Pairing: Feysand
Rating: E
Words: ~7k
Tags: Coffee Shop AU, Secret Baby AU, One Night Stands, Unplanned Pregnancy, Single Parent Feyre, Born Fae Feyre, Feyre x Cassian Friendship, Fucked Up Family Dynamics, Angst, Fluff, Smut
Summary: Sometimes, Feyre is vaguely concerned that her immediate fondness for Velaris might be a particularly subtle bit of enchantment—yet another defense to keep the city secret—but, well... She likes the people of the Rainbow, and the ample opportunity she has to paint, and the colorful, cramped flat she found after a few weeks in the inn is rather nice, and she doesn't have to hunt for her food here.
She settled in well, she likes to think.
And all of the settling in she did, of course, brought her to the matter of her babe, who turned out to be a precious and rather obvious bastard of the High Lord of the Night Court.
I Can Take the Upper Hand and Touch Your Body: Epilogue
A/N: So I meant to post this yesterday for @acotar-omegaverse-week's Day Four because hoo boy are they "Getting Knotty" in this, but then I had to actually do my job? And didn't have time to finish and edit. Booooo. So now I'm posting this today! Hope everyone enjoys this once again very smutty ending.
Read on AO3 // Previous Part
Six Months Later
Nesta is already sweating when she opens her eyes. Her whole body feels like it’s on fire, molten lava pounding through her veins in time with the heart beating between her ribs, in time with the beat of her heart rushing and echoing in her ears. Her skin feels stretched uncomfortably over her bones, and Nesta clenches her fists to keep down the desire to scratch at her arms, to claw at her throat. She shoves at the blankets tangled around her legs, but the slide of the fabric against her skin only seems to make matters worse, the relief Nesta is desperate for still so far out of reach.
With a whimper, Nesta rolls over, pressing her face into her pillow. She tries to focus on her breathing, on taking slow, deep breaths in and out to calm her heaving chest. Each inhale draws out more of the scent that clings to the fabric, and that at least helps to soothe Nesta’s quickly fraying nerves enough that she can think a bit clearer.
Nesta has always been meticulous in her tracking, in her planning. She always knows exactly when to stock up on supplies, when to take off from work. She always knows exactly what to expect, and this is not it.
It’s too early.
But Nesta knows that denial won’t help or get her anywhere. Because there’s no denying the slick already sticky and coating the inside of her thighs. There’s no denying the cramping low in her gut and the way her cunt clenches in desperation to be filled. There’s no denying that her heat has started.
Keeping her face pressed firmly into the pillow, Nesta reaches a hand down between her thighs, pressing the heel of her hand against her clit. The too long sleeve of the hoodie she’s wearing catches slightly around her fingers, and Nesta whines, trying to rock her hips down and chasing some sort of relief.
Perhaps, she shouldn’t really be surprised at her heat coming on. She’s been wearing the hoodie for two days now after all. She had also swapped the pillow she used with the one from the other side of the bed. And just yesterday, she had gathered up more of the blankets onto the bed. The perfect nest, and it hadn’t even registered in Nesta’s mind. She just thought she missed Cassian and the heat he always radiated to keep her warm while he was off with his brothers to some family cabin they visit annually.
Cassian. Her alpha.
Just thinking about him has another whine pulled right from Nesta’s chest. She reaches blindly toward the bedside table, fingers fumbling to find her phone. Another cramp spasms low in her gut, a fresh rush of slick dripping between her thighs, and Nesta lets out a frustrated sob, nails scraping against wood as her fingers curl. She continues to lay there, breaths panting out, when the soft sound of tinkling keys reaches her ears, the sound of a door opening and closing.
“Nes, I’m home. And we stopped for pastries on the way.”
The sound of that deep timbre draws out another whimper from her even as it slinks along her skin like a cool, soothing balm. It takes all of her willpower to push herself up off the bed, her steps wobbling beneath her as she pads out of the bedroom.
She finds Cassian standing in the kitchen, his back currently to her where he stands at the island. He looks so good with his dark curls pulled back into a bun, a soft looking cable knit sweater stretched over his wide shoulders, and his forearms on display where the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. Just the sight of him has Nesta’s cunt clenching again, has a moan tumbling past her lips.
“Alpha,” Nesta sighs softly, pressing her thighs together.
Cassian whirls around, and Nesta moans again at finally having that hazel gaze on her again. Especially when those eyes flare, a flickering flame that echoes the fire in Nesta’s own veins. His nostrils flare, and even with the distance between them, Nesta can see the groan that reverberates in his chest as he takes in her scent.
“Oh shit.”
Nesta finally tears her attention away from Cassian at the new voice, surprised to find Azriel also standing in their kitchen. Cassian’s groan morphs into a growl, and he spins back toward his brother, fisting clenching at his sides as he firmly places his body between Azriel and Nesta. An alpha zeroing in on a threat, ready to do whatever it takes to protect what’s his.
“I’m going. I’m going,” Azriel assures him, holding his hands up in a surrender.
Nesta is sure that Azriel must be moving, that the front door must be opening and closing with his exit, but Nesta is no longer paying attention to him. All she cares about is Cassian’s attention returning to her, that darkened gaze of his pinning her in place. All she cares about is how strong his scent is having him this close again, how it floods her senses in the best way. All she cares about is the way he steps into her space, his large hands finding her jawline and lifting her face to his.
Cassian leans down, his breath skating across her lips, across the skin of her cheeks, and Nesta’s knees almost give out. She fists her fingers into the fabric of Cassian’s sweater, pressing her hips forward against his own and tilting her chin up higher still, trying to catch his lips with her own.
“Please. It hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart.” Cassian kisses her sweetly, humming as he trails his lips along her jaw and down her throat. “Let me take care of you.”
Nesta keens when Cassian’s teeth scrape over the scar on her neck, the remnant of his claiming of her, the mark of their accepted mating. His hands slide down to her thighs, hoisting her up and against him, and Nesta wraps her legs tightly around his waist. She tugs at the hair tie in Cassian’s hair until his hair tumbles free back down to his shoulders again, burying her fingers in the dark strands of his hair and using her grip to draw his mouth back to hers.
She sighs into the kiss when her back meets the pile of blankets she intricately arranged on the bed. Cassian presses her deeper into the softness of it all, his hips rocking against hers. She can feel the hard line of his cock through the fabric of his pants, and her hands reach desperately for the buckle of his pants. She slips her hand beneath the waistband, her fingers just barely grazing against his cock before Cassian pulls her hand away, pinning it back by her head.
“I thought I told you to let me take care of you,” Cassian tells her, grabbing her other wrist and pinning both her hands above her head with the grip of just one of his. “Now be my good girl and lie still.”
Cassian sits back on his haunches, Nesta legs splayed out over his thighs. His hands slide over her ankles, up her calves, along her thighs, but once he reaches the hem of the hoodie she’s wearing, they trace right back down. It’s a tantalizing tease of calluses against skin, Nesta biting her lip while she tries not to squirm, determined to be good for her alpha and keep still.
“And look at this nest my good girl made,” Cassian continues, squeezing her thighs on the next pass. “Did you make this just for me, sweetheart?”
Nesta nods her head before remembering herself. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
Cassian reaches one of his hands behind his back, fisting in the fabric of his sweater and tugging it off. He tosses it aside and leans back down over Nesta. This time, his hands find the hem of the hoodie, sliding it up over her hip until it’s bunched at her waist.
“Nothing underneath? How naughty,” Cassian teases, shifting until he’s settled on his stomach between Nesta’s thighs.
Nesta whines even as one of her hands snaps down to bury amongst the dark strands of Cassian’s hair. It’s unfair, the sight of him. How far her legs have to spread to fit the wide berth of his shoulders and chest. How large his hands are where they grip her thighs, fingers digging into the flesh as he holds her open. The one curly strand of hair that falls forward and along his temple. That cocksure smirk and simmering gaze as he peers up at her and licks her lips.
Her hips try to buck up, her body keyed-up and desperate with every second that goes by without his touch where she really wants it, but Cassian’s hold is too firm. Just that display of strength has more slick dripping from her cunt, and Nesta is sure she’s already made a mess of herself and their bed.
But she doesn’t care.
All she cares about is the need thrumming beneath her skin. It writhes in her veins and begs. Begs for pleasure. Begs to be filled. Begs for her alpha.
“Want your knot,” Nesta pants, tugging at Cassian’s hair like that will get him to move. “Need it.”
“I know,” Cassian hums, nosing along Nesta’s inner thigh. “Let me take the edge off first.”
Nesta wants to protest again, but before she can, Cassian presses his mouth to her cunt, any words dying in the back of Nesta’s throat. His tongue is hot where it slides against her, his groan reverberating all the way down to her toes. Nesta tosses her head back with a moan when he slides his tongue over her again, tracing all the way up to her clit, but it morphs into a frustrated huff when Cassian pulls away.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart. I want you to watch the way you fall apart on my tongue.”
Nesta whimpers, and she needs to take a few breaths before she’s able to tilt her head back down, to meet Cassian’s gaze, the hazel of his eyes already swallowed by his blown out pupils.
“That’s my good girl.”
Cassian leans back in again, and this time, he devours her with a fervor. His mouth moves over her cunt like he’s a man starved, like she’s the last meal he’ll ever taste. Each circle his tongue traces over her clit has Nesta’s toes curling, and each time he fucks his tongue into her, her cunt clenches at the promise of the way she knows he’ll match that movement with his cock. She can do nothing but moan Cassian’s name, nothing but hold onto his hair, at the mercy of the way Cassian’s grip keeps her pinned, keeps her just the way he wants to have his way with her.
With her heat in full swing, it doesn’t take long before embers start to pool and burn low in her gut. She can feel herself climbing higher and higher, the blissful fog of pleasure starting to cloud her brain, as Cassian continues to eat her out. It takes everything within her to keep her eyes open, to keep watching Cassian. But when Cassian sucks her clits between his lips, she can’t hold out any longer. Her eyes squeeze shut, thighs snapping around Cassian’s head as her release tears through her, more slick rushing into Cassian’s mouth to swallow down with a groan.
She slumps back against the bed, sighing at the feel of Cassian pressing sweet kisses along the inside of her thigh. Those kisses trace upward, up over Nesta’s hip bone and stomach. He pushes the hoodie she’s wearing further up until he can tug it off completely, all without breaking his mouth’s contact from her skin.
“Cassian…”
Cassian hums rather than responding, his mouth closing over one of her breasts. Nesta cries out, arching up into him as Cassian’s tongue slides and swirls over her nipple. Those embers still burn low in her gut, stoked by the scrape of Cassian’s teeth over the sensitive skin of her breast. But despite the pleasure his mouth continues to build, it’s not enough. Still she needs more, wants more.
“Please. Cassian, please. I need–”
Nesta’s plea cuts off into a loud moan when Cassian sinks two fingers into her cunt. The long, thick line of them drag along the walls of her cunt, drawing out more slick with every thrust of them. Nesta’s entire body feels like it’s on pins and needles, her heat only adding to the intense pleasure of it all. And when Cassian curls his fingers, her every muscle tenses, cunt clenching down around Cassian’s fingers.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Can’t wait to have you squeezing my cock the way you’re squeezing my fingers.”
He switches his mouth’s attention to her other breast, his fingers continuing to drive into her cunt and stretch her. It’s almost unfair the way he knows her body so well, the way he’s able to work her exactly the way she likes, the way she needs. Everywhere his mouth touches, everywhere his fingers reach, has sparks ricocheting through Nesta’s whole body. And when Cassian turns his hand enough that he can press his thumb against her clit, adding to the pleasure, those sparks turn into a blaze as she goes tumbling right over the edge again.
“Gods, you’re so beautiful when you come,” Cassian tells her, sliding up her body enough that he can drag his mouth across her throat.
Nesta tilts her head to give him better access, her eyes fluttering when he finds that spot behind her ear. She whines when Cassian pulls his fingers free, hating that empty feeling, that ache that starts right back up again despite two orgasms already. But then Cassian is raising his hand toward Nesta’s face, dragging his fingers across her lips and smearing her own slick there.
“Now be a good girl and clean her alpha’s fingers for him.”
Nesta is all too happy to oblige. She sticks her tongue out, eagerly sliding it over the pad of Cassian’s fingers before sucking them into her mouth. She moans softly at the taste of her own slick blooming across her tongue, dragging and curling her tongue over Cassian’s skin as she swallows down every last drop. He presses his fingers deeper still, until Nesta's gagging around them, but still, she doesn't stop, desperate to please her alpha.
It’s all she can think about, that single thought fogging her mind, and she panics when Cassian pulls back, when he clambers off the bed and out of her perfectly good nest. Her hands reach out toward him frantically, a whine building in the back of her throat, but Cassian merely catches her wrist in his grasp, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm.
He focuses his attention on the buckle of his pants, quickly shoving them and his boxers down his legs, and any and all other thoughts eddy from Nesta’s mind once his cock finally bobs free. It’s already hard where it rests against one of Cassian’s strong thighs, and Nesta can already see where his knot has started to swell at the base, see where a bead of arousal glistens against the head. Just the sight has Nesta moaning again, has her cunt clenching and aching to be filled. She spreads her legs wider against the bed, raising her hips in open invitation.
Cassian chuckles softly at the display, fisting his cock lazily. “Do you need my knot, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Please, alpha. It hurts.”
“Well, we can’t have that.”
Cassian kneels back up onto the bed, between Nesta’s spread thighs. His calluses slide against her skin as he lifts her leg, hooking it around his hips as he settles. He drags the head of his cock across Nesta’s cunt, through the mess of slick pooled there, and Nesta’s entire body shudders. She can feel more slick rush from her, feel it coating Cassian’s cock, and she throws her head back with a moan when his cock presses teasingly against her entrance.
“Cass–”
She doesn’t even have to finish her plea, her voice choking off as Cassian snaps his hips forward and buries his cock. Everything within Nesta zeros to where they’re joined, the omega part of her keening at finally being so full, at having her alpha’s cock right where it belongs. But still, it’s not enough, still she wants more.
But if there’s one that Nesta has learned in her time together with Cassian’s, it’s that he always knows. Always knows how to play her body. Always knows exactly what she needs. He pulls his hips back just to snap them back again, grinding and pressing his cock deep with every forward thrust.
“Fuck you’re always so tight wrapped around my cock,” Cassian tells her, building up his pace. “But you were made to take it, weren’t you?”
Nesta can do nothing but moan, wrapping her legs tighter around Cassian’s waist and rocking her hips to meet each thrust. Every drag of his cock has her cunt clenching. Every deep press has her toes curling. Every stroke of his body working over hers has those flames burning through her veins cresting higher and higher.
“And you take me so well,” Cassian continues to praise, Nesta keening and arching at his words. “That’s it, Nes. Gods, nothing feels like your sweet cunt.”
Nesta claws desperately at Cassian’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer still. She can feel the tease of his knot, the stretch that it promises. The promise of being so completely filled of Cassian. And she wants.
“Please. Cassian, please,” Nesta begs, digging her heels into Cassian’s back. “Want your knot.”
“So pretty when you beg. Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need.”
A few more thrusts and Cassian keeps true to his word. He slams his hips forward until his knot breaches and locks them together. Nesta screams, her entire body seizing up with her orgasm. She clenches down hard around Cassian’s cock and knot, her thighs shaking, as the warmth of Cassian’s seed floods her deep, adding to the pleasure and dragging out her release.
