“I know all of your secrets, Nesta,” the gargoyle tells her, the sound of her name falling past his lips leaving goosebumps pebbling across her skin. “You whispered them to me every day.”
— My Heart of Stone
I seriously cannot thank @krem-does-stuff enough for taking my silly little monster fic idea and turning it into this absolutely GORGEOUS piece that just screams romance novel cover. Do you see it? Do you see him? Do you see the lines in his wings that look like stone? I'm obsessed, and I hope everyone else is too. A very happy @cassianappreciationweek to us all! (cropped of just Cassian below the cut)
A/N: We pause Regency Cassian to bring you baby's first monsterfucking fic. The unofficial extra prompt for @cassianappreciationweek ;) That's right, lovelies. It's time for Gargoyle Cassian! It case it wasn't clear, this fic is monsterfucking. It's very NSFW and the consent is a bit dubious at the beginning before Nesta full sends into getting her world rocked (pun intended). If that's not for you, that's okay. Also, make sure you check out the amazing, beautiful, showstopping art @krem-does-stuff did for me of Gargoyle Cassian :)
Read on AO3
Nesta throws all of her weight against the door until it swings open, the old metal creaking in its hinges as it gives way. She stumbles out into the crisp, night air, the breeze skating across her cheeks, prickling her skin, until she has to fight back a shiver. As she steps further away from the door, deeper into the shadows of the night, she tries to take deep, heaving breaths, but the air stutters in her lungs with every inhale, and Nesta wraps her arms tightly around herself, squeezing her eyes shut and counting to five. To ten. To twenty.
When her heart finally quiets from an erratic thunder to a dull roar, she opens her eyes again, tipping her head back and toward the sky. It’s a beautiful, clear night, inky streaks of indigo and a blanket of twinkling stars. A full moon that spotlights down onto the city below. Nesta knows that she should appreciate it. Wishes that she could appreciate it. But her skin still feels stretched too tight on her bones, her chest aching with the bruised remains of her battered heart.
Curse her father. Curse his party. And curse Tomas fucking Mandray. She knew that he would be there. Of course, the Mandrays had been there. Their name carried weight in this city, and they were family friends. Old money traditions and values died hard, especially as the years went on. But Nesta had still hoped, had kept that glimmer alive after she spoke with her father on the phone last week.
Now, she just feels stupid. Silly. Crazy. That was the new word Tomas slung at her tonight. She still remembers the smug look that peeled across his face when he spotted her across the room. Still remembers the alcohol on his breath when he cornered her outside the bathroom.
Crazy.
She was crazy for walking away from him. Crazy for thinking that she could break up with him. She knows it was the right decision, leaving him. She knows that she’s better than Tomas, and certainly deserves better than the way he treated her. But that doesn’t stop all his words from continuing to echo inside Nesta’s mind, even all these months later. They twist like dark vines until the thorns pierce skin, until the darkness squeezes in and she feels like she’s drowning, every scream filling her lungs with more water.
Who else could ever love a bitch like you?
Nesta digs the heels of her palms against her eyes and swallows hard, but there’s no escaping those grating words. Their roots burrow deep and twine with every other dark thought, every other insecurity that’s been chasing her since her mother first decided to make Nesta her favorite project. Like a sea in a raging storm, the thoughts crash relentlessly, and Nesta can feel heat beginning to prickle at the back of her eyes in response.
Anger is hot on its heels, burning red hot through her veins. It’s an emotion she grasps onto with both hands, holding it close to her chest and letting it fuel her. She hates those thoughts. Hates what her mother made her go through as a child. Hates her father. Hates Tomas Mandray. Nesta turns and kicks at the roof door in her frustration, the clang of metal echoing in the night air.
Letting out a satisfied huff, she stalks over to the northern side of the roof, to the gargoyle waiting for her there. She sits down on the corner of the ledge the gargoyle is perched on, leaning so that her cheek presses against the cool stone that makes up the gargoyle’s arm. With a soft sigh, she lets her eyes fall closed again, just taking a moment to finally breathe.
“You love me, don’t you?”
Unsurprisingly, there’s no response, and Nesta truly does feel crazy for even uttering the words aloud, for asking that question to a fucking gargoyle of all things. Even still, it does make her feel a bit better, has some of those knots buried deep within her lessening and unfurling. Something about this roof, about sitting here beside this gargoyle has always seemed to help her. It’s the one place she feels like she can breathe. The one place she feels safe enough to cry.
