inkedstarlight

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Sixteen

Summary: The Inner Circle visits Rita's Bar when Nesta is working. Worlds collide. Read it here on AO3!  Bittersweet Masterlist

March

Left, right, right, left.

Cool sweat perspired from every pore, her labored breathing drowning out every other noise in the gymnasium.

Jab. Feign. Jab. Lead kick.

She’d been here for almost two hours, but her motions were still sloppy, robotic. She was doing something wrong. Frustration powered her movements.

Lead kick. Jab. Jab. Uppercut.

The burning muscles in Nesta’s body screamed at her to stop. They had been for the past half-hour. It was the longest workout she’d done since she’d begun practicing on a regular basis last week, and her bones rattled with every exertion.  

Giving the punching bag one last resounding hit, Nesta stumbled back to rip off the grimy, moist gloves the gym lent out and grabbed her water bottle, all the while gasping for air. Taking inventory of the room, she noticed there were only six other people working out. It was nearing eleven at night; Illyria closed in an hour.

After a little research on Illyria’s website, Nesta gleaned that Cassian worked late hours only on Mondays and Wednesdays. During the rest of the week, his latest class ended at 7pm, making the evening hours perfect for Nesta to get a workout in without running into him. After the class she and Emerie had gone to, she’d decided that she wanted to continue kickboxing, but the last thing she wanted was to see Cassian upwards of three times a week. Illyria was the nearest gym to her apartment, and their prices weren’t completely outrageous like most in the area. Colorado was fucking expensive.

And so, she’d been going to Illyria four days a week to no one’s knowledge, not even Emerie. The few times her friend had asked her if she wanted to attend another self-defense class, Nesta was quick to come up with excuses. If Emerie knew Nesta was practicing on her own – was going out of her way to avoid Cassian – she would give her so much shit.

But for once in her life, it felt like Nesta finally had something that was hers. A couple hours a week where she enjoyed something other than reading a trashy romance novel in bed or making fun of customers with Emerie and Helion, the latter of whom had won that ridiculous tip competition. Nesta ended up in dead last, to no one’s surprise. Now, every night, an unhealthy mix of Lady Gaga, the Dixie Chicks, and Harry Styles played on the overhead speakers at Rita’s. Emerie was still sore about the loss.

Kickboxing brought her peace of mind. With all her thoughts focused solely on the heavy punching bag in front of her, there was no space for darkness or anger or loneliness. Just her body moving to a rhythm only her ears could hear.

Yanking out her earbuds, she began winding down when she spotted Gwyn stretching on the mats just several feet away.

After their one (and only) kickboxing class with Cassian, Emerie and Nesta had grabbed coffee with Gwyn the following Thursday. Once they got over the initial awkwardness of getting to know each other, the three ended up chatting until the worker had to kick them out at closing time. Their conversations were lighthearted and fun, but Nesta couldn’t help but notice the lurking darkness in Gwyn’s striking eyes when she thought no one was looking. It reminded Nesta of herself, of Emerie.

They’d only gotten together only once after the fact to grab lunch, though the group chat Gwyn had created was always dinging with new messages. Funnily enough, Gwyn shared Emerie and Nesta’s dry sarcasm and by the end of the meal, they all wore happy smiles.

“Gwyn!” Nesta uncharacteristically called out to her new friend.

The redheaded beauty looked over her shoulder to where Nesta was now approaching, pleasant surprise etched on her face. Guilt stabbed at Nesta’s chest. I need to make more of an effort.

“Nesta, hi!” Gwyn got to her feet with a smile. She noticed the punching bags Nesta had just come from. “Are you kickboxing?”

“I’ve been practicing a bit,” Nesta admitted.

Gwyn pursed her lips in thought. “I haven’t seen you at Cassian’s classes.”

Nesta, unable to come up with any sort of response, let out an awkward laugh. Gwyn raised a brow, but she didn’t prod further, thank the Gods.

“I’ve actually been meaning to text you guys,” Gwyn said hesitantly, worrying her bottom lip. “I was thinking one of these nights we could make drinks and watch a movie or something at my place? Only if you want to,” she added quickly.

Nesta’s body went rigid. She wasn’t the type of person to do “girls’ night,” and she would wager that Emerie felt the same. Neither of them was good at the whole let’s-drink-margaritas-and-gab-for-hours kind of situations. Nesta hadn’t ever experienced something like that, and it felt silly to do so at her age. Women like Gwyn weren’t friends with people like Nesta, the former far too sweet to be corrupted by Nesta’s ugly past. And sure, Emerie knew about Tomas, but Nesta kept the rest locked away. The thought of getting even closer with these women… it was terrifying.

At the same time, something inside her lit up at Gwyn’s words. A part of her wanted to get drunk off tequila and talk about stupid shit and ogle over hot actors in a movie. She’d never yearned for a friendship quite like that but after meeting both Gwyn and Emerie, it felt like a real possibility.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Nesta found herself saying.

*                      *                      *

“For the love of God, Helion, save all of our ears and turn this shit off,” Emerie groaned in exasperation, the Dixie Chick’s “Cowboy Take Me Away” playing for the fifth time that evening.

“Oh, come on, Em,” Helion stretched his arms out and gestured to the other side of the bar, “they love it!”

Indeed, the patrons more than happy for a reprise as they howled the chorus that’d been stuck in Nesta’s head since she clocked in. Gods-damn that stupid competition.

Emerie groaned, dropping her elbows to the bar top, and burying her head in her arms. “How much longer must we endure this torture?”

Helion checked his bare wrist. “Only two weeks until the competition starts back up.”

Emerie lifted her head if only to point a finger at Nesta. “You better step up your game when those two weeks roll around. Gods know Thesan is too shy and Viviane is too busy eye-fucking a certain firefighter to pay attention to her surroundings.”

“Hey!” Dishes clattered in the sink as Viviane’s voice called out from the kitchen where she was doing dishes. Emerie shot Nesta a toothy grin at the sound of short-strided footsteps that got louder and louder until Viviane was standing before them, arms crossed over her chest, her platinum hair tied in a messy knot.

“Kallias and I are just friends,” she huffed, her chin raising high. Emerie, Nesta, and Helion all gave her flat looks.

“Of course,” Emerie purred. “Thank you so much for coming all the way over here to let us know –”

Emerie’s words were cut off by a wet towel being thrown at her head. She ducked just in time, the towel landing on the floor behind her with a splat.  

Viviane crossed her arms, eyes triumphant. “And I pay attention to my surroundings just fine, thank you very much.”

With a swivel of her heel, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Can you believe her?” Helion whisper-shouted, ever the gossip. He playfully tugged on the bottom of Nesta’s ponytail. “She’s totally in love with him.”

Emerie nodded her agreement emphatically. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Helion opened his mouth to say more when a voice cut him off.

“Nesta!” Elain’s all-too-familiar voice called from behind. Nesta looked up from the negroni she was making only to wish she could disappear.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

Standing near a vacant table stood an excited Elain, the rest of Feyre’s little circle surrounding her. Feyre gave a small wave, Rhysand lifting his violet eyes to look at her before pulling out a seat for the former to sit. Azriel was holding Elain’s hand, tugging her toward the booth seats. Amren wiggled her fingers playfully, her dark hair swishing lavishly on the top of her bare shoulders.

When Nesta’s eyes finally met Cassian’s, and he was staring intensely at her before sliding his gaze behind her shoulder where Helion stood closely behind her. When he returned his attention to her, she swore his eyes had darkened. She clenched her fist behind the bar.

“Who is that guy?” Helion asked, promptly Nesta to turn around. He subtly nodded his chin at Cassian.

“That would be my youngest sister’s friend.”

“Well, I think he wants to kill me.”

“It’s likely,” Emerie chimed in. “He has the hots for Nesta.”

“Emerie!” Nesta hissed. She spared a glance over her shoulder to make sure no one heard. Cassian was talking with Elain and Azriel. She blew out a sigh.

“Oh-ho, is that right?” Helion straightened with renewed interest, mischief coating his every word.

“No, it is not right. Emerie is delusional.” Nesta shot her friend a look that said, I’m going to cut you.

“Whatever you say, princess,” Helion cooed, brushing her hip with his fingertips, his hand lingering just a couple seconds too long as he walked past her.

Ever since Nesta thanked Helion for his help and discretion after Tomas paid her a visit at Rita’s, they’d fallen into a comfortable friendship. Strangely enough, Helion was one of the few people Nesta allowed to touch her. He was a physically affectionate person by nature, and Nesta had allowed him to hug her on more than one occasion. It helped that they mutually knew their friendship was strictly platonic.

Glancing at the table again, Nesta noticed that Cassian’s eyes burned a hole into the exact spot Helion touched her.

“Look how jealous he is,” Helion chuckled next to Nesta as she slid the negroni across the bar to a customer. He leaned closer to her ear as he whispered, “What do you say we have a little fun? I bet he looks hot when he rages.”

Both Nesta and Emerie spoke at the same time.

“Don’t you dare –”

“Oh my gods, do it –”

Helion doubled over in a fit of laughter, Emerie howling along with him.

“Would you two grow the fuck up?” she seethed, resulting in another round of laughter from her coworkers.

She turned away from their idiotic tactics to see Amren approach the bar, heels clicking loudly on the linoleum floor. A perpetual smirk played on her darkly lined lips.

“I was going to give you a heads up,” Amren gestured to the table behind her with a grimace, “but your endearing sister insisted it be a surprise.”

She was no doubt referring to Elain. Nesta heaved out a sigh. “It’s fine. I’m just surprised… everyone came.”

Amren shrugged. “We were all feeling restless and sober. Cassian mentioned we hadn’t been to Rita’s in a long time – we used to come here almost every weekend – and Elain was instantly sold on the idea.”

There was no way in hell that Cassian didn’t know Nesta worked there. Whenever they saw each other, he usually asked how work was going. She contemplated that for a moment, cold annoyance warring against warm pleasure. Gods, she was being ridiculous.

“Who’s this?”

Nesta looked up to see Emerie pointing at Amren. The woman had no manners.

Nesta sighed and gave a lazy introduction. “Emerie, this is Amren. Amren, this is Emerie. You both like emo music and making my life a living hell.”

The twin grins the women gave each other was enough to send a shiver down Nesta’s spine. Nesta went back to the drink she was pouring as they talked for a couple minutes before Amren excused herself back to the table.

“Aren’t you going to order drinks?” Nesta called after her.

Amren turned with a mischievous grin. “I was actually hoping you’d come to us. How do you expect me to order for six people?” Her grin turned into a fake pout that Nesta wanted to rip off. She knew what Amren was doing.

A couple of customers had walked in and sat at the bar while Nesta was talking with Amren, so she took care of them before going out on the floor. She and Helion tag-teamed it – Emerie had gone on her break – all the while the latter stood close and touched her the entire time. She knew she should put a stop to it; it was ridiculous to play games like this. But she secretly liked the idea of Cassian paying attention to her, getting jealous of another man.

When the rush died down and Helion could handle the bar on his own, Nesta crossed the floor and approached the table where everyone sat, nerves hurting her stomach.

“Hey, what’s up?” Everyone looked up as she greeted them. They all smiled back at her, some more than others.

“We thought we’d visit you at work!” Elain exclaimed with the clap of her hands. She looked Nesta up and down. “I’ve never realized how good you look in that uniform; you’re always rushing out the door. I bet you get hit on a lot.”

Nesta flashed her sister an uncomfortable smile as everyone watched. “Heh, something like that.”