Cassian groans, rocking his hips shallowly and pressing deeper still. “What a good girl milking my knot. We’re not going to waste a single drop, are we?”
Nesta shakes her head, locking her legs tighter around Cassian, keeping him, his cock, his seed, right where it belongs. She sighs happily as she sinks back into the mattress, reveling and all but purring at the fullness, the warmth, the comfort that settles in her veins. Cassian focuses his attention on her throat, pressing gentle kisses along her skin. Nesta cards her own fingers through the dark strands of Cassian’s hair, humming when his lips trace over the mating scar. She feels like she’s floating, feels like she could fall back asleep just like this.
But her eyes snap back open again when Cassian pulls his hips back, his cock slipping free. That desperation claws back up her throat, tumbling past her lips as a whine. She can feel tears beginning to prickle at the corner of her eyes, and she tightens her grip on Cassian’s hair, trying to keep him there.
“No no no. Need your knot.”
“Fuck,” Cassian mutters under his breath.
One of Cassian’s large hands settles on her cheek, thumb stroking gently, and Nesta turns her head enough that she can lean into the touch, the way it soothes some of her desperation. She can hear rummaging to her left, what sounds like their bedside table opening and closing. Then something cool glides along the inside of her thigh, and when Nesta looks down, she finds one of her knotting toys now in Cassian’s hand.
He drags the toy over her cunt, coating the silicone in her slick. When he reaches her clit, he turns the toy on, Nesta tossing her head back and gasping at the vibrations. He traces a few circles before bringing the toy lower, sinking it into her cunt. Nesta moans at the intrusion, at now feeling those vibrations along the walls of her cunt, but Cassian doesn’t move. With a huff, she decides to take matters into her own hands, moving her hips and fucking herself down on the toy.
“Gods, look at you. So fucking beautiful, Nes.”
Nesta moans at the praise, and she tries to work her hips faster, squeezing down around the toy. She tilts her head back down again only to find Cassian now stroking his cock, his gaze pinned on where the toy disappears into Nesta’s cunt over and over. She whimpers, her bottom lip finding home between her teeth, and Cassian must be able to feel her attention, his lips twitching up into that tell tale smirk of his.
“See what you do to me, sweetheart? I’m already hard again.”
“Want the real thing. Want your knot.”
Cassian groans at her words. He pulls the toy free, tossing it aside, but Nesta doesn’t even get a chance to see where it lands, Cassian’s hands gripping her waist and flipping her over roughly. He raises her hips and leans forward, plastering his chest along her spine and pressing his lips against her ear.
“Hands on the headboard.”
Nesta moans as she obeys the command, fingers curling against the wood. Cassian’s knees kick her legs further apart, really spreading her wide. He slams his cock back into her cunt, quickly setting a rough and brutal pace before Nesta can adjust again to the girth of him, to the way he stretches her. Her fingers scrabble at the wood of the headboard, trying to hold herself up against the pleasure of it all, sparked by every snap of Cassian’s hips against her own.
“Pretty mate taking her alpha’s cock so well. One day I’ll work you up to taking my cock and that toy.”
The imagery is enough to have Nesta clenching down hard around Cassian’s cock, and she drops her head down between her shoulders with a choked off moan. It just mixes with the groans and grunts of Cassian behind her, with the obscene sound of his cock sliding through her slick, of skin against skin.
She tries to move her hips against the iron grip Cassian has on them, tries to meet his thrusts and his knot. “Cassian…”
“Fuck, keep moaning my name. You know that’s my favorite sound.”
“I need… I need…”
He continues to fuck into her hard, turning Nesta into little more than a delirious mess of moans and whimpers of his name. She can feel him everywhere. Feel where his fingers leave brands across her hips. Feel where his cock spears deep within her. Feel where his knot teases and catches but never breaches. It has her cunt fluttering and clenching around him, has her heart pounding in her chest in time with every knock of his hips against her ass.
“Need my knot again? Need to be filled again?”
“Yes!” Nesta cries out, that desperation clawing up her throat.
Cassian groans, the movements of his hips becoming more erratic. “I’ll make sure you’re absolutely dripping. Make sure my seed really takes. But first, I need you to come for me. Come all over my cock.”
One of his hands reaches under Nesta’s hip, finding her swollen clit and tracing tight circles over the bud. It’s all it takes for another orgasm to wash over Nesta like a crashing wave, the force of it leaving spots dancing behind her eyelids. Her back bows, Cassian’s grip the only thing holding her up as she convulses and shouts Cassian’s name.
With a groan of his own, Cassian sinks his knot into Nesta’s cunt, only adding to the pleasure blazing through her. She clenches around Cassian’s knot, moaning at the feel of Cassian’s cock twitching in response, more of his release filling her. The stretch and fullness is everything, aftershocks still rocking through her body until just bliss remains.
Nesta slumps back down against the bed, panting against the sheets as she catches her breath. She feels sated for the first time all morning, the ache in her body giving way to a pleasant buzz. She doesn’t even whine when Cassian pulls his cock free again, settling beside her on the bed. Instead she merely sighs softly when Cassian’s hand finds her hair, fingers softly carding through the sweaty strands and pushing them away from her face.
“You back with me, Nes?”
Nesta hums, turning her head enough that she can blink at Cassian properly. “For now.”
Cassian chuckles softly, the hazel of his eyes bright in the light that pours into their bedroom. He shifts close enough that he can press a sweet kiss into Nesta’s hair before clambering back off the bed. Nesta can’t find it within herself to move, just following him with her eyes as he goes over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of sweats and tugging them on.
He digs around in another of the drawers, and when he steps back over to the bed, his hands reach for her and gently tug her up into a seated position. He pulls an oversized t-shirt over her head, and once Nesta has pushed her arms through the sleeves, his hands shift under her thighs, gathering her up into his arms. He carries her with ease out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, setting her down on the kitchen counter.
“How was your trip?” Nesta asks, watching as Cassian grabs a glass, filling it with water.
“Drink,” Cassian tells her instead, holding out the glass expectantly.
Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but she takes the glass from him, allowing the cool liquid to soothe her throat. Satisfied she’s staying hydrated, Cassian turns his attention toward the fridge, but he pauses his rummaging, turning back toward Nesta and squinting toward her. It’s almost adorable the way his eyebrows pinch, the way his lips quirk as he hums quietly, seemingly to himself.
But Nesta still huffs and crosses her arms. “And what’s that look for?”
“Trying to determine how long we have until the next wave hits. That will decide what exactly I can make for us.”
Heat floods Nesta’s cheeks, especially at that smirk of his now painted across Cassian’s face. It’s all alpha, male bravado and pride. She scowls at him, but that only seems to make his grin widen, hazel eyes sparking with amusement, with fondness. With love.
“I hate you,” Nesta tells him, even though there’s no bite behind the words.
Pairing: Gwynriel
Words: 8.6k
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Based on 'Espresso' by Sabrina Carpenter, Az can't get Gwyn out of his mind and Gwyn hardly acknowledges his existence. She calls him after her set one night, and asks him if he wants to hang out. Of course he does.
🤎 snippet below:
xxxx
The phone rings three times, then disconnects.
Mouth hanging open, Azriel stares down at the screen and tries to come to terms with the fact that she just declined his call. Not for the first time, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. Gwyneth Berdara has never given him the time of day, and Azriel was just pathetic enough to keep crawling back.
The mattress creaks beneath him as Azriel rolls over, phone still propped up in his palm, and looks out the window at the indigo sky dotted by stars. He sighs, tossing his phone onto the empty pillow beside him, and covers his face with both hands. Gwyn doesn’t exactly give him the time of night, either.
Why should she? It’s not like she’s in short supply of people enraptured by her, as Azriel is. Tonight alone, he’s sure the bar she’s working at tonight is full of them. Velaris loves her.
Still, he’d halfway expected some sort of answer when she’d been the one to text him first, for once. Nothing especially profound, but seeing that little ‘hey’ pop up across the top of his screen while Azriel was scrolling through his friends’ stories just for a glimpse of her–it had been enough for Azriel to practically leap out of his skin racing to answer it. He’d waited nearly an hour for her next text, and she’d been the one to write ‘call me.’
Only, she didn’t pick up the phone. In fact, she’d declined the call.
Groaning, Azriel rakes his hands back through his hair before dropping them at his sides. They bounce lightly against the comforter that he hasn’t bothered slipping under, but he suddenly feels too hot to get beneath it, now. The ceiling fan casts long, spiraling shadows on his bedroom ceiling, and in a huff of frustration, Azriel leans over to his nightstand and shuts off the light. If he’s going to spend another Saturday night alone, he might as well try to get some sleep.
A/N: yeah, yeah, I know! This is super exposition-y, but we have to set it all up, besties! I promise Cassian and Nesta actually interact again in the next chapter 🫡 Also, for anyone who's nerdy like me, the Athletic has a really great article about just how complicated things get when a player gets traded. It's a fun read!
Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part
Cassian
Cassian groans, tossing his phone on the coffee table, the device skittering across the wood without a care. He drops his head against the back of the sofa, digging his hands into his hair and dragging his fingers against the curly strands. He still can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and he half wonders if he’s imagining this entire phone call, but the tinny voice continues through the speaker even if he’s no longer listening.
Seattle.
He got traded to the Seattle Kraken.
The words continue to crash and echo in his mind, even as his agent goes through the usual spiel when trades happen. Expect a call from the coach, maybe even a few players will reach out once the news breaks. The Kraken’s director of team services will reach out with the finer details for a smooth transition. Reminders of the CBA mandates. Meetings with the trainers, the equipment team, and the coaching staff to look forward to. Practice schedule. It’s like information overload, a hurricane swirling through his head with hundred mile per hour winds.
It doesn’t help that his phone has already started to vibrate against the table, almost excessively. With a quiet huff that thankfully his agent doesn’t pick up on, already plowing forward into the exciting potential for re-signing with Seattle, Cassian snatches his phone back up. He minimizes the call screen and looks at his notifications. Of course. The news has already broken on Twitter. Damn ‘insiders.’
“Any questions for me, Cassian? Anything I can do for you?”
Cassian has to shake his head, clearing his still spiraling thoughts, before he finds his voice. “All good, Eris. That’s how the off season goes, right?”
Eris is quiet for a moment. “I’ll send a car to take you to the airport. A nicer one than the team would send.”
With that, the line clicks, and Cassian tosses his phone away again, this time face down. He doesn’t even want to look at what’s being said, at the speculation. Sure, the Rangers hadn’t had the best season, the ending more heartbreak than anything else. Sure, he only has one year left on his contract. Sure, the front office wants draft picks to help build up the farm system with young blood.
But still, Cassian never expected this. Never expected this was how his time with the team would end. Never expected this was how his time in New York City would end.
Sighing softly, he glances around his apartment. The high ceilings, the modern, open kitchen, the tall windows and the amazing skyline view that the thirty-first floor offers. He really did love this place, a far cry from the streets he’d grown up on, and a reminder of how far he'd come from those very streets. He supposes he’ll have to sell it now. Is it worth keeping just for the off season?
The sound of Cassian’s phone ringing is loud in his otherwise quiet apartment. It seems to echo off the walls as though taunting him. He’s half tempted to ignore it all together, but despite the unknown number displayed on the screen when he checks, the location is listed as Seattle. Not the best first impression to send his new team to voicemail. Another sigh and Cassian squares his shoulders, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer.
The man on the other end of the line introduces himself and exchanges a few pleasantries, but then he’s diving right in to more specifics. The nitty gritty of a trade. Flight details. Financials and reimbursements. Rental car when he lands. Taxes.
Cassian only half listens, making sure he makes the affirmative sounds at the appropriate breaks in conversation. This isn’t his first rodeo. Although, he had still been in the farm system when his last trade happened. This is certainly different, but Cassian knows he thankfully won’t have to deal with most of this. He’ll give the director of team services Eris’s number, and let him deal with all the numbers and everything. It’s why he pays him the big bucks after all.
As soon as the call ends, Cassian’s phone lights up and starts ringing again. He wants to pull his own hair out as that incessant sound fills his apartment. He knows how this goes, but he’d give anything for just a moment of peace, a moment to really sit with his thoughts and everything that’s just happened. He considers turning his phone off, letting all the calls go to voicemail, at least for a few hours, but then he sees the name displayed on the screen.
“I take it you saw the news?” Cassian says by way of greeting.
“Need a drink?” Rhysand’s voice carries down the line.
Cassian chuckles, already pushing up to his feet. “You have no idea. But you better be breaking out the good shit from your fancy cellar.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just get your ass over here.”
Just the short conversation, the teasing tone of his chosen brother, has Cassian feeling lighter already. He grabs his wallet and shoves it into his pocket, tugging a ball cap down over his curls. Summer still clings to the city despite the first day of fall barely a few days away, but the breeze that dances between the buildings promises cooler temperatures to come. Cassian takes the subway up toward Central Park, the rocking of the car over the tracks strangely a lulling balm over his nerves.
The doorman offers Cassian a nod and a friendly hello in greeting when he arrives at the building, holding the door open for him to stroll inside. The receptionist at the front desk does the same, barely casting Cassian a cursory glance as he heads for the elevators. He quickly punches in the code and steps inside, riding up and up and up, all the way to the penthouse.
Feyre is waiting for Cassian as soon as the elevator doors open, stepping forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “I’m so sorry.”
Cassian chuckles but he wraps his own arms around Feyre’s shoulders nonetheless. “I’m not dying, Fey. I just got traded.”
“I know, but traded across the country,” Feyre continues, pulling back enough that she can peer up at Cassian with an overdramatic pout. “I’m losing my partner in crime. Who will join me in bullying Rhys now?”
“You’re right,” Cassian tells her, nodding his head with faux solemness. “I’m so sorry you’ll be stuck on the east coast all alone with Rhys’s stupid face.”
“Stupid face? And here I broke out the good wine for your sorry ass.”
Cassian tosses his head back and laughs. He steps away from Feyre and walks over to Rhys, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I expect nothing less.”
Rhys rolls his eyes, but he leads the way into the kitchen, three wine glasses and a bottle already arranged on the large kitchen island. He pours the wine into each glass, but Cassian grabs the bottle, examining the label with an appreciative hum.
“I don’t know why you’re making that sound,” Rhys comments dryly, taking a sip of his drink.
“Who cares about that?” Feyre cuts in, waving a dismissive hand at her fiancé and leaning against the kitchen island, her attention solely on Cassian. “Are you excited for Seattle?”
Cassian hums, swirling his wine around the glass. “They’re definitely building a good team out there. Strong top line. And I’ve heard good things about playing under Miller.”
“But…?”
“There’s no but, it’s just…” Cassian sighs softly, pulling his cap off to run his fingers through his hair. “It just sucks because everyone’s here, out east. You guys are always here or in Montreal. Mor’s here in New York. Even Az isn’t that far in Nashville. I won’t know anyone out west.”
“Yeah, but you’ll have the guys on the team. You know they’ll have all the best spots in town to recommend,” Rhys reminds him.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“My sister lives out in Seattle!” Feyre jumps in to add, blue eyes bright.
Cassian frowns. “Doesn’t Elain live in Toronto with Lucien?”
“Not Elain. My other sister. Nesta. You’ve met her.”
Nesta.
