitely still smirking.

Nesta whips around at the question, her jaw slackening. “If you think that—”

“She’s asking for yours,” Emerie cuts in before Nesta can finish the retort.

Nesta snaps her head toward her friend, glaring daggers at her, but Emerie is unperturbed by the reaction. She merely raises her eyebrows and smirks herself, daring Nesta to do something about it. With an annoyed huff of breath, Nesta goes over to her bag, digging her phone out of the front pocket and walking back, holding it out for Cassian.

She knows the wide grin that tugs across Cassian’s face should further fan the flames of her annoyance, but instead the sight just has her heart skipping a beat while he types his number into her phone. He holds the phone back out to her, the screen displaying where he’s texted himself. When Nesta takes it, he makes sure their fingers brush together, her breath hitching at the sparks that flare through her nerve endings just at that small contact.

Nesta is quick to keep her features schooled. She goes back over to her bag, shoving her phone back in the pocket and shouldering her bag. She turns expectant looks toward Emerie and Gwyn, and thankfully, her friends have finished having their fun and don’t dawdle, each grabbing their own bags and shouting thank you’s to the other dancers and instructor.

“I look forward to our date,” Cassian calls after Nesta as she heads for the studio door.

Nesta can’t help her snort at that. “In your dreams, Magic Mike.”

“Pick you up Tuesday, then.”

—

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 @cassiansbigwingspan @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard

#nessian #nesta archeron #nestaweek2023 #cassian #acotar #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #my fic

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mystical-blaise · 2 years

Text

Building a Mystery: A Gwynriel Drabble

"Fuck!"

The shout echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the ceiling, and had Nesta and Cassian halting on the way to their chambers in the House of Wind. They eyed each other, both her blue and his hazel filled with suspicion.

"Az, you're doing it wrong."

"I know what I'm doing, Berdara."

"Oh, really? You're putting the D in the C when you're supposed to put the D in the A!"

Cassian choked on a laugh. Nesta quickly covered his mouth, putting a finger over her own as she pressed an ear against the Shadowsinger's door.

"For the last time, the D doesn't fit in the A! It's too tight!" Azriel said, and Nesta could feel Cassian's chest moving with his muffled laughter against her back as he loomed over her to join her in eavesdropping.

Gwyn groaned. "Cauldron, can't you just squeeze it in?"

A single snort escaped before Nesta could catch it by covering her mouth.

"Gwyn, I'm telling you, it's too tight! If I push too much, it'll snap!"

"It's literally designed to fit! Bang it in! Make it work!"

There was a distinctive creaking followed by a masculine grunt. Then another.

Thud! Thud! Both rhythmic and telling.

Nesta peered up at her mate, who was staring down at her, amusement lighting his gaze.

We should leave them be, she mouthed up at him. He nodded and when they were peeling themselves away from the door, they heard Gwyn yell, "Harder!"

Thud! Thud!

"Just one more good whack, Azriel! Almost there…"

Thud! Azriel grunted and growled...

"Perfect," Gwyn panted out her praise. "Now, was that so hard? And you didn't break it."

Cassian could not hold in his snorting guffaw at that. Nesta smacked him on the shoulder. The noise, both voice and exertion alike, went totally silent.

Love-tapping an apologetic Cassian in the arm again, Nesta cleared her throat and knocked on the door.

"What?" Azriel asked—no, demanded—through the thick wood, his voice full of an annoyance that he usually only had with his brothers.

"You both all right in there? We heard shouts and—"

With a high-pitched squeal, Gwyn interrupted Nesta. "We're fine! You can go now!"

"You're sure? We heard a lot of racket coming from—"

The door cracked open enough to reveal a shirtless Azriel glistening with sweat, with his arm propped up at the jamb to allow Gwyn to peek through. An equally sweaty and flushed Gwyn. Wearing a rumpled soft cotton shirt and leggings, her copper ponytail was half undone, as if she'd spent half a day flying high over Velaris.

Nesta smiled softly. She wasn't sure what was going on with them—if they'd gotten their shit together and stopped pretending they weren't perfect for each other—but she was happy for them.

Gwyn brought out a side of Azriel rarely seen. A teasing playfulness that had only been reserved for a select few. He laughed now—a lot. And it seemed her friend Gwyneth Berdara had been making it a personal mission, a daily quota, to pull as many smiles and laughs as she could.

Azriel pushed Gwyn in the best possible way. Their equally competitive asses always found something to bet on. And not once had Gwyn backed down, accepting everything he threw at her. Once when Nesta had asked Gwyn about Azriel and their relationship, she merely said, We're just friends, Nesta. Really good friends. He makes me feel safe.

Nesta had taken that moment to offer her observation. I see the way you two look at each other, Gwyn. It's more than friends. You two are just too scared to admit it.

In her typical unruffled Gwyn fashion, she'd brushed Nesta off.

But now, staring at her two friends, sweat-dappled and red with exertion, she wondered if they had finally taken a new step.

"There. Proof of life," Azriel grumbled. "Satisfied?"

Nesta's smile curled up on one side. "For now." Turning her attention to the redhead tucked beneath the Shadowsinger's powerful arm, she asked, "We were concerned with all the yelling. What were you up to?"

"We were building bookshelves," her friend returned a little too quickly.

"Building bookshelves? Is that what you are calling it these days?"

"Good for you, Az," Cassian chimed in. "Nes and I built a whole damn library last night, too."

Azriel's forehead made a thud as it met the door.

Nesta turned and punched Cassian in the shoulder at the same time as Gwyn.

"Fuck that hurts! But nice form," the giant Illyrian baby said as he rubbed his arm.

Gwyn's sweet face tilted up to Azriel's and dipped in the barest nod. With a sigh, he moved aside and swung an arm toward the inside of his personal space.

Chaos.

Absolute chaos.

A mess.

Papers and boxes and tools were strewn about. Piles and piles of books. And behind it?

Two tall bookcases; one empty and one now full. And Nesta couldn't help but notice the titles were mostly…romance and adventures.

Some of Gwyn's absolute favorites.

"Gwyn likes to read in here," Azriel explained, clutching his neck at the nape.

"I just like your chair."

His lips twitched. "So, I wanted her to be able to come in here to read whenever she wants without having to lug up her favorite books every time." He featured with disdain to the bookshelves. "I had to buy those from a store and put them together. I'd rather have made them from scratch, but with the missions—"

Gwyn's hand took his, lacing them together. She squeezed. "It's perfect, Shadowsinger."

He offered a small smile and Nesta swore Azriel was blushing as he said, "You deserve more than labeled pieces of cheap wood, Berdara. I promise I'll build you something nicer."

And Nesta watched as Gwyn bounded over the debris to show off her present, Azriel right there to make sure she didn't impale herself on any tools. The shadows swathing around them, serene and lingering, as if they too could see the change before them.

Cassian took Nesta's hand as they relished in their dear friends' happiness and excitement.

Yes, those two were indeed building something.

#gwyneth x azriel #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel supremacy #azgwyn #gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara x azriel #gwyn acotar #gwynriel fanfiction #pro gwyn #gwyn x az #pro gwynriel #gwynriel drabble #cassian x nesta #nessian #house of wind #house of wind gang

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Text

Chapter 15 (the shit will kick off in the next chapter)

‘I’m not nervous,’ Nesta hissed for the third time on their journey to the sprawling River House.

‘Your hands are slimy.’

To hammer home the point, Azriel broke free of her hold and wiped his palm down his leg.

‘I’m not nervous,’ she repeated. ‘They’re just sweating. They always sweat in February.’

‘The tragic affliction of sweaty palm February. Maybe Madja can cure it.’

No matter how many times she tried to brush it off or deny it, Nesta was nervous. She’d prolonged the work she usually ploughed through. Changed clothes three times. Threw herself on the bed with a yowl after staring at her reflection. Re-braided her coronet four times, claiming it was uneven. Azriel could practically hear the drumming of her pulse as the massive house came into view.

‘We don’t need to come here if you’re scared. It’s not important.’

‘It is,’ she reassured him. Her brows drew downwards and her mouth twisted. ‘They’re your family. We can’t just avoid them forever. I don’t want you to lose them.’

Azriel shrugged one shoulder in response. ‘I don’t care. If they don’t accept us then I’m done with them.’

‘Don’t speak so flippantly. I’m not worth you throwing everything away.’

His grip on her chin was firm, demanding her attention. Silver flames churned in her irises, a glimpse of that impossible power that lurked in her depths.

‘You are everything.’

Azriel forced Nesta to hold his stare, to let those words settle rather than her scurrying away. He could be intense, Azriel knew it was a flaw. How could he love without giving all of himself? It wasn’t love otherwise.

Nesta’s hand settled on his chest. ‘You’ll be with me?’

They ought to feel ashamed that Nesta had to bolster her courage to see them. It flamed his anger to know that they’d lay out her flaws to examine to tear holes into her. Nesta didn’t need to wear her armour with him. He wouldn’t let them get close; Azriel would cut off the hand of any who dared to raise it against her.

‘Always.’ He murmured, taking the hand from his chest to press a kiss to her fingers. ‘Always.’

Thankfully, the house was quiet. It was the best he could have hoped for. Only Rhys was home so Nesta didn’t need to walk into a busy room where all eyes would swarm her. There was wary surprise on Rhys’ face when he greeted them, but it shifted into polished hospitality when Azriel asked if they could burden them at dinner time.

It was strange and awkward like dancing blindfolded. The parlour was too quiet. Its dark green drapes were peeled back to allow the harsh February sun to filter through the tall windows. Yet the light seemed to shirk from Rhys’ presence, his magic was an unseen force that demanded attention. Rhys seemed to be treading carefully, managing his words before speaking to not ruffle any of Nesta’s feathers. It was reflected in her; she asked hesitant questions about him and his day. The small talk didn’t suit any of them, but Azriel would keep trying to build that bridge between Nesta and Rhys. It should have been built long ago; they were in-laws after all. Even if they didn’t want to face it, they were similar people too.

‘We went to the Summer Court for dinner.’

‘I did wonder why I woke to a letter from Varian enquiring why you were spying in the open.’

Az chuckled then tugged Nesta down to a couch to try and settle her nerves. He never wanted to be the centre of attention, but he’d endure it for her. ‘The shells we stole are ours. We won’t be surrendering them. Should we expect a blood ruby?’

‘A blood ruby?’

‘The Summer Court like to send a ruby to an individual who they’ve marked for death,’ Rhys explained, ‘Very civilised. But I shouldn’t think so. Unless you were spying.’

‘Not spying. Just enjoying a dinner with the sunset then a walk along the beach.’

‘What a romantic you’ve turned him into,’ Rhys teased.

‘Shame no blood ruby, it would look beautiful in a necklace for you.’

Rhys let out a wheeze. ‘Hasn’t he lavished jewellery on you yet, Nesta? Am I not paying you enough? Or are you tastes so extravagant that Azriel can’t afford them?’

He was pleased to see Nesta’s small smile. She hid it quick enough but it had been real. ‘Azriel knows exactly what I want.’

Rhys’ violet eyes passed between them both in expectation until Azriel finally let out a groan. ‘She is desperate for a cat. They leave hair everywhere.’

‘Then we’ll get a black one, it’s the only colour you wear. The hair will blend right in. I never ask you for anything.’ Nesta crossed her arms in front of her chest, all steel and flame, and in that moment, she was the formidable female who’d pointed at the king of Hybern even as she was dragged into the Cauldron.

‘You asked me to take you to Rosehall next week.’

She made a noise like she was winded. ‘To see your own mother!’

It wasn’t an easy camaraderie, but it was a beginning. Azriel had to wonder if Nesta and Rhys had ever had a conversation where they weren’t at each other’s throats. Nesta didn’t start fights, but she certainly had no qualms in finishing them. Her fingers wound around a tassel on the cushion as they spoke of developments in Illyria. Nesta listened in keenly, but there was a rigidity still in her body that never came at home. She was still uncomfortable here, cowed by Rhys’ presence. Azriel kept his hand on her thigh, attempting to soothe her.

The anxiety was only made worse by the arrival of Elain and Feyre. The sisters arrived, chatting amicably between themselves. Feyre’s hair was drawn back into a braid and dark paint was still smeared across her freckled cheek. Elain had her gardening basket dangling from the crook of her elbow, talking about crocus bulbs coming into bloom. They stopped at the sight of them gathered in the parlour. Az caught the sudden stiffness in Feyre’s shoulders. Elain dipped her head downwards, shame burning in her cheeks from the previous day’s conversation with Nesta - and Lucien as an audience member.

‘Did you run out of room on your canvas, Feyre darling?’ Rhys strode to his mate, slipping his arms around her with a familiarity that Azriel had once longed for in his own life. He brushed his thumb against the smudge of paint.

‘It’s been so long, I wondered if you’d forgotten where we lived,’ said Feyre, ice seeping into her tone as she took in Nesta’s brittle frame on the emerald couch.

Nesta’s words came swifter than Azriel’s with a viper’s smile for good measure. ‘Well, you have five houses. It can be difficult to keep track.’

The first blood had been drawn. Azriel readied his shadows to swallow them and take Nesta somewhere good. To valleys flooded with wildflowers or a quiet piece of paradise on an island near Summer. Anywhere where her sisters wouldn’t face her like opponents.

‘I need. I need to wash up,’ Elain said, brandishing her hands to them though Azriel could see no traces of mud on them. ‘It’s chilly today, isn’t it? A nice warm bath will be lovely.’

Elain turned on her heels, keeping her head up as she made for the curling oak staircase, her pale pink skirts swirling as she took the stairs two at a time.

Feyre’s eyes were glazed at a point on the wall and Rhys remained still then both of them relaxed at the same time. Feyre blinked. Her expression softened at Nesta’s fingers tangled in his own, hidden into the skirts of her pewter gown. ‘I need to scrub this paint off. You’ll stay for dinner?’

When Rhys followed his mate out of the room, he threw an encouraging smile over his shoulder as if to say they were winning round Feyre to their cause. But they shouldn’t need to win anybody to their side. There were no sides.

Nesta’s grey eyes burnt into his face. Reluctantly, Azriel faced her. She sat as a queen, straight-backed, face carefully neutral from manoeuvring her way through endless attempts at character assassination.

‘Two cats.’

‘I’ll buy you a lion if we make it through this dinner.’

She raised a single brow then her grey eyes landed on his clothing. ‘A panther so the fur matches your clothing at least.’

***

Nesta’s fingers stretched Azriel’s across the keys into position. They glided with purpose over the ridges of his scars, savouring every bank and tributary that marked him as different.

The piano had needed tuning which Nesta had done her best at and Azriel claimed it only existed as in the house as decoration as none of them knew how to play any instruments. Without sheet music, Nesta did her best to remember tunes that had been memorised in her hours of lessons.

Rather than feeling like the two outcasts while the residents of the River House hid in their rooms, Azriel had taken her to the piano – and she was not about to let him have a respite from conquering his own discomfort either. Spread over the ivory keys, his scars were on full display. It was only them in the room, she reminded him. She taught him chords; his fingers clunky at first as he switched between them. With practice, Azriel repeated them with precision as Nesta played a tune at a higher octave. It was fun to play together – especially as these were melodies her tutors taught her at the end of the lessons once her mother’s hawk-like eyes had departed to scrutinise her husband instead. They were light and jolly, unbefitting of a nice, young lady.

She was aware of eyes on them as the others returned with the smell of dinner summoning them from their rooms. Nesta kept on playing even after Azriel had surrendered his hands back to the sanctity of shadows. He stayed with her on the stool though, kissing her cheek and shoulder, trying to put her off with a teasing smirk. Her fingers flew across the keys, muscle memory flooding back to her. Music had never been easy, it had required hours of practise with Nesta having no natural talent for it, as much as she wished she did. Every good young lady ought to be able to play though, her mother had said often enough. The piano was more suitable with tutors easier to find and most homes of their associates containing one, but the harp was a sign of wealth she had claimed. It left Nesta’s fingers calloused and sore, the vast number of strings too difficult for her initially. But she was too stubborn to ever tell her mother it was too hard.

‘I remember mother and father would invite you to play for their dinner guests,’ Elain said as Nesta’s playing came to a stop.

‘It wasn’t an invitation. I was trotted out like their performing pony.’

Elain went on, ‘I’d feel so envious that you were allowed to stay up late.’

How dreamily she thought of their past, ignorant to the ways in which their mother stamped on her children to force them into the form she wanted. Elain at least did escape most of it. Their mother filled her head with pretty songs and romance as she put her in dresses like a doll while her friends cooed over how beautiful Elain was.

‘We should eat,’ Feyre said, gesturing towards the dining room, her distaste still tugging at her brow.

The wraiths had cooked enough for all of them, seemingly knowing that Rhys and Feyre would house any stray who came for dinner.

Azriel’s hand brushed against Nesta’s then his brows rose in surprise. ‘Sweaty palm February still in full swing or are they nerves?’

‘I’ll have your shadows gag you tonight.’

His breath was hot on her ear as he closed in like a wolf. ‘It is my turn to do what I want with you tonight or did you forget?’

A cold breeze swept in as the front door swung open. Mor and Cassian froze on the step. Shadows moved to obscure them from view, but the pair had seen enough intimacy already; Azriel with his body inches behind Nesta’s, lips hovering over the point of her ear with a hand on her hip as he guided them towards the dining room.

Nesta latched onto Azriel’s hand before he could reach Truth-Teller. This did not have to be a blood bath. She did not want him to cleave the bonds between his family for her.

‘Keep walking,’ she said, hauling him forwards with her despite their fumbling steps.

They took to their seats. Azriel’s worry thrummed in his veins. His eyes flickered to the two doors then to the window like a candle flame unable to steady itself. She clutched his hand beneath the table if only to calm him.

Mor made her displeasure known with a rueful shake of her head though her demeanour changed as she greeted the others with a bright, beautiful smile.

The high lord sensed the tension, but before he could intervene the door knocked.

‘Who the hell is that? Amren’s in Summer,’ Mor muttered, twisting her neck to peer around the doorway.

Never in her wildest dreams did Nesta think she’d rejoice at the sight of Lucien Vanserra striding into the room, but she did. A breath whooshed from her lungs at his appearance. They were not drawing up sides for a battle, she told herself again, but the number was even now.

Rhys dictated the conversation, steering it into the blandest topics imaginable where it seemed safest. Elain, to her credit, helped him, offering in depth reviews of trowels she’d purchased – all the while refusing to even look at Lucien for more than a moment. Nesta didn’t know how when he was the most striking male in the room. His red hair caught the faelight. Amongst the drab black outfits of the other three males, Lucien stood out for his well-tailored attire. The dark green jacket was vined with golden thread and worn over a cream shirt and fawn-coloured breeches. A thin braid drew his hair from his temple. The golden eye and scar were secondary to his impeccable fashion sense.

