Unfortunately, I don't have a fic planned for today's prompt of @sjmromanceweek, but I thought I would share some "Little Things" that I like to think Nesta and Cassian love about each other 🥺
Little things Cassian loves about Nesta
The soft color of her eyes when she first wakes up
The freckles splashed across her shoulders
The way her nose scrunches when she gets to a part she doesn’t like in her books
The sound of her humming along to her Symphonia
The crinkles that pop by the side of her eyes when she smiles real and big
The sight of her wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, her hair unbound, when it’s just them lounging around the House
Little things Nesta loves about Cassian
The warmth cocooned in his arms and his wings
That one strand of hair that never cooperates and is extra curly
The way his whole chest vibrates when he laughs
The sound of his deep voice when he whispers Illyrian in her ear
The way he mumbles and talks in his sleep
The expression that takes over his face whenever he’s flying
happy WIP Wednesday 🫶🏽 here’s a little something I’m working on for @sjmromanceweek 2024!!
“I’m sorry?” Nesta eventually said. She hoped she didn’t look as out of breath as she felt.
“You’re not in trouble,” Azriel repeated. He had a healthy serving of breakfast in front of him, and her stomach panged with hunger once the smell hit her. “You’re not expected at training today.”
“What?” she replied, taking a few hesitant steps closer to the table. He had no reason to lie to her, but a large part of her didn’t quite believe what he was saying. “Why not?”
“You needed the rest,” Azriel told her mildly. Despite his gentle words and the softness with which they had been delivered, she could tell he wasn’t inviting any argument. “I told Cassian you’d be back to training tomorrow.”
“He let you?” Nesta blurted out without thinking. Cassian never let her miss a day of training no matter how exhausted she looked each morning, so the fact that she’d gotten to sleep in today almost felt… wrong. Like she was getting away with something that she shouldn’t be.
“He doesn’t let me do anything,” Azriel replied, his tone a little cooler now. “I’m my own person, same as you.”
Following her last vision, Elain and Azriel navigate the surprise revelation and the frenzy that comes along with it.
...
Well, well, well... my smutty little darling that was only ever supposed to be one part comes to an end. This last part was intended to be just a little dirty short thing but somehow it turned into a 6k word monster soooo???? idk i had fun writing this, I hope you have fun reading it and I'm so thrilled I could get this out just in time for the last day of @sjmromanceweek 💕💗💞
this can be read as a stand alone but if you'd like to see how elain's sexy little visions came to be, you can find the first part of stargirl here as well as all the other parts in my masterlist xx
18+ please, gratuitous smut and a little bit of breeding kink as a valentine's day treat 💌👀♥️
ENJOY XX
Read on AO3
Elain runs a trembling hand down the front of her dress as she takes a deep breath.
She’s wearing a beautiful ivory gown made of delicate lace that’s almost sheer. Only heavy clusters of floral embroidery cover her from the top of the bodice down to the middle of her thighs where it tapers off before picking up again to form a stunning train that trails dramatically behind her. The dress has long sleeves, also covered in embroidery, but her shoulders and decolletage are left bare - an intentional design choice that she and her seamstress had made with a certain someone in mind.
A veil is ever so carefully placed into the crown of Elain’s intricately woven hair by the practiced hands of the twins when a soft knock sounds from the bedroom door, interrupting the mindless chatter she’d been exchanging with Nuala and Cerridwen.
She catches sight of the male in the reflection of her mirror. His tall, lean frame occupies almost the entire doorway. He’s dressed in an immaculately tailored suit and a small dusk coloured rose is pinned to the lapel of his jacket. His violet eyes soften as they meet hers and the very corners of his lips turn up into a fond smile.
“He’s not going to know what to do with himself when he sees you.” Rhysand says quietly. “You make for a beautiful bride, Elain.”
Elain ducks her head in thanks. The warmth of a blush creeps up her neck and blooms across her cheeks as the nerves that she’s been trying to keep at bay all morning finally settle low in her stomach at her brother-in-law’s sincere compliment and at the reminder of the male waiting for her in the garden.
She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Couldn’t believe that she was about to walk down the aisle to her mate.
…
It had been two years since she’d had that vision that had hinted at a truth she hadn’t been prepared to receive. A vision that had shown her this day - a mating ceremony to a dark haired Shadowsinger instead of the son of Autumn as the Cauldron had once suggested.
That single vision had come out of nowhere and thrown her entire life into a spiral.
She’d never forget sitting up in his bed, turning towards him and whispering those words that had turned their entire world upside down.
You’re my mate.
Azriel had only stared at her, still as a statue, as she fumbled over her words in a desperate attempt to explain to him exactly what she’d seen.
The offering of cake. A black ribbon binding her wrist to his.
He’d broken down moments later after finally finding his voice and asking her a few carefully curated questions to understand exactly what she’d seen. He’d clutched her tight to his chest as tears trickled from his eyes and into her hair. She’d never seen him like that before but she understood immediately that the overwhelming feeling that coursed through him was relief.
Relief from the knowledge that he hadn’t been forgotten by the Mother or the Cauldron. From knowing that he hadn’t been deemed unworthy of a mate because of all the blood he’d drawn over the centuries.
They’d gone to Feyre first, clumsily explaining what Elain had seen only to realise they would also need to confess to already having been spending time together. They told Rhys next and though it was perhaps naive of them, neither she nor Azriel had expected that the High Lord would react so poorly to the news.
For all the times that Elain had wished she could be with Azriel without needing to hide from the others, opening themselves up to the wrath of Rhysand for daring to mess with intercourt politics had resulted in a world of pain. He’d torn into Azriel for even thinking of pursuing a mated female, let alone a female mated to an Autumn Court male. For daring to bed her while her mate slept in the same house.
At the time, it had seemed that no matter how many times Elain tried to make it clear that the bond in question wasn’t even a real bond - that she had pursued Azriel just as much as he’d pursued her, that they’d never risked sleeping together when Lucien was in residence - her pleas fell on deaf ears. Rhys had stormed out of his office without sparing her a glance, only giving a stern warning to Azriel to stay the hell away from her.
They hadn’t stayed away from each other, of course. They’d simply resumed what they’d already been doing - sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms in the dead of night and only barely avoiding each other during the days.
There had been countless tears and numerous arguments. An entire war had almost been waged over their claim that the Cauldron had been wrong. Iit had taken almost an entire year of working with various High Lords, priestesses, and other contacts and associates of Rhysand to confirm that something had indeed gone wrong when Elain was submerged in the Cauldron - that a spell had been cast in an attempt to hide her bond to Azriel and guide her in another direction.
It had been confusing and messy and terrible for everyone involved but they had somehow come out on the other end, still together and still hopelessly in love. Now, there was a brand new element to their relationship. A bright, glowing tether that connected their bodies, their souls - already so tangible despite the fact that neither of them had formally accepted the bond.
Azriel, usually so reserved and attention avoidant, had surprised her when he insisted on even having a ceremony. She’d had to talk him out of going down the same path as Nesta and Cassian and after going back and forth too many times to count, Elain had eventually relented and they’d compromised on having the small garden ceremony that had come to her in that vision.
The title of mates had never meant much to her. She’d have chosen him a million times over where there’d been a predetermined connection between them or not. But she knew how much it meant to Azriel, knew that he considered the bond to be a blessing unlike any other.
It was why she attempted to look past the, quite frankly, insane behavior he’d been exhibiting over the past few months. Azriel had turned into something reminiscent of the girls that Elain had grown up with. The ones that became obsessive over their nuptials the second a ring was placed on their finger.
Just because she’d given in to his desire to have a ceremony, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t enjoyed torturing him from time to time when he was difficult about place settings or flowers.
“Never should’ve told you about that stupid vision,” Elain would taunt him, if only to feel the delicious trickle of arousal slither down her spine at the way his shoulders would stiffen and the promise of punishment would spark in his eyes.
Not that he’d ever actually deliver on that promise.
It was the one true point of contention between them. The stubborn male was intent on not formally accepting the bond before the ceremony and would hardly touch her, let alone fuck her, for fear of accidentally solidifying the bond between them before they could have it blessed by a priestess. And though she tried, there was no amount of teasing and taunting she could do that would get him to break.
He even went as far as to refuse food made by her whether she handed it directly to him or not.
It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.
Azriel had made up for some of it though, meeting her halfway by insisting on incorporating certain aspects of a human wedding - starting with a proposal that had come as a complete surprise a few weeks before they’d broken the curse.
They’d been in the garden one evening, Azriel more quiet than usual as he studied her from over the brim of a chipped tea cup that appeared like a dollhouse toy in the grasp of his large hands. She’d only looked up from her notebook when he gently lifted her feet from his lap and shifted until he was on his knees in the grass beside her.
He had said her name so softly, his eyes gleaming with an unfamiliar quality that they’d later identified as nervousness when they laughed together in bed later, recounting the moment while Elain lifted her hand above their faces until the low fae lights caught the surface of the sparkling sapphire that newly graced her ring finger.
…
That sapphire gleams brighter than ever on her finger as Rhysand steps towards her and offers her his arm.
“Ready?”
He’d come to them after they’d announced their intention to have a ceremony and asked if he could walk Elain down the aisle - a sign of peace and a way of offering them his blessing. Something that she knew meant the world to Azriel after the tense year he and Rhys had had.
“Ready.” Elain swallows, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow.
Apart from Rhys walking her down the aisle, most of what she’d seen in that vision remains the same. A harp plays as Rhys leads her out to the garden. Bright blooms of flowers are arranged on either side of a makeshift aisle. The sun shines and the Sidra glitters behind them. Nesta and Feyre smile brightly, tears gathering in the corner of their eyes. Cassian gives her a bright smile before clasping the broad shoulder of the handsome male standing next to him.
Elain’s breath catches in her chest when Azriel turns and his eyes land on her. She tries to keep from crying but there’s little she can do to stop the tears from falling when Azriel gives her a smile unlike anything she’d ever seen before, his own eyes shining with tears and admiration for his bride.
The sight of Azriel in his leathers was something Elain often dreamed of when she lay in bed at night, but it only takes one slow pass of her eyes over his body before she realises that the only thing better than Azriel in his leathers, is Azriel in a suit.
The suit is perfectly cut to his body and is befitting of a royal prince - the sash draped across his body, the medallions pinned to his chest - she realises that in a way, he really is dressed the part of a high ranking member of the Night Court and something about seeing him proudly dressed like this for her, makes her heart swell.
It feels like an eternity before she stands in front of him, before Rhys kisses her cheek and gives Azriel a hug. Before Azriel’s wonderfully familiar hands clasp around hers.
“Beautiful.” He gives her fingers a gentle squeeze as his eyes roam over her dress - the delicate lace that frames her exposed neck and shoulders. The embroidery that conceals the part of her that only he would ever see. He doesn’t bother to conceal his satisfied hum of approval as his gaze tracks back up the length of her body to her face.
The priestess takes over then, welcoming all their guests and guiding them through a short ceremony that culminates in an exchange of vows that leaves both of them with happy smiles and tear streaked faces.