Cassian is sure he’d remember if he met Nesta Archeron. He still remembers when Feyre had posted the photos from Elain’s wedding last month to her Instagram, the way his mouth had slackened at the sight of who he was sure was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. With the purple, silky fabric of the bridesmaid dress clinging perfectly to her every curve, golden brown strands of hair swept away from her face in an intricate updo, she was breathtaking.
But it was her expression in the photos that had really drawn Cassian in. There was something about it. Something about her. Something about the way that even though she was smiling in the photo, there was still a challenge, a dare, burning in her stormy blue eyes and the pinch of her brow. And Cassian had never backed down from a dare. He was sure one look from her had sent many men to their knees, sent them fleeing for the hills before she could cut them down where they stood, but Cassian? Cassian wanted to drive head first into that fire.
“I don’t think I’ve met her,” Cassian offers, but he doesn’t tell Feyre just how much he wishes he had.
“But she was at our engagement party in May,” Feyre continues, but when Cassian only shrugs in response, she merely sighs. “Whatever. The point is that she lives in Seattle. I can give you her number if you want. Then, you’ll at least know someone out there when you get there. And I’m sure she’d be more than happy to show you around.”
Cassian thinks about it. He thinks back to those photos on Feyre’s Instagram, thinks about the photos he had seen when he stalked Nesta’s own Instagram after he clicked the tagged account. Thinks of those stormy blue eyes and the tilt of her lips in a smirk behind the rim of a wine glass. Thinks of the stories Feyre has told him, of the stubborn and fierce older sister who all but eviscerated Feyre’s ex, Tamlin.
“Yeah… yeah, that’d be good. Just so I know someone out there.”
~ * * * ~
Nesta
Nesta sighs softly, but she reaches down, fingers curling beneath cardboard. Her arms protest at the weight, but she hefts the box up, shuffling the few steps to add it to the organized chaos that’s their backroom. For a moment, her attention dances back toward her phone where she left it on another box, but she pointedly left it face down for a reason. She doesn’t need to look at the text messages waiting for her again.
Feyre 1:18pm
Remember Cassian? Rhys’ brother that I told you all about? 😉 He’s coming to Seattle! I gave him your number. Show him around for me? Please?
Unknown number 4:43pm
Hey, Nesta. This is Cassian. Feyre gave me your number. I’m moving out to Seattle soon. Maybe we can meet up?
“So, let me get this straight. The Cassian is moving to Seattle?”
Nesta snorts softly, peering toward where Gwyn is sprawled across the floor, iPad balanced against her knees. “We’re calling him the Cassian now?”
“I prefer to call him the douchey hockey player,” Emerie comments idly, placing the box in her own arms down. She swipes up the box cutter from the metal shelf to her left, making quick, efficient work of the tape keeping the box closed.
“And are you imagining douchey hockey player’s balls there?” Gwyn teases, looking meaningfully toward the box cutter in Emerie’s grip.
“So what if I am?” Emerie fires back, leaning forward to open Nesta’s box too. “He’d deserve it.”
“I never said he didn’t,” Gwyn laughs, turning her attention back to Nesta. “So, what are you going to do?”
Nesta sighs softly. “I don’t know. Feyre asked me to show him around the city.”
“Doesn’t he have teammates to do that?”
“Ignore him and the request,” Emerie suggests dryly.
Nesta snorts quietly but it quickly turns into a sigh, even as she keeps her hands busy pulling books out of her box. “I didn’t exactly tell Feyre what happened that night.”
She hadn’t told anyone about that night, save her two best friends. She still cringes sometimes when she thinks back to it, the embarrassment burning bright low in her gut, twisting and squeezing between her ribs uncomfortably. She’d sworn that night that she would never give a single thought about Cassian Valdarez ever again, and until today, she’d kept true to that.
She’d spent her remaining days in New York City solely with her sisters, even doing one of the touristy bus tours with Elain to see all the classic sights. And thankfully, Feyre had been more interested in excitedly talking about wedding plans and ideas than continuing her busybody meddling. If either of her sisters noticed anything different with Nesta, they didn’t say anything.
After Nesta had flown back home to Seattle, Emerie and Gwyn came over to her apartment. Drinking a bottle of wine between the three of them, it all had come spilling out of her. Her friends had allowed her to pace and rage, and then that was that. Nesta had washed her hands of the whole thing. Never again did she dare to check the sports news out of curiosity. Never again did she dare to stalk his Instagram. Never again did she think of the stupid face and the stupid smirk of a smile of that hockey player.
“What if you give him a tour of all the worst places in the city?” Emerie suggests, brown eyes practically lighting up at the idea. “Then, maybe he’ll want to leave the city.”
Gwyn’s laugh is bright, red hair tumbling down her back when she tosses her head back. “That is definitely not how sports teams operate.”
“Worth a shot,” Emerie mutters, tossing aside the box packaging in her hands and reaching back in for the books hiding beneath. “Holy shit. We got the new Sellyn Drake novel already?”
Emerie holds up the book in her hand excitedly, showing off the cover. Like so many romance novels these days, it features a faceless, cartoon style couple. The man is shirtless, though, rocking a kilt, while the woman is drawn with a yellow sundress. Looping script above the cartoon characters declares the title, The Scottish High Lord and Me.
“It’s official release date is…” Gwyn starts, squinting down at the iPad and scrolling through whatever is on the screen. “Tuesday, so we’ll want to put them out Monday night after we close.”
Gwyn reaches over toward the metal shelves, swiping up the sticky notes and sharpie sitting there. She scrawls out a note, a reminder of when they’ll need to stock the books, and peels the sticky note free. She slaps it right over the cover of the book in Emerie’s hands, but Emerie is quick to peel it right back off, placing it instead on one of the other copies still in the box.
“Hey!” Gwyn chastises, narrowing her eyes.
“What?” Emerie asks, her tone overly innocent. “This is my copy.”
“Gwyn just said the book doesn’t technically release until Tuesday,” Nesta points out, snorting softly.
“What’s the point of owning a bookstore if we don’t get to read all the best releases early? Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be posting all the spoilers online or anything.”
“Good point,” Nesta agrees, reaching forward as well to grab another of the Sellyn Drake books.
“You both are terrible.”
“Oh, come on,” Emerie teases with a roll of her eyes. “You know you want to read it too.”
“Seriously, Gwyn,” Nesta adds, not even bothering to bite back her smirk as she points to the cover. “It’s a Scottish love interest.”
Gwyn huffs, seemingly determined to hold her ground with her crossed arms and narrowed gaze, but it barely lasts a few seconds. Not quite meeting either of her friends' eyes, the barest hint of a blush beginning to pool in her cheeks, she reaches forward into the box, plucking out another of the books.
Nesta and Emerie glance toward each other, sharing a knowing look, before they both burst out laughing. It feels good to laugh, to have that lightness twining around her limbs and swelling through her chest. It feels good to be squeezed back in this tiny stockroom with her best friends, her chosen sisters. She doesn’t know what she’d do without them.
They were there for her when she hit the lowest point of her life, when she well and truly felt like she hit rock bottom. They were right there beside her in the trenches, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to rage and scream at, a voice of reason and comfort. They didn’t flinch when Nesta snapped and released that swirling storm of emotion within her. They didn’t balk from her every scar, every dark crevice of her soul.
And when Nesta was ready, they helped pull her out.
“And what books are in your box?” Gwyn asks Nesta, pulling her out of her thoughts and back into the present.
Nesta shakes her head before peering into the box at her feet, pushing aside the packaging. “It looks like it’s our restock of that baseball romance that went viral.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Gwyn comments, tapping away at the iPad screen. “We should definitely put those out tonight so they’re ready for tomorrow.”
~ * * * ~
Nesta slumps back against the blankets and pillows of her bed with a soft sigh. She sinks back into the mattress, letting her arm fall over her eyes. There’s definitely a soreness lingering in her biceps from lifting all those boxes, but it was worth it.
When they finished inventory of the latest deliveries, the three of them had moved back into the main shop. Emerie had taken to restocking the shelves while Gwyn took to rearranging the table displays at the front. Nesta had taken to the registers. Math had always been a strong point for her, even when she was back in school, so it was always her job to balance their books. They all worked in perfect tandem until everything was good to go, finally closing up the shop and heading their separate ways back to their respective apartments.
Nesta allows herself another moment to simply lay in bed before hauling herself back up. She grabs the newest Sellyn Drake novel, resituating her pillows and settling back comfortably against them. Her fingers skate along the cover, down over the spine. There’s always been something about holding a fresh book in her hands. The crisp pages, the scent of parchment and ink.
Sliding her palm down the cover once more, Nesta turns to the first page, but her gaze dances away from the words and over to her nightstand. To her phone sitting there. She knows she shouldn’t, but her fingers itch with the urge all the same. With an annoyed huff, Nesta snatches up the device, navigating to her message app and the unread texts there.
Unknown number 7:12pm
Did I type in the wrong number? This is Nesta, right?
Unknown number 7:37pm
Feyre says this is the right number. Did she tell you I’m moving to the Seattle area? It would be really great if we could meet up!
Unknown number 9:21pm
I guess you’re just really busy. My flight gets in Saturday morning, but the team is picking me up to show me around the practice facilities and locker rooms and introduce me to everyone. Maybe we could meet up in the afternoon? I’d be more than happy to buy you dinner 😏
The last message has Nesta rolling her eyes hard. It’s exactly the sort of response she expects from someone like Cassian. All the arrogance and presumptuousness that comes from being a professional athlete. She half wonders how he even fits his ego inside the locker rooms.
Nesta tosses her phone aside and returns to her book. She hasn’t broken her promise yet, and she has no intention of breaking it now. Besides, who needs a hockey player when she has a fictional Scotsman, anyways?
A/N: So, if you know me, you know that I love hockey. But if there's one thing I don't love, it's hockey romances because they are always so inaccurate that it's take you out of the story SO QUICK! Like what do you mean the captain of this NCAA D1 team is undrafted? What do you mean she magically has access to an NHL locker-room in the middle of a game? So this is my response to that! A super self-indulgent Nessian Hockey AU.
For additional hockey context: Cassian is a defenseman for the NY Rangers; Rhys is a center for the Montreal Canadiens; Az is a winger for the Nashville Predators; and Lucien is a winger for the Toronto Maple Leafs.
Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this prologue and this absolute meet-ugly! Happy final day of @nestaarcheronweek
Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part
Nesta
Nesta sighs softly, tilting her head back against the leather of the seat. Almost instantly, she scrunches her nose, the stale scent of cigarettes, of sweat and previous occupants, flooding her senses. Eager for a distraction, she peers out the window instead. The skyscrapers loom like shadowed giants on either side of the road, a cascade of colorful lights spilling from their windows and reflecting off the wet roads, the puddles from the earlier rain. Throngs of bodies move along the sidewalks, neither the late hour or the dark clouds still clinging above deterring them clearly.
The city that never sleeps indeed.
The cab jerks to a stop along the curb, the driver not even bothering to turn around and say anything to her, merely tapping the fare display. With a roll of her eyes, Nesta fishes her wallet out of her purse to pay before finally slipping out of the cab. At least the driver pulls her suitcase from the trunk, setting it on the sidewalk beside her.
“Nesta! You finally made it!”
It takes everything within Nesta to swallow back down another sigh, takes all her willpower to force at least a hint of a smile to tug across her face. She can feel her earlier annoyance still simmering just beneath her skin, can still feel the exhaustion weighing down her bones. She’d give anything to be back in her own bed right now, anything to slip beneath her pile of blankets and curl up with a good book, but she’s here for Feyre, here to celebrate her baby sister.
So Nesta rolls her shoulders and plasters on an even wider smile before she turns around. But she should have known better, should have known that despite the physical distance between them, there’s no fooling her sisters. From the way Feyre raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching up in the barest hint of an unimpressed smirk, it’s clear she sees straight through Nesta.
“Sorry,” Nesta winces, her shoulders drooping already. “Journey from hell.”
“Sounds like you need a drink,” Elain offers with an easy smile, stepping forward and taking the handle of Nesta’s suitcase.
“Or five,” Feyre adds with a chuckle.
Nesta rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t exactly disagree. A stiff drink definitely sounds appealing after the nightmare of the day she’s had.
“I saw online that a lot of flights were just straight canceled, so I think you’re lucky to have made it at all,” Elain comments, leading the way along the sidewalk.
“I don’t know that I’d call a six hour delay lucky,” Nesta grumbles, practically shuddering at the memory of being stuck sitting and waiting in an airport for so long.
Nesta follows her sisters inside the building, but they take the elevator down, rather than up, Elain leading the way toward a black SUV. She tells her sisters more about the horrible journey as they walk. About the surprisingly long line at security. About the storms in the midwest and the delays and havoc they wreaked on all flights. About the child that seemed determined to scream for the entire five hour flight.
Once Nesta’s bags are securely locked away in Elain’s car, they return to the elevator and take it all the way up to the eighteenth floor, the doors opening with a soft ding. There’s no stopping the way Nesta’s jaw slackens as she takes it all in. A large centerpiece extends from the floor and fans out into the ceiling, the lights embedded within it casting the entire bar and its occupants in glittering golds. Live music seems to be coming from somewhere, twining and molding with the laughter, the conversations, filling the space.
But it’s the windows that really draw Nesta’s attention. Floor to ceiling windows seem to line every wall, offering a truly panoramic view of all of New York City and the Hudson. It’s a picture perfect view of the twinkling lights and night sky through the rain droplets still clinging to the panes.
“Wow,” Nesta breathes, taking it all in. “This place is definitely nicer than I was expecting.”
“If you think this is nice, you should see their venue.”
It takes a few moments for Elain’s words to register, but then Nesta is snapping her head toward Feyre. “You have a venue already? Does that mean you’ve picked a date?”
“Yes,” Feyre answers, unable to bite back her grin. “Next summer. July specifically, after Rhys’s season has ended.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit optimistic to think he’ll still be playing through June?”
“Elain!” Feyre exclaims, reaching out to smack the middle Archeron in the arm. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“What?” Elain shrugs innocently. “It’s true. I mean what’s their current record again?”
“Because the Leafs do so well when they choke every year?”
“At least they make the playoffs.”
Nesta snorts softly at her sisters’ bickering. “Since when did you become a sports fan anyways, Elain?”
“I guess Lucien’s been filling her with more than just his dick.”
“Feyre!” Elain squeaks out, her cheeks flooding with a blush.
“Darling,” a deep voice practically purrs, interrupting them. “There you are. I was wondering where my beautiful fiancée got off to.”
“Rhys, this is my oldest sister, Nesta,” Feyre offers, sidling up against Rhys’s side, her fiancé’s arm settling over her shoulders with comfortable ease.
“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Rhys greets, holding up the glass in his free hand in a mock cheers. The gesture is a bit sloppy, some of the amber liquid in the glass sloshing over the rim and spilling across his fingers, and Nesta realizes there’s a haze to his violet eyes.
“It’s an open bar,” Feyre mouths, clearly reading Nesta’s expression.
“You don’t have a drink in your hand,” Rhys suddenly says, as though he’s only just realized. “We need to fix that immediately.”
Rhys turns on his heel, pushing his way through the various guests gathered to celebrate him and Feyre without a care. Nesta rolls her eyes, but Feyre has a wide, soft smile on her face as she watches him go, eyes practically sparking with fondness. It’s clear this is the man that makes her youngest sister happy, so she can’t fault him too much.
