#mor's bookshelf

[liyazaki]

happy Justin Timberlake's Day of Reckoning to all who celebrate!

[hhaechansmoless]

Six Strings, Zero Clues

pairing: mark lee x reader

trope: strangers to lovers, uni au

description: Mark Lee thinks he’s the next big indie artist. You think he’s the reason you have eye bags. After weeks of listening to his 2 AM guitar sessions through your ceiling, you finally snap and put up a very direct complaint on the bulletin board. He, of course, does not take the hint. Now you have to march up there and personally make him stop—except it turns out Mark might actually be kind of… cute? Annoying, but cute.

Part of the Notice Me (literally) series!

warnings: food mentioned, language, second hand embarassment? slander too I suppose

w/c: 7.1k

a/n: phew its here and um this was supposed to be some silly little thing for all the dreamies djsdk (by the time this is up the masterlist for the series will also be out but try to guess who's who!! i've left a few hints hehe) also i dont play the guitar but if a mark swoops in offering to teach me i will not say no.

taglist

The printer whirs, spitting out the paper, and you snatch it up before it even lands in the tray.

“Okay, but have you considered not escalating this?” Giselle asks, sprawled across the common room couch, half-watching you and half-scrolling through her phone.

You don’t bother with a response. Instead, you dig through the mess of random supplies on the bookshelf, hunting for tape.

“Like,” she continues, “what if he’s going through something? What if this is his only coping mechanism? Are you really gonna be the villain in some dude’s healing arc?”

You pause just long enough to glare at her. “Bold of you to assume I’m not the one going through something.”

Giselle hums, tilting her head in consideration. “I mean. Fair.”

You find the tape—buried under a pack of sketch pens—and tear off a piece with your teeth. Giselle doesn’t even blink. You’ve clearly been driven past the point of rational behavior.

The common room is nearly empty at this hour. The vending machine hums in the corner, a lone microwave beeps from the communal kitchen, and some guy is asleep at one of the tables, his face smushed into an open textbook. Outside, the campus is quiet, bathed in the dull orange glow of streetlights.

And above all that—above you—the same godforsaken sound drifts through the ceiling. A soft, melancholic strumming, like the soundtrack of a coming-of-age movie that just won’t end.

Newsflash: we’re not. This is a dorm, not some group therapy tent at a shitty music festival, and I promise you, no one is having a life-changing moment listening to your sad indie ballads through these paper-thin walls. I don’t know what heartbreak you’re working through, but please—either take it somewhere else, invest in some headphones, or play at a reasonable hour like a normal human being. 

You slap the notice onto the bulletin board and smooth the tape with your palm. Giselle huffs as she gets up from the couch to read the piece of paper you’ve put up.

NOTICE: TO INDIE GUITAR GUY

Some of us just crawled out of finals week held together by caffeine and regret, and the only thing we want to hear at 2 AM is nothing. But instead, every night without fail, you’re out here strumming away like we’re all living in some coming-of-age movie where you’re the main character. 

If not, I will personally start hunting you down to cut your guitar strings. Try me, asshole.

“You do realize you could just go up there and knock, right?”

You cross your arms. “And then what? Have a conversation?”

“That is generally how human interaction works, yes.”

You shake your head. “No. If I knock, I have to be nice. And if I’m nice, I can’t say everything I want to say. This is a better solution.”

Giselle gestures toward the board. “Your better solution is an unhinged public rant?”

“Yes.”

She squints at the paper, then snorts. “You threatened to cut his guitar strings.”

“Because if I get my hands on them, I will.” You shove a thumbtack through the top of the page for extra measure, pinning it onto the board with a little more force than necessary. The other notices tremble in protest—flyers for dorm cleaning (which you think would definitely be a scam), someone looking for a new roommate, and a very questionable ad for adopting a cat together.

You furrow your eyebrows at the last one. Whoever put that up actually lacks brain power because pets aren’t allowed in the building and the RA can easily see what’s on this board. 

You turn away from the bulletin board, brushing your hands together like you’ve just solved a great moral dilemma. “Okay,” you say, “I’m going to bed.”

Giselle barely glances up from her phone. “Good luck with that.”

You ignore her and make your way toward the hallway, already fantasizing about the blissful, uninterrupted sleep that will hopefully be in your future. Maybe you were a little dramatic, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And if Indie Guitar Guy has even an ounce of common sense, he’ll take the hint.

And right now, you’re pretty sure you’re experiencing it firsthand.

E

The placebo effect is when your brain tricks your body into thinking something is working, even when it isn’t. Like when people take sugar pills in medical trials and somehow start feeling better just because they believe they got real medicine. It’s mind over matter, proof that sometimes, the illusion of change is just as powerful as change itself.

For the next two days, you sleep like a rock.

The thought of guitar guy reading your notice, and finally stopping his antics makes all your post-exam exhausted brain latch onto the idea like it’s a lifeline. It doesn’t matter how it worked—whether it was shame, guilt, or a sudden revelation that 2 AM concerts aren’t a personality trait. What matters is that it’s quiet. No more strumming drifting through the walls, no more tossing and turning while waiting for him to get tired.

You wake up feeling victorious.

For the first time in weeks, you don’t have to drag yourself out of bed like an extra in a zombie movie. Your coffee tastes better, the air smells cleaner, and even your 8 AM lecture seems bearable. Giselle eyes you over her cereal as you practically float around the dorm, humming to yourself.

“Wow,” she says, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth. “I almost forgot what you’re like when you’re not being slowly driven to insanity.”

“You see?” You gesture at yourself. “This is what happens when people respect community living.”

By the third night, you almost forget he ever existed.

But of course, you were being delusional. Stupid, even. Because this dorm not only houses you and your friends, but also stupid boys who would probably not give a flying fuck about notices like the one you put up. 

You rub your eyes vigorously, trying to scrub away the sleepiness. It’s past midnight and you should be cruising through your REM cycles right now. Instead, you listen to the strumming of a guitar somewhere above you.

And because the universe is cruel like that, you actually recognize the damn song.

Why would anyone sane play Mariposa by the Peach Tree Rascals at fucking 1 in the morning? You curse internally before groaning, rolling onto your stomach and shoving your face into your pillow, as if that’s going to block out the sound. It doesn’t. If anything, the acoustics of the dorm—cursed, absolutely cursed—only amplify the soft, lazy strumming. He’s not even playing the full song, just absentmindedly plucking out the chords, like some guy in a movie sitting by a campfire, contemplating life or whatever.

For a brief second, you think, Okay, fine. It sounds kind of nice.

And then you remember that it’s past midnight.

Sitting up abruptly, you push your covers off, jumping off your bed with a newfound motivation. What kind of asshole sees that big notice that you put up and still doesn’t have the decency to stop?

When Giselle hears you shuffling around, she looks up from her econ textbook, shaking her head with a sigh. “You’re going to feel bad when this guy turns out to be, like, the sweetest person ever.”

You scoff, yanking a hoodie over your head. “I’ll take my chances.”

Giselle closes her book and watches you with something between amusement and resignation. “What are you even gonna say?”

You shove your feet into a pair of slides. “I don’t know. Something about common courtesy and how not everyone wants to listen to his fuckass music?”

She snorts. “You’ve already committed to the villain role, huh?”

You jab a finger in her direction. “No. I’m the protagonist. He’s the inconsiderate side character messing up my storyline.”

Giselle slumps into her desk, her voice coming out muffled. “Again, you’re going to feel so bad when this dude is actually, like, a golden retriever in human form.”

You ignore her, grabbing your phone and stomping toward the door. “I highly doubt that.”

And with that, you march out of your room, slamming the door behind and scaring the scrawny but tall kid who lives in the dorm next to yours. His clothes and the corridor smell vaguely of something burnt, but you don’t think too much of it, fully prepared to give Indie Guitar Guy a piece of your mind.

The walk to his room isn’t long, but it gives you just enough time to fully work yourself up. Your footsteps are firm, your hoodie sleeves bunched around your fists like you’re ready to throw hands if necessary. Every tired, miserable night flashes before your eyes.

You knock once. The chords still continue to be played. You knock again. No reaction.

Your eye twitches as you knock again—hard, promising that this is the last and you’ll break his door the next time if you have to. 

The strumming stops. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of soft shuffling. You hear the doorknob turn and then the door swings open and the entire speech you’d prepared dies in your throat.

He’s cute.

And not in the way you were expecting (not that you were, but still). He stands there, slightly disheveled, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it, an old hoodie hanging loose on his frame. His guitar pick is still caught between his fingers, and his eyes—dark, warm, blinking at you in confusion—look way too soft for someone who’s been torturing you for weeks.

You forget, briefly, what you came here to do.

Then he scratches the back of his neck, looking at you in confusion. “Hey… Can I help you?”

To your absolute horror, instead of going off on him, the only thing that escapes your mouth is, “Um.”

UM?

What happened to excuse me, asshole, do you have no shame? Where the hell did that go?

He looks at you expectantly, still waiting for you to continue.

You swallow hard, mentally scrambling to put yourself back together. “So… I don’t know if you saw, but I put up a notice on the bulletin board?”

He blinks. “What notice?”

You hate how your stomach flips at the way his brows pinch slightly, confused but genuinely curious, like he actually wants to know.

You clear your throat. “Just—about the, uh. The guitar.” You gesture vaguely, as if that explains anything. “At night.”

“Oh.” It comes out almost sheepishly as he looks down at the pick he was flipping in between his fingers, like he’s only now realizing.

You should push. Tell him off right now, stand your ground and speak your mind. But all you manage is to say—

“It’s just, um… really late, y’know?”

Oh my God.

What is this? A customer service complaint? Where is the wrath, and the all-caps shouting you promised yourself on the way up here?

He blinks at you again. Then, slowly, his lips part in realization.

“…Wait,” he says, eyes widening. “Am I the asshole from the notice?”

You stand there, every inch of your body fighting to scream YES. YES, YOU DUMB, SILLY, PRETTY BOY.

“...I mean—I wouldn’t say asshole?” You grimace.

You did. In fact, you didn’t just say it—you typed it out, printed it AND posted it in the common room’s bulletin board. Why didn’t you just scream it out of the windows while you were at it?

“Oh, shit.” He scratches his forehead, “That was you?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I—uh.”

He watches you for a second before exhaling. “Oh, man. I’m really sorry about that,” he says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, I didn’t see the notice until earlier tonight.”

You should still be annoyed. Should. But the way he says it—so earnestly, with his brows slightly furrowed—makes you forget.

“I thought it was just some general complaint,” he continues, glancing down before hesitantly meeting your eyes again. “Didn’t realize I was the ‘asshole.’”

You feel heat creep up your neck. “Okay, but, like, not seriously—”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Right. Totally.”

Your face burns.

Guitar guy must sense your embarrassment because he quickly clears his throat, straightening up. “Anyway,” he says, voice a little softer, “I really didn’t mean to keep you up. I just—I play when I can’t sleep.” He scratches his forehead, looking almost bashful. “Didn’t think it was carrying through the walls that much.”

Before you can mumble out something incoherent or non-sensible again, he continues. 

“No, yeah. You’re right. I’ll stop.” Then, almost shyly, he glances back at you. “I, uh… I don’t think we’ve met before?”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I’m Mark,” he says, smiling a little. “Since, y’know. You technically already know way too much about my sleep schedule.”

You let out a breathy laugh, more surprised than anything. You hadn’t expected him to be this nice. Or this—

Well. This.

“I guess that’s fair,” you mumble, suddenly feeling a little stupid standing here in your sleep shorts and oversized hoodie.

Mark’s smile lingers. Then, with a little hesitation, he nods toward you. “So, uh. Do I get to know your name, or?”

You hesitate for half a second—because this is not how this was supposed to go, and he is not supposed to be this sweet—but eventually, you sigh, giving him your name.