Despite the careful conversation, Azriel’s worry still pulsed like a bleeding wound beside her. His shadows circled like sharks. Cassian’s eyes were a brand against Nesta’s skin, searing hot demanding her attention too. She could not bring herself to look at him. The word mate bubbled on her tongue, a poison that wanted to trap her. Between the two of them, Nesta felt trapped. They were two stags whose antlers would clash before the night was out, Nesta had little doubt. She hated it. She wished they hadn’t come. It wasn’t worth the tension that grasped her lungs.

Mor made her displeasure known through actions, purposefully not passing any dishes to them despite Azriel’s polite requests, squeaking her fork across the plate, slamming her glass down. It was petty and petulant, but so delightfully Morrigan.

It felt less like a dinner and more of survival for Nesta. Each mouthful reminded her of her first days in Velaris when the food overpowered her senses, when she had to concentrate on chewing and swallowing like she was learning it for the first time.

When she finished her glass of water, Cassian’s hand enclosed around it, filling it for her in an instant. Nesta forced herself to look at him, to do the polite thing and thank him for a basic kindness. In his eyes, she saw every desperate longing now it had pushed its way to the surface. A longing for her, the bond, for his brother back. She remembered the tender way he’d cradled her face and vowed that he would find her in every life. Nesta had to look away, the memories cutting too deeply.

The dessert went down like oil, slicking the back of Nesta’s throat and unsettling her stomach. It was a relief when Azriel announced that they were leaving for the tavern. Although disdain had smothered the room like cobwebs, Nesta still wanted to broker for peace for Azriel’s benefit. This was a family he had lived alongside for five hundred years. She could afford to try a little harder. For him, she would.

‘Would anybody like to accompany us?’

The words sounded like a death knell.

‘What a nasty piece of work you are.’

Azriel stilled. Heat flared in Nesta’s cheeks at Mor’s words. She realised then it might have come across like a slap in the face to Cassian, to watch them together, but Nesta hadn’t intended as such. She opened her mouth to explain that she had only tried to offer friendship, but Azriel had stepped in front of her.

‘Morrigan, you will apologise.’

‘For what?’ Mor demanded, throwing a hand in the air. ‘For saying the truth. Did you come here just to rub it in Cassian’s face?’

A crackle of static shot through the room. Shadows slithered over the faelights, muting their glow. His cobalt siphons flared bright enough to make Nesta squint.

Nesta did not want this. Did not want Azriel turning on his family because of her, because Nesta knew it would be another thing they blamed her for.

‘I’ve cut out tongues for less,’ he said, voice so eerily quiet that it made Elain shift with discomfort. Mor had gone pale.

‘Azriel,’ Rhys said, voice seeped with command.

Rhys wouldn’t be able to talk him down, not in this mood. Azriel’s face was thunderous, a tempest battering against the seams for a release. He meant his words, that he would always defend her. Nesta only wished he didn’t have to.

‘Az, let’s go. It’s not worth this.’ She reserved calling him that name only when necessary, because it always snagged his attention hearing it from her. Despite the eyes on them, Nesta tucked her hand into is. A declaration that she did not fear his wrath. That they were united.

Without words, she pleaded with him to just let it go. It was not worth causing a war. Azriel’s lips pursed, but his shadows returned to him instead of coating the room with their darkness. Nesta had seen enough violence. His chin dipped then a tender kiss was pressed to her forehead.

‘I’ll go,’ Lucien said, rising from his chair with a genial smile. ‘It’s difficult to come by a good drink in the mortal lands – and if I can wash it down with music, even better.’

Once again, Nesta was grateful for Lucien. She owed him one hell of a Solstice present next winter. To her great surprise, Rhys drained his glass and announced he’d join them too.

‘I don’t think I’ve been to the Dragon’s Claw since I was in my twenties. I imagine the décor is the same.’

Cassian rose too, but he exited the room, exited the house. The frame shuddered as the front door was slammed. His rancour tasted of acid, cloying Nesta’s senses.

Mor’s chair clattered to the floor as she pushed away from the table.

‘This is fucking ridiculous. You should be ashamed.’

Her blonde hair swayed as she departed too.

Unperturbed, Rhys turned to Elain. ‘Would you like to see a wild night in Velaris, Elain?’

‘Oh. No, thank you. I need to wake early to tend to an elderly female’s front garden.’

‘Just the five of us, it is.’

Feyre folded her arms. ‘I have plans.’

The flash of hurt on Rhys’ face was unmissable. And Nesta hated the wedge that was driven between them just as Elain had told her was happening. It was never Nesta’s intention to cause this great divide amongst them.

***

Even the brisk wind could not cool Nesta’s cheeks on the walk to the tavern. Shame burnt in Azriel’s chest for the pitiful reception they’d received from his family. He knew it would be difficult, but that had been fucking awful. Nesta didn’t deserve it.

Lucien had offered her his arm, claiming he wanted to talk about a mortal tradition he’d come across. Azriel saw through the lie, but found he did not care. He couldn’t find the words to apologise to her for his family’s rudeness. She spoke quietly to the male, their heads dipped together walking ahead.

There was a nudge in his ribs. ‘Can I show you something?’

He gave Rhys the briefest nod. He doubted anything could brighten his mood, but at least Rhys was trying to reach out his hand to both of them.

Azriel was seeing Nesta through another’s eyes – Elain’s – in their apartment. The hurt on Nesta’s face was unbearable. Elain’s betrayal as she tried to persuade Nesta to become Cassian’s friend with the hope of accepting the bond to make things easier for the group.

‘Are you showing me this so I’ll drown myself in the Sidra?’

Rhys winked, but the memory continued pushing into Azriel’s mind, the way Nesta drew herself up full height and rooted her feet like a tree.

I am in love with Azriel. He is my partner, Elain. He is the male that I want to father my children.

Breath caught in his lungs at Nesta’s declaration.

Lucien gestured for her to enter the tavern, holding the door for her, as Nesta gave him a mock curtsey.

Azriel couldn’t speak, too overwhelmed by her words.

Rhys tipped back his head in light laughter at his loss for words then he clapped him on the back. ‘The others will come around.’

***

In any other scenario, this would have been a cause for joy for all of them. Azriel who had suffered more than any, who still struggled with his demons, happy. Rhys had never seen his brother this way before. Nesta had given him security, but it pushed him out of his comfort zone too.

Never before would Azriel have volunteered to dance, but Nesta’s foot had been bobbing the whole time the band played, her lips moving with the songs as she sang under her breath. Once others had begun dancing to the lesser fae band, Azriel had taken her hand and refused to accept her no.

It wasn’t a ballroom for romantic waltzes. It was a hot, sticky-floored tavern with little space to move. Ale sloshed out of tankards as people fought to their seats. Azriel had taken Nesta to the edge where the shadows were densest and their arms were around each other. Rhys watched her lips moving again, singing along as she gazed up at Azriel. All defences were down for both of them. The first real love for either of them.

Rhys felt through his bond and pushed against Feyre’s shields. She didn’t open them at first, still angry on Cassian’s behalf. Another stroke and promise then she reluctantly let them down.

What?

You still don’t want to join us, Feyre darling?

I’m busy.

Rhys sent what he was seeing to his mate. Nesta threading her fingers through Azriel’s hair, her still singing quietly to him, a smile curving her lip while he swayed them on the spot, leaning forwards to kiss her brow.

How can you not be happy for them?

I’m glad they’ve found joy but it’s at the expense of Cassian’s.

The heart can’t choose who it loves. We of all people should know that.

Her mental shields went back up hastily. It was difficult for Feyre to understand. She had only found goodness from their mating bond; she did not know how horribly wrong the Cauldron could make them. For all that he loved Cassian, him and Nesta would turn breakfast into a battleground. They were both all fire, all hot temper. They didn’t need someone who would fan the flames into an inferno, they needed one who could calm it. And Nesta had found that in Azriel. He knew when to push and when to back off, when to comfort and when to fight. Azriel never did anything in the heat of the moment, always managed to leash himself enough to measure his options. It was how Rhys knew that this relationship had not been a rash decision.

Since arriving to Velaris, Feyre had bonded with Mor and Cassian. It was natural for her to feel Cassian’s pain, but she saw herself in it. There were parallels to their own story with Tamlin which she didn’t want to face. Feyre didn’t know Azriel well enough. The changes now were noticeable; he looked refreshed, he smiled easier, didn’t skulk in the shadows. But Feyre had only ever known him as the quiet shadow singer.

Only Rhys and Cassian knew the boy who would keep himself awake all night by standing against a wall because nightmares had him screaming. He only slept when his body demanded he drop down and take an hour or two. Az had looked sickly, never sleeping, muddying through training with his sharp instincts and shadows keeping him alive. The boy who hated fires and could not be in the same room as them. Where Cassian had never had warmth and loved to sit as close as he could to the flames, Azriel reviled them. It had taken him a long time to even be able to light one. They had crashed a Calanmai party in their youth when citizens could pass borders in celebration of the Rite and Az had taken one look at all the bonfires and turned white.

Rhys remembered asking his mother if Azriel could even talk. For the first year that his mother brought Azriel into the house, Az was more of a spectre, never speaking, eating little. Just him and his shadows. Sometimes he’d erupt over the slightest thing, seemingly out of nowhere, his mood a sudden tempest as if a dam had been holding back the flood for long enough. Rhys had memories of him checking all the windows and doors at night time to ensure that he could unlock them, how his fingers would shake as he turned the key in case that he was locked in. Azriel had come a long, long way from the traumatised boy he had been. If Feyre knew him then, Rhys had little doubts that she’d be brought to her knees by his happiness now.

Cassian always bounced back. It was his nature to see the good in things. He was an optimist through and through. He’d always had a grin on his face fighting bigger boys, starting arguments with males double his size when he’d just been a weed. It was better to support Az and Nesta, to ride out the storm with them, knowing that Cassian would cool one day than to push them away. More than being a brother, Azriel was invaluable to the Night Court. For his skills, his shadow singer abilities, and the intel he collected. Azriel knew all the secret corners of Prythian where to lurk. And Nesta had a deep well of power that throbbed within her. Rhys could feel it when her temper flared, pushing at the sides, wanting to escape. If they pushed them away, they could lose them entirely. He had to gamble that Cassian was too loyal to ever leave no matter how much it broke his heart over what could have been.

Lucien had called for another round of drinks – and something stronger over ice in a tall glass.

‘You look as if you need that.’

Rhys tipped it back quickly without letting the taste soak onto his tongue. It was bad enough down his throat.

‘I’m trying to work out your angle, Lucien.’

‘Care to explain?’

Rhys ran a finger around the rim of his pewter tankard. ‘How does it benefit you to be here? On one hand, Nesta is Elain’s fiercest protector so winning her around would surely be beneficial to your own cause.’ Lucien observed him carefully, mechanical eye whirring as it scanned his face. ‘Then again to encourage her to sever the bond might lead to the demise of your own. I can’t work out what’s in it for you. You’ve never been a friend to Nesta or Azriel.’

Lucien linked his slender fingers together. This male was raised by Beron’s fists. He never gave anything away; he was too good at managing his emotions.

‘Not all of us spend each moment calculating how they can profit, Rhysand. Is it not enough to see two people happy after a war nearly cleaved all we loved?’

How Nesta knew all the words to every song was a mystery. The piano playing had also been a surprise. She was still singing along with the band, squeezing Az’s arms around her as shadows slithered around them, utterly at ease.

‘I was on the ship with their father, Rhysand. He had a thousand questions about his little, darling Elain. I have his approval if anything comes to be,’ he said with a bitter laugh. ‘He was delighted that Feyre had mated a wealthy high lord and was now a high lady of Prythian.’ Lucien’s eyes flicked over to Nesta. ‘Not a single question about Nesta. Not one. When I asked him if he wanted to know how Nesta was, he said that he had little doubts that she was taking care of herself.’

Azriel’s arms locked her to his chest. He’d seen Azriel’s possessiveness a handful of times with females that he’d grown fond of during their wild youth. He never wanted more than a night with a lover though. Never let them in. This was different. It was possessiveness but protection. Azriel would shield Nesta from weapons or words. He’d topple empires and turn rivers red in her honour.

She twisted in his arms to lean up and kiss his cheek. It was a display of affection that Rhys never thought he’d see from Nesta. Hell, from either of them. Especially not together.

‘Nesta needed somebody who would put her first. Who’d love her for who she was. I’m sorry that it isn’t her mate for the benefit of his own heart, but this is real and it’s easy to support.’ Lucien took a long drink of his ale. ‘There’s no agenda. Love should be celebrated.’

@chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @theleafpile @loysydark @rarephloxes @wannawriteyouabook @misteryhen

I'm imagining them dancing to this song and this one

#nesta vs the buffer #nezriel

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thewayshedreamed · 2 years

Text

Somewhere, Part 21

Cassian POV

> Somewhere masterlist

a/n: Thank y'all for being so patient. I hit another wall with writing in general lately, and this fic suffered as a result. I hope this dose of Cassian makes up for it! As always, comments are welcome and appreciated! I love hearing y'all's thoughts along the way!

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Cassian’s alarm went off at its usual time, but he’d begun to stir several minutes prior. He’d stayed in bed as a small act of rebellion against his biological clock, but energy bristling beneath the surface of his skin vibrated with a renewed vigor at the shrill sound. Slapping at the clock, he used his other hand to rub roughly over his face. The day wasn’t going to start itself.

Why had he agreed to meet Rhys and Azriel at the gym on a Monday morning? They weren’t complete strangers to meeting before work throughout the week, but Mondays rarely made the cut in favor of easing into the work week. Cassian had a feeling his brothers were fussing over him in their own way, trying to keep his head on straight with all the recent changes in his life. A part of him felt touched by the gesture, but a larger part of him resented the implication.

With a groan, he pulled his heavy legs over the side of the bed and lifted his arms in a long stretch. The rest of his routine went by smoothly, and within thirty minutes, he was clothed, hydrated, and driving to the gym. He was the first to arrive, not totally surprising as it related to Azriel, but it was a toss-up between himself and Rhys some days.

His little brother pulled up moments later, as if Cassian had manifested him by thoughts alone. They offered each other a casual nod, yet made no moves to get out of their cars until Azriel arrived. The three of them had a long-established understanding to walk in and out together. Maybe it was superstition, brotherly routine, or some other strange ritual, but they very rarely deviated.

Cassian decided to use the free moments to send a text to Nesta. Have a good day, sweetheart. Miss you.

With the time difference, Nesta would have been at work for a while. Her response would likely be delayed by a couple of hours when she was able to take her lunch break, but he wanted her to know he’d been thinking of her regardless.

With almost poetic timing, Azriel pulled into the empty space between Cassian and Rhys. The three of them got out of their cars and made their way toward the gym doors. It was the perfect opportunity to tug his brothers close for a morning hug, an arm around their necks, complete with a dose of positivity.

“Morning,” he cooed, tousling Azriel’s hair for good measure. “Who wants to spot me first?”

Azriel glared through his side eye and lifted a scarred hand to tame the wild wisps of ink he called hair. “Rhys does.”

Their youngest brother scoffed, but he returned Cassian’s affection with a casual arm across his back. Rhys was always the one to most readily return his affections despite their tendency to challenge one another. Perhaps challenge wasn't a strong enough word, but Cassian was feeling generous.

“Ignoring the fact that you feel entitled to go first— I’ll do it.” Before Cassian could offer any gratitude, a rogue smile tugged at his brother’s mouth. “When you inevitably wear out, it’ll be Azriel’s burden to make sure you don’t crush yourself on the next set.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but kept them fixed straight ahead. Cassian dropped his arms and paused his steps, indignant.

“When is the last time either of you had to bail me out?” he demanded.

Neither of them stopped walking until they reached the door. Azriel opened it and gestured Rhysand forward, still with his trademark morning scowl etched into his features. Turning to find Cassian still planted on the asphalt, he jerked his head toward the door to hurry him along.

Cassian broke into a light jog, deciding he’d irritated his brother enough for one day. For the time being, anyway. He offered Az a genuine grin and clapped him on the shoulder in thanks.

“Glad you’re here, brother.”

Azriel grunted, but out of the corner of his eye, Cassian noticed the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

It had to be a new personal record in drawing Az out of his morning mood.

—

Their workout had been grueling and productive. Cassian’s body hurt in places it hadn’t in some time, and he supposed it had something to do with the bit of off-time he’d taken while Nesta was in Velaris.

He hadn’t stopped training completely, but it hadn’t been particularly easy to convince himself to peel out of bed on the mornings he woke to Nesta curled tightly against his side. He had no shame in admitting it was no contest.

Overall, the morning's training session had gone well. It was his mouth that had gotten him into trouble when Rhys had asked if they were in the mood for some sparring. Cassian had teased that whoever won between Rhys and Azriel could fight him next as a finale of sorts.

Both brothers had muttered their versions of “cocky bastard” under their breaths for insinuating that fighting him would be an earned privilege. Since he’d felt so confident, they had decided, Cassian could fight them simultaneously.

That was how he’d had his ass properly kicked before 7:00 on a Monday morning.

If he felt inclined to give himself some credit, he’d lasted longer than any of them could have expected. If not for Azriel’s swift kick, knocking Cassian’s legs from underneath him, he may have managed even longer. Az had timed the move perfectly when Cassian dodged a punch from Rhys, and in a flash, he was blinking up at the gym’s buzzing, fluorescent lights.

Pricks.

The morning had been filled with laughs, lasting through breakfast. It was easy to get carried away with catching up, and Cassian noticed almost too late that he needed to clean-up and head into the office.

He’d made it on-time, probably early by anyone else’s standards, but the brisk pace of the morning set the tone for a busy start of the week. Mondays were a bit of a catch-up day all-around, but Cassian had spent the entire morning being pulled from one colleague’s office to another for advice or an impromptu consult. For someone who hadn’t put his ass in a chair or had any time to take a deep breath, he had little to show for his productivity by lunchtime.

The afternoon would have to suffice for taking care of his own duties. He was determined to establish a boundary for the remaining hours of the day, and in doing so, he thought he could very well finish-up everything by quitting time. Going into Tuesday behind already didn’t bode well for his future self.

His boss, Helion, had no qualms about derailing his plan, it seemed. He barreled into Cassian’s small workspace some time after lunch, larger than life, and made a show of knocking as he entered. In his irritation, Cassian had to bite his tongue to avoid spelling out how pointless knocking was if it happened upon or after entering.

He didn’t get a second to say much of anything before he found himself summoned to follow Helion to his office on the next floor. They made small talk on the way, but it did little to keep Cassian’s mind from imagining what the meeting would entail. For a moment, he considered that he may have missed a scheduled meeting on his calendar, but if that were the case, he figured he would have been summoned by the executive assistant.