They exchange rings after their vows - an homage to Elain’s human heritage but also something she’d quietly insisted on because the possessive part of her wanted him to have a physical marker that made it clear that he was taken to any female or male that dared to set their eyes on him.
Before she knows it, Nyx is teetering over to them, a small plate that holds one cinnamon bun haphazardly cradled in his small, chubby hands.
It’s the final point of difference from her vision - a small change she’d intentionally made to incorporate Azriel’s favourite of her homemade treats into their day. A nod to the day this had all started that only the two of them would understand.
She bends down and kisses Nyx on the forehead, gingerly taking the bun in her fingers before standing and bringing it to Azriel’s lips.
“Eat.” Elain murmurs.
Azriel’s lips close around the soft bun, teeth sinking into the sweet pastry. He swallows and Elain swears she feels the bond between them intensify. Unlike the uncomfortable pull she’d felt once upon a time, this is different. This time it’s desire and admiration and pure love that she feels when it tightens around her ribs.
By the way Azriel is looking at her, she knows he feels the same.
The ribbon is the next and final part of the ceremony. Feyre and Nesta both step forward to wrap a length of black satin around the couple’s wrists - sheepish looks on both of her sister’s faces. Rhysand and Cassian take over from their mates- tightening the ribbon and tying it into a firm bow.
“Remember, Az,” Cassian's eyes shine with mischief. “This stays on until you make her come hard enough to cause an avalanche on Ramiel.”
“Cassian!” Nesta groans, pinching the bridge of her nose, at the same exact time Feyre clasps her hands tight over Nyx’s ears even as she and Rhysand fail to stifle their laugh.
…
They don’t last long after the ceremony. It’s only a couple of turns around the small dancefloor and a few congratulatory conversations before the pull between them becomes too much to bear and Azriel bends down, his lips brushing over the delicate point of her ear as he quietly asks if she’s ready to leave.
He laughs at the eagerness with which Elain responds but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed - not when she’d felt the absence of his touch so thoroughly for over a month now.
She needed to be alone with him. Needed to get away before the desire got the best of them and put them at risk of doing something obscenely stupid like consummating their bond in the middle of this garden, in front of everyone they held close to their hearts.
After a very quick goodbye to their amused guests, Azriel whisks Elain into his arms and flies directly to the townhouse that Rhys had gifted them as a mating present, grumbling that they may as well have it seeing as they’d already spent the last year or two desecrating every part of it.
No words are exchanged as Azriel lands, still cradling Elain in his arms as he wanders up the path and opens the door, carrying her over the threshold once more.
It was funny really, when she looks back at how far they’d come since that very first time Azriel had flown her here, to this place they could now call home.
She’d been a shell of herself back then, clutching to her human life with a desperation that had almost broken her completely. Despite it all, she’d felt a split second moment of reprieve from the intensity of her grief when Azriel, little more than a stranger to her at the time, carried her over the threshold and set her down with such care before he led her out to the one place he somehow knew she might find some sense of normalcy.
She’d felt it then - upon seeing the kindness in his eyes and feeling the gentleness of his touch - the tiniest inkling of hope that maybe one day she could find happiness in this new place, in this new life.
Sure enough, that little drop of hope had been warranted because just a few years later, Elain is the happiest she’s ever been.
The signs had all been there from the start.
That single strand of hair that had snagged right over his heart should’ve told her all she needed to know.
He carries her upstairs, toeing open the door to the bedroom that once belonged solely to her and Elain’s jaw drops as Azriel finally sets her down and she peels her eyes away from his perfect face to take in the room.
She knew that Feyre and Mor had come by earlier to decorate but she didn’t expect all of this. Her usual lilac linens have been replaced by billowing white sheets. There’s blush coloured rose petals strewn across the bed that match the roses that had framed the aisle and candles were scattered around the room, casting the bed in romantic, flickering golden light.
Azriel’s free arm winds around her waist from behind and his lips follow the path of her shoulder up her neck as he pulls her back towards him. Elain tilts her head up to meet him halfway and his mouth travels along her jaw until his lips hover centimeters from hers.
She feels like every bit of her skin is on fire. She could never imagine that the level of her desire for Azriel would surpass what she felt for him in the past but she was sorely mistaken because what she feels in this moment makes her think that if he didn’t do something to quell the ache thrumming between her legs, she might just die.
“Azriel.” She breathes his name, turning towards him fully and breaking the silence that had settled comfortably between them.
“Elain.” He answers. His fingers press into the plush flesh of her hip, the very tips of them venturing low - teasing at the curve of her backside.
“My mate.” Elain says quietly, raising her hand to cup his face. Her thumb drags along his sharp cheekbone.
“My mate.” He repeats. The word is almost unfamiliar on his lips, like he still can’t quite believe the term is his to use. Azriel brings his lips to hers and her entire body is overcome with a desperate need. “My wife.”
Elain can’t help but whimper as her body curves into his by its own volition. She melts into his searing kiss.
“My husband.”
Azriel lets out a soft moan at that and a slight shift of his stance allows her to feel him hard against her hip.
Elain is suddenly nervous as she pulls away to look up at Azriel. She doesn’t understand why she’s suddenly shy, standing in front of him like an innocent, blushing bride even though they both knew that ship had sailed long ago. He stares back at her, candle light catching the flecks of green in his eyes.
She recognises the wonder there as he takes in the sight of her. It’s a perfect mirror to her own emotions. To the disbelief that they’d actually made it to this moment against all odds.
“Not sure how we’re supposed to consummate anything with our wrists bound together.” Elain frowns, her voice shaking slightly. “I won’t be able to get you out of this suit.”
“I think it’s more of a symbolic thing.” Azriel smiles, kissing her once more to ease her nerves. His fingers slip from her waist to their wrists, deftly plucking at the knot of black satin until it comes loose and their hands are freed. He sets the ribbon down and fixes her with a look that sends a shiver down her spine.
He motions for her to turn and then his hands are in her hair, gently removing pins until her hair falls in a gentle, albeit slightly messy, golden wave down her back. He gathers it to the side and more kisses are placed to the sensitive place where her neck meets her shoulder.
Azriel’s fingers find the buttons that run down the back of her dress and he begins to undo them slowly. Elain knows that he’s doing it on purpose. That even on this special day, he wouldn’t dream of missing the opportunity to have her beg.
But Elain, for once, won’t let him win. She somehow finds the will power to hold still as he undoes her dress and drags it down her arms and over her torso until it falls to the floor and she’s left standing in front of him in nothing except for the very expensive scrap of ivory lace that covers her sex and the shiny rings on her finger.
She reaches for his suit jacket and helps him maneuver out of it and then she steps around to his back to undo the buttons of his shirt around his wings. And maybe, just maybe, during the process of ridding him of his shirt, she lets her knuckles smooth over a part of the delicate membrane that has him gritting out her name in warning.
Elain grins, moving back around to his front to reach for the buttons of his fine pants - slowly undoing them as he kicks off his shoes just in time for her to slide his trousers and undershorts down his legs.
She can’t help the way her eyes linger on the proud length of him. On the small bead of moisture gathered at the tip that gleams in the glow of the candles, practically calling for her to put her lips on him. She’s so distracted that she barely even registers Azriel reaching back for the ribbon he’d placed on the desk a few minutes ago.
“I can think of better uses for this ribbon.” Azriel’s eyes flick up to meet hers as he smooths out the ribbon and dangles it from his fingertips.
“I can think of something even better.” Elain plucks the ribbon from his hands and backs him towards the bed with a single finger against his chest until he’s laying down. His eyes shimmer with amusement as she motions for him to put his hands above his head but he silently follows her instructions.
She kneels next to him, leans down and tries so very hard to ignore the sweet press of his lips to her sternum as her fingers make quick work of wrapping the ribbon around both of his wrists before securing the remaining length to the wooden posts of her headboard.
“You have the rest of our lives to touch me whenever and however you’d like. Let’s see how long you can last before you’re begging to touch your wife.”
She moves to settle herself on his lap but he stops her with a slight shift of his knees that sends her sliding further up his torso.
“On my tongue first.”
Elain bites down on her lower lip, her core already tightening in anticipation as she shifts further up and carefully places a knee above each of his shoulders, mindful of his wings.
“Look at you.” Azriel’s eyes are fixed on the damp lace covering her center. On the gleam of arousal that covers her inner thighs. “Such a mess already and I haven’t even begun.”
“So much talking.” Elain grumbles, her face flooding with heat at just how wet she was for him when all he’d done was take her dress off.
“Make me stop.” Azriel challenges. She huffs but slowly lowers her hips until the defined tip of his nose brushes over her, dragging her soaked underwear over her clit in a delicious slide of friction.
It’s far from the first time he’s had her like this but it is the first time he hasn’t been able to use his hands. It’s in this moment that Elain realises just how much she relies on him to guide her down to his face. To pull her hips closer and closer, to help her rock against him as she rides him. With his hands restrained, it all falls back on her to gain the confidence to use him like this.
“Sit.” The single word is laced with pure demand and she can sense that Azriel’s patience is slipping. His need to get his mouth on her overruling any of the previous gentleness he’d shown her this evening.
She does as she’s told and her hands fly out to grasp for purchase on her headboard at the first pass of Azriel’s mouth over the lace that covers her. He doesn’t give her a moment to catch her breath before he uses his teeth to tug the lace to the side as best as he can and then his tongue is on her, eagerly tasting her, consuming her with long, effortless strokes.
“I’ve missed this.” He groans against her skin. His tongue dips inside her. “ I’ve missed you.”
She doesn’t have the words to admonish him. To tell him that he could’ve had her this whole time if only he hadn’t been so stubborn. But a month without having him like this has taken its toll and Elain finds that she’s utterly incapable of forming any words or sounds that aren’t a simple keening moan as she rolls her hips and chases the sensation quickly building low and intense in her stomach. Her thighs tremble, her fingers clench around the wooden posts of her bedframe and before she knows it, the wave of pleasure crests and she slumps forward - the already precarious rhythm of her hips falters as she comes hard and fast on his tongue.
Azriel’s mouth doesn’t stop working her until she pulls off of him completely but even then, she isn’t granted a single moment of reprieve besides a couple seconds to catch her breath.
He calls in his shadows and icy, invisible hands are firm around her waist, guiding her back down to where she’d started. Her hands find his cock as his shadows stay with her, slipping in between her legs and over her breasts in feather light caresses that have her aching for more despite just having come mere seconds ago.
Elain raises her eyes to look up at Azriel as she lowers her mouth to his cock. At the first slide of her tongue over his head, a particularly daring shadow slips inside her. The feeling of it is one she knows well, so similar to Azriel’s own fingers.
Elain pulls off of him for a second, glaring up at him. The menacing look she’d been going for is cut short when she gasps as the shadow still inside her presses hard against her upper wall.
“You said,” Azriel starts, eyes squeezing shut when she takes him in her mouth again. “You said I couldn’t touch you. You never said my shadows couldn’t.”
“Not fair.” Elain mumbles around the length of him, unwilling to stop the movement of her lips and tongue. She only takes him deeper, relishing in the way his hips lift to push himself further down her throat.