“He’s right, you know. You do need a drink still,” Feyre says, looping her arm through Nesta’s.
Feyre leads the way toward the bar built around the large centerpiece. She leans over and gets the attention of one of the bartenders with ease, ordering what she tells Nesta is the couple's signature cocktail. It seems to be some sort of margarita, a deep blue in color with edible glitter that looks almost like stars swirling through the liquid.
“So…” Feyre starts, taking a sip of her own drink.
“So…?” Nesta echoes, although she has a strong suspicion she already knows where this conversation is going. She knows that expression on her sister’s face all too well.
“Rhys’s brothers are here tonight.”
“And you need to stop being such a busybody.”
Feyre sighs, turning so her hip leans against the bar, facing Nesta fully. “Why? I’m an excellent matchmaker. Just ask Elain…” Feyre looks over her shoulder, but frowns, turning in a full circle with her eyebrows pinched low. “Wait. Where did Elain go?”
“She and Lucien probably found some dark corner to fuck like the bunnies they are,” Nesta answers dryly. It’s certainly the trend with those two, vanishing for a few hours before appearing again with slightly mussed clothes and hair, pink often clinging to the apples of Elain’s cheeks and a wide, shit eating grin plastered across Lucien’s face.
“That just proves my point! At least tell me you stalked his Instagram or something.”
“Emerie and Gwyn did.”
Her best friends had been trying to convince her to get back out there for a month now. Even with how much time has passed since everything happened, it still feels strange. Of course, that hasn’t stopped Emerie from dragging her out to bars for trivia nights and karaoke as if they’re the best places to meet someone new. It hasn’t stopped Gwyn from trying to tempt her to start a dating profile on at least one of the plethora of app options.
It hasn’t stopped either of them from hyping her up after they spent so long helping Nesta to piece together the shattered fragments of herself, of her life, back together. It’s why Nesta loves them, why she doesn’t know what she’d do without them.
But when Feyre had suggested setting Nesta up with Rhys’s adopted brother, practically raving over the phone about what a good fit the two of them would be together, it had been like blood in the water for Emerie and Gwyn. Nesta had barely hung up with her sister by the time Gwyn had tracked down his social medias and had them displayed on the television ‘for the best viewing experience.’
Cassian Valdarez.
Any other emotions aside, Nesta can admit he’s attractive, that much was clear from the photos and videos on his Instagram. With his dark, curly hair tumbling down to his shoulders, his bright hazel eyes. He had been grinning widely in most of the photos, golden skin of his cheeks stretched and crinkles popping beside his eyes. But even the one where his lips were tugged up in a lopsided, cocksure smirk had Nesta staring.
Nesta had done a lot of staring.
Staring at the photo of him in sunglasses and shirtless, lounging casually on some sort of boat, wide shoulders and swirling lines of ink on full display. The photo of him in a locker room, dressed only from the waist down, showing off the tantalizing lines of his abs, his v-lines. The Reel of him working out, chest heaving and skin glistening, biceps bulging with every lift of the weights. The reel of him stick handling with just gloves, in a tank and shorts, the muscles and veins of his forearms working with each flick of his wrist.
“Okay, and?” Feyre’s voice draws Nesta back to the present.
“And what?”
“And what did Gwyn and Emerie think?”
Nesta sighs softly, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I mean, they said I should go for it.”
“Ha!” Feyre exclaims, loud enough to draw the attention of a few others up at the bar. “See? I’m right. A perfect match.”
“Feyre, don’t you think—”
“Feyre, darling, I keep losing you.” Rhys slips into the space behind Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist. He dips his head enough to press his lips to her neck before raising his gaze to peer at Nesta over Feyre’s shoulder. “Sorry. Do you mind if I steal my fiancée away for a moment?”
“Not at all,” Nesta assures him, but it’s Feyre’s gaze she meets. “I’ll be fine.”
Feyre and Rhys vanish into the crowds hand and hand, and Nesta settles at the bar, sipping her drink. Her eyes flit around, but she truly doesn’t know anyone here outside of her sisters. And despite her earlier words to Feyre, all the people, all the sounds and the lights, are starting to grate against her nerves, prickling and dragging along her skin like nails. Even downing the remains of her drink doesn’t seem to help, the alcohol only weighing heavy in her gut.
Leaving her now empty glass on the bartop, Nesta spins on her heel and stalks toward one of the walls of windows. She glances around at the different tables set up, the booths that line the windows and offer the perfect seats for the views beyond. Maybe she can find a dark corner to hide in for a few hours, or maybe, if she’s lucky, Elain and Lucien will decide they want to leave early to continue whatever they’ve started in an actual bed.
“Looking for me, sweetheart?”
The deep voice has a shiver skittering up Nesta’s spine, warm breath fanning across her ear. She spins around and comes face to face with a pair of hazel eyes, a cocksure smirk she’s only seen in photo-form before. Cassian Valdarez, in the flesh. He doesn’t even bother for subtly as his gaze rakes over her, and Nesta has to swallow hard as she tracks the way he licks his lips.
“And what if I wasn’t?” Nesta dares to ask, raising her chin.
Cassian chuckles, stepping closer into her space. “I think we both know you were looking for me. Why wouldn’t you be?”
Cassian’s hand reaches up in the space between them, snagging one of the stray strands of Nesta’s hair and twisting it around his fingers. Those same fingers skate down her neck, across her collarbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch traces over her shoulder and down her arm before finally closing around her wrist, Nesta’s breath hitching at the warm of his hand, the size of it, and she can do nothing but follow along as he tugs her toward one of the booths by the windows.
He lets go long enough to fall back against the cushions, for Nesta to settle beside him, but then his hands are right back on her. This time, his palm slides against the skin above her knee, fingers teasing along the hem of her dress. His other arm stretches along the back of the booth, all but curling around her shoulders as he leans into her.
“You look gorgeous in this dress, you know.”
“But let me guess, it would look better on your bedroom floor?”
“You said it, not me, but I don’t disagree.”
Nesta snorts quietly, tempted to tell him that it was wrinkled when she yanked it out of her suitcase before she awkwardly changed into it in the airport bathroom. But she never gets the chance to. Cassian lifts his hand until his fingers curl around her jaw, tilting her chin up enough that he can slot their lips firmly together.
The kiss takes Nesta by surprise, but it doesn’t take her long to respond. She moves her lips against his, Cassian’s grip on her chin holding her exactly where he wants her. When his tongue slips into her mouth, she moans softly, fisting a hand into the front of his shirt to keep herself steady and to keep him close.
Cassian pulls back just enough that he can murmur, “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Right now?” Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself. She’s certainly not opposed to the idea, but with tonight being the first time they’re meeting, she thought he might want to get to know her more first. What exactly did Feyre tell him about her?
“You know what they say. No time like the present.”
“I should probably tell my sister I’m leaving then.”
Cassian’s eyes seem to glint, even beneath the low light of the bar. “Is your sister here? Does she want to join?”
Nesta is sure that she must have misheard him. “What?”
“It could be fun. Two sisters, one hockey player,” Cassian says easily, even daring to wink at her. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Nesta can do nothing but gape at him, her mind reeling with this turn in conversation, but then it hits her like a ton of bricks. “You don’t know who I am.”
Cassian chuckles again, that cocksure smirk of his never slipping for a moment. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”
“Do you even know my name?” Nesta snaps, pulling further away from him.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that, sweetheart. All that really matters is you knowing my name so you can scream it tonight.”
“You didn’t even want to ask for it before you kissed me? You don’t even want to ask for it now?”
“Look. We both know what you came here for, what you puck bunnies are always looking for, and trust me, sweetheart. I am more than happy to give it,” Cassian offers, the way his eyes dance over her frame again nothing short of a leer. It stokes the anger flaring in Nesta’s veins higher, until it burns bright and hot.
“Wow,” Nesta scoffs, pushing up to her feet. “Fuck you.”
Nesta doesn’t even wait to hear whatever sputtering response he might give before she turns on her heel and stalks away from Cassian, pushing through bodies to put as much distance between them as she can. She’s never felt more stupid, can’t believe that she allowed Feyre to convince her that Cassian was some great guy, that the two of them would be some perfect match.
She can’t believe that she had started to believe her sister’s words, that that damned hope had started to bloom and put down roots in the gaps between her ribs.
Because of course. Of course, Cassian is just like every other guy, only thinking with the head between his legs without a single care for what happens once the sun rises. He’s exactly what Nesta expects from a professional athlete, cocky and sure of himself, expecting every girl to fall at his feet ready to worship him and suck his dick.
She finds Elain and Lucien in one of the other booths near the opposite side of windows. Elain has her legs draped across Lucien’s lap, giggling around the straw of her drink. Lucien seems to be smirking through whatever story he’s telling, his arm stretched across the back of the booth, fingers toying aimlessly with the soft brown curls of Elain’s hair.
“Can we go?” Nesta interrupts, looking between the two.
Elain blinks a few times, but then she starts nodding her head. “Of course. You’ve already had such a long day.”
Elain pushes up and to her feet, wobbling just slightly in her heels, but Lucien is there right behind her, his hands spanning across her waist to steady her. She smiles over her shoulder up at him before turning her attention to her purse, rooting around with a frown.
“Wait. Where are the keys?”
“I have them, my love,” Lucien answers, holding up the keys dangling from his fingers. He turns his attention to Nesta, offering her a wink. “Don’t worry. She’s not driving.”
Lucien slides his hand into Elain’s, leading all three of them through the party and back toward the elevators. Nesta keeps her head down as she follows behind her sister and brother-in-law, and she certainly doesn’t bother to look back. Besides, it’s not like anyone is watching her. She’s quite confident a certain hockey player has already found some other poor, unsuspecting girl to capture his attention.
And as they take the elevators all the way down to the parking garage and back to the car, she vows to herself that she’ll never think of Cassian Valdarez ever again.
A/N: happy Day Four of @nestaarcheronweek! Sometimes, to really be a lover, you have to risk it all in a bidding war, ya know? This was a fun little fic to write, and I want to give a big ole shout-out to the Anon who sent me this prompt! I hope everyone enjoys :)
Read on AO3
Cassian digs his phone out of his back pocket, opening back up the group chat and the most recent messages still waiting there. With a nod, he pockets the phone again, rolling out his shoulders. There’s a glass case full of pictures and some sort of awards on the wall opposite him, and Cassian uses it as a makeshift mirror. He’s always had a bad habit of running his fingers through his hair when he’s nervous, and now his curls are a tangled mess as a result.
A door opening down the hall has Cassian almost jumping out of his skin. He turns just in time to see the exact woman he’s here for walking down the hall, her arm looped with a red head that Cassian is pretty sure was in his trig class last year.
“Trust me, it will be over before you know it,” the red head says as they walk.
“Until I have to sit through some stupid dinner after… You’re lucky that I love you.”
“I know, and I am lucky you’re doing this with me. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go up there alone.”
“Hey, Nes,” Cassian calls in greeting when they’re close enough, raising his hand in a wave.
Whether she doesn’t hear him or is just ignoring him, Cassian isn’t sure. But both women don’t acknowledge him, walking through another door further down the hall. One that, he presumes, leads into the large hall.
“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” Cassian mumbles to himself, letting his hand drop back to his side. “Idiot.”
“Idiot is certainly one word I’d use to describe you.”
Azriel’s low chuckle echoes Rhys’s remark, and Cassian turns to glare at both his brothers. He knocks his shoulders against both of them, leading the way back toward the front of the building and the main doors into the hall. There’s more laughter, but at least his brothers fall into step behind him. He doesn’t have time for their teasing. Not tonight at least. This is his one chance, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up, if he loses it. He needs to focus.
Cassian knew that Nesta Archeron was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen the first time he saw her walk into his gen-ed English lecture earlier this semester. Her blue gray eyes had been piercing beneath the lights of the lecture hall, and Cassian wanted to dive into them and drown in them right in that moment. Even more so when he watched her roll those eyes at something said at the front of the lecture hall.
Gods, he wanted to make those eyes roll.
He was sure that the Mother must be smiling down on him when Nesta had ended up in his seminar after the lecture too. It was clear that she was smart. That she had a passion for books. That she didn’t take any bullshit. He could sit and watch and listen to her in that seminar for the rest of his life and be happy. And when she absolutely eviscerated Tamlin for his “analysis” of Lolita, Cassian had been ready to drop to his knees right then and there.
It made him try harder. He made sure he actually paid attention in the lecture, made sure he did the readings, made sure he came to each and every seminar with his analysis prepared in hopes of impressing her. He wasn't sure it was working or not, but sometimes, he swore he saw her lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile, of a smirk, when he spoke. He swore that sometimes he could feel her gaze on him when he wasn't looking.
And then, one day, he’d walked into the seminar room to find the seat next to Nesta open. He’d practically stumbled over his own feet in his rush to slide into that open seat, earning an amused head shake from Kallias. Using the few minutes before the seminar started, Cassian had called her Nes and gotten a withering glare in response. He was sure the look was meant to cut him down where he sat, but it only stoked the embers in his chest into a full wildfire, only made him grin wider.
It became a game after that. Every seminar, he’d take the seat beside Nesta, and every seminar, he’d spark a back and forth between them. He cataloged every look, every response he was able to draw out of Nesta. Every eye roll. Every derisive snort. Every sarcastic quip. He got drunk off it all and kept coming back for more and more. And when he made Nesta blush, the pretty pink spreading across her cheeks, he knew that was it for him.
He spent the whole rest of the week after that trying to figure out the best way to ask Nesta out, sure that she wouldn’t appreciate being asked in front of their whole seminar group. He wondered if it would be weird to ask her to speak to him after the seminar, prayed to the Mother to take pity on him, and blessedly, take pity on him she did. It’s what led Cassian to finding out that Nesta was pledged to Mor’s sorority.
How he found out that she would be here tonight.
One of the sorority members greets Cassian and his brothers when they step through the doors to the hall, her name tag reading Deidre. She holds out three paddles, but Rhys and Azriel both wave her off, only Cassian taking one. Lucky number nineteen, just like his jersey. They settle into seats at an empty table, and then it’s just a waiting game.
It doesn’t take long before Mor is stepping out onto the stage, giving her welcoming speech as president, but any words she says fade away as soon as the women participating tonight walk onto the stage. As soon as Cassian catches sight of Nesta. Her dress is a silky, silvery blue that, along with the stage lights, brings out the blue of her eyes, and the hem is short enough to show off the stretch of her legs. She has that look on her face that’s Cassian’s favorite, and just the sight of her has his mouth going dry. She’s gorgeous.
“And next up we have Nesta Archeron.” Cassian’s attention snaps back to Mor. “She’s pre-law and minoring in English. She loves romance novels, so you better be ready to bring out all the stops if you’re the lucky one who gets to take her on a date. Now, we’ll start the bidding at–”
“One hundred dollars,” Cassian calls out before Mor can finish, jumping up to his feet and holding up his paddle.
“Mother save us,” Rhys mutters under his breath.
“Wow. That’s…” Mor clears her throat. “That’s quite generous. I guess we’ll be starting the bidding at one hundred.”
“One fifty.”