Before he could succumb to the obsession, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He sneaked a glance at the screen while he eased himself into a plush leather chair and struggled to keep his smile in check at Nesta’s belated reply. Miss you, too.

His thumb was poised to lock his screen, but a second message gave him pause. He wished he’d been more swift. I just finished dinner. About to treat myself to a large glass of wine and a bubble bath.

The text was innocent enough. He could nearly hear the fatigue between her words, but the mental image was the last thing he could afford at the onset of a seemingly important meeting. His eyes slammed shut for a beat as he shoved his phone into the front pocket of his slacks.

“Sorry to pull you last minute like this, but you stay so busy that I thought it best to grab you while I could.”

“I understand. It’s no problem.” Lie, but he assumed the truth wouldn’t land well. Cassian leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankle over a knee, silently urging his boss to get on with what he needed to say.

Once settled behind his desk, Helion leaned back in his chair and fixed his attention on Cassian. His expression was casual enough for Cassian to loose a breath.

“I won’t take much of your time, but I wanted to talk to you about the most recent quarterly data.”

Cassian managed a nod, hoping his confused expression didn’t seem antagonistic.

“The numbers look great— all trending in the right direction. When I looked at individual trends over the last quarter; however, yours were lower than that have been historically.”

Irritation pricked at the nape of Cassian’s neck. He’d almost leaned into guilt first, wondering if his time with Nesta had distracted him from his usual standards as far as work was concerned. But just as quickly, he was annoyed. No shit, his numbers were down. He spent the majority of his time consulting with his colleagues, helping them navigate their own accounts and contributing to their productivity. It wasn’t in him to tell them all to fuck off— especially if they needed help— in favor of his own benchmarks.

Joke was on him, he guessed.

“I see.” He gave himself an imaginary clap on the back for the even tone of his voice. “I’ll keep a closer eye on the metrics moving forward.”

That was as much as he dared promise. Committing to any specifics didn’t feel wise, especially knowing how his priorities had shifted in the last couple of months.

“I was prepared to bring you in to orient back to the common goal, maybe give some encouragement—”

“No need.” Shit. Interrupting Helion wasn’t his brightest move, but he committed. “I’ll refocus.”

“That’s not—” Helion began, shaking his head as if to clear some imaginary fog. “That’s not what I meant. Sure, that way my original intention, but I did some extra digging. I looked at data over the last several quarters, and you know what I noticed?”

Clearly not. “No, I’m not sure I see where this is going.”

“There’s a pattern, Cassian. There’s an inverse relationship between your department’s numbers and your own. When yours are lower, the department on the whole is at peak performance.”

Cassian stared at him, blinking. If his boss dared to insinuate that he was the dead weight, that was when his composure would disintegrate.

“It’s a consistent pattern, so I asked around and paid closer attention. What helps the department thrive is you, Cassian. What we lose in your personal productivity when you’re supporting the others, we gain exponentially in their individual outputs. You do more for this organization by physically doing less, believe it or not.”

Helion huffed an ironic-sounding laugh, and Cassian kept blinking as if trying to communicate by morse code. After another beat, he cleared his throat. If nothing else, he was relieved to know he didn’t have to defend his day-to-day operations.

“I’m glad you looked into it. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m not pulling my weight.”

Helion grinned. “Quite the opposite. You run around here far too busy for someone who doesn’t contribute. What makes the most sense to me is to make sure your duties allow you the ability to carry on in the same capacity.” He allowed a beat of silence, presumably to gauge Cassian’s reaction. “I’d like you to consider a different role with us as Marketing Director. You would continue supporting the marketing team with strategy, campaign execution, and the like. In addition to that, you would be the first point of contact for each project lead, collaborate with the business department with regard to budgetary supports and future opportunities for growth. There are few additional responsibilities, but depending on your interest, I thought I could forward the description via email to give you time to review.”

For a man who was supposed to anticipate the future of the marketing firm for a living, Cassian hadn’t seen the offer coming. They’d never had such a position within the organization before, but he supposed with recent growth, the need was there. Information swarmed his brain at record speed, but his interest was piqued, for sure. The timing wasn’t ideal, but fortunately, he had plenty of experience with faulty timing.

“I don’t know what to say,” he croaked, finally. “I appreciate the offer. I’m definitely interested, but I wouldn’t want to give you an answer before I review the rest of the information.”

Helion lifted a hand in understanding. “No need. We want you to weigh your options. Your current position is still available to you if that seems a better fit, but we’ll need a director to manage the workload you’ve carried for months. Working in your current capacity isn’t sustainable with the way things are moving.”

Cassian knew that, but something in him bristled at the idea of staying in his current position and someone else doing the job he was obviously qualified to do. Helion made a strong case for considering all angles, though. His mid- to long-term plans had started to look a lot different as of late, and he didn’t know how this aligned with them.

“I understand. Send me the information, and I’ll take a look. When do you need a decision?”

“Well, there’s no major sense of urgency yet, but it does keep the weight of the world on your shoulders the longer you wait. I could forward the description as soon as you leave. From there, how about a meeting to touch base in a week’s time? I’ll have a Human Resources representative present, that way there’s someone to answer your questions around compensation, benefits, and whatever else.”

Helion chair squeaked as he stood, extending his hand to Cassian to shake. He stood as well, accepting Helion’s hand with a broad, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Helion. I’ll keep you posted.”

—

The rest of the day went by in a bit of a blur. As though the universe aimed to prove a point, Cassian got pulled in every direction for the remainder of the day. His plans for getting caught up before quitting time were laughable, in retrospect.

Determined not to let the work pile up and steamroll him into the weekend, he’d parked himself at his dining room table with his laptop and a large mug of coffee. Hours passed while he juggled overdue emails, phone calls from colleagues putting in overtime themselves, and drafting ideas of his own in the process.

Maybe Helion had a point.

The job description was one thing Cassian had pinned as important in his email, but the nerve to open it hadn’t quite hit. Too much weighed on what the email contained. And his biggest fear of all?

It would turn out to be absolutely perfect for him.

The urge to make decisions that paved the way for he and Nesta’s relationship was strong, sometimes to the point of distraction. Recent years had taught him that doing so wasn’t a guarantee, and if they were to be happy together, they had to take care of themselves, too. Making decisions in Nesta’s favor, even without her having to ask, was a mainline straight to resentment, and he loved her too much to put such a target on her back. Cassian wasn't sure who he would be anymore if he found himself too resentful of Nesta to love her.

But, fuck, he missed her. They’d resumed normal life for mere weeks, and the vacancy she’d left in his days, his apartment, his routine were brutal already.

His brain was nearly mush by the time his phone rang obnoxiously in his pocket. Before his face contorted into a full-blown scowl, he noticed the time and knew immediately whose name would appear on his screen.

He freed a pencil from behind his ear, tossing it onto the tabletop and raising his phone to answer. “This is Cassian.”

Cringing, he cursed under his breath at his awkward greeting. He hadn’t managed to shift from autopilot.

With no shortage of amusement, Nesta replied, “This is Nesta.”

He chuckled, and it felt fucking good. After a stressful day, he needed the playfulness and the soothing tone of Nesta’s voice.

It wasn’t until he heard said voice that he realized her texts from earlier hadn’t been nearly enough. It had been a long day, full of positive things, but it left him mentally drained in a way that made her absence feel like a vise around his throat.

“Hey,” he replied. “Sorry. I’ve been fielding calls all evening.”

“It’s late. Did you eat?” Her concern soothed him, but he’d never point it out. The last thing he wanted was Nesta to realize she fussed over him— just as much as he did over her sometimes, in his opinion— and stop doing it. Instead, he smiled and walked toward his living room.

“I did. I picked up take-out on my way home and ate it over my keyboard.”

They shared a short laugh. “Good to know that your work-life balance is solid.” Her voice softened. “How was your day?”

Cassian pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder to better adjust the pillows on his couch.

“Fine,” he teased. “It’s great now.” He didn’t need to see her face to know her eyes were rolling at him for being such a sap.

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “It must have been rough if talking to me is the high point.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes at her self-deprecation, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth regardless. Nesta was never so overt in displaying serious criticisms of herself, so Cassian knew she aimed to give him a hard time.

He could have risen to the challenge and sparred with her, but the best way to win with Nesta was to kill her with kindness. Nothing bored her faster, leaving Cassian victorious in their banter.

Concealing a chuckle, he shook his head affectionately. He missed her viscerally— her harmless scowl and how she fought her smile anytime they had similar conversations. He’d have loved to kiss her senseless to coax that damned smile free.

His voice was low, thick with fondness and a host of other emotions. “And how was your day, Sweetheart?”

“Fine,” she parroted. “It’s great now.”

He scowled at having his words thrown back at him, but no bite lived behind it.

“Of course it is— now that you’re talking to me.”

Nesta heaved an exasperated breath, but it held as much bite as his scowl-turned-smile. “I wish I could argue that, but I can’t.”

Cassian’s eyes grew in surprise. “That’s got to be a first.”

“I’ll hang up.”

“No, no, no,” he rushed out, uncaring how much his desperation rang true. “Just giving you a hard time.”

The smile in her words was obvious. “I know. Me too.”

A few seconds of comfortable silence ticked by until Cassian’s desire to hear her voice won out. “You didn’t actually tell me about your day. Work still as chaotic?”

“Worse, somehow.” She paused, and something about the silence felt loaded in a way the previous ones hadn’t. Whatever it was made Cassian hold his breath. “It’ll be fine. I’ll get caught up, and it’ll go back to normal.”

“I have faith in you.” Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Everything else okay?”

Nesta inhaled and released it on a slow, controlled whoosh of air. Nothing about the calming breath eased Cassian nerves, and his intuition sang in the form a prickle over the back of his neck.

“Everything is fine,” she assured him, too firm to be casual. “I just— I heard from Tomas today.”

His eyes bugged before he slammed them shut and breathed against his… temper? Nerves? Both? Why was it so hard to breathe it down, whatever the hell it was?

Throwing his legs over the side of the couch, he eased to the edge of the cushion and rested his elbows atop his knees. His free hand scrubbed down his face, pausing to run back and forth roughly over his mouth.

“Yeah?” he asked, proud to sound almost reasonable. “What’d he have to say?”

“You’re mad.”

“No.” His response was too swift that time. Damn it. “Not at you, anyway. I thought I was pretty clear the last time I saw him.”

His words to Tomas clanged through his skull.

You don’t speak to her. You don’t look in her general direction. As far as you’re concerned, you never knew her. And then, as if it needed any additional damnation— If I hear anything to the contrary, I won’t hesitate. That’s a fucking promise.

What had he promised exactly? Bodily harm, no doubt, but he wasn’t sure of the extent he’d intended. Tomas was an asshole, a despicable excuse for a human being, but Cassian hadn’t taken him for being an idiot. Calling his bluff hadn’t been Tomas’ brightest idea.

“You were,” she breathed. Then, “He wanted to let me know he was moving out of our apartment and offered me some of our shared furniture.”

Harmless enough, but then again, Tomas was usually harmless until he wasn’t. “I see. Did you say anything?”

If she had, it was her prerogative. Cassian didn’t love the idea that Tomas would be encouraged by her reply, but he had no choice but to follow Nesta’s lead on the matter. It wasn’t technically his business to dictate, anyway.

“I didn’t get a chance to say anything,” she replied, her tone wary. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“So, he just left it alone when you didn’t respond?” Please, Cassian thought in the gods’ general direction, please tell me he fucked off.

“Well, like I said, I didn’t get a chance to respond. I was in Claire’s office at the time. She took care of it.”

He knew he’d liked Claire for a reason. “Remind me to hug her when I come visit.”

Nesta laughed, and the tension in his chest became almost bearable. “She’d love that, I’m sure. I know you’re curious what she said, so I’ll make a long story short. She called, told him he could donate what he didn’t want or burn it, and let him know that he’d exhausted the very last excuse he could have conjured for contacting me. Then, she blocked his number and invited me to lunch. That was it.”

Cassian sat up, and his head fell back in relief. Loosing a breath, he realized he’d been so focused on not losing his shit that he hadn’t managed to check in on Nesta.

“You okay?”

Her confusion was almost palpable, but she recovered quickly. “I’m fine, I promise.” Cassian nodded as if she could see, but his relief was choking him too soundly to answer. “I was shaken up seeing his name on my screen, but I’m okay. I was lucky to have a session scheduled with Madja today, so I worked through it with her. Are you okay?”

His first inclination was to lie, to tell Nesta that all was dandy and that he couldn’t give a shit about Tomas. That wasn’t a fair trade of vulnerability.

“I’m okay. I’m pissed, I guess. Makes me hate that I’m not there with you.”

“I hate it, too. Maybe you can spare another hug for me when you visit.”

A laugh, loud and true, left Cassian’s mouth. “That was a given, Sweetheart. You get whatever you want.”

Nesta hummed her approval, and he couldn’t help but wonder where her imagination had gone. His took off without him on a daily basis, sometimes multiple times a day, when it came to her.

“Anyway,” Nesta said, interrupting his train of thought. “Technically, you haven’t told me about your day, either.”

Cassian blinked. “Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right. It was busy, and I had an interesting meeting with Helion today.”

“Your boss?”

He leaned back into the couch cushion. “Yeah. It was a little hard to concentrate. My girlfriend had just sent a text about her taking a bath. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Nesta’s laugh blessed him again. “I wasn’t being suggestive. Your cock led you astray after an innocent message.”

“You said bath, and the mental image came with it.” His voice was thicker than before, lower. He took a deep breath to ease the thrumming heat through his veins.

“It’s not like I sent an actual picture. I would take full responsibility for that.”

Cassian adjusted himself through the front of his sweats, biting his cheek to keep from hissing at the context.

“Nesta,” he warned.

“I won’t do that to you at work, I promise.” Her voice was as sweet as he’d ever heard it, but it was sincere. At least he didn’t have to worry about getting ill-timed pictures of a naked Nesta at during a morning brief. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me about your meeting.”

That was enough to refocus. Lifting his arm to rest behind his head, he settled deeper into the couch and told her about the nature of the meeting. He said nothing of his chaotic thoughts or what it may mean for them in the future; only the objective truths of the matter.

“Baby, that’s incredible,” she murmured, but he couldn’t quite read the subtext of her tone. “You clearly deserve it. Would you be happy?”

“I think so, but I haven’t reviewed the full job description yet. I’m sure I’ll have questions for Helion and HR once I do, so I’m trying not to sell myself a dream.”

“I understand. Keep me posted?” Her voice seemed meeker than before, but maybe he was reading too much into it.

“Yeah. Always.” He cleared his throat, eager to talk about anything less heavy. “Now that we’re all caught up, tell me about all the places you’ll take me when I visit.”

“Care to tell me when that will be? Not that I’m not entirely prepared with such a list, but knowing when you’ll be here will help me… prioritize.”

A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “There’s no list for me, is there?” Mirth oozed from every word, even by Cassian’s standards.

His suspicion was confirmed by an irritated, albeit adorable, growl. “No, there’s no list, you brute. I wasn’t aware I was meant to serve as your ambassador.”

This game, he could play it all day with Nesta. He loved to ruffle her feathers with no intention to relent until he was under her skin properly. It felt better than trying to guess their future or anticipating any and every barrier that could stand in their way.

“Well, who else is supposed to do it?” he teased, his tone as cocksure as ever. It was Nesta’s favorite.

Well, it wasn’t her favorite, not by a landslide. The best he could hope for was begrudging affection for it. He could work with that.

“No one,” she grumbled. “It’s not that I don’t want to have a list, it’s just that I haven’t done much aside from work and the occasional outing with Claire or people from work. We have a tight rotation of restaurants and bars, none of which seem tourist-worthy.”

“Gods, Nesta, use the internet.”

“Cassian.” Her warning was severe despite his obviously facetious delivery. His smile widened, and he wondered what that said about him.

“Fine. I’ll look into it for us.” Nesta withheld any reply. Her silence unnerved him more than any barb she could lob his way. “On a more serious note, I’m kidding. You’re the only thing that would matter on that list, anyway.”

That earned an intentionally measured laugh, but he swore he heard the full potential of her amusement in its place. “Charming.” Another beat of silence, then, “When can you come?”

Her voice was vulnerable, so soft that he could have missed it. Nesta missed him, he realized, and he somehow felt unworthy of such a strong sentiment from a woman like her.

“Well, this weekend coming up is out. Feyre has her art exhibit, and I told Amren that I would help her and Varian move into their new place.” He paused, trying to remember any conflicts in the near future. “I’m not sure what work will look like considering my conversation with Helion, but I’m thinking the following weekend. Are you busy?"

Nesta’s response was confident, almost eager. “No, I’m free. That gives me time to make a list.”

“Nah,” Cassian said through a laugh. “We’ll make one together. That’ll help the weeks go by a little faster.”

He heard a long yawn and paused to find the clock on the wall. It was evening for him, meaning it was approaching midnight for Nesta. She wasn’t the type who thrived on minimal sleep, nor did anyone deserve to find themselves in her crosshairs as a result. Guilt almost settled into him at the thought, but it hadn’t been malicious in nature. Nesta would say the same.

“Sounds like a plan.” She paused for another yawn. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You’re not coming so soon because of everything with Tomas, right?”

The insecurity, veiled in objectivity and in taking his inventory, hurt. That pain creeped up on him subtly, but not in offense. Having Nesta believe his intentions had something to do with anything other than his legitimate desire to be anywhere she was felt unbearable. Mirth and challenge had no home in their conversation anymore; not when he needed Nesta to know how much she meant to him.

“No, Nes. I promise. I would have been there the day after you went home if things worked that way.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve missed you since you left me for airport security.”

“Okay,” she conceded. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Knowing it already hadn’t made the sentiment any less sweet. A contented warmth rolled over his shoulders, but he’d spare her the emotional cargo of sharing.

“It’s late, Sweetheart. Why don’t you get some rest?”

“I should.” That sensation hit him again; loss and longing so true he wondered if it would drive him mad. “Call me tomorrow?”

“Try and stop me.”

——————————————————————————

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#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfic #nessian modern au #somewhere toxic au #twsd fics #twsd writes

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kingofsummer93 · 1 year

Text

Alpha Sigma Phi

Summary:

Elain has never thought of herself as a bad girl.

But slip some devil horns on her head, and suddenly the possibilities are endless.

Elucien college AU.

Read it on Ao3

Elain was fuming.

Two weeks. It had taken Graysen all of two weeks after dumping her to not only meet someone else, but to start posting pictures with her all over his Instagram. Graysen despised social media. He had never posted any pictures of the two of them together in the two and a half years they had dated. Not once.