“Did you think I’d forgotten?” More of his shadows are in her hair now, tugging at her roots with delicious pressure. “All those times you’ve taunted me this past month? Did you think I would forget?”
She gives him a subtle shake of her head, hollowing her cheeks around him all the while.
She’d been praying that he wouldn’t forget, that he’d catalogue all those moments until he could finally deliver on that promise of punishment she’d seen gleaming in his eyes each time she’d deliberately taunt him with her words or actions.
“Touch me.” She doesn’t know how the tables have turned so quickly. How in a split second, she’s pulled off of him and has relinquished all control to him - begging him to touch her instead of the other way around as she’d initially planned. “Azriel, please.”
His shadows aren’t enough and too much time has passed. They’ve put it off too long and the thread between them has grown too taut. She wants his hands. His fingers. She wants him inside her.
Elain blinks and Azriel’s hands are free. She blinks again and she’s on her back in the exact spot he had just been. His hazel eyes burn into hers as his hands - those glorious, beautiful scarred hands - smooth over every inch of her body that’s within their reach.
“Please.” She begs again, unsure as to what she’s even asking for. All she knows is that there’s greater forces at play and her wants and desires are careening dangerously out of control.
“Okay.” Azriel nods and suddenly it’s clear as day to her that he’s experiencing the exact same thing on the other side of the bond glowing between them. There’s a new sense of urgency to his words. To his actions. His calloused thumbs drag over her nipples. “Okay, my love.”
He moves a hand inbetween her legs and pushes her thighs further apart and then she feels him, hot and heavy against her sex. He drags his cock over her twice, coating himself in the arousal he’s pulled from her. A moment later he’s inside her and Elains swears it’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her entire life.
“It feels…” She can’t finish her sentence. She’s too overcome by a wave of emotions so intense that it wracks through her body. That thread between them that had seemed so tangible for the past month had suddenly solidified into something else entirely. She could feel it in her blood. In each and every nerve. Could feel him. Each of her emotions - all the joy and the pleasure and the relief - it was all amplified. Doubled. Because she could feel his twin emotions on the other side of this new connection.
It had snapped. The bond had finally snapped into place once and for all.
Elain laughs, high and bright, and full of disbelief because each time she had thought that what she felt for him couldn’t possibly be topped, she had been proven wrong.
“I know.” Azriel sweeps back the hair clinging to her sweat slick forehead and keeps his eyes on hers.
“It just…” Elain gasps, fingernails clawing at his back in a desperate attempt to get even closer to him. To feel even more of him.
“I know.” Azriel repeats, lowering his mouth to hers in an all consuming kiss that renders her utterly useless. “I felt it, too.”
Azriel continues to whisper sweet nothings into her skin as he takes her, his hips meeting hers as he delivers long smooth strokes that have her crying his name.
“Want you to come with me, okay?” He says gently, waiting until her eyes focus on his and she nods that she had in fact heard him before he bends one of her knees to her chest and picks up his pace.
The new position has tears forming in the corner of her eyes from the sheer bliss that courses through her. It’s a feeling that’s only heightened when he brings a hand in between their bodies to thumb at her clit.
“I meant every word.” Azriel murmurs, his forehead pressed tight to hers. “You’re my sun, Elain.”
The smooth movement of his hips stutters and she knows he’s close.
I spent the first part of my life shrouded in darkness with only shadows for company. I thought I’d learnt what it was to live in the light of day again but I didn’t truly know what it meant to feel the warmth of the sun until you looked at me for the first time.
The beautiful words Azriel had said to her earlier in the garden echo in her head and she can’t stop the sob that escapes her at the reminder of the vows they’d made. At the promises they’d sworn - the declarations to love and to cherish each other for the rest of their long, immortal lives.
“I love you.” Her hands land on either side of his face and she holds him to her, kissing him deeply as he spills inside her. Her muscles contract around him, an endless pulsing sensation that makes her ears ring and her eyes go blurry.
He says it back to her - three words chanted over and over again in combination with her name as he fills her.
Her blood pounds through her veins and her heart feels like it’s going to explode out of her chest. No amount of reading and research into mating bonds would have prepared her for the magnanimity of what she felt in this moment.
It isn’t until Azriel pulls out of her and kneels in between her legs that her eyes focus and she regains any sense of who or where she is. He gently pries her legs further apart and his eyes darken at the sight in front of him. She watches as he takes two of his fingers and collects the come smeared on her thighs. It coats his fingers and the sight of a small bit of it sliding off the knuckle of his middle finger and landing over the gold band on his ring finger is so beautifully filthy that it has her holding back a moan.
“Back where it belongs.” Azriel says the words with a satisfied, purely male smirk and Elain’s breath hitches as he slides his fingers back in her, fucking his spend back inside her. She shivers at the sensation of cold metal grazing her skin.
“Sometimes when I see you like this - your pretty cunt so wet and swollen, so full of my come that it drips out…” He pauses for a second, eyes fixated on the easy slip of his fingers in and out of her. “I wonder why I still take the tonic every morning.”
Elain summons the energy to prop herself up on her elbows so she can look at him. She’s shocked at his admission, at all that it entails.
“If you want me to call you daddy, Azriel, all you had to do was ask.”
It’s a weak attempt at humour, a pathetic attempt to buy her some time as she tries to figure out what to say.
Azriel’s head tips back and he laughs in that way that makes her heart ache with love for him.
“I’m serious, Elain.” He gives her a soft smile, his fingers still moving within her. “If you want that with me, I… I’d be honoured.”
“I need,” she gasps when his fingers curl inside her, pressing against the spot he knows will get her where he wants her to be. “To think.”
“Okay.” He agrees. “Whenever you’re ready. If you’re ever ready.”
“After this…” Elain’s back arches off the bed and her legs threaten to close but Azriel holds her open for him with his other hand.
“After the frenzy.” He completes her thought for her and watches, completely enamored as her head tilts back and her slender fingers frantically clutch at the sweat soaked sheets.
“With a clear head.” She barely manages to get out the words. “We’ll talk about it.”
She’d need a clear head to discuss that particular subject because right now, with how unbelievably aroused she was at the idea of his fingers pushing his come back inside her - back where it belongs - she’d do just about anything he asked of her.
Azriel only leans forward, crowding her body with his as he once again sends her falling over the edge. Her moans are swallowed eagerly by his mouth.
“Always take me so well.” He praises her. “So beautiful each and every time you come for me.”
When she finally settles, utterly spent against the mattress, Azriel moves to pull back but Elain clambers to keep him with her and she finds herself startled by her own automatic reaction to him moving even a fraction of an inch away. She buries her face in his neck, drawing in the scent of him - that cedar scent that is now completely intertwined with notes of jasmine and honey- and the depth of her desire terrifies her.
Elain can’t fathom that there will be a time where she won’t need to feel the weight of him on top of her. Couldn’t imagine that there’d be a second of the foreseeable future in which she wouldn’t need to feel the warmth of his skin under the tips of her fingers. The possessive quality that already lived deep within her bones had grown into a whole new monster because even though she’s been told over and over again that it’s the males who get territorial once a mating bond has been accepted, the way in which she needs to have Azriel all to herself makes her feel confident that she could rip someone to shreds if they looked at him for even a second too long.
“I never want to leave this bed.” Elain sighs, fingers slipping down the expanse of his back as she arches upward, her breasts pressing against his chest. She’s delighted when the shift of her body allows her to feel him hard against her stomach again because despite her sore muscles and the tiredness seeping into her bones, she’s somehow immediately ready for him. Desperate to have him inside her once more.
“Too bad.” Azriel’s lips skate up the column of her throat until his lips are right over her ear. “Because I intend to fuck you on every single surface in this house.”
He sinks into her again and Elain is convinced once and for all that this frenzy might never end.
Just a couple of months ago, Gwyn had started going on weekly outings with Nesta and Emerie in the city, simply because she felt like it. Just last week, she’d spent several days in Dawn studying some ancient scrolls with no one but Merrill and Ananke as company. Just yesterday, Gwyn had gone with Azriel, Nesta, and Cassian to a new bookshop-cafe overlooking the Sidra.
And just that morning, when Azriel had suggested they go for dessert – only the two of them – Gwyn had said yes without a moment’s hesitation.
Gwyn had, of course, run to Nesta with the news. Gwyn had found her friend curled up on the comfortable couch by one of the library windows, reading a new book. She had thrown herself at the seat, speaking quickly and without a care about having interrupted Nesta’s quiet reading.
“I have to tell Cassian,” Nesta had said, triumph in her blue-grey eyes, her book forgotten at her side. “I knew it, I’ve been telling Cass all week that Az was going to ask you on a date.”
Gwyn had hoped that was what Azriel had been intending, but she had not been entirely sure. All the same, when Nesta had offered to braid her hair and help her find a pretty dress, Gwyn had been quick to take her up on the offer.
Az had come to her dressed in all-black, looking as lovely as ever, and acting as though there was nothing happening that was out of the ordinary.
When Az had taken her hand in his much larger one to winnow them from the House of Wind onto the still-sunny streets of Velaris, Gwyn had brushed it off as a friendly gesture. When Az had not immediately let go, and then had proceeded to interlock their fingers as he led her down the busy, pedestrian-filled walkways, Gwyn still wondered if perhaps she was overthinking and simply assuming Azriel had any sort of romantic intentions.
Perhaps Nesta’s enthusiastic claim that Cassian now owed her for always being right about everything had given Gwyn the wrong impression and had unnecessarily raised her hopes.
Two slices of cake and three cups of coffee later, Gwyn could state with great confidence that Azriel had, in fact, asked her out on a date.
Azriel was holding her hand again as they left the quiet cafe, and Gwyn’s cheeks hurt from how much she’d been smiling. His shadows were trailing lazily behind them, more coming to follow now that the sun had gone down. Azriel held her hand as they walked along the city streets, undeniably so much lovelier at night, all the way back to the House of Wind.
“I don’t believe you.”
“And yet,” Azriel said, a smile in the tone of his voice.
“Black can’t be your favourite colour,” Gwyn shook her head, a few copper strands of hair freeing themselves from her intricate braid, “Too predictable.”
“I also like very, very dark shades of blue,” he replied, amusement lacing the words.
Gwyn’s laughter was loud, unguarded, as Azriel winnowed them right to her room, just outside her door.
“I had a really nice time,” Gwyn told him, hoping he felt the same. She placed her hand on the doorknob just in case Azriel had had an awful night and she needed to escape to her room and not have to face him until training.
“That’s a relief,” Az smiled, and Gwyn thought she had never seen anything lovelier. “Nesta threatened to gut me with a soup spoon if you came home unhappy.”
Gwyn laughed and one of Azriel’s shadows darted towards the fingers she still had lingering by the door.
“Goodnight, Gwyn.”
Gwyn was planning to wish Azriel a goodnight, maybe even be forward enough to suggest they do something like this again sometime soon.
The Gwyn of a few months ago would have done just that, but she was feeling a small pull, ever so gentle, towards Azriel. And, as Gwyn had noticed, she was feeling remarkably brave lately.