Mark nods, a small grin on his lips, “Cool, well. I’m really sorry. I’ll stop now, so you can go sleep!”

Maybe it’s because he said he couldn’t sleep, or maybe it’s because you think that in your notice it may have seemed like he’d a bad player (he’s not), or maybe it’s just because your sleepy brain finds him cute that you pipe up, just before you leave.

“I’m sorry if I came off as really rude. It’d just been a hard week.” You sigh, a little hesitant, “And you don’t have to stop playing… I mean—at this time, please don’t. But I wouldn’t mind listening to you some other time.”

Mark blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Oh—uh—really?”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Yeah. You’re… not bad.”

His ears turn a little pink. “Oh. Thanks.” He scratches his neck, smiling softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There’s a pause.

Then, before you can process it, Mark lifts a hand, pointing his fingers toward you like a finger gun. “Sleep well, neighbor.”

Oh my God.

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Goodnight, Mark.”

And with that, you turn away, fully aware that you’ve just lost the battle. God, Giselle is never going to let you live this down once you tell her.

A

The next morning, you groan as you shuffle out of bed, running on autopilot as you grab your mug and head to the common room, your only goal in life being to reach the sad, overworked coffee machine.

The moment you step in, the sharp smell of burnt coffee greets you—bitter, slightly tragic, but necessary. You yawn, rubbing your eyes as you press the button on the machine, waiting for it to sputter out something drinkable.

“You actually slept last night, right?”

The voice makes you blink. You turn, and standing next to you, looking way too put together for this hour, is Mark Lee.

Oh.

You fight every urge to react. He’s in a hoodie, hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed, his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s looking at you, head tilted slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Uh.” You blink again, processing. “Yeah?”

Mark lets out a tiny breath of relief. “Good,” he says, nodding. “I, uh… I stopped playing. Like I said I would.”

Oh, he’s shy.

Somehow, this is worse. You were prepared for maybe an awkward nod or a "what’s up?". Not this gentle, earnest follow-up on whether you got enough sleep.

“Yeah.” You swallow. “I noticed. Thanks”

Mark nods again, rocking back on his heels. He’s quiet for a second, then gestures toward the coffee machine. “You, uh… do this every morning?”

You shrug. “Unfortunately.”

He lets out a small laugh, and for some reason, you feel stupidly warm.

“There you are.”

You both turn as Giselle enters the room, hair still a little messy from sleep, her own mug in hand. She barely glances at you before heading straight for the coffee machine, too preoccupied to notice the tension in the air.

When she’s finally done shoving your mug out of the way and filling her’s first, she looks up at the two of you.

“Who’s this?” Giselle asks you, voice loud enough for Mark to hear.

You’re about to reply when Mark steps forward instead, holding his hand out for her to shake. She stares at it for a second.

“I’m Mark. Um… the annoying guitar guy.”

“Oh!” Giselle exclaims, a smile making way onto her lips as she shakes his hand. “Good to meet you. Damn, did she yell your ears off yesterday? I tried to stop her, I swear.”

Mark laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, it was fair. I didn’t even realize how loud I was.”

Giselle smirks, nudging you with her elbow. “See? Not everyone’s out to get you.”

You roll your eyes, choosing to ignore her as you finally bring your coffee to your lips. The second the burnt liquid hits your tongue, you wince. “God, this is awful.”

Mark watches, slightly amused. “Yeah, it smells kinda brutal.”

You sigh. “It’s usually bearable. Can’t function without it.”

“You ever try the café across campus?” Mark asks. “Way better than whatever this is.”

You shake your head. “Too much effort. This is closer.”

Giselle hums, sipping her own coffee. “She’s lazy,” she supplies helpfully.

You glare at her, but Mark just chuckles, rocking back on his heels. “Well, if you ever decide to make the trek, let me know. I’ll come with.”

You nod absently, still focused on your coffee. “Mm, noted.”

Mark hesitates for half a second, like he’s waiting for something, but when you don’t react, he clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll catch you later.”

“Later,” you mumble into your mug, already preparing for the day ahead.

As soon as he’s gone, Giselle turns to you, staring.

You blink. “What?”

Her lips curl into a slow smirk. “Oh my God.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

She snorts. “Nothing. You’re just an idiot.”

You scowl. “Great. Love to hear that first thing in the morning.”

Giselle just shakes her head, looking far too entertained as she takes another sip of coffee. “No, no. This is fun. Let’s see how long it takes.”

“See how long what takes?”

But she just grins. “Nothing. I’m going to shower first.”

D

The library is quiet, save for the occasional sound of pages flipping and hushed whispers between students. You’re not here by choice. You’d have preferred to sit in the common room, a little more comfortably, but the heated discussion over banning glitter for the upcoming door deco competition isn’t something that you’d sit through either.

So now, you’re here, settled at a table near the corner, your laptop open, coffee beside you. You don’t even realize someone is sitting a few seats away until you stretch, glance up—

And Mark Lee is looking right at you.

Oh.

Your brain stalls for half a second before you lift a hand in a casual wave.

Mark grins, like he was waiting for you to notice, and—without hesitation—grabs his stuff and moves over.

"Hey," he says, plopping down across from you.

You blink at him. "Hey?"

He gestures vaguely. "Thought I’d say hi."

You squint. "Didn’t look like you were studying."

Mark laughs, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, well… he’s having roommate trouble right now, and I’m a great listener."

It takes you a second to register that he’s talking about the guy still sitting at his old table. When you glance over, you realize—oh. Renjun.

You nod as you glance back at your laptop. You vaguely remember seeing the notice that he needed a roommate, but it’d probably been taken down a few days ago. 

“Has he not found one yet?”

“Worse. He forgot to mention that he’d only room with guys,” Mark sighs, glancing at him before shaking his head, “And now he’s living with a girl that he’s definitely starting to like.”

You almost laugh out of disbelief. “Is co-ed rooming even allowed?”

“Nope,” Mark pops the p. “But he’s a fucking goody-two-shoes and the RAs love him, so honestly, even if they find out, they’ll give him a good notice period for either to move out.”

“I can hear you two.” Renjun hisses, before shrinking a little as he looks around, hoping no one was bothered.

You clear your throat. “So, what, are you just here for moral support?”

Mark grins. “Kind of. I keep them sane.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Naturally.”

He leans in slightly, chin resting on his palm. “But, you know, the library’s not so bad.”

You shoot him a skeptical look. “Didn’t take you for the type to hang out here for fun.”

Mark shrugs, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. Becoming a dedicated academic weapon.”

You exhale. “Right. And I’m the dean of the university.”

He gasps. “Wow. No faith in me at all? For all you know, I could be topping my classes.”

You hum, unconvinced.

Mark watches you for a second, then leans in just a fraction closer, voice lowering slightly. “Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong then.”

You blink at him, caught off guard, but before you can say anything, Renjun finally looks up from his laptop, fixing Mark with a withering stare.

“Can you prove it somewhere else?” he mutters. “Some of us are actually trying to study.”

Mark grins, completely unbothered. “See? Told you he’s suffering.”

G

You’re halfway through filling your water bottle when you hear a loud clatter followed by an equally loud “Shit!”

You whip around just in time to see Mark Lee standing in the dorm kitchen, staring at the floor like it personally betrayed him. A broken instant ramen cup lays at his feet, noodles spilled across the tiles in a sad, soupy mess.

“…Do I even want to know?” you ask.

Mark looks up, startled. He must not have noticed you walk in. His hood is halfway up his head, and his sweatpants are hanging loose at his hips, like he just rolled out of bed to grab food.

“I—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought I could grab it before it hit the counter.”

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer to assess the damage. “And?”

He sighs. “And I could not.”

You try to hold back your laugh, but it slips out anyway. Mark groans, crouching down to clean up the mess, and you, feeling slightly bad for him, grab some napkins to help.

“Appreciate it,” he mutters as you both start wiping up the broth.

“No problem. Midnight disasters seem to be a running theme in this dorm,” you joke.

Mark huffs a small laugh. “Tell me about it. Last week, Jisung nearly set the toaster on fire.”

You pause, still crouched down. “Is that the kid that lives next door to me? I swear that the night I came and complained—” You shoot a slightly guilty look at him. “—to you, he smelled like burnt stuff.”

“Probably,” Mark shakes his head, “I mean, I’m not the best person to teach him how to cook, but he’s got a few friends. The kid’s just too stubborn and a little bit of an airhead to ask for help.”

The two of you continue cleaning in comfortable silence for a moment before you stand to toss the napkins in the trash. When you turn back, Mark is still crouched on the floor, gathering the last of the noodles into a pile. His hood has slipped back slightly, revealing the messy strands of his hair, and his sleeves are pushed up just enough to show his forearms.

Not that you’re looking.

Mark groans as he tosses the ruined noodles into the trash. “Man, this sucks. I was really looking forward to eating that.”

“You could just make another one?”

He hesitates, then sighs. “That was my last cup.”

You frown. “That was your only food?”

Mark scratches the back of his head, avoiding your gaze. “…Maybe.”

You stare at him. “Mark.”

“I meant to get groceries,” he mutters. “I just forgot.”

“For how long?”

“…A while.”

You let out a long sigh before turning toward the fridge. “Alright, come on.”

Mark blinks. “Huh?”

“You’re not starving on my watch,” you say, pulling out a container. “I made extra earlier.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Wait—really?”

“Don’t make it weird.” You shove the container into his hands before you can think twice.

Mark stares at it for a second before looking back up at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re kind of nice, huh?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t spread that around.”

He hums as he pops open the lid. “Guess I owe you one now.”

“Damn right you do.”

Mark laughs, leaning against the counter. “You know, if you ever wanna cash that in, we could go grab real food sometime.”

You snort. “Yeah, sure. In exchange for a half-eaten bowl of ramen.”

He grins, scooping up a bite. “Deal.”

You shake your head, grabbing your water bottle before heading back to your room.

You twist the cap back onto your water bottle just as Giselle walks in, kicking off her shoes with a sigh. She doesn’t even look at you before flopping face-first onto her bed.

“I give up,” she mumbles into her pillow.

You glance at the clock. “On what? Life?”

“Basically.” She groans, turning her head just enough so her voice is no longer muffled. “I ran into my ex on the way back. He saw me trip on the dorm steps. I don’t think I can recover from this.”

You snort. “You literally dumped him. Why are you embarrassed?”

She lifts a hand in the air, shoving her middle finger at you. “I have my reasons.”

Shaking your head, you take another sip of water. “You could always poison his meal plan or something.”

“Maybe.” She turns onto her side, finally looking at you. “What about you? You were out late.”

You shrug. “Just went to get water.”

She narrows her eyes slightly. “And?”

“…And Mark was there.”

That gets her attention. She sits up properly now, leaning forward. “Oh?”

You frown. “What?”

She tilts her head at you. “Nothing. Just…interesting.”

You roll your eyes. “He spilled his ramen. I helped clean it up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s it.”

“Uh-huh.”

You sigh, climbing into bed. “What?”

“Nothing.” She flops back, pulling her blanket over her legs. “You just seem to run into him a lot.”

You pause for a second. “He lives upstairs.”

“Mhm.”

You throw your pillow at her before slumping into your bed as well, switching your lamp off with a sigh.

It’s not weird.

Mark lives upstairs. You’ve only run into him a couple of times. Completely normal, considering the dorm isn’t that big. Still, as you stare at the faint outline of your ceiling in the dark, you think back to the way he laughed, how he leaned against the counter, how his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

He’s cute. That’s just a fact. In an endearingly clueless way, with his messy hair and his habit of rubbing the back of his neck when he talks. Objectively cute. Universally acknowledged cute. Annoyingly cute, even.

But it’s not like that. Obviously.

You roll onto your side, pulling your blanket tighter around you.

