#acotargiftexchange
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Merry Christmas to @iambutmortal!! I got to make a gift for you this year for the @acotargiftexchange!
i had such a good time getting to know you for the past months 💕
when i tell you i had the biggest blast making this (even despite having to render hair 6 times) and i'm so excited i can finally show you!!
the biggest tragedy about making art was a ban on any teasers 😫
i hope you enjoy and i wish you the most glorious holiday time! 🎄
(as i am insane, the piece is huge and it needs some close-ups)
#for optimal viewing experience i recommend using the desktop 🫡#it's enormous and when i checked it on my phone it couldn't quite comprehend what was going on#oops#now i want you to know that in my sea of ideas i sketched 3 'throwaway' sketches of them dancing#and i went like 'nooooo i could never draw that'#but i loved this idea so SO much and i just couldn't let it go 😌#elucien#elain archeron#lucien vanserra#acotargiftexchange
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You Love Our Permanent Chase (And the Bite of Our Bark)
A/N: Down to the literal wire, but a very happy holidays to @freakingata! It is I, your Secret Santa! It has been so lovely getting to know you these past few months, and I've loved writing this fun Nessian fic for you 🥰 I hope you enjoy soccer star Cassian and the holidays shenanigans he gets up to with his work rival Nesta 😉 (cc: @acotargiftexchange)
Word Count: 9,337
Read on AO3
Nesta hates Cassian Valdarez.
She doesn’t care that his play helped carry Velaris FC to the top of the league standings year after year. She doesn’t care that his save against Hybern during penalty kicks sent Prythian to the World Cup final. She doesn’t care that he’s beloved by the nation, and she certainly doesn’t care that he was considered one of the best goalkeepers in the world before a shattered knee ended his career.
Because when Nesta looks at Cassian Valdarez, she doesn’t see the friendly, likable soccer superstar that everyone else seems to see. Instead, all Nesta sees is a cocky, arrogant, insufferable man who’s had everything handed to him on a silver platter.
Nesta worked hard for years to get where she is. She worked hard in high school to earn a scholarship to one of the best universities for journalism. She worked hard to graduate top of her class for her degree. And she worked damn hard interning with barely two pennies to rub together until she was finally promoted to reporter and anchor. She thought she had finally done it. Thought she’d finally made a name for herself and achieved her dream.
Thought.
But then Cassian Valdarez had all but strolled in, the network more than happy to pant at his feet and offer him the job.
So now Nesta is stuck being a co-reporter, a co-anchor to the former soccer star. She’s forced to sit beside him and force a smile while they talk through the biggest plays and the biggest games of the week, the top news in soccer from around the world. She’s forced to listen to his deep timbre, to his drawl as he calls her sweetheart. It’s infuriating.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Speak of the devil. It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her annoyed groan. At least with Cassian standing over her shoulder, she’s able to roll her eyes in peace without him clocking the expression. She doesn’t even bother turning to greet him, to even lift her head and meet his gaze. Instead, she keeps her focus on the papers on the desk in front of her, organizing her notes until she’s happy with them. She hopes the blatant dismissal grates his nerves as much as his presence grates hers.
“Did you have a good weekend?” Cassian asks anyways, sliding into his seat beside her.
“Certainly not as good as yours.”
Nesta remembers the pictures, the headlines that took over social media like a blazing fire. Cassian with his curls disheveled around his face, his hazel eyes bright but hazy, a pretty blonde all but hanging off his arm while they stumbled out of a bar called Rita’s downtown. With bright red lipstick pressed against the golden skin of his cheek in a perfect mark, the photos painted quite the picture, and almost every headline included a cheeky play on words over the fact a former goalkeeper was scoring now.
“Jealousy isn’t a good look for you.”
“Jealous?” Nesta scoffs, snapping her attention to Cassian and his stupid smirking face. “I just feel bad for the poor girl, that she had to spend a whole night with you. Must have been terrible.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that message along to Mor,” Cassian tells her, his eyes practically glinting in amusement despite the fake solemn tone he puts on. “Platonically, of course. In case you were curious.”
Nesta rolls her eyes again, turning back to her notes. “I don’t care.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
Cassian chuckles, the sound low and warm, and Nesta clenches her jaw against it. But before either of them can say anything more, the floor manager, Balthazar, steps over to the news desk. He quickly runs through some high level notes from the director, the makeup staff stepping over halfway through to touch up both their faces.
The routine of it all helps Nesta to focus, to center herself. She focuses on the words Balthazar is saying, on the brush skating across the skin of her face. She glances back down to her notes, and for a moment, the rest of the studio fades away. No longer is there the chatter of the camera crew, the movement of coworkers as everything is readied, the blaring stage lights overhead. It is merely the steady thrum of her heart within her chest, the air through her lungs with each breath.
It is merely Nesta in her element as they're counted in.
“Welcome to Velaris Sports and the Football Show,” Cassian begins, shooting a winning smile toward the camera. “I’m Cassian, here with Nesta, and it certainly was an interesting week for the world of soccer. Wouldn’t you say so, Nes?”
It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her reaction at the stupid nickname, to keep her face smiling toward the camera, even as her fingers flex against her notes. “It certainly was, and I think we’d both agree that one of the top things to happen this week was the Women’s National team’s showing against Hybern. It was clear that though the match was just an early qualifier for next year’s World Cup, those women are here to play. Emerie Marciano’s sipping tea celebration after her goal early in the second half will live in infamy.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Let’s check out that and other highlights from that game in case you missed it.”
~ * * * ~
When the call to cut finally echoes across the sound stage, that red recording light finally flickering off and the stage lights dimming to nothing, Nesta lets out a quiet breath. She takes a moment to close her eyes, relaxing fully back into her seat, back into herself, and lets her television smile drop away.
“Great show today, sweetheart.”
“Thanks,” Nesta mutters, pushing up and to her feet and straightening out her skirt. Whether Cassian notices the distinct lack of offering a ‘you too’ or not, she doesn’t know or care, gathering up her papers.
“I especially liked those extra tidbits about the Vanserra family you threw in. Great tie-in for that segment on Lucien Vanserra.”
Nesta doesn’t even bother swallowing down her eye roll. One day, she's sure her eyes are going to fall out of her head, and it's all going to be working with this man’s fault. She turns back toward him, offering a bland, mocking smile. “That’s what happens when some of us actually do our research.”
“Exactly,” Cassian agrees easily with a wide smile of his own, his hazel glinting. He leans back casually in his seat, stretching an arm back and across Nesta’s now vacated one. “That’s what I have you for. You be the brains, and I'll be the beauty.”
Nesta scoffs, settling Cassian with a final scowl before she turns on her heel and stalks off the sound stage. At least now she can settle back at her desk, put on her favorite podcast, and spend the rest of the day peacefully in her bubble away from Cassian while she prepares for their next episode. She needs a drink, a stiff one ideally, but it’s only the afternoon. She decides to settle for something sweet instead to help her through the rest of the day, beelining for the refreshments table set up back near the kitchen.
She grabs one of the mugs at the end of the table first, carefully filling it about three quarters of the way with coffee. She adds creamer next before grabbing a handful of sugar packets, tearing them all and dumping them at the same time. Snagging one of the wooden stirrers, she brings her coffee to the perfect shade, lifting the mug to her lips and taking a small sip. Just how she likes it, the taste blooming on her tongue and warming her all the way down.
“You made me coffee, sweetheart? You shouldn’t have.”
Before Nesta can even react, before she can even turn or say something or roll her eyes for the twentieth time today, a large hand reaches over her shoulder. Dark swirls of ink twist and curl down toward the wrist, and long fingers curve around the top of her mug, plucking it straight from her grip. She whips around, an annoyed scowl already twisting across her face, a raging fire burning in her narrowed gaze. She swears Cassian’s eyes glint at her expression, his smile twitching up that little bit higher as he brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip.
Cassian pulls the mug away with a grimace, peering down into the coffee. “Cauldron, you don’t want to add some coffee to your sugar?”
Nesta smirks triumphantly, even as she blinks innocently up at him. “It’s sweet. Like me.”
“I think you got your ratio off, Nes. It’s clearly not bitter enough.”
“Nesta,” Nesta snaps, jabbing a finger at his chest as she enunciates. “Nes-ta.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Cassian fires back, his ever present cocksure smirk betraying his faux innocence.
“Perhaps you’ve taken too many balls to the head over your career because clearly you must be deaf.”
Cassian chuckles lightly at the quip, but he doesn’t disagree. Instead, he brings the pastry in his other hand up to his mouth, taking a bite. Nesta can’t help but track the chocolate that begins to ooze between his fingers, the way his tongue darts out to catch the sweetness. Her gaze snaps back down to the platter of pastries, excited at the prospect, but all she sees are regular croissants and jam filled scones.
Of course.
Of course, Cassian took the last chocolate pastry. Because taking her job, taking her sanity each and every work day clearly isn’t enough. The audacity of this man. Nesta’s chest feels tight with the heat and rage bubbling between her ribs. It boils over and scrapes beneath her skin, fueling her inner fire and goading her on. Harsh words sit heavy on her tongue, poised and ready to strike, but a quiet throat clear to her left has her swallowing them back down.
Nesta and Cassian both turn their heads and their attention at the same time, finding one of the production assistants, Diedre, standing beside them. Nesta has always noticed she’s a bit on the shy side, and even now, as her eyes glance back and forth between them, Nesta spies the barest hint of pink beginning to spill across her cheeks.
“Sorry,” Diedre mumbles, reaching between them to grab one of the jam filled scones. The color on her cheeks deepens with the attention still on her, her shoulders pinching upwards. “Are either of you planning to participate in the Solstice Week events?”
“Solstice Week events?”
“Don’t you read the company emails?” Nesta sneers with a scoff.
“It’s um… it’s just different events to build excitement for Solstice,” Diedre explains, answering Cassian’s question. “Desk decorating. A cookie exchange. Ugly sweaters. And a Solstice inspired scavenger hunt.”
“So a contest, then? And what prize do I get if I win?”
“What makes you assume you're going to win?”
“I…” Diedre stutters slightly, glancing between them again. “I don’t think there’s any sort of prize.”
“That’s alright,” Cassian offers, turning his gaze back to Nesta and daring to shoot her a wink. “I’ll still win anyways.”
Nesta will admit that when the email came in for her earlier in the week, she merely skimmed it before ultimately deleting it. She’ll admit that she didn’t care about something as silly as the company’s attempt at team building and morale. But, now, she knows. She knows that she will not let Cassian Valdarez get another thing over her, even something as stupid as Solstice Week events. She will not let him bask in another victory that’s all but handed to him because no one else even tries.
Determination has her spine hardening like steel, her chin raising just slightly as she holds Cassian’s gaze firmly. She refuses to let him have this. She’ll show him and this whole production company, the whole network, and she’ll do it in such a way that it wipes that stupid, smug look right off Cassian’s face.
No, this time, Nesta Archeron is going to win.
~ * * * ~
Nesta squints down at the piece of paper she has laid across her desk, running her fingertip over the drawing there. She had stayed up late with Gwyn at the rickety kitchen table that’s been with them since their college apartment. The redhead had always had an affinity for Solstice and the celebrations. And a creative eye. She always ensured their apartment was decked out for the season as early as socially acceptable, and Nesta intended to use her friend’s talent to her full advantage.
Tapping her finger against the page in confirmation, Nesta turns in place. She crouches down toward the bags she brought into the office with her this morning, rooting around until she finds the package of stuffing. She stretches out the stuffing and lays it across her desk, crumbling up pieces of paper and shoving it beneath to create little hills just as Gwyn suggested.
Nesta adds various random figurines and mini fake Solstice trees, and she steps back to admire her work, happy with the winter wonderland she’s created. She returns to her bags and grabs the green streamers next. She maneuvers her desk chair until it aligns to her liking, carefully stepping up onto it. Even with the added height boost, she has to press up onto her toes to get close enough to the ceiling. She jams a hook into the material of the ceiling tiles, draping the first streamer across it.
“You’re in already? What did you do? Sleep here overnight?”
The sudden voice has Nesta jumping in surprise, her balance on the chair wobbling. Two hands shoot out to help steady her, fingers spanning across her entire waist and heat seeping beneath her blouse and skittering across her skin.
“Careful, Nes,” Cassian chuckles quietly. “Don’t want to break that pretty little head of yours.”
Nesta makes a fake gagging noise at the comment. “Don’t try to be cute.”
“You think I’m cute?”
Nesta turns her head enough to glare at the hands still at her waist, but Cassian doesn’t seem deterred. In fact, his telltale smirk only seems to grow at her reaction. With an annoyed huff, Nesta turns back to the task at hand. She hangs the other streamer over the hook, adding the large, red ribbon tied in a bow as the final touch. She steps down off the chair and out of Cassian’s grip, carefully placing the ends of the streamers so it gives the illusion of a tree.
“Looks great,” Cassian comments. Nesta snaps her attention back to him, but the teasing smirk she expects to find is decidedly missing. In fact, there’s nothing but genuineness painted across his expression. “You certainly went all out.”
“Well, it is a desk decorating contest,” Nesta reminds him. She can feel pride bubbling up in her chest, blooming and taking root between her ribs. She doesn’t even bother swallowing it down, doesn’t bother biting back the victorious smirk that tugs up her lips. “What did you expect?”
For a moment, Nesta swears that Cassian’s smile grows at her expression, an emotion she can’t quite pinpoint flaring in his hazel eyes. But then that all too familiar cocksure smirk takes over his face again. His attention dances back toward Nesta’s desk, taking in the different decorations she’s arranged, before he meets her gaze again.
“I honestly assumed you’d be more of a grinch.”