Now here he was, his arm slung around some broad with perfectly sleek hair a trendy shade of ash blonde and teeth so white they were practically see-through. The real kicker, though, was the boobs. The girl’s tits were so large they probably had their own zip code, and were obscenely spilling out of the crop tops she seemed to exclusively wear.

Elain looked down at her own modest chest and sighed. It had never truly bothered her before, even with her sisters’ teasing. Nesta’s own set of XL tits had started to make their appearance when she had turned eleven, and had grown so large that Elain sometimes wondered how Nesta didn’t just topple forward every time she tried to stand. Nesta had nicknamed Elain “fried eggs” for an entire year, until their mother had overheard and had dumped Nesta’s phone in the toilet as punishment. Elain had mistakenly assumed that Nesta had inherited all the chest-growing DNA, but then Feyre had sprouted magnificent jugs of her own and it was just her with boobs so small that she looked like a prepubescent girl when she was flat on her back.

Still, it hadn’t really bothered her, and with the recent fashion of wearing bralettes for shirts she had even considered it an advantage. But something about seeing that bitch’s giant boobs all over her ex boyfriend made her feel like an insecure teenager again.

“Stop looking at his Instagram,” Vassa demanded, not even bothering to look up from the makeshift vanity on her desk, where she was currently meticulously applying her signature flick of eyeliner.

“I’m not,” Elain lied. She went to swipe away the app, but Vassa was faster.

Quick like a bird, she jumped off her desk chair and lunged for Elain, tackling her to the bed and grabbing her phone. She glanced at the screen and then fixed Elain with a look that was somehow an eye-roll and death glare at once.

“We broke up two weeks ago and he’s got a new girlfriend already? He’s posting pictures with her? He barely even knows how to use a phone!”

Elain’s voice had turned whiny and she would have been embarrassed to sound so dumb with anyone else, but this was Vassa. They’d gone from strangers straight to soul sisters the day they met, at a party during rush week freshman year. Elain had been standing in line for the bathroom, wondering if she was going to piss herself before the dude getting head in the bathroom finally finished. Vassa, who was in line behind her, had growled in frustration and grabbed her hand. She had led her to a dark corner behind the Kappa Alpha Theta house, where she’d stood watch while Elain relieved herself next to the garbage cans. Elain had returned the favor, and they’d been inseparable ever since.

Something in Vassa’s fierce gaze softened now, and even though she didn’t say anything Elain knew what her friend was thinking. If Graysen was already posting pictures with a new girl, it meant they had probably met when he was still dating her.

“This girl is trash,” Vassa said simply, jabbing at the screen. “You’re champagne, she’s ten-dollar moscato. I guarantee you she’s involved in at least one MLM scheme.”

Elain couldn’t help but snort at that. She had, of course, stalked the girl’s profile already and knew for a fact that this was true.

“Aha!” Vassa exclaimed, flopping to the bed beside Elain. “Younique and Skinny Tea. I knew it.”

Vassa propped her head on a fist to look at her. “Look. I know you’re sad, and you have every right to feel that way, but Graysen is not worth it. He’s arrogant and rude and you said yourself the sex was boring. Life is too long for bad sex, Elain!”

Elain shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at her friend. She had no qualms discussing Vassa’s sex life in minute detail but when the roles were reversed it always made her squirm. Partly because Vassa had vastly more experience than she did, which always made her feel like a puritan by comparison. Vassa would have punched her in the face if she admitted this out loud, but it was true.

Elain’s entire sexual experience pre-Graysen had been a messy handjob in a cinema her senior year. The sex with Graysen had not been bad, and to be fair she didn’t have anything to compare it to, but she couldn’t truthfully claim that it had been good. The only times she got off were when she tried really, really hard, which usually involved shutting her eyes and thinking of someone else. She could admit this was probably not what people in healthy sexual relationships did.

“What you really need,” Vassa continued, jumping off the bed to rifle through her closet, “is some quality dick, and then you’ll forget all about Graysen. Which is exactly why we’re going to this party.”

“I doubt some frat asshole is what I need,” Elain replied drily.

She watched with increasing dread as Vassa dug up their angel-and-devil costumes from the past Halloween. It seemed like her friend had taken scissors to the already skimpy costumes and had made them even more so. The devil costume in particular was so revealing that you practically needed a magnifying glass to find it. “Who even throws a costume party in the middle of April? Only those twats would be pretentious enough to do something like this and make it seem ironic instead of dumb.”

“Those twats, as you call them, also happen to all be hot as fuck. We are going to this party, you are going to grab the first guy who catches your eye, and you are going to take him upstairs. You are then going to demand he eat your pussy, and then you will let him dick you down until you forget about Gregory.”

Elain snorted with laughter, even as she felt herself blush all the way to her hairline. It was easy for Vassa to declare things like this. She wore her confidence like a cape and was heart-breakingly stunning, in a way that made people stop in their tracks to look at her. Her copper bob was striking against her tanned skin, her freckles charmingly girlish, and the mischief in her blue eyes made her irresistible to men.

Elain was no stranger to the male gaze, and she was vain enough to admit her own good looks, but still. She didn’t consider herself to be shy, but what Vassa had just described took a different kind of confidence that she didn’t think she had.

“You just want to go because Jurian will be there,” she said, a tad petulantly.

Jurian was Vassa’s latest conquest, and judging by the amount of times Elain heard Vassa yell his name through the wall their rooms shared, she could guess that Vassa was probably not pretending like he was someone else in order to finish.

“Absolutely,” Vassa replied, nodding in agreement. “We’re talking about premium grade dick here, of course that’s why I want to go.”

Elain sighed an all-suffering sigh. “I’m not going.”

What she wanted more than anything at this moment was to take off her bra, put on her oldest, comfiest, most ill-fitting sweats, order the greasiest take-out available, watch some dumb romantic comedy that would somehow make her cry, and wash it all down with an entire bottle of cheap wine that would give her a headache in the morning.

Vassa, however, had other plans. Her eyes glittered even as they narrowed on her, so laser-focused that Elain immediately knew there was no getting out of this. It was the same look that had somehow convinced her to get a tattoo, even though she had walked towards that table like it was her execution and had silently cried throughout the whole thing. Still, she could admit that the delicate fawn outline on her hip was pretty cute. Graysen had pursed his lips when she had first shown it to him, and suddenly that made Elain like it even more.

“You are going. You are getting drunk. And you are getting laid. In that order. Now strip.” Vassa planted her feet like a general observing her troops, a scrap of sequined red fabric in her hand. Elain could not for the life of her figure out if it was meant to be the top or bottom half of the costume.

“You know who else will be there?” Vassa continued, still brandishing the costume. “Lucien.”

Elain’s stomach did a little flip, as it always did whenever Lucien’s name was so much as mentioned. Not because she liked him, obviously. Only because she wasn’t blind.

Lucien Vanserra was campus royalty. His family donated so much money to their university that there was a library named after them. He was also, conveniently, hotter than the bottomless forges of hell, and fully aware of it.

In other words, he was about as attainable as George Clooney.

“Yeah, right,” Elain replied dismissively. “Maybe I’ll sleep with Ryan Reynolds too, while I’m at it.”

Vassa smiled in victory. “I knew you had a thing for him! I guessed it when you stopped complaining about me dragging you to the soccer games.”

Elain squirmed again. She had never admitted this crush to Vassa, but maybe she had been less subtle in her gawking than she had thought. It was his fault, really, for walking around with a face that looked like it belonged on an ancient greek god.

Elain had known him since freshman year, given his king-amongst-mortals status at the school. But she’d met Graysen, and Lucien was out of her orbit, so she never really gave him much thought.

Until last fall, when Vassa had dragged her to a soccer game so she could drool over Jurian, and Elain had reluctantly gone. It was as boring as watching paint dry, but then Lucien had whipped off his shirt and swung it around to celebrate a particularly spectacular goal, and suddenly soccer wasn’t so boring anymore. The sight of his sweaty golden skin rippling with muscles had instantly been burned into her memory.

She would never admit this to Vassa, and barely acknowledged it to herself, but whenever she managed to get off with Graysen it had usually been Lucien she had been thinking of. There was just something about that long red hair, which would have looked absurd on anyone else. Elain could imagine that hair framing her head like a curtain of fire as Lucien moved above her, his broad chest damp with sweat, hard and slick under her fingertips…

She cleared her throat as a tell-tale blush betrayed her. “I do not have a thing for him,” she declared. “I just have eyes in my head. Besides, he’s never looked twice at me.”

Vassa scoffed. “You were in a relationship, he’s not an ass.”

“He dated a Tik Tok star!” Elain continued. “He dated someone who dated Calvin Harris! He would never be interested in someone like me.”

Vassa’s gaze shifted sideways, and Elain’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Those shifty eyes were Vassa’s tell that she was hiding something.

“What?” she demanded.

Vassa seemed to struggle with something for another moment, until she gave a little fuck it shrug and grinned at her like a Cheshire Cat.

“What if I told you that I knew for a fact that Lucien has a not-so-little crush on you?”

That combination of words was so absurd that Elain figured she must have misheard. “What?”

Vassa’s grin broadened. “According to Jurian, Lucien talks about you all the time. Apparently he hates Gregory even more than I do.”

“Graysen. His name is Graysen.” Elain tried to sound stern but it was difficult to accomplish given that all her brain cells were currently pinging around her head like she was a living pinball machine.

Lucien Vanserra, the number one most desired guy on campus, owner of that knee-buckingly stunning face, talked about her? It was absurd.

“And you’re just telling me about this now?” Elain accused. She didn’t know what to think or feel. Somehow she was both mortified and thrilled at the same time.

Vassa winced. “Well, you were with Graysen, no? But now that he’s fucked off where he belongs…” She held up the devil costume once more, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Elain wordlessly grabbed the costume, all thoughts of take-out and Netflix suddenly extinguished.

----

“Dude,” Cassian drawled over the din of the party, “I know I was skeptical at first but this was a genius idea.”

“Told you,” Lucien replied with a lazy smirk. “Something about a costume party always makes girls more slutty.”

As if to prove his point, a trio of girls walked through the front door wearing what appeared to be nothing but mesh. Lucien could not for the life of him think of what their costumes were meant to be.

Cassian turned to openly stare after them, his jaw hanging clean off its hinges. “That’s not even a costume. What are they even supposed to be?” He sounded almost offended.

The party was in full swing. The ground floor was packed, the floor vibrating from the thumping music, the air thick with the smell of spilled beer and sweat. A makeshift dance floor had been set up in the backyard next to the DJ booth, and it was so jammed with gyrating bodies that the dancing had spilled onto the lawn up onto the deck. There were no less than five kegs, and an actual licensed bartender was mixing drinks in the kitchen.

It was, in other words, an epic fucking party. The heated pool, which was a thing of great envy from lesser frats, was currently empty, but Lucien knew it was only a matter of time before people started jumping in. Drunk people could not resist a body of water.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Lucien asked, nudging Jurian. His friend was staring at the front door, craning his neck to see as people walked in. He tried to make his question seem casual but of course Jurian knew right away why he was asking.

“Don’t you mean where’s her friend Elain?” He taunted. “And Vassa’s not my girlfriend.”

Cassian and Lucien both snorted in unison.

“Please. You’re so pussy-whipped it’s embarrassing,” Cassian quipped.

Jurian chose to ignore this jab. “Did you know Elain broke up that dickhead boyfriend of hers?” he asked with a smirk.

This was news to Lucien. “Really?” he blurted, too quickly, too loudly. Both his friends snickered.

Lucien cleared his throat. “When?” he asked, taking what he hoped seemed like a casual sip of beer to hide his smile.

Jurian shrugged, his attention back towards the front door. “Couple weeks ago, I think?”

Lucien was buzzing, and not from the alcohol. Elain Archeron had been single for weeks and he hadn’t been aware of it?

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and quickly opened her Instagram. He looked at it so often that he could describe her last ten posts in minute detail. Colorful shots of plants and flowers around campus, a brick wall covered in ivy, goofy shots with her sorority sisters. And a selfie, a large ice cream cone in her hand, a wide grin on her face- and that dumbass Nolan next to her, smiling so reluctantly it was almost a grimace.

Lucien clicked on Graysen’s account and scoffed out loud. “That dickhead dumped Elain for an MLM bimbo?” he asked incredulously.

That Graysen Nolan had even managed to date Elain Archeron for over two years was still inconceivable to Lucien. He was the most pompous asshole Lucien had ever had the misfortune of meeting in his entire life. He wore cardigans draped around his shoulders, for fucks sake. Who actually dressed like that in real life?

Graysen had tried his hardest to befriend Lucien since the first day of rush week freshman year. Lucien was a legacy at Alpha Sigma Phi and Graysen was desperate to get in. He was always casually slipping facts about Lucien’s family into the conversation, as if that would impress him. People like Graysen were always trying to get his attention, and Lucien could smell a poser from a mile away.

He’d met Jurian and Cassian at the same party, coincidentally. Neither of them had so much as blinked in recognition when he’d told them his name, and when they’d undoubtedly figured it out later they still hadn’t said anything.

Cassian peered over his shoulder, his large cardboard bat wings slapping Lucien in the back.

“Dude, watch your wings,” Lucien complained. It was a ridiculous costume, really, considering how tall and broad Cassian was. Adding wings to the equation made him a safety hazard.

“Says the dude wearing a tail,” Cassian retorted.

“Chicks love foxes,” Lucien said with a smirk. “Nobody likes bats. And nobody even knows who you’re supposed to be,” he added, poking Jurian in the back. He was wearing a mixture of vaguely Founding Fathers-esque clothing with a plastic sword strapped at his side.

Jurian did not react. He had gone so still that it seemed like he was not even breathing.

“You good, bro?” Cassian asked, waving a hand in front of his face. Jurian did not so much as blink.

Lucien followed the direction of Jurian’s gaze, and suddenly the noise around him seemed to dim. Vassa had just walked through the front door, dragging a slightly reluctant looking Elain by the arm. Vassa was wearing angel wings and a lacy white dress that definitely looked like lingerie, but Elain. Her costume consisted of a red sequined skirt that looked more like a belt, a red corset, and devil horns, and fuck him but it was an exercise in self control to convince his dick to behave. Lucien was convinced that Elain Archeron could make a garbage bag look hot, but in that devil costume she was an absolute smokeshow.

“They’re coming over, be chill,” Jurian mumbled.

“You guys are both pathetic,” Cassian declared. With that he smacked them with his wings and disappeared into the crowd.

Lucien didn’t bother to correct him, considering that he had momentarily lost the ability to speak and his heart was beating so fast he thought he might vomit. What was wrong with him? He’d dated an Tik Tok star, for fuck’s sake. He knew how to talk to girls. But something about this particular girl was so fascinating to him that one glimpse of her was enough to make his palms sweat.

She was beautiful, of course, but it was more than that. There was something about her, an inherent happiness, a light, that sang to him. The fact that she never paid him much attention only added to his obsession.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea to let the girls through, and Lucien shook himself out of his trance.

“Hey angel,” Jurian drawled. “Have I died and gone to heaven?”

Vassa rolled her eyes but immediately threw her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, not bothering to even look in Lucien’s direction.

Elain was smiling at him shyly, and Lucien couldn’t help but notice that her cheeks had turned the most delicious shade of pink. Was that because of him? The thought made him stand a little straighter.

“Does that mean I’ve gone to hell?” he asked. As soon as the words slipped from his mouth he instantly cringed. What the fuck kind of greeting was that?

Elain blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You know. Your costume,” Lucien said lamely. He stuck his fingers on top of his head like horns, and Elain’s lips twitched.

“That depends. Have you been bad?” Her wide brown eyes were glittering with humor, but her blush intensified.

Was his dream girl really flirting with him and blushing as she did so? Lucien was struck dumb. He was so captivated by those glittering eyes that it didn’t occur to him to respond.

Elain bit her lip and suddenly looked embarrassed. “Sorry. That was dumb. I’m Elain, by the way.”

“I know who you are,” Lucien replied, too quickly. Elain’s lips twitched again. “I’m Lucien.”

He stuck out his hand, and immediately regretted it. Did people their age shake hands? He suddenly had no idea.

“I know who you are,” Elain replied, smiling as she looked at his outstretched hand.

Lucien had never felt like a bigger dumbass than he did then, standing there with his hand outstretched. But then she took his hand and shook it, and that chaste touch lit his blood on fire. Her skin was so soft that he immediately wondered what the rest of her would feel like.

His eyes betrayed him then and dipped to her chest. Her corset was so tight that it looked almost painful, but it also made her tits swell in a way that made Lucien’s mouth water. He wanted to lean down and lick that cleavage so badly that he immediately dropped her hand and took a sip of beer to occupy his mouth.

Elain bit her lip and blushed again as she noticed the direction of his gaze. Lucien cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly. Fuck, what was wrong with him? It was like he had never spoken to a girl before. Was it his turn to speak?

Stop staring at her boobs and say something, asshole.

“Would you like a drink?” he blurted.

Elain grinned at him, a cheeky little smile, and Lucien nearly whined. “Does a fox shit in the woods?”

Lucien grinned. “I prefer a toilet myself, but I can’t speak for the others.”

Dumb, dumb, you’re such a dumbass, why the fuck did you just say that, you’re not funny…

Elain threw her head back and laughed, and Lucien had never heard a more beautiful sound. He knew with absolute certainty that he was smiling like an idiot but he couldn’t help it.

He pressed a hand to the small of her back to lead her to the kitchen and the feel of the laces on her corset made his knees go weak. What he wouldn’t give to slowly undo those laces, one by one…

He was so distracted that he didn’t notice that someone had walked up to them. He didn’t notice who it was at all, until he turned towards the kitchen and collided with Graysen Nolan.

----

“Shit, sorry…”

Elain was so distracted by Lucien’s hand on her back that she didn't immediately notice who Lucien had bumped into. She giggled as whoever it was spilled beer all over themselves, and then her eyes traveled up, as if in slow motion. Her giggles died in her throat, replaced by such a powerful mix of emotions that she froze on the spot.

Graysen’s eyes were narrowed in anger as he looked between her and Lucien, back and forth, back and forth, like they were a tennis match and he didn’t like the outcome.

“Sorry,” Lucien said again. “Didn’t see you there.” He glanced down at her, clearly uncomfortable.

“Can you please take your fucking hands off my girlfriend?” Graysen’s voice rang out above the noise of the party, and several people around them turned to look.

Elain recoiled in shock, mortified to her very core. “Excuse me?” she asked. How dare he. How fucking dare he post selfies with some other girl and then turn around and call her his girlfriend.

But Graysen only kept staring at Lucien, his face contorted with anger. The way he was sneering was so off putting that Elain couldn’t believe she had ever found him handsome.