In a way, it had almost been the gargoyles that first drew her into this apartment building. She still remembers the day she first came to view the open apartment here, when she had peered up against the glare of the afternoon sun and seen the gargoyles high overhead. Four of them, each facing a different direction. For a moment, staring up at them from the ground, Nesta had sworn some long sleeping beast deep in her soul had perked up, sworn she’d felt some subtle tug in the space between her ribs.
Whatever it was, it had led her inside. Led her to signing the lease. Led her to following those rickety stairs up to the roof access door once her boxes were all unloaded. Luckily, the questionable stairs meant that most of the other tenants in the building didn’t bother, so more often than not, Nesta finds herself up on the roof alone. It’s how she prefers it, and she supposes, technically, she’s not really alone, if you count the four massive stone gargoyles.
That first day up on the roof, Nesta had taken the time to examine each one of the gargoyles. She had been surprised to find that each was different, having expected a simple matching set. The ones that face north and south each have large, arching wings furled along their back and shoulders, while the other two gargoyles don’t. The gargoyle that faces east, toward the rising sun, is carved so there’s long hair hanging around the face, but there’s also gashes across the left side from eyebrow to cheek, almost as if the sculptor’s hand slipped with the chisel. And the gargoyle that faces west, toward the setting sun and darkness, seems to have some sort of intricately carved design on his knees.
But Nesta’s personal favorite is the one that faces north, toward the mountains. Even made of stone, the gargoyle is so large somehow, all perfect carved lines. Sometimes, she’ll trace her finger along stone, along the cut of the gargoyle's wide shoulders and down the lines of his bicep. She can’t help but marvel at how the sculptor was able to so perfectly mimic the ripple of muscle, how much love and care must have gone into creating the statue. She'll follow along the slightly raised lines of whirling stone that she's sure are meant to represent tattoos and imagine a slow and steady hand chiseling away.
If she's feeling particularly daring, she'll reach up to the gargoyle's face, slide the pad of her finger along the line of his jaw, up his cheek. The hair is another artistic marvel, made to look like curling waves that tumble around the face and to the shoulders. The gargoyle has his face tipped down, knelt on one knee over the edge of the building, as though he's bowing before some unseen queen, pledging his sword and ready to worship at her feet.
Nesta lets out another soft sigh as the breeze wafts over her again, filling her senses with the scent of a roaring fire, of pine, of the wind right before it snows. It has a shiver skittering up her spine that has nothing to do with the cool, night air. For a moment, her heart skips a beat in her chest, a small voice in the back of her mind suddenly alert and clambering for attention in her consciousness. She swears that she can almost feel eyes on her, boring right into her, but she hasn’t heard the loud creak of the roof door opening again the whole time she’s been up here.
The stone beneath Nesta’s cheek starts to slide, and her eyes snap open in a panic. Her hands scramble for the ledge, grip tightening to knuckle white as she tries to hold herself steady and regain her balance. But after a moment, Nesta realizes she’s not falling. In fact, she’s not even the one moving. It’s the stone beside her.
Nesta leaps to her feet, her heart lodging firmly in her throat. She already feels the loss like a gaping wound in her chest, the disappointment settling like a stone in her stomach, at what she knows is going to happen. Her gargoyle, her favorite gargoyle is going to go toppling over, and it’s going to be all her fault for leaning against it.
Nesta squeezes her eyes shut, unwilling to watch the disaster unfold. She waits for the crashing sound of stone shattering across the concrete below, but it never comes. Slowly, Nesta opens her eyes again, only to find her gargoyle still there. Except, where the gargoyle’s wings had been carved so they were tucked in tight, they’re now unfurled, stretched wide across the roof. It happens almost in slow motion, the gargoyle standing up from his knelt position, turning around and pinning his gaze right on Nesta.
She’s not breathing. Her limbs feel frozen in shock, in fear, and Nesta can do nothing but gape at the gargoyle now standing before her. The hair she had marveled at falls in dark strands to his shoulders, the curls rustling across his face in the breeze. They cut shadows across the strong line of his jaw, the scar etched through his right eyebrow, and Nesta realizes that his eyes are a piercing shade of hazel, sparking green and gold beneath the light of the full moon.
At least she was right about the tattoos. Whirls of black ink are etched across the golden brown skin of his chest, his shoulders. They weave their way down his arm all the way to his wrists. Down to his claws. Despite his large frame, despite the wide set shoulders and the bulk of muscle, looking at his face, Nesta could almost pretend he was human. But there’s no denying it with those claws. With the massive, purple wings that loom just behind his shoulders. With the tail that swishes out from behind his legs.
“Nesta.”
