my clothes soaked, i had no choice but to change into a pair of tattered leggings and the dry, black sweatshirt rhys had lent me, trying to ignore the faint scent of his cologne. i busied myself in the bathroom longer than i needed to, becoming increasingly aware of the forced proximity we would have to endure tonight. only exiting after i heard him on the other side of the door. shaking off the adrenaline that had fueled me all day, perhaps i should’ve been more scared — knowing both tamlin and hybern were after us, but all i could think about was the wet, shirtless rhys on the floor. “ i have a hard time believing your silver spooned sensibilities would allow for that. ” i had to step over his legs to cross the room. “ there’s plenty of room, ” i shrugged, knowing full well there wasn’t, but i was so used to sharing.

“ this is luxury, ” i gladly took the flask from him, taking a decent sized gulp, hardly wincing from the burn this time. i was leaning to love the pain. handing the whiskey back to him, i ripped open a bag of chips, before situating myself and sitting criss cross on the bed. aside from the loud crunch of chips, silence enveloped the tiny room, as some level of exhaustion began to wear on me as i considered the day’s events. the realization that tamlin had sent lucien to find us, to bring me back. knowing i was reluctantly the center of so much of this chaos. just dragging them all down with me. “ are you starting to regret it yet? ” helping me.

eyes roll, contemplating her offer for half a second — his pride to prove himself quickly losing to the bitter chill that danced across his spine. the first thing he’d looked for upon arriving was a thermostat, only to find it broken. naturally. “ only since you insist. ” he realizes his gaze may be lingering on her for far too long, taking in the sight of his clothes on her, how his sweatshirt swallows her up. how she still manages to look so perfect, despite damp tresses messily falling over her shoulders. he averts his eyes to the flask. the only way he’ll make it through this. “ i’ll be on my best behavior, promise. ” hands raise to show his palms in surrender, though the smirk on his lips says otherwise.

he carefully sits on the edge of the mattress, his back turned to her, as if one abrupt movement would cause her to change her mind, head tilting back as he takes another swig of his liquid courage. in the moment of silence, he can feel the heaviness of her breaths, the way she shifts completely, as if he knows exactly what’s on her mind. her question is only confirmation of what he suspected. lucien finding them was unexpected — the panic rhysand felt, when for a moment he thought there might’ve been a chance feyre would actually go with him, was even more so. it twisted at him, consuming him until he was frozen, unable to even spew any of his usual insults at him. he was fully ready to face the fact that he would never see her again. yet she defied all expectations, turning even lucien’s face pallid, standing her ground. there won’t ever be a time where he forgets that. where he regrets any of this.

he turns to face feyre, throwing all caution to the wind as he shifts closer. his head slowly shakes, features hardening. his response is quick, stern — as if he couldn’t let her even wonder for a second longer where he stands. “ no. never. ”

there’s something livid and furious within her, it rages and feeds off her festering anger she was born with. no that isn’t right, she was born a common ordinary baby. her mother trained it into her, her grandmother tormented her to make her perfect. she doesnt know where to put all those feelings. or even what to do when those feelings aren’t just anger, when there’s grief, when there is hurt.

a bottle of wine in hand as she glances at the male who walks towards her. lips lift in mockery of a smile, little more than a sneer as she salutes with the half emptied bottle.

‘ little lord rhysie-poo. your general let that one slip —. how can i serve you my lord? ‘

no slur to her speak, but her cold calculating gaze haunted more than angry. she is almost languid on this late night. the exhaustion of the nightmares that don’t let her sleep mellowing that anger to an ache, the flames of her fury banked to ashes that merely smolder.

‘ if you’re just going to stand there, mind going to the left? you’re blocking my moon beam. ‘

most nights are filled with tossing & turning, waiting for sleep that never comes. he finds himself out on the balcony more often than not: taking comfort in the star filled endless dark sky, the sea breeze washing away night terrors. it's the only time he finds peace these days.

this time, however, the idea of serenity seems far off. it seems sleep doesn't come so easy for more than him. he's halfway tempted to turn around without a word, avoid the exchange that will no doubt turn volatile within seconds. it always did with them. yet against better judgment, rhysand only stares blankly at nesta, no amusement flickering in his dark gaze — floating to the bottle in her hands.

" ah. so you're who's been drinking my cellar dry. here i was, blaming cassian. " the usual bite in his words is lacking, neutral. too exhausted for a fight. with a breath, he takes the chair next to her, snatching the bottle from her fingers before inspecting the label.