Lucien glanced at her again, gauging her reaction. She knew what was about to happen and she was desperate to prevent it. He was about to take his hand off her back and lift it in the air, palm out, and then he would mumble an apology and leave …

But then Lucien’s lips twitched, as if he could read what was going on in her mind. He stepped closer to her, so close she could feel his body heat radiating off him.

“Is my hand on you bothering you, my lady?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Absolutely not,” she replied with a sweet smile. She might also have batted her eyelashes for good measure.

Lucien’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “How interesting.” His arm snaked around to rest on her hip and Elain leaned into him further, as if by instinct. Even with the awkwardness of the moment she couldn’t help but notice how large that hand was, how tall he was, how short she was next to him, even in heels.

Graysen finally looked at her then, and she could have laughed at the incredulous look on his face. “Can we talk?”

No, she immediately thought. Only a few hours ago she would have jumped at the opportunity to just see him, but now that he was in front of her she felt strangely empty. How long had it been since she and Graysen just had fun together? She’d been having more fun in that short conversation with Lucien than she’d had with Graysen in ages.

Lucien’s fingers tightened slightly on her hip. She could tell it wasn’t a possessive gesture, but more a silent communication. He wasn’t going anywhere, if she wanted him to stay.

Elain did not want to talk to Graysen. She wanted to stay tucked next to Lucien and keep flirting with him until he blushed again. But she also knew Graysen well enough to know that he was very capable of starting a scene in the middle of the hallway if she said no.

“Fine,” she said finally. She made sure her voice sounded as reluctant as she felt.

Something flashed in Graysen’s eyes, not relief but something like victory. Asshole.

Elain extricated herself from Lucien’s embrace and shot him what she hoped was an apologetic look. Was it just her runaway imagination playing tricks on her, or did he look disappointed?

“I’ll be around,” he said. It sounded like a question and a promise.

Elain grinned. “Good. You still owe me a drink.”

Lucien smiled back, and it was a struggle to look away from that smile. Shit this guy was hot.

Graysen reached for her arm but she sidestepped him and walked towards the open doors that led to the backyard, not even checking to make sure he was following her. She didn’t stop walking until she reached a relatively quiet spot away from the packed dance floor. Graysen was following so close behind her that when she suddenly stopped he almost walked right into her.

She whirled and glared at him but he didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“Why are you playing at?” he hissed.

“Excuse me?” She was starting to sound like a broken record but really, what else was there to say to that? “What am I playing at? What are you playing at?”

“Why are you flirting with guys like Lucien dressed like that?”

He took a step closer to her as he said it, and Elain was so shocked by the venom in his voice that she backed away from him. Graysen tracked the movement and his jaw clenched in irritation.

“And why would you care what I wear or who I flirt with?” she asked drily. “You broke up with me, Graysen.”

Graysen rolled his eyes in exasperation. “That was a fight, Elain. Couples fight, it doesn’t mean we weren’t going to find our way back to each other.”

Elain was so baffled by what was happening that for a moment she could only stare at him. Graysen misunderstood her silence for emotion, and smiled gently. “Elain, you and I are forever. I gave you a promise ring.” He looked down and frowned when he saw she wasn’t wearing it.

Something about that made Elain suddenly see red. Honestly though, did he expect her to still wear his ugly ring after he dumped her? This whole conversation was absurd, and she wanted it over with.

“And what was the promise, Gray? To love me and cherish me until a hotter, more interesting piece slid into your DMs?”

Graysen had the decency to look pained. “That was a mistake. You have to know that, Elain. You have to know I would always come back to you.”

He reached for her hand then, and she swatted him away. “All it took was one glimpse of me flirting with someone else while looking like hot shit for you to come crawling back? You’re pathetic.”

Graysen blinked in surprise at her tone. Even she was surprised by her own reaction, but it felt so good. She had a right to be mad, and she was tired of moping around. Being angry at him felt like she was making a decision.

She looked over his shoulder and spotted Lucien, hovering near the edge of the deck. He was staring in her direction, but he was too far for her to read the expression on his face.

“And you know what else?” she continued. “Maybe I don’t want you to come back to me. Did you ever think of that?”

Graysen carefully arranged his features into a neutral expression that she knew only too well. It was the placating expression he used when he thought people were being unreasonable.

“Elain, I know you’re mad, and I can give you space if that’s what you need…”

“And are you going to be sleeping around during this break?” She said that perhaps more loudly than she had planned, and several people turned to look at them. “But I’m guessing that I wouldn’t be allowed to? Perhaps you’d like me to go home and change into something less slutty, too?”

Graysen winced. “It’s just that you have to know that people could get the wrong impression when you walk around dressed like that…”

“And what impression is that?” Her voice was now deadly calm. “That I feel good about myself and I want to have some fun tonight?”

She looked over his shoulder again. Jurian and Vassa had joined Lucien on the deck. Vassa caught her gaze, pointed to Graysen, and slid a finger across her throat. A laugh bubbled out of Elain’s throat before she could stop it.

Graysen turned around to see where she was looking and when he looked back at her his expression was murderous. “You know that guy’s fucked half the girls in this school? That’s what you want?”

“Maybe it is!” she exclaimed. All her pent up frustrations were rising to the surface in a burst of anger. “Maybe I’ll even let his friends fuck me too, how about that, Graysen?”

Graysen recoiled and leaned away from her, as if she’d spat in his face. But Elain wasn’t done.

“Maybe if he’s fucked half the school then I won’t have to think about something else in order to get off!”

She had definitely said that too loudly but she was beyond caring at this point.

“Be careful with what you say, Elain. If I walk away now I’m not going to come back.”

“Fine. That’s fucking fine by me! Because you know who’s going to walk away? Me.”

And with that she stepped around him and walked away, making sure to bump into him as she did so.

“Elain!”

Graysen’s pleading voice rang out behind her but she dutifully ignored it as she walked around the pool towards the deck. She could see Lucien walking in her direction, and she had almost reached him when a hand clamped on her forearm.

----

It happened so quickly that Lucien didn’t realize what was happening at first. One moment he was walking towards Elain, and the next that prick Graysen had grabbed her by the upper arm and was screaming in her face. Lucien dropped his cup of beer and ran towards her.

“What is going on here? Are you alright?”

Elain yanked hard against Graysen’s grip and staggered backwards. Lucien put out a hand to steady her, and to his surprise she stepped closer to him.

“We’re fine,” Graysen hissed through gritted teeth. “This doesn’t concern you, Vanserra.”

“Actually, it does concern you, because Graysen was just leaving and I was going to ask you for that drink.” Elain’s eyes were flashing with residual anger and Lucien knew it was wrong butshit she had never looked prettier.

He turned to Graysen. “Get the fuck out of my house,” he growled.

Graysen sneered. “Your house, huh? You entitled asshole…”

“Shut the fuck up, Graysen!” Elain yelled.

Lucien laughed. “Yes, Nolan. My house. You know what else is mine? This entire fucking school. So you better fuck right off and stay out of my face, because if you don’t, I might just develop an urge to call the Dean. Did you know he’s my godfather?”

His heart was pounding with adrenaline. He usually detested pulling rank like this, but sometimes it just had to be done. Graysen’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step towards Lucien. Was the fool about to try to fight him?

“Lucien!” The sound of name being yelled from across the yard distracted both him and Graysen.

Lucien turned to the direction the voice had come from just as a football came hurtling through the air, straight towards his face.

It was too late to catch it, and pain exploded across his face as the ball smacked him right in the nose, full speed. He heard people screaming, including Elain, but his ears rang as blood gushed down his face in a thick stream.

Lucien staggered backwards from the impact, not realizing that he was right next to the pool until he was teetering on the edge. He reached out instinctively for someone to hold on to, and it was only when he was falling backwards with a lurch that he realized he had grabbed Elain.

They fell into the pool in an ungraceful tumble of limbs. It might have been funny if his nose wasn’t bleeding and he hadn’t inhaled a lung full of chlorine water.

He swam to the surface with a gasp, immediately reaching for Elain. She was sputtering water and absolutely drenched, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed.

“Oh my god are you ok!?” she asked at the same time.

They stared at each other for a beat and then Elain burst out in giggles, clapping a hand to her mouth. Lucien huffed out a laugh, wincing as pain shot through his nose.

“We’re done,” said a dark voice from above them.

Elain rolled her eyes and turned to Graysen. “That’s literally what I’ve been saying for thirty minutes!”

Graysen shot him another murderous look, and then he had turned and disappeared through the crowd.

“Holy shit dude, I’m so sorry!” Cassian had appeared at the edge of the pool, cringing as he took in Lucien’s bloody nose.

“It’s fi-“ Before Lucien could say anything else, Vassa had stomped to the pool and pushed Cassian square on the back.

His friend yelped as he belly-flopped into the water, creating such a splash that both Lucien and Elain were immediately drenched again.

Apparently people took this as some kind of signal, because the next moment people were jumping into the pool with cheers and whoops.

Elain laughed again, and when she caught him staring she blushed.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Lucien quickly shook his head and winced as the motion shot pain through his nose again. “No, I’m sorry. I dragged you in.”

Elain giggled as more people jumped in the pool. “Well, it looks like you started a revolution.”

Lucien reached up to touch his nose gingerly. “I’d love to stay and float but I should probably take care of this situation.”

Elain nodded, though her smile dimmed slightly. “Sure, of course…”

“I could probably use some help,” he quickly added.

Elain giggled again and god what a glorious sound it was. “Aren’t you pre-med?”

“Yes, but we haven’t talked about noses yet. I might die if you don’t help me.” He also might die if she didn’t keep flirting with him all night.

“Ahh, of course, makes sense. Sounds like I do need to help you then.” She nodded seriously, her big brown eyes twinkling.

Lucien winked and elbowed his way out of the pool and back towards the house. The kitchen was still packed, so he jerked his head in the direction of the hallway before leading the way through the main floor and up the stairs.

He was holding his wet shirt to his nose, and the blood was seeping through the soaked fabric like a watercolor. Truly not the scene he had imagined for his first real interaction with his crush, but if anything at least it would be memorable.

The upstairs hallway was also packed, and several people raised their glasses or reached for a high five as he passed. Lucien cringed internally and hoped that Elain either didn’t notice or care. Once they reached his room at the end of hall he held the door open for her and followed her in.

“Sorry,” he said, hovering by the door as she looked around curiously. “It’s just that the bathrooms downstairs are probably gross by now. I swear I’m not being a creep.”

But aren’t you just a little bit, though?

Elain smirked. “So you weren’t trying to get me alone?”

Good god she would kill him.

“I mean, maybe a little …” he quipped back.

Lucien had almost forgotten what they were doing there until Elain peered in the direction of his bathroom. “Towels?” she asked.

“Right, yes…”

Lucien hurried into the bathroom and Elain followed, still looking around his room with interest. “Do all the rooms have en-suite bathrooms?”

Lucien loosed a nervous laugh. What was wrong with him? You’d think this was the first girl to ever step foot in his room. “No,” he said. “Just a few of them. They’re usually reserved for seniors.” Or Vanserras, he didn't need to add.

He handed her a large towel and used another one to dry his sopping hair. Elain wrapped the towel around her waist like a skirt and ran a washcloth under the tap.

“Sit,” she instructed.

Lucien did as she asked and perched on the closed toilet seat, amused at how she was suddenly taking charge. It was giving him ideas, as if being alone with her in his room was not distracting enough.

“You know,” she said, her lips quirking into a small smile, “if we were in a movie this would be called a meet-cute.”

Lucien laughed, but then she was moving towards him until she was standing between his legs, and suddenly it seemed like there was a lot less oxygen in the room. He could smell her sweet perfume underneath the sharp scent of chlorine, and it was an effort to not breathe in deeply like it was his first breath of air. It would be so easy to put his hands on her hips and pull her down so she was sitting on his lap…

“Sir,” Elain scolded, one of her eyebrows raised.

“What did I do?” Lucien asked innocently.

Had he been oggling her tits again? In his defense it was rather difficult not to when they were right in front of his face like that…

“You were thinking loudly,” Elain retorted.

She braced herself on his shoulder and dabbed at his face with the washcloth. Lucien could tell his nose wasn’t broken, but it hurt like hell and by morning he would be magnificently bruised. He’d have to think of an appropriate prank to play on Cassian as revenge.

“There,” Elain said after a while. “It’s not bleeding anymore, but it’s already bruising.”

“Thank you. You’re a very good nurse. Not sure what I would have done without you.”

“You might have died,” she replied, nodding solemnly.

Those brown eyes were twinkling at him again and he couldn’t help himself. He reached up and rested his hands on her hips- no pulling, not pushing, just resting. Feeling the warmth of her skin seep through the towel, noticing how she went very still. Was he being a jerk? She’d just dumped her boyfriend not half an hour ago…

But then she dropped the washcloth to the floor with a wet flop, and then both her hands were braced on his shoulders. Lucien’s heart was beating so erratically that he would have bet Elain could hear it beating.

“Look,” he said nervously, “I know you just broke up with Graysen like a minute ago, but…would you maybe want to get brunch with me tomorrow?”

Elain blinked in surprise, and Lucien could have kicked himself. What the hell was he doing? She’d just gotten out of a serious relationship, obviously she wouldn’t be ready to go on dates, much less brunch dates. She was clearly flirting with him, but maybe she just wanted some rebound sex…

“You want to go for brunch…tomorrow?” she asked. She hadn’t moved, but her hands clenched his shoulders a little tighter.

“I mean…”Back pedal, back pedal, back pedal… “You know. It could just be as friends, if you want. I totally understand if you’re not ready to go on dates right now, but I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a long time and I just…”

His rambling died in his throat as Elain plopped herself on his knee, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him full on the mouth.

----

Lucien broke the kiss with a chuckle, smiling in amusement. “Should I take that as a yes for brunch?”

Elain didn’t bother to answer before kissing him again.

She knew realistically that it would be smarter to take things slow, to go on the date and see what happened. But he smelled so good, and he was so hot, and knowing he had been wanting to ask her out made her brain melt out of her ears.

Lucien chuckled again, but instead of pulling away he looped his arms under her knees and pulled her fully onto his lap. They were both soaked, and the wet towel wrapped around her waist was uncomfortable and awkward, but it didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body under her palms, the spicy, musky scent of him in her nose. It didn’t even matter that she wasn’t used to being the one to instigate sex. Lucien certainly wasn’t complaining, and that was the only motivation she needed.

Besides, she was dressed like the devil. Might as well act like it.

When she felt him lick her bottom lip she parted for him, and then his tongue was sliding against hers, slow and languid. Elain could have sat there kissing him forever. He was kissing her so slowly and thoroughly, almost lazily, like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing. With other guys kissing felt like a prelude to something else that they wanted more, but the way Lucien was kissing her felt like she was a treat he wanted to enjoy. His hands hadn’t even wandered from her hips, though his fingers had started rubbing idle circles on the exposed skin just above the waistband of her skirt.

Elain tangled her hands in his long hair, wrapping the long locks around her wrists so she could tug on it a little. Lucien’s answering groan sent a shot of lightning straight through her.

“I love that,” he whispered. His mouth was so close to hers that his breath tickled her lips when he spoke. His full lips were red from kissing her, his pupils were dilated, and truly she had never seen anyone more beautiful.

“Shit, you’re so hot.” Her voice came out almost whiny, and Elain was momentarily mortified until Lucien tangled his fingers in her hair and pressed his lips to her again.

He kissed her for so long that she became breathless and dizzy with lust. When he finally broke the kiss and dipped his mouth to press soft, wet kisses along her neck she decided then and there that she wanted to fuck this man tonight.

“Lucien…”

“Yes?” he whispered, his mouth pressed to her ear.

His hands slid up her sides, wrapping around her back to fiddle with the laces of her corset. Why had she worn such a complicated garment? That thing would take forever to take off.

Lucien licked the inside rim of her ear and Elain shivered violently. She was so wound up that every new touch sent a thrill of anticipation through her.

She deserved this, she told herself. Even if it didn’t go anywhere. Even if he wasn’t serious about brunch. She deserved to have a little fun. Wasn’t that what college was for?

Lucien lifted his head from her neck to look into her eyes, and the look in his gaze was so smoldering that her breath hitched. No wonder this guy had a reputation. How was a mere mortal meant to resist that look? She had to resist the urge to grind against him wantonly.

Elain held his gaze as she reached forward to start unbuttoning his shirt. Her heart was pounding but she sent up a quick prayer to any god who was listening to keep her fingers from trembling. Lucien’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then he grinned at her in a way that could only be described as feline.

“Well,” he whispered. “Youare a little devil.”

Elain shifted higher up his lap and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “You’re wet,” she said simply. “You’re already injured, I wouldn’t want you to get sick, too.” She could feel him getting hard, and she shifted closer still, until they were practically chest-to-chest.

She undid the last button of his shirt and a little noise came out of her throat at the sight of his rippled abs and muscular chest. He was obscene, really. It was unfair to other guys.

His skin was warm under her palms as she ran her hands up his stomach, letting her nails drag just a little bit.

Lucien’s hand tightened in her hair, and he pulled just enough to make her tilt her head back. “Aren’t you a good nurse.”

Elain hummed noncommittally. She’d never been this brazen with Graysen, but then again, she’d be willing to bet that she had never been this wet, either.

She pushed against Lucien’s shirt until he let go of her hair and peeled off the wet fabric with some difficulty. Elain stared at him for a second before leaning forward to lick up the golden column of his neck. He tasted like chlorine and sweat, and suddenly she wanted to taste all of him. Her mouth watered at the thought.

She kissed and licked her way up his throat, reveling in the little noises he made. She wanted to know what other noises she could pull from him.

“You’re killing me,” he groaned. His head was tilted back against the wall and she could feel his heart racing under her palms pressed to his chest.

“You’re confused,” she whispered. “I’m just licking you.”

Lucien groaned again, and it made Elain feel bold. She was seconds away from slipping off his lap to get on her knees when Lucien’s fingers returned to her back to gently undo the bow in the lacing of her corset. One by one he slowly pulled the lacing apart, each little touch of his fingers scorching her skin. Finally, with one long, slow pull, he pulled the laces from the last eyelets and ran both his hands up her back.

Elain reached back and tossed the corset to the floor. The rush of cold air immediately made her nipples pebble, as did Lucien’s gaze as it dipped to her chest. She stood up and chucked her towel to the side before sitting back on his lap, straddling him this time.

“I wouldn’t want you to get sick either,” he teased.

“What a thoughtful patient you are.” Her voice hitched as Lucien cradled her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his lips pressed to her ear.

Elain shivered again, and Lucien laughed, a low, dark laugh that sent heat straight between her legs. She remembered what Vassa had said earlier, and she tilted her face to look into his eyes.