The gargoyle speaking her name, his voice a deep timbre that seems to rumble from deep within his chest, is enough to jolt her back to herself and into action. She whirls around and runs for the roof door, but the gargoyle lands right in front of her, those purple wings splayed wide and blocking her path. Nesta stumbles back before she can crash right into him, her heart thundering away in her chest. Now that they’re standing on equal ground, she can see just how tall he is, having to crane her head up just to keep her gaze on his.
“Why do you run from me, my mate?” the gargoyle asks, tilting his head and sending his dark hair cascading over one shoulder.
Nesta feels hysterical, fear rising like bile in the back of her throat, but somehow she’s able to choke out the words, “what did you just call me?”
The gargoyle tilts his head again, his eyes sweeping over her frame, and it feels like he’s studying her, like he’s cataloging every miniscule detail he finds buried beneath her skin. It’s unnerving. His attention slides back to her face, and Nesta is surprised to see anger etched across his expression, a burning blaze in his eyes and pinching his lips into a thin line.
He stalks closer to her, his hand reaching up between them, and Nesta’s entire body locks up with a flinch. She braces for the searing pain those claws promise, for the beast before her to kill her. Instead, his hand settles gently to cradle her face, large palm spanning her entire cheek and jaw. His thumb traces back and forth across her cheekbone, that small touch sending sparks ricocheting through Nesta’s blood.
“Who?” the gargoyle asks, his dark tone promising pain and death.
Nesta is confused by the question until she remembers the party, Tomas, the dried tear tracks she’s sure are marring her face. It’s then that she realizes the anger radiating off the gargoyle isn’t actually directed at her. It’s almost sweet, the way he seems to care.
Nesta reaches up and knocks his hand away from her face. “It doesn’t matter.”
The gargoyle huffs and crosses his arms across his chest. Nesta hates the way it makes his biceps bulge, the way it just draws further emphasis to the fact he’s shirtless.
“It matters when someone hurts my mate.”
“Stop calling me that,” Nesta snaps, taking a pointed step back from him. “You don’t know me.”
“I know all of your secrets, Nesta,” the gargoyle tells her, the sound of her name falling past his lips leaving goosebumps pebbling across her skin. “You whispered them to me every day.”
Heat prickles up Nesta’s neck and floods into her cheeks at that. She thinks back to all the time she spent up here. All the things she muttered, she shouted, she cried. It was meant to be a place for her to just let those things out. She had no idea the whole time this gargoyle was alive, that he was listening to her.
“You weren’t meant to hear any of that. You’re made of stone.”
The gargoyle’s hand reaches out again, claws curling around Nesta’s wrist this time, as he tugs her closer and presses her palm against the center of his chest. “Does this feel like stone, sweetheart?”
Instinctively, almost of their own accord, Nesta’s fingers curl and press against his skin. He’s just so warm, heat practically radiating from his body, and there’s no denying the firm muscles beneath her hand. They seem to jump and flex beneath her touch, and Nesta has to swallow hard. She tries to pull her hand away, but the gargoyle’s grip is firm, holding her there, and fluttering just beneath her fingertips, she feels it…
“A heartbeat…”
A smirk pulls its way across his face, the expression making him even more handsome. Nesta decides she hates that too. She hates that this gargoyle, this beast, could be so attractive. That the heat blazing through his hazel eyes caresses along her skin like a lover’s embrace. Keeping his hold on her wrist, he steps closer still until they’re toe to toe. Until Nesta can truly feel the heat radiating from him prickling across her whole body. Until her senses are once again flooded with that smoke and pine scent.
“It beats only for you, Nes.”
It’s like a corny line straight out of one of her romance novels. Straight out of one of her monsterfucking books, more like. She always joked with Emerie that she would never run screaming and scared like those heroines always did. Especially since the monsters always had them screaming for all the right reasons a few pages later. She never thought she’d actually have to put her money where her mouth is, never thought she’d ever have to put her own gripping fear to the test when staring down a monster.
“Do you have a name?” Nesta asks, hoping that if she can keep the gargoyle talking, can keep him distracted, she can figure out a plan.
“Cassian,” he tells her, his free hand burying itself in her hair, tilting her head up more.
“Cassian…”
Cassian groans when she repeats his name back to him, leaning down and burying his face in the crook of her neck. His nose slides along her skin, his lips following the same blazing path until he reaches a spot behind her ear. Nesta’s breath hitches in her lungs as he kisses there, his teeth scraping teasingly, and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to stay focused, but her body seems keen on betraying her. Both his hands move to settle at her waist, his grip on her gentle, almost reverent, but it’s loose enough to give her the chance she needs.