Nesta’s nostrils flare at the remark and she crosses her arms across her chest. “Fuck you.”
Cassian laughs again as though the insult delights him, the sound prickling across Nesta’s skin. Her blood sparks just as much as Cassian’s gaze seems to. She rolls her eyes and turns on her heel, stalking away and toward the coffee, Cassian’s voice following after her.
“Game on, sweetheart.”
~ * * * ~
Nesta lets out a quiet breath as she steps out of her car. She swears that she can still feel flour in her hair. No matter how hard she scrubbed in the shower, it’s as if the cookie dough is now embedded within her from where the beaters sent it all flying. Almost as badly as it's embedded in her apartment. She's still not sure how cookie dough got on the ceiling.
Another soft sigh and Nesta grabs her bag and the tupperware full of cookies from her passenger seat. She can’t help but wince as she peers at her cookies. They spread more than she had anticipated, losing their shape, and the edges and bottoms are crispier than she’s sure they’re meant to be. She had followed the recipe to what she thought was a T, but something went wrong somewhere along the way.
At least they’re made with love.
That’s what Gwyn had said the previous night, and Nesta hopes that counts for enough. It should count for enough in her opinion, that at least hers are homemade. She’s sure that most of her coworkers will just be bringing in store-bought for the cookie exchange today. Including a certain former soccer superstar that Nesta is confident has never stepped foot inside a kitchen before in his life. He probably used his money to have a private chef that prepared all his food for him.
Nesta steps inside the studio kitchen, finding the area that’s been set up for the cookie exchange. Already, there are various cookies out and on display, including the cakey icing heavy ones that the grocery stores sell for every holiday, still in the plastic case. Cassian’s contribution if Nesta had to guess. With a roll of her eyes, she opens up her own tupperware and adds her cookies.
“Morning, sweetheart. What kind of cookies did you make?”
Nesta takes a moment to breathe before turning toward the voice. Cassian leans casually against the counter near the refrigerator, wearing a soft looking, deep red henley shirt since they aren’t filming today. His hair is pulled away from his face in a bun, the lights of the kitchen casting shadows across his jawline. He has a cookie in his hand, perfectly shaped and iced to look like a soccer player, and he offers Nesta a cheeky smirk as he pointedly takes a bite.
“Sugar cookies,” Nesta grinds out from between her clenched teeth.
She turns back to her tupperware of cookies, spying a stack of sticky notes and a sharpie set to the side. She grabs both, quickly scrawling her cookie type on the purple paper to match the other cookies on display. She feels more than she hears Cassian sidle up behind her, heat prickling up her spine as it radiates off him. His breath skates across her cheek as he leans forward to peer over her shoulder.
“Are they… snowmen?”
“They’re meant to be gingerbread men and Solstice trees,” Nesta explains, trying desperately to swallow down her annoyance.
“Really? Are you sure?”
The annoyance burns into full blown anger, fire raging through Nesta’s veins. She whirls around, but almost instantly regrets it. It puts her chest to chest with Cassian, and she has to tilt her head back slightly to keep meeting his gaze. His hazel eyes practically seem to spark, all green vines and golden specks, and that smirk of his grows slowly but surely across his face.
“You know, you’re supposed to chill the dough after you cut them,” Cassian continues, not even bothering to take a step back to give her space, leaving Nesta caged in. “That’s the trick to getting them to keep their shape and not spread so much.”
“I don’t recall asking,” Nesta seethes. She settles a hand against his chest, shoving gently, but Cassian’s large frame is unmoving.
“The other trick is to use your hands, to really knead the dough to the right consistency.” Cassian’s voice dips lower as he speaks the word, holding a hand up between them and curling then flexing his fingers. “I’d be more than happy to give you a demonstration some time.”
“Yeah, right. You really expect me to believe you’re some great baker?”
“Try for yourself,” Cassian offers, reaching back behind Nesta and producing a tupperware of his own.
Nesta eyes the cookies, the perfectly shaped and iced soccer players, and scoffs. “You did not make those.”
Cassian presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “You wound me, sweetheart. I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent cook. And an excellent baker. In fact, this is my own recipe.”
Nesta scowls as Cassian shakes the tupperware toward her encouragingly. She snatches up one of the cookies and makes a big show of taking a bite. She hates it. She hates that the cookie is actually delicious. She hates that it's buttery sweet and melts perfectly in her mouth, the perfect mix of crispy edge and a soft center with icing that's not too overpowering.
It takes everything within her to swallow down a moan of delight, to not give Cassian that sort of satisfaction, but from the way Cassian’s smirk only seems to grow, it’s clear he already knows. With a huff that she pushes out between clenched teeth, Nesta knocks her shoulder against Cassian’s and shoves past him. Hard. She stalks back toward her desk, mind already reeling with ways for her to win the Solstice Week event tomorrow, to ensure victory after today’s misstep.
And if Nesta sneaks back to the kitchen throughout the day to grab more of Cassian’s cookies to help fuel her? Well, no one has to know.
~ * * * ~
“That has got to be the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen.”
Nesta tugs at the hem of the fabric at her hips. The pink color probably wouldn’t be half bad if it wasn’t practically neon, and the two toned green fringes of yarn clustered across the front only seem to add to the charm. That and the clumps of yellow yarn with lopsided faces. Nesta has to bite her lip around the smile threatening to break free across her face. It’s exactly the type of response she was hoping for.
Schooling her features, Nesta finally raises her face to Balthazar. “Thank you.”
“Not usually the response you’d expect to that,” Balthazar chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Today only I’ll allow it.”
“Well, you definitely have my vote.”
With that, Balthazar vanishes back toward his own desk and his own work, so Nesta finishes mixing her own coffee to her taste before doing the same. She pulls up her notes she’s been working through these past few days, quickly skimming through what she already has written. Nodding to herself, she pulls up the game clips from the last World Cup, finding where she left off.
“Hope you’ve been working on your gracious loser speech, sweetheart.”
For once, Nesta doesn’t roll her eyes at that all too familiar drawl. In fact, her grin is wide as she turns in her seat and comes face to face with Cassian. He has his arms spread wide, showing off his own sweater. A fake, felt fire has been glued to the center of the sweater, various small stockings pinned in a line along the shoulders, and tinsel loops around the collar.
It’s certainly ugly.
Almost in slow motion Nesta watches as Cassian takes in her own sweater. His brows start to furrow low over his eyes, his arms dropping limply back to his side. But the true victory comes from watching Cassian’s cocksure smile slip from his lips and be taken over by a confused frown.
“What the hell is that?” Cassian asks, gesturing toward her attire.
Nesta tugs at the fabric, smiling down fondly at her attire. “My sweater for today’s contest. It’s meant to be solstice trees and kittens. Allegedly at least. But it’s perfectly ugly, don’t you think?”
Cassian crosses his arms across his chest, raising a practically sardonic brow. “What possible store could you have found that in?”
No longer wanting him towering over her, Nesta rises from her seat, truly going toe to toe to him. She narrows her eyes at him, the scowl familiar and easy. She lets a slow smirk tug up her lips, keeping her voice the picture perfect of innocence as she tells him, “Jealousy isn’t a good look for you.”
Cassian chuckles softly, shaking his head. “What are you going to tell me next? That you knit it yourself?”
“Unfortunately not. My great aunt did,” Nesta explains, peering down at her sweater again. “She’s half blind.”
“That sounds like cheating.”
“Since when are there rules for an ugly sweater contest?” Cassian huffs quietly, but he doesn’t say anything, and Nesta knows that she’s won, knows that he doesn’t have an argument for that. She offers a condescending hum, tilting her head in mock innocence. “Guess someone’s a sore loser.”
Cassian leans in closer still, and Nesta raises her chin higher in defiance, unwilling to back down from his attempts to cow her, back down from his gaze pinning her in place. With the little space between them, Nesta realizes his eyes are more green than brown, specks of gold seeming to glint amongst those swirling vines. This close, she can feel the heat that radiates off him, can feel his breath skate across her cheeks. She can watch in slow motion as that smirk returns.
“Until tomorrow’s contest then. Nes.”
~ * * * ~
Nesta leans forward in her seat, squinting at her computer screen and the image displayed there. She currently has two wins for this week’s contests to Cassian’s one, and she’s determined to win today’s challenge too, to claim her victory for the whole week.
A scavenger hunt.
According to the email sent around to everyone, various small, plastic penguins have been hidden around the studio and offices to be found. Each one is worth a different amount of points, and whomever has the most at the end of the day, wins. It seems simple enough, and if Nesta plays it strategically, it’s practically in the bag.
Nodding to herself, ensuring she’s memorized the image and what exactly she’s looking for, Nesta closes her laptop and pushes up to her feet. She glances around at the other desks around her, hoping to spy one of the penguin figurines. The ones with the top hat are worth two hundred fifty points, but she’d accept any to begin the search.
Nesta heads for the studio kitchen next. She opens up the refrigerator, and there, beside all the packed lunches, is a penguin, no taller than an inch, with a pink bobble hat on. Only ten points, but Nesta snatches it up all the same and continues her search. She finds another ten point penguin amongst the mugs, a penguin with yellow earmuffs worth twenty five points between tea pouches, and a penguin on skis worth fifty points in the freezer.
She continues her search across the soundstage, winding through the desks, and even checking in the production control room. By the end, she has an entire paper cup full of various penguins. Plenty of the ones worth ten and twenty five points, and she’s even found a few of the penguins in a blue coat worth one hundred points.
Still no top hat penguins though.
“And how many penguins have you found, sweetheart?”
Nesta doesn’t even bother turning around, doesn’t bother stopping her search, as she pulls open the bottom tray of the printer and locates a blue coat penguin. “I’m already at eleven seventy five.”
“Not bad,” Cassian comments, and when there’s silence after, Nesta hopes that means he’s decided to leave her alone. “Aren’t you going to ask how many I’ve found?”
Nesta scoffs, straightening and turning to face Cassian and lift a sardonic brow. “No.”
“Well, I’m at a thousand and ten.”
Cassian steps closer, right up into Nesta’s space until the heat radiating off him prickles across her skin. His hand reaches out, stretching back behind her. Nesta can’t help but hold her breath, Cassian not even breaking eye contact while he lifts the document cover on the copier at her back. When he pulls his hand back, a penguin with yellow earmuffs sits in the center of his palm.
“A thousand thirty five,” Cassian offers with a smirk.
With a roll of her eyes, Nesta side-steps away from Cassian. She can hear him trailing behind her as she makes her way down the hall, but she pointedly ignores him. The sound of a door opening draws her attention, and when she whirls around, she spots Cassian opening what appears to be a janitor’s closet of some kind. Nesta rushes forward, slipping in quickly before he can, determined to find whatever penguins might be hiding in there first.
“Who knew you were so competitive, Nes.”
“Nesta,” Nesta snaps, whirling around to watch Cassian step inside behind her.
The door closes behind him with a soft snick, and Nesta realizes too late just how small the space is. She and Cassian are practically standing chest to chest, and the wide set of his shoulders and his tall frame makes it seem even smaller still. Nesta tries to take a step back, but the metal of the shelves in this closet merely digs into her spine.
“That’s what I said,” Cassian tells her with an easy shrug.
“Do you enjoy riling me up?”
“Oh, there are many things I enjoy when it comes to you, sweetheart.”
Just like at the printer, Cassian’s hand reaches up between their bodies. Only this time, his hand reaches toward her face. For a moment, his fingers brush along the strands of her hair that hang loosely around her temples. For a moment, Nesta swears she can feel the barest whisper of a touch across her cheek. She can feel heat creeping up her neck, threatening to spill beneath her skin, threatening to send goosebumps skittering down her spine.
Cassian pulls his hand back, showing off a penguin in a blue coat pinched between his fingers. “Eleven thirty five.”
Nesta lets out a growl of frustration, both at the fact that Cassian is now only forty points behind her, and at the fact she allowed herself to be distracted by him. She whips her attention back toward the shelves, moving around the rolls of paper towels and cleaning bottles. She lets out an excited noise when she looks between the stack of microfiber towels, pulling out one of the coveted penguins in a top hat.
“Would you look at that,” Nesta declares, turning back around and holding up the penguin for Cassian to see. “I’m at fourteen twenty five now.”
“The day is still young.”
“Whatever. I doubt they hid that many in here so just get out of the way so we can leave.”
Cassian offers an eyeroll of his own, but he turns toward the door at least. Nesta waits for the light of the hall to spill back into the small space, for Cassian to step out so she can follow behind him, but instead his entire body tenses, shoulders raising slightly.
“So… bad news,” Cassian starts, turning his head enough that Nesta can see the grimace that’s taken over his face. “The door is locked.”
“Don’t fuck around, Cassian. It’s not funny,” Nesta snaps, smacking his arm in annoyance. “Open the door.”
“You think I’m lying to you?” Cassian jingles the handle of the door in emphasis. “It’s locked.”
“You’re probably just doing it wrong. Move out of the way.”
Nesta elbows past Cassian, reaching out and trying the handle for herself. It barely moves, so she tries again, more aggressive, but it’s definitely locked. She lets out a noise somewhere between a frustrated scream and an annoyed huff, slapping her hand against the wood.
“I told you it was locked.”
Nesta nearly jumps out of her skin at how close Cassian’s voice is. She realizes too late that when she elbowed past him that Cassian didn’t move, that she’s now practically pressed up against him. She can feel every hard line of him, every muscle built from years of playing soccer. Can feel the way his heart seems to skip and beat between his ribs.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, to swallow down the shiver threatening to skitter up her spine at the proximity, Nesta pounds her fist against the door. “Help! Someone help! We’re locked in here!”