“I want you to lick my pussy,” she said. “And then I want you to fuck me until I forget about all other guys.”

Lucien’s eyebrows lifted so comically high that she almost laughed. He stared at her for such a long moment that she started to feel embarrassed at her boldness. Was she being too slutty? Would henot want to date her after this?

“Holy fuck you’re so sexy.”

Lucien sounded as breathless as she felt, and all her insecurities immediately went out the window as he stood and hauled her up with him. Elain wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her into his bedroom and gently dropped her to his bed.

The scent of him was thick in his sheets, and she had to resist the urge to roll over and press her nose into his pillow. Instead she watched as he tossed his fox ears to the side, undid his belt and pulled off his wet pants and socks. Elain’s gaze dipped to the large bulge straining the front of his boxers, and when she looked up at him again he was grinning with pure male arrogance.

He crawled back up the bed on top of her, bracing his arms next to her head and letting his hair fall around them like a curtain. He stared at her for so long that Elain squirmed.

“What are you doing?”

Lucien smiled softly. “Committing you to my memory. In case you refuse my brunch offer.”

Elain giggled, even as her stomach fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. Surely that couldn’t be pretend?

Her giggles turned into a moan as he lowered his head to lick one of her nipples. He kissed and nibbled and sucked, teasing her other nipple with the pad of his thumb. Elain arched her back instinctively, pressing into his face, and Lucien hissed, fingers flying to his purpling nose.

“Shit! Sorry!” she squeaked.

“Be gentle with me, Satan,” he teased.

Another laugh was about to bubble out of her throat, but then Lucien’s mouth had moved to her other nipple, and his hand was running up the inside of her thigh. When he finally slid his fingers in between her legs he groaned at the same time she did. She was so wet that her thong was soaked through.

“God, baby, you’re so wet.” He said it almost reverently.

“Only for you,” she replied.

A strangled moan escaped Lucien’s throat, and he leaned up to kiss her again. Not slowly and sensually like earlier, but almost desperately, like he was a starving man. His fingers slipped into her underwear and Elain moaned into his mouth as he stroked through her slick folds and circled her clit.

Her hands were everywhere, stroking up his chest, his back, tangling through his hair. She wanted to feel more of him- she wanted to touch and lick every part of him. She wanted him in her hand, in her mouth, inside of her.

She had been right to fantasize about his hands- not just their size but what he could do with them, too. He was building her up with his fingers so quickly that it was almost embarrassing.

Elain reached down between them so she could palm him through his shorts, and Lucien’s moans mingled with her own.

Her hand stilled as Lucien caught her wrist and pinned it above her head.

“Stop distracting me,” he growled. “I have some pussy to eat.”

Those words would normally have made her blush, but she was already burning from head to foot, so what did it matter?

Lucien moved down her body, pressing kisses along her stomach as he went. When he removed his hand from her underwear she whined weakly, but the next moment he had yanked off her skirt and thong in one smooth movement. He spread her thighs gently and actually licked his lips as he looked at her, bare and open for him. The bruises on his face were worsening, and suddenly Elain felt bad.

“You don’t have to,” she blurted. “If you don't want to.”

Lucien only looked at her incredulously. “Elain. There is nothing I want to do more right now. I will eat you out all fucking night if you let me.”

His fingers slipped back in between her legs, and she bent her legs to give him better access. “But your nose…”

Lucien scoffed. “Did your ex go down on you with his nose? Because if that’s the case I can see why you dumped his ass.”

With that he dipped his head and licked straight up her center in one slow drag, all the way up to her clit. Elain’s protests all fell away as her eyes fluttered shut and a desperate moan escaped her lips.

Graysen rarely went down on her, and when he did it usually just felt wet, but it was clear that Lucien was highly skilled at this. He swirled his tongue against her, alternating between slow circles and teasing licks.

Elain opened her eyes to watch and the sight of that red hair in between her legs nearly made her come right then and there. Her thighs were shaking as her pleasure built, higher and higher, coiling tightly in her belly. It was taking him no time at all to bring her right to the edge, and Elain willed herself to slow down and enjoy it.

Lucien looked up at her then, and when he caught her looking he laughed. The vibration shot through her clit, and her orgasm ripped through her with a violent shudder as she cried out.

Lucien rode her through it, holding her legs tight and prolonging her pleasure with hot swipes of his tongue. When her body relaxed again she was strangely disappointed that’d she’d come so quickly. There was no way she’d be able to have another orgasm tonight, and he was so good with his tongue that she wished she’d lasted longer.

But Lucien was apparently not done. Instead of wiping his face on her thigh like Graysen would have done, he kept licking and teasing as he slipped a finger inside her.

“Shit…”

The noises that were coming out of her were truly embarrassing, but Elain was in no presence of mind to care. Especially not when Lucien slipped in a second finger, stretching her so deliciously that she wriggled against him, desperate for more.

Lucien laughed again and pressed her hips down with his free hand. “Easy, there. If I get another nose bleed I might die.”

“I don’t think you’ve been paying attention in cla…oh fuck.”

Lucien had started fucking her with his fingers roughly, as if giving her a taste of what she had asked for.

“That’s enough out of you, Satan,” he murmured before attacking her with his mouth again.

There was nothing slow or gentle about his movements now. He was licking and nibbling and sucking like a starving man presented with a feast, driving his fingers in and out of her relentlessly.

Elain was so wet that his fingers were making absurd sounds as they moved inside of her. Lucien just lapped it all up, moaning as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

She couldn’t get enough. It was too much but not enough all at once. Her skin felt too tight, her limbs felt heavy and yet weightless. Lucien was practically dragging her towards release again and there was nothing she could do but dig her fingers into his hair and hold him against her.

He curled his fingers deep inside her, hitting a spot that sent another orgasm slamming through her almost unexpectedly. She might have screamed his name this time, but she was so lost in a fog of pleasure that she couldn’t be sure.

Lucien only stopped his ministrations once she finally slumped to the bed, breathless and shaky. He kissed the inside of her thigh, and then the other, so sweetly she suddenly wanted to cry.

When he moved back up her body to kiss her she could taste herself on his tongue, and something about that made her feel possessive.

Mine. This man is mine.

Elain sank her teeth into his thick bottom lip and Lucien groaned, low and rumbling. When she reached down to palm him again he didn’t stop her. He was so hard that he was practically throbbing against her palm. She pushed against his chest until he moved off her and she could straddle him. His chest was heaving, his neck and cheeks flushed pink. She wanted him undone and wild, at her mercy, as he had just done to her.

With one quick tug his boxers were on the floor and Lucien was gloriously naked under her. He propped an arm behind his head to watch as she crawled in between his legs, running her hands up his strong thighs.

“This wasn’t on your wish list, you know,” he teased.

It was Elain’s turn to smirk at how breathless he sounded. “Stop distracting me, I have some cock to suck.”

“Well shit.”

Elain wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and stroked him, reveling in the breathy moan that fell from his lips. He was watching her, his lips still quirked in that maddening smirk. She held that gaze as she leaned down and licked the bead of precum glistening at the tip of his cock. He tasted salty and musky, his skin velvety soft under her tongue.

Elain wouldn’t have previously said that sheenjoyed giving blow jobs, and she had certainly never let anyone finish in her mouth, but she wanted to do this for Lucien. She wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made her feel.

She licked a hot stripe up the underside of his cock, teasing the pulsing vein there, before swirling her tongue around the tip. Lucien moaned again, louder, and that sound sent straight heat right in between her legs. Every little sound Lucien made was so erotic that she was desperate to hear more.

His free hand had slipped to the back of her head, tangling in her hair. “You’re such an evil tease.”

Elain chuckled darkly. “That’s what you get for inviting the devil into your bed.”

With that she wrapped her lips around his cock and sucked him into her mouth. He was so large that she could barely fit half of him in her mouth, so she made up the difference with her hand, gripping him firmly and stroking him in time with her mouth. A string of filthy praise was tumbling from Lucien’s mouth, increasing her confidence.

“You’re going to have to stop that if you want me to fuck you,” he groaned, pushing her off him.

Elain laughed again. “You can fuck me tomorrow, after brunch.”

The noise that came out of Lucien could only have been described as a whine, and Elain was still chuckling as she took him into her mouth again. She relaxed her jaw and took him deeper, fighting the urge to gag when his cock hit the back of her throat.

Lucien’s breathing was becoming erratic, his hips bucking up into her mouth unconsciously. She could feel his body stiffening under her, knew he was close, so she gripped him tighter and increased her pace.

“Elain, stop…” His fingers tightened in her hair as he tried to pull her off him again, but Elain only swatted him away.

“Jesus, fuck, Elain…”

He came with a loud groan, holding her head still as he spilled himself down her throat. Elain could feel his body seizing with the force of his orgasm and she felt a thrill of victory.She had done that.She had made him come that hard.

“Shit, where have you been all my life,” he mumbled.

Elain giggled as she looked up at him, head slumped to the side, his chest still rising and falling heavily. “In hell,” she teased. She was still wearing her devil horns, and Lucien yanked them off her head as she fell to the bed beside him.

“I’m starting to think maybe you’re not the devil after all,” he murmured, pressing his face into her hair.

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm…”

Elain snuggled into him, fighting the butterflies swarming in her stomach. She loved this part, the intimacy, the closeness. She relaxed into him, telling herself she was allowed to enjoy it, even if it never happened again.

“So, can I take that as a yes for brunch?” he asked, almost shyly.

Elain pressed her face into his warm chest to hide her smile.

“Yes. Yes, you can.”

#elucien #elucien fanfic #acotar fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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moodymelanist · 1 year

Text

Couldn't Keep Your Composure

so... I'm branching out of my comfort zone WAY more than usual lol. Title taken from Shameless by The Weeknd (which is a 10/10 song). Hope you all enjoy this debauched fic and happy Valentine's Day! I’ve had so much fun participating in @sjmromanceweek and I hope you all did too ❤️

Summary: Azriel pays Elain a visit the night before she marries Graysen.

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Elain

Elain sighed happily once she finally had the bridal suite to herself. Wedding planning had been stressful, to say the least, and she couldn’t believe the day had finally come. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to marrying Graysen tomorrow, but she wasn’t going to run screaming from the altar. Their families had worked out some sort of arrangement a few months ago, and Elain had been willing enough.

Graysen seemed kind, and as long as she could go about her own business during the day, she wasn’t particularly upset if she had to lay down next to him at night. He was attractive and he’d grown up in the same world she had, and that had been enough for Rhea and Owain to bargain away her hand in marriage in exchange for some kind of alliance between their families.

Nesta had been furious on Elain’s behalf, but Elain hadn’t had that kind of fight left in her. Nesta had gotten to marry the man of her dreams, and Elain was alright sacrificing her own chance at true love if it meant at least one of them could be happy. It had meant having to give up Azriel, but they’d known from the beginning their love was doomed. Nesta and Cassian eloping had been one thing, and Feyre and Rhys making eyes at each other had been another, but her parents wouldn’t tolerate another unapproved marriage.

Azriel wasn’t born into mafia royalty like Rhys, and Elain wasn’t bold enough to defy her parents’ demands. When the day finally had finally come when she’d learned who her parents had chosen for her, she’d taken it as stoically as she could. Everyone had told her it wasn’t worth getting involved with him, but she’d taken her chances, and they’d both paid the price for it.

Elain sighed as she forced her mind away from Azriel. It wouldn’t do to dwell on the past, not when she couldn’t do anything to change it. Instead, she made sure to hang up her wedding dress in the corner of the room near the mirror, smoothing out the garment bag before stepping back to appreciate the gravity of the moment.

It was her last night as a single woman, the last time she’d be able to fall asleep on her own without anyone asking questions. Maybe she’d take a long bath, or take some time to read one of those romance books Nesta was always telling her about.

Any plans Elain was making came to a screeching halt as she realized she wasn’t alone in the bridal suite anymore, all the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly standing up. She reached for the closest object she could find — the television remote, of all things — and whirled around to see none other than Azriel lounging against the wall.

She hadn’t seen him in weeks, not since their last argument where she’d finally told him she was getting married and they had to stop what they were doing, but he looked just as good as she remembered. He had on his usual all-black ensemble and it looked strange surrounded by all the white in the bridal suite, but he was so beautiful he could never truly look out of place.

“How did you get in here?” Elain demanded, her heart pounding hard in her chest. The hotel she’d been staying at hadn’t been a secret, but she hadn’t exactly advertised the exact room she was sleeping in.

“Does it matter?” Azriel replied with a nonchalant shrug. He turned his head and stared at her wedding dress hanging in the corner. “Is that what you’re wearing tomorrow? It looks ridiculous.”

“You can’t even see it through the garment bag,” she snapped. He had no right to come in here and insult the few choices she’d been allowed to make, not after all the hell he’d put her through. “You need to leave.”

“Do I?” he asked, utterly unconcerned. He turned back to face her with a look in his eye that made her feel like prey. “Go on, then. Kick me out.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” she hissed. “Get. Out. ”

Azriel suddenly pushed off the wall and stalked toward her, but Elain refused to be cowed even as he towered over her. “Well?”

“Touch me and I’ll scream,” she threatened, tightening her grip on the remote. This close to him she could smell his cologne, and it took everything she had not to give into muscle memory and bury her face in his chest.

“Like we haven’t done that before,” he replied, mocking. He reached out and traced his thumb over her cheek before messing with a loose strand of her hair. “Come on, princess. Scream for me.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. She jerked her head out of his grip and scowled up at him. “That’s not what I am to you anymore.”

“If that’s what you call a scream, I’m concerned for when you’re actually in danger,” Azriel drawled. He took a few more steps forward, forcing her to step back until she hit the wall with a nearly-audible swallow. “Nowhere left to run, Elain. You gonna scream now? Tell someone there’s a big, scary man in your room?”

She closed her eyes in defeat. They both knew she wasn’t going to scream for help, but he was gloating now, rubbing her face in it just because he could. “No.”

“No,” he repeated. A cool hand suddenly gripped her chin and made her look up. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

Elain didn’t say anything. She just opened her eyes and looked at him like he’d asked, forcing herself to ignore the way his little smirk was making her want to throw caution to the wind.

“There’s a good girl,” Azriel praised. He shifted his hand from gripping her chin to loosely gripping her throat. “Was that so hard?”

“We can’t do this,” she whispered, but it didn’t stop her from leaning her head back to give him more room.

“Why not?” he asked. “You don’t want to?”

“It’s not about what I want,” she responded bitterly. If what she wanted had actually mattered, she would’ve run away with him the first time he’d offered. “You know that.”

“So why don’t you let me give you that?” His grip on her throat tightened, and she instinctively leaned forward just enough to make it even tighter. “You know he’s not going to give you what you need.”

It was getting harder and harder to justify not giving in. What would it hurt? her mind whispered to her. Nobody would ever find out.

“This stays between us,” Elain demanded quietly. “No one can know.”

“I wouldn’t risk you like that,” Azriel said seriously. He loosened his grip and stared down at her, his hazel eyes almost too intense for her. “No matter what happens.”

“Alright,” she finally agreed. She knew it was stupid — the walls were only so thin, and anyone could walk by and potentially hear them going at it — but she didn’t care. She wanted him too badly, consequences be damned, and if this was her last chance she was going to take it.

“Alright,” Azriel echoed. He squeezed her throat one last time before stepping away from her altogether. “Take off your clothes.”

Elain swallowed hard as she did what he asked. Her hands shook slightly as she untied the thin, white robe she was wearing before moving onto the matching white nightgown. By the time she got to her underwear, her hands were shaking so badly that it took nearly three tries to get them off before Azriel finally intervened.

“Relax, princess,” he told her. He gently knocked her hands out of the way before leaning in for a kiss. She parted for him easily, his tongue sliding into her mouth with practiced familiarity, and she let herself get lost in how good the slide of her lips felt against his.

Once Azriel pulled away, Elain was panting from the intensity of the kiss, but he just smirked at her before dipping his fingers below the band of her underwear. “Daddy will take care of it.”

“I’m not calling you that,” she muttered under her breath.

He just laughed as he got to his knees, slowly sliding her underwear down her thighs as he went. “You say that every time, and in the end you’re begging Daddy to fuck you harder. It’s cute.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled. She stepped out of her underwear and walked toward the bed, leaving him in his position on the floor in favor of climbing on top of the thick comforter. “Well?”

“You’re not calling the shots here,” Azriel replied. She heard him get up and was only slightly surprised to feel his hands on her ass. “The sooner you get that through your head, the better it’ll be for you.”

Elain squealed as he slapped her ass once, twice, three times before moving on. It thankfully didn’t take him long to press a large hand to the top of her shoulders and make her arch even deeper, and when he finally spread her legs wide enough so he could put his face between them, she couldn’t hold back her moan.

“Quiet,” he demanded, slapping her ass again. “You don’t want us to be interrupted, do you?”

“No,” she panted. She fisted her hands in the sheets and pushed her ass further into his face, doing her best to stay quiet even as he started eating her out with clear relish. He knew all the ways she liked it best, and within no time at all she was rocking her hips back into his face with no shame.

Elain was right on the edge of what would’ve been a truly phenomenal orgasm when Azriel suddenly pulled away, and she made a displeased sound. She could hear the sounds of fabric sliding against his skin and figured he was finally taking off his clothes, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of turning around and watching even as she was desperate for him to finish what he’d started.

“Azriel, come on,” she whined, deeply mourning the loss of his tongue. She heard the sound of a foil packet being ripped open and hoped that maybe her begging would sway him to let her come before he pulled an orgasm out of her on his cock. “I’m so close…”

“You can come on Daddy’s cock, or not at all,” he interrupted, ignoring her pleas. She hissed as he dragged the head of his cock between her folds, already knowing what her choice would be. “Choose wisely, princess.”

Elain pressed her face into the mattress and moaned as he slowly thrusted inside her. She’d never gotten used to how full he made her feel even when they were fucking regularly, and now that it had been a while, she felt every inch. They were both panting by the time he finally bottomed out, and she knew it wouldn’t take much for her to come while he fucked her.

“Jesus, I forgot how tight you are,” Azriel said after a few moments. He leaned forward and pressed a few sloppy kisses to the back of Elain’s neck before slowly starting to move. “You take me so fucking good, you know that? Wish I could fuck you all the time.”

She nodded as best she could with her face pressed against the sheets, but he wasn’t having that. She jerked as he slapped her ass again, his voice practically a growl as he demanded, “Use your fucking voice, Elain.”

“I— I take you so fucking good,” she repeated, her face feeling like it was on fire. He made her feel so dirty in the best ways, and she almost hated how much she loved it.

“There’s my good girl,” he replied. He picked up the pace and gripped her hips tight enough to bruise. “You don’t have to pretend to be shy with me, honey. Daddy already knows every filthy thing about you.”