Anger flares low in Cassian’s gut at the second bid, and it burns even brighter when he turns his head and finds the owner of the voice. Eris Vanserra. Cassian has hated the man ever since he had the misfortune of sharing a class with him freshman year. Ever since he watched him stroll into a college class wearing designer clothes and look down on everyone. He’s pompous, pretentious, and has a face practically asking for Cassian to punch.
And punching Eris’s snooty face is definitely something Cassian’s fist itches to do right now.
“Two hundred,” Cassian declares, turning back toward the stage.
“Two fifty,” Eris echoes.
“Two seventy five.”
“Three hundred.”
“Holy shit,” Mor mutters before seemingly remembering that she has a microphone in her hands. “I mean wow. That’s officially our highest bid. Ever. Do we have a response?”
“Five. Hundred.”
Gasps and murmurs of surprise sweep through the room at Cassian’s announcement. He glances toward where Nesta still stands on stage, her eyes wide and pink settled high on her cheeks. But those wide eyes are pinned on him, not Eris, not Mor, and her attention has his heart stuttering between his ribs, has it tugging toward the stage as though she holds the thread so firmly wrapped around it.
He dares to toss Nesta a wink before turning to smirk at Eris, but Vanserra is still lounging casually in his seat with a sort of cool arrogance that ice starts to prickle beneath Cassian’s skin.
“Five fifty,” Eris declares, eyes cutting toward Cassian with a smirk of his own.
“Fucking prick,” Cassian mutters under his breath before he leans down to speak to Rhys. “Okay, I’m going to need to borrow more than what we originally agreed to.”
Rhys sighs, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Seriously, Cass? This is getting a little absurd for a single date.”
“She’s worth it.”
“Is she? You know, I’ve heard stories, and–”
“Fuck you,” Cassian growls, turning back toward the stage before he runs out of time. “Five seventy five!”
“He’s clearly dedicated. You’ve got to give him that,” Azriel mutters with a low chuckle.
“You know Vanserra’s not going to stop, right?” Rhys adds, his tone almost bored.
As if in answer, Eris’s voice rings out again. “Six hundred.”
“Seven hundred,” Cassian calls out quickly before dropping his voice again. “If you’re so worried about your rich boy checkbook, then do something about it.”
“What am I supposed to do about it?”
“Seven fifty,” Eris’s voice drowns out Rhys’s question.
“Alright,” Azriel sighs, pushing up to his feet. “This is just sad to watch now.”
Cassian sighs as his brother walks away, knocking his fist against the table in frustration. “Eight fifty!”
He waits for Eris’s answering bid, but there’s only silence ringing out in the hall. Cassian’s brow pinches in confusion, and he snaps his attention back toward Eris’s table. The man in question is on his feet, standing toe to toe with Azriel. There’s a suspicious looking stain across Eris’s shirt, and his lips are pulled back in a sneer.
Whatever lashing Eris is giving for his now ruined designer shirt, Azriel takes it unfazed. He merely reaches for a napkin, the movement nothing short of sensual as he wipes it against Eris’s shirt, against his chest and down his stomach. Even from across the room Cassian can see the way Eris’s face has turned a color to match his face.
With Eris thoroughly distracted, Cassian looks back toward the stage, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Mor.
“Oh! Right,” Mor speaks into the microphone. “We have eight fifty. Do we have higher than eight fifty?” Cassian motions with his hand to hurry up. “Eight fifty going once. Going twice. Sold for eight fifty.”
Cassian falls back into his seat with a relieved sigh, unable to bite back the wide grin that pulls across his face. He did it, he was the highest bid. He gets to see Nesta outside of their lecture, outside of their seminar. He gets to spend time with her one on one and to find out what really makes her tick.
He gets to take Nesta Archeron on a date.
He’s practically bouncing on his feet waiting for the rest of the women to have their bidding, for the evening to come to a close. He all but jumps back up to his feet, plucking the check from between Rhys’s fingers. The look on Mor’s face is all too knowing when he hands over the money, but even that doesn’t deter him.
He gets to take Nesta Archeron on a date.
“Eight hundred fifty dollars, huh?”
Cassian spins around to come face to face with the exact woman in question, her arms crossed and her expression unimpressed. But Cassian has learned a lot sitting next to Nesta this semester, and he recognizes the light sparking in her blue eyes, the slight pinch at the corner of her lips. Try as she might, she can’t hide her amusement from him.
“What can I say, sweetheart?” Cassian drawls, grin still wide. “I’m quite dedicated to getting what I want.”
“Oh? Is that why you pulled that stunt with Eris?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was merely Azriel flirting.”
Nesta laughs, and it’s already Cassian’s favorite sound, a sound he wants to draw out of her again and again. “He flirts by spilling drinks on people?”
“Everyone has their own version of flirting. Look at us, with our back and forth.”
That comment does earn him an eye roll, Cassian’s blood singing and his heart soaring at the reaction. He dares to step even closer to Nesta, until he has to tip his chin down to keep smirking at her. Dares to reach up between them for a stray strand of Nesta’s hair and tug on it teasingly. Dares to tease the backs of his fingers along her now pinkening cheeks.
A swift shadow passed overhead, followed by a whisper of wings, and Nesta didn’t need to look to know who sailed high above, making sure all was safe. That she was safe.
Busybody. [...]
Her mate. Her love. Her friend. The light within her chest brightened to a radiant sun. – A Court of Silver Flames, Chapter 80
For today I wanted an illustration of Nesta and Cassian enjoying the tranquility of the House. This was, in fact, the first illustration that I commissioned with Pablo and when I saw how it turned out, I was unable to correctly order the words because of how impacted I was by the beauty of the illustration.
nessriel | E | hurt/comfort, modern AU - magic/CC inspired
Aux officer Cassian brings a stray home with him and he doesn't want to let her go. Lieutenant Azriel, and his life partner, thinks he has a bleeding heart and an undiagnosed mental health condition - until he meets Nesta Archeron for himself, sweating and vomiting through a self-led alcohol detox, and decides ... yeah, they should keep her. Nesta is at an all-time low, all her bridges burned, but she's going to pull herself together and try to keep her mess from spilling into these ridiculously gorgeous, kind-hearted Auxie's lives.
ao3
(Thank you @popjunkie42 and @thesistersarcheron for the support read throughs!)
For Day One: Beginnings of @polyacotarweek!
Chapters 1-3/9
Preview Below
~*~
Everything fucking hurts: Cassian’s knees are jammed up, his spine crackles along each vertebra, his balls feel like tenderized meat, and his godsdamn shoulder. Ripped out of the socket by a feral leopard shifter, high on pixie dust.
As if the hit that knocked him off of his feet wasn’t bad enough, the amount of paperwork he’d had to fill out because of the right hook he’d landed out of self-defense driven instinct afterwards was even more painful.
Cassian can feel the impact from his wing meeting with the concrete just as much as the strain in his neck from standing bent over the counter at the Aux.
Like the asshole knew how low tech they are.
“Mother fucker,” he mutters, slamming the unit door shut behind him.
He waits to hear the double beep of the lock before shoving the keys in his black jean’s front pocket and shuffling for the stairs to his apartment.
All Cassian wants is to get out of this fucking oppressive bullet-proof vest, kick off his boots, strip off his pants and sprawl on the couch with one hand down the front of his briefs and the other holding a cold beer. Put a game on. Maybe mess around with Az by sending him some dirty pictures.
An image of high cheekbones splattered with a dark flush, hot to the touch, flashes in his mind. Pupils blown wide and hand covering that seductive mouth to hide embarrassment.
Yeah, thinking about the pretty blush that will spread over his partner’s face? The way Az will jerk his head up to make sure no one saw … and then sneak another peek, maybe find an unoccupied room that doesn’t have cameras in it for some privacy?
Cassian grins wickedly.
He will definitely send dirty pictures.
Maybe after a beer or two, his shoulder won’t hurt so bad either and he can send a video tease. Get Az all worked up so he comes home in the morning ravenous, like a male possessed, ready to put Cass in his place for winding him up so tight —
A loud clatter right as Cassian rounds the stairwell to head up to the second floor cuts off his train of thought.
Engrained Aux training makes him hesitate.
Voices rise up behind the closest door.
Shit.
Apartment 132. A real sleazebag.
“— I’m a dirty whore? Yeah? Have you seen your fucking bed sheets?” A female’s voice becomes clear, growing louder along with heavy, slightly muffled footsteps on a carpeted floor. Drawing closer. “Learn how to do the laundry, you infantile asshole!”
The doorknob jiggles a few times along with a few incoherent curses before the door is wrenched open. Unsure what kind of scene is about to spill into the bottom floor of his apartment complex, Cassian holds still aside from his hand edging closer to his holster.
The female has her back to him, still yelling into the apartment with her middle finger in the air. “Your cleaning skills match the size of your cock, unsatisfact- ow!”
Cassian is braced for the collision course, but the female hasn’t been paying attention to anything but lobbing insults at the vampire arguing back half-heartedly from somewhere deeper in the apartment. She jumps as her bare shoulders connect with the kevlar covered metal plate on Cassian’s chest.
She whips around, hellfire seething from her. “Watch where the fuck you’re —”
The words die on her lips as she cranks her head up: taking in the uniform, the badge, the fucking Aux uniform aviator sunglasses perched on the bridge of Cass’s crooked nose.
With his polished talons gleaming two feet higher than his nearly six-and-a-half-foot height, he knows he looks intimidating as hell.
Her gaze lingers on the breadth of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps under his shirt sleeves, the thick column of his neck.
Cassian also knows he looks fit as hell.
“Shit,” she curses, but it’s breathy enough to sound unintentional.
The vampire is quicker than a whip, tossing a purse onto the concrete and slamming his door shut. The contents spill out of the purse because he hasn’t bothered to close it: chapstick, a pack of gum, various IDs and brightly packaged condoms ‘ribbed for her pleasure.’
Sleazebag.
The purple-colored veteran Aux ID in the discarded pile catches his attention, but Cassian doesn't give away his recognition.
“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, cocking one brow up.
The hallway is open-air, but it does nothing to reduce the scent of chain-smoked cigarettes and strong alcohol coming off of the female.
Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Reader Under the Influence of an Aphrodisiac, Somnophilia, Blowjob, Slight Nipple Play, Slight Fingering, Penetrative Sex, Mean!Miguel, Slightly Perverted!Miguel
A/N: Requested!
Summary: There is only one man you can turn to in your time of need
Word Count: 3.2K (Barely Edited)
Fuck!
You almost miss your landing, having to hold extra tight to the fire escape railing to not fall. Your breath is ragged, and you never realized how hard it was to breath through your mask until now. You stumble as you step off of the railing and onto the landing, taking a lungful of air as you reach behind your head and rip off your mask. Your steps are clumsy as you walk towards the window, your body burning up as you grasp the window ledge and push it up with a grunt. God, I told that idiot to start locking his windows, you think as you slide through.
It’s completely dark inside, the only bit of moonlight being blocked by your figure. But even then, you can see the outline of posters and figurines on the wall. You can even see the outline of his body laying in his bed. You let out a heavy sigh, making your way over to him. His bed creaks as you kneel on top of it, the soft mattress sinking under your weight. Miguel’s sheet is half-way off his body, probably kicked off during the night-time heat. His chest falls steadily, his whole front being exposed to you as he sleeps on his back. He mumbles something, sleepy whispers leaving his barely parted mouth as his hand comes up to scratch at his naked chest. You can feel your skin heat up at the sight of the exposed skin, seeing the way coarse hair spans over tan muscles. You feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.
You don’t really think before your palms land flat onto his skin. It’s slightly cool under your hands, but it does nothing to kill the heated flush over your own skin. It only makes it worse. A tortured sound leaves your lips as you rake your hands down his body, ghosting over the skin of his chest and stomach until they stop at his thighs. Why are his boxers so tight around his thighs? You take a shaky breath in, shifting your weight as your hands travel up slightly until they’re right over the outline of his soft dick. Your hands shake as you massage him over the thin fabric of his underwear; have they always shook like that?
You can feel him hardening under your hands, and your head snaps up when he lets out a soft moan. He’s still asleep, that steady rhythm still moving his chest. But his brows are furrowed, lips parted slightly. It makes something in your stomach twist in fear and excitement at the idea of being caught. You let out another breath as you drop your attention to his semi, your hand gently guiding his cock out through the hole of his boxers. Even though he’s not fully hard yet, you can see the beginning bulge of a vein running up the underside of his cock. The length of him just barely being supported by the hold you have on him.
Your mouth feels dry at the sight. He’s big, and he isn’t even fully hard yet. You try to chase the dryness in your throat away with a swallow, but it only makes more saliva pool on your tongue. You sneak a peek up again, finding him in the same pose from a minute ago. You keep your eyes on him as you slowly lean down, only looking down for a second as you guide your mouth over him. Your bottom lip brushes over his tip, but you turn your head to the side as you lean further down. Your tongue darts up, licking the length just above your hand as you make your way back up to his tip. Miguel’s breath hitches, your eyes looking towards him. His head is thrown to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be waking up.
Good.
You hum against him, tongue flicking at his slit. Your hand moves up and down him slowly, feeling him get harder in your hold before you wrap your fingers around his tip. You suck lightly, eyes fluttering when the first salty beads of precum melt on your tongue. You can feel a dull throb beginning at your core, your body craving Miguel’s addicting taste. Your body needs it. A small moan falls from your lips as you take him deeper, your hands falling away to sit on his thighs as you slowly move your head up and down his length. The heavy warmth in your mouth is comforting, and the pleasure of having him in your mouth travels straight to your cunt. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you focus on moving your head, gagging slightly when you force him a little too far down your throat. But you’re caught off guard when a heavy hand falls on your head, forcing Miguel’s cock down your throat entirely.
You squeal, quickly turning into a gag as your nose meets the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The hand keeps you there and you snap your eyes open. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes stare down at you, sharp crimson glinting. His other hand is stretched out to his side, coming into view in a second, the frames of his glasses pinched between his fingers before he slips them on. You moan around him, trying to communicate the uncomfortable pressure pressing on the back of your throat, but it only makes Miguel hiss out in pleasure. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head up before pushing it back down to the base.
“Fucking knew it,” he breaths harshly, repeating the movement until he’s controlling how fast you suck his dick. “Thought I wouldn’t find out it was you, huh?”
You whine around his cock, mind too hazy on the smell of his skin and the feel of his dick in your mouth to process what he’s talking about. Miguel’s head rolls, his hips beginning to thrust into your mouth as he keeps your head still. You can feel tears pricking at your lower lash line, wet gags escaping your throat with each of his thrusts. Your hands bunch up the fabric of his boxers, eyes staring up at him. You can feel yourself dripping, praying it doesn’t seep through your suit. Miguel thrusts into your mouth a few more times before he pulls you off of his cock, allowing you to take a large breath in and sputter. Spit wets the entirety of your chin and lips, and you gasp as warm liquid splatters on your cheek. Your eyes close instinctively, your ears picking up Miguel’s low groan and labored breathing. Your eyes slowly open, closing quickly when his cock slaps against your cheek.
It twitches against your face, softening only slightly. When you open your eyes fully, Miguel is sitting up. He’s looking down at you, eyes taking in your face and the all too familiar hero costume sticking to your body. He has a knowing look in his eyes, and you yelp when he grabs you. Your positions are switched quickly, your body bouncing once it hits the bed. Springs squeaking under your weight. You can feel Miguel’s body pressing against your back, his hand snaking to your front and pressing up on your abdomen until your ass is forced against him. You whine as you feel his cock pressing against your ass, and you turn your head over your shoulder to look back at him. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he studies your body. Or rather, your suit.