“Really, sweetheart?”
“Can anyone hear me? Unlock the door! Help!”
“You know, we could always just—”
The sound of the door clicking echoes in the small space and cuts Cassian off. Balthazar’s face comes blinking into view, his eyebrows dipping low in confusion as his gaze darts between the two of them.
“Um…”
“Don’t ask,” Nesta pushes out between gritted teeth, shoving past Balthazar and stalking down the hall and back toward her desk.
By the end of the work day, Nesta’s collection of penguin figurines comes to a total of one thousand, eight hundred, thirty-five. She takes a photo and sends it to the email for all the Solstice Week events, her submission. It doesn’t take long before the email comes in, announcing the winner for the scavenger hunt, but Nesta frowns as she reads the name, as she eyes the photo of the winning penguin collection. The figurines practically overflowing to the point they don't fit in the frame.
Jumping to her feet, Nesta stomps her way down the line of desks. “How did you do it?”
Cassian leans back casually in his seat, his easy smile not fooling Nesta for a second. “Do what?”
“Two thousand seven hundred five?” Nesta demands, glaring down at him. “How is that even possible?”
Cassian’s smile turns into a full blown smirk, lifting his hands back behind his head until the sleeves of his shirt ride up his biceps. “Someone’s a sore loser.”
“You cheated. You had to have cheated.”
“I’m offended that you’d make such an accusation. It’s not my fault I’m charming.”
Nesta snorts, rolling her eyes. “Charming? That is not a word I would use to describe you.”
“Clearly others find me charming,” Cassian tells her with a shrug, that infuriating cocksure smirk unmoving. “Charming enough to share the penguins they found with me.”
Nesta’s jaw slackens at the admission. She steps forward, in between Cassian’s legs, so that she can glower down at him. “That’s. Cheating.”
“I prefer the words charming and resourceful,” Cassian fires back, his hazel eyes practically sparking even under the fluorescent lights. “That means two wins for me, and two wins for you. We’ll have to call it a draw, Nes.”
“It is not a draw. You forfeit because you cheated.”
“Nowhere in the rules of the scavenger hunt did it say I had to find all the penguins myself. It just said whoever had the most points at the end of the day. And I did. It’s a technicality.”
Nesta huffs and crosses her arms across her chest. “Then we do another challenge to settle the score and determine a true winner.”
“It’s a Friday and the end of the day,” Cassian chuckles, shaking his head. “What possible work challenge could you come up with?”
“We’ll stick with the Solstice theme like it’s been all week to be fair. It snowed last night. You, me, snowball fight.”
“Fine,” Cassian concedes surprisingly easily, reaching forward enough that he can close his computer. “But when I win, and I will, I want you to remember this moment and how you begged me for this.”
“I am not begging,” Nesta snaps, stepping back enough that Cassian can stand up from his seat.
“Is that another challenge? More than up for rectifying that one, sweetheart.”
“Just meet me outside.”
Nesta turns on her heel and storms off back to her desk. She quickly shuts down her own computer for the day and packs up her work bag. She tugs on her gloves and hat, winding her scarf around her neck. She zips up her coat and heads for the door, following around the building to the grassy area now blanketed in white waves of snow.
Nesta lets out a yelp of surprise as a snowball hits her straight in the chest, wet snow streaking down her jacket and dripping to her feet. A deep, booming laughter follows the assault, and Nesta raises her gaze to glare at Cassian, another snowball already balanced in the palm of his hand.
“Does this mean I win now?”
“No,” Nesta snaps, crouching down to scoop snow into her own hands.
She packs the snow down until it’s a ball, stretching her arm back and lobbing it at Cassian’s head. Cassian is quick to jump out of the way with another deep laugh. He tosses his own snowball toward Nesta, but she ducks before it can hit her, using the motion to scoop more snow into her hands.
Cassian starts to charge toward Nesta, and with a yelp, she makes a break toward the right, quickly tossing her half formed snowball at him. She skitters slightly as she stumbles away, but she crouches down again to gather more snow. She straightens and presses her hands together, packing down the snow until it forms a ball. She whirls around again just as cold wetness settles on her head, dripping down her temple and the back of her neck.
Her jaw drops open, staring with wide eyes at Cassian’s own shocked face, his hands held above her head. For a moment, they merely stare at one another, but then Cassian’s lips start to twitch. His hazel eyes light up and he gives in to the laugh he’s clearly trying to hold back, the sound surprisingly warm despite the cold now settling deep within Nesta’s bones.
“You look like a wet, angry cat, sweetheart.”
“You’re such a shit,” Nesta seethes, shoving hard at Cassian’s chest in retaliation.
With the snow and ice slippery beneath their feet, Cassian’s balance wobbles, and before Nesta knows it, he goes tumbling to the ground. Unfortunately for her, his hand latches around her wrist, almost out of instinct, and she falls half on top of him with a quiet oof. She quickly shoves off, but that just leaves her in the snow, her entire back now cold and wet.
“So,” Cassian starts, propping up onto his elbow so he can smile down at her. “When are you finally going to go out on a date with me? Does tomorrow work for you?”
Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, her mind trying to wrap around Cassian’s words. “What?”
“Oh, come on, Nes. Isn’t it about time we finally put an end to all this sexual tension?”
It takes everything within Nesta to keep in her startled laugh. She can’t believe this turn in the conversation. This notion. The absolute absurdity of this man. A date with him. With Cassian Valdarez. The bane of her existence. The man who’s the reason she has to share her job. The man who is all endless cocky smiles and looming over her with his large frame and those hazel eyes that practically pierce through her in a way that’s almost unnerving.
“What are you talking about? I hate you. I’m pretty sure I’ve made it very clear that I hate you.”
“Oh… um…” Cassian clears his throat a bit awkwardly, pushing a hand up and through his hair. “I thought that was just how you and I flirt. Our back and forth. Like a game.”
“I hate you,” Nesta repeats, not even bothering to swallow down her scoff. “In what world would I ever agree to date you?”
Cassian’s smile slips fully off his face, the hazel of his eyes dimming before he drops his gaze away from Nesta. He pushes up to his feet, still not quite looking at her as he brushes the snow off his pants.
“Well,” Cassian finally says, his voice suddenly hollow and lacking any of his usual warmth. “Clearly I read this whole situation wrong. Sorry.”
Nesta opens her mouth, but words die in the back of her throat, thoughts a tangled mess of vines. She can do nothing but gape dumbly, can do nothing but watch as Cassian lets out a quiet, self deprecating breath and shakes his head, turning on his heel and stalking away.
~ * * * ~
By the time Monday rolls around, Nesta’s reeling mind still hasn’t calmed since the events of Friday. She spent the entire weekend replaying that moment in the snow with Cassian on loop, the look on his face before he walked away. She kept replaying every moment she ever had with Cassian. All the smirks and easy laughs. All the quips and jabs. Every sweetheart and Nes. It started to all make sense, that look he would get on his face, the way the golds of his hazel eyes would glint.
The worst part was that the more Nesta thought about those moments, thought about those looks, thought about him, her chest got that little bit tighter, emotions running rampant and kicking up a swirling storm. Only one thought broke through the raging seas in the end: what was wrong with her? She hated Cassian Valdarez.
Or did she?
Cassian who never balked at her fire, who never belittled her or told her to bring down those flames. Cassian who always goes toe to toe with her, practically lighting up in amusement at every quip or remark. Cassian who never questioned her knowledge or skill, never commented or joked about her being a woman working in sports journalism. Cassian with his delicious baking and gorgeous eyes and warm laugh and—
With a soft sigh, Nesta tries to shake her head of those thoughts. She focuses on her notes and today’s show, mentally running through the stories and the points she wants to discuss. Even still, the words on the page start to blur together, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, the skin already ragged from the same tick chasing her all weekend.
“Good morning, Nesta.”
Nesta’s head snaps up at the greeting, turning to find Cassian standing in front of his chair. For the first time, it feels like he's not smiling or smirking. Instead, his lips are pressed into a neutral line, a dullness clinging to the hazel of his eyes that’s almost unsettling. It certainly sends a crack ricocheting through Nesta's chest. It takes her a moment too long to realize he said her name, her proper name. No teasing nickname to be found. It almost sounds strange hearing it fall past his lips. It almost sounds wrong.
“Morning,” Nesta murmurs back.
Cassian settles into his seat beside her, not quite meeting her gaze. Nesta opens her mouth, but she’s not even sure what to say. Does she mention what happened last week? Does she pretend that nothing happened and ask how his weekend was? Before her mind can settle on the best approach, Balthazar steps over and begins his pre-show spiel and notes.
As the show kicks off, Nesta just hopes any awkward air between herself and Cassian doesn’t show through on camera. It’s certainly the most professional show they’ve ever filmed, sticking firmly to their talking points, the segments. But with each passing minute, Nesta’s spine straightens that bit more, her fists clenching that little bit harder against the table. By the time the shout of cut echoes across the sound stage, the air around her feels stifling, a tightness pinching between her ribs like twisting vines.
“I wanted to apologize,” Cassian starts quietly once it’s just them again, and when Nesta turns to meet his gaze, there’s a burning to his hazel eyes that has her breath catching. “For what happened on Friday, but mostly for all the teasing and everything with Solstice Week. I… I shouldn’t have assumed that it was flirting for you or that you felt what I did, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again. Have a great rest of your week, Nesta.”
With a nod of his head, clearly having said his piece, Cassian pushes up and to his feet, heading toward his desk. His name presses against the back of Nesta’s throat, desperate to be released and call after him. An emotion she’s been unwilling to name all weekend, one she’s been running away from since Friday, swirls in her gut. It twines and squeezes around her heart, tugging like a thread wrapped tight through her chest.
Watching Cassian walk away from her for the second time is like that thread going with him, yanking hard. It leaves Nesta swallowing hard, and she realizes one simple fact with a stark clarity that would knock her on her ass if she wasn’t already sitting down.
She misses Cassian Valdarez.
~ * * * ~
“And everything is good and ready?”
Emerie sighs, flopping back against the pile of pillows on Nesta’s bed. “For the fourth time, yes. All you need is the code I texted you and you’re good.”
“Okay okay,” Nesta concedes, turning away from the mirror where she was fixing her hair. “I just want to be sure.”
Emerie’s lips part, and Nesta can see the retort sitting primed and ready on the tip of her best friend’s tongue, but then her eyes sweep over Nesta’s frame. She takes in the deep blue velvety fabric that hits Nesta mid-thigh, the sweetheart neckline that sweeps low across her collarbones. The way Nesta’s styled her hair so it falls in loose waves down around her shoulders and along her spine, her makeup drawing attention to her eyes.
“Well damn,” Emerie comments with a smirk. “You’re definitely looking hot as shit.”
Nesta smoothes down the skirt of her dress, not even bothering to bite back her own smirk. “Thanks. Now, I just need the rest of my plan to work.”
Turning back toward the mirror, Nesta gives herself one last look over and dabs the lipstick painted across her lips. She grabs her heels and slips them off, rolling her eyes at Emerie’s hooting and teasing that follows her out the door. When she finally settles in her car, she takes a moment to breathe deeply, to steady her thundering heart, and then she’s off.
The event space that the network has rented for the evening is almost unrecognizable as Nesta steps through the doors. Golden streamers decorate almost all the walls, colored balloons clustered about and structured into a balloon arch over the doors at the far end. Small, tall tables dot the space, covered in white tablecloths, and workers dressed all in black weave between them with various hors d'oeuvres balanced on trays.
A bar has been set up along the back wall, and Nesta spies Cassian standing there. He has an arm slung across Balthazar’s shoulders and a beer in his other hand, his head thrown back as he laughs easily at whatever is being said. His hair falls in soft curls around his face, some sort of product making the dark strands shine beneath the lights, and the dark green sweater he wears looks especially soft even as it clings perfectly to his wide shoulders and chest.
Swallowing hard, Nesta steps over to the bar. “Happy Solstice.”
“Happy Solstice,” Balthazar echoes, raising his beer in a cheers.
Cassian turns to her, and sparks ricochet through Nesta’s nerve endings at finally having his gaze on her again. She doesn’t miss the way his hazel eyes flare, doesn’t miss the way his lips part and his throat bobs as his attention sweeps over her. It sends her own blood heating, her heart stuttering for a moment.
“Nesta, you look…” Cassian breathes before he seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and looking away again. “Sorry. Happy Solstice.”
“I was wondering if we could talk?” Nesta asks, darting a quick glance toward Balthazar who wastes no time making himself scarce.
Cassian is quiet, and for a moment, Nesta is afraid he’ll say no, but then he’s nodding his head. He downs the rest of his drink and looks to her expectantly, so Nesta begins to lead the way. She weaves between their coworkers and toward one of the halls that stretches through the rest of the building.
“So, who’s the gift for?” Cassian asks, breaking the awkward silence between them.
Nesta pauses her steps, glancing down at the gift bag in her hand before looking up at Cassian again. “It’s for you, actually.”
“You got me a Solstice gift?”
“You sound so shocked.”
“You hate me, remember?”
Nesta winces at his words, looking up and into his eyes, praying to the Mother that he can see the sincerity in her gaze. “I don't actually hate you. I thought I did but I…” She lets out a soft sigh and holds the gift out to him. “Just open it, will you?”
Cassian lets out a quiet breath of his own, but he reaches out and takes the gift, his fingers brushing against Nesta’s with the movement. He shifts through the tissue paper until he reaches the gift inside, lifting it out with a confused frown.
“A… soccer ball?”
“Yes,” Nesta answers, her voice more short than she intends. “It will all make sense in a moment.”