“Who’s that guy at the bar, your coworker? He’s cute,” Feyre cut in. Gods, what was with these people and their obsession with her love life? They had a single-track mind.

Nesta couldn’t help noticing however, the way that Cassian visibly tensed in response to both Elain and Feyre’s comments. She would never admit it, but a part of her reveled in his reaction.

“Yeah, that’s Helion. We’re just friends.”

“I didn’t realize friends touch each other like that.” Cassian’s voice was like gravel as everyone turned to look at him with surprise.

“What’s it to you?” Nesta glared down at him.

He met her stare with more bravery than most men who were unlucky enough to witness her wrath.

“Um, do you think you can make me a strawberry mojito?” Elain’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. Nesta turned to look at her sister whose eyes were darting between Nesta and Cassian.

Nesta plastered a smile on her face. “Of course, Elain. Anyone else?”

“Jack and coke,” Cassian rumbled. Clearing his throat, he added, “please.”

Nesta struggled to focus as everyone gave her their drink order. She felt Cassian’s eyes on her the entire time, but she refused to acknowledge his attention.

*                      *                      *

The rest of the night flew by in a blurred episode of making drinks and entertaining customers. Nesta’s feet were aching from all the running around, and her cheeks hurt from fake smiling. On the bright side, Helion had taken pity on Nesta and Emerie, and he switched up the music to a hypnotic R&B mix. He then convinced them to take a shot, which then turned into two and then three. More than once, Nesta caught herself swaying her hips to the beat.

Meanwhile, Elain and the rest of the crew comfortably remained at their table, ordering more rounds of drinks every so often. They’d been there for almost three hours, and it was clear they were all quite tipsy. It was Elain’s cheeks that gave her away; her face grew flushed when she consumed alcohol due to a mild allergic reaction. And right now, those smooth cheeks glowed red under the dim lighting of the bar. Feyre also had an easy tell; she broke out in uncharacteristic giggles when she drank.

Nearly every time Nesta glanced in their direction, Cassian was already watching her. He’d steadily been drinking jack and cokes. Nesta would guess he’d had about four so far, but he remained composed. Except for his eyes. They simmered with enigmatic interest.

It was nearly one in the morning; Rita’s closed at two. Helion’s shift ended at midnight, so it was just Emerie and Nesta tending the bar. The former was clearing a couple empty tables when Cassian gracefully slipped into the barstool directly in front of Nesta. She looked up from the glass she was drying to meet his intense gaze, a strange sense of déjà vu hitting her in the middle of her chest. His dark eyes were blurry and hooded with alcohol. It was a good look for him. Gods, she forgot how much room he took up.

“Jack and coke?”

Unblinking, Cassian swallowed roughly and nodded at her.

Nesta turned her back to him to grab the handle of Jack Daniels, using the moment of reprieve to exhale the air she was holding in. Stop freaking out. It’s just Cassian. Willing herself to recompose, Nesta managed to face Cassian once again, easily finishing his drink and sliding it across the granite counter between them.

“Having fun?” She gestured to his friends, all of whom hadn’t seemed to notice Cassian had even left the table.

Cassian brought the glass to his full lips, taking two large swallows which amounted to just a little less than half the drink. Nesta watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulped, the columns of his neck tanned and thick.

Tanned and thick? Gods, I blame those fucking shots Helion shoved into my hands.

Cassian shrugged in response to Nesta’s poor attempt at making conversation. “I love my family, but sometimes big groups like that are… I don’t know.”

“Draining?” Nesta suggested.

“Precisely,” Cassian agreed. He rested his arms on the bar and leaned forward. “More importantly, are you having fun?”

“Living the dream.”

That got a smile out of him. The knot in Nesta’s stomach unraveled slightly.

“Can I at least buy you a drink?”

“You going to make it yourself?”

Cassian didn’t miss a beat. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

“Anything?” Nesta put her arms on the bar, leaning her hip on the bar so she was eye-level with Cassian. She knew the angle pushed her tits together, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. In fact, she found herself wanting to. “That’s tempting.”

“Tempting,” Cassian murmured the word, his eyes unabashedly running down her neck, not quite dipping below the dangerously low neckline of her shirt. He met her gaze once again, and that’s when Nesta realized how close their faces were from each other.

“You know I work here,” Nesta whispered loud enough for only him to hear before she could even think about what she was saying.

“And?”

A gulp. “You know I work at Rita’s, and you were the one to suggest coming here tonight.”

Cassian’s full lips tilted into a smirk. “Ask me what you really want to know, Nesta.”

Nesta couldn’t bring herself to ask him. Her throat burned with the desire to let the words out.

“Maybe I’m not as transparent as I thought.” Cassian shook his head with a chuckle after several beats of silence.

He pulled away from her and stood, throwing down a fifty dollar bill, but not before reaching between them and brushing a strand of hair behind Nesta’s ear. He looked down at her with an intense look. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Nesta was still leaning into the ghost of Cassian’s touch long after he’d left.

------------

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[inkedstarlight]

Elain Archeron and her warrior boyfriend

🎨: jemlin_c & prettygalpins

[inkedstarlight]

Aelin and Rowan - Throne of Glass

Artist: @knightfallart

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter 15

Summary: It's Elain's birthday, and the whole gang is celebrating at her and Nesta's apartment. Nesta and Cassian bond. Read it here on AO3! Warnings: mentions of previous self-harm Bittersweet Masterlist

Just one more tattoo, and it would be done. It was a small area, too. Nothing that would cost too much. The Gods only knew how much Nesta had spent on tattoos since the age of eighteen.

The first one – she’d gotten it a week after her eighteenth birthday – was inked on her right forearm. The snake coiled from just beneath the crease of her arm, all the way down to her wrist. Flames accented its scales, its tongue out in a deadly hiss. It was heavily shaded; all of them were. That was the point.

When she began self-harming at twelve years old, Nesta knew it would leave irrevocable scars. Why would she care, though? At that point in her life, she didn’t think she’d make it past high school. Marred skin was the least of her worries.

But then she survived through middle school. And high school and college and now here she was as a graduate student, still very much alive, with countless scars to show for it.

Except they didn’t show. She’d spent thousands of dollars, countless of hours in uncomfortable chairs, to make sure of it. The bumpy texture would never completely disappear, but with the power of ink and art, the pinkish-brown marks did. Despite the persistent voice inside her that’d always told her she deserved it, Nesta regretted what she’d done to her body. She spent years hiding under long-sleeved shirts in ninety degree weather, years of avoiding the beach, of privatizing every part of her body, to keep her secret safe. Up until that horrible day, the day she’d never forget no matter how much she tried.

Nesta had a full sleeve on her left arm, a couple large tattoos on her right, and both her thighs were covered as well. All of them were darkly shaded; a far stretch from the delicate fine lines that inked Feyre’s arm and hand. There were just two scars that remained uncovered on her right bicep, discreet enough that most people didn’t notice, visible enough that she did. She didn’t quite know what to put there yet, but she was determined to get it done soon.

Nesta sighed, turning away from the mirror. The clock blinked two o’clock in the afternoon. The sun glared off the snowy ground and into her window, and Minx was enjoying himself in the sunspots on her bed. She needed to start preparing for tonight. It was Elain’s birthday, and she’d insisted that she and Nesta host the party at their apartment, much to Nesta’s dismay. Elain felt bad they hadn’t yet hosted a potluck, and this was her remedy, the gods-damn angel.

Nesta looked around her room. Her closet was spilling out with oversized sweaters, her many pairs of shoes were scattered around the floor, her bed was atrociously unmade. Tomorrow, she told herself. She’d clean it up tomorrow. It wasn’t like the party would be in her room.

With that settled, Nesta stalked out of her room toward the kitchen.

She only made it a few feet before stopping short.

Oh, hell no.

“Elain, what are you doing?”

Her sister turned around to face Nesta, cake batter on her nose, cheeks flushed pink. She looked guilty. As she should.

Nesta took in the scene and let out a strangled groan, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “Tell me you’re not making your own fucking birthday cake.”

Elain’s lips formed an O. “I’m… not making my own birthday cake?” It came out as a question.

Nesta stifled the urge to stomp her foot like a child on the tiled floor. “What did we tell you?”

Elain looked down at her pink-polished toes. “You got it taken care of.”

“Yes. We got it all taken care of. You’re not supposed to lift a finger for this celebration.”

“But⸻”

“But nothing, okay? Let us do something nice for you.”

Elain nodded reluctantly before looking back at the bowl of cake batter on the counter before glancing back at Nesta with concern. “So, are you going to make the cake…?”

Nesta heard the skepticism in her sister’s voice. She puffed out her chest in a challenge. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“But Nesta,” Elain bit her lip, her voice lowering to a whisper. “You can’t really cook.”

Nesta opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out because Elain was right. She couldn’t cook for shit. Thanksgiving proved that to everyone.

“Please just let me make it,” Elain pleaded with those irresistible puppy eyes. “I already started; there’s no point in wasting the batter.”

Nesta eyed her.

“C’mon, you know I’ll enjoy baking it,” Elain teased with a wide grin. She wiggled her eyebrows. “And you’ll enjoy eating it even more.”

“Okay, okay,” Nesta conceded. Even she couldn’t argue with that.

*                      *                      *

Three hours later, the apartment was shining with glittery décor, the smell of freshly baked cake wafting in every room. Elain was just finishing getting ready in her room, Nesta lighting some mood candles, when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Elain bounced out of her room excitedly, smacking a big kiss on Nesta’s cheek as she passed her to get to the door.

Elain was wearing a beautiful pink sundress that fell just below her knee, a generous slit on the left side showing off her cream-colored thigh. Her golden hair tumbled down her shoulders, butterfly clips framing her face perfectly. She’d applied a light layer of rosy blush, her lips shining with gloss.

Azriel was damn near going to shit himself when he saw her.

“Elain,” Nesta called out quietly before her sister could open the door. Elain turned back to face her.

“You’re beautiful.”

Elain beamed, making Nesta’s heart squeeze. “Look in the mirror.”

Nesta gave her a small smile in return. Elain had miraculously convinced her to wear a dress. When she saw the dusty sage material hanging in the back of Nesta’s closet just an hour ago, she squealed in delight and asked Nesta to try it on for her. And because Nesta couldn’t say no to her sister on her birthday, she agreed. When she put it on, Elain had tears in her eyes.

And now, here she was. The silky fabric hugged her hips, helping to hide the weight she’d lost. For once, her wavy hair wasn’t pulled back into a ponytail. The golden-brown locks flowed freely, complementing the color of her dress. As she faced the foyer in the kitchen, Nesta was starting to regret the whole thing while Elain greeted everyone at the door.

The urge to bolt back to her room and change was overwhelming, but a familiar, raspy voice called out her name before she could escape.

Amren was waltzing to her in a velvet dress, a look of bemusement on her perfectly made-up face. She stopped in front of Nesta and let out a low whistle.

“Have you really been hiding this,” she nodded to Nesta’s dress – or more accurately, her body – “from me this whole time?”

“Hello to you, too.” Nesta could only chuckle awkwardly and wave away the compliment, turning the attention back to her friend. “Where have you been?” She hadn’t seen Amren in what felt like weeks.

Amren crossed her arms with a quirk of her eyebrow. “Where have I been? You haven’t come to one of the potlucks since New Year’s Eve.”

Nesta cringed inwardly. She’d been avoiding those ever since the night Tomas came into Rita’s. After the incident, she’d thrown herself into work, picking up stray shifts whenever she could.