‘So, how does the suit work?” he asks, hands running down your sides. You shiver at the contact, pressing yourself further against him. “How do you put it on? A hidden zipper, maybe?”
You gasp as his hand suddenly and roughly cups your clothed cunt, the heel of his hand pressing against you. You’re so warm there. “Or is it something you have to slip on? Gotta get naked before you can put it on, right? It certainly doesn’t feel like you have any panties on.”
You're at a loss of words, shaking your head and trying to grind against his hand. You didn’t know how desperately you need that pressure against your sex until he put it there. Miguel chuckles, cooing at you. His body presses against your back as he leans forward, warm breath hitting your ear. “I saw you on the news earlier, got sprayed with something, didn’t you? You smell so good.”
Another whine passes your lips when he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. You smell sweet, delicious, like sex and candy. His free hand slips up to your chin, forcing your head up. You grind into his hand desperately as his warm tongue licks up your throat. The saliva is sticky on your skin, but you just wished he could lick you everywhere. Maybe it would help your body cool down. Miguel chuckles against your skin again, pulling away.
“God, so needy.” He laughs, pulling his hands away from you completely and loving the way you pathetically fall limp onto his bed. “Don’t tell me it was an aphrodisiac or something.”
You huff against his pillow, trying to back your body more into him. It makes him laugh louder, meaner. His hand comes to wrap around the base of his cock, slapping it against your ass. “Is this what you need? You need a nice, big cock to make it all better? Pathetic.”
Despite his words, he’s smiling. He’s wanted this for so long. It’s only a plus that you, his best friend that he’s been tugging his dick to, is also one of the hottest superheroes in Nueva York. It’s like a fucking wet dream. But here you are, in his room with a desperate need for your pussy to be stuffed to the brim. How could it get any better than this?
“I- Miggy, please,” you breathe out, a flush covering your cheeks at his dirty words. Miguel coos, his hands returning to rub up and down your sides.
“It’s okay, baby. I promise I’ll help it feel better. I’ll make it feel so good.”
You gasp when you feel his hands at the nape of your neck, a loud tear filling the room as he rips your suit down your back. “Hope you got extra at home, cariño.”
It takes a few rough tears to completely expose your backside, Miguel pushing the torn edges away as you pull your arms and legs out of them. He groans at the sight of you: your naked body laying in front of him as the tattered remains of your suit lay around you. Your skin is so warm under his touch, like you’re running a fever. And you’re so responsive, mewling and shivering as he rubs your sides slowly. You look so small under him, so perfect. Your back arches when his hands snake to your front, grasping your breasts. You gasp loudly, your hands pressing your body up from the bed, standing on all fours.
Miguel leans to lay on top of you, pinching and flicking at your horribly hard and sensitive nipples. His teeth are sharp against the lobe of your ear, soothing the sting with kitten licks. You whine when one of his hands leaves your breasts, feeling Miguel twist his head to the side slightly.
“Down, girl,” he commands, a smile evident in his tone as his hand presses on the center of your upper back and your body buckles. You let out a puff of air as your chest hits the mattress again, your hands sliding out from under you. “Good girl, that’s a good spider.”
You huff at the teasing, glaring at him from over your shoulder. He chuckles at your expression, ignoring you as his hand slips away from your chest and ventures further down your body. You stiffen as his fingers stop just above your clit, your thighs aching to close. With a slight stretch, Miguel’s middle finger skims your bud, your hips bucking. Miguel hums in contemplation, his hand moving away despite your whine of frustration. His hands come up to rub your ass, one of his hands moving further down until his fingers are playing with the sloppy mess of your cunt. You sigh in relief, your back arching further.
“God, you’re so wet. Is this all for me, baby?” He coos, watching the way his fingers get completely drenched from a few swipes at your folds. His curiosity gets the better of him, plunging two thick fingers through your throbbing hole. You groan, and Miguel slaps your ass to shut you up.
A wet squelch echos the room when he curls his fingers. As he slowly drags his fingers out, your walls clench in a futile attempt to keep them inside of you, a sad pop coming from your hole when his fingers pull out completely. Miguel holds his fingers up, studying the slight glint of arousal against the moonlight. It drips down his fingers, and Miguel licks the trail up to prevent a further mess. He moans at the taste, sweet and heady. He sucks the rest into his mouth, tongue working around his fingers until they come up clean. He uses the same fingers to smear saliva over the head of his cock, hand dragging it down as he tugs at himself. He shifts behind you, aligning himself until the head of his cock presses against your tiny hole.
“Gonna make it all better now,” Miguel whispers into the air before he thrusts his hips forward. His low groan is drowned by your loud screech, your walls stretching rapidly to accommodate the sudden intrusion. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you bite down on the pillow, the tip of his cock pressing right against your cervix.
Miguel curses when your walls pulsate, molding to his cock. His teeth grit as he looks down, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he watches the way your hole moves as he pulls out slowly. Your hole completely melts around his tip, stretching wide as he suddenly fills you to the brim again. Miguel pushes his glasses up again as he smiles, repeating the movement. You moan loudly despite the pillow in your mouth, your hands grabbing at the sheets to stabilize yourself. Miguel’s hands grab at your ass again, kneading it in his hands as he begins thrusting in a steady rhythm. You melt into the bed, eyes fluttering with each snap of his hips.
A sweat builds on Miguel’s face as he moves his hips, mouth open in a moan each time your walls clench around him in thanks. His glasses slide down his face again, refusing to stay in place no matter how many times he pushes them up. He tires of it quickly, cursing as he rips them off his face and throws them somewhere near your head. His hands leave your ass, coming up to your hands. His palms are against the tops of your hands, his fingers connecting between yours despite the tight hold you have on the sheets. His chest pressed against your back, his forehead pressed against the side of your head as his thrusts speed up. You choke on a moan, your body jolting upward with the force.
“That’s it, taking it like a good, needy slut,” Miguel praises, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, a stark contrast to the way he punishes your dripping cunt. Your walls tighten embarrassingly at his words, making him laugh breathlessly.
The room is deafening with the sound of his pelvis hitting against your ass, his balls slapping at your clit when he goes flush against you. It all mixes together to form the wet squeals from your cunt, your mind going dizzy from it all. Miguel’s hand pulls away from yours, coming up to your throat to force your face away from the pillow. A wet circle surrounded by teeth marks stains his pillow, more abstract lines showing where his cum has rubbed off of your face. He turns your face towards him, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip before pulling you into a heated kiss. His tongue licks at your teeth, tangling with your tongue. Your face presses more into him with each of his thrusts, and you moan pathetically in his mouth as the rubber band inside of you snaps.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you gush around his cock, body breaking in an almost uncomfortable arch as your body twitches. Miguel groans into your mouth as your walls grow tighter and tighter around him, his thrusts getting desperate as he tries to thrust in and out of them. He rips his mouth away from yours as you go to collapse on the bed, your muscles jumping from your orgasm. Miguel’s hand travels to your clit, rubbing in fast circles that overstimulate you. You gasp and cry, your walls confused as they pulsate quickly and trigger another orgasm in seconds. Your hands shake as they let go of the pillow, traveling down to hit and tug at Miguel’s arm.
“T-t’much. Miggy, t’much,” you sob, your muscles prickling.
Miguel hisses at you, removing his arm to hold your waist as he bounces you back on his cock rapidly before he stills. His groan is animalistic as his cock twitches inside of you, painting you in white seed. You moan like an animal in heat as the warmth fills you, your entire body collapsing on the bed in an exhausted pile. You only whine slightly when Miguel gives you a few slow pumps of his cock to ride out his orgasm, forcing his cum deeper inside of you before pulling out. You sigh as you close your eyes, that overbearing warmth that was once consuming your body finally dying away. Miguel lets out ragged breaths over you, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face before squinting his eyes and looking for the outline of the glasses he threw. When he finds them, he slides an arm down his face to get rid of pesky sweat before putting them on, his eyes falling down to your abused cunt just in time to see a bead of cum slip from your hole.
He lets out a heated sigh, turning his head to look for the shirt he discarded on the floor before he went to bed. He reaches for it, balling it in his hands before swiping it against your cum soaked folds. You mewl at the coarse fabric rubbing against your sensitive pussy, but Miguel is too tired to care as he cleans his mess and throws the shirt to the floor again. The front of his boxers has a slight wet ring around his cock, but he makes no move to take them off as he stuffs his softening cock back into its confines. His hand rubs up your back before he moves to lay down besides you, pulling tattered parts of your suit out from under him and onto the floor. Exhaustion fans his body as he turns to his side and pulls your limp body into his chest.
“Need to talk about this Spider-Woman shit in the morning,” he mumbles into your hair as he closes his eyes. You only hum, shifting into his warmth.
Cassian had tied Nesta to their bed many times before, but this was the first time he considered doing it against her will. He rather thought even the House would be on his side here.
Because again, This. Was. Insanity.
Nesta was not the only one that glared at him when Feyre and Rhys glided onto the House of Wind roof. Gwyn and Emerie crossed their arms over their chests and stepped in front of Nesta like twin bodyguards. Ironic, considering the fight they were all about to have.
“Get out of here with that overprotective bullshit,” Emerie spat. “We are going to get that bastard.”
Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.
She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.
Read on AO3 | Chapter 1
“How is life with the cop?” Gwyn asked from behind a stack of books. Emerie was perched on the counter like usual, while Nesta flipped through several new books that had just come in.
“He’s not a cop,” she reminded her friends. The fact that anyone could look at him and believe he was anything but a criminal was a testament to Cassian’s charm. The whole town loved him, greeting him by name whenever he walked down the road and all but throwing themselves at him at any given opportunity.
It annoyed Nesta. All of it annoyed her. She disliked how easy he was to live with and how much she looked forward to coming home at night so they could cook and talk together. She was supposed to be keeping tabs on him and figuring out his game, but all Nesta had learned about was Cassian’s past.
“Did you ever ask him about Brent?” Emerie questioned.
It ought to have disturbed her how easily her friends believed Cassian was a criminal capable of framing a suicide. Gwyn and Emerie hadn’t flinched when Nesta told them about her suspicions, for whatever that said about them
“No. I don’t need to ask him,” Nesta said, thinking about how Cassian had smiled when she’d told him what had happened. It made her divorce a lot easier, if nothing else. What Nesta really wanted was an explanation. Surely there was more than just the threat on the lawn.
She couldn’t ask without admitting she knew what he was.
“It’s obvious he did it because he likes her,” Gwyn added with an impertinent wink.
“What would you know about men liking women?” Emerie asked.
Gwyn shrugged. “I know enough.”
“Maybe we should tell him about—”
“No.” Gwyn’s voice went icy cold at the suggestion. Labeled the town home wrecker, Gwyn was shunned by all the well-to-do women in town who didn’t want to admit that what happened to Gwyn was rape simply because the man in question was a good ‘ol boy.
Nesta hated seeing all of them—hated the way they acted so high and mighty, like somehow they were good people despite their willingness to protect a rapist. Nesta would have liked to see Cassian kill him.
Hell, she would have liked to have done it herself, and she knew Emerie felt the same way.
“We don’t need a man for that,” Nesta reminded Emerie, earning a bright grin in response.
“How long are you going to let this go on?” Gwyn asked, clearly desperate to change the subject.
“Until she gets him naked,” Emerie teased.
Nesta could help her flush. “I don’t want to see him naked,” she lied as Emerie and Gwyn made booing noises and pointed their thumbs down. All Nesta thought about was Cassian—they’d been living together for two weeks and he spent more time without a shirt on than he did wearing one. He could hardly be blamed—it was miserably hot outside and Nesta refused to turn on her oven, so they were cooking outdoors each night.
And Cassian often just forwent his shirt, giving her access to his toned, broad chest and the rippling muscles against his stomach and back. All she could think about was what the rest of him looked like.
Nesta hadn’t had sex in over five years—since before she’d been dumped in this small town. She’d tried to go on one date with a man named Tomas—and he’d decided he was going to have her whether she wanted him or not. Nesta had been fortunate to escape, biting his ear so viciously there was still a chunk missing.
After that, Nesta never bothered again. No one had been tempting enough until Cassian sauntered through her front door, made worse by the knowledge that he might be there to kill her. He clearly had no qualms about it.
Still, he’d been surprisingly kind to her and Nesta caught herself forgetting what he was. She never mistook him for a cop—that was still a joke—but she was starting to see him as a man she could like.
A man she could strip naked, if nothing else.
It was Nesta’s pride that got in her way. She simply could not be the one who made the first move. It was making their living situation tense—Nesta was actively trying to break him.
“Do you swim, Cassian?” Nesta heard herself asking after dinner that night, thinking about the black swimsuit folded up in her dresser.
He shrugged. “I know how, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Nesta leveled a long look at him. “You don’t look like a man who can swim.”
Cassian paused. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Nesta shrugged, rising to her feet. “You don’t look like you can swim.”
“I can swim,” he told her, falling right into her trap. The male ego was a fascinating thing. “I didn’t bring swim trunks with me, though.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Nesta said, her tone implying she thought this was just a clever excuse to get out of swimming. She then sauntered off, undressing herself to put on that bikini.
She felt nervous, looking at the high straps of the bottoms that revealed the cheeks of her ass. Not to mention how out there her breasts suddenly were.
Was it too much?
Nesta threw on a cover up before marching out. Cassian was still in his athletic shorts—no shirt—and a pair of slide on shoes. “Where are we swimming?”
“There is a little lake a couple blocks over,” she informed him, grabbing two towels from the bathroom. “There’s a community pool, too, but I never use it.”
“Why not?”
“Too many children,” she said, though in truth it had more to do with the fact that the pool was always filled with people who didn’t like her, and Nesta didn’t want to be surrounded by people staring and whispering.
“Makes sense,” Cassian said, though after a pause he added, “You don’t want children?”
That felt like a loaded question. “Maybe someday,” she replied, unwilling to examine why he might ask her that. Cassian only nodded, his broad hand resting absently on his stomach. Nesta was trying to ignore the trail of hair that began just beneath his naval before vanishing into his pants, too.
That was a little more difficult. Nesta forced herself to look straight ahead as they walked and answered Cassian’s endless stream of questions like she was interviewing for a job. So what if he was hot? That was his problem—not hers.
Except, Cassian was hell bent on making it her problem as they tramped over the dirt path that led from the sidewalk to the lake. Nesta could hear children laughing in the distance, though the rocky patch of shore that she and Cassian had chosen was free of everyone but themselves.
Nesta pulled off her coverup, ignoring Cassian. Behind her, he made a soft, strangled noise she chose to believe was about the rocks digging into the soft soles of their feet.
But deep down, she knew he was reacting to her outfit.
The water was warm and still somehow refreshing even in the late evening air. Nesta waded in deeper and deeper, embarrassed that so much of her body was on display. Some part of her appreciated his reaction, though she didn’t want to admit that, either. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her with genuine appreciation.
She turned toward the shore, water up to her chin, to find Cassian standing there.
Totally naked.
“What are you doing?!” she demanded, turning away like it mattered. She’d seen everything, and oh, how she wished she hadn’t.