She counts to three in her mind, and then she tears herself away from him, sprinting for the roof door. Blessedly, it doesn’t stick for once, and Nesta runs down the stairs as fast as she can. She dares to look back over her shoulder when she reaches her floor, but even though there’s no sign of Cassian, she doesn’t slow down.
She slams her apartment door closed behind her as soon as she’s safely inside, sliding the locks into place and double checking them to be safe. With a relieved breath, she slowly backs away from the door, pressing a hand to her chest and willing her still thundering heart to calm. She wonders if she should call the police. She’s not quite sure what she’d say to them, but it seems like the logical thing to do.
The soft whooshing sound of her balcony door swinging open has Nesta whirling around with wide eyes, realizing she’s made a grave error in her escape plan. She never locks that door. It always seemed silly since her apartment was so high up. Who could ever break-in that way? Not to mention that balcony is a loose term anyways. It's more like a ledge, barely enough space for the plant Elain gifted her the first week she moved in.
But clearly it’s enough space for Cassian to land, his steps slow, measured as he walks inside Nesta’s apartment, a predator stalking his prey. She expects him to be angry, but instead, he merely smiles at her, a cocksure smirk that tugs up higher on the left side of his lips, hazel eyes practically glinting as he watches her.
“You keep trying to run from me, but I don’t think you realize it only excites me more.”
Nesta looks around frantically, trying to find some sort of weapon, something to defend herself with. She spies an old candlestick holder, something Gwyn had thrifted when helping to decorate her apartment. She grabs it now, turning back toward Cassian with it brandished, but he’s already crossed the distance between them without her noticing. His hand catches her wrist, halting her movements, and he raises an eyebrow, that smug smirk of his still painted across his face.
“Your fire excites me too.” Cassian squeezes until the candlestick drops from Nesta’s hand, his other arm sliding around her waist and pulling her into him. “I have waited a very, very long time to hear your song.”
“I’ll scream,” Nesta threatens, raising her chin defiantly.
“That’s the plan, sweetheart.”
“Quite confident for someone who’s apparently waited a very, very long time.”
Cassian chuckles, the sound warm and low, as he slides his thumb across Nesta’s bottom lip. “A haughty witch, my mate.”
“I’m not your anything, you insufferable bastard,” Nesta tells him, jerking head back and away from his hand.
“You can’t lie to me. I know that you feel it too. Our souls are bound together.”
“Not interested. Go fly off and bother someone else.”
“But they wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful as you are.”
Try as she might, Nesta can’t help but preen beneath his praise. It’s only made worse by the knowing look that graces his face. Both his hands come up to frame her cheeks, tilting her head up enough that when he leans down their noses bump together. It leaves barely a hairsbreadth of space between them, Cassian’s breath skating across her lips with every exhale. She presses up onto her toes, her body leaning forward into him almost subconsciously before she catches herself, remembering that she doesn't know this man. Remembering that he's not even a man.
“Need something, Nes?” Cassian asks, his voice quiet but full of teasing.
The tone has Nesta huffing in frustration, latching back onto her anger. “If you try to kiss me, I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
Cassian snarls softly. “Do it then.”
Nesta can’t say she ever imagined what it might be like kissing a gargoyle, but it certainly wasn’t this. All other thoughts, all other protests, melt away as he crashes his mouth against hers. His lips slide against hers with practiced ease, rough and with abandon. His tongue presses hotly into her mouth, and there’s no stopping the moan that tumbles free from her throat. The sound only seems to spur him on, Cassian greedily swallowing down every sound. His arm drops back to her waist, pulling her flush against him until she can feel every hard ridge of his body pressed against her.
Before Nesta realizes they're even moving, her back bumps into the wall. Cassian's tail slides up her calf and curls around her thigh, lifting her leg so he can slide into the cradle of her hips. She can feel the hard line of his erection with every rock of his hips against hers, and heat cascades through her veins, pooling low in her gut. Her whole body feels alright, sparking in the most delicious way, and soon, she's shifting her own hips to meet his movements, chasing that blessed friction. She buries her hands in his hair, tugging at the strands, tugging him closer still until he's the one groaning into her mouth.
Cassian pulls his mouth away from hers, latching onto her neck. His teeth sink into the skin of her pulse point, tongue soothing over the pain, and that fire in Nesta's veins turns into a roaring blaze. The flames lick through her limbs and spark through her nerve endings, until she can do nothing but tug Cassian's mouth back to hers and kiss him greedily.
“Which door?” Cassian asks when he pulls away again, voice a breathless rasp and teeth nipping at her bottom lip.