With a determined huff, Nesta whirls back around and continues stalking down the hall. It takes a few seconds, but soon she hears Cassian’s steps falling in behind her. At the end of the hall, she finds the double doors exactly as she expects. She digs her phone out and pulls up her text chain with Emerie, quickly punching in the code to the lock. She pulls open the door and looks back to Cassian expectantly, but he merely raises an eyebrow.
“Is this the part where you lead me away from the party to murder me?”
“If it was, do you really think I’d tell you?”
Cassian chuckles, shaking his head. “Touche, sweetheart.”
Nesta gestures with her arm, and finally Cassian steps inside. She follows behind him and allows the door to fall shut behind them both. As promised, the lights have been left on, but from the looks of it, it’s only half the lights, casting everything in a dimmed, yellow glow. The domed roof stretches high overhead, and an almost eerie quiet has settled over the rows and rows of seats, over the grass, over the crisply painted white lines.
“How’d you get the keys to this place?” Cassian asks, stepping forward and spinning in a slow circle, taking it all in.
“I know people.”
Cassian hums quietly and cranes his head back, his eyes falling closed as he takes a deep breath in and then out. “And not that I’m complaining, but what exactly are we doing here?”
“We never determined a winner for Solstice Week,” Nesta reminds him, stepping forward and taking the soccer ball from his arms.
Cassian watches as Nesta steps up onto the grass and makes her way toward the box at one end of the field, the hint of that all too familiar smirk beginning to peek through. “And this is how you want to do that?”
“If you’re scared of losing, just say that,” Nesta taunts, bending down enough that she can place the soccer ball on the dot in the grass.
“I never said that,” Cassian offers, stepping across the grass himself and making his way toward the goal. “Did you forget who you were talking to?”
“Good.”
Nesta bends one of her legs back, slipping a finger beneath the strap of her heel and tugging it off. She does the same with her other heel, allowing both to dangle from her fingers before dropping them unceremoniously against the grass. Cassian tracks every movement she makes, and even with the space between them, Nesta swears his eyes darken.
Nesta resets her stance, offering a smirk of her own. “I thought we could make things interesting.”
Cassian licks his lips. “Interesting how?”
“If I make this goal, you have to take me out on a date.”
Cassian’s expression shifts to shock, and Nesta waits with bated breath for him to say something, for him to do something. Even after what happened last week, it feels like a shot in the dark, like a leap right off the ledge without knowing what waits beneath. What if he’s changed his mind? What if after telling him she hates him, he decided he wants nothing to do with her any longer? What if this is the stupidest thing she’s ever done?
The thoughts swirl like dark, churning waves inside Nesta’s mind. They leave her heart skipping nervously between her ribs, the blood pounding in her ears with each second that ticks by like an eternity. Her stomach flips over itself, and the urge to take the words back and swallow them back down, to backtrack, digs sharp claws into the back of her throat.
Nesta isn’t sure how much time has passed, but Cassian seems to come back to himself. He shakes his head and starts to bounce on the balls of his feet, stretching his arms out wide and tapping each of the goal posts.
“Take your shot then,” Cassian calls out to her.
Taking a steady breath, Nesta backs up a few steps. She glances down at the ball then back at the goal, eyeing up the space between, thinking through where she wants to aim. Running forward, she kicks the ball hard. Cassian doesn’t even bother moving. He stands firmly in place, his eyes never leaving Nesta’s face as the ball sails right past him and into the netting. Warmth floods through Nesta’s chest as they continue to stare at one another, a smile tugging up the corners of her lips.
“You know,” Cassian starts, turning around to retrieve the ball and walking back toward Nesta, bending down to place it back on the white dot. “Usually, it’s best two out of three.”
“Is that so?” Nesta asks, her voice breathless even to her own ears at the way Cassian is looking up at her.
Cassian straightens, slowly backing up toward the goal again. “I was thinking this time, if I make this save, I get to kiss you.”
“Feeling confident?”
“Are you? I was one of the best goalkeepers Velaris FC ever had after all.”
Nesta hums, feigning disagreement, but they both know it’s true. Just like before, Nesta takes a few steps back, eyeing up Cassian and the goal. She makes a big show of glancing to the right just before she runs forward and kicks the ball hard toward the left side. It doesn’t fool Cassian for a second. He goes sprawling across the grass, knocking away the ball with ease.
Nesta doesn’t even care where it rolls off to, and it’s clear Cassian doesn’t either. He’s barely made the save before he’s jumping back to his feet, long strides swallowing the space between them. His hands come up, framing Nesta’s jaw and tilting her face up, and then he’s crashing his mouth down against hers. Nesta doesn’t waste a moment. She surges up onto her toes, meeting him stroke for stroke. She buries one hand in the soft, dark curls of his hair, the other clutching into the fabric of his sweater, as one of his arms drops to around her waist, pulling her closer still until any space between their bodies vanishes.
When Cassian finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His nose bumps against Nesta’s, breath skating across her skin. She can feel the heat of him everywhere they’re pressed together, can count every green vine and gold fleck of his hazel eyes. And for once, it’s not one of his cocksure, teasing smirks greeting her, but a soft, wide smile. One that she suspects might be just for her. One that has her breath catching. One that she knows is echoed across her own face.
And in that moment, Nesta realizes that she doesn't hate Cassian Valdarez at all.
—
Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy
#nessian#nesta archeron#cassian#acotar#acosf#acotargiftexchange#nessian fanfiction#nessian fic#nesta x cassian#my fic
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Every Sound Your Heart Makes
I’m so excited to share my secret Santa gift for @headcanonheadcase! This fic started with an idea for what I like to call “reverse Gilmore Girls” — with a grumpy single dad and a chatty, diner owner. So you can expect the Gwynriel we know and love in a cozy, heartfelt small town setting. I hope it’s everything you want for Christmas, and more!
Summary: It’s been six years since Azriel came back to his hometown, with his newborn daughter in tow. Six years since Gwyn moved away from whatever heartbreak she’d left behind in her previous life and opened up a diner in Starlight Grove.
Now, unable to resist the urge to help Gwyn, Azriel volunteers to design sets for their town’s Christmas musical. But what happens when the town grump and the woman he’s fallen for can no longer hold back from the inevitable?
Chapter 1: Coffee, Please
Read here on AO3
Read a snippet below:
Even steps lead him to where he finds himself most mornings for the simple reason that his days aren’t quite right without a cup of coffee… and his daily dose of Gwyn. Once he reaches her diner, he pushes the door open with a gentle shove. His gaze briefly lingers on the cursive that spells out her name against frosted glass—four simple letters he wants to trace, followed by an apostrophe and an ‘S’. Then, just as the scent of peppermint and hot cocoa washes over his senses, his attention shifts.
He sees her immediately—the owner herself flitting from table to table, pouring coffee into half-empty mugs. The sight of Gwyn alone is enough to have him transfixed. To leave him frozen right there, in the doorway.
It’s almost unnerving, how still he is, when the diner is packed with townspeople. There’s a distinct liveliness to the place, one Azriel knows is only found at Gwyn’s. He’s come here every day for years, and he has yet to find another place where the warmth of the air envelops him the same way.
It’s in the details—he knows—at least for most people, this feeling of home. As much as the shop belongs to Gwyn, it belongs to their entire town. From initials carved into tables on first dates to small tears in fabric cushions covered with scraps of tape, to the sticky residue to sweet syrup that never seems to be scrubbed away from the tiles.
For him, it’s not the details that make him love this place. Not the coffee, nor the assortment of desserts.
It’s Gwyn.
That’s precisely the reason why he stands where he is, unable to take in the diner he’s been coming to for years. Why he doesn’t even see the rest of the room.
All he sees is her.
And then, her teal eyes flicker up, and she sees him, too.
“Good morning,” he says—croaks really. His voice is rough, perhaps with the lingering effects of his interrupted sleep. The greeting is all he can find in himself to say, but it is a good morning. Very good.
The sentiment only grows when Gwyn bites back a smile.
“You’re letting out all the warm air,” she huffs, playing at being annoyed. It must be the heat of the room, but Azriel swears he sees the slopes of her cheeks flush a lovely shade of red. In response, he can only take a step forward, allowing the gravitational force between them to draw him towards her and leave the door falling closed with a soft whoosh behind him.
“What? You’re not going to say ‘good morning’ back?” He crosses his arms across the expanse of his chest, fixing Gwyn with a look. He’s always found immense pleasure in teasing her, so he continues. “That’s awfully rude. I thought we were better friends than that, Gwyn.”
Now, it’s her turn to cross her arms. She sets her pot of coffee on a nearby table before doing so, then tilts her head back to glare at him. “We are, but you’re not the one paying the electricity bill.”
“You’re worried about your electricity bill?” He almost laughs at the irony.
Purposefully, he drags his gaze from Gwyn, instead turning to study the strings of light she’d put up overnight. At least they’re not the multicoloured variety, but a soft white that makes the interior of the diner glow from where they cover nearly every available surface. Precisely three Christmas trees are decorated in a similar, maximalist fashion, and Azriel can’t help but wonder how the diner hasn’t blown a fuse since she’d put the decorations up.
He arches a brow when he looks at her again, trying to hide his amusement. “Really?”
Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @foundress0fnothing @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @trashforazriel @sv0430 @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @thelovelymadone @damedechance
For the @acotargiftexchange
#gwynriel#gwynriel fanfiction#gwynriel supremacy#gwyn berdara#gwyneth berdara#azriel#au gwynriel#modern gwynriel#acotar fanfiction#acotar#gwynriel fanfic#acotar secret santa 2023#acotargiftexchange#every sound your heart makes
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Heavy Is The Head That Wears The Crown
Summary:
Why hide when we can play? Haven’t we had such lovely games before? All of space and eon at your fingertips. All you need to do is pluck.
~~~
It was supposed to be gone when Nesta made the bargain with the Cauldron: her stolen powers for the knowledge to save her sister and nephew. Unfortunately, nobody told the Trove.
Rating: E, NSFW
WC: 11.4k
Read on AO3
Play the accompanying card game here!
Written for my dear @azriels-shadows for the @acotargiftexchange !🎁
Thank you for being such an amazing giftee!💖 You mentioned that your favourite type of fic is canon-compliant or canon-divergent with fun new problems and a dash of physical danger. Trust me when I say, I literally took that and ran for the finish line.
I honestly had such a blast writing this and I hope you enjoy it too!
A huge thank you to @reverie-tales, @wilde-knight, @damedechance for being so encouraging and amazing! Also, another huge thank you to @thelovelymadone for giving me the idea of bringing back the mercenary from ACOTAR.
You guys are the best!💕💕💕
Snippet under the cut!
Stones crunched under her feet. Snow swirled at their feet as lightning cracked in the distance. They stood at the pass, the line Nesta drew on the ground was long gone with her depleted energy. The view opened up to the vast Illyrian mountains. It would have been breathtaking under any other circumstances.
The arms that would often lovingly hold Nesta trapped her in a crushing grip. The endless ache and exhaustion in her bones shifted and screamed in protest.
“He can’t obey you, Nesta Archeron.” Her blood ran cold at the raspy voice, “he’s mine now.”
The aged Made queen was still talking but Nesta couldn’t take her eyes off her mate. The organ in her chest twisted painfully at the glazed expression clouding vibrant hazel, every nerve in her body acutely aware of the unrelenting pressure of strong muscles on her comparatively petite frame.
She desperately searched those familiar eyes for any signs of the male that she knew had to be fighting back. Every bit just as desperate as she was. Despair rose in her with every shallow breath as her bones threatened to give way.
“Cassian”
The name fell out in an agonised plea. With a growl, Cassian knocked her roughly to the ground, pinning her limbs down to close a rough hand around her throat.
“Good bye, Nesta.”
Fingers tightened painfully around her neck and crushed her windpipe, filling the air with nothing but choked gasps.
Nesta’s eyes snapped wide open, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Walls closed in on her as she felt the same arm slung over her waist kept her trapped in the muscled chest from her dreams. She pushed the arm roughly off her and scrambled to her feet. Her world spun, panic rising to suffocate her. Her feet stumbled backward. Anything to build distance between her and-
She froze as her brain finally caught up.
What was she doing? This was Cassian: her mate who would rather kill himself before he allowed himself to hurt her.
As if on cue, Cassian stirred. His voice was hoarse from sleep when he asked, “Nesta?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and brought forth her mind stilling techniques, letting the ingrained practices attempt to soothe the jungle beats of her heart. A nightmare, she reasoned with herself, nothing but a nightmare.
A slight creak of the bed, a rustle of wings.
“Nesta?”
When Nesta opened her eyes once more, it was to a furrowed brow and clear hazel that shone with concern. The knot eased in her chest to allow a clear flow of oxygen.
“I’m alright,” she replied shakily, “Just a nightmare.”
She resisted the urge to shudder and recoil from the gentle hand reaching out for her. But Cassian’s hand still paused midair before dropping back to his side. “Again?”
She jerked her head before turning away to avert his perceptive gaze. She inhaled in deeply, holding her breath for three long beats before exhaling. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you later.”
“You can read your smutty books in bed.” He commented, the edges of his lips tugged upwards lazily, “I’ll sleep just fine.”
The knee jerk response to reject the offer died at her lips at the worry in his eyes, a palpable tension set in his jaw. She nodded and let him lead her back to bed with the lightest touch on her waist.
Hours of unresolved pining culminating into one highly fulfilling smut session later, Nesta slid back fully under the covers. Outside the windows, the tiniest glimmer of light played at the horizon. Her eyes shuttered and she heaved a soft sigh.
A comforting warmth enveloped her back and a familiar weight wound around her waist, encasing her world in sandalwood and snowpine. “Sleep” a low rumble from right next to her said enticingly.