Azriel was standing so close, his wings making it seem as though only the space between them existed. Holding his wrist, careful to make it quick so she would not lose her courage, Gwyn got on the tips of her toes and kissed Azriel, only for a brief moment, on the lips. She felt her cheeks burning, her heart beating thunderously in her ears.
“Good night,” Gwyn breathed, rushing into her room to rather rudely slam the door shut. Despite her best efforts not to give Azriel one last look, she still managed to catch the surprised smile on his face.
When Cassian is called away to Illyria for a whole week, Nesta finds her mate has left her something behind - several somethings, in the form of letters hidden throughout the House of Wind. Set post-ACOSF.
Castor looked out across the mountains crowned with snow, feeling the wind caress his wings. It felt like a whisper. Like a kiss— like her kiss, and even though the drums of war were already pounding far below, he could only think of her. Her dark eyes and her midnight hair and the way it curled against the nape of her neck.
The woman he had left behind.
Illyrians weren’t supposed to be romantic. Weren’t supposed to fall hard.
But with the gods as his witness, he looked to the sky and cursed the distance between this rock-strewn battlefield and the bed he’d left both his lover and half his soul behind in. No, Illyrians weren’t supposed to fall hard, but he’d fallen harder than he’d ever expected. Harder than—
“Nesta!”
The silence cleaved beneath a clap, sharp and insistent and followed by the snapping of familiar, paint-stained fingers. The voice echoed through the library as the image in Nesta’s head shattered, like the surface of a lake after the throwing of a rock.
“Are you even listening?”
No.
She wasn’t.
Slowly, Nesta Archeron looked up from the pages of her book. Already scowling - and absolutely not in the mood today - she flicked her eyes over the cloth-bound spine and took in the sight before her. Her sister, standing there with her tattooed hand extended, fingers braced to snap for a third time. Nesta’s brows lowered, and the huff that left her was one she tried only half-heartedly to bury.
“I called your name,” Feyre said, arching one elegant eyebrow now that she had her sister’s attention at last. “Twice.”
Nesta’s attention drifted pointedly back down to the pages of her book. One shoulder lifted in an idle shrug. “I was busy.”
“Clearly.”
The High Lady of the Night Court snorted and leaned a hip against the rolled arm of the sofa that sat opposite Nesta’s own. Her eyes dropped to the front cover of the book Nesta held in her hands, her expression turning to one of soft amusement as she took in the illustration of the shirtless Illyrian warrior, his arms around the shoulders of a young woman whose dress hung half off her slender frame. Feyre pressed her lips together, eyes dancing in a way that Nesta knew meant her sister was trying hard to suppress a small laugh, and any other day…
Any other day, Nesta might have humoured her sister. Might have raised an eyebrow and asked wryly if she wanted to join the Valkyrie Book Club.
Not today, though.
Today Nesta said nothing, only lifted her chin and fixed an expression of indifferent hauteur over her face. Feyre could giggle all she wanted, but the book had been waiting for Nesta when she’d opened her eyes that morning, placed deliberately and carefully on Cassian’s side of the bed. His empty side of the bed— because, thanks to Feyre’s mate, Cassian had left at dawn for a week-long stint in Illyria, and Nesta had been left with nothing but that book propped against his pillow, like it was to serve as his replacement for the next few days.
The House had a sense of humour like that— exchanging one Illyrian warrior for another.
But Nesta would be a liar if she said his absence wasn’t already starting to make her feel like the world had been tipped on its axis, and facing down the prospect of seven whole days without hearing his voice or seeing his eyes or feeling his calloused palms so eager to slide over her skin…
She supposed she could be forgiven for seeking complete distraction from the depths of her books today. Forgiven, too, for her resounding lack of patience.
“I came to see you,” Feyre said breezily as Nesta dropped her eyes back down to the pages still spread open before her. “Since Cassian’s away and all.”
“Yes,” Nesta answered tightly, glowering at the words on the page. “Do thank your mate for that for me.”
Feyre’s eyes danced, her lips straining to contain the smile that threatened to spread across her face. “Cassian wasn’t all that happy about leaving either, if it helps.”
“It doesn’t. Your mate was the one insisting that he go.”
“Rhys didn’t insist,” she countered, plucking at a piece of lint on her sleeve in a gesture so absurdly Rhysand it made Nesta clench her jaw. “He just… reminded Cassian that he can’t be on honeymoon forever.”
Nesta snorted. Honeymoon, indeed. It had been a grand total of six weeks since their mating ceremony. Six.
And now camp inspections had called Nesta’s mate to Illyria, and even though Cassian had been more than content to let them slide, just this once, their oh-so-benevolent High Lord had maintained that they could not allow their grip in the mountains to slip for even a second. Ergo, Rhys had reasoned, Cassian still needed to be seen to be carrying out even the smallest of his duties as general. Ordinarily, Cassian had argued, he wouldn’t hesitate to spend a week in Illyria calling out the faults of the camp lords.
But right now, Rhys? Really?
He had looked pointedly at Nesta as he’d said it, as if hoping to remind Rhys that Cassian had a mate of his own now, and one so newly bonded he could hardly stand to leave for a minute, never mind a week.
But still Rhys had insisted, and so after two days of preparation, Cassian had left that morning, slipping from their bed before the sun had even begun to stain the horizon.
It had made a tinderbox of Nesta’s temper.
She sighed through her nose now, only dimly aware that her sister continued speaking. She caught the odd word— dinner, river house, tomorrow night, but truthfully Nesta just wanted to bury herself in her books until these seven days were up. She couldn’t even count on Azriel for company, since the Shadowsinger was off on one of his missions too.
“Alright,” Feyre said after a solid three minutes of talking to what might as well have been a wall. “I get the hint.” She threw her hands up in surrender. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything…”
“I’ll let you know,” Nesta answered blandly.
Feyre nodded once, pushing away from the arm of the sofa and striding across the floor of the House library until she reached the door. She didn’t look back until she reached the threshold, where, with her hand curling around the brass doorknob, Feyre at last looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, that ribbon of a smile pushing once more against her lips. “Rhys did say he checked in with Cassian this morning.”
Nesta glowered. “And?”
Feyre’s face softened. “He said to tell you he’s missing you already.”
Nesta blinked, looking up in earnest from the pages of her book. Her throat tightened, and the bond twining around her ribs seemed to clamour, snatching at the second-hand words. She didn’t usually wish she possessed Feyre’s gifts, but on days like this… oh, Nesta wished she could reach out and speak to him, to hear his voice even when he was a thousand miles away.
Before she could tell Feyre to pass along the message that she missed him too, her sister shot her a wink and slipped through that door, leaving Nesta alone with nothing but her silence and her books and the longing surging within her that threatened to crush her beneath its weight.
And she had seven days of this to endure.
Sharply, Nesta huffed.
Stupid— all of it was so immeasurably stupid. Cassian had been gone for a grand total of ten hours, and yet Nesta already felt like she was at sea without him. The House was too quiet, the space beside her too empty, and even though she’d always done perfectly well on her own, always found comfort in solitude… something was different this time. Perhaps because Cassian had been called away when neither of them wanted distance, or perhaps because their lives had slotted together so easily, so simply, that there was no painless way of drawing them apart. Either way, Nesta found that although she usually enjoyed being alone… she enjoyed it best when Cassian was only a room or two away.
“Pull yourself together, Nesta,” she muttered darkly to herself, sitting up straighter against the cushions and clearing her throat. Determined, she forced her attention back to her book, the pages shifting as she adjusted her grip.
And as she did, her fingers loosening on the pages towards the back—
A small square of parchment tumbled out, fluttering down to her lap. From the crisp whiteness of it and the way it was folded, it was clear it wasn’t some old scrap used as a bookmark, and—
It had her name on it.
Nesta’s curiosity piqued, and something in her chest began to grow unbearably tight as every nerve she possessed seemed to shiver with recognition. It smelled familiar, like cinnamon and leather, calling to mind lazy morning kisses and arms wrapping around her from behind to pull her against the chest she had traced every single inch of with her fingers.
It smelled like Cassian.
The familiar scent had her aching, like the fading impression he’d left behind on that note was a ghost slipping through her fingers, barely substantial enough to grasp. But grasp Nesta did, reaching desperately for any lingering piece of him— anything her mate had left her.
Folded, the note was no larger than the palm of her hand, but Nesta looked at her name written in the hand almost as well-known to her as her own - penned with a flourish in ink as dark as the night sky, crisp and sharp - and felt her heart skip several beats as her fingers scrambled to break the small crimson seal.
Hello, Nes, her mate had written.
I’m curious— how long did it take you to find this one? I must have been gone, what, seven hours by now? Maybe eight? Any more and I’ll be disappointed. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this particular novel. I had Emerie get ahold of it for me, since I figured it might help you remember the Illyrian warrior you have of your own whilst I’m away.
Anyway, I know you’ll already be going out of your mind without me there, but like the perfect mate that I am, I’ve thought of the perfect way to remind you how much I love you, just in case you forget. I know I told you I’ve been spending these past two days preparing to leave for Illyria, but I’ve also been hiding some of these little notes throughout the House for you to find— and what better hiding place than deep within the pages of a book?
You know I’ll miss you every second I’m away, sweetheart, and I know it’s not much, but you always said you wanted me to write you love letters so… here I am. It’s taken me an age to hide them all - you really do have too many books, sweetheart - but when I get home you can tell me all about how diverting I am, and how wonderfully I compare to the heroes in your books.
Love you!
P.S - The notes aren’t all in your books. Can’t make it too easy for you, can I, princess?
X
It was remarkable how quickly Nesta’s sour mood dissipated.
Something in her chest lifted— like the great, uncomfortable weight that had settled behind her ribs when Cassian had left that morning was lifted a little, just enough to let her see the sun behind the clouds. A delighted laugh bubbled to her lips as she read the note again— and again, just to savour each word.
It was such a tiny thing, so small and innocuous, that little scrap of paper bearing her name.
And yet it was a thing beyond value; immeasurable proof that she was loved and cared for and wanted, and that even as Cassian had prepared to drag himself away from their home, she had been the only thing at the forefront of his mind.
Nesta brushed her fingers lightly across the page, a tender smile blossoming at the corners of her mouth. She could practically feel Cassian winking at her, teasing her like he hadn’t gone away at all, and the arrogance dripping from every word he’d written was enough to make her breathe another quiet laugh.
You can tell me all about how diverting I am, and how wonderfully I compare to the heroes in your books.
Nesta snorted. Cassian had found a way to bridge the distance between them and had used it as an opportunity to peacock. She might have rolled her eyes had her gaze not snagged on that brief love you! at the end, and the single kiss he’d scored into the paper.
Nobody had ever told Nesta they loved her— not really, not the way Cassian did.
And so it meant the world and more to her now, every single time it he said it. It made her soften in the way she only ever did for him, so entirely disarmed by his charm and irreverence and faultless dedication.
And gods, he’d found her an Illyrian romance.