Nesta blinks a few times, trying desperately to shake the hazy fog that's taken over her mind. “What?”
“Which door?”
“The left. Second on the left.”
The tail slips away from Nesta's thigh, just to be replaced by Cassian's hands. He hauls her up and against him, hands slipping back to knead at her ass. Nesta isn't sure if it's the wings or just his long legs, but it's no time at all before they're in her bedroom, before Cassian is depositing her on her bed. He clambers up after her, settling between her legs and leaning down to continue his ministrations along her neck. One clawed finger drags from her collarbones down, shredding her dress clean down the middle with precision and ease.
“Was that really necessary?” Nesta snaps, even as she sits up enough that she can pull what remains of her dress off.
Cassian hums noncommittally, clearly only half listening, his attention wholly on her heaving chest. His hand reaches toward her breast, but Nesta is quick to smack it away. Replacing her dress is one thing, but bras are expensive. She reaches her own hands back to unclasp the garment, sliding it off and tossing it aside. She settles back on her elbows against the blankets, her skin heating under Cassian's hungry gaze.
“Beautiful,” Cassian whispers, to her or to himself, Nesta isn't sure. “My beautiful Nesta.”
He surges forward and connects their lips again, groaning into her mouth as he presses her back against the mattress. One of his hands finds her chest, the large span of it covering her breast completely. He kneads and squeezes, the prickle of his claws against her skin mixing the pleasure with pain.
Nesta is a panting mess by the time he pulls away from the kiss. He trails his mouth along her jaw, her neck, her collarbones, stopping periodically to nip at the skin, to suck until more breathy moans tumble from Nesta’s lips. His hand leaves her breast, and Nesta would be annoyed at the loss, except he replaces it with his mouth. She practically arches up off the mattress as his tongue swirls over her nipple.
She can feel the way Cassian smirks against her skin, and she would feel more abashed about the reaction he pulled from her, but his mouth working her over feels too good. The way his teeth graze slightly, the way he sucks, the way his tongue moves in languid circles, it’s obscene, and by the time he’s switching to her other breast, Nesta can do nothing but writhe beneath him, her hips bucking up in a desperate search for some friction. Cassian’s tail slips around his thigh, sliding across her hips, and Nesta lets out a frustrated huff as it keeps her pinned down to the mattress.
“Patience, Nes,” Cassian chastises, lowering his mouth again for extra, torturous, good measure.
Nesta rolls her eyes, but blessedly, Cassian moves down the mattress, moves down between her legs, pressing kisses along her sternum and stomach. He pauses to suck a lovebite near her hip bone, his hands sliding up her ankles, her calves, before curling around her thighs. They tug until she’s spread wide for him, one finger sliding tantalizing, teasingly, over her still clothed center.
“For someone who was threatening to scratch my eyes out, you’re practically dripping for me,” Cassian tells her, pressing the barest hint of pressure against her clit.
“For someone who was so confident, you’ve yet to prove anything,” Nesta fires back, burying a hand in his hair and shoving his head down where she really wants him.
Cassian chuckles, but he leans down and licks a long, thick stripe over her, his groan almost as loud as Nesta’s moan. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to bury my face in your sweet cunt. How long I’ve waited for you to finally come to me on a full moon.”
The words settle in the back of Nesta’s mind, whispering for attention, but she’s too distracted watching as Cassian’s claws tease the waistband of her panties. Slowly, those claws curl, tugging the fabric down her legs and off. Her discarded panties have barely even hit the floor before Cassian presses his mouth against her, his tongue finding her clit and moving in those same delicious circles he’d used on her breast. Nesta tosses her head back, letting a low moan of his name, but just as quickly as he started, Cassian stops.
“Eyes on me,” Cassian orders, his claws squeezing at her thighs in warning. “I want to watch your face when you fall apart for me.”
Nesta whimpers quietly at his words, but she tilts her chin back down to meet his gaze. It feels like a mistake. All of his teasing already has her dangling by a thread, but the sight of him has her soaring even higher. His wings are splayed out wide across the blankets, his dark curls disheveled from Nesta running her fingers through him, and his eyes… The piercing hazel of them still glints in the moonlight that pours in through her bedroom window, but there’s a dark quality to them, a hunger, the pupils blown so wide they almost swallow any other color up.
And though Nesta can’t see his whole face, she can tell just from those eyes that he’s smirking again.