“We need to wake up soon.” She reminded him even as her arms reached out to press the strong arm tightly against her.
“You’re exhausted,” he soothed, sniffing her neck deeply, “Training can wait an extra hour.”
A small smile played on Nesta’s lips as she let the reassuring scent pull her down under and surrendered to blissful sleep.
The skies were bright the next time blue-grey eyes opened to the world, the sun way too high in the sky. She palmed the cool sheets next to her and let loose a breath.
It had definitely been more than an hour.
Nesta hurriedly put on her leathers and was half a minute from leaving the house when the main door swung open, eclipsing the doorway with the silhouette of tall muscled frame and large wings.
Cassian cocked a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He surveyed her carefully as he strode in, stopping just a step away. “Feeling better?”
She did feel better but she retorted back anyway, “You should have woken me up for training.”
“You needed the rest.” He insisted, “Besides…”
He bridged the gap between them. Close enough for Nesta to see the droplet of perspiration roll down the side of his face and down the length of his neck. The apple of his throat bobbed.
One of his arms teasingly slid up, from her fingertips to her upper arm, before drawing a small knife from the many pockets of his leather, “If you wanted private lessons.”
A familiar tension coiled and tightened in Nesta. Between her night terrors, the training, Cassian’s responsibilities in Illyria and the preparation for the mating ceremony which was less than a week away, their time together was far and few between - nothing more than quick stolen couplings.
The dilation of his pupils pushed molten hazel that she loved deeply to the rim, his nostrils flaring slightly. With a smooth motion, he pushed her flushed against the wall, his thigh wedged hard between her legs. A delicious friction with every minuscule movement. The small knife was now held horizontally to her neck in an almost tender display. The thrill coursed through her bloodstream, directly to her core.
His breath was hot against the arched ear, “I will be more than happy to demonstrate.”
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ACOTAR GIFT EXCHANGE
Beyond: a Helion x LoA fic for @spell-cleavers
For the @acotargiftexchange I was thrilled to write this fic for @spell-cleavers who just so happens to be one of my very favorite people. Getting to know her over the course of this year has been such a joy, so I wanted to writer her something special. And by special, I mean I wrote my first ever smut scene. Can you believe?? Special thanks to @iambutmortal and @rosanna-writer for the beta help, and @separatist-apologist for allowing me to have a fun little cameo.
The Lady of Autumn has agreed to come live at the Autumn Court, though seems hesitant. Can Helion convince her that she belongs at his side?
And here's a little playlist!
She shines me up like gold on my arm
I wanna take it slow but it's so hard
I love to see her face in daylight
It's more than just our bodies at night
Do you think I'm being foolish if I don't rush in?
Beyond-Leon Bridges
MORNING:
Helion Spell-Cleaver was feeling a bit unhinged. It wasn’t a surprise, since he had been looking forward to this for centuries. But still, he was teetering on the edge of his sanity.
It couldn’t have been a more perfect day, though. The sun rose over the Day Court, cloudless skies stretching from the far valleys and hills in the east to the rocky coast and the city of Naxopolis. Groves of orange and fig trees surrounded the sandstone palace, brushing up against its white pillars and walls. The smells of citrus and trees were deepened by the warmth from the sun and a cool breeze from the turquoise sea. From the balcony, Helion watched the early morning sunlight reflect off the waves like small golden flecks. The room was peacefully quiet and open. Helion was certain when he had chosen the large and spacious suite, she would love it.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
She had never seen the sea, she had told him once, many, many years ago, when they had only met under cover of darkness in the far corners of the Autumn lands. He chose the large wing of rooms as soon as she had agreed to move to the Day Court. Helion wanted a fresh start for them both.
They had each other again. They had their son, Lucien, who had agreed to stay too. Though, Helion would admit only to himself that he wasn’t letting his son and his mate out of his sight again. Never again would Thérèse be stuck in Autumn, never again would she be under anyone’s control. The members of his court were thrilled when he had found Lucien, and they were equally as thrilled when Helion announced his mate would finally come home.
But as he heard the soft cries of morning gulls, and the city coming to life below him, Helion’s doubts slithered back into his mind.
Will she even like it here? Will she ask Eris to take her back? She left once.
Yes, but that was to save us, and to save our son. Helion reminded himself as he took steadying breaths to calm his speeding heart. And I am not that monster. I will never force her. I am at her service.
A soft knock at the door brought him back to the morning. Costis, his butler, entered with a soft robe of linen in his arms. The satyr’s hooves clicked sharply on the tile, as he draped the ivory fabric chiton across a chair.
“Good Morning, my Lord. We’ve received word from Velaris, and the Lady Thérèse will be arriving with your son and his mate promptly at eleven o’clock.” Costis announced, crossing the room to bow. “Her personal items will be sent here.
Helion nodded once, quickly attempting to clear his mind. “Is everything else in order?”
“Yes, your Grace. The food is being prepared as well as the smaller dining balcony in the northwest wing. Nothing much is happening in the city, and The Magus has predicted fine weather for today. Perfect to show Lady Thérèse her new home,” the satyr said as he removed the sleeping robe from Helion’s shoulders. “I can send up for breakfast, unless you prefer to wait.”
“I’ll wait, thank you,” Helion said. He hardly had an appetite anyway.
Costis began to dress Helion, expertly wrapping the toga around him. The soft mix of linen and cotton promised a warmer day, the fabric hitting just above his knees. Enough to tempt, but not enough to scandalize. As Costis fetched his sandals, Helion removed the silk wrap from his head, satisfied that his hair still looked perfect. He had removed the ornaments from his locs for the occasion, instead opting for a small golden thread woven throughout his hair, tying it back with a leather strap. Helion placed a golden sun band on each bicep, cuffs on his wrists, and the small bronze ring Thérèse had given him five centuries ago. Striding to the mirror, Helion took in his reflection. He wore no crown, his toga was simple, and he was unadorned. He looked like the same male that went to the Equinox ball all those centuries ago.
The sharp clang of steel and bronze bells from the Magus’s tower rang, indicating it was half past ten. Helion straightened and took a deep breath. He had been planning this day for weeks, no, centuries. He was ready. “Costis, remind me of the possible itinerary I had drawn up.”
READ THE REST ON AO3
#acotargiftexchange#helion x loa#jenn i love you#eris is a redheaded step-child#my first smut ever??
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Hi all!
You've put in the hard work and the gift reveal is nearly upon us! I hope you're as excited as we are!
A few notes as we get closer to the 17th!
Gifts are due between the 17th and the 23rd. If anything comes up and you'll be late but still intend to deliver a gift, now is the time to reach out to the mod who first assigned you and let them know.
Please tag @acotargiftexchange in your tumblr post during your reveal! We'll add you to our masterlist and reblog your wonderful, creative works! This is also how we keep track of who has delivered a gift.
Please do NOT tag the event in anything unrelated to the gift giving to your recipient. It becomes confusing in our notifications and we don't want to miss anything!
Feel free to add your gift to our AO3 collection as well!
Any other questions, feel free to send us a message or reach out to your assigned moderator!
See you soon!
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It's The Most Wonderful Time of The Year
And by that I mean, it's time to deliver my @acotargiftexchange present to my wonderful giftee and good friend @thevanserrras
Ho, ho, hope you love it my dear!!
Azriel and Eris have been mated for a long time, and known about their bond for even longer. After years of learning to love each other and hiding their relationship, they've determined it's finally safe to tell the rest of the family. This Winter Solstice, they're ready to tell the rest of the Inner Circle their most important secret. And maybe Eris will finally have that loving family holiday he's always wanted.
Chapter 1 follows the males on Solstice Eve as they prepare for the big reveal. Chapter 2 is Solstice Day itself when they finally get to share their secret with the Inner Circle.
Read it here on AO3!
#azris#azris fanfiction#acotargiftexchange#acotar gift exchange 2023#secret santa 🎅🏼#eris vanserra#pro eris vanserra#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#high lord eris vanserra#fated mates#relationship reveal#LD writes#azris supremacy#azriel x eris#eris x azriel#fluff#tooth rotting fluff#rhysand#feyre archeron#cassian#nesta archeron#lucien vanserra#elain archeron#morrigan#amren#nyx#nyxie pyxie
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Hi, it's your secret Santa for the acotar gift exchange! What's your favorite thing about your favorite acotar ships?
Hiuuu⛄
Well Feysand is my favourite and what draws me most to them is persevering love. A resilience formed through love. We've heard and experienced that you do foolish and irrational things in love (which they've clearly done) but the ability to put aside your fears and inhibitions for the mere possibility of a future wherein life could be better than tomorrow is what I adore.
Both of them have gone through hell and have come back, they've suffered tremendous losses and unspeakable tragedy. Through this they encountered the deepest pits of sorrow and misery, they realised they were tainted and were scared of being proven worthless. Yet when they saw each other, they found that within the broken parts of each other, there was a light that only the other could appreciate. They acknowledged that they were drowning in an Ocean of sadness but out of their acceptance came a love, so powerful, selfless and awe-inspiring that they found hope when all was lost.
We know love is not the most powerful thing on the planet, but it is what humans crave and thirst after. We go through the motions all in the hope of making someone happy or seeing another smile, we are never taught to love, it is the essence of humanity. We are beings that float through the tides of times in search for a lifeboat and more often than not somebody will find us, just as we accept defeat.
A resilience formed through love that can rip apart universes by sheer will, that is what I adore about them. That even as magical beings, they possess the innate human quality of love.
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It’s me, your secret santa! I’m back to ask how your day is going?
and, if you have a favorite elucien aesthetic (ex. fairytale, canon, spicy, etc)?
✨🦌✨ (the secret santa reindeer it’s a regular deer, i don’t have a reindeer emoji)
Hello dear! I'm fine, thanks for asking! I hope you're having a good day too! The sprinkles give perfectly the idea of the reindeer, I appreciate it! 😂
I love seeing Elucien in the canon world, but the fairytale aesthetic it's wonderful too. And I always simp for a good spicy moment. 🔥
I'm open to everything, I like a lot modern AUs too!! I just want to see my babies happy and in love in every universe hehe. 😇
I can't wait to hear from you again ❤️🩹🎄
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Hello again!
🎅🦇🧚♀️
Here's a few fic ideas of that centre around times when Feyre is being badass/using her powers. Let me know if any of them sound like something you'd enjoy!
1) Rhys POV of Feyre's encounter with Lucien when she first gets wings
2) Rhys POV on one of the tasks under the mountain, and/or other instances of her standing up to Amarantha (heart eyes meet extreme angst vibes)
3) Rewrite of Feyre escaping spring in ACOWAR where Rhys shows up in Winter instead of Azriel and Cassian so they get to fight off the Autumn bros together.
4) Rewrite of some of Feyre's spying in Spring court with more mind communication between them (opportunities for both funny and angsty in same fic)
Hello! How have you been?
Oooh I feel so spoiled!! They all sound amazing. I think 3 really screams at me though XD but pleaseee I’d rather you make something you really enjoyed as well rather than just tailor fit to me! Although I appreciate the checking in as well ahh <3
(sorry for being a little awol it’s getting to a busy time of year)
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Hi, your Secret Santa here 👋🎅
How are you? I hope you're as excited as I am for this year's exchange!
Just a few questions about your preferences: would you rather receive a multi-chapters fic or a one shot? What level of spiciness are you comfortable with? You're more interested in stories set in the ACOTAR world or you like AUs too?
Let me know what your deepest Elucien desires are and your wishes will be my command
Hi!!! I am so incredibly excited, it’s very nice to Not meet you, santa! I am a little burned out at present but thrilled to get started.
for a fic, please do however much is best for you! I know multi-chapters can be quite a lot of work, and I’m just as happy with a one shot. Or if you feel super inspired and accidentally write a billion chapters, that would be just as amazing! There is no scenario in which I’m upset about receiving a fic lol
I’m not a huge fan of spiciness, anything else is fair game! I don’t generally love smut (or tragedy haha)
I love canon verse (esp when it’s all Very Vague or when the author adds all their own details sjm missed 😂), and this year I’ve been reading more AUs and enjoying them a lot, so whatever inspires you! Modern, regency, fantasy are some of my favorites, but whatever you feel inspired by is what I would like to read! I’m so excited ✨✨
#secretsanta#acotargiftexchange#sorry if this is rambly! i am very tired and very excited#i’ll pin this if that’s helpful? and then i can pin each ask
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I had @reverie-tales as my giftee for the @acotargiftexchange Secret Santa! I think this is my most ambitious piece to date, but it was so much fun making something Feysand with you in mind - extra goodies under the cut!
Thank you for being a part of fandom with me, I hope you like it!
✨️S.Santa♡
(Drabble/Secret Santa Snail Mail)
️"What are you doing?" His eyes sparking with interest, voice gravelly from sleep.
"Thinking of thanking my mate."
He hums a contented sound somewhere between appreciation and an exhale as she slides onto his lap, pretending she hadn't just caught him napping with a book still in hand.
"He's been in here for hours, working so hard..." His eyes close and his head tips back, surrendering to her touch. He's the picture of prone supplication, except for the awfully pleased grin that twists a corner of his mouth. She leans in to taste his smile. It looks so sweet her heart cracks a little, knowing she is one of the very few that gets to see this side of him.
She starts soft, leaning into his warmth, trailing kisses and feeling him relax even more under touch. "I want to show my appreciation," she says. His breathing slowly deepens, while her hands rub his chest and roam his shoulders, as if by stretching his breath he can stretch the moment longer...
She threads one hand through his hair and grips the back of the couch with the other. Air ghosts across his lips as she shifts her weight, leaning in further, and his eyes snap open before narrowing in suspicion.