" expensive taste. " it's followed by a swig, leaning back to relax, sore bones sighing in relief. " couldn't sleep, either? "

I never asked to be like this.

@rhysie said: “Suppose I told everyone that I had seduced you.”

“ shut up. ” i smacked him hard on the shoulder with the high heel in my hand, shooting him my iciest glare. the last possible thing i wanted to think about was how terrible it must have looked, leaving my wedding with rhysand — the very man who had so rudely interrupted my nuptials. no, i couldn’t bask in my own traitorous, self-loathing, not when piles of white gossamer and walls of red flowers had been so suffocating and the music seemed to orchestrate my impending death march. all i knew was i had to get out of there, and rhys had presented me with a quick escape. i squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples, trying to block out the image of tamlin, looking so confused and horrified on the other end of the bloody red aisle. the way i quickly ran out the back, the moment the crowd of strangers erupted in chaos, so easily disturbed just by rhys’s mere presence. the moment i had secured my reserved spot in hell.

“ stop the car, ” i demanded, avoiding the puzzled glances from rhys’s bulky driver, who immediately pulled to an abrupt stop. jolting forward, i instinctively grabbed ahold of rhys’s arm, practically flinching as i let go instantly. mistake after mistake. gathering up the incessant layers of fabric of my dress, i shook off my other shoe and kicked the car door open. “ if you’re going to insist on being a drunken ass, then i can surely manage on my own from here. ”

the shoe meeting his shoulder is well earned — even with the liquor buzzing through his blood stream, he realizes it's perhaps a little too soon to be making any jokes. ( the horror on her face, before he even announced his presence, as she took only a few hesitant steps down the aisle, replays in his mind. even as all of the guests ran, or hid, as if there were a wolf among them — he could only focus on feyre. the sheer panic, radiating from her. only a fool would be blind to it. it's what urged him to speak up. if he had to play the villain one last time, so be it. )

though he doesn't expect her demands, even more shocked when cassian actually listens. a brow raises, as he turns to face her, halfway out of the car. even with the threat of her leaving, there's a casual coolness to him, as if she were bluffing. " you won't make it even a block in that hideous thing, feyre darling. " words a gentle purr, amusement flickering across his features. it takes a disappointed look from cass in the mirror for his posture to change — sitting up for a hand to wrap around her wrist, whatever is left of his smile slipping away from lips. " get back in the car, please. tamlin has probably already insisted on telling everyone we've kidnapped you. "

i gave him the benefit of the doubt, trusting him to be forthcoming enough from here on out, lest he wished to be tackled into the snow again. i knew how much he carried, so the rest of us didn’t have to. he spent so much time and energy pretending he was okay, i wondered if he knew how easy it had become to read right through him. how his subtle nuances and changes in demeanor felt so familiar to me now. the secret language we shared every time our eyes met. i took a small sip of what was left in my own glass, the liquid courage still running through my veins.

“ are you scared of getting your hair wet? ” i cocked my head to the side, in a poor attempt to distract from the way my heart began racing loudly — i didn’t dare to move from my perch on his desk, in case he could already hear it. “ for someone supposedly working, you’re sure drinking a lot. ” i felt my own cheeks flush, as i became dreadfully aware of his predatory gaze, as he turned the power of his full attention on me. swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, i tried not to stare at his lips. this was just reckless and casual flirting, i told myself, boisterous banter with a friend — if that’s what we were. you’d have no idea what to do with yourself. i barely knew how to maintain my composure now, but i could not allow myself to shrink away. not when i wanted it — the adrenaline that rushed through my body each time he looked my way or flexed a single muscle near me. i couldn’t remember the last time i felt more alive than when i was in his presence. “ maybe, ” i conceded, working to keep my voice even and hold his prowling gaze, as if i possessed some newfound level of feigned self-assuredness. “ or perhaps you just enjoy the chase. in which case it would be cruel of me to spoil your fun. ”

he crafts a clear image over the bond, ( waves crashing, gulls singing. toned muscles, covered in illyrian swirls, exposed from the torso up. glistening in the mist, the rest of him consumed by the sea, at peace. fingers slick back dripping strands, face tilting to soak up the sun as he wades through the water … ) watching as it consumes feyre’s thoughts, head tilting into hand. a small shrug as it finishes, mischievous grin slipping onto cat-like features. “ sparing you from drooling in front of everyone again, is more like it. “

he glances down at his drink, before finishing it of, neglecting the empty glass at the side table. “ i’m clearing my head. “ whether it be the liquor, or her: it’s worked. any thoughts of jealousy have slipped away, the notion of being simply a distraction now seems better than nothing. if that all he were ever to be for her, he would understand why. he is not something worth loving, a monster by creation. his life isn’t a fairytale, like perhaps the spring court seemed to be. she would never be his blushing bride — would only be hunted & killed. everything eventually gets taken from him. to be only a distraction … he can live with that.