Cassian keeps his gaze pinned on her, but he devours her with a fervor that has Nesta struggling to do the same. Her fingers grip and tug at his hair just to give herself some sort of anchor. He alternates between swirling his tongue over her clit and fucking it in and out of her, every groan against her sending vibrations all the way down to her toes. Each hot, wet slide of his mouth against her has Nesta climbing higher and higher concerningly fast, and even though Cassian’s grip has her practically pinned so she can’t rock and grind against his face the way she really wants to, she’s already so close.
Every sound out of Nesta’s mouth is a breathy moan, a choked off sound of Cassian’s name. She can feel the familiar heat coiling low in her gut, twisting tighter and tighter, and it takes all of her willpower to keep her eyes open, to keep her eyes on the man, the beast, buried between her thighs. Cassian’s lips close around her clit, sucking, and that’s it. Her eyes finally squeeze shut as she shatters, thighs pressing against his grip on them as she tries to clamp them around his head.
Nesta is barely able to catch her breath, has barely come down from the aftershocks of her orgasm still ricocheting through her, when she feels Cassian’s tongue on her again. She lets out a whimper at the overstimulation, trying to squirm away from his mouth, but he lets out a snarl, his claws digging into her thigh until it starts to sting. It’s a firm reminder of exactly who’s between her thighs right now. Exactly what.
“It’s too much,” Nesta whines, trying to move away again, her knee knocking against his temple.
Cassian’s tail whips around and curls around her ankle, tugging her leg back down and pinning it there. He licks another stripe up her cunt, moaning at the taste, before meeting her gaze again. “My mate can take it. I know you can.”
“Cassian…”
Nesta's protest ends in a choked off moan as Cassian sinks one of his claws into her. Just one of them is thicker than her own fingers have ever been, the stretch somehow too much and not enough at the same time.
“That's it,” Cassian praises, leaning down to lick at her clit again while his claw moves slowly in and out. “So tight, sweetheart. Can't wait to feel you squeezing my cock.”
Nesta whimpers at his words, at the way he curls his claw inside her. She's already dangerously close again, her whole body on pins and needles as she balances on that precipice. Her hips start to rock down against his hand, against his face, while she chases that release, back bowing off the bed with every lick and suck to her clit.
“Eyes on me,” Cassian snaps, his hand stilling until Nesta drags her attention back to his face. “That's my good girl.”
Cassian's eyes widen as Nesta's whole body responds to those words, as she clenches around him and a loud moan tears free from deep in her chest. Somewhere, in the back of Nesta's mind, she knows she should be embarrassed, but the praise shoots through her like lightning, and she wants to hear it again.
“Do you like that?” Cassian asks, that smirk of his returning. “My good girl, my pretty mate, taking my fingers so well.”
Cassian presses in a second claw beside the first, and Nesta's toes curl, her thighs shaking against the hold of his free hand and his tail.
“Fuck, you're so beautiful like this. But you're even more beautiful when you come. Come on, Nes. Be my good girl and come again for me.”
Cassian dips his head back down, and one lick of her clit has Nesta tumbling head first through another orgasm. The force of another one so quickly has tears prickling in the corner of her eyes, but thankfully, when she slumps back against the mattress, Cassian’s grip on her thighs finally relents.
He slides back up her body, connecting their lips again. Nesta can taste the remnants of herself on his tongue, and it has her moaning into his mouth. She slides her hand down his hair, his shoulders, his chest, until she reaches the waistband of his pants, the only garment of clothing he’s wearing, but before she can tug at them, her wrists are pinned back against the mattress, just one of Cassian’s clawed hands holding both of hers.
“Cassian,” Nesta whines against his lips, trying to buck her hips up against him. “Fuck me.”
Cassian chuckles and shakes his head teasingly. “So demanding.”
“Get used to it.”
“Happily.”
Cassian shifts off of Nesta and the bed, reaching for the waistband of his pants and shoving them down his legs. Nesta’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. With his large frame catching in the moonlight, his purple wings stretched wide over his shoulders, his hair falling in dark rivulets around his face, he looks like a fallen angel, a warrior from some long forgotten, ancient, magical people. He’s beautiful. The most beautiful man she’s ever seen despite not even being a man, and something tugs deep in Nesta’s chest almost in recognition, as her eyes sweep over him.
And his cock. Realistically, Nesta knew that with how tall he was, he was bound to be large, but knowing and seeing are two different things, and seeing the long, thick length hard and already weeping between his strong thighs has her swallowing hard. Has her clenching in anticipation. One clawed hand wraps around it, stroking once, twice, before Cassian steps back over to the bed, kneeling up onto the mattress. Nesta spreads her legs wider almost instinctively, and when Cassian settles back between them, she tugs him down into another kiss.