️"Oh you cruel, wily, wicked thing—" he practically purrs, her hand playing in his hair falls away at the mock accusation his voice.
His hands move from her hips to fist in the blanket behind his head, catching her creeping fingers in the folds. "If you wanted to steal the best blanket in the house, you're gonna have to do better than that, Feyre darling."
Shit. He knows. That is her absolute favorite blanket and the bastard knows it. Sure, there's other blankets, but she bought that one at the market, specifically for chilly reading nights just like tonight. He's done this on purpose, she's sure of it.
Her chest ignites in defiance as she watches his face, the smirk of satisfaction blooming there. Shes been caught, but she's quick to pivot and playacts deep thought: "Is it stealing if I'm offering you a better way to warm up?"
He starts to nuzzle her neck, dropping kisses between thoughtful noises. His hum of playful consideration against her throat has her curling her toes. "That depends, my lady thief, if you intend to share the blanket once we are warmed..."
Then and there, she decides her cold feet on his calves will be retribution enough. She is more than happy to bide her time — after all, a huntress is no stranger to patience.
---
Later, the High Lord's yelp could be heard from outside the library and down the hall, closely followed by the High Lady's cackle of triumph. Revenge really is served cold.
(Playlist/Background Paint Noise)
(Best Bits/Detail Shots)
(Bonus! Coloring Sheet)
#secret santa#Spotify#AHHHHH IT POSTED EARLY#gonna set to private until tomorrow morning so i dont have to remake the whole post for the 3rd time
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Every Sound Your Heart Makes
Here’s chapter 2 of my secret Santa gift for @headcanonheadcase! It’s been so fun creating this for you, and I hope you enjoy this next part.
Summary: It’s been six years since Azriel came back to his hometown, with his newborn daughter in tow. Six years since Gwyn moved away from whatever heartbreak she’d left behind in her previous life and opened up a diner in Starlight Grove.
Now, unable to resist the urge to help Gwyn, Azriel volunteers to design sets for their town’s Christmas musical. But what happens when the town grump and the woman he’s fallen for can no longer hold back from the inevitable?
Chapter 2: Follow Where You Lead
Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Read a snippet below:
It’s just him. Until he feels someone step out behind him.
There’s a note of surprise, evident in the tensing of Azriel’s shoulders. Even without turning around, he knows who it is: Gwyn, who surely should still be inside, engaged in conversation with the other townspeople. That’s what she does most Thursday nights—he knows this because he often finds himself blinking at the ‘Be Back Soon’ sign settled atop the door of her diner. It seems that even with her limited time in Starlight Grove, she’d already engrained herself enough into the community that people didn't seem to remember a time without her.
Azriel does—remember, that is. Before Gwyn, there had been few things he’d looked forward to in their small town. Yet, ever since he’d met her six years ago, her very presence had reshaped the way he saw this place. The Archeron’s bakery was no longer known for the best pies, but it was where Gwyn giggled in delight as she took bite after bite of what was supposed to be Azriel’s slice. Where she had whipped cream on the tip of her nose, that he gladly wiped off with the pad of his thumb. The town’s bookstore was no longer a place to get books, but where Gwyn had dragged him between shelves, stacking romance novels into his outstretched arms. Where she blushed when he’d settled them on a nearby table, picked one, and read a scene aloud.
And, somehow, Starlight Grove was not only where he’d grown up, but where he’d grown into this new version of himself—one marked with heartbreak and pain and, despite it all, love. He feels it, stirring in his chest, when he holds his daughter, and when he laughs with his mother as the two of them cook dinner. He feels it when he teases Nesta and Emerie, and when he has his annual snowball fight with his chosen brothers. He feels it now, when he recognizes Gwyn from the sound of her footsteps and the feel of her fingers as she wraps a hand around his wrist.
“Come on,” she says simply, using her hold to pull him along. She moves easily across the sidewalk, and even as Azriel presses his heels into the ground, there’s not much force behind it.
He lets her guide him. Of course, he does.
Turning towards Gwyn, he sees that she’s wearing her blue hat again. The material covers the tips of her ears, and, from this close, he can see every stitch in the knitted pattern. Her gloves, however, are absent now, so he can feel the cold press of her fingertips against his skin.
It draws a shiver up his spine, for more reasons than one.
“Where are we going?” he asks, the words strung together in a single breath.
Her response is short—curt. “To the theatre.”
To talk more about their plans for the musical, he’s sure. That’s what Gwyn had told him the week before, but there’s an urgency to her movements that prompts him to shift more of his weight onto his heels. To push back.
“What’s the hurry?”
Gwyn huffs, using her other hand to tighten her grip on him. She puts all her strength into trying to move him, and when he doesn’t budge—not even an inch—she turns narrowed eyes at him.
“I don’t want anyone to see us leaving together,” she admits, her tone more accusatory than anything.
Azriel blinks at her. He wonders if she can see the surprise in his expression as his gaze darts over her features, searching for more of an explanation to make sense of her words. When he doesn’t find it, he can only ask “Why?”
“They’ll talk.”
He laughs. And maybe it’s the lingering effect of the wine, maybe it’s the sight of colour rushing to Gwyn’s cheeks, but the sound is deep—uncontrolled in a way that leaves him nearly breathless.
Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @foundressofnothing @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @trashforazriel @sv0430 @sunshinebingo @shadowsxgwynriel @thelovelymadone @damedechance @talons-and-teeth
For the @acotargiftexchange
#gwynriel#gwynriel fanfiction#gwynriel fanfic#acotar#acotar fanfiction#gwynriel supremacy#gwyneth berdara#gwyn berdara#azriel#au gwynriel#modern gwynriel#acotar secret santa 2023#acotargiftexchange#every sound your heart makes
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Merry Christmas @fieldofdaisiies ! It's me, your Secret Santa!
I was absolutely ecstatic when I learned I got you as my giftee in @acotargiftexchange. I loved talking with you and sending all the (not so sneaky) anon messages. Here's a little modern AU Azris fanart just for you 🧡🧡🧡
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Happy holidays @mcseattles! Tis I, your secret santa for @acotargiftexchange! I was so excited to talk about great nessian AU's with you and I hope this fantasy DnD concept did them justice!
Click for better quality, this image is way too big for tumblr
#acotar gift exchange#nessian#nesta archeron#cassian acotar#fanart#if theres anything missing no theres not#dustjacketdraws
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My Whole Life Is Ruined
Summary: When you hold me, it holds me together, and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever
Surprise @talons-and-teeth! I'm sorry for the wait- I was not your original secret santa. I pulled this together based on what I know about you and I hope you like it! @acotargiftexchange
Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for making a moodboard with practically no instructions other than one Taylor Swift lyric and the description "Azriel has been hiding the fact he's Gwyn's mate and they have sex about it."
--
Insomnia was nothing new.
Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d fully slept through the night. The past chased the present, running in circles as she ran after her tail, almost grasping it before she woke covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sometimes, bathed in nothing but moonlight, Gwyn wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t dream of her sister, of a life long gone.
It didn’t rattle her as badly as it used to. Sitting in the bed Nesta had so graciously offered up, Gwyn pushed the blankets from her legs to let the cool, winter air caress her overheated skin. Leaving the library still felt like a picked over wound. She didn’t want to go back, cloistered away from her friends and the life she’d begun to enjoy living. That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.
Anxiety seemed to thrum beside her heartbeat, a constant presence she could only just shake if she was otherwise occupied. Right then, in the dead of night, Gwyn felt it snake around her until it was wrapped tight around her throat, choking a scream that always seemed so close to escaping.
She didn’t bother changing out of her thin nightdress, certain neither Cassian or Nesta would be up this late. If they were even back—they’d gone to Hewn City that evening for some meeting with a Day Court prince, giving Gwyn full run of the House of Wind. Not that she did anything terribly interesting with all that power—Gwyn got a book and some hot chocolate and spent the night curled in a chair reading until she finally dragged herself into bed.
Maybe she should have trained on the roof first. Really worn herself down so her brain was too exhausted to conjure up memories of the past, all the while whispering of how she might have prevented it, if she’d only been stronger, smarter, cleverer. Forcing her to relive it, to pick it apart to see what could have been different.
That was exhausting, too.
Cold air hit her the moment she pushed open the door, howling a greeting that might have scared someone else off. Gwyn liked the biting cold, the raucous yelling, the silhouette of the mountains looming like shadows in the distance. A half moon poured light over the rooftop, causing sleeping weapons to glint beneath. Maybe, she thought ruefully, she should have put on socks. Hair caught against her lips, and as Gwyn worked to push it out of her face, wishing for a hair tie, too.
It wasn’t too late and yet she was already here, wasn’t she? Might as well just power through, ignoring her discomfort like she was so accustomed to. The bite of cold was a reminder she’d survived—she was alive. So what if it burned a little? Sometimes Gwyn thought she fought better when she was in pain.
And more often than not, she suspected she deserved to feel it. That the curling peace was a mistake and everyone was going to realize what an imposter she was. They’d tell her she didn’t belong with them and cast her back out. Gwyn was always just waiting for it, a hammer that might fall at any given moment.
A blade just against her neck, never quite striking.
Gwyn pulled out a dagger, her favored weapon, and held it for a moment in her hand. Nesta was all brute strength, and Emerie terrifying yet easy grace, but Gwyn liked to be the shadow in the dark. The knife at someone's side rather than a screaming sword coming for a person's throat. While Nesta and Emeries radiated the kind of beauty that made men cower, Gwyn liked to think she was sweeter, more unassuming. People looked at Nesta, at Emerie, and were taken by their perfection.
They looked at Gwyn and wondered why she was with them. So Gwyn trained harder, made herself someone that couldn’t be ignored. Not forever, anyway. She was good at hiding, besides, taking to trees, blending into the background so often that on more than one occasion, Cassian and Nesta didn’t realize Gwyn was in the room until she cleared her throat.
Unbalanced, Gwyn took a second dagger and for a moment, was the wind itself. Recalling the movements Azriel had been teaching her, Gwyn stepped like a dance, twisting her body and slashing her blades against invisible foes.
A real ones, too. A shadow moved from the edge of the ring, catching her by surprise. Gwyn darted, and just as Azriel had taught her, grabbed them, slamming their body to the ground. It was thunder the way that massive, familiar form crashed against the world, a mighty god dragged from the heavens themselves.
Azriel groaned, eyes closed even as his hands grabbed her waist, holding her knee painfully against his ribs. “That was good,” he gasped, fingers curling into her skin.
“I’m so sorry,” she replied, dropping the blade she’d pressed to his throat. A thin line of blood snaked over golden, tattooed skin, staining the rather lovely black jacket he was wearing. Why was he up here, she wondered? Shouldn’t he be enjoying himself with his friends and family?
Azriel swallowed hard, opening hazel eyes that cut through the otherwise oppressive dark to look at her.
“I’m not.”
And then he released her, letting her scramble backwards, heart thumping in her chest. Azriel didn’t move, wings spread wide around against the ground. He looked like a fallen angel and Gwyn was awed at the sight, the realization that it had been her who’d felled him. He was looking right back at her, his expression clouded by shadow. Was he angry? He said he wasn’t, but surely he didn’t appreciate being assaulted in his own home.
Not that she saw much of him since she’d moved in. Azriel, who maintained a bedroom in the House of Wind, was suddenly gone and when Gwyn was really down, she sometimes thought it was because he didn’t like being around her. Here he was, though, clambering to his feet, his eyes sliding down her body. She could feel the heat of them like he was touching her skin and was grateful for a sudden burst of wind hitting her like a bucket of ice water.
Careful, she warned herself.
It was hard, though. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful Azriel was. She wasn’t stupid. It didn’t hurt that in her worst moment, Azriel’s had been the very first she’d seen. A savior—a dark angel, come to wreak bloody vengeance on her sister's behalf. It had been Morrigan who’d taken her away to safety, but when Gwyn thought about how she’d escaped, she always remembered Azriel’s curved, lethal blade, sliding cleanly through the bodies of the same males who had killed her sister.
She’d always been grateful to him for it, even if she’d never tell him. He’d never once looked at her like he remembered, had never betrayed an ounce of pity. She’d expected him to say something back when he’d first joined their training, wary and distant. And maybe he knew, because he kept his distance until it was safe, had held himself at an arm's length and let her decide how much or little of him she wanted.
The problem was Azriel himself. Outside of being the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, he was just nice. Not in the way Cassian was, with big smiles and silly jokes, but with serious eyes and a dagger in hand, forcing her to move again and again and again. Your steps are off, Gwyn—you’ll get yourself killed that way. Eyes on your opponent, don’t look away. Hold your breath, don’t let them know you’re there.
Because he knew it mattered to her. That she wouldn’t be caught off guard ever again, that Gwyn would never let someone hurt her. Often, she wondered if he didn’t understand that pain, if it didn’t mirror some tragedy of his own. They didn’t talk about it—they didn’t need to. It was an understanding between them, something so intimate she would never share it with another living soul.
She kept waiting for Azriel to step back, to tell her she’d done enough, that she should finish with Cassian. He never did. Even when he was gone, Gwyn practiced knowing he’d want to see the progress she’d made while he was gone. And when he returned, he’d wait on the roof even when she’d flippantly told him it would be easier to just send word via letter.
I don’t mind waiting.
Those words still felt so charged to her. Like he was trying to say something else, eyes glittering and bright like the stars overheard. Gwyn pulled herself from her thoughts to look up at Azriel looming overhead, his wings flared around him as if he was trying to make himself seem larger. It was working—he was massive, muscular and tall and just like before, half fallen angel, half terrifying god come to earth so he might reign.