“ ah? is that what you think? “ he takes note of how her cheeks warm up, despite the feigned confidence. circles in on it like prey, challenging it with every step towards her until she is cornered between him & his desk. if only she knew — how tortuous this chase truly were, how much uncertainty it caused. even now, as rhysand tilts her chin up, star stained gaze heavy onto hers, he has not a clue where he truly stands. “ by all means, feyre darling, be cruel. “

𝐃𝐎𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐒   𝐎𝐅   𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐒   𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇   𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃,   𝐇𝐈𝐒   tongue   pressed   against   the   roof   of   his   mouth   as   if   ready   to   spill   them   all.   but   his   teeth   clench,   confining   the   muscle   behind   them.   he's   let   this   go   on   for   too   long,   so   long   that   his   knee   has   stopped   its   incessant   bouncing,   that   he   might   not   even   be   breathing   because   he's   afraid   the   slightest   movement   will   end   him,   if   rhysand   didn't   put   him   out   of   his   misery   first.

this   was   torture.   this   was   torture   made   worse   by   the   fact   that   it   was   rhysand   doing   it.   but   because   it   was   him,   cassian   didn't   pull   away.   that,   &    because   pulling   away   meant   giving   rhysand   something   to   gloat   about.   that   was   always   the   dilemma,   wasn't   it?   wanting   to   beat   him   at   these   stupid   games   but   also   wanting   to   submit   to   his   high   lord.

(    one   has   happened   more   than   the   other.   there   is   a   sense   of   pride   in   that   too.   )

yes.   goddess,   yes.   muscles   tense   underneath   skin,   adrenaline   pumping   &   blood   rushing   all   through   out.   he   wants   to   speak,   to   laugh   this   all   off   but   the   beast   can   only   grunt   in   response.   just   a   moment   more.   just   a   little   while   longer.   teeth   dig   into   tongue   to   keep   from   begging.   the   white   noise   in   his   ear   rises   in   pitch   as   a   finger   moves   up   the   length   of   a   bone   in   his   wing,   then   slowly   follows   the   trail   of   a   vein   on   the   thin   membrane-

whole   fucking   body   shudders   &    wing   pulls   away   as   cassian   lunges   out   of   his   seat,   snarling.   he   has   to   tug   at   the   string   of   his   leather   pants,   the   knots   loosening   from   where   his   bulge   threatened   to   spill.

"   don't   be   an   ass.   "

he savors every second, every shudder under his touch egging him on further. movements are slow, taunting & teasing, skilled in the ways of torture. a game to see how long it takes before he can break him, that he intends on stretching out for as long as he can — until cassian is pleading for release.

there is sadistic pride in the effect he has on him: the male who he has seen bring armies down singlehandedly, submitting himself so freely to his high lord. now unable to even speak. he decides to challenge it, push him over the edge one last time. lithe fingers sliding over venous wing, his own twitching with desire. he finds the apex of nerves with ease, circling for a moment too long ...

" hm? " feigned innocence swallows the smirk threatening his lips at the insult, rhysand's gaze following him as shoulders simply shrug. " my fingers slipped. "

such casualness is washed away as he stalks closer, closing the space between them. his hand moves to slip under cassian's shirt, tracing shapes upon toned stomach. wicked cruelty laces each movement, each stroke lowering until he stops at the band of his pants. he leans in to nip at his ear, voice coated in honeyed mischief.