“Sorry, I got a new best friend.”

Amren gasped in mock horror. “You didn’t.”

“She listens to Bring Me the Horizon,” Nesta offered.

“And she’s not here, why?”

“Stop by Rita’s next Friday; I’ll introduce you.”

Amren gave her a look. “I’m holding you to that.”

While they’d been talking, everyone had slowly trickled through the foyer. Nesta spotted Elain in the kitchen holding a bouquet of flowers in her hands, beaming at Azriel, who was looking down at her like she was the sun. One of his hands reached the small amount of space between them to stroke her cheek, which was now flaming red. Giving them some privacy, Nesta looked away, only to find herself face-to-face with Cassian.

He was holding a half-empty beer in his hands – Gods, he’d just gotten here – as he peered down at her. He wore a dark Henley shirt; two buttons popped open like he’d gotten ready in a rush. His hair was pulled back into a low bun, a couple flyaway strands framing his perfectly structured face. It was infuriating how good he managed to look all the damn time.

And the way he was looking at her… Nesta cursed the flush that ran down her neck as Cassian raked his eyes up and down her body, hugging every curve. His gaze caught on her unbound hair, and Nesta took a small delight in the way his nostrils flared. She swore his hand clenched tighter around the beer bottle.

When their eyes met, though, the heat morphed into a lazy swagger so quickly that Nesta wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.

“Don’t look too excited, sweetheart,” he greeted her, sweet arrogance coating his every word. “I know seeing me makes your day.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she threw back at him dryly. “I would hate for you to think I don’t worship the ground you walk on.”

The bastard clutched his poor, empty heart. “My love language has always been words of affirmation. How ever did you know?”

“Oh, Feyre didn’t tell you?” Nesta feigned shock before her lips curved into a cruel smile. “I can smell when a man is insecure with his masculinity.”

Cassian’s lips pressed together in poorly concealed amusement. It was then that Nesta realized Amren was still there, her eyes bouncing between them like she was watching a tennis match.

“As entertaining as this is,” Amren interrupted their back-and-forth with a smirk, “I’m going to grab a drink. You two have fun doing whatever this –” she gestured between them “– is.”

Nesta felt the deep rumble of Cassian’s laugh in her lower stomach as Amren sauntered away.

Now it was just them. Great.

“So… you did really well at Illyria,” Cassian observed, tilting his head down to look at her. “Will you be joining us again?”

Illyria. It’d been a little over a week since Nesta and Emerie walked into Cassian’s gym. Nesta hadn’t yet admitted to Emerie how much she’d begrudgingly enjoyed their kickboxing session. The day after, she’d been pleasantly sore, and her back muscles felt less tense. Her body wasn’t used to physical activity, and it needed to replenish itself with nutrients. So, for the first time in months, she’d actually eaten something for breakfast the next morning.

But Nesta simply shrugged, a portrait of indifference. “We’ll see.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

As per usual, she ignored him, opting to grab a glass of wine from the kitchen island. Gods only knew she would need it to get through the evening.

Feyre approached her as she took a gulp from her glass. It was Snoop Dogg’s red blend, the bottle both inexpensive and delicious. Nesta had bought three bottles in preparation for the party. She couldn’t help it; Snoop knew what was up.

“Great job with the party,” Feyre complimented, casting a glance to the decorations around them. Her face softened. “Elain seems really happy.”

Nesta hid her surprise, treading carefully. She never knew if Feyre had a second agenda. “Did she tell you she made the cake?”

“Even after we told her we’d handle it?”

Nesta nodded, and her youngest sister rolled her eyes. “Predictable,” they both said in unison, casting a strange look at each other before laughing. A moment of silence passed between them.

“I like your hair like that,” Feyre murmured, bringing her tattooed hand between them to playfully curl a strand around her finger. Nesta couldn’t help but flinch at the contact, cursing herself when Feyre took notice. Her sister quickly dropped her hand, confusion and concern swirling in those blue-grey eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“Oh, I think Cassian is calling me over,” Nesta interrupted. Gods, why did I say that? Amren is right there –

“Did someone rub the magic lamp?” Cassian sidled up behind Feyre, throwing an arm over her shoulder. Her sister gave him a strained smile, her attention returning to Nesta.

“Uh, you mentioned t-that you, um…” Nesta struggled for words. Think of an excuse, think of an excuse, think of –

Cassian must’ve read the panic in her eyes because he smoothly finished for her. “Ah, yes. I wanted you to give me a little tour of the place. You were especially excited to show me your bedroom.” He shot her a saucy wink.

Gods-damn him to hell.

Nesta forced a smile, the promise of murder in her eyes. To his credit, Cassian’s smile didn’t even falter.

“Right,” she said through gritted teeth before turning to her sister. “I think we’re eating soon; we’ll be right back.”

Feyre didn’t even get the chance to reply, as Cassian was already beelining for Nesta’s bedroom, the latter right on his heels.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Nesta sputtered, trying to pass Cassian to block the closed door. The bastard shot a grin at her over his shoulder.

“I’m getting a tour.”

Nesta shoved his arm with all her might, hoping to derail him from his course, but he didn’t even falter.

“You can’t be serious. I’m not actually giving you a –”

She was cut off as they reached her bedroom door, Cassian’s hand clasping the rusty doorknob. Nesta was breathing heavily, levelling a glare at him.

“Oh, I’m deadly serious, sweetheart.”

She scrambled for an excuse. “It’s a mess in there.”

“You clearly haven’t seen pictures of Rhys’s dorm room freshman year.”

His eyes shone with determination. Somehow, Nesta knew that Cassian wasn’t backing down. Not when he’d already made up his mind. She’d wager all her money to bet that he always got what he wanted.

Damn him.

“Five minutes,” she conceded, her tone final.

Cassian’s grin was blinding as he twisted the doorknob and entered.

It was dark, save for the moonlight that seeped onto the hardwood floor through the window. Cassian quickly found the light switch mounted next to the door frame, illuminating her room.

Her entire body clenched in anxious anticipation as Cassian took in everything before him; there wasn’t much. The cream walls were bare, her bed unmade, trash bin to the point of overflowing, and cardboard boxes littered the floor. There wasn’t a single picture in sight. It looked like someone had just moved in yesterday.

Nesta and Elain had moved into the apartment six months ago.

Cassian hadn’t yet said a word, and Nesta wanted to push him out of here and never talk to him again. A surge of anger rushed through her. Where did he have the right to barge into her private space? Who did he think he was? They weren’t even fucking friends. She could sense the judgement, the disgust coming from him. It had her blood boiling.

Just as she was about to snap at him to get the fuck out, Cassian turned to look at her. His face, it wasn’t full of disgust or pity or judgement like she’d expected.

No, his lips were tipped up in the smugness he carried around everywhere. It didn’t quite meet his eyes, but she didn’t have the chance to read into it before he spoke.

“You know…” Nesta braced herself. Cassian pointed to the empty wall that her headboard rested against. “I have a 23 x 12 inch headshot that would look great right here. It has a glossy finish, so it would really pop against the blandness of the wall.” He let out an idyllic sigh. “You would get to wake up to my smiling face every morning.”

Words escaped Nesta, her jaw nearly hitting the floor as Cassian gave her a dazzling smile.

Then, she laughed.

It wasn’t one of the half-assed chuckles that’d replaced her real laughter in the past six months. No, it was a raucous bellow that spilled out of her lips, uncontrollable in the best way. Nesta clutched her stomach, the deep laughter making her belly cramp.

Cassian watched her with astonishment; he’d never heard such a beautiful sound. And soon, he found himself laughing just as hard.

“Please tell me,” Nesta got out between her amused howls, “you don’t really have that big of a headshot in your possession.”

“Come over to mine, and you’ll find out,” he winked flirtatiously.

“I could think of a thousand other things I’d rather do, one of which includes being struck by lightning,” she shot back. Her laughter subsided, but the lightness in her chest remained.

*                      *                      *

After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room, drinks being poured and passed around one after another. The cake Elain had baked turned out delicious; there wasn’t a single slice left. But perhaps that had more to do with the boys’ unending appetites.

At this point in the evening, Elain was flushed and giggly, a telltale sign that she was tipsy. Azriel sat next to her (like he’d done all night), eyes gleaming with amusement. Elain didn’t often drink, so Nesta assumed this was Azriel’s first time seeing her like this. He looked absolutely enraptured.

Everyone had their fair share to drink, Nesta included. She had a hard time not indulging in Snoop’s fine wine. Her body was warm and buzzing against the soft material of the loveseat as she listened to the conversations around her.

When she looked to her right, she noticed that Cassian was sitting beside her, eyes twinkling.

“You’re not Amren,” Nesta stated the obvious. She swore it was Amren on the loveseat next to her just moments ago…

“No, sweetheart, I’m not,” Cassian murmured, laughter in his voice. “She got up about ten minutes ago for a smoke.”

Nesta’s attention homed in onto his lips. They were full and soft. “Are you drunk too?”

He licked his lips, and Nesta wanted to slap him for tempting her. Even if it was wholly unintentional. “I will be when I finish this drink.” He gestures to the half-empty drink in his hands. Whiskey. She could smell it on his breath.

When had they gotten so close?

Nesta’s legs were curled underneath her, and she was facing Cassian, her head resting gently on the couch. Her dress had ridden up, hitting midthigh to show off the skulls and flowers tatted there. Cassian sat just inches away, his feet planted on the ground, knees gravitating in her direction.

Cassian opened those mesmerizing lips to say something, but a fluffy black ball leapt onto his jean-clad lap before he could get the words out.

Minx.

The traitor sat on his haunches facing Cassian, tilting his head up for scratches. Cassian laughed and obeyed, his large hands nearly swallowing Minx’s face as he rubbed his ears. “He likes me,” Cassian smirked. He knew Minx was her cat, how possessive she was of him.

Nesta scoffed. “He likes everyone.” Lie. Minx was not a people person. The brothers just seemed to bring out the best in him.

“Hmm,” Cassian rumbled deeply. He leaned down until he was face to face with Minx. Nesta tried to contain her shock when Minx closed the space between them and booped his nose with Cassian’s. He only ever did that with her.

Cassian shot her a look of victory from the corner of his eye. Nesta stuck out her tongue in retribution.

“Cass, come take a look at this!” Feyre called out from where she and Rhys sat together on an armchair. They were both looking at Rhysand’s phone, cracking up at whatever video or article or post was pulled up. Cassian downed the rest of his drink and set it on the coffee table before making his way over.

Nesta’s attention returned to everyone conversing around her. Everyone was in their own little group, laughing or talking animatedly, and it was then that the realization hit her. She wasn’t like them. Rhysand still avoided talking to her, Feyre only made small talk when they were forced to interact, Azriel had Elain and vice versa, and Mor hadn’t done more than introduce herself and her wife. Half of them had to pretend to like her. Even though tonight had been different than most, Cassian was still a thorn in her side. She had Amren, but… this would always be her choice. Not Nesta, Feyre’s estranged sister who could barely talk to anyone the first couple of months she lived in Colorado. No, that was hardly realistic. All of them belonged together.

And Nesta? She was just there.