He was ridiculous. The sheer size of him…Nesta shuddered. She wanted to know what it was like to feel him on top of her. Even knowing everything she knew, Nesta still wanted him. What would her sisters say if they ever learned this? Nesta couldn’t help but take another look as Cassian waded into the water.
Just like the rest of him, Cassian’s thighs were big and muscular—they looked like they could easily crush her, should he ever want to. And his cock…fuck. He wasn’t erect and yet Nesta had a good sense of the size and girth of him. Did he fit inside women, or did he merely wedge in half and call it good?
“I told you I didn’t have trunks,” Cassian said, submerging himself so she didn’t have to feel so guilty every time she looked his way.
“You could have kept your underwear on!”
“Nah,” Cassian replied with a shit eating grin. “I wanted you to look at my penis.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“A lot of things, if I had to guess. I’ve never seen a therapist so who can say for sure?”
“Why…why would you want that?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms over her chest as though he could see her through the murky, blue-green water.
“C’mon, Nes—”
“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, immediately irritated he couldn’t remember the most basic parts of his pretend job.
Cassian rolled his eyes, reaching for her shoulders. Nesta flung back, splashing him in the face. If he touched her she was certain she’d be ruined. Better to give the illusion of resistance, at any rate. Make him work for it.
“Come here,” he murmured, putting his hand on her hip. Nesta’s heart thudded in her throat, gagging any potential retort. All she could think about was his broad, callused hand touching her bare skin and how close he suddenly was. “This isn’t wrong.”
Oh, but it was. He still thought she didn’t know who he was but Nesta was painfully aware that she was letting herself get felt up by a man who was part of the people hunting them. Nesta braced her hands on his strong chest intending to shove him away when a new idea struck her.
“This is nothing,” she told him, catching the flash of hurt. “It can never be anything, Cassian.”
“What are you saying?”
“That this is going nowhere. You’re my guard, I’m—if we’re going to do this, it can only be casual. Nothing more.”
Cassian’s reactions were better contained this time. Nesta had no idea what the mobster holding her was thinking. Only that he had her pinned with that stare and his thumb was rubbing lazy circles against her hip bone.
“I’ll take whatever I can get when it comes to you,” Cassian finally murmured, his gaze darting to her mouth. Nesta inclined her chin and then oh. Cassian kissed her, yanking her so she was flush against the hard slab of his body. He should have tasted like the heat—Nesta was certain she did—but somehow Cassian’s mouth reminded her of snow covered mountains and swaying pine trees.
Nesta slid her arms around his neck before wrapping her legs around his waist. She was painfully aware of his cock and how it seemed to span the entirety of her back. That was likely the water and her arousal confusing her…though she didn’t need to reach between them to know Cassian’s cock was of monstrous proportions.
Right then, though, it felt safe. She wasn’t having sex in the water for UTI based reasons, and kissing him was good enough. Cassian, for all his many crimes, was tragically, a good kisser. It would have been so much easier if he wasn’t. Surely he had some sort of flaw? Other than his career and his unflinching ability to point a gun at another man's face.
Nesta kissed him rougher at the memory, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip. The inherent violence oozing from Cassian was clearly doing something for her. Nesta knew, right then, that Cassian wasn’t going to kill her. Maybe everyone else, but she believed in her very soul that Cassian had no intention of taking her life.
Why would he be kissing her if he did?
“Fuck,” Cassian breathed, the only words spoken before he returned to kissing her. Nesta took the opportunity to thread her fingers through his thick, dark hair, tossing the pony tail that kept half up off his face into the water behind them. He was so beautiful it made her sick—what happened to greasy older men in sweat suits? Since when did criminals look as good as Cassian did?
Nesta considered dragging her tongue out of his mouth to ask, but remembered only at the last minute that he didn’t know that she knew the truth about him. Better not to tell him, either—what if he decided to tie her to a chair and torture her?
Why did the thought of that turn her on?
Nesta didn’t notice Cassian’s hand until he pushed aside the thin strip of cloth hiding her pussy from the world and brushed his fingers over her aching clit. Nesta jerked in his arms, pulling away to bite his shoulder.
“That’s it,” Cassian whispered as Nesta rocked against his hand. It had been so long since someone touched her—or, that’s what she told herself, anyway.
Still, it wouldn’t do to just take her pleasure at his expense. Ignoring that she was desperate to touch him, Nesta lied to herself that it was only fair to reciprocate. Nesta gripped him right beneath his blunt head so she could rub her thumb against the slit of his cock.
Cassian groaned. “Christ,” he swore, eyes fluttering shut.
“Is this what you like?” Nesta asked, stroking him once.
“Harder,” he rasped.
Of course he liked it a little rough. Nesta didn’t bother mentioning to him that she did, too. She merely tightened her grip on him and stroked again, delighting in Cassian’s open mouthed moan. Was that all it took to bring a man like him to his knees? Nesta couldn’t think about it given the way his finger was teasing her entrance.
Cassian plunged himself inside of her, eyes on her face. “That’s it,” he murmured, arching into her hand. “Take what you need.”
What she needed was him to throw her down to the floor and fuck her senseless. Nesta wanted Cassian to fuck her so hard it reset her completely, turning off the endless stream of thoughts in her mind. Even then, Nesta forgot they were in a dusk drenched lake where anyone could walk up and witness what was happening. Normally it would horrify her.
But right then, all she could think about was what he tasted like when he came. Nesta kissed him again, sliding her tongue against his in an attempt to find out.
They lived together, she reminded herself. If she wanted to taste the rest of him she could. It was tempting to ask him to put her down, get dressed, and take her home. The only reason she didn’t want the realization that she’d talk herself out of the whole thing if she stopped now.
And Cassian’s hand felt good against her aching body. Nesta was full on grinding against him, drowning in the feeling. She barely knew what she was doing to him, though Cassian’s desperate panting told her whatever it was, he liked it.
Nesta bit the sensitive skin between his shoulder and his neck hard enough to leave the imprint of her teeth behind. Cassian’s hips bucked into her hand and she wondered just how long it had been since someone had touched him like this. Nesta knew he was close, could feel the vein beneath his cock pushing against her fingers.
It half disappointed her when he did, though the sight of his parted lips and head thrown back felt religious, somehow.
“Quick off the mark, huh?” she whispered, lips against his skin.
Cassian’s grip around her body tightened the moment Nesta tried to wriggle free.
“I can sit here all night,” he all but growled, fingers moving inside her faster. “But we’re not leaving until you make you come on my hand.”
“Cass—”
“That’s right,” he praised, licking from her collarbone to her ear. “Imagine how good you’ll feel when it’s my cock instead of my hand.”
Nesta couldn’t help her little moan. It was tempting to demand he show her right then and had they not been submerged in water, Nesta might have foregone all her common sense and asked him to. Instead she closed her eyes and let herself pretend the fingers pumping in and out of her body was his cock.
Cassian used his thumb to draw tight circles around her clit, working her in tandem until Nesta was panting, too, lips pressed against his sun soaked shoulder. She couldn’t stop herself, much like it seemed Cassian couldn’t, either. Nesta came, rocking her hips against him while moaning against his skin. Cassian, for his part, chuckled softly as he ran his nose through her hair.
“I can’t wait to see you undone,” he whispered before turning her face so she had to kiss him. Nesta did, still overwhelmed by the pleasure still rocking through her. He was sweeter somehow—cooler than the air around them, softer than anything she’d ever touched.
“Do you think there are alligators here?” he asked when Nesta wriggled away, still held in his arms. She twisted to look behind her.
“I’ve never thought about it.”
Cassian only shrugged, some apprehension creeping into his expression. “Maybe we should get out.”
It only occurred to her once they were on the shore that Cassian might have wanted her to leave for different reasons.
CASSIAN:
All Cassian wanted to think about was Nesta’s pussy clenched around his fingers. The water had washed it all away and yet he could still feel the phantom grip of her tight around him and knew that if he could get himself inside her, she’d wreck him. Cassian wanted her to—was so desperate that he began constructing arguments in his mind as to why they should that very night.
Fuck her casual fling or whatever she’d said. Cassian wasn’t interested in anything that didn’t end with the two of them together. Seriously together. So he’d lie and pretend he didn’t mind because she’d never give him the time of day if she didn’t.
And what did Nesta know, anyway? She’d been alone for the last half decade, wholly on her own and taking care of herself. Let her see how it felt to be taken care of by someone else. She’d soften just enough for Cassian to make his move…and, he supposed, tell her the truth. After he had her and there was nowhere for her to go but back to his bed.
Sure, she’d rage and scream at him for a while…but in Cassian’s fantasies, she was so in love with him that she forgave him after maybe one well-deserved slap to the face. Perhaps two. No more, though. He’d figure Rhys out, too, which he figured would be a little easier. Maybe even welcome. After all, the youngest Archeron might be more willing and compliant if she knew her sister was part of Rhys’s family.
“Agnes.”
A man’s voice cut through Cassian’s musings. Looking up at the figure approaching, Cassian immediately decided he didn’t like him. Maybe it was the general smug look on his otherwise forgettable face.
Or maybe it was the way Nesta’s spine immediately straightened and her once soft face began icy and cold.
“Tomas,” she said without any affection or warmth.
That should have been enough to see the man walk away with his tail tucked between his legs. Cassian might have, had she looked at him with such open revulsion. He crossed his arms over his chest instead, spreading his legs ever so slightly in an attempt to intimidate the other man. Cassian knew he was big and he knew people were wary of him.
Most of the time, they had nothing to worry about. But this man?
Maybe he ought to be a little worried.
“Haven’t seen you around much,” Tomas said, tilting his head so Cassian could see a chunk of his ear was missing. “Busy?”
Nesta only shrugged, her fingers balled to fists.
“You should hit me up some time. Finish what we started,” Tomas said, not bothering to look at Cassian at all.
“I don’t think so,” Nesta replied, never one to mince words.
Tomas opened his mouth to respond but Cassian had enough. “Take care,” he said, shoving past without a second look. Nesta came with him, keeping close as though she expected him to grab her and start running.
“Who was that?” he asked, his voice nearly drowned by the screaming crickets in the distance.
“No one,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Liar. An old boyfriend?” Cassian asked, trying to imagine that man doing anything for Nesta beyond getting on her nerves.
“Not even that,” she mumbled, her eyes strangely glassy. “We went out one time. Never again.”
Cassian felt his blood grow icy. “What did he do?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she snapped, too prideful to tell him the truth. Cassian could scarcely think, his mind running through a million new images. He could Nesta, helpless and scared while a man—
“Did he touch you?” Cassian asked, not caring how he sounded. Nesta looked up at him, eyes wide.
“He tried,” she finally admitted, turning her gaze back to the sidewalk in front of them. “I took some of his ear for the trouble.”
“Good girl,” he praised.
If only it did anything to ease his own fury. Cassian couldn’t get the images from his mind, utterly wrecking his otherwise perfect evening in the potentially alligator-infested waters. Nesta wanted the world to think she was the kind of person who wasn’t afraid of anything. That she could weather any storm.
And Cassian didn’t believe for a minute that she hadn’t been scared.
Instead of following her to bed, Cassian once again took his place on the sofa and he waited. Just like with Brent, Cassian decided to take things into his own hands while hoping Nesta wouldn’t notice. Or, if she did notice, she’d at least look the other way. Cops went rogue all the time…why couldn’t he?
Except, Cassian wasn’t a rogue cop. This was just who he was, who he’d always be. Some people were talented singers or good at crochet, but Cassian’s great skill was with a weapon. Slipping from the house, Cassian became one with the shadows as he channeled his inner Azriel. This place was supposed to be safe for Nesta and since he’d arrived, all he’d uncovered was endless harm that had happened.
What was the point of witness protection if anyone could just touch Nesta any which way? Why not send her back home and let Rhys—Cassian shook his head, the image of Rhys holding a gun at Nesta’s beautiful face slipping into his mind’s eye unbidden. He’d talk to his brother later—but Nesta was off limits to everyone. Even Rhys.
Especially to Tomas.
It was easy enough to find him, though. Tucked away in an old, plantation style house that set Cassian’s teeth on edge, Cassian discovered that Tomas must have come from some amount of money. His father did something—Nesta had mentioned it. He didn’t remember, too fixated on her mouth even in memory. Christ, but she’d been coming on his hand only a few hours before and if life was fair, he’d be in her bed while she came on his face, too.
But life wasn’t fair.
Cassian broke in through the back with ease given Tomas hadn’t thought to lock his doors. It was a blessing here in this rural little town—people felt safe. They trusted their neighbors even when their neighbors were rapists, because people in these parts thought you could tell who was a monster by sight alone.
Cassian knew better.
Cassian slipped up the steps, ignoring the ugly art on the walls and the pictures of a life that didn’t seem worth very much. He might have been interested in other circumstances but that night, all Cassian wanted was to get back to Nesta.
Tomas slept soundly in the master bedroom, unaware Cassian prowled the space looking for anything interesting. He found, helpfully, a phone with a text message from a woman threatening to kill him.
Perfect.
Maybe, he thought with amusement, they’d ask him to help investigate. Oh, how he hoped they would.
Cassian sat on the edge of the bed, letting his weight wake Tomas gently from sleep. The man looked up, bleary eyed and still unaware that Cassian had pressed the barrel of his gun into his mouth.
“Shhh,” Cassian murmured as he brushed a piece of Tomas’s hair from his frightened eyes. “My finger might slip if you move too quickly.”
Tomas tried anyway, but Cassian was bigger, stronger, and faster. With one hand, he slammed Tomas back to the bed and held him there by the throat.
“I’ll kill—”
“You’ll what?” Cassian interrupted, cocking his weapon. “Will you try and rape me, too?”
“That bitch is a liar—”
“Try again,” Cassian snarled, pressing his gun so roughly to Tomas’s temple he was certain he’d left a bruise. At least the scene would look angry, he reasoned. Like two lovers fighting over something Cassian was certain was stupid given how dumb Tomas was. Still, he was ready to be done.
“Whatever she told you wasn’t true,” Tomas said, apparently deciding he’d risk his own life rather than admit to anything honest.
Cassian made a buzzing noise with his throat. “I’m sorry, that’s the wrong answer.”
“Wait—”
If Cassian had the capacity for mercy, he might have listened. He didn’t, though. Cassian pulled the trigger with a sigh, as if the entire thing was some horrible imposition. In a way, it was. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to be thinking about what Tomas had done to Nesta and how no amount of killing could take any of it back. She was still hurt, would have to live with his actions for the rest of her life.
Staring down at the lifeless body before him, Cassian wished he could kill him all over again. He could have shot him a couple more times, but Cassian didn’t want to risk someone hearing him and catching him in the act. He slipped back into the night unnoticed and was on the couch before Nesta ever woke.
And Nesta loved to be up early. Feigning sleep, Cassian waited for her to speak first. “Want to do yoga with me this morning?” she whispered, coming to sit on the arm of the couch where his head was. Nesta wore a pair of tight black leggings and an even tighter top that made Cassian’s insides achey. No, he didn’t want to do yoga with her unless it was a euphemism for sex.
And then he desperately did.
“Sure,” he heard himself saying like the liar he was. It didn’t stop Cassian from pulling off his shirt just so he could watch her eyes drift down his body.
C’mon, Nesta, he pleaded silently, Take your shirt off too.
