this once-human female who had conquered death, who now glowed as if she had devoured the moon.
261 posts
@daeathes Youre An Asshole, You Know That?
@daeathes — you’re an asshole, you know that?
nesta very much does know; she's often the first to tell herself just that. there are even times when she prides herself on being difficult. but on this occassion she isn't entirely certain what she's done for the reminder to come from cassian's lips. in part because there's a few options to choose from. she takes a few moments longer than she needs to massage citrus scented lotion into her cuticles, and by the time she's finished nesta's fairly confident that it has something to do with the words she exchanged with rhysand earlier in the day - too many of their disagreements stem from ones she's already had with the high lord. but she makes no effort to reveal that particular argument, afterall, there's still a chance that she's done something else to spark annoyance.
"you always know how to say the sweetest things, cassian... go on, tell me more." she turns to him with a saccharine smile and leans against the dressing table. the picture of innocence - almost.
More Posts from Moondevoured
@feydarling — “ if you die for me i’m gonna be really fucking mad keep your eyes open. ”
"many people strive to die as they lived." nesta's lips spread into a horrific smile, revealing the blood that has bubbled up in her throat and settled between her teeth. she's only vaguely aware of the wet sensation as it dribbles from the corner of her mouth. "...there are worse things to die for."
but she takes a SHUDDERING BREATH - a promise that she has no intention of dying - and fights the heaviness of her eyelids to survey the sky above. it's difficult for her to tell if the illyrians are moving impossibly fast amongst the clouds, or if her vision is simply blurring. "dying for merrill, now that would really piss me off."
the first time nesta scented a male’s arousal it had overwhelmed her senses; she had never known anything like it - the change in the air had been so strong that she thought she might just choke. she had never known anything like it since, but even so it was unmistakable. the change in azriel’s scent is almost subtle. it flows from him in waves of sweet musk and salt. despite herself she inhales, and a shiver dances down her spine; paints a pattern of goosebumps up her arms.
she presses her thighs together, instinctually searching for friction, but she’s watching the way he observes her body attentively enough to know that he will notice the movement. knows he would have noticed even if her eyes weren’t locked on his features in fascination. her pulse is pounding in her ears so loudly that she’s certain she wouldn’t have been able to comprehend his words if she were still human, but she makes no attempt to steady her breath. azriel may not know what she’ll do next (neither does she) but he already knows how she feels, and she isn’t interested in hiding it. perhaps she should be.
“i do have limits,” she assures him, surprised to find her voice so calm, her gait so steady as she moves around the table. her fingertips trace the wood as she turns the corner in an effort to keep herself steady if she does lose her nerve. she’s far from prudish and hasn’t been for a long time. she’s certain he’s heard tales about it, but she wants him to know that what she’s doing is different to what she’s done in the past; even if she can’t put her finger on why that is. “but i have less of them when i feel SAFE.”
her words act as an admission to herself, and she realises that’s what keeps her stalking towards him. usually she’d be mortified to admit something like that, but like she said: she feels safe. her rational mind knows that she should stop, that she’s taken it too far already, but she can’t.
finally, she pauses before him, and for a moment she considers mirroring his actions from earlier and turning his chair towards her. but she doesn’t. she’s fairly certain that it wouldn’t be as smooth as it was when he did it; as attractive. the strength she has now often surprises her, but she knows it isn’t enough to take that much control... that she’d only embarrass herself in the process. so she embraces gentleness. her fingertips find his jaw once again, and she leans in closer to press her lips to the corner of his mouth.
“you told me that you like to be surprised, and i think you deserve to enjoy a lot more of the things you like...” her eyes meet his and there’s a rare hint of honesty in them. without breaking her gaze she presses another kiss to the opposite corner of his mouth… another to his jaw… and finally to his throat, where she lingers. “so tell me what else you like.”
there she goes again, surprising him. the feeling, the emotion, rolling off of the new-fae is intriguing. it's as if she's screaming one thing but yet .. is not exactly giving in? the shadows around him whisper of her intentions, her wants. what her body says it desires. he keeps himself as neutral as she usually sees him. azriel is on a tight leash and keeps himself that way for good, real measure.
when she rises from her seat in a graceful, fluid movement... azriel does wonder what she's going to do next. what he can feel from her is boldness, determination.. it's all that is shining through. her eyes - those silver, dangerous things, - shine brighter than any moon. she is the sun. a mischievous sun. how burnt will he get? his answer comes as she uses quick fingers to slide her dress to the floor. the soft whoosh of the fabric causes such a reaction inside of himself. he does not react outwardly.
dark eyes flick to her beautiful, cold features now glowing with attraction. if she's learned anything about scent and phremones, she'd surely pick him up in a heartbeat. he's letting himself be caught. if this is a game - he's a master player.
azriel allows his eyes to take in the planes and curves of her body, his eyes lingering at her breasts - pointedly. a pink tongue comes to wet his full lips, then click off his teeth. his gaze finds hers once more after he's had a purposely long look. " i didn't know you were going to do that. " he says finally, his low voice smooth like velvet night. the darkness pulses around him and he sits back into his chair, contemplating her next sentence. " you're determined to surprise me - and you have, surprisingly, twice now. i'm beginning to wonder if you have no limits... or at least not the limits i perceived you having. " he tells her, scarred fingers lacing together over his lap, his elbows on the arm rests. " i cannot read your mind, unfortunately. my particular set of gifts do not extend that far. so why don't you show me? "
when i make a weird and off putting version of elain it’s over for you bitches x
@serendpitous — do you believe in fate? (kate)
"no." she responds simply. too simply. in the time that it takes for the music to come to an end and for the orchestra to prepare for their next piece, nesta realises that kate is fishing for more information with her question.
"i believe that we create our own fates. if you desire a happy ending, work is required. but fate is certainly a comforting thought. all of my favourite novels have a sense of kismet." for a fleeting moment she wonders if perhaps some people are more destined to create their own happiness than others. the same, she realises, could be said for MISERY. "— what do you think, miss sharma?"