----------------------------

tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed):

@sjmships @sleeping-and-books @sirgwaines @books-for-sure @blowing-mikey @b00kworm @wineywitch202 @drielecarla @liquifyme @gisellefigue08 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @loysydark @stardelia @sayosdreams @maastrash @superspiritfestival @courtofjurdan @ireallyshouldsleeprn @thewayshedreamed @booksstorm @laylaameer01 @rainbowcheetah512 @swankii-art-teacher​ @champanheandluxxury

[inkedstarlight]

admission of attraction

Summary: Elain’s had a crush on Azriel since they met, and everyone (except Azriel himself) seems to know it. So when he’s tasked with training her, it feels like the universe has a personal vendetta against her. One rainy day during a session, they’re not making any progress, but Azriel won’t let up, and things get... heated. Notes: This is a steamy one-shot, but I’m thinking I might write a second part to it (just because I love writing Elriel so much). Let me know if you’d be interested in that!

“Again.”

“No.”

“Again.”

Elain glared at Azriel as best she could through half-lidded eyes, her body so drained that it felt like her knees were going to collapse at any moment. The urge to stomp her foot on the damp ground, to let out a scream of rage, was near blinding. She knew better than to think he would give her a break, though.

It was Feyre’s idea. After Nesta went through her training with Cassian to understand the depths of her power, Elain couldn’t help but wonder about her own gifts. No one knew the true extent of them, not even Elain. Every time she tried to climb down that endless well deep within herself, she was stopped by an impenetrable wall made of shadows and steel and thorns. She used to spend hours upon hours in her quarters mentally shoving and clawing at the wall, only to end up passing out on the wooden floors from exhaustion. No matter what she did, she could never make it past.

It was infuriating.

So, Feyre suggested that Azriel lead Elain through her own training, a proposal that Elain quickly shot down. There was no way she would subject herself to so much time with Azriel. Alone. Together. With him. How the fuck was she supposed to spend hours at a time with him if she couldn’t even be in the same room as him for more than fifteen seconds without her cheeks bursting up into flames? It would be utter torture.

In response to her younger sister’s insistence, Elain lied and informed Feyre that she wasn’t ready to train yet. But she was about a good a liar as Nesta was a friendly neighbor.

Elain’s protests fell silent though, because apparently Azriel had already agreed to be her trainer. She had no idea why; surely the spymaster of the Night Court had better things to do than play tutor to his High Lady’s Made sister. Surely, he would allocate the lowly task to someone who holds less responsibility.

Azriel proved Elain wrong. They’d begun training in November.

It was nearing March.

“Elain.”

Gods, even his voice sent shivers down her body. It was made of velvet and honey, his tongue caressing the syllables of her name as if he was gently cradling her face with his scarred hands.

She pulled herself from her stupor and back to the training ring. Back to the rain that poured down on them, the stunning man who stood like he could both save her and destroy her.

“Can we just be done for today?” Elain pleaded with him. Her eyelashes were thick with raindrops. She wasn’t one to quit so easily, but they hadn’t made a lick of progress since they began that morning. Azriel knew it, but next to nothing would stop him from calling a session short. He was determined to get Elain to reach her power’s potential, if not just to rid of her and resume his more important duties. “We’ve already been out here for hours, and the rain is soaking through my clothes.”

A pathetic excuse, but it was true. Her cropped athletic top stuck to her heaving chest like second skin, embarrassingly accentuating the shape of her nipples through the thin material. She just hoped he hadn’t noticed.

His eyes burned into hers. They were standing five feet apart, but she swore she could see a flash of heat in them.

“Again.”

Argh! Gods-damn him.

She had never had a short temper, not as a child nor an adult. Luckily, that gene skipped her and went right to Nesta. In fact, Elain hated the feeling of anger; it was uncontrollable, unpredictable. It made people act like someone else entirely. She’d always suppressed it whenever it bubbled to the surface, determined to remain calm. But Azriel… he was the only one who could pull that anger out of her.

She hated it.

But she reluctantly followed his instruction and tried again. Elain knew what happened when she tried to walk away from training, and she didn’t have the energy for Azriel’s droning lectures today. He could really be a bore when he tried hard enough.

Elain looked within herself, put up a mental shield as high as she could build and gave Azriel a slight nod of her head. Go.

In an instant, she felt his shadows approach her ever-so-gently. The whorls of darkness slid up her walls, sending shivers down her body. Her hold on the wall faltered, its strength cracking, but Elain strained her mind to quickly realigned herself, her walls restored. That was Azriel’s strategy; he wasn’t ruthless or foreign like she’d first expected. No, he manipulated his magic to coax his way past Elain’s walls, attempting to deceive them into thinking he was welcome, that he belonged there.

With her wall strong again, he tried a different angle. His shadows danced along her shoulders, making their way up the small expanse of her neck. Elain breathed deeply through her mouth, in and out. He didn’t usually move his shadows in this way; they never really touched her like they were now. Goosebumps formed all over her body as his shadows twirled their way around her golden hair, playing with it to break down her defenses. Her stance wide, feet dug into the ground, she remained as still as possible. The shadows moved to her cheek, caressing her soft skin, and damn if she didn’t lean into its touch.

A familiar rough chuckle echoed in her head. It seems Azriel wasn’t unaware of the effect he had on her.

But before she could even blink, his shadows suddenly slithered down her body, in between her breasts and past her navel until they were⸻

Oh, Gods.

Elain’s head snapped up to meet Azriel’s gaze. His lips were turned up in a dark smirk.

His shadows were between her thighs. Hovering right over the place she’d endlessly dreamt his tongue would lap at her until she was writhing in pain and pleasure.

Her core pulsed once, and Elain’s hands clenched into tight fists, her knuckles white as baby blossoms.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she seethed, desperately trying to hide the pleasure in her voice. The curse that left her lips shocked her. She wasn’t one to use filthy language, unlike some people in the Inner Circle.

“What you’ve been wanting me to do since the moment we met,” he murmured, amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes.

That was when she paused, realization hitting her. He was making fun of her. Of course, he was. He knew she liked him, and he was teasing her.

Elain fumed, outraged by the audacity the male had. He thought this was funny. Oh, she’d show him funny.

Quickly closing the distance between them in a few short strides, Elain shoved his chest once with all her might.

Azriel didn’t move an inch.

Elain let out a strangled cry. She was glaring up at him, his lips twitching as if he were holding back one of those insufferable smirks, that smug son of a bitch.

“Something wrong, dove?”

Dove. She loved when he called her that.

Fuck him.

She was done being teased. Nearly everyone at the House of Wind knew about her crush on Azriel, and they weren’t above prodding her about it, particularly Cassian and Nesta. It wasn’t as if Elain wanted everyone to know; she’d done her best to hide it, but whenever she tried to force a lie out of her mouth, her left eye would twitch as if a bug had flown straight into it. She’d made Cassian and Nesta – the only two who had the balls to admit they knew about her schoolgirl crush – promise not to tell Azriel, which they’d respected as far as she knew. But there was nothing she could do if Azriel figured it out by himself, especially considering how gods-damn observant he was.

Elain pushed him again. “Don’t you dare⸻” another shove “⸻make fun of me!”

She tried to shove him once more, but this time he grabbed her wrists in his hands and pulled her toward him until they were standing flush against each other.

His eyes scanned her face intensely. “Make fun of you?”

Elain took a deep breath and held her head high like she’d seen Nesta do a million times, mostly when Cassian was trying to get a rise out of her. It was dignified, almost queenlike. Certainly not stooping to the level of peasants where the males in this house liked to play.

“You heard me.”

Azriel recoiled slightly as if she’d offended him. His entire demeanor changed, something akin to disappointment setting his lips into a grim line. Her wrists remained trapped by his large hands. She liked the way his callouses on his palm felt against her soft skin.

“You think I’m making fun of you?” he repeated for clarification, nostrils flaring.

“I know you are,” she spat back. His jaw clenched tightly.

“And pray tell, Elain, what am I making fun of you for?”

“F-for…” Fuck, what was she supposed to say? For having a crush on you? For staring at you every time you enter the room? For making me want to kiss you until neither of us can breathe? It would be an admission of guilt. An admission of attraction. “Uh…”

Azriel watched her struggle for words, a smirk growing on those full lips. He’d trapped her. And now she was prey that’d fallen right into his hands.

Elain was still pink and stammering when he released her wrists and took a step back. His warmth gone, she stood shivering in the rain.

“For wanting me to fuck you,” he said roughly. “That’s what you’re trying to say, dove. You want me to fuck you.”

Elain’s mouth dropped open. She thought she liked hearing Azriel say her name, but this was something else entirely.

“No.” She whispered it half-heartedly; she couldn’t even pretend to be outraged by what he’d said.

“Yes,” he murmured back encouragingly. She felt his shadows radiating heat from behind her.

“Now ask me,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me why I was making fun of you.”

She was too weak to deny his request. “Why were you making fun of me?”

Azriel grabbed her waist and pulled her into him roughly, closing the distance as quickly as he’d created it. His hot lips were against her ear.

“I wasn’t making fun of you, dove,” he started quietly, his nose catching a whiff of her flowery scent. He suppressed a groan. “Want to know why I did what I did with my shadows?”

Elain whimpered pathetically and nodded. She felt his lips curve up into a small smile against the shell of her ear as if he enjoyed when she was helpless.

“I did that,” he said gruffly, “because I have wanted to taste how sweet you are since I laid eyes on you. Because I dream about fucking you every night and wake up in the morning hard for you. Because I know what a good girl you’ll be for me and only me.”

Azriel pulled away so their faces were just an inch apart, still holding on to her because if he didn’t, Elain would surely collapse to the ground. Every nerve in her body was on fire as he looked down at her with hungry eyes. He pressed a kiss against her forehead, and then he took a couple paces back. She was close to getting on her knees and pleading him to touch her again.

Elain was still processing what he’d said when he looked at her with a satisfied expression, as if he liked what he saw. It was purely male.

“Again.”

[inkedstarlight]

in darkness we stand

Kingdom of Ashes spoilers below

This is my first Elorcan fic in which we see what Lorcan was thinking after he was attacked during the battle. This is actually a rewrite from the same story I wrote back in 2020. It’s just a little longer and better written because I do love this POV. Let me know if you’d like to see more Elorcan!

-------------------

The sprawling plain of Anielle, once snowy and serene, was now buried beneath piles of dead bodies. Hundreds of soldiers who hadn’t yet succumbed to Hellas’s wrath swung their swords wildly in every direction, their heavy boots trampling the forgotten fallen. Limbs were crushed and bones crunched. The sounds of men screaming and steel hitting steel was deafening. A bloodbath, that’s what it was.

A demi-Fae soldier fought in the thick throngs of battle, his blade unrelenting in its slaughter.

You’re a monster, Elide’s words echoed in his mind again and again as he cut down soldier after soldier. She was right, after all.

He threw his power at the small group of soldiers that began to charge at him when a treacherous boom exploded throughout the valley.

The dam.

Lorcan dared to shift his attention to the dam for the briefest of moments. Long enough to see that the Morath soldiers had broken the dam.

He stood there panting with exhaustion, watching the battle around him in slow motion. Blood was raining down, dirt kicked up. Everything quieted.

What’s the point? that small voice in his head that’d haunted him for centuries whispered. Elide despised him. He was utterly alone in this gods-damned world. No one was going to save him.

The sword that hung from his hand fell to the muddy earth. The magical shield he’d put around himself faded into nothingness.

Someone approached him, and with the flash of a steel blade, Lorcan Salvaterre’s world went dark.

He barely felt the impact of the ground as he fell, his body limp. He was swimming in a sea of black, searing pain hitting him in waves.