To prove his point, Azriel came to a stop, releasing her hips so he could grab her ass in one hand and lightly rub his fingers against her perineum with the other. They’d never talked about doing something like that before, but Elain found herself wanting it anyway. She would do anything he wanted if it felt as good as what they usually did.

“You want me to fuck you here?” he asked, one large finger circling her rim.

She couldn’t form the words fast enough, but he pulled away with a low chuckle before she could think of anything to say. “Maybe we should save something for your husband.”

“Fuck you,” she panted, hating herself for how much the idea had turned her on. Not as much as she wanted to hit him for teasing her, but it was a close thing.

“I love your little attitude,” he responded, still chuckling to himself. “I hope he appreciates it.”

“Stop talking about him and fuck me already,” Elain demanded. She didn’t want to think about what she had to do tomorrow — she wanted to get fucked, and she wanted Azriel to stop playing around with her.

“Since you asked me so nicely,” Azriel said, and then they were shifting positions. Elain squeaked in surprise as Azriel pulled out, pushed her flat on her stomach, and rolled her over onto her back. He looked so powerful above her as he threw one leg over his shoulder and thrusted back inside her, his brown skin glistening in the low light as he fucked her, and she gasped as he immediately set a rough pace.

“You like watching Daddy fuck you?” he asked as he slammed in and out of her, all lightheartedness gone. His free hand made its way back to her throat, only stopping to squeeze one of her breasts on the way up, and she writhed under the possessive touch.

“Yes,” she moaned. Now that she didn’t have to support her weight, she brought one hand up to play with an almost painfully hard nipple while the other started rubbing circles into her clit. She wanted to come so badly again that she couldn’t find it in her to be ashamed as she added, “Harder, Daddy, fuck me, God you fuck me so good—”

Azriel’s thrusts somehow managed to get even harder, pulling a strangled cry out of Elain. “You gonna be a good girl and come on my cock?”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck I’m coming, I’m coming —”

Azriel let go of Elain’s throat and slapped his hand over her mouth as she came, only barely managing to muffle her cries in time. Her entire body clenched around his cock as she rode out her orgasm, and it didn’t take much longer for him to follow suit. He thrusted a few more times before slamming inside her as he came, pressing his face into the side of her neck to muffle his own grunts.

They laid there for a few moments in silence, the only sound in the room being their heavy breathing. Eventually Azriel rolled off of her and splayed across the bed on his back for a few minutes until he caught his breath. Once he wasn’t panting so hard, he got up and disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes before coming back with a damp washcloth that he rubbed between Elain’s legs.

“Congrats on the big day, princess,” Azriel said once he was finished, still teasing her. “Will you even be able to walk down the aisle after all this?”

Elain forced down the urge to slap him, knowing it wouldn’t get her anywhere. “I don’t care if they have to wheel me down the aisle. I’m getting married tomorrow and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Marry whoever you want,” he replied with a little too much nonchalance. He tossed the used washcloth into a random corner of the room and dressed quickly, his clothes not even rumpled despite being on the floor for so long, before leaning back down and wrapping a hand around her throat. “I don’t care if you have a ring on your finger. You’re still mine.”

“Get out,” she whispered even as she clenched around nothing, her body already wanting more of what her mind knew she couldn’t have.

“Whatever you want, princess,” he said, squeezing one last time before letting go. The bed didn’t make a sound as he got up and stood at his full height, and he didn’t even bother to hide the way he was staring at her bare form. “Mhmmm. I hope he appreciates that as much as I just did.”

Elain sat up and reached for the remote she’d dropped earlier, hurling it in Azriel’s direction without a second thought. “Get out!”

He just laughed before finally leaving the bridal suite. Barely a minute went by before the sound of him leaving before someone else was knocking at the door, and Elain forced herself out of bed to grab a bathrobe before answering it.

Nesta was standing outside her door, brows furrowed in concern. “Is everything okay? I heard you yell.”

“I’m alright,” Elain lied. She shifted the bathrobe tighter around herself in the hopes that it would hide how utterly used she looked. “Just a bad dream.”

“Okay,” Nesta replied slowly. Elain fought the urge not to shift under her sister’s gaze, but she somehow managed to pass inspection. “I was just checking on you. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Elain agreed. She shot Nesta the best smile she could manage before moving to shut the door. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Nesta echoed.

Elain shut the door and locked it once she heard Nesta’s footsteps padding away down the hall, sighing heavily before walking to the bathroom to start the shower. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry, scream, or both, but at least the shower would make her feel better.

At least, that’s what she’d been hoping for, but as she got ready for bed the second time and changed the sheets, it didn’t turn out that way. Nothing would change the fact that she was just a pretty pawn on her family’s chessboard.

#sjmromanceweek2023 #elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acosf #moodymelanistwrites

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abraxos-and-ataraxia · 2 years

Text

Rage and Ruin

Part 2

Pairing: Nesta x Eris

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: none

Summary: When Nesta Archeron’s meddlesome mother puts her in the path of an unmarried Duke, only chaos erupts, for neither is in search of matrimony…especially not with each other.

Once again pouring out my heart in thanks to @rarephloxes for being my beta on this project ❤️

Masterlist

* * * * *

“Do you think Lord Lucien will like the red ribbon, or the gold one?” Elain asked, holding up the two samples for inspection.

The sisters had descended upon the shops in town after lunch, intending to purchase final additions to their gowns for the Vanserra ball. The event was a week away, but already Elain was fretting, staying up late in the night to whisper her hopes and worries. No matter how many times Nesta reassured her, Elain was convinced that Lucien would forget his affection for her. That she would tear her gown. That anything and everything would go wrong, ruining the evening of her dreams.

Nesta ran her fingers over a third option. “Pink would look lovely as well,” she said, thinking of the flowers embroidered on Elain’s ball gown.

“Perhaps I should wear blue instead,” Elain muttered, abandoning her choices in favor of different ribbons entirely.

“In all honesty, I doubt Lord Lucien will have eyes for your accessories at all,” Nesta told her. “He will be far too preoccupied with you. After a single dance, I will be surprised if he can recall anything but the color of your eyes.”

“You think so? Truly?”

Nesta cracked a small smile, handing her a pale pink length of silk ribbon. “I know so.”

Elain all but vibrated with excitement, dashing off to the store owner to make her purchase. Meanwhile, Nesta eyed the wares laid out on the tables with a critical eye. She selected cobalt silk for herself, following her sister at a more restrained pace.

Two other ladies entered the shop, accompanied by a young officer. They gossiped softly as they explored the merchandise. “You know him, Mr. Crawford?” one lady asked.

The officer chuckled softly. “Knew him. Lord Lucien spent time in the military, back before his father permitted him to inherit.” Lord Lucien Vanserra? Nesta blinked, juggling coins as her mind scrambled to connect the information to the man she knew.

One lady gasped, “What? I do not believe I’ve ever heard of a Duke deciding upon his inheritors in such a way.”

“With seven sons, perhaps he was conserving funds,” the other woman suggested.

“He told me that he had a strained relationship with his father, as well as his brothers,” the officer said. “I do not know the cause for certain, but Lucien looks quite…different from the rest of his family.”

“You don’t mean to suggest…a scandal?”

“With no proof? Of course not. But it could explain why his brothers never accepted him as one of them,” he said.

“Even the eldest? The current Duke?” The lady’s question had Nesta slowing even further as she packed away her purchase, anything for an excuse to listen in.

The officer cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Even him. Or so Lord Lucien said, back when we served together. Perhaps time has changed their relationship,” he said. “But I know for a fact that the only person who wrote to him during his time in the regiment was his mother, the Duchess. And he was expressly forbidden from returning home on leave.”

Nesta’s mouth tightened, but she wiped away the expression when she saw Elain approaching. “Are you ready to go? Mother is looking for us,” her sister said, eyeing the others in the shop curiously.

“Yes, of course,” Nesta said, thanking the owner for his time. Together, she and her sister made for the door. She had no desire for more gossip, anyway. Particularly talk that was several years out of date.

* * * * *

Nesta’s finger slipped off a key, and she was rewarded with a swift smack on the knuckles. “Again,” Mrs. Archeron demanded, gripping the bamboo switch tightly. “This time, less clumsy. You think I haven’t noticed the Duke’s lack of affection?”

“No, mama.”

“I am sure you played for the Vanserras while staying at their estate. Even if you were reluctant, the Duchess no doubt requested it,” her mother said, eyes narrowed. “Which means you were not suitably impressive and you must practice. Again.”

Nesta started from the beginning, her focus narrowed in on the melody, the tricky runs. She had the piece memorized, of course, so she was ready to play at a moment’s notice without sheet music present. She kept her arms loose, graceful, fingers extended in long lines. Mrs. Archeron had trained Nesta with the same techniques used in dance, so that her playing was a performance of its own. Going up the octave, she crossed her left hand over, reaching for the next note.

Her mother must have found a mistake, because the wooden stick stung Nesta’s wrist. “Too soft, you’re going to slip off the keys again.”

Nesta practiced for hours, glad for the elbow length gloves she needed to wear for the ball. Without them, everyone would see the welts and bruises decorating her arms like so many bracelets.

Elain helped bandage her fingers later, for one or two of the welts had resulted in cracked skin. She didn’t say a word. Neither did Nesta, too used to the treatment unique to her alone. She was glad for it, glad that her sisters were spared the harsh instruction. But it was difficult to hold her resentment at bay in the aftermath.

She had been seven years old when her mother insisted upon dance lessons. She’d already grown used to the childhood stays, meant to correct her posture, so Mrs. Archeron decided she was ready to begin learning the social arts. Her grandmother was a skilled dancer in her youth, and had a firm grasp of all the popular dances of the new age, due to her religious attendance at all social functions. A fading matriarch, but still the wife of a baron.

Grandmama—as she instructed Nesta to call her—was a harsh critic, even with a child. That first afternoon served as Nesta’s introduction to the use of a bamboo rod as a teaching tool. If she forgot her steps, she received a lash on her palm. If she stumbled, another strike. If she forgot her posture, another. If she dared to shed a tear, both women would enact their punishment. She quickly learned to please her grandmother, and by association, her mother.

As the oldest daughter, Mrs. Archeron had lavished her attention upon Nesta, all but ignoring Feyre and Elain. “You have responsibilities upon your shoulders,” she used to say. “Your marriage will decide the future of our family, how high your sisters can marry, and whether you will live in comfort or squalor.”

The one and only time Nesta asked about Elain’s instruction, hoping for some respite from her various lessons, Mrs. Archeron had been all too clear. “Elain is a simple creature, she does not have the wits to succeed in the marriage market, or at least not with high aspirations. And Feyre?” She’d scoffed at the mere thought. “But you, my darling Nesta. You were born to conquer. You will win a prince or his peer, nothing less,” her mother declared.

And so Nesta learned to shoulder her painful burden alone. It was easier that way.

* * * * *

She exited the carriage carefully, watching her hem to ensure it stayed clear of the dirt. Mrs. Archeron, however, was more concerned with the family diamonds around her neck. “That necklace is an heirloom from my mother’s grandmother, so ensure it does not break,” she reminded Nesta.

Nesta wanted to throw it in the mud at her feet. “Yes, mama.”

“Good. Now smile, girls,” she instructed. Feyre’s expression was more of a grimace, but they complied.

The Duchess and Lord Lucien greeted guests as they arrived, standing just inside the main entrance. “Miss Elain,” Lucien said, smiling widely. “I am glad to see you here tonight.”

Elain blushed prettily, her cheeks matching the pink silk decorating her waist. “My family is grateful for your invitation tonight.”

“I hope you can spare me a dance,” Lucien said, russet gaze intent upon Elain.

Her sister grew shy at the attention, twisting her fingers together. “Of course, my lord,” she murmured, dipping her head. But anyone could see the eager smile upon her lips.

The Duchess beamed. “I hope to see everyone dancing tonight,” she said, catching Nesta’s eye with a meaningful glance. Then a new group approached, drawing the Duchess’ attention. The Archerons made their way inside to allow their hosts to complete their duties.

“I wonder where the Duke is,” Elain whispered.

Nesta’s mouth tightened. “I do not.”

Her sister’s brown eyes twinkled, catching the abundance of candlelight. “Then who are you scanning the crowd for?” she asked.

“A suitable dance partner to inspire Lord Lucien’s jealousy,” Nesta said, brow raised imperiously. “Ensuring the affections of a gentleman relies as much upon one’s beauty as proving one’s desirability.”

Elain frowned. “And who will you dance with?”

Nesta peered around the room, spotting more than one handsome officer. Evidently, Lucien had invited some of his former acquaintances, or perhaps the regiment moving through town had simply garnered enough interest to gain entry. There were more than a few faces she knew, young gentlemen Nesta had grown up with, and her mother had discarded as potential suitors. But there were some men that she did not recognize. She felt their eyes upon her, taking note of the fine gown, the tasteful jewelry, and the long line of her neck. Nesta obliged them, taking a deep breath to force the bodice of her gown to tighten in an appealing manner. More heads turned.

“Anyone I wish to invite me,” Nesta said at last. “Though I am sure mama will make her own opinions known before too long.”

Emerie appeared before them, her smile bright. “Finally, you’re here,” she said, laughter in her voice. “Come along before the masses descend. I’m sure Nesta has done her best to attract attention.”

“Of course she has,” Elain giggled.

“We best be quick, then, and get refreshments before you two are locked on the dance floor,” Emerie said with a conspirator’s grin.

Nesta only managed a single sip of lemonade before Mrs. Archeron appeared with a tall, blond man in tow. “My daughter, Nesta,” she said smoothly.

The man bowed shortly. His eyes were as green as grass, his skin tanned from the sun, though no freckles graced his cheeks. “Miss Archeron,” he greeted.

“This is the Earl of Spring,” her mother said.

Nesta curtsied, allowing Elain to take her glass. “Lord Spring,” she greeted.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Archeron?” the man asked.

Eyeing his out-of-style jacket and the way he continually adjusted his cuffs, Nesta wondered what had prompted the man to attend a ball. He was obviously uncomfortable, though that could also be attributed to her mother’s influence. “Yes,” she said, knowing better than to refuse in Mrs. Archeron’s presence. Her knuckles stung.

But there was more than one way to discourage a suitor, and Nesta knew them all.

They took to the floor under the watchful gaze of her mother, no doubt cataloging each of Nesta’s mistakes for later correction. “Do you enjoy dancing, my lord?”

The Earl looked even more uncomfortable, if such a thing was possible. “It is not one of my favorite activities,” he admitted. Nesta bit back a laugh. Thirty minutes was a long time for someone with a dislike of dance. They paused, allowing another couple to perform the next set of movements.

“I have not seen you at the Public Assemblyroom before, are you a friend of His Grace?”

“Not exactly,” he said. The dance then required them to circle away from each other. When they met again, he continued. “Our families have long been acquainted, though we have not known each other well since childhood.”

“What could have caused such a disintegration of your relationship?” Nesta pressed. “You must have something interesting to share on the subject of His Grace. The man is quite a mystery.”

The Earl eyed her carefully, no doubt catching on to her implication—she was more interested in another man. It did not matter if it was untrue, only that the Earl believed it for a night, long enough to forget her. “There has been some scandal circling the Duke,” her dance partner finally said.

Nesta’s eyes brightened at the unexpected benefit of her ploy—jealousy prompting the revelation of secrets. “Surely nothing too serious. Was that the reason for the end of your families’ relationship?”

The Lord Spring took a wide circle around her. “I am not certain why our fathers stopped being acquainted. But the scandal occurred a few years ago, while the previous Duke was still alive,” he said. “There was a woman involved, disgraced by the encounter.”

Nesta blinked, surprised. From her own experience with the Duke, she found it hard to believe him capable of questionable behavior with a woman, considering his reluctance to spend time in a lady’s presence at all. Though perhaps his recent history was the reason for it, she considered. “But His Grace is quite an honorable man, is he not?”

The Earl huffed, disgust obvious in his expression. “Not from the stories I heard circulating. He was seen alone with an unmarried lady, but refused any engagement. The lady was disgraced, and her family cast her out.”

“You weren’t there?”

“No, though I heard plenty of accounts detailing the same thing. The Duke abandoned her in the woods that night, but he seems no worse for the encounter.”

Nesta managed to acquire a few more details of the event, but the Earl turned taciturn for the remainder of the dance. They sank into silence, the man obviously remembering her lack of interest in him. She did her best to encourage that fact, making a point of watching the other dancers more than her own partner. Even going so far as to catch the gaze of an officer at the edge of the dance floor. And when the Earl of Spring did meet her eyes, Nesta made her expression as cold as ice, a mirror to her mother’s haughty expression when her children displeased her. There would be no uncertainty between them. She would not entertain him, no matter how desperate he was for a wife.

By the conclusion of the quadrille, Lord Spring was more than eager to leave her. He disappeared into the crowd as soon as politeness allowed, and Nesta was permitted to seek out refreshments once more.

“That went well,” Emerie observed, sidling up next to Nesta.

“I managed to learn some delicious secrets before I managed to scare him off,” Nesta said, hiding her smirk behind a glass.

“Well, don’t tease me,” her friend admonished.

Before Nesta could share her discoveries, she found herself face-to-face with a broad chest clothed in a well-tailored jacket. The Duke’s sudden appearance had Emerie quieting at her side, and Nesta’s smile faded into dust. She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes, which were already fixed upon her face with shocking intensity.

“Miss Archeron,” he dipped his head in greeting.

“Your Grace. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

“This is my estate,” Eris said slowly, as though she lacked understanding.

Nesta gritted her teeth, forcing her expression to remain pleasant. “Your presence in conversation,” she amended.

Eris opened his mouth to respond, but a new voice interrupted. “Nesta, is that you?”

Nesta turned to see two familiar faces approaching. “Clare,” she said, her mouth twisting into an awkward smile. “And Mrs. Beddor, it’s good to see you again.” In truth, Nesta did not care one way or the other. She had not spoken with Clare in years, ever since Mrs. Archeron determined that her lessons should take priority over acquaintances unlikely to improve Nesta’s prospects. Emerie was one of the only friends she’d managed to maintain despite her mother’s strict rules.

“I have not seen either of you in so long,” Clare said earnestly. Emerie glanced at Nesta, the two sharing the same thought—they’d spoken to the Beddors at the public ball not two weeks prior.

Mrs. Beddor cut in before the conversation could stall, “I was not aware you knew our gracious host.” The underlying request was obvious, and manners dictated that Nesta could not refuse.

So she smiled, gesturing to Eris with one hand. “His Grace, the Duke of Autumn,” she introduced. If Clare wished to pursue him, she was welcome to do so. Nesta only wished that she was not their chosen instrument in the endeavor. “This is Mrs. Beddor and Miss Clare.”