Just a coincidence. 

You close your eyes, willing yourself to sleep, but for some reason, you can still hear his voice in your head. The soft laugh, the way he said we could grab real food sometime. The casualness of it.

Not an invitation. Not really. Right?

You huff, pressing your face into your pillow.

Whatever. You’ll probably forget about it by morning.

B

You hear the music before you see him.

The common room isn’t empty, but it’s quieter than usual—just the occasional shuffle of someone flipping through a textbook, the distant hum of the vending machine. And then there’s him.

Mark is curled up on the couch, one leg tucked under him, guitar resting easily against his chest. He’s not playing anything loud—just soft, absentminded strumming, like he’s working through a song in his head.

And you should keep walking. You really, really should.

But instead, you hesitate, shifting from one foot to the other just enough that the floor creaks under you. Mark glances up at the sound, fingers faltering slightly over the strings.

“Oh,” he says, blinking like he wasn’t expecting company. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say back, already regretting this.

His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile. “You look like you were about to turn around.”

You scoff, stepping fully into the room. “I was just—” You pause. What were you doing?

Mark tilts his head, waiting.

“I needed a break,” you sigh.

He nods, adjusting the guitar in his lap. “Good timing.”

He doesn’t elaborate, just keeps playing, and maybe that’s your cue to leave—but your feet carry you toward the couch anyway. You sit down—not next to him, but close enough to see the way his fingers move over the strings.

You watch for a second, then glance at his face. “You play in the daytime now?”

Mark exhales a quiet laugh. “Only because I’ve been feeling considerate towards a certain someone.”

You’re sure that there’s colour rising to your cheeks now, but you try to mask it off by laughing. “Wow. Growth.”

He shakes his head, letting out a soft hum under his breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

For a while, there’s no talking—just the sound of the guitar, the occasional scrape of his pick against the strings. You don’t realize how much time has passed until you catch yourself fully zoning out, elbows resting on your knees, watching his hands like an idiot.

Mark notices.

He doesn’t call you out for it, but his fingers slow slightly, like he’s suddenly aware of the attention.

You snap out of it immediately, shifting your gaze. Nope. Absolutely not.

Mark clears his throat, tapping his thumb against the body of the guitar. “You play?”

“What?”

“The guitar,” he says, nodding toward it. “You don’t play, do you?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.”

Mark hums, considering. “Do you want to?”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, adjusting his grip. “I could teach you something. If you want.”

You hesitate. You could say no. You should say no.

But Mark is already tilting the guitar toward you, his brows raised in a quiet ‘well?’

You fumble with it, your fingers slipping against the strings as you try to mimic the way Mark holds it. It feels unnatural, like trying to write with your non-dominant hand.

And against all logic and reason, you reach for it.

The guitar is heavier than you expected.

“Here,” Mark says, shifting closer on the couch. His knee brushes against yours, and you stiffen slightly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. He reaches over, adjusting your grip. “You’re holding it like it’s gonna bite you.”

“Maybe it will,” you mutter.

Mark laughs, low and warm, and you try not to focus on how close he is. His fingers guide yours to the fretboard, pressing down on the strings. “This one’s the B,” he says, plucking it. A soft, clear note rings out.

You frown. “Sounds like every other string.”

“Wow.” He feigns offense, clutching his chest. “And here I thought you had an ear for music.”

“I have an ear for silence at 2 in the morning,” you deadpan.

Mark grins, “Fair.” He leans back slightly, but his knee stays pressed against yours. “Okay, try pressing here.” He taps a spot on the neck.

You attempt it, but the string vibrates pathetically under your finger.

“You’ve gotta press harder,” he says.

“I am pressing hard.”

Mark hums, skeptical. Then, before you can react, he reaches over and presses his finger on top of yours, adding pressure. “Like this.”

Your brain short-circuits.

His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused from playing. And he’s so close you can smell his stupid laundry detergent—the one that everyone else in this dorm uses.

You swallow. “...Right.”

Mark doesn’t move his hand. “You got it?”

"Yep." Your voice cracks slightly.

"Sure?" His thumb brushes against yours as he adjusts your positioning - just for a second, but it's enough to make your pulse jump.

"Positive." You stare very hard at the guitar's soundhole.

Mark finally pulls back, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are pink. "So, uh. That's... the basics."

You strum all the strings at once. It sounds like a trash can falling down stairs. "I'm a prodigy."

"I wouldn't say no to, like. Coffee instead." He says it too fast, then backtracks. "I mean—not like—just caffeine helps with—"

Mark snorts. "Yeah. Next Ed Sheeran right here." He fiddles with his pick. "We could... keep practicing sometime. If you want.”

You shrug. "I mean, I guess I owe you for not murdering me over that notice."

"Mark."

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling."

His shoulders hunch. "Right. Sorry."

You hand the guitar back. "But yeah, coffee's fine. The dining hall swill is killing me anyway."

Mark brightens instantly. "Remember that place across campus? Their cold brew is actually decent and they've got these chocolate croissants that—" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. "I mean. If you're into that."

"But I'd commit crimes for a good chocolate croissant," you add.

"Cold brew gives me heart palpitations."

"Oh." His face falls. "We could find somewhere else—”

Mark's smile returns, slow and warm. "Tomorrow? I'm free after two."

"Sure." You stand up, completely missing the way his fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the guitar body. "Don't be late."

"I won't!" It comes out too eager. He cringes at himself. "I mean. Yeah. Cool."

As you walk away, you don't see him slump back against the couch, dragging a hand down his face. You definitely don't hear the quiet, frustrated whisper of: "Smooth, Lee. Real smooth."

E

You're lacing up your sneakers when Giselle walks out of the bathroom, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. She pauses mid-step when she sees you.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting coffee with Mark." You tighten the knot on your shoe.

She stares. Then, very deliberately, looks you up and down.

You're in a hoodie (a slightly wrinkled one), sweatpants, and the same sneakers you've been wearing for three years.

"...Dressed like that?"

You frown. "What?"

She gestures vaguely at your entire existence. "You're just going out like that?"

You scoff. "Dude. We’re just hanging out."

Giselle presses her lips together like she’s trying very, very hard not to lose her mind.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You glance up. She's watching you in the mirror, towel slung over one shoulder, eyes sharp.

You narrow your eyes. "What."

She exhales sharply. "Okay, tell me this: how many times has Mark asked you to ‘hang out’?"

You shrug. "I dunno. A few times? Haven’t really been able to go."

"And these ‘hangouts’—" she makes little air quotes, "—were they things like, ‘Hey, wanna grab food?’ or ‘Hey, wanna get coffee?’ Or, oh, I don’t know, ‘Hey, wanna come sit really close to me while I teach you how to play guitar?’"

Your mouth opens. Closes.

Because, yeah. That is... exactly how it’s been.

Giselle sees the realization hit. "Oh my God," she says, dragging a hand down her face. "He’s been asking you out this entire time!"

You blink. "What? No. He hasn’t—he’s just been nice."

Giselle shoots you a deadpan look. "Nice?"

"Yeah!" You wave a hand. "Some people just—invite other people to do stuff! It’s normal!"

Giselle rubs her temples. "Okay. Let’s say, for a second, that I believe you. Do you think Mark has asked anyone else to ‘just hang out’ like this?"

You open your mouth. Pause.

Giselle’s smile is way too smug. "Mhm. Exactly."

You shift uncomfortably. "Okay, but—but what if you're wrong? What if this is just his personality?"

Giselle flops dramatically onto her bed. "Then I will personally apologize to you for enabling your delusions." She waves you off. "Now go. And if he confesses, don't let your dumbass panic and run into traffic."

You scowl. "That happened one time."

Giselle is already onto her dressing table, raking through her makeup brushes.

You check the time. Mark’s already waiting.

Your stomach flips.

You swallow. "I'm gonna go."

"Yeah," Giselle sighs, rolling onto her side. "Go figure your shit out."

—

You’re definitely overthinking this as the two of you walk around campus.

Mark walks beside you, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed. He kicks a stray pebble down the sidewalk, eyes mostly on the ground. Meanwhile, you are internally spiraling.

Because Giselle’s words won’t leave you alone.

"He’s been asking you out this whole time."

And the more you think about it, the more obvious it feels.

The coffee. The late-night talks. The stupid guitar lesson where his hand had covered yours, warm and steady.

You sneak a glance at him. He looks normal. Maybe a little cold, but not like someone who’s been trying to ask you out for weeks.

You fidget with your sleeves. Just ask. It’s Mark. It’s not like he’s gonna laugh in your face. Right?

“…Hey.”

Mark glances over. “Hm?”

You swallow. “So. This whole, uh. Hanging out thing.”

His brows lift slightly, like he’s waiting for you to continue.

You take a deep breath. “You—you weren’t, like. Asking me out, were you?”

Mark stumbles.

Not dramatically, but just enough that his shoe drags weirdly on the pavement.

You immediately regret everything. “Never mind! Stupid question, forget I—”

“What?” Mark fully stops walking.

You stop too, face burning.

Mark turns to you, brows slightly furrowed, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “…Why would you ask that?”

You die internally. “Giselle said something,” you mumble.

Mark blinks. Then he shifts from one foot to another. “What… exactly did she say?”

You stare very hard at the sidewalk. “Just. That you might’ve been, um. Subtly. Asking me out this whole time.”

Silence.

You dare to look at him.

His ears are so red.

“Oh,” he says, voice sounding a bit strung, higher than usual.

You panic. “You don’t have to say anything! I just—”

“I mean,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, looking very interested in a nearby streetlamp. “I… kinda was?”

Your stomach flips.

Oh.

Oh.

Mark winces. “Not in, like, a weird way! Just—” He exhales, rubbing his temple. “I thought you were cool. That night when you came up, i thought you were like…really pretty. And I figured, if you weren’t interested, we could just keep hanging out and it wouldn’t be—” He gestures vaguely. “A thing.”

You nod. Maybe too much. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

Mark watches you carefully. “So, uh. Is it weird now?”

You pretend to think, but you already know your answer. You can see Mark’s shoulders shrinking with every waiting second.

“No.”

Mark’s shoulders relax. “Oh. Cool.”

You fidget with your sleeve. Your breath stutters.

“I think I like you too,” you admit, voice way too soft.

Mark stares for a few seconds, like he almost didn’t hear you, before his whole face lights up.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Uh. That’s—that’s cool.”

You laugh, nervous. “Yeah?”

He nods, a little too fast. “Yeah.”

When he looks at you again, he’s still flushed, still blinking like he’s trying to process this in real time.

“So, uh,” he starts, “what now?”

You don’t really know how to answer that.

You rock back on your heels. “I mean… we’re still getting coffee?”

Mark lets out a soft laugh, like he hadn’t even considered otherwise. “Right. Yeah. Obviously.”

The two of you start walking again, a little slower this time. The air between you is different now—not awkward, but buzzing, like a chord just on the verge of ringing out.

You steal a glance at him. His hands are jammed in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, but there’s something almost relieved in the way he carries himself now. Like he wasn’t expecting this to go well.

You bite your lip, hesitating.

“You know,” You begin, “I thought you were cute too.”

“What?” Mark lets out, a little too loudly.

It almost makes you giggle. “That night when I came up to complain. I was supposed to go all out on you and make sure you’d never play your stupid guitar again. I was quite serious about cutting your strings off.”

Mark shakes his head sheepishly with a small laugh. 

“But when you opened the door, I kind of forgot all of that.”

He stares at you, lips parted slightly like you just short-circuited his entire brain.

You shrug, suddenly feeling way too exposed. “I dunno. You just—looked cute.”

Mark drags a hand over his face, groaning. “What the hell.”

You blink. “What?”

“That’s so unfair,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You showed up looking all pissed off and intimidating, and I was standing there in, like, the ugliest shirt I own.”