His lips parted to moan in agony, but he was too exhausted to utter a single sound. Lorcan knew if he looked down at his body, he would see his stomach in ribbons, his insides threatening to spill out. He felt the warm blood trickling down his abdomen, pooling around his crushed body. It was drowning him in death.

Darkness once again collapsed onto him as body after body collapsed on him. Lorcan smelled the lifelessness of them. He could only hope it was Morath soldiers and not his own men dying on top of him. Piling on top of him one by one, death ruthless and unceasing. 

Lorcan didn’t try to fight it. He was so, so tired. 

So he waited. He had no idea how long he waited for the darkness to claim him: minutes, hours, days. He was ready for it – he had been ready for centuries.

But a voice inside him whispered something over and over again. A name. A prayer.

Elide.

The mere thought of her was the only thing that was able to ease the pain, if only a little bit. They were mates, after all.

He had known for a while now. There wasn’t a mating bond that had snapped into place; Elide was human. But it went far beyond that. It was more than a magical tether that tied them together. It was his magic that braced her mangled foot. It was the kisses she so gently planted on his lips. The way he looked at her, and she at him. The way her delicate fingers wrapped around his large hand. Her soft against his rough.

It went beyond immortality.

Lorcan never told her. Gods, she hated him for what he’d done. He hated himself, too. Telling her they were bound to each other… Lorcan didn’t think he could handle her disgust. She would laugh in his face at such a ridiculous claim. And Lorcan didn’t blame her. He only blamed himself. For centuries, guilt had plagued him wherever he went. Continent to continent, he was unable to escape its grasp. 

And he deserved it.

Perhaps it was good that he would be gone. Elide would find someone worthy of her. She would marry a noble man. His chest got tight. Elide was going to be the greatest Lady that Erilea had ever seen. 

I wanted to go to Perranth with you. 

I’m sorry.

I will always find you.

I love you.

Every word had been true. Every damn word was a promise and a vow in and of itself. In all his miserable years, he had never wanted something so bad. To travel to Perranth with Elide. To rebuild her home together. To then build a family together. All for her.

A lump formed in his throat as another wave of excruciating pain hit him. He couldn’t let himself think about what could have happened. What the future may have held, the happiness they may have found.

He no longer had a future.

Lorcan!

It was Elide. She was screaming helplessly, her voice cracking and oh gods, where was she—

He gritted his teeth, refusing to let himself hope as Elide’s voice rang in his head. He was dying. Elide was safe behind the walls of Orynth. Elide was safe. She was safe. 

A sob broke from his lips as the realization hit. Lorcan was never going to see the love of his life again. He no longer had the chance to give Elide the life he wanted to promise her. His chest cleaved in two.

Lorcan!

He cursed himself. Stop it, you fool, it’s not real. 

LORCAN!

Her voice got louder in his head. It was torture. When will it end? He willed himself to succumb to the pain.

But then—

“Lorcan!”

Her petrified scream pierced his ears.

This is real.

Why was she out here? She could be killed, for fuck’s sake. He wouldn’t let that happen. His fingers twitched as he tried to move, to get to her. Every limb in his body remained still.

Move, gods-dammit!

His entire body shook as he summoned the little energy he had left to push away the demon corpses that he laid under. A hoarse grunt left his mouth. How he was moving, he had no idea.

As he pushed away the last corpse, brightness hit Lorcan, blinding him from the world before him.

He blinked, adjusting to the light. Once, twice.

The ground spun beneath him, his body caked in dirt and blood, both crimson red and oily black. 

Lorcan propped himself up to find her. 

But he needn’t look long, for Elide was crouched before him, beautiful as ever. She was murmuring his name again and again, begging with him to get on the mare, begging him to live. Her onyx eyes shone with tears, her dark hair flying in the wind like a goddess. Elide was here.

She came.

With her small arms guiding him to his feet, Lorcan Salvaterre stood.

[inkedstarlight]

Can you do some elriel, please? Azriel and Elain are training / fighting and than they start to tease each other. Something like this.

I would love it! ♡

Thank you for the request! So sorry it took so long to finally answer your ask, but I hope you enjoy :) I miss writing Elriel!

-----------------------

“Again.”

“No.”

“Again.”

Elain glared at Azriel as best she could through half-lidded eyes, her body so drained that it felt like her knees were going to collapse at any moment. The urge to stomp her foot on the damp ground, to let out a scream of rage, was near blinding. She knew better than to think he would give her a break, though.

It was Feyre’s idea. After Nesta went through her training with Cassian to discover the depths of her power, Elain couldn’t help but wonder about her own gifts. No one knew the true extent of them, not even Elain. Every time she tried to climb down that endless well deep within herself, she was stopped by an impenetrable wall made of shadows and steel and thorns. No matter what she did, she could never make it past.

It was infuriating to say the least.

So, Feyre suggested that Azriel lead Elain through her own training. An idea that she quickly shot down. There was no way she would subject herself to so much time with Azriel. Alone. Together. With him. If she couldn’t even be in the same room as him for ten seconds without her body bursting into flames, how the fuck was she supposed to spend hours at a time with him? It would be utter torture. 

Elain lied and informed Feyre that she wasn’t ready to train yet. But she was about a good a liar as Nesta was a friendly neighbor. Besides, apparently Azriel had already agreed to be her trainer, so Elain’s protests fell silent to Feyre’s ears. They began training in the fall.

It was nearing March.

“Elain.”

Gods, even his voice sent shivers down her body. It was made of velvet and honey, his tongue caressing her name as if he was gently cradling her face with his scarred hand.

She pulled herself from her stupor and back to the training ring. Back to the rain that poured down on them, the stunning man who stood like he could both save her and destroy her.

“Can we just be done for today?” Elain pleaded with him. Her eyelashes were thick with raindrops. “We’ve already been out here for two hours, and the rain is soaking through my clothes.”

It was true. Her cropped athletic top stuck to her like second skin, embarrassingly accentuating the shape of her nipples through the thin material.  She just hoped he hadn’t noticed.

His eyes burned into hers. They were standing five feet apart, but she swore she could see a flash of heat in them.

“Again.”

Argh! Gods-damn him.

She had never had a short temper, not as a child nor an adult. Luckily, that gene skipped her and went right to Nesta. In fact, Elain hated the feeling of anger; it was uncontrollable. She’d always suppressed it whenever it bubbled to the surface, determined to remain calm. But Azriel… he was the only one who could pull that anger out of her.

She hated it.

But she followed his instruction and tried again. Elain knew what happened when she tried to walk away from training, and she didn’t have the energy for Azriel’s droning lectures today.

Elain looked within herself, put up a mental shield as high as she could build and gave Azriel a slight nod of her head. Go.

In an instant, she felt his shadows approach her ever-so-gently. The whorls of darkness slid up her walls, sending shivers down her body. The wall began to crumble down, but Elain quickly realigned herself to build them back. That was Azriel’s strategy; he wasn’t ruthless or foreign like she’d expected when they first started training. No, he manipulated his magic to coax his way past Elain’s walls, attempting to deceive them into thinking he was welcome, that he belonged there.

With her wall strong again, he tried a different angle. His shadows danced along her shoulders, making their way up the small expanse of her neck. Elain breathed deeply through her mouth, in and out. He’d never done this to her in their previous sessions. Azriel’s shadows twirled their way around her golden hair, playing with it to break down her defenses. Her stance wide, feet dug into the ground, she remained still. The shadows moved to her cheek, caressing her soft skin, and damn if she didn’t lean into its touch.

A rough chuckle echoed in her head. Azriel wasn’t unaware of the effect he had on her.

But before she could even blink, his shadows suddenly slithered down her body, in between her breasts and past her navel until they were—

Oh, Gods.

Elain’s head snapped up to meet Azriel’s gaze. His lips were turned up in a dark smirk.

His shadows were between her thighs. Hovering right over the place she endlessly dreamt his tongue would eat her.

Her core pulsed once, and Elain’s hands clenched into tight fists, her knuckles white as baby blossoms.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she seethed, desperately trying to hide the pleasure in her voice.

“What you’ve been wanting me to do since the moment we met,” he murmured, amusement gleaming in his hazel eyes.

He was making fun of her. He knew she liked him, and he was teasing her.

Elain fumed, outraged by the audacity this man had. She quickly closed the distance between them and shoved his chest with all her might.

Azriel didn’t move an inch.

Elain let out a strangled cry. She was glaring up at him, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smile, that smug son of a bitch.

“Something wrong, dove?”

Dove. She loved when he called her that.

Fuck him.

Elain pushed him again. “Don’t you dare—” another shove “—make fun of me!”

She tried to shove him once more, but this time he grabbed her wrists in his hands and pulled her toward him until they were standing flush against each other.

His eyes scanned her face intensely. “Make fun of you?”

Elain took a deep breath and held her head high like she’d seen Nesta do a million times, mostly when Cassian was trying to get a rise out of her. It was dignified, almost queenlike. Certainly not stooping to the level of peasants where the males in this house liked to play.

“You heard me.”

Azriel recoiled slightly as if she’d offended him. His entire demeanor changed, something akin to disappointment setting his lips into a grim line. Her wrists remained trapped by his large hands. She liked the way his callouses on his palm felt against her soft skin.

“You think I’m making fun of you?” he repeated for clarification.

“I know you are.” His jaw clenched tightly.

“And pray tell, Elain, what am I making fun of you for?”

“F-for…” Fuck, what was she supposed to say? For turning me on? For playing with my emotions? For making me want to kiss you until neither of us can breathe? It would be an admission of guilt. An admission of attraction. “Uh…”

Azriel watched her struggle for words, a smirk growing. He’d trapped her.

Elain was still pink and stammering when he released her wrists and took a step back. His warmth gone, she stood shivering in the rain.

“For wanting me to fuck you,” he said roughly. “That’s what you’re trying to say, dove. You want me to fuck you.”

Elain’s mouth dropped open. She thought she liked hearing Azriel say her name, but this was something else entirely.

“No.” She whispered it half-heartedly; she couldn’t even pretend to be shocked by what he’d said.

“Yes,” he murmured back encouragingly. She felt his shadows radiating heat from behind her.

“Now ask me,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me why I was making fun of you.”

She was too weak to deny his request. “Why were you making fun of me?”

Azriel grabbed her waist and pulled her into him roughly. His hot lips were against her ear.

“I wasn’t making fun of you, dove,” he started quietly, his nose catching a whiff of her scent. He suppressed a groan. “Want to know why I did what I did with my shadows?”

Elain whimpered pathetically and nodded. She felt his lips curve up into a small smile. He seemed to like when she was helpless.

“I did that,” he said gruffly, “because I have wanted to taste how sweet you are since I laid eyes on you. Because I dream about fucking you every night and wake up in the morning hard for you. Because I know what a good girl you’ll be for me and only me.”

Azriel pulled away so their faces were just an inch apart, still holding on to her because if he didn’t, Elain would surely collapse to the ground. He pressed a kiss against her forehead, and then he took a couple paces back.

Elain was still processing what he’d said when he looked at her with a satisfied expression, as if he liked what he saw. It was purely male.

“Again.”

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☀️Agent Daybright☀️

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I tried to give her “doe like” features since shes a deer shifter and I kind of like the contrast with her cruel facade. Also this isnt based on any one description from the book, just my general image of her.

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Nesta Archeron | A Court of Silver Flames

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Chapter 14 up now!!