She waits for Cassian to press his hips down, for him to finally sink into her, but he continues to hold himself up above her. She lets out a frustrated huff and wraps her legs around his waist, digging her heels in encouragingly, but it doesn’t work. Cassian merely laughs amusedly against her lips and presses a line of kisses across her cheek.
“Be a good girl and beg for it,” Cassian breathes against her ear.
“Cassian, please. Please fuck—”
Nesta doesn’t even finish before Cassian is shifting and the tip of him is sliding into her. His thrusts are shallow, sinking in inch by inch by inch, and the stretch borders just on the edge of pain, but Nesta has never felt so full in her life. When he finally bottoms out, Cassian stills, their hips pressed flushed together, his nose and lips tracing a path along Nesta’s neck, her jaw, to that spot behind her ear that always has her shuddering.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Cassian groans against her skin. “So perfect for me.”
Nesta experiments with clenching down around him, and the moan it draws out of him goes straight to her head. She does it again, and at least, this time, she doesn’t have to beg for anything. Cassian pulls his hips back just to snap back forward again. He sets a brutal pace, hips knocking against hers with every rough thrust. It’s just the way Nesta likes it, and she digs her nails into his shoulders, dragging them down his arms, as he works her into a moaning mess.
Cassian sits back on his haunches, pulling Nesta’s legs so they’re splayed across his thighs, as he continues to move. “Gods, look at you. Look at how you take me.”
“Look at you,” Nesta breathes around a moan, and gods, does she mean it.
With his wings flared wide above them, with his hair falling into his face, with the muscles in his thighs and stomach flexing with every snap of his hips, the sight is obscene. Almost as obscene at the sounds echoing around the four walls of her bedroom. She had already been absolutely dripping from her two previous orgasm, but now she’s sure she’s made a complete mess. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it just seems to turn her on more and more, and she can feel herself cresting higher to that blessed peak.
Cassian’s thumb finds her clit again, and Nesta barely lasts a few tight circles against it before the dam breaks. He continues to move his hips, working her through it and stretching out her orgasm. Nesta’s entire body feels wrung out by the time she comes back down, her every muscle loose and sated as she sinks into the mattress.
She tries to focus on her breathing, on calming her thrashing heart and shaking the pins and needles feeling that pinches at her fingers and toes. But she realizes with a jolt that Cassian is still pressed hot and hard inside her, and when he thrusts his hips shallowly, her eyes snap back open again.
“Cassian,” Nesta whines in protest, her nails digging in hard enough into his bicep she’s sure she’s drawn blood. “I can’t.”
Cassian leans back down over her, pulling her legs back up and around his waist. “I know my pretty mate can give me one more.”
He presses in deep, merely grinding his hips down against her, and Nesta lets out a choked off sob of a moan, tears leaking freely from the corner of her eyes. She tries to shift beneath him, tries to find some relief, but Cassian’s tail curls around her ankles, keeping her legs locked around his back.
“You promised to scream, remember?” Cassian continues, keeping the drag of his cock in and out of her slow and torturous. “Want to hear you scream my name while you come all over my cock.”
Nesta wants to hate the way her body is already heating again at his ministrations, but it feels too good for her to care, some part deep within her keening at the roughness of it all, rising to meet the very beast above her. She drags her hands back up and into his hair, tugging hard at the strands until she can pull Cassian’s mouth down to her, until she can sink her teeth into his bottom lip.
“Then make me scream.”
Cassian lets out a growl, and then the monster is truly unleashed. His hips slap against hers, the mattress rattling in the bedframe with every inward thrust. With her legs still secured by his tail, Nesta can do nothing but hold on, loud moans and screams of his name falling past her lips just like he wanted.
She dares to reach a hand up over his shoulders, dares to slide her fingertips against the leathery skin of his wings, and Cassian practically roars. He slams himself to the hilt, his hips stilling and warmth spreading through Nesta as he spills inside her. It’s enough to send her tumbling over the edge with him, her whole body shaking with this release, spots popping in her vision.
They both take a moment to catch their breath, and then Cassian is shifting off of her and the bed. She hears the shuffle of his feet, hears rummaging and the sound of running water further in her apartment, and when he returns, he has a warmth cloth to help clean her up. He helps Nesta to slip beneath the blankets, and though it’s a bit awkward with his wings, he slides in beside her, curling his arms tight around her waist. Nesta practically melts into him, letting out a soft, happy sigh as her eyes flutter shut.
Cassian’s finger traces lines and patterns between the freckles on her shoulder before he dips his head to press a kiss there. “Sleep, my mate.”
Nesta doesn’t need to be told twice.