Nesta supposed such things were few and far between, given how opposed to such things the Illyrians were, and she’d assumed that the House had been the one to leave it out for her, but no— it was Cassian who had somehow, with Emerie’s help, gotten hold of it and left it out for her, along with the note buried inside. Along with several notes, apparently, like he simply hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of leaving without first having found a way of letting her know, every single day, that he loved her even to distraction.
Love you!
It warmed some long-neglected corner of her heart, breathed life back into the pieces of her she’d thought too far gone for anyone to revive, and as Nesta glanced up at the shelves running along the walls of the House library, not for the first time when it came to her mate did she feel a sense of depthless wonder sparking inside.
There were… hundreds of them.
Thousands of pages Cassian might have secreted a letter between.
It was almost daunting, almost seemed impossible, but Nesta looked once more at the note in her hands, lingering on that last love you! scrawled at the bottom of the page.
And when the House rather pointedly slid one of those old books out an inch from its shelf, Nesta glanced up to the ceiling with a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Rising to her feet and placing the Illyrian romance down gently on the low table before the hearth, she said,
“Well, then. We’d better start looking.”
***
Three hours yielded only one more letter.
Every other volume Nesta had pulled from the shelves had been empty, and though she flicked through page after endless page, she came away with nothing. With the sun beginning to set and a line of shelves stretching before her still waiting to be searched, Nesta might have given up. Might have— had the singular note she had found not been enough to keep her going, to keep the fire inside her burning.
Sweetheart, it began.
I honestly think I might kill Rhys for making me leave. I get his point— especially after the shit the camp lords pulled this spring, it won’t hurt to reassert our authority. Trust me, I’ll be making Devlon crawl by the end, but gods fucking spare me, I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing instead, and every single one of them includes you. I can hardly bear the thought of being so far away from you— not hearing your voice each night before I sleep. The truth is that nothing feels right without you, and my darling brother is going to wish he’d never been born when I’m through with him, I swear.
You and Feyre can tease me as much as you want princess, but I admit it. I’m lost without you— an Illyrian baby through and through. And I suppose I’m a filthy liar too, sweetheart, because you’re in the room with me right now as I write this, sitting there reading one of your novels - by the way, have I told you how much I love the way you bite your lip when you’re reading? - under the impression that I’m currently writing out lists of instructions to hand to the camp lords. I’m not writing instructions at all. I’m writing this, and praying you don’t come look over my shoulder and ruin the fun before it starts.
All this is to say… I love you, Nesta.
I don’t think I’ve said it enough. A hundred times a day wouldn’t be enough, and I promise that as soon as these seven days are over, I’ll be back by your side showing you exactly how much I missed you. Until then…
Always yours,
Cassian.
X
She’d had to sit down for a minute after reading that one, especially once she reached always yours.
Hers— yes, he was hers.
It almost didn’t matter that the sun was dropping towards the horizon now, that it had been hours since she’d found that last letter. Didn’t matter either, Nesta thought as she knelt within a circle of discarded books, that there was an endless number still to search through.
He was hers.
The words had something clicking, a spark in her memory.
The words aren’t all in your books, Cassian had written as a post-script in that initial letter.
Can’t make it too easy for you, can I, princess?
And Nesta remembered, too, how Azriel had sat in the small sitting room a level below three nights ago, a book in his own hands as the night grew darker and the hour grew later. Nesta had been curled in a chair of her own, only barely paying attention. She had only really noticed the Shadowsinger at all because Cassian had leaned down and whispered in her ear,
‘See, Nes? That’s what a real book looks like.’
The book in question had been some dry non-fiction, thick as brick, and Nesta hadn’t even bothered to really note the title beyond a couple of cursory words, but…
Slowly, recognition began to skitter up her spine. He wouldn’t, she thought carefully, taking in the piles of books surrounding her, all of them having yielded nothing. Surely he wouldn’t.
Except…
This was Cassian, the man with a mischievous spirit who took nothing seriously. His two most favourite things in the world seemed to be teasing her and riling Azriel. Of course he’d decide that one of Azriel’s books would serve as a perfect hiding place for one of his notes.
Of course he would.
Nesta breathed a somewhat bemused sigh, running a hand over her hair. She shook her head, feeling the bond singing in her chest as she pushed to her feet. It hummed like a just-plucked harp string, vibrating as she swept from that library and stalked instead for the sitting room. And as she pushed open the door, praying Azriel had left his book behind, Nesta could have sworn she felt the faintest glimmer of laughter down that bond, like a broad hand dragged, comforting, down her spine.
***
The Continent: Geopolitics and Relations with Northern Prythian still lay on the cushion of the chair Azriel had occupied that night, like the Shadowsinger still planned to return for it. A white ribbon peeked above the pages, marking his place, and as Nesta lifted the book in hand, she felt certain that ribbon was one of the Valkyrie ribbons— one of the many they’d tried and failed to cut in those early days, protesting the impossibility, only to have Cassian or Azriel step up and slice the thing in half with ease.
Bastards.
Nesta flicked the end of that ribbon, watching it sway as she held the book balanced in her palm. The thing was heavy, and so dense she didn’t know how the Spymaster had managed to spend hours, without pause, reading it the other night.
A real book, Cassian had called it.
Not for the first time, Nesta snorted. She sank into the chair by the empty hearth, turning the pages of that great tome one by one, and for a long time there was nothing. Chapters and chapters of absolutely nothing. But when Nesta reached the very last chapter…
There, pressed between the pages, tucked right against the spine.
In the low light, her name winked against the stark white of the folded note. It had been penned in large letters on the front, and beneath it - in Cassian’s hand - was written: Azriel— if you’ve somehow found this note before Nesta, fuck off and put it back where you found it.
She could almost hear Cassian’s tone, could practically see the spark that would have danced in his eyes. The bond tugged as her heart lurched, and unable to resist the smile that crept across her own face, Nesta put the book down on a side table and unfolded his next letter.
Nes— I knew you’d find this one.
I figured I’d take this opportunity to draw your attention to something other than smut, just in case you’re getting bored of all those filthy novels of yours. Lesser men might be concerned, sweetheart, but don’t worry. I know exactly how much you like all the things I can do with my hands, and I don’t think your books could do that quite as well as me, could they? How about I give you a reminder once I get home?
In the meantime, maybe you should try branching out and reading something else for once. I promise there’s no sex in this one.
Nesta snorted.
And Az, the note continued at the bottom, if you’ve read this far then I’m going to punch you in the ribs when I get home.
***
On it went, days spent trawling through the library and the House sitting rooms, bookshelf after bookshelf plundered in search of Cassian’s notes. By day four, three more had joined the pile Nesta kept tucked in the pockets of her dress. The first was brief and quick, a short love you, Nes, that had made her heart swell. The second was found in one of his history books - see Nes? Told you I’d get you reading real books one day! was the opener - and had almost brought her to tears when she read what turned out to be an account of their history hidden away inside. Here’s a story for you, princess, about a fearsome general and the wondrous woman who brings him to his knees, he’d written.
I think I knew you were mine from that very first day. And I loved every piece of you, even then.
And the third— well, the third Nesta had found slotted between the pages of one of her steamier romances, hiding in a chapter so racy it had made even her cheeks burn when she’d first read it. His note was brief— just a single line.
How about we try this when I get home?
It had all but set her alight, and had carried her through a full day and night since, but now…
The cold was starting to creep in, a chill lingering through the House as the sun went down. Five days he’d been gone— five, and with nobody to turn to now, Nesta found herself feeling exactly as she had when he’d first gone away. The House seemed cold without him, like even it had arrived at the begrudging conclusion that part of its integral makeup was missing without him there. Goosebumps skittered over Nesta’s arms as darkness fell, and she couldn’t help the scowl that fitted itself across her brow. Usually, if she happened to be cold, Cassian would be there, lingering at her side, ready to pull her into his arms at a moment’s notice to lend her some of his heat.
Cassian had never once let her go cold.
Even the notes couldn’t warm her now, she thought, dragging her fingers across that brief love you, Nes. Five days of missing her mate were starting to leave their mark, like a knife across her ribs, and every time she so much as thought of the distance between them and the two days still left to get through, it made her curse her decision to stay behind— to let him go without her.
As if sensing the cold was beginning to bother her, the House immediately started a fire in the grand hearth that occupied much of the wall opposite the windows. But Nesta shook her head. It wasn’t enough, wasn’t nearly enough.
It wasn’t heat she sought, but comfort too.
And there was only one place she could get that now.
Before the cold could sink any further into her bones, Nesta marched to their bedroom— down the stairs and through the hallway, spurred on by her purpose until she was standing before the doors to the wardrobe standing in the left corner of their bedroom.
His wardrobe.
The faelights in their sconces glowed a little brighter as she opened the wardrobe doors. Within, Nesta found the usual piles of polished flying leathers sitting neatly on the various shelves, and a number of simple tunics and shirts in dark colours hanging from the rail. Cassian’s scent was almost overpowering, so potent that if she closed her eyes she might almost have been able to convince herself he was standing before her.
But her heart kicked in protest, like the mirage of him wasn’t enough.
Nesta trailed her fingers over those shirts, letting that cinnamon-and-leather scent wash over her, thinking of all the times she had unbuttoned those shirts, button by button, to reveal inch after inch of perfect golden-brown skin. She wished she could run her hands over him now, feel his heat sinking into her, chasing away the cold. She wished she could see that cocky smile, and hear his booming laugh, and—
Gods.
For her own damned sanity, she pushed the thought away.
Instead Nesta picked through that wardrobe in search of something else, until her hands found something softer, something older. Hanging towards the back, an old jumper that was oversized and soft brushed her skin, the colour a faded burgundy that might once have been bright. It was something Cassian wore only on the days where neither of them planned on leaving the House; those rare lazy days where they wouldn’t rise from bed until the sun was high in the sky, and even then, they wouldn’t make it far. It was the jumper he wore as Nesta lounged against his chest, turning the pages of her book as his fingers played with her hair.
Comfort.
That was what she wanted - needed - more than anything else. To be wrapped up in something soft, to drown in the scent of him that would have to carry her through two more days. If he couldn’t keep her warm himself, well, then this would have to do in his stead.
Nesta tugged the jumper from the hanger, relishing its weight and thickness in her fingers, and when she pulled it free of the wardrobe, she really didn’t know why she was surprised when, there, secured with a small pin, was another of his notes.
Are you missing me that much, princess?
Gods, he knew her like the back of his own damned hand.
She supposed Rhys hadn’t appointed him general for nothing, but Cassian had predicted her every movement, her every want and need. He had known, her mate had known, that Nesta would come here in search of something to bring her comfort. The bond between them seemed to shiver, and lightly she tugged on it— a quiet I love you in the only language they had left to them now.
Almost immediately, he tugged back.
Nesta removed the pin from the jumper and pulled it over her head. The sleeves were so big she had to roll them up thrice before her hands were free, but when she was entirely wrapped up in the scent of him, she looked back down at the note in her hand.
By the way, it said at the bottom, I love it when you wear my clothes. You have no idea how much I wish I could be the one keeping you warm but since I can’t… Promise me you’ll wear this again for me when I get home?