Bittersweet Masterlist

Summary: Nesta up and moved the minute she graduated high school. Now, seven years later, her father has died. After years of separation, Nesta is now living in the same city as her sisters, with Elain as her roommate. Feyre introduces Elain and Nesta to the Inner Circle. But they’re missing a certain member… Cassian returns to the Marine Corps to find two new members of the Inner Circle. He pushes Nesta’s buttons more than anyone ever has. Cue heavy angst, mutual pining, and a very, very slow burn.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen

Read it here on AO3

tag list (let me know if you want to be tagged):

Keep reading

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Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.

Art: mageonduty

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My Art Commission of the Valkyries.... pranking Gwyn during Mindstilling... Art by the talented @artist on instagram ...

Reblogging allowed kindly do not repost ...

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Bittersweet: Chapter 14

Summary: Nesta deals with the aftermath of seeing Tomas. Emerie convinces her to attend kickboxing classes at the local gym, and Cassian leads the class. Notes: It’s me! I know I haven’t updated in almost a year (I’m disgusted with myself), but I am still continuing Bittersweet for those curious. I just posted this newest chapter on AO3 the other day. I want to also thank you all for your endless support. Even though I haven't updated in months, I've still received so much love and encouragement that I appreciate beyond words. More chapters to come soon. Read it here on AO3!  Warnings: mentions of sexual assault and rape  Bittersweet Masterlist 

February

A week ago, Tomas strutted into Rita’s.

A week ago, Nesta’s world was falling apart.

And now, seven days later, her world was still cleaved in two. But it was different this time.

This time, Nesta wasn’t alone.

Since that fateful night at Rita’s, Emerie had somehow managed to wiggle her way past Nesta’s impossibly high walls and into her mess of a life like a gods-damn trained assassin. Emerie didn’t mind the chaos, though. She’d had to learn to adapt to it since she was barely able to speak. Now, Emerie thrived amongst the dark. Standing in a sea of nothingness was almost inviting, as if Night itself wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. It seemed to calm her, and it was something Nesta could understand.

While it was difficult to let someone into her life, the weight on Nesta’s shoulders became lighter. But after the initial trepidation of sharing something so personal, Nesta was taken aback by how natural it felt to accept Emerie. She had expected unease, judgement, and a perpetual fear of abandonment. Instead, it was comfortable silences, solace, companionship. All of which Nesta had yearned for since childhood. She never quite had friends growing up. No one except for her sisters. So to have someone – someone who wasn’t biased about their family – was a welcoming experience unlike any other.

They were kindred spirits living in a world that had broken them time after time.

Although Nesta hated that it was their trauma that brought them closer, she had a feeling it would have happened at one point or another. Knowing her, it probably would have been months – maybe even years – from now until they would have become friends. It felt oxymoronic to bond with someone over a mutual pain. On one hand, her trauma seemed to overshadow everything else Nesta contributed to the world. But on the other hand, there was no comparable feeling to that of realizing that you’re not alone. To realize that there was at least one other person in the world who understood.

Nesta never thought she would find that. She was too caught up in herself to even consider that there might be other people who have shared her struggles.

Selfish. Ungrateful.

Nesta shook the thoughts from her head. She’d been working on that – the intrusive thoughts. It was Emerie who finally put a name to the involuntary, consuming thoughts that plagued her mind. Nesta hadn’t even realize it was a thing; she’d simply thought she was crazy.

Now, Nesta didn’t typically like being proven wrong. This was the one time, however, where it finally felt good to be wrong.  

The day after Tomas came into Rita’s, Nesta was scheduled for another closing shift with Emerie and Helion. When she arrived, her dark hair glimmering with snowflakes, Nesta noticed that Helion was acting strange. His usual nosy, bubbly self was quiet. Worse than that, he seemed to be avoiding Nesta.

Until that moment, Nesta had completely forgotten that Helion was there the night that Tomas came.

When Helion went to the storage room to stock up on clean rags, Nesta sidled up to Emerie and hissed, “What did you tell him?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s acting like I have the fucking swine flu. What did you tell him about the other night?”

Emerie wrinkled her nose, looking at Nesta like she’d grown two heads. “Who do you think I am? I didn’t tell that manwhore shit.”

It wasn’t any secret that Helion played the field, charming anyone – male, female, non-binary – into taking them to his bedroom, which Nesta had no doubt was a California King. Thus earning the title of “manwhore.” Helion didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he encouraged it.

“He’s just being respectful,” Emerie added when she spotted the near-invisible look of worry on Nesta’s face. Gods, she was perceptive. “I’m sure he was able to gather the gist of what happened between you and him –” her lips curled in disgust at the mention of Tomas “– from what he overheard that night. He’s probably waiting for you to come to him.”

Nesta knew Emerie was right. Helion, as whorish he may be, was nearly as sweet as gods-damn Elain. And she knew from the handful of interactions they’d had that he did care about her, about everyone who worked at Rita’s.

With that on her mind, Nesta went through her entire shift anxiously awaiting closing time, glancing over at Helion as she pondered what to do. Despite her reservations about getting close to her coworkers – or anyone for that matter – Nesta had taken a liking to Helion. There was something about him that made her feel like he could be trusted with even the most delicate matters, something that was quite rare.

When the clock hit two-thirty and the bar was officially closed, the three of them grabbed their belongings from the back office and headed out. They stepped out into the biting cold, huddling together as Emerie locked the door for the night.

“Drive home safe,” Helion told the pair. At this point, Nesta and Emerie usually took a right down the street while Helion went left. But before any of them could depart, Nesta took a step forward and grabbed Helion’s hand in her own.

He looked down at their fingers with a look of bewilderment.

Shit. She was making him feel awkward. She went to pull away her hand, but instead Helion grabbed her hand tighter, his palm warm against her frozen fingertips. His golden eyes met hers, something indistinctive flashing in them.

“Thank you,” Nesta croaked, a visible puff of air leaving her mouth.

She didn’t have to say more. Helion nodded solemnly, squeezing her hand tight before turning on his heel and striding in the direction of his apartment.

Nesta stared after him for a moment. When she finally regained her breath, she faced Emerie. Her friend was gawking at her like a kid at the circus.

“Shut up,” Nesta muttered, pushing past without waiting for her to keep up. Emerie’s grin was blinding.

When Nesta’s back was to Emerie, she felt the corners of her lips tug upward into a smile.

 *                      *                      *

 “We’re going kickboxing.”

It was a Thursday afternoon. Nesta sat at a round table in the corner of the coffee shop that lived right around the corner from Rita’s. She and Emerie were meeting for a drink, and the latter was fifteen minutes late. Nesta had already ordered, her delicate fingers wrapped around a ceramic mug of steaming black coffee. She was inhaling the rich tendrils of smoke and people watching when Emerie plopped herself onto the seat across from Nesta.

“What?”

“We’re taking kickboxing lessons,” Emerie repeated herself, slower this time, shrugging her jacket off and resting it on the back of the chair. She even added some punching movements to really get the message across. Nesta just stared at her blankly. Reading her expression, Emerie sighed. “I signed us up for a class.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “When you say ‘us,’ I sure as hell hope you mean you.”

Emerie simply flashed her a sickly-sweet smile – the one she reserved for assface customers and Nesta, apparently – before grabbing a hair tie from her wrist and putting her hair up in a ponytail. Nesta growled at the audacity of Emerie to take it upon herself to sign them both up. Nesta didn’t do exercise. Emerie knew that.

“What makes you think I’m going to agree to this?” Nesta questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back.

The sounds of indistinctive chatter and clanking mugs faded as Emerie stopped what she was doing and stared Nesta down. “Because you aren’t comfortable in your own skin. Because you flinch every time someone gets too close to you. Because you still rarely leave your apartment.”

Nesta looked away from her friend, unable to face the hard truths. “And,” Emerie continued, her voice softening, “I may have been looking into some things, and apparently a lot of women who experienced physical trauma take up kickboxing. It’s supposedly a really good coping mechanism.”

Despite the unease churning in her gut, a small chuckle left Nesta. “Did you Google search ‘how to get over trauma’ or something?”

Emerie glared at her. “Is it so wrong that I want to help you and myself? Yeah, maybe I’ve scrolled through a blog or two.” Nesta gave her a look before Emerie rolled her eyes and conceded. “Okay, maybe it was a couple dozen.”

Nesta pictured Emerie hunched in front of her computer, scouring the Internet for hours. Nesta’s eyes softened slightly at the thought. She ran a finger along the mug’s smooth handle. “No. It’s not wrong at all.”

“So why don’t you want to go? Besides the fact that you’re woefully out of shape.”

Nesta flipped her friend off, which was dutifully reciprocated as always. But the question in Emerie’s eyes remained, and Nesta left out a sigh. She couldn’t help the next words that came from her lips.

“Is it at Illyria?”

Cassian was still on her mind despite their last interaction being weeks ago at Illyria itself. She cursed herself for even caring. The “family” dinners were happening less often thanks to everyone’s busy schedules. She’d even begun to see Elain less and less often; she and Azriel were spending more time at his place. As Emerie so gracefully pointed out, Nesta was often at the apartment. There was more privacy at Azriel’s place given that he lived alone.

As happy as she was for her sister, Nesta missed Elain’s presence. The paranoid part of her was worried that more time with Azriel meant more time with Rhysand, and the last thing she wanted was that asshole brainwashing Elain.

Enough people despised her as is.

And, as much as she hated to admit it, life was kind of boring without someone to barrage with insults.

Emerie knew all about Cassian: that he was Rhysand’s brother, he lived in the same apartment building, that he delighted in harassing Nesta. In fact, Emerie loved hearing about Nesta’s run-ins with the bastard. She was fascinated by the man who managed to wound up Nesta so tight.  

Nesta hadn’t yet told her friend about the incident the other week at Illyria. Truthfully, it hadn’t even been on her mind with everything else going on. A blessing in disguise.

“It is,” Emerie responded to her question, assessing Nesta slowly. She seemed suspicious. “Why?”

Nesta let out a breath, debating whether she should even tell her friend.

“Cassian works there.”

Emerie’s jaw dropped at Nesta’s words. And then her lips curved into an evil, delighted smile. “Are you shitting me?”

Nesta shook her head at her friend’s dramatic reaction. “I’m not going.”

“You most certainly are.”

Nesta told her about the recent run-in at the gym she hadn’t had the chance to fill Emerie in on. She neglected to mention the moment they’d had in the laundry room that night. It felt too… intimate to share.

“And that,” Nesta finished, sipping the last of her coffee, “is why I am not going.”

Emerie’s brow lifted in challenge.

*                      *                      *

Two days later, Nesta was in the passenger seat of Emerie’s car in the Illyria parking lot.

“I changed my mind.”

Emerie turned her head to glare at her. “Too bad.”

Somehow, some way, Emerie had convinced her to go to the kickboxing class. In return, Nesta was promised a month of free coffee.

She figured the free caffeine would compensate for the hour she had to spend with Cassian.

Nesta was seriously rethinking that faulty logic.

“C’mon,” Emerie said, twisting her body between the two front seats to grab both of their gym bags in the backseat. “Wouldn’t want to be late with our first lesson with Mr. Christian Grey himself.”

Nesta halfheartedly punched her friend in the arm at the Fifty Shades of Grey reference. When Nesta first told Emerie about her antagonizer, the latter wanted to see what he looked like for herself. And after Nesta told her that she didn’t have any forms of social media to look him up, Emerie went into stalker mode, finding his profile in the short span of forty-five seconds. Nesta slyly peered over Emerie’s shoulder as she scrolled through the few pictures he had of himself. And the moment Emerie laid her eyes on his devilish smirk, she donned him “one of the juiciest men I’ve ever seen.”