“You look cold,” Azriel commented, caught looking at her.
Gwyn put her hands on her hips. So what if he was? “I’m not.”
“Bullshit.”
Smothering a smile, Gwyn asked with faux outrage, “Are you calling me a liar?”
She swore the corners of his lips twitched. “To your face, even.”
“The cold doesn’t bother me,” Gwyn said, shifting from one leg to another, a gesture he seemed to register with sharp-eyed interest. Proof, she realized as his fingers began making quick work of his jacket. “No, that’s not—”
“Suck it up,” was Azriel’s dark voiced response, draping the warm jacket against her shoulders, leaving himself only in a black shirt stretched over his muscular torso. His eyes slid back down to her legs, lips flattening as he realized she was without shoes, too. “You’ll catch your death out here.”
Gwyn could smell the heady, masculine scent of him coming from the fabric, her arms far too small for the large holes. Still, she didn’t protest, turning to look toward the outline of the mountains instead.
“Maybe. But what a way to go.”
“It’s hardly heroic to die from the cold,” Azriel murmured, turning to follow her gaze. Did he know what she was thinking? How they had nearly died in the blood rite, thrown in wearing only a thin night dress against well-armed warriors? She wondered if Azriel would have found that heroic, even if it had been the cold that had gotten them.
Gwyn blew out a breath, the steam of air curling between them as one of his shadows darted out, illuminated by starlight. It wasn’t the first time and she wondered if they thought she, too, had a shadow for them to interact with.
Or if it meant something else.
Something more.
“Inside,” Azriel finally said, a gust of wind ruffling his night dark hair.
“You’re fussy tonight,” she grumbled, not protesting when his fingers pressed against the small of her back, pushing her toward the door. Heat pulsated from the touch, settling low in her stomach. “Did something happen?”
Azriel pulled open the door with his free hand, his touch never quite leaving. “No. Hewn City is unchanging.”
She glanced up at him, the light softening the harsh lines of his face. “Is that a good thing?”
“It’s predictable.”
“I want to see it,” Gwyn declared, though in truth she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Still, the corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched a bit, as if the whole thing amused him.
“You would devour them,” was his easy, good-natured response. “To their endless delight.”
“And yet I’ve been snubbed yet again,” she teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Do I file my complaint with you…or…?”
“You were spared the grating presence of Vanserra,” Azriel said, cocking his head with a half smile. “But I will pass along your discontent to the High Lord.”
“Be sure that you do,” Gwyn replied, grinning by the time Azriel deposited her into a chair in the study. He didn’t go far, sitting on the arm, his wings draped behind them. She could see the flexing muscle of his thigh beneath his well-tailored pants. If she’d wanted, she could have touched him.
It was obscene how badly she wanted to. How she had to clench her fingers to fists to keep from reaching out, well aware that Azriel would withdraw entirely and, perhaps, never speak to her again. He’d been nothing if not unfailingly polite, besides…though…he had been looking at her in the clingy, short nightdress, hadn’t he?
Just because you were cold, her mind reminded her. After all, she was still wearing his jacket. Gwyn shrugged out of it, heat blooming over her cheeks as she shoved it into his lap. There. She’d gotten to touch him without him knowing and give him back his jacket before she convinced herself to keep it.
And possibly sleep in it.
Azriel arched a dark brow, hazel eyes staring at the rumpled fabric now balled in his lap. “What did the jacket do to offend you?” he asked, taking it in broad, callused hands. He’d removed his siphons, leaving the scarred skin wholly on display. She wondered what had happened to him—and why.
If he’d ever gotten his revenge for it.
“It’s yours—that’s enough,” she replied flippantly. Holding her gaze, Azriel picked up the jacket and brought it to his nose. Time seemed to stop, frozen entirely as she watched him do this.
And he watched her, daring her to say something. She opened her mouth, gaping, only to close it.
And Azriel smiled. Broad and unrestrained, as if he were so delighted he couldn’t help himself. Tilting his head toward the roof, he murmured, “House—some tea, if you don’t mind.”
Of course the house didn’t mind. Two cups of steaming tea rattled on the coffee table before them, complete with sugar and honey, if either of them wanted it.
Gwyn didn’t think she could pick up a cup without betraying the rattle of her hands. Why? Azriel had discarded the jacket casually, tossing it to another chair like it was uninteresting to him. And was he closer, now? His thigh was, she was certain, but had his arm always been behind her. If she moved a few inches, he could have slid into the seat to join her.
He could pull you into his lap if he wanted.
Which, of course, he didn’t
Didn’t he?
“Why are you here?” she asked, hating that breathless quality of her voice. Azriel heard it, too, head snapping to the side, nose flared as though searching for something she couldn’t place.
“I like to be near you,” he replied. He could have thrown her across the room and surprised her less. Once again, Gwyn opened her mouth only for no sound to leave her throat.
“You—you’re never here,” she finally managed. Azriel leaned forward, the faelights gilding the dark ink of his tattoos scrawled over his biceps. He took one of the cups and handed it to her, fingers brushing her own.
“I can’t stand being around you,” was his maddening, level response.
Gwyn’s stomach sank. “What?”
She couldn’t drink—not when such a strange admission hung between them. Azriel, so unused to verbosity, was now forced to explain himself. It occurred to her just as he turned fully to look at her, some of the color drained from his otherwise beautiful face, that perhaps he wanted this confrontation. She didn’t, though, and wished she could have told him so. Things were fine between them—distant, maybe, and filled with a lopsided yearning on her end, but that was better than whatever he was about to do.
Gwyn had the distinct feeling Azriel was about to crush her. Emotionally ruin her. Destroy her so recklessly there would be no coming back.
“You still don’t feel it?” he asked instead, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “After all this time?”
A new fear speared through her gut. There was only one thing Azriel could possibly feel—and one thing she could possibly not. Gwyn had to set the shaking cup of tea down before bolting from her chair, arms wrapped around her chest.
“You don’t feel anything,” she declared, deciding if she felt nothing, neither did Azriel.
Pain lanced across his expression, replaced by grim determination. As he stood, Gwyn knew Azriel wasn’t going to let it go until they both felt exactly as he did—until she felt the mating bond.
Gwyn shook her head, backing away as he advanced. “Don’t do this, Azriel—”
“Is it that terrible, then?” he asked her, his low words filled with a familiar emotion. One she recognized all too well—the loathing, the self-hatred, the expectation that of course she would reject him.
“It’s—” Gwyn couldn’t breathe for the closeness of him, for the wanting to touch him. And maybe she did feel it, in her way. Had felt it the moment he’d strode into that cursed, wrecked room looking like the god of vengeance. She’d merely been too hurt to know it, too broken, too emotionally devastated. He should have frightened her and he never had.
Even then, towering over her with his muscular frame, Gwyn didn’t flinch away. She merely met his gaze with blazing defiance.
“You’re wrong,” she told him, keeping her voice light as she pushed at his chest so she could slip around him. “Or mistaken. There is no bond and I’m certain if you saw a healer, they’d—”
Azriel grabbed her wrist, spinning her so her back was pressed to the floral papered wall behind her. Dipping his head, Azriel ran his nose the length of her neck.
“You’re no mistake, Gwyn.”
“I am,” she whispered without meaning to. Azriel could do so much better. Surely…surely he wanted better. What had that been like for him, she wondered, and before she could stop herself, she added, “When did you feel it?”
Something primal flared in those bright eyes of his. “Dinner with Nesta and Cassian. You touched my hand and I…” Holding up the offending hand, Azriel flexed his fingers in memory. “I felt the snap.”
That had been almost a year. It had been the last time Azriel had dinner with all of them, and right after she’d formally moved into the House of Wind. Gwyn still remembered that night—Azriel had bolted before dessert, murmuring something about needed to talk to Rhys. Gwyn had thought nothing of it—might never have thought about it again had he not pinned her against a wall to declare that had been the moment he’d felt a mating bond snap.
“We’ve been training together for months,” she replied with no small amount of outrage. He’d been keeping this secret for that long?
“I thought you’d feel it,” Azriel all but growled, eyes bouncing over her face. “And when you didn’t…”
“Rhys knows?”
“And Cassian—”
“So Nesta, too?!”
Gwyn shoved him again, harder this time. Azriel let her, she suspected, stepping back so she could have some breathing space. “They all know but I don’t.”
“And you’re taking the knowledge so well,” Azriel replied with a bite of sarcasm.
She whirled, wishing she had a dagger in hand even has the dried blood from his healed wound still taunted her. “I think I deserved to know before Cassian.”
“I needed his help,” Azriel admitted, running a hand over his mouth. “I needed to know how he managed it.”
“How difficult could it be,” she asked flippantly, intending to leave him there so she could think. Foolish to turn her back on a predator. Azriel had her again, wrapped in one strong arm, the other holding her jaw so she had to look at him.
“Hell,” he rasped, his anguish plain. “Every minute of it has been hell.”
In Gwyn’s defense, she managed one, final, protest. “It’s just—”
His mouth covered hers before she could finish that statement, could say what they both knew she’d been thinking. As if he found the words so abhorrent he wouldn’t hear them, would swallow them until he’d snuffed them from their very existence.
Gwyn forgot what she’d been about to say at all. She’d thought about what it might be like to kiss him. If his mouth would be soft or rough, if he kissed like he fought or if there was passion bubbling beneath his icy exterior. She hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like or how desire would overtake her so thoroughly she didn’t care about anything else. Were those her hands cupping his neck? Her lips hungrily kissing him back like a crazed, desperate creature?
Her tongue meeting his own, her legs moving until he had her back against the wall so he could press the length of his body against hers?
There was only one thought in her name, an echo repeated over and over. Mate. Mate. Mate.
Maybe he should have just kissed her at that dinner. Skipped the yearning, the anguish, the uncertainty. At least they would have been kissing, anyway. Gwyn forgot herself entirely, nails digging against his shoulder until Azriel helpfully hoisted her into the air so she could wrap her legs around his waist.
“Don’t talk about my mate like that,” he panted, dragging his teeth against her neck. “I love her.”
Gwyn whimpered. What did she say to that? As it turned out—nothing. Azriel kissed her again, sparing them both whatever incoherent nonsense might have tumbled from her lips. She might have sworn she loved him too, if only to convince him to keep kissing her like he was.
Gwyn was certain Azriel’s kiss had ruined her life. How was she supposed to go back to things as they were before? It wasn't knowing that he was her mate, but knowing the way his hands felt cupped against her face and the way wildfire sparked in her blood when his tongue slid into her mouth?
The worst of it was when his hands left her ass, letting her slide down the hard slab of his body before she was ready. He pulled away, lips swollen and eyes wild, to take a healthy step away from her, though it seemed to take an immense amount of effort. For her part, she kept herself pressed to the wall, unsure what was happening.
“You know now,” Azriel managed, his voice hoarse, “and that’s…that’s all I wanted. I ah…I should go before—”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, strangely hurt by this new rejection. Gwyn knew all about mating bonds. What fae didn’t? Before she’d come here, she’d once dreamt of her own mate, giggling with her sister in their bunks as they imagined what that person might be like. If they existed at all, given the rarity of such a thing. It was almost funny that he’d been right here all along, close enough she could literally touch.
And he was going to leave? He didn’t want to accept it? Did she? It was all happening so fast but of course you didn’t reject a mate. She could see the wariness on his face, could watch in real time as he pulled up his defenses as she realized that yes. That was exactly his expectation.
Why? She knew from Nesta’s stories that Azriel was well sought after. And she wasn’t blind. What female didn’t dream of a male with his bone structure? He was powerful and close to the High Lord, and beyond all that, Azriel was kind. A genuinely good person, the sort of male one could spend centuries with if they wanted.
What could she even offer him? Gwyn’s thoughts raced, listing all the reasons he ought to have stopped, why keeping this a secret made so much sense. She didn’t notice Azriel creeping closer and closer until his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him.
“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, his voice dark and dangerous. “Thinking unkind thoughts about my mate.”
“You can’t tell me what to think,” she shot back, her own voice trembling a little. He was so certain, so unbothered and in her entire life, had anyone ever immediately felt that way about her?
Nesta and Emerie. Catrin.
Azriel.
“You have it all wrong,” Azriel murmured and she wondered if perhaps he could read her mind. “It is you who could do so much better.”
His words drew a gust of laughter from her lips. The mother had certainly chosen well, putting the two of them together. What a pair—she wondered who would relent first? Her, or Azriel? Who would believe they deserved a mating bond first? It occurred to Gwyn, as she reached for his arm to pull him closer, that she was a shade too competitive—she wanted it to be him who broke first. Who relented first, who believed he was worthy, was deserving.
And she could see, from that golden glint burning in his own gaze, that he was thinking the exact same thing.
“You’re stupid,” she whispered, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She could taste the smile spreading over his face, sweet against the warm heat of his mouth. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realize he wasn’t smiling because she’d told him to stop talking, but because she was kissing him. Gwyn hadn’t even considered not kissing.
He was her mate, after all. He was hers. She felt that the way she felt her own heart, the possession, the desire, the heat. She didn’t feel the cord the way everyone spoke of, but perhaps that was mere metaphor. After all, Gwyn believed Azriel wouldn’t lie to her about something so life altering.
Besides. She liked kissing him, new as it was. Azriel was unhurried and thorough, just like every other task she’d ever seen him undertake. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered what it would be like if he paid her that sort of attention in the bedroom. They stood there like that, his arm keeping her on her toes, steady against his warm, solid body. Momentarily, Gwyn wondered what might happen if Nesta and Cassian were to come in and decided she didn’t care.