~ * * * ~
When Nesta wakes, her bedroom is flooded with the murky light that comes from early dawn, casting shadows across the space while the sun’s few first morning rays creep their way through her window. She feels surprisingly cold, and she shivers, curling the blankets tighter around her shoulders. She realizes belatedly that it’s Cassian’s warmth that she’s missing, and when she stretches a hand out, she only finds sheets beside her.
With a frown, she rolls over properly, only to find Cassian standing in front of the window, looking out at the morning and the streets below. At least, she thinks it’s Cassian. He still has those dark curly strands hanging down to his shoulders, still has that expanse of golden brown skin and whirls of black ink. But gone are the claws, the tail, the sprawling purple wings.
“Cassian?” Nesta asks, sitting up and scrubbing a hand across her eyes.
Cassian turns at the sound of his name, smiling at her. There’s a softness to his hazel eyes that has them glinting pure gold in the early morning light, a softness to his smile and his expression that has Nesta’s heart stuttering between her ribs until warmth bursts and blooms there.
“You’re not a…”
“You broke my curse,” Cassian explains, stepping back over to the bed.
Nesta blinks a few times, willing her brain to fully wake up. “Curse?”
“Yes,” Cassian tells her, sitting on the mattress and reaching a hand up, gently tucking a strands of hair back behind her ear. “In my village, mates were rare, but they were sacred. Everyone hoped and dreamed of meeting theirs someday. But there was this witch, Amarantha, and she didn’t take too kindly to being rejected, especially because of mates, so she cursed us all.”
“But I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.”
“You found me. Amarantha thought she was so conniving with her rules, finding a mate under a full moon, but you did. My pretty, clever mate.”
Nesta can feel a flush creeping up her neck at his words. “So, what happens now? This whole mate thing?”
Cassian chuckles softly and takes Nesta’s hand in his, pressing her palm against the center of his chest just as he did last night, his heart still a steady beat beneath her fingertips. “I told you. Our souls are bound together. You are mine, and I am yours.”
Nesta can’t stop the incredulous laugh that tears free from her. “So, that’s it then?”
Cassian’s smile is blinding as his hands come up to cradle her face, as he presses her back against the pillows. “That’s it then.”
Nesta is sure that she’ll have a million other questions later, but it’s hard to focus on anything else when Cassian starts pressing feather light kisses along the skin of her neck. She sighs contently as he nips at her pulse point, her legs wrapping up around his hips. She buries one hand in the dark strands of his hair, the other sliding down his spine, but as her hand slides over his skin, she pouts over his shoulder.
This is actually so insane because about a month or two ago I had a dream I was dating Cassian (*sigh*) but it was weird because he would disappear for long periods of time and I wouldn't know where he was. Then, I kid you not, it turned out he was a gargoyle.
(then it was a whole thing where I felt betrayed by him bc there were evil gargoyles who had been attacking me, I thought he was working with them but they turned him back to stone before he could explain...etc etc)
I thought was such an odd dream, and needless to say I was SHOCKED when I saw this idea for a fic!!!! It feels like you're in my head lol
This is genuinely the funniest thing I've ever read 😂 I am stuck in this long ass reporting meeting right now and I cannot stop giggling (God bless remote work so no one can see me!)
This is the Gargoyle Cassian agenda though! He's infiltrating your dreams! You can never escape him!
No sorry I didn’t bug your brain but I’m so pumped for this and you mentioned tomas and now I can’t stop thinking about nesta never having to worry about being hurt again and cassians literally rock but still more gentle than she’s used to
Wow, sorry. Didn't realize it was OUCH O'CLOCK 😭🥺😭 so soft yet it hurts so good
Why am I thinking too much about nesta breaking a stone cassians curse with love when she tries to act like she has a heart of stone because she thinks she’s so unlovable
Are you... In my head... 👀
How did you know that Nesta dealing with her father, with her sisters, with her love life (aka Tomas) was going to be one of the things Cassian listens to/watches while still in stone form?
Wait.... I actually kind of love this idea. Maybe not Mor in this particular instance but....
He lived in a time of a lot of magic in the world. And he didn't want to marry his lover because he was waiting for his mate. And she was like you dumb bitch mates are so rare, you're really going to dump me like that? So she curses him, like good luck finding your mate when you're a literal gargoyle. And he waits. And waits. And waits. Until Nesta. 😍 It's also a good canonical tie-in with him literally waiting 500+ years for her
Then I can also throw in some he comes to life on a full moon and they have to 😏 consummate 😏 their matehood before the sun rises or he'll be stone forever or some shit