And thus the unending references to kinky, fictional men.

When the pair finished getting ready in the locker room, they made their way to the class studio. The spacious room was empty when they arrived, as they were about five minutes early. There were a handful of punching bags hanging from the ceilings with enough space among them to ensure no one was hit in the face, Nesta presumed. Dark navy exercise mats lined the wooden floors, and what looked like protective pads and various other equipment sat against the length of the far wall.

Unease shifted in Nesta’s stomach, her hands shaking slightly.

Just as she was about to grab Emerie’s arm and drag them both out of this hell, the door behind them opened.

A small handful of women walked in, Nesta recognizing one of them as Gwyn. Her hair was hard to miss. They were all laughing at something that was said, and that was when Nesta noticed Cassian walking behind them with a smile on his face.

His gaze met hers the moment he stepped into the studio as if he felt her presence. Nesta willed her cheeks not to burn as his eyes remained on her.

Emerie cleared her throat, and Nesta broke eye contact to see her friend wiggling her eyebrows.

Nesta shot her a death glare that would send most people running.

Emerie blew her a kiss in return.

“Alright, welcome, everyone!” Cassian greeted them. Nesta had never seen him with so little clothing. The deep purple tank top he wore showed off the dark ink that began at his wrists, slithering up and around his shoulders until it disappeared under the nylon fabric. “There are a couple new faces today, so I’ll just do a brief introduction. I’m Cassian, the owner of Illyria and founder of our program, Wings of Resilience.”

Emerie gave Nesta the side-eye as if to say, I didn’t know he owned the gym.

Nesta lifted a shoulder in reply. That makes two of us.

Cassian went on to explain the purpose of Wings of Resilience, the confidentiality of the program, and the training plan for upcoming weeks. They were to begin basic training with the punching bags, eventually moving on to hand-to-hand combat and self-defense moves. The last part was unimportant as Nesta had no intention of continuing these classes beyond today.

He was almost done with his spiel when the door behind them opened. Everyone swiveled their head to see a man with dark hair and scarred hands strut in.

Nesta wasn’t entirely surprised to see Azriel. She remembered Elain mentioning that he helps out at the gym when he has the time.

“Ah, fashionably late as always,” Cassian mused, the women around them giggling. Nesta suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Everyone, this is my friend, Azriel. He comes by every so often to assist me with classes.”

Azriel gave an awkward wave when he reached Cassian’s side at the front of the class.

It was the first time that Nesta had really seen them standing side-by-side and Gods, she’d never realized how… big they both were. Sure, she’d noticed the way Cassian’s muscles tightened beneath his form-fitting sweaters. And yeah, Azriel’s biceps had been on display more than a couple times.

But together? It was nearly overwhelming to watch the two men demonstrating the kickboxing moves that they would be learning that class. Cassian’s dark hair was pulled into a bun, leaving the thick columns of his tanned neck bare. A few loose strands flied freely in front of his eyes as he swiftly moved his arm in the movement of an upper-cut punch. His thick brows were furrowed in concentration, nostrils flaring with adrenaline.

When he demonstrated how to correctly make a fist, Nesta completely forgot where she was. Her eyes were fixed on his impossibly large hands, big enough to cover her entire –

“Now, let’s begin!” Cassian called out, clapping those hands together.

When everyone around her moved to an open punching bag, Nesta realized she’d missed the entire fucking demonstration.

Fuck me.

Emerie shot her a strange look as Nesta took a spot next to her.

“Got a bit distracted, did you?”

Nesta snarled like a wild animal.

Luckily, it was easy to catch on despite missing the demo. She simply watched Emerie from the corner of her eye at first, mirroring her movements. First, they were choosing the stance most comfortable for them depending on which hand was dominant. Once they felt secure in that position, they were to bring their hands up to their chin, elbows bent. It took Nesta a couple tries to get it right but even when she did, her knees felt weak, her arms awkwardly jutting out.

Next, they were to practice simple jabs to the bag. Simple, right?

Nope.

She keenly noticed that Cassian and Azriel were making rounds, correcting errors and praising those who perfected it in just one try. Nesta prayed that Azriel come to her first.

Her prayers went unanswered.

Cassian’s eyes brightened slightly as he approached Nesta from the left. She was suddenly very, very conscious of every part of her body.

“Long time, no see,” Cassian said with that award-winning smile.

Nesta turned to where he stood. There was no avoiding him now. “I’ve been busy.”

Cassian’s brow narrowed slightly at the bite in her tone.

“I was surprised when I saw your name on the sign-up sheet.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t really my choice,” she mumbled, shooting a sideways glare at her friend.

Cassian followed her stare where Emerie was pretending to practice, her eyes peeled on the pair of them like a hawk. “New friend?”

“Coworker.”

“Besties!” Emerie interjected loudly.

Cassian choked on his laughter. Nesta narrowed her eyes at him.

“Ex-friend,” Nesta muttered to herself. Gods-damn Emerie.

“I hear you and Elain are hosting the next dinner.”

Nesta nodded. “It’s her birthday, and for whatever reason, she wanted to host the dinner. I think she feels bad that it’s only been at other’s houses.”

“Rhysand and Feyre love having you guys.”

Nesta gave him a look that said, You sure about that?

Cassian cleared his throat, inclining his head to the punching bag. “Want to show me what you got so far? Your stance looks strong.”

Nesta seriously doubted the latter comment. Taking a shaky breath, she hit the bag with her right hand. It felt silly, there was no power behind it. Her arms had little to no strength.

“May I?” Cassian asked quietly, moving his hand just an inch away from her waist. She could feel the warmth emanating from him.

But she remembered the last time a man had touched her, and she jerked away from Cassian’s touch.

He gracefully pulled away like nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t just flinched from him like he was about to hurt her. There were questions in his eyes, but he knew better than to entertain them.

“Sorry,” Nesta croaked awkwardly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassian’s brows knit together, and he shook his head. “Please don’t apologize.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Cassian launched into ways Nesta could improve her stance, her form.

Sensing her frustration, Cassian reassured, “It takes practice. Lots of it.” He eyed her arms. “Invest in some kind of protein powder while you’re at it. You’re lacking in the muscle department, Archeron.”

Nesta scowled at his stupid smirk.

 *                      *                      *

 An hour later, Nesta could barely lift her arms. The class was finally over, thank fuck. She saw the exhaustion in Emerie’s face, which certainly mirrored her own.

They were collecting their things when Gwyn approached them, her mouth stretched in a beautiful smile.

“Nesta, I’m so glad you made it!” She stopped a couple feet in front of them, her attention going to Emerie. “Hi, I’m Gwyn. Nesta and I briefly met a couple weeks ago.”

Emerie offered her a small smile. “Emerie. Nice to meet you.”

An awkward silence fell over them. Nesta shifted uncomfortably. Gwyn was sweet, but Nesta had no fucking clue how to make friends.

Luckily, Emerie saved her. “Are you free on Thursday? We usually get coffee at Velaris Roasters around eleven.”

Gwyn beamed, and damn if the sun didn’t finally make an appearance at the sight of it. “I would love to.”

They all smiled at each other like this was their first time interacting with other humans. If Nesta wasn’t so uncomfortable, she would have laughed.

“Great, see you then!”

Gwyn walked away to collect her things as Emerie and Nesta dragged themselves out of the studio.

“Are you cool with that?” Emerie peered at her.

Nesta nodded. “Yeah, I just had no fucking idea what to say. Making friends is weird.”

Emerie hummed her agreement as they stepped into the wintery sunshine.

“So… Cassian, huh?”

Nesta used the tiny amount of strength she had left in her arms to push her friend. Emerie wasn’t deterred, howling in amusement.

------------------------------

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Hi, just dropping by to say I absolutely adore your Bittersweet fic! ❤️

Thank you sweetheart sjdfkjkdls all this support means the world to me!

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Love love love Bittersweet! One of the best Nessian fics I have read. You have captured the character traits and the relationship dynamics so well! I’m so excited for the next chapters ❤️

ahh thank you thank you! That’s such a big compliment omg. I took a little hiatus from Bittersweet (and fanfiction) just to focus on myself as well as to try to stay off social media. That being said, the next chapter of Bittersweet will be up shortly. I know I’m taking my sweet time with this fic and I apologize. I’m just writing at my own pace, however slow that may be

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Bittersweet: Chapter 13

Summary: An unexpected visitor shows up at Rita's while Nesta is working. Read it here on AO3! Warnings: mentions of sexual assault and rape, as well as child abuse Bittersweet Masterlist

It was the first day of spring semester.

When Nesta woke that morning, she seriously considered not going. What if she took the semester off? Transferred to a different school? Dropped out altogether?

She pondered it for about fifteen minutes before shoving the thoughts from her mind.

She had moved to Colorado for Prythian University, and she had too much pride to quit now. She wouldn’t fail.

You won’t even see him, Nesta tried to convince herself. She knew from looking at the course list that he wasn’t a T.A. in any of the classes she was enrolled in. Anyway, the Pryth U English department was big enough that she could entirely avoid him if she tried hard enough. And she would.

Elain was also beginning spring semester classes today. She’d adjusted well to the new school, as challenging as the transfer process had been. She talked about her friends from time to time, but Nesta still didn’t know much else about them. Which was strange, considering that Elain had a hard time containing her excitement about anything. She always had to share it with someone. Nesta had an inkling that Azriel was now on the receiving end of it.

Nesta hadn’t been seeing much of her sister, though. She’d begun working at the coffee shop on Pryth U’s campus, Velaris Roasters. And when she wasn’t there, she was over at Azriel’s place. She was getting close to him, to the group as a whole. Nesta had been noticing that for weeks now. Elain had pulled away from Nesta quite a bit since Christmas. And she couldn’t help but blame Feyre for it.

It was no secret that Feyre wasn’t exactly Team Nesta. She supposed she couldn’t blame her youngest sister, but it was infuriating nonetheless. It angered Nesta just to think about the things Feyre may have told Elain about her. It was like she was indoctrinating her.

It wasn’t often that Nesta missed someone, but she’d always had that with her sisters. She had lost the connection with Feyre years ago, but Elain was the one person who could crack Nesta’s hard exterior. And Nesta missed Elain, more than she’d like to admit. She wouldn’t mention this to Elain, though. In all honestly, Elain seemed… happier since she started distancing herself from Nesta. It made sense, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

It’s been two weeks since the night in the laundry room, and Nesta was still avoiding Cassian. The Gym Incident had also further propelled her motivation to avoid him, and she'd been successful thus far. She no longer rode on the elevator, she did her laundry on the days she knew he trained, and she started parking her car on the opposite side of the parking garage. She was pretty sure he was catching on to her antics. Was it a bit extra? Maybe. But was it necessary? Absolutely. The next time she saw him - which will be inevitable - she wanted the memories of their recent encounters to be long gone in both of their minds.

--------------------------------

It was Friday night, and Nesta had made it through the first week of classes without running into – let alone seeing – Tomas on campus. It was nothing short of a miracle, thank the Gods.

But that didn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder every ten minutes to make sure he wasn’t there. She was always on guard when she was on campus. She was already exhausted from the constant paranoia.

But even without everything with Tomas, life was stressful as is. It was the first week of classes, and the professors were already merciless. Even on Syllabus Day, Nesta knew she was fucked. It would be yet another difficult semester.