Nesta sighed softly, bittersweet. She missed him— more than anything, she missed him. She didn’t have the energy anymore to pretend she wasn’t counting down the hours until he was returned to her, and with nothing else left, Nesta made her way back to the library, taking his scent deep into her lungs and burying her fingers in the soft fabric of his jumper.
She tugged lightly on the bond as she went, just one more time.
And as she reached the doors of the library overlooking the city, it pulled back— a long, slow drag. Nesta didn’t need notes or Feyre’s gifts to know exactly what it meant, that protracted brush along the bridge between their souls. In no uncertain terms her mate was trying to say,
I miss you.
***
The duke threw up his hands in defeat, one hand fisting over his heart as though he had been driven half to madness. Clio felt her own heart thud, and as he took a step closer, she didn’t balk.
“Don’t you see how wild you drive me?” he demanded, all pretence of propriety vanished.
He was undone, a nobleman reduced almost to nothing, unravelling before her, and—
A low laughed echoed through the library.
Every sense Nesta possessed seemed to fail as she was startled out of her latest book, the world itself falling silent as that laugh swept across the back of her neck like the softest, most decadent of touches. Deep inside her chest, a match burst into flame.
“All the things I taught you, and yet still you’re oblivious to everything around you when you have your head stuck in a book.”
The honeyed voice sounded at her ear, right behind her, and though the words weren’t quiet, the tone was delectably soft, like velvet. It was a voice that seemed to sing to the deepest part of her, that resonated right through to her bones— and one she had sorely, sorely missed these past five days.
Her mate’s voice.
Nesta turned her head, wondering if she had finally gone mad or just started to hallucinate. But no— there he was, hands braced on the back of the sofa either side of her shoulders, powerful fingers curling in the cushions as he leaned into her space, lips parting in a lupine grin as his wind-tangled hair draped itself across his forehead.
“Cassian—“ Nesta started, blinking in surprise as her fingers grew slack, her book falling unnoticed into her lap. “You’re early! Nobody told me you were coming home today—“
His grin grew wider, sharper. For a moment Nesta was too stunned to move, blinking furiously as she stared into those glimmering hazel eyes. But when she recovered her senses enough to rise to her feet, Cassian’s palms came down firmly on her shoulders, pinning her in place.
“Surprise,” he whispered, lips against the shell of her ear.
Standing behind the sofa and leaning over the back of it to bury his face in her neck, Cassian didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. His hands drifted from her shoulders, tucking an errant piece of hair behind her ear before dragging it down the edge of her jaw to skim her collarbone, brushing the edge of her borrowed jumper, languid and lazy and entirely at ease. Her heart pounded as his hand brushed her ribs, and as her head fell back to rest against his chest, she felt the edge within her that had been made raw the past few days begin to heal, smoothing over with every pass of his hands across her skin.
“I missed you,” he murmured.
He smelled like snow and wind, the cold still clinging to his leathers. Nesta shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold she could feel radiating from him and seeping into her, even through the thick material of the jumper she’d stolen only a few hours ago.
She turned her head, his cheek brushing hers, and behind him, his wings twitched.
Cassian’s arms enveloped her, palms skating down the side of her arms until they reached her wrists, where the material of his jumper gathered and folded. Softly Cassian pressed a tender kiss to the skin of her neck, inhaling deeply as if, for the first time in days, he could breathe easily. He practically shuddered as he took in the scent of her— the scent of home, Nesta realised, because even though she hadn’t been the one away the past five days, it was only with Cassian returned to her that home felt like… well, home again. Like all was right in the world, balance restored.
Words escaped her, and she could barely think straight, but as his nose nudged her cheek Nesta let out a soft huff, one of endearment, and all she could say, with her lips brushing his ear was,
“Welcome home.”
He hummed, the sound low and suggestive, and gods— it made Nesta dizzy. His hands stretched until they covered her own, his palm coming to rest atop her knuckles. His fingers delved between hers, his grip tight, and suddenly she longed to feel his chest against her back rather than the cushions of the sofa.
But for the moment he seemed content to hold her like this, to take it in, like he’d been away for a decade.
The siphons atop their entwined hands glowed, and slowly - so slowly - Nesta pulled one hand free. Lifting it to his face she traced his cheekbone, trailing her touch across the bow of his lips as his eyes drifted closed. He groaned, his head tipping forward to fall at her shoulder once more, his lips kissing the curve of her neck— harder now, more insistent, like that lazy, cocksure posturing was a game he’d grown tied of playing.
Everything Nesta was narrowed on that— the lips at her neck, the bare skin he sought and found with lips and teeth.
Oh, she’d missed him.
She had always looked at her sister and Rhysand and wondered dryly how either of them could stand to be so interdependent. She’d always thought it ridiculous, how neither of them could function when the other was away. She could have laughed at the irony now, and might have, had she not been so distracted by the way Cassian’s teeth suddenly scraped over the skin at her collarbone, sending a jolt right down her spine, like lightning. It drew a gasp from her, her lungs starting to ache.
“Did you miss me, Nes?” Cassian whispered, and Nesta felt her toes curl, felt the air begin to thin.
“Not even a little bit,” she lied, and she felt him smile against her, lips curving against her neck.
“Liar.”
Nesta rolled her eyes. She was done with this— this game of cat and mouse, pretending they weren’t both mere seconds from unravelling entirely. Without second thought she cast aside the book that had fallen to her lap and broke free of Cassian’s hold, rising to her knees on the sofa cushions before pivoting, turning to face him fully.
For a moment amusement glittered in his hazel eyes, but Nesta watched as his gaze turned dark, the playful spark swallowed entirely by pure, ravenous want. His hands landed on her waist as hunger swept across that beautiful face, and Nesta wondered if a similar expression crossed her own face, if he could tell just by looking how desperate she was for him.
She didn’t bother to find out, and for once he didn’t tease her.
Nesta lurched forwards, grabbing her mate by the collar of his wind-chilled leathers and hauling him to her, the back of the sofa still sitting between them. Cassian groaned into her, his lips meeting hers at last, hands bunching in the fabric of his jumper as he gripped her waist hard enough to bruise.
Her lips parted, a breathless gasp leaving her as Cassian took everything she offered and gave it back to her tenfold, his hands drifting up her spine and palming the back of her neck before dragging along her jaw. His fingers slid into her hair, another groan leaving him as his hands grew tangled there, searching for pins to pull free.
His kiss was desperate, starving, and Nesta was no better, no more composed. She clawed at his back, rising higher on her knees as if it might bring him even closer. She was burning, every inch of her consumed by heat, and her heart was hammering so loudly it was a wonder it didn’t burst right out of her chest.
Some kind of whimper left her, a sound of absolute - mortifying - desperation, and Cassian’s lips curved against her own, his grin devolving into a rough laugh as he kissed her with abandon, lips dragging to the edge of her mouth, to her jaw, to any piece of her he could reach.
“Nes,” he murmured, lips pressed firmly against her skin.
Nesta’s eyes blinked open, dazed, as she pulled back just enough to find some air. A breath later, Cassian’s forehead dropped against hers, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as her own. He swallowed, pressing a final kiss to the tip of her nose before pulling back to study her face.
“I love you,” he said softly, hands dropping from her hair at last as he brushed a thumb across her cheek. “Have I told you that yet? Since I got home?”
Nesta laughed. “No, but you’ve been home for all of five minutes.”
He shrugged. “Hardly an excuse, since it’s all I’ve been thinking for the last five days.”
She rolled her eyes, but before she could answer - before she could tell him she loved him too - his eyes flicked down, catching on the Illyrian romance Nesta had left on the table. She’d finished it within a day, but hadn’t had the heart to shelve it once she was done, leaving it out so that she might run a finger down the spine every now and then— just to be reminded of how he’d thought about her enough to leave those little notes scattered throughout the House.
“You got my note, then?” he asked, eyes glinting.
Nesta nodded. “All seven.”
But Cassian’s smile turned wicked. “Only seven?”
He tsked as he pushed away entirely from the back of the sofa, rounding it with that easy, cocksure gait of his until he stood before her, one eyebrow raised. Nesta tilted her head.
“How many did you leave?”
His grin widened, throwing her a wink before he sank onto the cushions beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and bringing her to his side. She sank against him, melting into him. Irreverently he looked down at her, eyes gleaming with mischief.
He shook his head in answer, and using the arm he had wrapped around her shoulders, Cassian urged her down onto the cushions, until her back was flush against them. He winked again, leaning closer until his lips brushed hers so lightly it was almost a kind of madness. His hands were light as they trailed down her sides, a teasing touch that had her igniting all over again.
He didn’t answer her question, and Nesta huffed sharply even as her hands wandered into his hair, trailing through the strands he hadn’t tied up in his usual bun. Her thumb brushed the earring he wore in his left ear, his eyes fluttering closed as her dragged the tip of his nose along her jaw.
“Where,” Nesta demanded again. After all, she had looked everywhere. She was certain of it.
Cassian let out a laugh above her, one she felt rumble through her own chest. His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she had to fight to remember why she even cared about the notes, why she cared about anything other than him kissing her until she couldn’t breathe.
He shook his head again.
“Something for you to find the next time I’m away,” he murmured, and this time… Nesta let it lie.
She let out a hmph, but let her hands delve back into his hair, pulling him against her. His weight settled atop her, his forearms braced either side of her. His siphons pulsed, and she didn’t care that they were in the middle of the House library - that anyone could walk in and find them like this - she pulled his face down to hers, and when he kissed her this time…
Nesta let herself be lost in it entirely, all those little notes for the moment forgotten— the small ways he’d told her he loved her replaced now by his touch and the words he whispered in her ear.
And when, after some indeterminate and inexplicable length of time, he pulled his lips away from hers to let her breathe - when his mouth fell to her collarbone and began to drift lower - all Nesta could say was,
Title: The Art of Seducing Your Merman Husband
Relationship: Sathia Flynn/Tharion Ketos
Rating: E
Status: One-shot, ~3,800 words
Summary: When Sathia realizes that Tharion is purposely ignoring all of her attempts at seduction, she decides on Valentine's Day that the only way to finally get her husband in her bed is to make a gesture so obvious, that even a merman with one brain cell would figure it out.
For @sjmromanceweek Day 2 prompt Valentine’s Day Traditions. Thanks to @lucienarcheron for reading and giving me great feedback, especially for the ending. ;)
READ ON AO3
Excerpt
That’s what brought her to this moment. It was not only a Friday night, but to rub further salt in her wounds, Valentine’s Day. Instead of flowers and chocolates and going out to a nice restaurant, they both stayed late at work and Tharion brought tacos home for dinner. They watched Vanir Love on the sofa, to which Tharion had the audacity to crack a joke about how it was fitting for the holiday and could be their new tradition. As they retired for the night, Tharion decided to take a shower. As Sathia listened to the water turn on from the other side of the door, the weeks of trying and failing to seduce him all culminated in her gut. She needed to do something big. A grand gesture. Something so obvious that not even he could pretend he didn’t see.
So, she stripped off all of her clothes and opened the bathroom door.
With a fear of flying gripping her tight, Nesta just wants to be left alone to spiral in her panic - that is until a swaggering man holds her hand during take off.
