ACOTAR One~shots [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

Color Coded Speak

Cassian managed to flip them until Rhys’s back was against the hip-high wall instead, snarling in satisfaction.

“Must you be so loud?” Nesta said, a line between her brow, frowning down at the report before filling in the rest of the filing information for that document. Though she’d enlisted the help of scholars throughout Velaris, she always insisted on assisting with the legwork. “Some of us are trying to work.”

Cassian paused at that (ever predictable), releasing Rhys, leaving the both of them disheveled and panting. Amused, Feyre met Rhys’s eyes over Cassian’s shoulder, and he just winked as they called for a break.

Do you know what you’re getting yourself into? Her mate asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

Feyre only shrugged, pressing innocence through the bond.

Cassian’s eyes drifted over Nesta, smirking as she hunched lower over the document. Feyre bit back a smile at what she knew was coming.

This is all your fault I’ll have you know, Rhys teased, poking her has he grabbed the towel slung over the back of one of the chairs, wiping his face, the back of his neck.

Feyre let her eyes linger on the motion, how it stretched his shirt across his chest, his biceps. Cassian had told her near the beginning of the war that her High Lord was out of shape. She hadn’t understood it then, had been entirely surprised that one could be in more shape.  But over the course of training for battles, weeks on the front lines and intense, back-breaking sessions on the practice grounds with Cassian, he’d worked himself back to his full. . . potential.

And Feyre couldn’t even pretend that she didn’t like him like this. Didn’t like pressing slow kisses to the strong column of his throat as her fingers eased over the heavy muscle joining his wings to his back. Didn’t like being sprawled over the firm expanse of his torso, or grabbing his thigh and feeling the powerful muscle taught through his trousers.

Rhys seemed to sense the turn of her thoughts, smirking as he followed Cassian to the table where they sat.

Don’t let it go to your head, she replied, throwing him a snort for good measure. The last thing he needed was an excuse to flaunt his newly found form for her like a preening bird (not that she. . . minded terribly much).

Cassian reached them first, throwing an arm around Nesta’s shoulders. “You’re the ones who wanted to work out here in the first place, Sweetheart. The roof is our territory and you know that.”

She let out a disgusted scoff and lifted his arm off of her by the sleeve, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger as if she couldn’t bear to let herself touch any more of him. (Feyre, of course, knew better). As Nesta and Cassian started bickering about just who had rights to the roof, Rhys reached over Feyre’s shoulder for the glass of water she’d brought out.

“Those the reports from the Court of Nightmares?”

Feyre took the glass back, taking a sip for herself before setting it back on the table. “Mor dropped them by this morning.”

He took a moment, reading over the form in front of her as the pair next to them moved on to bickering about whether or not Cassian smelled bad after their training. (“If I do smell, you’re welcome to bathe with me.”) Feyre ignored the sound of her sister smacking the High Commander of the Night Court on the arm.

The reports arriving from the Court of Nightmares were troubling at best. One of the more irksome families had been stirring up some kind of. . . rebellion amongst a few of the more distant relatives in the mountain. They’d known about it for ages, and there were always seeds of rebellion, a regular mention from Azriel’s connections in the depths of that mountain.  But they’d been growing restless lately, and it was more than time to see that they listened the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. Both of them together were always. . . an impressive sight if Feyre had to admit. A little dissent, however, was nothing either of them couldn’t handle on their own.