How many times had she walked in on them in far more compromising positions, besides?
Tiny steps had Gwyn flush against the wood wall, pressed against Azriel’s hard body and oh. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way that emptied her mind of all other thought beyond the desire to touch him.
And she was allowed, she realized with giddiness. He belonged to her. It was a possessive thought that overrode everything else, including all her good sense. He was hers.
“Mine,” she whispered into his mouth, not meaning to. Azriel groaned, tangling a hand in her hair to tilt back her head, his tongue delving back between her teeth to really taste her. Without the leathers he usually wore, it was surprisingly easy to find the golden buttons on his jacket, undoing them before Azriel’s own brain seemed to catch up with what was happening.
His wings flared, enveloping around them for a moment as he pulled back, his breathing heavy.
“Cassian will be home soon,” he whispered, holding her close against him as if he expected his friend to take her away. “Nesta too.”
“You have a bedroom here, right?” Gwyn said with more daring than she felt. Azriel’s once half-lidded eyes flew open, those hazel eyes searching her own.
“I do,” he whispered, swallowing audibly. “There’s no rush—”
“Please?”
One moment she’d been standing there, her hand flat against the white, linen shirt Azriel wore beneath his jacket and the next her feet were in the air, her body cradled against him as he walked.
“I can’t think when you’re around,” Azriel was saying, his steps echoing against the wood. “Can’t think just looking at you. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream.”
“It’s real,” she replied, pressing her lips to his neck. “I’m real. We’re real.”
He shuddered, all but running up a flight of stairs. There was no reaction when his wing clipped a door frame nor did he say a word when he had to use his nice shoe to slam his bedroom door shut. Gwyn wasn’t given the opportunity to really look around his space, either—though it seemed sparse and filled with dark, moody colors.
Azriel had her on the bed, his own body over top her own before she could exhale the breath she’d just taken.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, the maddening male. She would have told him she didn’t want him to, but he was kissing her again, his burning lips all but bruising her own. Drawing a leg up, Gwyn could line up their otherwise mismatched bodies so he was pressed exactly where she wanted him.
They were going to do this. She wanted to do this. When she managed to take a breath, the taste of blood faint against her tongue, she rasped, “Take this off.”
Azriel was on his knees in a moment, shucking off his jacket before all but ripping off his shirt, too. There in the dark with nothing but silvery moonlight to illuminate him, Gwyn was allowed to really look at him.
He didn’t move, a lock of dark hair half obscuring the intensity of his gaze. “All of it,” she decided before she lost her nerve.
Azriel cocked his head, his lips pursed as though he’d tell her no.
“Please,” she added.
Azriel groaned again, softer this time. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed closed and a mingling of male and female voices rose like music, a soothing hum in the background as Azriel slid off the bed entirely.
Wings tucked tightly against his toned back, he quietly locked his door before turning back to her. “We don’t have to,” he said, his fingers hovering over the laces of his pants. Gwyn had a suspicion Azriel would spend the next century saying this and she’d spend the next century reassuring him that she wanted all of it. All of him.
Maybe he’d realize in the morning when she snuck into the kitchen and begged the house for his favorite meal. She had no idea what it was, but surely the magic that governed this place did? Would he eat it from her hands? Or would he balk, certain this was just another dream?
“I know,” she said, leaning up on her elbows. “Take it all off, anyway.”
Gwyn knew what Azriel was wondering but her past was murky—forgotten in the dark, the ugly replaced with his easy, unassuming beauty. Still, she held her breath as he undressed entirely, drinking in the sight of him. This was the male she’d knocked to the ground, the very same that could kill another person without a second thought.
Underneath the thick, armored leathers and weapons lay just a male made of skin and bone. Gwyn’s eyes traced the tattoos adorning his shoulders and chest, the intricate swirls snaking up his neck and vanishing behind his back. Every inch of him was muscled, softer now that he was relaxed and still present just below the warm brown of his flesh.
And between his legs…
Gwyn giggled. She couldn’t help herself. It was so big—surely they weren’t supposed to be that large? That thick? There was an air of male pride shimmering around him, his legs spread a little wider as if to say, drink it all in.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, his voice a dark, teasing growl. Prowling forward, Gwyn’s heart spiked loud enough he must have heard.
“I wasn’t prepared for…” For what? For him? Azriel was so quiet, so unassuming…she just assumed if he had all that going on he’d brag a little more? Swagger about the way Cassian always was?
“I’d be a poor mate if I left you wanting,” he replied, his eyes glazed over once his knees hit the edge of the bed. Perhaps it was the sight of her, still dressed, scrambling on her hands and knees so she could crawl toward him. She just wanted to touch, to feel if his cock was as hard as it looked.
Azriel sucked in a breath when her fingers curled around the base of his shaft, just barely touching. Looking up, she murmured, “Is this what you like?”
“I like you,” he replied, scooping up her hair in his hands as Gwyn stroked him experimentally. He choked out a sound, his heartbeat thudding in her ears. She supposed that was her answer—he liked the way she touched him.
Pride filled her chest knowing she could please her mate, even with something as simple as touching him. Gwyn stroked again, letting her wrist twist at the end as her eyes refused to leave his face.
“Gods,” he whispered, his wings tightening against his back. “I’ve imagined…Gwyn…”
She was allowed a third pass before he pushed her back, her clothes pulled off her body so quickly all she managed was to lift her hips and raise her arms.
“Do you know how many nights I’ve laid in this exact bed and imagined you just like this?” Azriel began, his voice a dark, sultry whisper. “Splayed out…naked…undone?”
“No,” she squeaked out in response, half embarrassed to be undressed before him. Azriel’s gaze burned against her skin, warming a path from her collarbone to her thighs.
“Would you like to know what I dream about at night?” he questioned, sinking to his knees so he was eye level with the edge of the bed.
Arousal ribboned through her, making a fool out of her. “Yes,” she replied, strangely excited to be the object of this man’s fantasies.
Strong, scarred fingers curled around her thighs, pushing them wider before hooking them over his shoulders. He was staring at her cunt, now, studying her like she was some priceless piece of art.
“I dream of tasting you,” Azriel breathed, the warmth of his breath fanning against her. Gwyn squirmed when he kissed her inner thigh—the left, and then the right—before using his tongue to lightly take that first taste he’d been dreaming of. Gwyn might have asked him how he liked it had it not felt so good.
Besides, she knew he liked it—Azriel groaned loudly, spreading her apart wider with his fingers so he could taste her everywhere. Gone was his slow exploration, his desire to take his time. All of it had been replaced with the animal kneeling between her legs, licking and touching her cunt like his life depended on it.
All traces of her embarrassment evaporated, leaving only instinct behind. Gwyn surrendered to the urge, letting desire wash over her until it was all she knew. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, well aware he probably couldn’t.
Azriel pushed a finger into her gently, moaning at whatever he felt. Gwyn hadn’t considered what it would feel like to share space with him—to feel him inside her own body but now…
“Az,” she panted, her hips rolling against his mouth and hand. She wanted him to stop licking, to replace his fingers with his cock. Heat was building in her chest beyond simple arousal, heavy like a chain.
Unbreakable.
A bond. A real thread she could follow straight to the male between her legs. It reverberated and then snapped just as Azriel sucked her clit into his mouth, eliciting a scream that was half his name. Could he feel it too? No—his had snapped months ago and he’d just been living with it.
Gwyn couldn’t see how. If she didn’t have him right that second she might go insane. Reaching for his powerful biceps, Gwyn tried to pull him off her but the waves of pleasure made her hands shake.
“Az,” she tried again, his name a breathy moan against her lips. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding against him in what must have seemed like encouragement to keep going. Maybe it was—she didn’t try very hard to get him off her.
Azriel managed a third finger, a whine slipping from his throat at the effort. Gwyn just barely registered any of it, her body jerking a second time from pleasure so bright and heady she could have died from it. It was too much—Gwyn was burning, was in free-fall with no one to catch her.
Digging her nails into his skin, she yanked at him. Azriel emerged, lips wet and eyes wild. “Please,” she heard herself saying, the magic words that, apparently, could convince him to do anything she wanted. “I need you.”
His fingers were wet as they skimmed the side of her body, palm grasping her breast before his lips found hers. He tasted sweet and she supposed it was herself, truly, she was tasting on his tongue. He was hurried, his desperation making him sloppy. When his teeth clashed with her own, nipping the sensitive skin of her bottom lip, Gwyn had enough.
“Az—”
“Don’t beg me,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against her own. Caressing her cheek, Azriel added, “I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to beg.”
“I feel it,” she replied, running her hand up and down his spine. “It’s a real thread.”
Azriel exhaled with relief, a smile ghosting his pretty face. Whispering something that sounded like gratitude toward the gods, he adjusted his body until she felt the blunt head of his cock pressed against her. How had he stood it? The waiting, the wanting, the utter need that Gwyn was all but drowning in. If they didn’t do this, she thought she might die from it.
“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.” It wasn’t a request, though Gwyn had no intention of telling him anything. She expected a little pain, expected little pleasure. Why else had he used his mouth first?
Gwyn had read enough books to know that there was blood and pain and so when Azriel slid himself an inch into her, she braced herself against him, her nails digging into his biceps. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for even a hint of discomfort. There was something reassuring about knowing he’d stop if she wanted. That he cared if she enjoyed herself.
Gwyn didn’t need a book to know not all males cared about such things.
Azriel took his time—like he knew he had eons of it, that he didn’t have to rush. Gwyn loved him for it, eyes burning with unshed tears at the thought. She’d tell him all this later, when they’d had a chance to breathe and eat and really talk about everything that had otherwise been left unsaid. Instead she dragged her lips down his neck and focused on the feeling of his cock in her body, pushing further and further without any of the accompanying pain she’d expected.
She was slick enough that he felt less like an intrusion and more like a welcomed guest, and once he’d seated himself entirely, it seemed as though they’d been made like two puzzle pieces destined to fit.
It took a moment to get used to the stretch, to breathe despite the feeling of fullness. Azriel gave it to her instinctively, as if he knew exactly what she both wanted and needed. There was that same sense of I have all the time in the world, despite her knowing he was desperate. A bead of sweat slid from his temple, rolling down his neck and his arms shook from restraint.
He didn’t move.
Not until her mouth made its way to his collarbone and she whispered, “Give me more.”
He groaned loud enough to shatter the silence, pulling himself out with a slowness that bordered on madness.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, burying his face into her neck. “I’m losing my mind.”
She couldn’t help the exhaled smile, raking her fingers through his hair. “Did you dream of this, too?”
“No,” he admitted with a grunt, sliding his cock back into her body. “I didn’t dare.”
“Why?”
“Couldn’t,” he managed, thrusting again with a little more intensity. “Would have gone crazy from wanting you. Surprised you couldn’t smell it on me.”
As if she would have known what she was smelling. There was no point in telling him so—not as Azriel confessed the depths of his devotion, the lengths he’d gone to give her time, space, and whatever else she’d wanted. Would he have continued to do so forever?
Gwyn kissed his cheek. “I want you. I want this.”
He groaned again, sliding his hand between their otherwise flushed bodies to rub at her still swollen clit. She’d been half distracted by his words to pay attention to her body but right then, when his thumb began making tight circles, Gwyn was pulled back under the depths of shadowed darkness, half consumed by the male laying on top of her.
Their mouths met, messy and unrestrained. Strange how kissing merely heightened the pleasure coiling through her—Gwyn wouldn’t have guessed that. In her books, everything was so neat and clinical. They kissed, they touched, they fucked with nothing in between. In real life, sex was messier, more fluid. Or maybe she and Azriel merely had more passion than the people in her stories.
Those love stories had once brought her such joy. Now they seemed dimmed in comparison to what was happening to her and her own feelings.
“I need to feel you come,” he whispered, betraying how close he must have been. Gwyn felt the same way. She needed to feel him, needed to see him wholly unraveled. All because of her—no one else was allowed to know what he sounded like, what he looked like. They got control, they got the ice but she got the heat, the impulsivity—everything he was, everything he’d ever been.
Gwyn came to the thought of that future, tightening around him as her back arched her into his chest, offering very little give. Azriel kissed her, swallowing the sound of her moans greedily. They belonged to him, anyway.
He came mere seconds later, his own noise of pleasure delightfully loud for a male that was so often silent. Gwyn kept herself wrapped tight around him, arms winding against his neck, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. His pumping was erratic, uncontrolled and a little desperate. Gwyn was obsessed with this side of him—wanted more of it.
Azriel didn’t withdraw when he was done, his heart thudding against her breast. “It’s not enough, is it?” she whispered, thinking they both ought to feel sated. She didn’t. In her books, the heroine was always spent, the hero falling asleep not long after. The pair would wake in each other's arms, content and glowing from the night before.
Gwyn wanted to shove him to the floor and climb atop him. Wanted to hear him beg, too—wanted more of the whimpering, the groaning and everything in between.
“It was never going to be,” he panted, kissing her softly.
“How long will it last?” she wondered, brushing a damp lock of hair from his face.
“Eternity, I imagine,” he replied, his eyes burning with that same unflinching intensity. “For me, at least.”
Gwyn’s heart exploded, racing in her throat. “Are you hungry?” she whispered, deciding she couldn’t wait for the morning. She wanted to do this right now. Wanted him to know that this meant something to her, even if she was scared, too.
Azriel went still. “There’s no rush—”
“That’s yes or no, Azriel.”
A smile broke over his face. “Starving,” he admitted in that dark, sultry voice.
“You have to get up,” she reminded him, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulder. Azriel lowered his mouth for another kiss.
“In a minute.”
Strange how a minute could stretch.
Into lifetimes, even.
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