Eris nodded to the Beddors, but remained silent. Nesta was reminded of her first meeting with him, where he behaved much the same.

“Your Grace, this is such a lovely ball,” Mrs. Beddor said, smiling widely.

Any lingering amusement in his eyes evaporated like morning dew. “I hope you are enjoying the evening.”

Clare blushed prettily, looking up at the Duke with wide eyes. “Yes, Your Grace. Though I find I am in desperate need for a dance partner,” she said, making her intentions painfully obvious.

Nesta eyed Clare, a girl she’d been friends with as a child. She supposed there was no fault to be had in pursuing a Duke. He was rich, handsome, and sure to make a respectable husband. Nesta’s dislike for him was not universal. And Clare was a handsome girl, accomplished despite her humble upbringing, much like Nesta’s own. She would not make a bad match.

The Duke, however, did not appear to share Nesta’s thoughts. He frowned severely at the girl. “There are a great number of gentlemen in this room who enjoy the art of dancing, though I am not one of them.”

Clare was undeterred, still beaming up at the man. “What activities please you most?” she asked, hopeful.

“Riding and reading, to name a few,” Eris said, the words clipped.

“I also enjoy riding, we have such beautiful scenery—”

“I prefer to ride alone,” he cut Clare off. The group descended into prickling silence.

Nesta pursed her lips, trying and failing to withhold her glare. “It seems a waste to be given such a gifted life and refuse to live it in pleasant company,” she said archly.

Eris turned his head sharply, amber gaze boring into hers. “A gifted life?”

“To be sure,” she said, brows raised. “A kind family, extensive wealth and property, and you languish alone. It seems a pity to me.”

“And you are so suddenly struck with this analysis of my life?”

“It merely occurred to me that I find Miss Clare’s presence far more tolerable than many others in this room,” Nesta said, flicking her gaze over him to make her opinion clear.

The Beddors looked aghast at the direction the conversation had gone, and Mrs. Beddor quickly extracted her daughter from their group, no doubt to find a more appreciative gentleman. Nesta was sure they would find one. Eris Vanserra had proven to be the least tolerable man in the room on more than one occasion. It couldn’t be too difficult to find his better. She doubted many men would offend young ladies so readily.

Once the two women had gone, Eris took a step closer. “May I have the next dance, Miss Archeron?” he asked abruptly. His expression lacked any discomfort or uncertainty she might have expected, considering the outcome of his previous request at the Assembly Hall. Had he forgotten her refusal so quickly? Or was he incapable of comprehending defeat when it looked him in the eyes? Nesta wondered if anyone had ever refused him before.

“My card is full,” Nesta said, voice low with shock. He had denied Clare only to request Nesta’s company? In such quick succession?

“Your dance card is presently on the floor,” he said, with a pointed glance at her feet.

Nesta refused to look. “I have already promised the next dance to another gentleman.”

“Not Tamlin, surely. Lord Spring seemed to be in a bit of a rush when he left you earlier,” Eris informed her.

“A different gentleman,” Nesta threw out, hoping he would take her word for it, but knowing he wouldn’t.

“As one of only three men you’ve spoken to this evening, I believe I can say with authority that you have no other dance partners waiting,” Eris said, brows furrowed. Did she confuse him so much?

Nesta glowered at him, “I find it hard to believe that you’ve changed your mind regarding the activity, after hearing all of your complaints. And after your quick refusal to Miss Clare.”

“I would prefer your company to hers,” he said, as if it was so simple.

“And that is your excuse for such a rude dismissal?” Nesta asked, disbelieving.

“Her approach to conversation was equally forward, and I saw no reason to dance around pleasantries when they scarcely managed to do so.” Eris looked out at the crowd, unruffled. Was the Duke truly permitted to engage in such behavior unpunished? His heavy-handed comments unremarked upon?

“When have you ever used pleasantries as they were intended?” Nesta muttered to herself. If Mrs. Archeron was aware of the Duke’s social failings, perhaps she would not push for an engagement at all. But her mother’s ambition knew no bounds, so Nesta knew it would be up to her to find a suitable deterrent. “Have you considered, sir, that I do not wish for your company at all?”

“How wonderfully direct, Miss Archeron.”

“I merely thought to emulate the behavior you so readily display.”

“In light of this, do you have a reply to my request?”

Nesta stared at him, at a loss for words. Still he pursued her as a dance partner? “Perhaps you would be more interested in accompanying Miss Clare, as she is more than accomplished in the art.”

“How am I to ask another young lady when I know how much you enjoy the activity,” Eris said, eyes bright. If she didn’t know him better, Nesta would almost say he looked to be enjoying their argument. “I could not help noticing your displeasure during your previous dance.”

“I did not realize you were so observant,” Nesta said.

“I also observe that you do not wish for any suitors of your own. Perhaps my presence can assist you in this matter,” Eris suggested.

“Perhaps I am only interested in the company of honorable men, none of whom seem to be present this evening,” Nesta said.

“That nearly sounds like an accusation,” Eris mused.

“Would you like me to make one?”

But Eris merely smiled, a bare whisper of a thing. “You can tell me on the dance floor, Miss Archeron.”

“I have made no agreement, sir,” Nesta said, back stiffening impossibly further.

Eris quirked a brow, his expression turning nearly as imperious as her own. “These tactics of yours may work on other, more easily fooled gentlemen, but you’ll find that I’m harder to escape.”

Nesta shot him a barbed smile. “Perhaps by the end of our dance, you will be the one seeking to escape,” she crooned.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Eris said, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “I look forward to it.”

Then he was gone, and Emerie was clutching at her arm, gasping, “I cannot believe that just happened.”

“What have I done,” Nesta breathed, gulping her lemonade in an attempt to soothe her sudden onslaught of nerves.

Emerie laughed at the horrified expression on her face. “Witnessing the two of you up close, I must say, you are quite evenly matched,” her friend said.

“He’s the most infuriating man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting,” Nesta exclaimed.

“And I am sure he thinks the same of you,” Emerie said, rolling her eyes. “Perhaps you will find his company agreeable. At the very least, he may prove to be an accomplished dancer.”

“I doubt that very much,” Nesta grumbled, eyeing the dance floor with trepidation. She would dance, that much was certain. And she would punish him severely for his attempt at intimidation. She could not permit any man to think himself entitled to her time, least of all the Duke.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sight of Feyre beside the Earl of Spring. She giggled, nearly dropping a glass of champagne—or what she assumed was champagne, from the pink in her sister’s cheeks. Nearby conversations slowed as guests turned to watch the spectacle unfolding.

Nesta forgot all of her previous irritation, striding across the room with singular purpose. She snagged Feyre by the elbow, smiling widely at Lord Spring as a distraction. “Pardon me, my lord, but I am desperately in need of my sister’s company,” she said, excusing them both. She did not wait for his reply.

Feyre grumbled a bit, but didn’t argue until Nesta pulled the glass from her hand. “I’m not done,” she snapped, reaching for the champagne.

Nesta frowned at her sister, eighteen years old and still incapable of knowing better. The situation might have been avoided if Feyre listened more carefully to their mother, or if she cared at all for her reputation. For their family’s reputation. But the youngest Archeron sister had always been a bit wild, a bit reckless. And if there was anything that Nesta and Feyre had in common, it was that both were stubborn to a fault.

“You are quite done. If you drink anymore, you are likely to vomit on the floor,” Nesta ground out, placing the half-empty glass on a passing servant’s tray. “Be happy you did not expel the contents of your stomach on the Earl’s shoes.”

“He was telling me about his travels, until you interrupted,” Feyre bit back.

“And no doubt hoping you were careless with your virtue,” Nesta said, exasperated. “Truly, you risked yourself. You must be more careful.”

“You don’t let me have any fun,” Feyre hissed, folding her arms over her chest in defiance. “You’re worse than mama.”

“Mother doesn’t pay attention to you,” Nesta corrected, eyes hard. “If she did, you’d know better than to behave as you have tonight.”

“You can’t stop me,” Feyre said, chin jutting out mulishly. “You had your turn to find a gentleman, now it’s my turn. Mama introduced us.”

“You will find a husband, Feyre,” Nesta said, lips pressed into a thin line. “But not like this. A lady must not reduce herself to drunkenness to find a willing partner. He will hardly be the right one, if you are in such a state.”

“I’m not drunk,” Feyre argued, stumbling slightly when a guest bumped into her.

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Oh, aren’t you?”

Feyre dropped into sullen silence, becoming pliable enough that Nesta was able to drag her along to find their father. But Mrs. Archeron found them first. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, voice like brittle glass.

“Feyre is quite tired, she does not feel well,” Nesta explained, nudging her sister to remain quiet.

Mrs. Archeron inspected them carefully, eyes narrowed on Feyre’s glassy eyes and glowing cheeks. “Has she been drinking? We’ve scarcely been here an hour,” she said, incredulous. “And where is Lord Spring?”

“She is feeling unwell,” Nesta repeated, refusing to admit to anything else, especially in such a public confrontation. And refusing to touch the subject of the Earl, knowing that her mother was responsible for that mess. “Can we send her home in the carriage?”

“We cannot,” her mother snapped. “It looks disgraceful for her to be sent home so early, and alone, too.”

“Perhaps I should escort her,” Nesta suggested, watching her mother with an unblinking stare. “Or you can.”

“You most certainly will not,” Mrs. Archeron scoffed. “Your place is here, as is mine. We have accepted a gracious invitation, and we will not disappear early because your sister wants to behave like a common woman.”

Before Nesta could spit venom, a servant appeared at her mother’s elbow, speaking too quietly for her to hear what was said.

“Please give my thanks,” Mrs. Archeron murmured, pasting a thin smile on her lips. She maintained the expression as she turned back to her daughters. “It seems a room has been made available for your use, Feyre. Courtesy of the Vanserras.”

Nesta did not know who it was—the Duchess, Lucien, or Eris. She was briefly ashamed, knowing that one of them noticed the embarrassment about to fall upon her family. But the crisis had been averted, and for that she was thankful. She pulled Feyre with her, following the servant down the hallway to an unoccupied room. Nesta left her there under strict instructions to stay put. She hesitated for only a moment, contemplating locking the door, but ultimately decided that Feyre was an adult, and should be trusted as such.

Besides, Feyre would be angry enough later without Nesta turning the room into a prison cell.

Nesta returned to the main rooms, thinking the night could not get any worse, but the sight on the dance floor proved her wrong. Elain, blushing shyly opposite her partner—the Earl of Spring. And Lucien, along the outskirts, his russet gaze fixed upon them. Nesta wondered if the Earl was truly so ill-mannered to pursue three sisters at once.

“Do they not look handsome together?”

Nesta spun to face her mother, who watched the dancers with a proud smirk. “She is being courted by Lord Lucien,” Nesta hissed, eyeing the crowd.

“And Lord Lucien needs a bit of prompting to move faster,” Mrs. Archeron said.

“He needs no prompting,” Nesta said, incredulous. “You risk driving them apart with this scheme.”

Mrs. Archeron spun with a disapproving frown. “I do not require my daughter to instruct me in the art of matchmaking. Especially when you are incapable of entertaining a gentleman for the duration of a single dance,” she bit out. “The Earl is in possession of ample funds, and would be an excellent match for any one of you. And he is considerably more eager for a wife than the Vanserras seem to be.”

Nesta’s stomach dropped. Perhaps she had not been subtle enough in her evasions. Perhaps time was running out, slipping through her fingers like so much sand. She dreaded the day she woke up shackled to a life she did not want.

So she watched Elain dance and held her tongue. She knew better than to argue.

* * * * *

Before she knew it, Nesta was standing across from Eris. He bowed, but his gaze remained fixed on hers. Then they were off, the two lines of dancers engaging in a seamless choreography.

“Are you planning to stare for the duration, or do you intend to make conversation?” Nesta asked him, waiting for another set of dancers to complete their rotation.

“Do you normally speak during a dance?”

“Ah, I had forgotten how out of practice you are,” Nesta sneered a bit. “However do you intend to find a Duchess? By staring at her? Must you not speak?”

“I was unaware that you were under consideration for the role.”

“As was I,” Nesta said, baring her teeth in a thin excuse for a smile. “I assumed your invitation to dance was merely a formality, or perhaps an attempt to humiliate me in front of your peers.”

“Having been told repeatedly of your prowess, I merely wished to witness your skill firsthand,” Eris said, face so still she could almost imagine him to be a statue.

“And how do I compare to the paragon of woman you described? Must your future duchess be better than I am? Or is my level of skill a sufficient standard to hold her to?”

Their conversation halted when the dance required them to switch partners, but the Duke was ready when they rejoined. “Having only seen you dance for a few minutes, I must withhold judgement until you sufficiently impress me,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk.

“Impress you? For what purpose?” she demanded. “I have no interest in impressing a man of questionable morals.”

“Quite the admonishment, when you hardly know my character,” Eris commented dryly.

“I know enough from the reports of others in your social circles,” Nesta said, looking down her nose at him.

“They cannot possibly be acquaintances of mine, or you would have heard better reports.”

“I wonder how you must bribe your friends, sir, to amend a scandal resulting in the disgrace of an innocent woman.”

Eris blinked, and then she was spinning, coming to a halt with her back to him. Nesta led them both across the floor, the faint heat on her neck and shoulders indicated the Duke’s proximity to her. "Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me,” Eris said in her ear, his breath tickling the skin.

“If they are truly lies, why haven’t you denied them?” Nesta asked, sounding more breathless than she would have liked.

“Despite what you think of me, Miss Archeron, I do have a sense of honor,” Eris said. Nesta spun around to face him, and they circled each other slowly. “It is my experience that some truths can harm those involved more than lies. Often, those spreading rumors believe a version of events that is easier to swallow.”

Nesta blinked up at him, lost for words. She had not considered such a possibility, but found it hard to believe that any truth could be worse than the story she’d heard. Rather than responding, she focused on the dance once more, keeping her steps light. The song was one of her favorites, one of the few her grandmother had not taught, but Nesta had learned on her own. Before long, Nesta lost herself in the flurry of notes and runs. She delighted in the stretch of muscle, gliding over the polished floor. She found herself smiling from the sheer joy of song and movement.

The Duke was waiting precisely where he was supposed to be when she completed a series of complex rotations, arms outstretched to meet her. “You are indeed talented,” Eris murmured. “Absolutely magnificent.” His fingers, just barely holding onto hers, tightened a fraction. His other hand brushed her back, but despite the dominant position, he let Nesta lead them.

So she did. Nesta’s feet propelled their brisk steps down the line. They swapped partners, made wide turns, but always returned to one another. And somewhere in the middle of their dance, she forgot her next retort. Every insult eddied from her mind like water through a sieve, leaving nothing but floating skirts and fervent glances.

Nesta whirled, her eyes finding his face again with unerring precision. Pools of molten amber snagged her attention, and Nesta reminded herself to inhale, exhale. She spun again, and then they were closer than ever before, a mere handbreadth between their bodies. So close she could see the faint freckles dotting his nose, a phantom constellation decorating his high cheekbones.

The dance led them across the floor, side by side, though Nesta found herself watching Eris from the corner of her eye. Watching the way his long legs ate up the parquet floor. The size of his hand as it brushed against her own. She shivered, remembering the way it had dwarfed her own.

Nesta bit her tongue in self-admonishment. It was unfair for him to be so attractive, yet only while silent. She could not see a future alongside the Duke, but for the duration of the dance, she allowed herself the fantasy. The other dancers faded into oblivion, until all Nesta could see—all she could feel—was Eris. The way his arm grazed hers as they circled the floor. The intensity of his gaze, setting her skin alight. The warm light turned his hair to living flame, his flawless skin to polished marble. And his gaze never left her own, keeping them tethered even when they parted, gliding away as the dance required. Even the musicians were muffled, overshadowed by her raging heart, her thunderous breaths.

The Duke’s gaze dropped to her parted lips, and a vision unspooled like golden thread between them. His arms wrapped around her, a wordless question. And her chin, tilted up in answer. His mouth would be soft, she imagined. Such a contrast from his biting tongue, so similar to her own. She wanted to see his eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Wanted to slide her fingers through his hair. She wanted to know the feel of his touch upon her skin. Would it burn?

Her ears rang and her feet came to a halt. It felt like a dream, like swimming in liquid candlelight. Nesta surfaced with a gasp, the noise of the room rushing in to replace whatever spell she’d been under.

Eris bowed briefly, then turned on one heel and vanished into the crowd. Nesta fought for air, struggling to fill her lungs. Before anyone could stop her, she made for the darkened hallway, away from the bustling ballroom. In solitude, she remembered how to breathe at last.

A quiet balcony called her name, beckoning her out into the chilly evening air. But even the cold could not drive her back inside, and Nesta remained there for the remainder of the evening, struggling to remember why she hated Eris Vanserra.

* * * * *

The Archeron household was subdued the day after the ball. Feyre was still abed, despite the hour approaching noon. Likely sleeping off the lingering alcohol, Nesta thought with a frown.

Mrs. Archeron lounged on the fainting couch, fanning herself between biscuits. She managed to open her fatigued eyes to remark upon Nesta and Elain’s needlework once every fifteen minutes or so. The sisters worked in companionable silence. Nesta was occupied with one of Feyre’s gowns, mending a ripped seam, while Elain made progress on the embroidered hem of one of her new day gowns.

The door opened. “A letter for Miss Elain.”

Her sister leaped out of her chair, dropping her embroidery and running over to the servant at the door. The elderly man smiled before leaving the Archeron women in peace. Nesta set aside her needlework as well, curiosity a flame within her.

Elain tore into the letter, but her exuberance quickly faded as she read its contents. Nesta watched her cheeks pale, already plotting murder on her sister’s behalf.

“He says,” Elain started, before breaking off. “Lord Lucien says he is going back to London. Today.”

“Why on earth is he leaving?” Mrs. Archeron questioned shrilly.

“When will he be back?” Nesta demanded to know, fighting the urge to take the letter and scour it for information herself.

“He does not know. Perhaps never,” Elain said, trailing off into pained silence. “All three of them are leaving, though he does not give an explanation.”

Mrs. Archeron pursed her lips. “We shall contrive a reason for you to visit London, then,” she decided. “Perhaps the lord merely needs a reminder of his affections. In person. Then we shall receive the proposal and promises we deserve.”

But a stone settled at the pit of Nesta’s stomach, something about that letter tasting foul in her mouth. She feared there was more to the letter, to the Vanserras sudden and inexplicable departure. She feared the effect that reason might have upon her sister. And she desperately hoped it would not give her a reason to learn the art of dueling on her behalf.

* * * * *

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#neris #nesta x eris #neris fic #eris vanserra #nesta archeron #neris: pride and prejudice

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