As much as she complained though, Nesta enjoyed learning. That’s why she’d decided to go to graduate school. Sure, getting your Master’s opened up the job pool and increased your chances of getting a higher paying job, but she didn’t really need it for anything considering she was getting her degree in creative writing studies. More than that, she wanted to be an author. Not an English Professor or an editorial assistant or a journalist. A writer.

Nesta was nine years old when she fell in love with writing. She was in third grade and her teacher told them to write a story about their family. Nesta wrote about her and her two sisters and their lives as princesses in a far away kingdom. Her parents weren't in it, something that her teacher had a private conversation with her about after handing it in. The story was rife with spelling errors and probably totaled to be five sentences, but that was the beginning.

Ever since then, it’d been her dream to publish a novel. Admittedly, Nesta didn’t have many aspirations. She wouldn't consider herself someone who had a lot of passions. But she was ambitious, committed. And that was enough for her.

As strange as it was, no one had read her writing besides her many teachers and professors. Her sisters and friends would always ask to read something, but her answer was always, "Not yet."

It’s not that she was bad at writing. No, Nesta knew she had talent. She wasn't insecure in that manner. It was the fact that her writing was... vulnerable. Sure, she wrote fantasy stories about beasts and magic and otherworldly elements, but it was more. So many of her characters have been based off people in her life. It was like a fantastical memoir. She wrote about depression, abuse... there just happened to be dragons and witches. Not to mention her love of writing epic romances.

She was sure that they’d laugh at her. Nesta, a romantic? An empath? That couldn't be right. She was emotionless, cold. She didn't feel like the rest of us.

It was almost comical how wrong they were.

Nesta was working at Rita’s tonight from six o’clock until close, which was midnight. She worked nearly every Friday night; she didn’t ever have plans and she figured she could save her coworkers the misery of working instead of getting fucked up.

“Nesta!” Rita sang as Nesta pushed through the back doors reserved for employees only.

Rita was a hugger. She loved all of them that worked there like they were her own. In a way, they were. Maybe not Nesta, but Rita seemed like a second mother, especially to Emerie. And as hard as Helion may try to swat away her motherly love, Nesta could tell he secretly loved it.

But Rita knew Nesta wasn’t to be hugged, and she respected that. Her warm smile was like an embrace in and of itself; she had smile wrinkles around the corners of her eyes that crinkled whenever her lips turned up. You couldn't help but smile back if it was directed at you.

“I was just on my way out, but I’m glad I caught you.” Rita tugged her long dark hair into a ponytail before shrugging on her leather jacket. She looked at Nesta, her hazel eyes kind and open. "How have you been adjusting to it here at Rita's? I know it's been a couple months but moving to a new place can be quite challenging. I just want to make sure you're doing okay."

Rita peered at her like she could see something no one else could. Nesta resisted from squirming under her gaze. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm good."

Rita gave her a sad smile. "Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me. And honey," she took a step forward and reached her hand out. But she seemed to remember herself and lowered her hand, "don't worry if you ever need a couple days off. You're always working, picking up other people's shifts, and you haven't called out a single time. As long as you give me notice at least day in advance." Rita winked.

Nesta's throat clogged. "Thank you," she said quietly. And she meant it.

Once Rita left, they started to prepare for the regular Friday rush. It was her, Emerie, and Helion working that night.

As much as Nesta tried to resist it, she’d ended up taking Helion and Emerie’s advice on how to get more tips. Correction: some of their advice. She still refused to smile at men, but she started leaving her hair down and wearing a push up bra. When Helion showed her the difference in the number of tips she received, she was honestly disgusted. It was no surprise though, that men threw more money at you if you showed more skin. And as disgusting as it was, it was money. Nesta had never been one to turn that down.

When it hit ten o'clock, the evening rush finally slowed down. Nesta took a few moments to finally fucking breathe, but she was very rudely interrupted by a customer.

“We want some drinks.” Gods, she hated when men demanded things. Was it so hard to politely ask? Nesta schooled the annoyed look on her face, plastered on a fake smile, and turned to face the bar.

Her body froze when she saw who stood there.

No.

Standing on the other side of the counter was Tomas. He was looking at her up and down with a sneer. She could almost physically feel his eyes on her body.

She merely stared at him, eyes wide. What was he doing here? She hadn't ever told him she worked at Rita’s. Was he stalking her? Or was it just some sick joke the universe was playing on her?

Tomas tilted his head to the side, mocking her. He knew how helpless she was right now, and he was entertained.

“Are you deaf or something, bitch? I said, we want drinks.”

Panicking, Nesta’s eyes darted around. Tomas was the only customer at the bar, his friends sitting at a corner table several feet away. Other customers were too immersed in their conversations to pay attention to what was happening. Helion was in the back doing prep and dishes, and Emerie was nowhere to be seen. Where was she? Did she go on her break? Nesta wracked her brain, but she couldn’t remember. Fuck.

Her throat constricted, panic crawling its way into her chest. Nesta willed herself to do something, anything. Suck it up and serve him, walk away, tell him to get out. But even moving her body an inch felt impossible.

“You don’t have to be such a cunt, Nesta.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure approach from the kitchen.

Helion.

He was carrying a bucket of clean dishes, humming as he approached the cabinets behind the bar. He didn’t look their way, preoccupied with putting the glasses back on their rightful shelf. Nesta stood a couple feet away, her body angled between Helion and Tomas. The latter was still leering at her, seemingly unconcerned by the hulking man that stood behind her.

Helion turned toward them to place some clean jiggers and measuring cups on the counter. The second his eyes locked onto Nesta’s, his smile disappeared instantly. He looked over to where Tomas stood. Then back to Nesta. His eyes darkened as if he saw right through her.

Tears started to pool in her eyes before she could stop them.

Helion was immediately reaching for her, but Nesta stepped away from his touch. He immediately withdrew his hand, an apology already forming in his eyes. He examined her before saying gruffly, “I’m getting Emerie.”

Nesta was about to beg him not to leave her alone with Tomas, but the plea died on her lips when Helion took his phone from his pocket and texted Emerie.

Nesta watched as he sent the text, his phone buzzing just a second later indicating Emerie’s quick response. He stuffed his phone back into his pants and looked back up at Nesta. “She’s coming back from break right now.”

It wasn’t even a minute later when Emerie marched through the back door. She didn't bother saying anything as she swiftly lead a shaking Nesta away. Nesta braved a look behind her shoulder, but Tomas was no longer there. His friends were gone too. He must’ve bolted when Helion pulled out his phone.

Coward.

Emerie took them to the break room. No one ever really used it unless they were heating up food in the microwave. Other than that, most of them just went outside for a smoke or sat in their cars.

There were a couple overstuffed couches with small rips that indicated they were fairly worn in. A couple of the lights were broken, so it was dim. The place could really use a renovation. It had potential.

Emerie faced Nesta and crossed her arms. “What happened?”

It was silent. Emerie waited patiently.

Then everything seemed to hit Nesta at once. She processed what had just happened, what that meant.

So Nesta just shook her head. Over and over again, she shook her head, unable to form the words that have been stuck inside her since December.

I was almost raped.

“Nesta,” Emerie started quietly but firmly, searching her eyes. She almost sounded desperate. “Please tell me what happened.”

Emerie's eyes were brown, like melted milk chocolate. Nesta never realized how closely they resembled Elain's eyes.

She sucked in a breath. Then she started talking.

Nesta told her everything. About how she had been struggling in a class last semester and went to the Tomas for extra help. How he was kind at the beginning, but the sessions weren't enough. She was still doing poorly in the class. Her plan to seduce him and get the answers to the final exam. How he tricked her into studying at his house. How he touched her. How she fought him off and was able to get away. How he threatened her if she told anyone. How she failed the fucking exam. How no one else knew.

Emerie didn’t say anything as she talked, simply holding Nesta’s hand tightly throughout the whole thing. During the hard parts, she would squeeze tightly. It seemed like they both needed the comfort.

By the time Nesta finished retelling everything, she was sobbing. At some point, they'd ended up sitting on the couch facing each other. She couldn’t even look at Emerie, scared by what she’d see.

“And you’re telling me he’s sitting in our bar right now?” Emerie said calmly, but her voice was menacing.

Nesta wiped her nose with her sleeve. “Yes – I mean, no. He was. But he ran off when Helion texted you. I think he thought he was going to call the police or something.”

Emerie looked down at their hands, still interlocked. Then she slowly lifted her gaze to look at Nesta.

She was shocked to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She’d never seen Emerie shed a tear, much less show this much emotion.

But she guessed the same could be said about her.

“Nesta, I don't even know what to say," she whispered. She seemed to struggle with her words. “I’m fucking heartbroken that this happened to my friend. And you kept it to yourself for so long…” Emerie looked up to the ceiling. When she looked back at Nesta, her gaze was fierce. Determined. “You’re not alone. Despite what you may think. I have your back.”

Friend.

The word kept repeating in her head. Nesta couldn't remember the last time she had a friend who wasn't Elain or Feyre. When Emerie said that, something warm grew in her chest.

“Can I tell you something?”

Nesta looked up at Emerie and nodded.

She let out a deep breath. “My mom died when I was a baby, and my father raised me. He... he wasn't a good person. He hit me. A lot.”

Nesta’s chest caught. No.

“It was bad. I didn’t realize how dangerous it was until he ended up sending me to the hospital when I was twelve." A tear dropped down the tip of her nose. "I emancipated myself at sixteen, which is when I met Rita.” The ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she remembered. “She took me in despite my protests. I didn't think she'd like me, and I wanted to save myself that pain of being rejected. But I was wrong. She cared for me like no one else had, and she did it out of pure love.”

Fresh tears were now running down Nesta's cheeks. Gods, she felt so much pain, so much love for that little girl. Before Nesta knew what she was doing, she was pulling Emerie to her and throwing her arms around her.

“Thank you,” Nesta whispered into her hair, “for sharing. Thank you.”

They sat like that for what felt like hours. Embracing each other like the world was going to end at any moment. There were so many things Nesta wanted to say.

I'm sorry you went through that.

I'm so lucky to have you as my friend.

I look up to you.

But none of them left her lips.

Nesta's eyes were dried by the time Emerie pulled away. “About Tomas… “

“I’m not going to the police.”

Emerie looked pained, but she nodded reluctantly. She knew she wouldn’t be able to change Nesta’s mind. Not right now at least.

“Okay. Then what are we going to do with you? What do you need to make it through this?” Nesta opened her mouth, but Emerie didn’t let her speak. “I don’t mean how you’re going to survive this. You’ve been doing that, and I think it's pretty clear that you’re depressed. I mean how are we going to figure out a way to make things feel better?”

"The same could be said for you."

Emerie smiled. "Babe, I've been seeing a therapist since Rita took me in. I've gotten help, I've healed a lot. It's your turn."

I forgive you, Ness.

Now it's your turn.

Her father's words came back to her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“We don’t need to figure it out now," Emerie added gently. "But I think you need to find healthy coping mechanisms.”

“I don’t want you to pity me.” Nesta couldn't stop the words from coming out.

Emerie snorted. “Pity you? That’s bullshit. I’m your fucking friend, and I’m pretty sure friends do this sort of thing. I don’t know though, I’ve never really had a best friend before.”

Nesta crooked her head and gave her friend a small smile. “Me neither.”

Emerie laughed and threaded their pinkies together. “Looks like we’re going to figure it out together.”

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Chapter 13 of Bittersweet to be uploaded by tonight! Super excited about this chapter, I think you guys will be too :)