The sweating had begun the second she reached the security line which was never a good sign. Nesta tried to act calm, tried not to keep glancing over her shoulders at the security agents as they scanned bags and bodies. Every damn time she made the machine bleep despite ensuring she had no metal on her, as if the machine knew she was panicking and wanted to enhance her worry. True to history, the machine went off and she stepped onto the painted feet for a guard to wave their wand over her. She didn’t know why she was so worried about the security part; Nesta wasn’t smuggling drugs.
Two hours of agony followed.
The duty-free shops didn’t hold her appeal although she’d toyed with buying alcohol to take the edge off things. She’d taken a Xanax already and mixing wouldn’t go well. A book. A new book to keep her occupied, that would do. She checked her gate, double checked it then triple checked it. Lurked near it way before it was boarding time with her new book clutched in her clammy hands. Nesta mentally catalogued her day. She’d watered the plants, Gwyn already had the spare key to water them when needed, she’d turned everything off, locked the door because she’d checked multiple times, had her travel documents on her phone and printed, had only taken hand luggage so it wouldn’t be lost. Everything would be fine. Of course it would be. She was a planner. But she couldn’t plan who was piloting the plane. Couldn’t plan the weather. Couldn’t plan if a freak bolt of lightning struck the plane and zapped them off the face of the earth. Nesta swigged down mouthfuls of sparkling water. She hated it but it made her burp and that alleviated her churning stomach.
When the agents called for boarding, Nesta was first in the queue. Priority boarding had been purchased so she could panic in her seat. Her legs trembled up the metal stairs to board the plane. Planes flew every day. Hundreds of them. All crisscrossing across the sky. And she’d be on the unlucky anomaly. Because of course she would. Nothing ever ran smoothly in her life.
With an eye mask on and a mindfulness podcast blaring in her ears, Nesta tried to block out the rest of the boarding. She was vaguely aware of bodies moving down the aisle or slipping into seats behind or in front of hers, the judder of chairs or slam of the overhead storage. When an elbow knocked into her to take the seat, she didn’t react, just kept listening to the soothing voice telling her to focus on her breathing.
Fingers tapped on her arm repeatedly until she peeled off her mask.
A man with dark-hair tugged into a loose bun at the nape of his neck was gesturing to her headphones. An air steward was watching, life jacket held aloft for the display. ‘Switch to airplane mode or turn off your devices for take off please.’
Nesta fumbled with her phone, hands trembling to change it. She listened to the safety warnings, terror soaking in.
‘Can we swap seats? I don’t want to look out of the window.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart, but I need to leg room in the aisle.’ The man gestured to his broad thighs and long, muscled legs.
Nesta knew well enough that if she even dreamed of closing the hatch on the window, a flight attendant would snap it back up so she could see just how high they were. Once the safety demo had finished, Nesta plugged back into her bubble. Her belt was on but what use was that against a plane crash?
As soon as she felt motion, Nesta was gripping her seat belt as if clinging onto it might save her. Her hands trembled, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth in her fear as the plane approached the runway.
Then a hand reached for hers. Calloused fingers slid against her own.
Nesta ripped her mask and headphones away in one fell swoop.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘You seemed nervous. Thought you’d want a hand to hold.’
The man’s hazel eyes fell to their hands, still entwined then Nesta yanked that away too.
And then the plane was barrelling along the runway, the force pinning her to her seat so she grasped for that hand again. He gave a low chuckle and cradled hers with both of his. Nesta screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to glimpse the moment they took flight or the way the land below would become more and more distant. At Emerie’s encouragement, she’d watched take offs on YouTube, had even tried to play a flight simulator but both of them had freaked her out just as much.
‘Is it just take off or landing too?’
Her words wouldn’t come out. The whole thing was traumatic. The only reason she was flying was because her sister was due to a drop a baby boy any day and Nesta had agreed to be there for the delivery and first couple of weeks of his life. Without a maternal figure, Feyre had decided that Nesta was the closest thing – ignoring the fact neither of them had a clue about babies.
‘What does that beeping mean?’ she hissed.
The man just brushed his thumb in a circle against the back of her hand. ‘It means we can take our seat belts off, sweetheart.’
Reluctantly, she forced open her eyes. People were already releasing their belts and heading to the bathroom. She had held her own urination on every flight. Only poor planners didn’t go before take-off. It would be just her luck that a plane would meet a fiery end whilst she was sat on the toilet.
He leaned over to slide the hatch down, hiding the outside world from view then his fingers headed towards her lap. Nesta was too stunned to react even as he undid her belt.
‘And what happens if this plane starts to plummet from the sky?’
‘I’m sure you can figure out how to put your belt back on,’ he replied, an easy grin on his face. At her terse look, he added, ‘Relax. This plane has never crashed before.’
Nesta busied herself with her book despite the undercurrent of fear threatening to drown her every time she thought too deeply about how the plane remained airborne. The man next to her read the in-flight magazine then began drumming on the fold-out table.
When the trolley of beverages was a few rows away, he turned to her. ‘What are you having?’
‘Nothing. If I drink, I will need the bathroom. I am not getting up or going there and tempting fate.’
He gave a bellow of a laugh. ‘You’ve thought of everything. You know if the plane crashes, it will make no difference if you’re sat by me or on the toilet.’
Her face must have paled because he added, ‘But it will fly safely to our destination.’
A handsome, swaggering smile was offered to the air stewardess when she approached. ‘Two coffees, chips, M&Ms and whatever drink has the most sugar.’
There was a veritable feast laid out in front of him, but a coffee was placed on the little table that he unfolded at her seat. The M&M pouch was torn open and shook in front of her face.
‘Go on, treat yourself.’
‘Do you just fly around the country and trap women in airline seats so they can’t get away?’
He ran a hand against his black hair. ‘Should I have gotten the peanut ones?’
Nesta took a few and tipped them into her mouth.
‘Careful, sweetheart, you don’t want to choke while the plane is crashing.’
‘You are not funny,’ she complained.
‘When they need to identify your body, what name will go with it?’
This time, she nearly did choke on her handful of M&Ms. ‘Are you serious? Is that how you’re asking my name?’
He spread out his hands, evidently pleased with that terrible line, awaiting her answer.
‘Nesta.’
‘Cassian.’
They chatted as the plane continued on its journey, drinking their coffee and eating his snacks. They shared the can of coke, her inhabitations well and truly lowered by the Xanax if she was willing to swap saliva and drink from the same can as a stranger. At the first signs of turbulence, Cassian was there to hold her hands and murmur embarrassing stories about his friends to stop fear paralysing her.
Once the cabin crew had swept through to collect the final few items of rubbish on the short flight, Nesta was clamming up again. She knew what was to follow.
‘Cabin crew, prepare for landing.’
Clouds streamed past the window, adding to the turbulence. Nesta was too scared to even reach for her mask which had fallen on the floor.
Cassian wound his fingers into hers. ‘I’ve got you, sweetheart. It will be okay.’
Every bump had her gritting her teeth so hard, it was a wonder that one of her molars didn’t crack. Cassian just kept talking in a low voice about inane topics to try and shave the edges off of her fear. His arm wound around her shoulders, forehead touching her temple, whilst his other hand still held hers.
‘This is the nicest first date I’ve ever had.’
That snapped something in her. ‘This is not a date.’
The nose of the plane dipped and her stomach lurched from the motion.
‘We’ve had coffee and snacks. We’re holding hands. You’ve shared your deepest fears of dying in a blazing crash. To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.’
Nesta ground out, ‘I hate the Smiths.’
‘Everybody does,’ he said.
With a bump that made her squeeze Cassian tighter, the plane landed. It sped down the runway and Nesta kept her eyes firmly shut for the entire duration until Cassian murmured that they had stopped.
‘You see, a safe flight after all.’
‘Fortune was cruel enough to put me next to you. A crash would have really tipped it over the edge.’
Cassian lifted her bag down for her, his black t-shirt rising to expose a strip of his taut muscled stomach. His own was a well-used duffle which he slung over his shoulder.
They walked together towards the airport building.
‘Do I get your number then?’
Nesta cocked a brow at his boldness. ‘Absolutely not. I’d rather be the one that got away.’
‘Every flight I’ll think of you, wondering if you’re stealing another man’s snacks.’
Nesta pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss as they parted into two different lines at security.
The man had to be mad, she decided as she passed through passport control. No sane man would just start holding a stranger’s hand – and she was an idiot for reciprocating that touch. But it did sting a bit that he’d accepted her refusal so easily. After how tactile and caring he’d been, she thought maybe Cassian would have pestered her again for her number or her socials. Whatever. His loss.
Her fear of flying meant that she’d sweated through her deodorant so she hurried into the bathroom to change her top, clean her arm pits with a baby wipe then slather on more deodorant to appear a little less dishevelled. Nesta spotted Cassian waiting at the baggage carousal for more belongings to come rolling around so she scurried past, avoiding his attention. Fantasy was more fun than reality. Maybe he’d be her one that got away.
After passing through anything to declare, Feyre was waiting for her. The huge belly wasn’t a surprise but it was still a shock to see her little sister so heavily pregnant.
‘Wow, look at you!’
‘I am peeing every ten minutes,’ she replied, holding up her belly.
‘Hi, Rhys.’
‘Nesta,’ he said, swooping to press a kiss on her cheek.
They’d met once. And it had been awkward as hell when Nesta realised he was eight years older than her. He wasn’t the sort of man she’d ever choose, but Feyre seemed happy. They were on “Christmas Card closeness” usually so Feyre’s call asking her to come and be close for the birth had meant a lot. Meant enough that she was willing to fly two days later.
‘Where’s the rest of your luggage?’
‘I had it sent ahead.’
Feyre patted Rhys on the arm. ‘Nesta hates flying. Everything is planned to an inch of its life. No detours, no unnecessary waiting. On the plane, off the plane.’
Even being in an airport, with its constant business, had Nesta itchy. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Do you want to head to the car, ladies? I’m worried about you standing for so long, darling.’
Feyre shook her head, golden hair cascading from the motion. ‘I’m fine. Cassian won’t take that long.’
‘Cassian?’
Nesta could practically hear the alarm bells ringing in her head.
‘My brother,’ said Rhys.
‘He works on an oil rig but he’s home for a couple of months now so you two can argue over who is the best uncle or auntie,’ teased Feyre.
There he was, striding through the doors, duffle bag slung over one shoulder while pushing a cart loaded with three more bags. His eyes snapped straight to her, a slow grin spreading over his face.
They said their greetings, Nesta and Cassian pretending that she hadn’t just been clinging to him in terror on the flight here then they fell into step together, walking slightly behind Rhysand and Feyre.
‘Fortune favours you,’ he murmured.
‘Did you know who I am?’
Cassian gave a hearty laugh that had Rhys glancing his shoulder at them. ‘Not at first. You looked familiar then you said your name and I realised you were Feyre’s sister.’
‘Lucky me,’ she grumbled.
With one hand pushing the trolley, he slung the other arm around her shoulders. ‘So, about that second date.’