You snort. “It wasn’t that ugly.”

Mark groans again, looking up at the sky, almost too embarrassed to meet your eyes. “This is crazy.”

“What is?” you ask, still laughing.

“That you thought I was cute!” He gestures wildly. “Like. That doesn’t happen!”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach is doing so many flips. “Shut up.”

Mark looks at you for a second, then exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are still bright red. “I was really nervous that night, you know,” he admits.

Your brows lift. “Really?”

He nods. “You were just—you had this whole, like, ‘I will end you’ vibe, and I was trying so hard not to make it worse. But then you kinda—” He stops, mouth twitching. “You hesitated. Just for a second. And I thought, ‘Oh. She’s not actually as scary as she looks.’”

You gasp, shoving his shoulder. “Wow. Rude.”

Mark laughs, bumping into you slightly. “Sorry, sorry. But I was right, wasn’t I?”

You purse your lips. “Debatable.”

Mark hums, tilting his head. “Guess I’ll have to spend more time with you to figure it out.”

Your heart does a weird little jump.

You don’t let yourself overthink it.

Instead, you nudge him back, eyes flicking forward to the coffee shop just ahead. “You better buy me the best chocolate croissant they have.”

Mark grins. “Deal.”

And when his fingers brush yours, just briefly, you don’t pull away.

[moosesarecute]

He’s my mate

This is my chaotic mess of a first fanfic. Hope you enjoy.

Not proofread and English is not my first language, so please don’t be too harsh 🫣

//////////////////////////

When Rhysand send Feyre and his sister Y/N on a mission, the last thing he expected was for his dear little sister to be poisoned by something not even Madja had a cure for.

“She looks terrified” Feyre said looking worried.

“You still can’t get through her mental shields?” Madja asked.

Rhys only shook his head. He usually found it comforting that his sister had such a strong mental shield, he knew that no one, not even himself, could get through them unless she wanted them to.

However, now it only worsens his worst nightmare.

“I’m so sorry, Rhys” Feyre said. “I don’t know what happened”.

Before Rhys could answer, the doors to the room opened and Azriel and Cassian rushed in with Mor and Amren not far behind.

Azriel’s face got pale as he saw his mate, sitting on the floor, her violet eyes staring at nothing and breathing heavily. She looked so scared, it broke his heart.

“What happened?” He said. His shadows were already swirling around his mate, carefully stroking her hair.

“Poison” Rhys answered. “We don’t know what the cure is.”

The inner circle had never seen Azriel as worried. Sure, Y/N had been hurt before, way too many times if you asked Rhys, but they had previously always known how to help her.

Azriel moved slowly towards his mate and sat down beside her. His scared hands were shaking as he tried waving his hand in front of her face, but she was still staring far into nothing.

“Maybe if you hold her, Rhysand can get through her mental shields,” Madja suggested. “She would feel safer.”

Slowly, Azriel moved to sit with his mate in between his legs, his arm around her waist, his head resting on her shoulder and his wings covering their bodies.

Y/N breath instantly slowed, but she continued to shake.

“Try now,” Madja said, looking at Rhys.

Rhys took a deep breath, shifted his focus and tried to enter his sisters mind.

He spent some time seeking, but he eventually found a small gap in her shields.

He slipped in, through her wall of purple dust, and immediately found traces from the poison.

Rhys followed the trace and before he knew it, he got pulled into his sister’s worst memories.

***********

“You are not to see him again” your father said. “You are to be married to the heir of Spring, can’t have you messing around with an Illyrian bastard! You disappoint me, Y/N”

You were burning with anger. All your life you wanted nothing more than to get your father’s attention. For him to look at you with pride for all you had accomplished.

You were powerful. You had daemati powers stronger than your brother, you had multiple times beaten Cassian in hand battle and you flew faster than Azriel.

Azriel, the male who had your heart. Your biggest supporter, your wisest mentor, your best friend…your mate.

The male your father was forbidding you to see.

“You can’t mean that!” You cried out. You were fighting tears. You couldn’t lose Azriel, but you knew that if you cried, your father would never take you seriously.

“Oh, but I do.” Your father replied, taunting you. “You’re a female, not only a daughter, but a high lords daughter. If you thought you could choose your own fate, you’re more pathetic than I thought.”

You realized that your father had made up his mind. You only had one more idea that might help you convince your father.

“He’s my mate” you whispered.

You whispered, not because you were afraid, but because you had only said it aloud two times before in the 30 years you had known.

Your father looking at you, staring deep into your soul. “What did you say?”

“Azriel is my mate.” You said louder. You lifted your head and straightened your back. You were proud of your mate and you were going to show it.

Your father started breathing heavily and before you could react, he grabbed you by your shoulders, and pushed you hard into the bookshelf behind you. He held you tightly and you hissed in both fear and pain.

“You are NOT to be mated to a bastard lesser fae. You are going through with this marriage and if you even think the thought about being with the shadowsinger, I will not hesitate in having him killed.”

You father let go of you and you sank to the floor, crying.

“Pathetic” your father said, before he left the room.

**************

You were in the woods, fighting for your life.

The heir of Spring held you down into the ground, cutting your wings.

Your vision were blurry and your eyes heavy.

“Please, don’t harm her” your mother pleaded. “You can do anything you want with me, but please not my daughter.”

The torture had been going on for hours. They would cut, beat and whip your mother and then do the same to you.

You had stopped screaming. Your cries for help became fewer and far in between. It just hurt to much.

“Hold her still.” The heir of Spring told his youngest brother. “I want a souvenir.”

He started cutting your wings from your body. You threw up and then screamed before you threw up again. Your left wing were detached from your back.

“This is taking too long” his father said as his son were close to finishing cutting of your second wing.

The high lord reached for the sword and you have never felt more terror.

“No, please don’t” you pleaded, trying to crawl over to your mother.

The heir of Spring, your betrothed, held your head in place and forced open your eyes as the high lord beheaded your mother.

You emptied your stomach once more before your froze completely.

“We have to leave, finish her.”

The heir of spring grabbed what was left of your right wing and used his foot to keep you down as he ripped the wing from your body.

He then grabbed you and forced you over to your back.

“Let her bleed out.”

All of them winnowed away.

You laid on the ground, trying and failing to move over to your stomach. You were dying, you knew that.

As your eyes closed, you felt a tug in your chest and the last thing you did before you passed out was to tug back with all the force you had to give.

/////////////////////////

Rhys left his sister’s mind and immediately threw up. Feyre was at his side at once.

“What did you see?” Cassian asked.

Rhys only met Azriel’s eyes as he said “she’s reliving her worst memories.”

No one spoke for a while, but everyone could sense Azriel’s growing worry. He held his mate closer and whispered into her ear “you’re safe. You survived. You’re home. We’re mated.”

“I have only read about this in books.” Madja said. “I think the only way to stop the poison from spreading further is to make Y/N understand how happy she truly is. If not, she will die from terror.”

Madja walked over to Rhysand. “What did you see?”

“She wouldn’t want any of us to know that.” Azriel said.

“I know, it is invasive, but it might be the only way to save her.” Rhys said and after a while Azriel nodded in agreement. He would do anything to save his mate.

“I saw our father forbidding her to be with Azriel and…” Rhys stopped and took big breath. “And the attack where Spring…killed our mother.”

Everybody froze as they realized Rhys had just seen his own mother die. Feyre took his hand and squeezed it. A way of saying “I am here.”

Madja was the first to move. This time she walked over to Azriel. “You need to show Rhysand your happiest memories with Y/N so that he can enter her mind and show it to her.”

Even though Rhys was still filled with worry, he had an amusing smile on his face.

His sister and Azriel had been mated for over 450 years. They accepted the bond when she was 56 and he was 63 after two years of being together.

However, they usually kept every detail of their relationship secret. They didn’t even tell anyone that they were mates, they just disappeared for two weeks and showed up mated.

They always say they keep the details to themselves because of their occupations. Both being spies for the Night Court.

The inner circle knew that they wouldn’t share details, but they still always asked. Mor asked about their sex-life (Rhys always left the room when that was the topic), Cassian asked about when they would host family dinner at their house (Y/N would make one of their mother’s favorite recipes) and Rhys just wanted to make sure his sister was treated right.

“You don’t have to worry, Rhys,” you always answered. “Just because we don’t scream it from the House of Wind it doesn’t mean we aren’t happy.”

Azriel spent some time thinking about what memories he was going to show, but he eventually told Rhys he was ready.

“I am showing you,” he said. “You are not going to wander around in there.”

“Of course,” Rhys said and walked over to sit in front of his sister and Azriel.

Azriel’s mind shields were down. Rhys entered his mind and waited for the memories.

————————

I am exhausted, but happy. We won the blood rite. It had been the hardest week of my life so far, but we had won.

My brothers and I were walking towards our home in Windhaven. Before we could reach the entrance, the door flew open and out Y/N came running.

Y/N was Rhys’ 16 year old sister and she looked extremely happy.

“Thank the cauldron you are alright!” She spoke and basically jumped at Rhys.

He just laughed and hugged her.

“She is not happy to see us,” Cassian said to me.

“Of course I am!” She said and moved to hug Cassian. “It is just that Rhysie was the closest.”

“Stop calling me that,” Rhys said.

“Never”

She than moved over to me. And I felt time stop. Her arms embraced me and I hugged her back, but as she pulled back and looked me in my eyes, I felt it.

Snap

Y/N, my best friend’s younger sister, the daughter of the high lord of the Night Court, was my mate. My heart was filled with happiness.

Her eyes were as big as mine and I understood that it had snapped for her too.

“Ehm…” she said. “Dinner is ready inside.”

She then turned around and walked inside.

——————————

“I can’t believe he isn’t here,” Y/N cried into my chest. “It’s my 30th birthday and our father refuses me to see him! It’s not fair!”

I tightened my arms around her. It broke my heart to see her this upset.

Rhys and her had planed this entire day. They were going to fly around the mountains, have a picnic in the woods outside Velaris and then go to Rita’s with Cassian, Mor and I.

But the war was raging and Rhys nor Cassian were allowed to come home.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” I said, but I knew that it didn’t help much.

“I wish I had a normal father so that I could rebel and be awful towards him without it being treason,” she said.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t,” I said. “I don’t think his old heart could take it.”

She look at me with her big violet eyes and before I knew it we were both laughing. Probably because of the two empty wine bottles that stood beside us.

“You always know what to say to make me laugh,” she laughed. “That’s probably why we’re mates.”

I froze.

It was 14 years ago the bond snapped, but neither one of us had ever said it aloud…until now.

“Good night,” Y/N said quickly, before she jumped of the roof we sat on and flew away.

The smile that grew on my face lasted for multiple days.

————————

“You only have a couple of hours, so spend it well.”

I nodded and left Rhys’ and Y/N’s mother.

I quickly walked over to Y/N bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she sang and I opened the door. “Azriel…you know you can’t be here! If the high lord finds out you-“

“He won’t find out, I asked your mother for help,” I said.

She gaped at me and then smiled her big, beautiful and sweet smile.

“We have to go now though, we only have a few hours.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” I say as we start flying up to the mountains.

The flight didn’t take much time and we were soon at the picnic I had set up earlier.

“Wow,” Y/N said. “It’s beautiful.”

I really wasn’t. It was rushed. I had plucked a few flowers, brought a blanket to sit on and her mother had made us some food.

“I wanted us to at least have a day to pretend,” I said quietly.

“Let’s make it the best day ever,” she whispered back. “No arranged marriage to separate us.”

I took her hand and we sat down to eat.

We talked about what we wanted our life to be like. Life in Velaris, in a small house, at least two children (“No Y/N can grow up without a Rhysie,” you had said), a big garden, many flowers.

“I don’t want to marry the heir of Spring,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I want you.”