" what is it that you want then, cassian? "

“ and those matters don’t concern me? ” a pointed question, causing my brow to raise, after he had so wittingly used me as bait to attract the attor. i would find the book of breathings and use it to dismantle the cauldron, i would give it my all — but i would not allow myself to be left in the dark any longer. the salt air and sea breeze had instilled a renewed sense of purpose and confidence within me — for the first time in a long time, i remembered that there was something out there worth fighting for. “ are you not going to come to the beach with us then? ”

i watched rhys carefully, almost concerned when he didn’t immediately take the opportunity to throw some innocuous banter back at me. his expression was cold, but not cruel in the way i had seen under the mountain — instead, more vacant in a way i wasn’t used to. as if he had something to bury. he couldn’t possibly be jealous, could he? it was hard to imagine him letting such frivolous comments get under his skin, when he was always so calm and collected. it would have been ridiculous to think i was actually considering acting on them. what was there to really be jealous of? as if i were in a place where i was ready for that. or i had any idea in the world what i actually wanted. there was no need to push him, and yet i couldn’t help it — that impassive plight demanded a challenge, even if i knew i wasn’t ready for what i might find if i was able to break through. “ if you were jealous, i’d think you would have to try and do something about it. ”

he understands what exactly she's insinuating without having to even nudge at her shields. even if his plotting were for her own good, the promise he made stands solid. she will no longer be bait — no longer left in the dark, wondering. yet what truly troubles him, besides the pending war, would only unnecessarily complicate an already chaotic time. ( though his mind won't stop repeating it : you're my mate. my mate. it plagues every thought, maddening & all consuming. ) " these matters don't, no. " a lie. it's nothing that won't scare her away. his head drops to look at his now empty glass, the house finding his desire & promptly refilling it. " though rest assured, you will not end up as attor bait again, if that's what you're thinking. "

an arm raises to pillow his head, finally glancing towards feyre as he hums. falsely contemplating the offer, as if he hadn't decided hours ago he wouldn't be attending. he should savor every second with them, yet the fleeting happiness in those moments with his family get consumed with a bitter realization that soon, it will never be the same. " while the idea of seeing you in one of tiny swimming outfits sounds incredibly tempting, someone has to work around here. " that sly smirk finally makes an appearance, wrapped around his glass. her challenge makes a brow raise, head tilting as he sits up, legs dropping on either side of the lounge chair. suddenly, colored in intrigue. " really? " index finger swipes liquid from his lips, words a gentle purr. " because i think ... if i did do anything about it, you'd have no idea what to do with yourself. "

&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

( this is basically just a very self indulgent list of various fluff, angst, and suggestive themed dialogue sentence starters. )

i was achingly still as his hand brushed against my cheek, his touch unusually soft and careful, as he neared the budding bruises. staring up at him, i studied him closely, his expression cold and unreadable as he looked me over with renowned intention. it couldn’t possibly be concern i detected flickering somewhere deep within him, and yet he had tried to warn me in his own way. my safety, he had claimed to care about. a part of me had even wanted to believe him, to take him at his word, but everything that happened had made that impossible. tamlin had been right. rhysand was a manipulative monster— he had fed me just enough information to lead me down the rabbit hole that inevitably ended here.

“ you conveniently failed to mention the part about you working with her. that you’re together. ” the way she stroked his thigh with a proprietary grasp had made my stomach churn. they were both sick and twisted. i tried not to physically flinch as he mentioned tamlin — i had been trying not to think of him, of the fact that no one was coming for me. perhaps it was better this way. no one else would have to die for me. my brow knitted as i stared at his black coat for a hesitant moment, as if waiting for some anterior motive, before i reluctantly accepted it and wrapped it around my shoulders — a faint part of myself almost grateful for any level of comfort, no matter how discreet. my voice lost its bite as it lowered further, “ i’m glad he’s not here if this is what’s waiting for him. ”

a muscle in his jaw twitches, light flickering out from his gaze as it falls away from her. he's played his part too well: a master of puppets, strings now being cut one by one, all for her. yet here she stands, with such hate in her eyes. he pretends her accusations ripple right off of him, unaffected — as if his chest didn't ache, as if he weren't full of panic. she wasn't supposed to be here. he was desperate to avoid just this. watched the blood drip & drain from the poor soul he'd unknowingly given up in place of feyre ... it weighs on him, the guilt & despair, knowing it's only a matter of time before feyre is next.

fingers run through night drenched hair, holding back his scowl, as he adjusts his sleeves. " ah. you really believed that? you're smarter than this, feyre. i'm working against her. " voice is run down, haunted. tired of the act. he moves to lean his back against the cool of the brick, dismissing the topic with a small wave. he can't bring himself to defend his actions, for greater good or not. not while clare's body is still limp & lifeless in the other room. hands slide into his pockets, that silver fire coming to light as they meet hers. a humorless laugh erupts from him, bitter & dark. " he could end this. he could get you out of here. " words bald. blunt, as if it were obvious. " tamlin is who she wants. "