I wrote most of this oneshot a year ago, and I never posted because it’s so sad, and also it’s the only time I fully trauma dumped on my fics. Anyway. Enjoy this thing that was based on one of the most pathetic days of my life lol
Warnings: none?
Words: 2,2k
The low lighting the uber had at night only called more attention to the cold, churning mess that was Aelin’s stomach. It was the lack of something to focus on when what she needs right now is sensory overload. The smell of alcohol, loud music, strobe lights.
Aelin wanted to focus on anything that wasn’t her destination—or who she’d meet there.
It was fine. She was fine.
It was Fenrys' birthday. The cheeriest of Aelin's cheery friends. Aelin definitely couldn't miss his birthday. Today was about Fenrys, and not the ex-boyfriend who was also invited.
But Aelin was fine. It wasn't a big deal. It’d been more than a month since they broke up, and Rowan even texted her asking if she’d be comfortable if he brought his new girl tonight.
How considerate of him.
But Aelin agreed, with no regrets. The only thing she regretted was merging her group of friends with her ex-boyfriend when they were dating. That was something she’d keep in mind for the next time she met someone.
Out of the car and in front of the bar, Aelin let the cool summer breeze wash her nerves away. He was probably in there already, always on time. She knew this would eventually happen when they broke up and decided to stay friends for the sake of the gang. There was no need for her to freak out—good thing she wasn't. And if she acted weirdly today, what would Rowan do a month from now?
The crowded place was booming with laughter and drunken yells, busy waiters running around the place, barely paying attention to the graceless group of friends singing Bohemian Rhapsody at karaoke.
A large hand gripped her waist, turning her towards the source, and Aelin met a smiling pair of onyx eyes.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
“Fen!” She hugged her friend and handed him his present, wishing him a happy birthday.
“Everyone’s at a big table back there, and…” Fenrys trailed, trying to read something on Aelin’s expression. Whatever words he was about to say died in his throat.
Aelin crossed her arms. “Spill.”
He shrugged. “You’re hotter than her.”
Lyria, he meant. And Aelin agreed, she was definitely hotter. It wasn’t hard to find Rowan’s new girl on Instagram after she commented a red heart on his last picture like a dog peeing on the comment section for territory. She found out about it even before he told her himself.
Aelin narrowed her eyes at Fen. “I’m over him.”
He shrugged. “Just thought you’d like to hear it.”
Her smirk was met with a similar one from Fenrys. He knows her too well.
Then Aelin shook her head, chastising herself for such thoughts. She was the one to end things, due to her… distressing circumstances. She had no right to shame Rowan for settling for a less hot person.
It’s not like she cared, anyway.
Stepping onto the back of the bar, Aelin quickly spotted the table and greeted everyone—including the lovebirds.
Rowan was stiff like a robot, and Lyria was polite. Bland. Guess he lied when he said he liked Aelin’s fiery personality and the way they clashed, since his new girlfriend is the total opposite. He’d probably still be his dutiful self to her in a month, and Aelin would be in Suria with rows of men—or vodka, most likely—lying at her feet.
She sat beside Elide and ordered a non-alcoholic beer—the doctor had cleared her to drink alcohol with moderation by now, but she didn’t want to risk it. Connall decided to restart whatever work gossip he was telling to keep Aelin in the loop.
She was paying attention, or at least she was trying to, but—why did Rowan shave off his beard? God, she loved his jawline. How it looked so firm by far, but felt so soft under her lips and teeth. Aelin could still remember how his beard tickled against her skin when he decided to grow it, or even better, the feeling of it against her thighs when he--
"Ace, are you alright?" Elide whispered in her ear, "You look a little lost."
Aelin blinked, trying to focus on her friends. Apart from Ellie, no one noticed she'd zoned out. Looking back at her friend, Aelin nodded, a small smile on her lips.
Her friend arched one eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
Rolling her eyes, Aelin chuckled. "Of course."
Looking back at everyone, she caught Rowan’s eyes on her. Busted, the only thing left for him to do was send her a small, close-lipped smile and tip his head to the Heineken 0.0% she clutched. Aelin raised it and took a long swig, letting the bitter beverage go down throat, the feeling so close to the real thing.
He feels proud of her growth. Not a big deal when he keeps a perky brunette under his arm.
But she knew this feeling was just an initial clash of their lives apart. Aelin was fine, she truly was. Her feelings towards Rowan would never be the same she had to a regular friend, because the nature of their memories together was different. Erasing their history was impossible, so it was either fully leave or learn how to live in the shadows of what they used to be.
This hollowness she felt in her chest was just an initial shock, an adjustment. Aelin wasn't the only person in the world to lose the love of her life, and some of them even did great after that, with their second-best significant ones.
No one can keep every good thing that happens in their life forever. Even if said good best thing is right there, standing in front of you.
Actually, she was wrong. Aelin did keep Rowan in her life. As a friend. Which was enough, and just what she needed.
“…Right, Ace?”
Aelin blinked, being dragged out of her thoughts back into the conversation. “Excuse me?”
Elide sighed. “The birthday cake, Fenrys got it from Emrys’. Isn’t that the place you recommended to him?”
“Oh.” Aelin blinked. “Yes. Absolutely, yes. They’re the best.”
Ellie gave her a quick look that was hard to decipher, but maybe it was time for Aelin to pay attention.
And pay attention she did. She leaned on the table and held her chin under her palm. Turns out the owners of Emrys’ are regulars at the motel Fenrys works at. Disgusting news to hear, and Connall agreed with her unshared thoughts. Fenrys accused his brother of being homophobic, since they’re talking about a gay couple. Connall retorted, saying that he can’t be homophobic if he’s gay, and it’s not prejudice if he hates everyone equally.
The twins bickered on and on. Rowan watched them as if it was a tennis match, with undiluted attention, while Lyria seemed endlessly amused by it.
Aelin wished she had stayed home.
But she came here for Fenrys, and for Fenrys she stayed. And stayed and stayed and stayed until that fucking song started playing. For Mala’s sake, today was not her day.
Aelin looked around, trying not to be too obvious that she was looking at them. Trying not to look too much or too little.
He's got a one-hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on my heart.
Rowan took Lyria's hand and held it against his chest.
Just like he used to do with her.
Aelin swallowed, her chest shrinking. She was going to be sick.
She excused herself and got up, walking to another section of the bar near the restrooms where she couldn't be seen from the table, and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.
Breathe in.
She could still feel the shape of Rowan’s lips against hers.
Breathe out.
She could still feel the weight of his body above hers.
Breathe in.
She could still feel his calloused hands caressing her bare back in bed.
Breathe out.
Her heart was beating just as much as on the day she finally got the courage to cuddle him after sex, almost two years ago. When she first rested her head on the crook of his neck, Aelin scented her favorite version of Rowan’s smell because it was completely ingrained with hers. And she did it again. And again. And again. Her hand could trace the shape of him even that long after the last time they were together. She hated how much she'd cling to those small details, and she hated even more that she cared about this. Because she did. Aelin would barely admit it to herself, but of course she did.
She took a deep breath, ignored her quivering stomach and schooled herself, walking to the bar's counter.
The man next to her leaned on the counter so much he was half laid in it, but he still managed to turn his piercing blue eyes at Aelin and smile.
"Can’t find a bartender," he complained, his speech slurred. "I need a beer."
Aelin chuckled, leaning her forearms on the surface too. "And I need water."
He raised his head a little. "I'm Dorian."
"Aelin." She looked at him up and down, from the fumbled hair to the rumpled clothes and untied shoes. “Are you sure the bartenders aren’t bartending you on purpose?”
“I’m sure they are.”
“Huh.” Aelin scanned the liquor selection, tempted. She really was doing better with this new medication, and Dr. Hafiza cleared her for an occasional drink. She could definitely use a drink now. Instead, she tilted her head at Dorian and said, “Did you lose a puppy or something? Or this is just your usual Friday night?”
He ran a hand through his hair and grinned at her, so confident it reminded her of Fenrys. "My answer depends on whether you're giving me your number or not."
Aelin snorted. She thought of how satisfying it would be to watch Rowan watch her leave the bar with someone else, but a drunk wouldn't do. Besides, this wasn't a competition. Aelin had already lost.
"Not a chance. Spill."
He sighed and slumped again on the countertop, hitting his head against it.
"My situationship doesn't see me as dating material."
Aelin grimaced. "That sucks"
He waved a hand, dismissing her pity. "You?"
Her mind went back to a year ago, how he stood by her side, red-rimmed green eyes when Aelin became a shell of herself. How his anxiety skyrocketed when hers did too. How well he was doing now that she wasn't his problem anymore.
A bitter chuckle left her lips. "My sadness is contagious."
Dorian rolled his eyes. “I just bared my soul to you, and this is what you tell me?”
“You did not!”
“I’m gonna get another drink if you don’t entertain me.”
“Is this a threat?”
“Absolutely, yes.”
Aelin sighed, looking up while she gathered her thoughts. “I broke up with my boyfriend.”
“Obviously.”
“Because I was bringing him down. No drama. We decided to not break up our group of friends.”
“No drama, you said?”
“He’s with his new girlfriend at the back of the bar and all my friends are schmoozing with her now.”
“I sense drama.”
“And we have a trip booked for next month we didn’t discuss.”
“Paid it all before the breakup, huh?”
Aelin nodded and ordered two waters before they traded stories about their pathetic love lives. She didn’t know how long they stayed there, neither if she liked Dorian or just this escape from the table from hell, but being here was a respite.
They were about six Tinder horror stories in when a hand landed on Aelin’s shoulder, making her jump, heart racing with surprise.
Rowan stood beside her with his trademark frown. “It’s been a while since you left the table.”
“Yup.” What was she supposed to say?
He jutted his chin towards Dorian. “Is he bothering you?”
“Not at all.” She squared her shoulders, trying to find a light way to describe their pity party. “This is Dorian. I’m getting funny dating stories out of him before I call an uber and send him back to his world of heartless women and tawdry men.”
“I see,” he trailed, eyes trained on them, and took a step back. “Okay. I have to go back there, but if you—“
“I know.” She waved him off. He needed to be at the table and be a good boyfriend to someone else, she got it.
Aelin was fully aware that her mind was going on a petty path, but she couldn’t help it. Yes, Lyria was nice. Yes, Lyria had been nothing but polite to her the entire night. The only problem was that Lyria was dating the wrong person. Or the perfect one, if Aelin wanted to address her issues more directly.
She banged her head against the disgusting counter, resting there to contemplate this rare moment of self-pity.
Aelin dug her own grave.
Dorian had his eyebrows raised. “Damn, he’s hot.”
“And thoughtful.”
“I wasn’t thinking about his thoughtfulness when he murdered me with his eyes.”
“He did not.”
“He did. And you know why.”
“I do not.” Aelin sipped her water. “Anyway, what happened to the guy who was cheating on his wife with you?”
Dorian’s eyes sparkled with the memory of this unfinished divorce story, and she was thankful to get the spotlight of the conversation away from her.
Unlike Aelin, Rowan had his shit together and was happy. She wouldn't—actually, she couldn't—disturb this little peace he found after she cut him off.
Her selfishness only went so far.
Read part 2 here
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