I took her hand. My shadows were playing with her hair and speaking to me “mate, upset, make mate happy”

“I want you too, princess,” I replied fighting back tears.

I looked deep into her eyes, took my other hand and tucked her hair behind her ears. “My beautiful mate. I am the luckiest male in all of Prythian even if I can’t have you in this lifetime.”

Now we were both crying.

She then let go of my hand and held up her pinky finger.

“All other lifetimes?” She asked me.

I immediately took her pinky in mine.

“All other lifetimes.”

Two small identical tattoos appeared round our pinky fingers.

I moved closer to her and she did the same. We both spend some time looking at each other, still crying, before we leaned into each other and our lips met.

It started soft and cute before it grew hungrier. We were both full on sobbing at the time I pulled away.

“Are you sure?” I asked, hoping she would say yes. I waited for her answer.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life,” she answered and kissed me.

——————————

“I can sleep on the floor,” I said.

We were on a mission on the continent undercover as mates. Pretending to be mates weren’t hard since we were mates, but Rhys didn’t know that.

“Ha, you’re funny,” Y/N said. “Either we share the bed or we both sleep on the floor.”

We were trying to find out if the rumors we heard about a war starting on the continent were true. To our relief, it seemed like it only was a rumor and nothing more.

Since we were undercover as newly mated we had gotten a room with only one bed.

“We’ll take the bed then,” I decided. “Can’t have you hurting your back.”

Y/N froze and looked at me. “How did you know about my back pain?”

Shit

“I…ehmmm…”

She looked at me with wary eyes. “Have you been spying on me?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I just…feel it sometimes.”

She looked like she had seen a ghost. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry, Azriel. I should have thought about that.”

She looked at me, but didn’t meet my eyes.

As mates, I sometimes felt the same emotions or feelings as she did. And I had realized that after the attack on her and her mother ten years ago, she had been dealing with back pain.

“It that why it always magically appears a bottle of pain relief outside my door on the bad days?” Y/N asked me, now looking directly into my eyes and soul.

“I might have had something to do with that, yes.”

She nodded as a reply.

That was the end of the conversation. We prepared for bed. After we both had gotten into the bed, her on the left side, me on the right with my wings hanging out in the side of the bed, she started crying.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out all these years,” she cried.

I didn’t know what to say or do. I just laid completely still and looked at her.

Slowly, my shadows moved towards her. One of them dried her tears while two others played with her hair. I tried to stop them and get them back to me, but they didn’t listen. “Mate, upset, have to make mate happy.” they said on repeat.

“I didn’t think you could even want me anymore,” she continued. “I would understand if you didn’t, of course. I’m not who I just to be, I’m not myself. But then Rhys forced me to start going on missions again last year and I realized how much I missed having my family around. I felt more alone than ever. And when I started going to family dinners and Rhys told me how happy you were, I realized I hadn’t thought about what you were feeling through all of this. I completely ignored you, left you and you probably felt and still feel so betrayed. I…I’m so sorry, Az.”

I was still frozen. How could she think that was how I felt? I never felt betrayed by her, thought she felt betrayed by me. I’m her mate for cauldrons sake! And I almost let her die. She lost her wings, she would never fly again. I was too late to save her wings.

“Say something, master. Make mate happy. You can make mate happy.” My shadows almost screamed in my ears.

“I…,” I started to speak but had to stop. I needed to get this right. “I never felt betrayed by you not being the same you as you were before the attack, Y/N. You needed time to heal. We could have helped you to get better, but we knew that if we forced ourselves into your life, you would shut us out and it would all become worse. You are way too stubborn for that.” We both chuckled. “You have grown. You’re not longer just a high lord’s daughter who had to do everything your father said, you’re Y/N. You’re Y/N, the female that always asks what’s for dessert even before we have started to eat dinner. You’re Y/N, who always do everything you can to annoy your brothers. You’re Y/N, you’re always brutally honest and we love you for it. I love you for it.

“If you hadn’t had time for yourself, you wouldn’t have time to figure out that you don’t like the color orange, or that you wanted to dye your hair purple streaks, or that you like training in the morning so that you can enjoy your book at night.

“As long as I’m allowed to be in your life now, I’m happy. Even if we’re just friends or family. I just need you to be yourself. It’s the Y/N you’re now that we love.”

Her mouth was wide open. Then it closed before she opened it again.

“I never think I’ve heard you say that much before.” She said with a small laugh.

“I don’t think I have ever said that much before.”

“I want you in my life,” she said. “I have loved pretending to be your mate. I…I don’t want to pretend that you’re mine, I want you to be mine.”

Before I even could react, my shadows were swirling around us, pushing us closer to one another until our lips were only millimeters apart.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked.

I kissed her as an answer. My heart had never felt so full of love.

——————————

It had been a long day with meetings in the court of nightmares. I had my usual place, standing against the wall and making sure no one was lurking around.

My mate had left her usual place, standing beside her brother, and was walking over to me.

“The high lord will soon be going home,” she told me, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking around the room, still very much playing the role as the scary night court princess.

I then felt her soft touch on my mental shields, asking for access. I let her in.

“I was planing on making an apple pie this weekend, at the cabin,” she told me. Her voice was shaky. She was nervous. “Or if you want something else I can make something else. Or if you don’t want nothing at all we can just-“

“Apple pie would be great,” I answer, my voice almost as shaky as hers.

“Good,” she said and left my mind.

She gave me I small smile before she walked back to her place beside her brother.

“I love my mate,” was all I was able to think about.

—————————

“And then he used his shadows to make me fall over!” Cassian explained. “Totally unfair.”

“It seems like you have had a rough day, Cass. Did you miss your midday nap?” Mor asked him.

She then looked at me and lifted her wine glass “cheers to that.”

I lifted my glass and held it up to my lips as I felt it.

It couldn’t be.

I wouldn’t believe it.

But then I felt it again. A tug.

I lowered my glass.

“Everything okey, brother?” Cassian looked concerned.

Another tug and then a soft touch to my mental shield had me gasping.

My heart was going crazy.

I lowered my mental shields.

“You could at least have cleaned the place,” my mate’s voice sang in my head.

I let the glass fall to the floor and before my brother could react I ran to the balcony and started flying towards my mate and I’s shared house.

I hadn’t been there in 50 years. Ever since my mate and Rhys had been under the mountain, I hadn’t been able to even look at our house. Our small cottage with just enough space for the two of us. And a spare room for Cassian, of course.

The flight only took 30 seconds, but it was the longest 30 seconds of my life. I tried not to get my hopes up. What if she wasn’t actually there?

I landed in your garden and ran towards an open front door.

I stopped, too scared to go inside. What if I only imagined it all.

My shadows went crazy around me, pulling both my hands and legs. “Mate, home, mate, home”.

Tears ran down my face as I walked through the door.

Standing in the middle of the room was my beautiful mate. She was way too thin, her hair was a mess and she started sobbing as she saw me.

Before I could reach her she fell to her knees. I fell to my knees in front of her and embraced her together with my shadows.

“You’re home,” I cried.

“I’m home,” she whispered into my chest.

——————————

“You’re staring,” Y/N said into my head.

We had just sat down to eat dinner. Our entire family was here and we had just met Feyre.

“I’m sorry that I like to look at my wife,” I answered. “You look beautiful.”

I took my her plate and filled it with food.

“It’s cute that you still feed me,” Y/N spoke. “I like it, husband.”

“Should we tell them?” I asked.

“Maybe not overwhelm Feyre. I think Mor and Cassian is going to freak out when they find out we didn’t invite them to our wedding.”

“But we didn’t invite anyone.”

The truth was that they on a whim had eloped, just over an hour ago.

“What are you talking about you two lovebirds?” Mor asked.

“Nothing,” both of us said.

Y/N quickly shifted the conversation by asking “Soooo, what’s for dessert.”

Everybody laughed.

////////////////////

Rhys left Azriel’s mind. Both males were crying.

“I had no clue you were that young.” Rhys said. “And that you fought so hard for it.”

Azriel just nodded and tightened his arms around his mate. Y/N was now shaking even worse than before. She looked extremely pale and exhausted. “Just get her back to me, I’ll tell our entire story from start to now, as long as you get her back to me.”

Rhys saw the desperate look on his brother’s face and hurried to enter his sister’s mind.

He was met with a wall of terror, not even one trace of his sister’s normal calm mind. He began working, pushing memory after memory towards the wall and slowly but surely watched it disappear.

Then he was forcefully pulled out of her mind.

“You’re okay, breathe, breathe, good girl,” Azriel spoke.

Y/N was now on her hands and knees, still panting and shaking, but she was moving. She had thrown up, but Rhys removed it with magic. Azriel held a hand on her back and held her hair.

He looked extremely relieved.

“Are you okey?” Rhys asked.

Y/N met his worried gaze and moved over to him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Rhysie.”

Rhys didn’t waste a second embracing his sister.

The rest of the inner circle slowly left the room, they understood that the siblings needed some time alone.

But, of course, all of Azriel’s shadows stayed to make sure their mate was alright.

———————

Azriel was waiting outside the room. He knew Y/N was alright and that she would come get him when she’s ready, but he just wanted to hold her and never let go.

“Well, well brother,” Cassian said with a smug smile.

“What?” He asked.

“You said you’d tell the entire story of your relationship. So I figured you could start now.”

The doors to the room opened and out walked Y/N and Rhys.

“Why not start explaining that your bond snapped when Y/N was just a teen and that you have been married for multiple years, hmm?” Rhys said and you punched him in the arm.

“WHAT?” Cassian and Mor yelled.

A quick look was shared between Azriel and Y/N before both of them took off running and before the others could react, they had winnowed away.

[throneofsapphics]

Imagine being rhysands partner for centuries and having to wait for him in court while he’s under the mountain? Just to find out that the very day he is set free, he also mated with Feyre, the human girl that saved everyone? Perhaps he doesn’t tell her right away but over hears it after some time? Or Confronts him of how he treats her so differently from her? Asking why and confront how he acts now and he just blows up and says it? You choose!

like the stories

Rhys x Reader

Summary: Reuniting with Rhys isn't what you'd hoped for.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, angst

A/N: Thank you for the request!!

part two

Every day you waited. Not with the perfect, flawless, selfless i’ll-wait-a-thousand-years energy. Yes, you would wait a thousand years or longer, but certainly not patiently and there was a fair amount of cursing, screaming, and occasional binge drinking involved to cope. 

Regardless, all you could do was wait, all you could do was your best to ignore the piece of you missing, the pain of that absence never abated, if anything it grew stronger over time. Until you had to rely on portraits to remember the exact detail of his face, until you couldn’t remember if he was citrus and sea or citrus and storms. 

The stories, at least the ones you’ve read, only talk about the happy reunions. They never touch on the pain and misery of the separation. 

Night after night you dreamed of a reunion. A few times you’d woken with tears in your eyes, the reunion dreams feeling more like a nightmare. 

“I don’t want you anymore,” his voice was flat and so unlike him your chest ached. 

“What did she do to you?” you whispered. That had to be the reason, she must’ve gotten into his head. The male you knew and fell in love with wouldn’t …

“She,” he spat, voice rising, “didn’t do anything.” 

‘You, you, you.’ Rhys wasn’t in your mind, but the word echoed in his voice.

-

Mor, your closest friend and confidant, had to threaten to physically restrain you, to keep you from making your way right to the mountain, right to him.

“He’ll be back soon,” she said, voice hoarse. Half a promise, half a plea to the mother. 

“He … he told you?” Your voice was low, quiet, disbelieving. 

“He didn’t tell you?” 

The world tightened around you, the air feeling dense, suffocating, too much. You saw Mor’s lips moving but couldn’t hear anything. 

Like a bad omen, you felt his presence again, for the first time in nearly fifty years. 