She didn’t, though Cassian swore she wanted to. Maybe he was just delusional, reading too much into her minute expressions. He did catch her eyes slide down his naked torso briefly, and that carried Cassian through the miserable humidity as Nesta walked him through yoga. He was drenched in sweat by the time they made their way back into the air conditioning, panting from exertion and the heat.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Nesta he was going to shower. Had Cassian not turned his head at the exact right moment, he’d have missed that look on her beautiful face. Luck was with him, smiling when he opened his mouth to speak the words.
“Cassian,” she whispered. It was the only word she needed to speak—he knew what she was thinking. Cassian merely reacted, reaching for her body and hauling her upward before she could change her mind. Instead, he kissed her with all the pent up desperation he’d felt the night before, pouring his want and need into her so she felt it.
Among other things he was sure she was feeling. Cassian was nearly dizzy from the rush of blood to his cock, legs trembling despite how easy it was to hold Nesta against that floral papered wall.
Nesta’s mouth tasted like sunshine and mint and with little effort, Cassian managed to free her thick hair from the loose braid she wore. “You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered, certain if he told her how he really felt, she’d freak out. Better to ease her into it.
Nesta merely fisted his hair between long, slender fingers and yanked his head back, exposing his neck. Cassian could scarcely think as she bent forward and licked the column of his throat up from his collarbone until she reached his ear. When her teeth tugged against sensitive flesh, Cassian nearly came in his pants.
Fuck.
He was no better than a school boy.
Nesta was something from his darkest fantasies come to life. Ignoring how utterly insane her body was—and Cassian was struggling to ignore that fact—the way she kissed was something from a daydream. What would happen when he got that mouth around his cock? Cassian was desperate to find out.
Desperate enough to pull her off that wall, sloppy kissing her down the short hall until he could drop her on her bed. Cassian hadn’t seen the room and despite all the bright light flooding through open windows, Cassian knew he wasn’t going to see it right then, either.
“Take this off,” he demanded, straddling her hips as she laid flat on her back.
“Why should I do anything you tell me to?” she replied, traitorous fingers teasing the hair beneath his navel.
“Because I’ll tie you up and gag you if you don’t,” Cassian replied, too aroused by the thought.
A soft breath escaped Nesta, those icy blue eyes darker than he’d ever seen them. Something told Cassian she’d like a little roughness, at least when they were in bed. Caught up in his fantasies, Cassian almost missed Nesta arch her back off the bed, pressing her hips against his own as she peeled off that tight top.
All thoughts flew out of his head when she took that bra off, too. “Christ,” he thought he whispered, though maybe he just thought it. He had both in his hands before his mouth crashed against her own, teasing pretty, pink nipples against his calloused thumbs.
He wasn’t giving her back. When this was all over, Cassian would drag her kicking and screaming back home if he had to, but he wasn’t letting her go.
Not now, not ever.
Cassian was greedy, rubbing his cock against both the fabric covering them. He wanted to be buried within her and in service of that goal, because nipping bruising kisses along the side of her neck.
Mine, she’s mine.
Nesta threaded her fingers through his hair, yanking the hair tie out so his own dark hair fell like a curtain around his face. Cassian felt brand-new somehow, remade in her eyes. “You are…” Everything.
Cassian took a nipple in his mouth to keep himself from saying so, letting her imagine all the things he thought she was. Nesta raked her nails against his scalp, unaware of how good it felt to be touched like that. She wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t revere him. She wasn’t some weird groupie hoping to be a mob wife, nor was she some scared little thing that offered tentative touches and whispered words about if he had a weapon.
No one ever thought he was funny when he whipped out his cock.
He needed to do this right, to make her as obsessed with him as he was with her. That was, when the inevitable truth was revealed, Nesta would be more forgiving.
“These need to come off,” Cassian murmured, lips pressed to the flat skin of her stomach as he hooked a finger into the waistband of her leggings. “I need to taste you.”
Nesta merely lifted her hips in offering, leaving Cassian to grind himself against the mattress in order to keep himself together. If Cassian thought anything would be easier once Nesta was fully undressed, he was wrong. Everything about her was a dream, right down to the neat square of trimmed hair Nesta maintained between her legs.
Realizing that maybe he was just an animal, Cassian pushed apart her legs so he could look at her in the golden sunlight.
Words failed him. Not that he’d ever been a particularly loquacious man—that had always been Rhysand’s forte—but even then, nothing seemed adequate. She was perfect, too good for his blood-stained hands.
If Nesta was an angel, then he was the devil. He intended to drag her to hell with him, regardless of what she deserved. He’d already killed for this woman—twice. And as Cassian lowered himself between her legs, he knew he’d spend the rest of his life doing it. Cassian’s allegiance shifted right then—he was still a General, but he served Nesta Archeron first.
Everyone else, second.
The first taste of Nesta Archeron’s pussy was an awakening. Cassian groaned, unconcerned with seeming unaffected or like he had his life together. She was so wet and sweet and when his tongue found her clit, Nesta arched herself closer in encouragement. That was all Cassian needed to convince him to pull her against his face, breathing be damned.
All Cassian could think about was her face and what she’d look like when she came. He tried to look at her, but Nesta’s breasts got in the way of his view…not that Cassian was complaining a whole lot. There were worse things he could be staring at. Everytime Nesta took a breath, her breasts jiggled, sending a thrill of arousal straight to his balls. Did he rush his way through eating her out to feel her wrapped around his cock? Or did he take his time so he could continue staring at her tits?
Deciding he’d just use his finger as a replacement for his penis, Cassian slowed the circles he was making around her clit to gently push himself into her body. Whatever he’d been imagining was nothing like the reality of having her body clenched around him. Silken heat utterly stopped his whole body, turning Cassian into a mindless robot capable only of chasing pleasure and nothing more.
He needed to be inside her. Cassian didn’t want to wait and yet he didn’t pull himself away, either. Vowing he could do a better job, he returned to licking her with a vengeance while his finger began pumping in and out of her body.
Just wait until you see all the things I want to do to you, baby.
Next time he’d sit her on her face and have her suck him while he took his time. The thought was so arousing that Cassian desperately ground his cock into her bed, unable to stroke himself. He wasn’t going to last, he reminded himself. He knew the second he got himself inside her, he’d have minutes to get her off again before it was all too late.
Better to have her come on his tongue, just in case.
And she did, fisting his hair to hold him close, taking what she needed without a care or concern. Was this love? Cassian was certain it was. Moreso when he raised his head and she pulled him toward her, not worried that his mouth was wet from her. Nesta kissed him like she wanted him, like she was drowning in all the same feelings he was.
And when he notched the head of his cock against her still convulsing cock, he nearly told her everything. How he felt, the truth about himself—everything. Her tongue was in his mouth, which was the only thing that kept Cassian from speaking. He would have rather died than stopped.
Though, she stopped when Cassian thrust himself inside her, arching her neck to look at the shared space between their bodies. “Cassian,” she whispered, squeezed so tightly around him that somehow, Cassian couldn’t breathe.
“You can take me,” he replied, because what else was there to say? He was buried to the balls in her body and the only thing that could have convinced him to stop was her direct plea to remove himself.
Nesta looked up at him. “Who said I couldn’t?” she asked, fiery as ever.
Cassian couldn’t help his laugh. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, sliding himself out as much as he could stand—which wasn’t much, to be fair.
It was pleasure like he’d never experienced, like how he’d once dreamed it might be back when having sex with women was just a distant fantasy. No one could compare to the perfection that was Nesta Archeron, and no one ever would.
“You fuck me so well,” he panted, wrapping his fingers loosely around her throat. What did she like, he wondered? What did it take to get her off? He wished he’d asked before hand, if only to ensure he wouldn’t fuck this up. “Tell me how you liked to be fucked.”
Nesta’s gaze found his, sharp enough to kill him if she’d wanted. “You talk too much,” was her only reply.
Cassian couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop his desperate thrusting, couldn’t stop his babbling.
“You look so pretty wrapped around my cock. I’ll bet you’d be prettier on your knees,” he said, reaching between them to rub at her clit.
Nesta moaned loud enough that anyone passing by wouldn’t have to guess at what she was doing. Good.
“You belong to me,” he panted, watching as she began to crest again. Her cheeks were flushed, her long hair a tangled halo around her beautiful face. And her tits bounced up and down just the way he’d hoped they would back when he’d been eating her out. He’d never forget this, would spend the rest of his life stroking his cock to the memory.
“You’re mine, Nesta,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her throat just enough to heighten her pleasure without scaring her. “You’ll always be mine.”
Nesta came with a strangled scream, clamping the walls of her pussy around him so tight it felt like she was intentionally trying to pull the come from his balls. It worked—Cassian came, too, burying his face in her shoulder to breathe her in. “Fucking hell,” he whispered, not thinking about what he’d just done.
All he could think about was how good it felt—and how badly he wanted to do it again.
Cassian needed to get her out of this place before they got caught.
While I put the finishing touches to the next part of Bluebird, enjoy this Rhys x Reader that I got a sudden burst of inspiration to finish this morning!
Summary: War changes everything, and the human-fae war changed the trajectory of your life completely — most pointedly decimating the relations between you and those closest to you. It’s been a long while since you’ve seen your brother, Cassian, and your friends. But that’s all about to change.
Warnings: Suggestions of solicitation/sex work/brothels. Nothing else, really!
Word Count: 1.5k
Enjoy! 💕
It’s all pointless, you think — the red velvet drapes, the burning candles, the sandalwood-scented smoke that clouds the air and creates a thick layer of fog that hovers just above the shag carpet. Pointless, because no amount of pretty décor will change Salt’s Pleasure Hall from the vacuous and miserable place it is.
Not miserable for you, no. There is no misery in the hefty sum of gold you’ll take home on a night. You are a master of pretty smiles and hooded gazes and saying all the right things that desperate, lonely males wish to hear. There is so much coin to be had in feigning interest and attraction. Bringing their fantasy to life for a night. There is talent in making them feel as though you’ve bared yourself to them, without having removed a single item of clothing.
And to think you once begged your older brother to train you, make you like him. Turn me into a weapon like you are, Cassian. We cannot change what filth sired us. But we can stamp it out from our blood and be better, be more.
And oh, he’d trained you, alright. Turned you into a weapon. Into something he was so fucking proud of. You knew the pride it had once brought him to strut around Illyrian lands with you at his side, clad in leathers just as he was, armed to the teeth just as he was. His way of showing off that he had done something good, something useful.
Oh, how things have changed. How the mighty have fallen.
For all you are confident, comfortable, used to the job you have now worked for some time, you are nervous tonight.
Tonight is different. Tonight is territory that has so far been untouched. Tonight, this room of velvet and silk and sensuality is your domain.
The Juniper Suite is part of the most expensive package that Salt’s Pleasure Hall has to offer. The package is similar to your usual night’s work in that you will smile prettily and pour drinks and ply whichever lonely male arrives with mindless conversation.
The difference is that in Juniper, those things lead to sex. And this is the first time since becoming one of Salt’s girls that you’re crossing that boundary.
So, yeah, you’re a little bit nervous. But — needs must, and all that.
With a soft sigh and butterflies dancing around in your belly, you slowly pace the circumference of the room, stopping every now and then to study the weird little trinkets that Salt has picked up over the years. A strange mishmash of things that you suppose he thinks creates a certain ambience. But tiny metal lions and old, fraying maps will be the furthest thing from your client’s thoughts when the two of you sink into the feathered sheets.
They will be here any minute, and for the first time since you started your work here, you allow yourself to wonder what they might be like. You never usually bother, because the other girls warned you on day one what to expect — that this place attracts a certain clientele, and that never wavers.
So, your guest will likely be far older than you. He will likely have dark smudges beneath his eyes and the weight of the world on his shoulders. There will likely be the faint mark of a removed wedding band on his left ring finger. He will likely want to talk to you about why he is a victim of life itself.
And you will coo sympathetically and pour him drinks, drag your hand down his arm and hold his hand. You will let him know how sorry you feel that life is so cruel to him. You will offer him the bliss of touch and feel, and make him think, for a short while, that you genuinely care about his shortcomings.
And then when he hands you the heavy pouch of coins you so desperately covet, you’ll switch it all off.
You swallow down another sigh and cross the room to the small, compact bar in the corner. You need a stiff drink yourself, something to settle your nerves—
But a knock lands on the door, and there’s no time.
For a split second, you doubt whether you can go through with this. Playing hostess for a few hours is one thing, but giving your body to a client is something you’ve never had the courage to do, despite the extra coin it would bring. But — needs must. You repeat it to yourself as you stride to the door. Needs must, needs must, needs must. You can do this.
You brace yourself, feeling suddenly too hot and sticky in the scant clothing that covers you — a pink lingerie set, barely covered by the sheer robe that sits open and threatens to slip down your arms. You are beautiful — and strong and sexy and confident. This is your body to do with whatever you want. And if this is the course you are taking, that is fine. This will be fine.
You lay your palm on the handle and yank the door open before you have to give yourself another pep talk.
But at the sight of who stands on the other side, you freeze. Your lips part in surprise.
A pep talk is not what you need — but rather a huge hole to open in the floor and swallow you down.
“What the fuck?”
It takes you a moment to realise that you’ve uttered those three words at the exact same moment your client did — Rhysand did.
He’s just like when you last saw him, but…older, now. Even though you were adults back then, too, he seems…more mature, somehow. He’s regal and stunning and night itself.
And fuck, he’s High Lord of the Night Court now.
And yet he’s ruffled, as he takes you in, gapes at you. Neither of you know what to do.
His eyes dip down to what you’re wearing, before travelling back up to your face. And he blurts, “Pixie?”
Pixie. You haven’t heard that name in years. The fond nickname that both Rhys and Azriel had coined for you, because you were so much like Cassian and yet so much smaller, a little pixie buzzing around.
But you are not her anymore. You haven’t been her since before the human-fae war. You had changed, just like the others had changed.
And the new you doesn’t need to explain to an old friend what has brought you to a pleasure hall in Sangravah. Nor does that old friend need to explain what’s brought him here, either. You owe him nothing. He owes you nothing.
But the situation is so bizarre that your mind freezes. You don’t know what to do. All you know is that you do not want to be in front of him, almost naked. You do not want to look him in the eye. The mere thought is humiliating.
So you move fast and try to slam the door shut in his face. You don’t care what kind of reprimand Salt will give you because of it.
But, of course, he is Rhysand, and may you never forget that. He’s quick as lightning, something about him always having been wildly feline. He always bested you when you sparred, always had the upper hand.
He has the upper hand now as he wedges his foot in the door and stops it from closing.
You grit your teeth, feeling just like when you used to bicker with him in Illyria as you bite out, “Move your fucking foot.”
“No,” Rhys snaps, shoving it in further. “Open the fucking—” he growls as he shoulders himself forward. “Pixie.”
“Don’t call me that. Go away—”
You’re not exactly sure what happens next. Either he loses his footing, or you do, or perhaps you both do. All you know is that the door is swinging fully open, and your balance is suddenly off, and Rhysand’s hand is gripping onto you as you fall backwards. Your attempts to right yourself are far too late and seem to make it worse. Down you go to that musty shag carpet, and down Rhysand goes with you,
Air whooshes from your lungs as he lands on top of you, far too close than is comfortable when you’re wearing so little clothing. You attempt to sit up, shove him off you.
But he holds you firm and stares at you with wide eyes. His face is inches from yours. He gives what seems to be a baffled shake of his head.
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