Mor’s eyes glazed, she glanced at you, lips moving in some kind of promise you didn’t hear before she winnowed away. 

48 hours and he hadn’t graced you with his presence. Some kind of protagonist you were, you glanced at the bookshelf full of romance books, not very gracious and kind and understanding. The books had it wrong, you’d decided. 

You knew his experience had been traumatic, and yours had been minimal in comparison, but you’d still suffered, hadn’t you? Still waited anxiously every night, not entirely sure he would return. Stuck in Velaris. 

It took 72 hours. 

Rhys stood across the room, watching you with something like longing and grief. 

Barely fighting the urge to sprint and close the gap, you stopped a few feet away from him. His shoulders were tight, entire body taut, looking as if his muscles might snap at any second. 

You held your arms open, letting him come to you. It seemed like the right thing to do. 

One. Two. Three … Fifteen seconds before he closed the gap. 

A three second hug. 

You swallowed your disappointment. There’s no saying what he’d been through, and you’d only heard rumors. Perhaps it was wrong of you to assume he’d want any kind of physical touch. 

“I missed you,” 

“I missed you too,” the reply was too quick and missing the usual ‘love,’ or ‘darling’ on the end. 

You could tell when you weren’t wanted somewhere, and took the hint. “I’m sure you have plenty to do,” you murmured. 

He nodded. 

Gods this was miserable. 

You managed to excuse yourself with minimal extra embarrassment, and saved the tears for when you’d left the vicinity completely. 

-

“A mate,” you whispered. Screaming didn’t feel right, it didn’t encompass the pure betrayal running through you. “When were you going to tell me?” Instead you had to overhear Mor and Cassian speaking of it. You kept going when he didn’t reply to you. “I thought you had more respect for me than that, I thought I meant more than that to you.” 

“How could you compare to a mate?” 

The words were stagnated, awkward, didn’t quite fit as a response to your statements and you knew he was just voicing his thoughts. 

You understood what the stories meant now, when they said your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Mouth opening, you didn’t need to be a daemati to read the words about to leave his lips, the backtracking. 

One hand held up, his mouth snapped shut. Another time, another situation, you might have laughed at how easily you exercised that small bit of control over him. 

The corner of your mouth tilted in a not quite cruel but not quite kind expression. 

“Thank you for telling me how you feel,” you said flatly, adding “Rhysand,” emphasizing the last letter. 

Irritation and hurt flashed across his beautiful features. Wanting the last word, you chose to stride through the doors, but paused to make sure they shut gently. He’d always hated slammed doors, and you couldn’t bring yourself to go that far. 

Like the novels, where the protagonist gets her temporary revenge. Temporary. The pain will come later, but for now … you glanced at the nearest clock. Just before ten, Rita’s would be open for hours yet and you were a single female now. 

Unlike the novels, he never came after you. 

[lyssasdrafts]

★ 𓈒 ݁ STAR—CROSSED (rhysand x reader) ⊹

chapter six: (written) ✧

𓈒 ݁ ✫ masterlist previous next

“guess who!”

morrigan’s voice wakes you, causing you to jolt up from your table at the library. you had come here in the afternoon and it was already evening, meaning the sunlight from the library’s large windows had faded and it was starting to become dimly lit. the bright light from your laptop screen only further causes your eyes to strain.

“what are you doing here?” you say after letting out a yawn and stretching out your arms. you move slightly, patting down a seat for mor.

“just wanted to check up on you,” she shrugs. her attention shifts to the papers scattered around the desk, confirming that you had been reviewing your notes all afternoon. mor frowns when she notices the dark circles under your eyes and quietly fixes your hair while you talk about what you were studying for.

your laptop, however, was for a different task. you had been touching up some of the photos you took at rhysand’s photoshoot on your editing software, meaning his face was plastered across your screen. you cringe at the image and at the sight of the man who caused you so much irritation, no matter how good the photoshoot had turned out.

“are you making a fan edit of me now?” rhysand peers over your shoulder.

once again, you’re taken by suprise, almost jumping out of your seat when he appears next to you. perhaps it runs in their family.

“where did you come from?” morrigan almost yells at him. rhysand had been standing behind the both of you, hands in his pockets as he leans over to look at your screen.

“don’t get the wrong idea,” you retort. “i’m editing your photos from our photoshoot.” rhysand gives you a satisfied smile. perhaps it was even genuine.

“i came here to study,” he says, pulling up a chair and moving to sit across from you. “mind if i sit here?”

“actually, yes,” mor says irreverently. her cousin gives her an annoyed look and she crosses her arms. “no wonder my roommate can’t stand you.”

“i can definitely confirm he’s difficult to work with,” you give her a smirk while the both of you hold in your laugh at rhysand’s dismay.

“i will admit, the photoshoot did look good though,” you say hesitantly. “and thank you for crediting me,” you add, “it really helped me as a photographer.”

rhysand feigns shock, “is y/n being genuine for once?”

you immediately take back your words, “i liked you better when you were picking an argument with me.” you could recall the moments since that photoshoot where rhysand had acted normal in class despite knowing about your passion: when you got your exams back, or last week when you scored one point higher than him, or today in class when you started a debate about the formation of the universe. the entire class had witnessed your argument and you could’ve sworn your teacher sighed that you two were bickering again.

“you know that i was right today,” rhysand says, “as i typically am.”

you try not to roll your eyes at him, instead sorting through your notebooks and papers to find the reading you did earlier. “i know i’m right because i actually study the material. it says here that—”

morrigan had already mentally tuned out of your conversation with rhysand, rolling her eyes when you start shoving notes into her cousin’s face. “can the two of you please argue another time?” she almost yawns.

in the corner of your eye, you can see that familiar golden-brown hair peeking out from behind a bookshelf. you want to roll your eyes as you realize she’s watching how rhysand acts with you. nesta would definitely be teasing you about this later. you notice a second person’s hand covering her face as she giggles, spotting her brighter hair between the gaps in the books, and realize elain was spying on you too.

maybe going to the library was a bad idea today.

rhysand, the oblivious fool that he was, did not see the sisters behind him watching you. you wondered if he was even aware people did this to him, considering how your friends were definitely not the only people on campus to be interested in him like this. you nearly cringed as he continued rambling about how his argument was right, never dropping that satisfied look on his face. he hadn’t realized that you weren’t focused on the conversation anymore.

“do you always have to challenge me, rhysand?” you finally ask.

“do you always have to be right, y/n?” he quickly counters, further proving your point.

“well maybe, it’s because—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps and two large figures walking up to you, causing a few heads to turn in the library, including nesta and elain. you don’t recognize cassian and azriel, who you only knew as rhysand’s friends, until they come up behind rhysand and cassian starts to talk.

azriel pulls up a chair to sit with the both of you while cassian stands behind rhysand, hugging his friend from the back. rhysand seems amused, exchanging greetings with his friends before they finally noticed your presence.

“sorry, y/n, i hope you don’t mind us stealing away your boyfriend for a minute,” cassian gives you a smug look. “we just need rhys for a moment.”

you stare blankly at cassian, blinking. is that what they’ve been thinking? maybe rhysand had become more tolerable to you, but you still had every right to be annoyed with his friends. cassian looked like he was about to start laughing at rhysand before you look him straight in the eyes.

you lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and glaring at cassian, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“he talks about you all the time,” azriel chimes in. this was perhaps your first time hearing his voice properly. in the few classes you had with him, azriel rarely spoke and brushed off anyone who tried to start a conversation with him. even a few more heads turned towards him when he spoke in front of you.

a look of panic flashed in rhysand’s eyes and he gave azriel a nudge with his arm, causing the dark haired boy to chuckle. morrigan makes a disgusted face, giving cassian and azriel a look that would’ve made you shut up instantly. but instead, they both continued.

“well then, i can’t really blame you for not wanting to date rhysand,” cassian is now standing over your table, placing his hands in his pockets as he leans down towards you. “he’s insufferable.”

“he is,” the cold tone remains in your voice, though an amused smile begins to tug on your lips.

“don’t say that, y/n. he’ll be so heartbroken later,” azriel speaks, a similar reluctant smirk appearing on his face too.

“that’s enough!” rhysand snaps, “stop embarassing me.”

you’re about to burst out laughing with cassian when rhysand suddenly slams his hands on the table, insisting that his friends leave with him. you don’t object to rhysand cutting his visit to the library short, watching how mor chuckles as rhysand drags azriel away and bids cassian to follow behind them. it’s like the four of them have a secret that you’re not in on. cassian gives you a playful wave goodbye that you hesitantly return before the three of them quickly disappear from your peripheral vision.

“that was… interesting,” you say to morrigan, only moments before nesta and elain confront you. you were still trying to process the fact that cassian and azriel had even looked in your direction, let alone without any disgust. some of the rudest people you knew on campus had just started a conversation with you, all because you happened to know rhysand.

nesta pretends to dust off the books on the shelves as she walks towards you, tracing the patterns on your wooden desk once she reaches you, her eyes almost bulging when she glances at all your papers. “y/n,” she says in a sing-song voice, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her smile like that, “what was that about?”

elain doesn’t even bother to be discrete, simply trailing behind nesta and appearing behind her. although she obviously isn’t as curious, her eyes are also widened like she has questions about that interaction too.

morrigan nearly scoffs, “you mean rhysand?”

“i already know about him,” nesta’s smile almost drops completly as her face twists, “who was that big, strong friend he brought?”

“you mean cassian?” you say, mor nearly starts laughing again.

“he seems cute,” nesta shrugs, then continues teasing you. “does our y/n now have men fawning over you?” she gives you a look with a smirk.

“absolutely not.”

elain suddenly joins, her voice remains quiet and hesitant when she asks, “what about the taller one?”

she receives a look from both you and nesta, and you’re suddenly reminded of just how coldly azriel treats people. perhaps nesta would get along with him, but your other friends would definitely dislike him if they saw him in class the way you did.

“he seems kind,” elain softly says.

“something tells me you’ll be seeing a lot more from the three of them,” morrigan playfully hits your arm, your three friends officially ganging up on you to your dismay.

— NOTES

cassian and azriel teasing rhysand 🤭

almost got the whole gang in one place 🫶 cassian and azriel finally make their first appearance

nesta noticing cassian 👀 my nessian self just had to add it

— TAGLIST

@thelov3lybookworm @starsand @lilah-asteria @therealmoonstone @just-a-social-casualty-1 @ashjade19 @girlontheblock @cherry-cin @daughterofthemoons-stuff @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @sweet-chai-amore @kierramofficial @noelli-smv @c-dizzle99 @littlestw01f @marina468 @dragneel-brothers

[moonfawnx]

i’m on page 515 of my acosf reread and Gwyn looks at Az so often it’s obvious man😭

Rereading this story and seeing Gwyn’s development all over again is making me so so excited for her story to continue, and Emeries as well. I had forgotten that Nesta described her as steel.

Plus i had forgotten how funny Emerie is, and how cute it is when both Nesta and Emerie talk about sex and Gwyn is just like damn fill me in😂

I am so so excited to see Gwynriel and Emorie, although you may know that i am NOT a Mor fan, i do think Sarah will have her end up with Emerie, so i’m hoping she acts right with her because i love Emerie sm🫠

Gwyn’s story means so so much to me, which is why i’m more excited for Gwynriel, since Azriel is my favourite character and i have a very soft spot for Gwyn (if you actively see my posts i think you can unde why i’m so excited for her healing process to continue). The gwynriel book will have it’s own shelf on my bookshelf for sure🥲

[hurremsfirstchild]

I need get this straight from nesta stans. So when it comes to nesta insulting the ic, they should grow thicker skin and shouldn’t care that much because she’s practically a child next to them. But why do I see nesta stans who blame feyre for tamlin and Lucien? Cause Tamlin is a grown ass man who had years to practice his powers. And Lucien was willing to stay quiet and let Feyre be abused. But the moment when Feyre gives Lucien the same energy, she’s a bitch. she only wants him to be happy when it involves her. she’s selfish. she wants attention? im confused

its funny to see that majority of tamlin stans come from nesta stans and these are the same people who scream about the ic and amren and mor giving nesta back the same energy. But when Tamlin locks up feyre, loses control of her power and shoves her into a bookshelf, its "feyre made him lose control" Mind you he is a 500 year old grown ass man.

Nesta stans: "The ic's ego is so fragile. why do they act like that because of what nesta did!! She's a child compared to them"

Also nesta stans: "Feyre was so mean to Lucien about his friends! How could she say that?"

[thatanimewriter]

BEAR HUG.

➳ request: Hello! Can I request Ruby, Blake, Yang, Weiss, and Neo with either a male or gn!reader (whichever is more comfortable for you) s/o who is tall (Not that tall, I’m talking like 6’0) and normally very stoic but absolutely melts when shown any affection at all from the girls and turns into a massive cuddle bear. Please and thank you! Have a wonderful day!

➳ character/s: ruby rose, weiss schnee, blake belladonna, yang xiao long, neopolitan

➳ warnings: you're a criminal (neo)

➳ notes: 6'0 feels tall for my little 5'2 ass LMAO thanketh for request :)), also sorry these are kinda short-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

── 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄.

no one knew why y'all were together initially, it was weird

why is this energetic child with this sophisticated partner????

but everyone knows you have a soft spot for ruby, because even if she's annoying you, you'll be less harsh with her

and if she ever clings to you, a nearly invisible smile rests on your lips

she could use her semblance to sit on your shoulders or cling to your bicep, yet you never pushed her away

if anything, the people saw how you kind of craved it

people wouldn't believe their eyes when they see you with your head atop hers and your arms wrapped around her waist

especially with the big, innocent looking eyes rather than your usual half-lidded gaze

they would think someone is a photoshop wizard if they showed them a photo of you cuddling in your sleep

who knew someone could have such different sides to them??

── 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐄.

what a strict couple istg

you're both so serious most of the time, if weiss wasn't so dramatic at times, people would think you were the same person

not a big affection person, but only because she's touch-starved

when she starts initiating, she's very nervous to because she doesn't know if you want her to

but then she sees the way your face relaxes and your body slumps a bit

and now shes gonna be initiating a lot more, but mostly in private or in times of high stress

if anything, you want hugs all the time and she's the one telling you to chill out (pun intended)

she'll never reject you though, but she will look annoyed

often forgets you're perceived as stoic, because she's more accustomed to cuddly you now

wishes you weren't so tall so that you could cuddle easier though-

── 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀.

another stoic girlie

she probably purrs if you give her cuddles and scratch her head and behind her ears

rubs her head against you when she wants attention (only in private)

found out how much of a cuddle monster you are because of it

probably complains a little when you don't let go of her in the mornings and hug her tighter

gets whiplash from soft you and serious you all the time

the moment you're alone with her you're being all pouty and making grabby hands for hugs

secretly loves it, but she also has a reputation to uphold

has a lot of photos of you being cuddly on her scroll

you're 100% mor affectionate than she is, but it's fine

── 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆.

you'll never be perceived as a stoic person ever with her around

she's constantly coming to give you affection, so you'll have to give up the serious thing

she always teases you about being soft around her

you'll never escape her snide comments about how you're not as stoic as you want to be

you're the one being hugged, not doing the hugging

and she'll secretly film you every time-

hidden scroll on the bookshelf waiting for you to come in the room and get hugged >:((

when she feels sad she always reviews those videos to feel better about things

and she never tells you she's filming :))

── 𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍.

is small enough to dangle from your arm as well

constantly clinging to you

she's very mischievous, but i think when she sees you melt a bit at any semblance of physical contact, a genuine smile would cross her face

you being softer also encourages her to be more vulnerable and less performative

she lives for the height difference though-

she won't be too affectionate in public when y'all are criminals

will let you keep the stoic facade when wreaking havoc for sure, won't jeopardise that reputation

but in private, only soft times, never serious times in the scary sense

serious times in a loving, deep talk way ;v;

she also has lots of photos of your sleeping face while you cuddle her

[acourtofbooksandshadows]

Not So Routine - Chapter 11

Summary: Emotions are high in the aftermath of defending Mor and bonds snapping.

Pairing: Eventual!Nessian x Afab!Reader Current!Mor x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Not many for this one just swearing I believe.

Word count: 1505

Bookshelf Series Bookshelf

Weird, everything felt very weird. It was like you were awake but not awake. You couldn’t open your eyes or move your body but you were breathing and could hear and feel everything around you. Your body didn’t hurt but you were filled with so many emotions it was making it hard to stay in this weird limbo stage. You were about to slip back into darkness when you heard someone talking. 

“She is our mate Mor not yours. You need to leave.” You recognized that harsh voice but couldn’t quite place who it was. But you could tell that whoever was speaking was angry. 

“I’ve known her for years longer than you have Nesta. I don’t fucking care if she’s your mate she was my friend first.” That voice sounded familiar as well but they weren’t showing much emotions, just a calm and stern tone. You felt someone messing with something on your arm and your body involuntarily twitched at the sting of a liquid pouring into a wound. Then someone else was speaking this time a voice you hadn’t heard for a long time and had sounded younger the last time you had. 

“Nesta and Cassian you will either calm down or leave. You’re overwhelming her to a point where she can’t wake up. She’ll continue to stay this way until you learn to control your emotions.” The first voice argued that they were staying with a growl before the last voice ended up kicking them out. Then darkness found you again. 

The next time you woke back up into that weird limbo stage you heard two voices. There was also someone holding your hand in their own. A hand that you recognized and found comfort in. 

“How is she doing today Madja?” This voice was full of authority and power. The voice of a High Lord, your High Lord but you couldn’t remember his name. 

“She seems to be doing much better with her physical wounds, the bruising on her neck is pretty much completely healed, the scrape from the wall is gone and the cuts from the fight are healing nicely.” Then she let out a long sigh. 

“But the bonds I’m afraid are still overwhelming her.” It was like those words flipped something inside you to life, you searched for those strings and once you found them you pulled on them. The emotions that came flying back to you had you sinking back into sleep. 

There were a few more times where you would wake up. Normally there were two female voices talking, one being your best friend or just one that you eventually placed as Mor. Who had yet to leave your side. Her hand remained in yours and occasionally you’d feel her run a hand over your hair and whisper to you. But it wouldn’t take long for everything shooting down the bonds to slip you back to darkness. 

Time has become irrelevant to you. There was no way for you to tell whether it was night or day or how long had passed since this darkness had started. But this time when you woke up it was different. You wanted someone to know you were here, awake. You wanted to sooth the worry of Mor and stop the bonds from being rife with the chaotic mess of emotions. 

So you screamed, you screamed with all your might for someone to hear you. No words slipped through your lips but they bounced around your head. You had almost given up hope when you heard another voice. But this time it wasn’t coming from the room it was in your head. It was Rhysand your High Lord, he called out your name and you mentally wept. 

“I’m here.” You cried out, “I’m here.” 

“Please.” You begged him over and over again.

“What can I do?” He asked you gently, caressing your mind to sooth you. The touch had you relaxing. 

“Help me.” Was all you were able to say before that damned darkness took you away once again. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been away this time. But as you came to, there were a flurry of voices around you. The bonds within you were shining bright and gave you conflicting feelings of relief and strain. 

“What do you mean she spoke to you?” Cassian asked, you could feel yourself calming down with the sound of his voice.

“I was asleep and woke up from her shouting. I followed her voice and wound up inside her head. She asked for help and that was it.” You couldn’t see him but you imagined he was picking at a piece of invisible lint on whatever he was wearing. You’d only met him a handful of times and seen him from afar a few but you’d noticed the little habit. 

“I do not do that.” Rhysand said in bewilderment and you couldn’t see him but you could almost guarantee he had glared at you. 

“You don’t do what?” Mor asked him.  

“She just said that I pick invisible lint off my clothes.” You snickered at the high pitch of his voice. 

“That’s not funny.” Then you heard Nesta snicker at him. 

“You’re talking to her?” Mor asked him, her voice was soft and full of relief. 

“Yes.”Mors hand squeezed your own, you took comfort in her familiar touch.

“I’ve been thinking about it. I think I figured out what she needs to do.” She started to play with your fingers and you realized whatever it was, was most likely going to cause a tiff. 

“And what would that be like exactly?” Nesta’s voice was all sneer. You could almost see the glare directed towards the female beside you. You could feel her anger and jealousy.  

“I think she needs distance from you two or to reject the bonds entirely.” You fought against the emotions that flooded towards you. You could feel yourself starting to slip back into the darkness that wouldn’t seem to stay away. 

“Nesta, it might be the best thing. You have to think about her.” Cassian’s deep voice finally spoke up again. 

“I am thinking about her.” Another wave of anger came hurtling towards you and you tried to send reassurance back. 

“She was completely fine until the bond snapped for the two of you as well. Your full untapped emotions are overwhelming her into a state of unconsciousness. I’d like to take her to day court and have Helion and Thesan work on healing her. They may also have the answers on how to help her with the bonds.” Mor’s hand squeezed yours and you wish you could squeeze back to give her reassurance. You’ve heard of the remarkable work the two High Lords have done and what they were capable of. You thought it might just be worth a shot. 

“We don’t even know if they’d allow that Mor.” Rhysand told her calmly. 

“I do know. I’ve been writing them letters and they’ve both agreed to help at any moment.” You felt unbridled anger whip down the bond and the darkness threatened to pull you under. Your head was starting to throb with the strain of staying here within the limbo. 

“Nesta you need to calm down. She’s barely staying conscious.” Rhysand told her in a soft yet stern way. He knew first hand how difficult it is to send your mate away, so he was trying to sympathize with her but he had to think of you as well. Not only a member of his court but someone dear to his cousin in ways he still couldn’t understand. 

“You’ve been talking to others about my mate?” Nesta growled out the words. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” The anger didn’t stop, it kept pouring down the bond between the two of you. The bond shared between you and Cassian was flickering, the emotions kept going in and out like he was struggling to contain them.  

“I’ve known her for years, Nesta. You’ve only known her a few days. Just because she’s your mate doesn’t mean you get to have some moronic fucking claim on her. You are the reason she’s in this state. If you don’t trust my judgement then we can call in her best friend who has known her longer than any of us have and you can hear the words from her mouth because she’s agreed with me as well.” Mor was shaking, you could feel it in her hand that still held yours even though she now stood beside your bed. 

“I could just ask her what she wants.” Rhysand said bluntly and you quickly told him you thought getting help elsewhere was best for you. 

“She said she’d like to get help elsewhere. Mor you can leave whenever you want. If either of you have an issue with that you can come to me.” He didn’t leave any room for argument and with one more burst of anger down the bond the darkness finally took you again.

A/N: I am so sorry this took me over a year to update. I took a much longer mental health break than I was expecting. I am hoping to update this series more as well as the Alliance Maker and a few Throne of Glass fics I have in the works. Also shout out to any twilight fans if you caught the reference I made in this fic. As always likes, comments, reblogs and follows are much appreciated.

Tags(open): @kmc1989 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @luvmoo @wolfsbane44 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @pinksmellslikelove @waytoomanyteenagefeels @littlebbb @cat-or-kitten @brandywineeeee @dragonbloodn7 @vixxy-ven (I plan on going through and updating this list with any that I've missed today)

[venus-celestial]

You all get 3 posts over the course of today because I'm behind

But anyway onto my short fic for day two of @nestaarcheronweek Metamorphosis

(These Beautiful Wings)

Nesta was beyond nervous as she walked down the halls of the river house hand tightly clutching the the dark gray cloak she wore.

she hoped they wouldn't hate her hoped they wouldn't be disgusted by her she hidden this secret so so long because of that fear

but now it was taking too much magic to hide all the time she was getting exhausted to quickly and couldn't use her magic for much else

Nesta paused before she entered the sitting room she could hear everyone joking and laughing Nesta took a few deep breaths and entertained

Feyre stopped talking to Rhys to look at her sister which In turn caused everyone else to cease their conversations to look at her as well

"I-" she began "Um I have something to show you all" She said trying to keep the nerves out of her voice everyone looked at her interest clear on their faces

she takes a deep breath before dropping her cloak and and letting her wings settle into their current position that's right wings she had wings

they had appeared a month after she had been torn apart and put back together in the cauldron she had immediately learned how to hide them and had been ever since

everyone stared at her wide eyed saying nothing Elain was the first to speak "Beautiful" she whispered softly Feyre Nodded in agreement still to stunned to speak

everyone else nodded in agreement all Still staring at her wings Nesta still felt extremely nervous so she turned her head to look at mate

Nesta's heart sunk as she took in Cassian's blank face she couldn't read any emotion in his eyes as she stared she took a breath "Cassian?" She asked

"Why?" The single word was confused and hurt as it came out of his mouth and Nesta didn't answer couldn't answer as she saw hurt in her mates eyes.

So she did the only thing she could think to do she ran she ran back down the hallway and winnowed away not hearing the shouts of protests behind her

Cassian stared after Nesta mind still reeling from what had just happened before Amren came up behind him and whacked him with her book hard

"What were you thinking" she asked voice stren "she just shows us a new piece of herself and you react like that are you a fool boy?" Cassian curses himself and rubs the back of his neck

"Well we have to find her" Mor Says "God knows she's probably thinking that she messed up somehow" And "someone's reaction didn't help" she adds sending a glare towards Cassian.

Azriel immediately sends his shadows out to locate Nesta and takes Elain and Lucian to look in the right side of the house for her

Amren Varian And Mor go to left side of of the house Rhys Cassian and Feyre split up to look on the lower levels Rhys and Feyre using their daemati to try and find her

After about 45 minutes of searching as Rhys is about to head up to main room again he hears a sound a light sniffing coming from down the corridor

He fallows it and it leads hik to the small library they had he carefully followed the sniffling around a bookshelf and there he found Nesta

Rhysand felt his heart squeeze as her looked at her Nesta was curled up with her knees to her chest and head in her knees shaking from crying clearly trying to be quiet despite the light sniffling

Her wings were pulled so tightly to her Rhys was sure it had to hurt and she was pressing herself so tightly to the bookshelf he's sure it would leave marks if she pressed any harder.

Rhys slowly crouched next to Nesta looking over at her with worried eyes she looked over and up at him for a second then closed her eyes tight.

"it's ok little sister" He said gently he doesn't call her that much mostly because they don't spend much together but he means it every time he says it

Nesta shakes her head eyes still closed she curls further into herself hiding her face in the crook of her arms holding herself as tight as possible against her legs.

Rhys sighs sadly "Come here Nesta" He says sitting down and opening his arms he waits until Nesta hesitantly reaches out her hands resting on his shoulders and she lets him hug her.

Rhys sighs as he holds her close and whispers comforting words "It'll be ok Nesta no one is judging your wings or your choice to hide him" he says

"Everyone was just shocked but I can tell you now everyone thinks they're beautiful" He continues "But Cassian-" Nesta starts but is cut off by Rhys "Cassian was being an idiot like usual you know words aren't his strong suit" He says Nesta giggles at that

"Come on little sister let's go back upstairs everyone is worried and I'm pretty sure Amren and Mor are five seconds from murdering Cass" Rhys says as he gets up and Nesta giggles again as he helps her up.

When they make it back upstairs to sitting room Feyre immediately throws her arms around Nesta squeezing her sister tight "Nesta oh by the mother I was so worried" She says

Nesta Returns her sister's hug and Apologizes "Sorry Fey I didn't mean to worry I was just.. Scared" Nesta says softly into Feyres hair,

Feyre squeezes her sister tighter in response as Rhys sits beside her "Don't apologize Nesta you're allowed to feel scared" Feyre responds

They hold each other for a while before Feyre pulls back "Your wings are so beautiful I don't even have words"

Feyre says

Elain comes up to both her sisters and Gives Nesta a quick hug "Feyre's right Nesta Their absolutely Gorgeous" She says a smile in her voice

Mor speaks next "They're so pretty you sound be showing them to all of prythian Nesta" She says passionately Hands making a wide jester as she does

"I've never seen any like them before" Azriel says and Nesta almost jumps having not seen him "Their beautiful and I hope you have them out more" he says sincerely

"I'd pay good money to see you walk into a high lords meeting with them" Lucian says"You already frightened them without wings I'd think Baron would actually piss himself if you walked in like that" He Jokes

"They are very unique Girl" Amren says "A gift truly" "Not even the people of summer court have wings like yours" Varian says "They truly are beautiful and unique" he finishes

Nesta feels like her heart is about to explode she feels warm and fuzzy and so happy As everyone praises and compliments her wings

Cassian comes up to her then and Nesta takes a step back so she can look up at him "Hello Nes" He says softly "Hi Cass" She says back

A few seconds tic by before her mate is pulling her into a tight hug Being mindful of her wings "Gods I'm so sorry Sweetheart" he Starts

"I didn't mean to scare I was shocked and and sadd but not at you Nes gods never at you" He continues "I was Sad and disappointed in myself for not noticing your my mate I should notice if somethings wrong" He says Squeezing her tighter

Nesta buries her face in his chest "I didn't want you to Cass" She Mumbles "I didn't want anyone to know" "Yes but still I should of noticed something was off sweetheart" Cassian says

Cassian pushes her back and looks her up and down "Gods your fucking beautiful Nes" He says and Nesta blushes slightly "You were beautiful without wings and now beautiful with them" He says

"You are most gorgeous fucking female I've ever met and I'm so damn lucky you're my mate" Cassian says Cupping her cheeks"Your ethereal and I will spend everyday tell you that" He says

"Please don't ever feel like you have to hide from me sweetheart" He says "You're fucking gorgeous and I love you" "And I'll announce to the word how much I love my beautiful mate" He finishes placing a soft kiss on her lips

Nesta swears she has never felt More lobed in her life then she does in this moment and right now with her mate and her family Nesta knows she's going to be just fine.

And that's all hope you all enjoyed and again please forgive any grammar errors

[soaringeag1e]

Escape {59}

Detective!Dean x Victim!Reader

Warnings: Language, Anger, Yelling? Secrets?

Words: 1,969

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Patreon

Dean paced the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he tried to hold in his impatience. His fist would uncurl every now and then so that he could rub at the scruff on his face, just another sign that he was struggling to hold himself together.

“You need to calm down, Dean.” Hearing this, Dean stops on the east side of the room, his eyes locked on the bookshelf a moment before he turns to look at his brother who is sitting at his desk, the phone still attached to his ear as he was on hold.

“Calm down?” Dropping his arms to his side, Sam can’t help but sigh at his brother's frustrations. “How am I supposed to calm down!?”

“I’m doing everything I can.”

“I know you are! But your friends are just trying to piss me off!”

“They’re not….”

“Really!? Because they sure are taking their time!”

“This stuff takes time, Dean!”

“Well, I’m done waiting.” The eldest brother grumbles, slapping his hand against his thigh as he goes back to pacing the room. 

“I know you are, but you just have to…” When Sam pauses, Dean stops to look at him. Only this time, he seems to be focused on the phone in his hand. Figuring that someone was finally on the other line, Dean slowly makes his way closer to the desk, his focus now on his brother as he waits to hear the one sided conversation.

“Yes, judge Cross, this is Sam Winchester. Did Steven…” Grabbing the arm of one of the chairs, Dean slips into it, his eyes not leaving his brother. “Yes, we have a strong belief that there was a second perpetrator in this case and we have evidence to back it up. Along with a promising confession.” Sam’s eyes meet Dean’s when he mentions the evidence. Though he trusts his brother's instincts, he knows to anyone else that his so-called evidence is a long shot.

“I know, but our man won’t talk unless we give him a deal. This is purely leverage until we get that confession, but we need it to be approved for him to believe it. It sounds like if there’s the  slightest doubt then he won’t talk.” Dean chews on the inside of cheek, his nerves and hopes high as he waits for an answer.

“Okay. I’ll do that right away. Thank you sir.” Seconds later, Sam hangs up the phone and Dean sits there with wide eyes, waiting for him to spit out his answer. “He wants to see the evidence you have before he makes a decision.”

“What!?” Sam only nods, eyeing the folder that Dean brought in with him. “But, Sam…he’s not…”

“You don’t know that.” Dean scoffs at his brother's positivity and stands from his seat, turning away from the desk. “Listen, Dean…is the evidence a long shot? Yes. But Judge Cross can be pretty lenient sometimes so there’s still a chance.”

“Yeah! A small one!” he barks back, his frustration focused back towards his brother. “I can hear his laughter now!”

“Come on, Dean…” Leaning forward in his expensive leather chair, Sam clasps his hands together. “We need to at least try, right? You can’t give up without getting the answer because then it’ll haunt you forever.”

“These cases already haunt me, Sam.” Sam sighs sadly, nodding soft as his eyes drop to the desk. “I just…I hate that I keep getting this close to getting answers and then I’m turned away, so I’m just waiting for this to be that same situation.”

“All we need is to find that one door, Dean. That one door that doesn’t shut in your face.” Dean’s throat visually constricts as he swallows. “This could be that door.” Sam tells him confidently. He knows there is still a chance this might not work out, but he knew Judge Cross pretty well, and he had more confidence in him giving them what they wanted than any other Judge.

With doubt still clouding Dean’s mind, he still takes a seat back at his brothers desk and flips open his folder. He shows Sam what he has and what he strongly believes before writing out a quick report for the Judge to read and understand. Then it just came down to more of the same. More waiting.

-

To say he was defeated was an understatement. Despite the confidence that Sam had in Judge Cross, Dean still had major doubts. He has seen plenty of cases go cold or even fail in court because of the lack of evidence that was presented and he knows damn well that his ‘evidence’ isn’t the most compelling. He just had to put his faith in his brother and hope to God that Sam was right. Because if not, then he may never find whoever this mystery man is that hid in the shadows of your case. On top of that, the possibility that this same person may have killed Cassie…there was a lot banking on getting this exception.

It wasn’t until Dean hung his keys on the hook by the front door that he noticed the lights out in the house. He was so lost in his thoughts that his surroundings were just a big blank canvas.

With his brow creased, he kicks off his boots and slowly makes his way into the house. Little lights flickered around the living room and dining room, the candles doing pretty well at lighting the house up just enough to make out everything in the house.

“Y/N?” After calling out for you he hears a little movement in the kitchen before you step out. The flowing red skirt got his attention immediately, not to mention your exposed legs walking towards him. You were all dressed up except for the lack of shoes, your bare feet being the most casual part about you and honestly very adorable in Dean’s opinion.

“Hi!” you greet with a large smile, walking up to him without noticing the confused look on his face and kissing him. By this time Dean starts to panic and wonders if he missed your anniversary or something. It’s clear he’s missed something. “Happy valentines day.” you mutter quietly against his lips before stealing another kiss and that’s when Dean’s heart sinks.

“Valentines day.” he tries to hide the fact that he forgot, but he’s so blindsided that he can’t do it convincingly. “Right. That’s-that’s today.” He knows he’s failed even before he sees your sympathetic grin.

“Rough day, huh?” Dean finally lets out a huff, all his baggage from this surprise and the load he took on today getting released in those few seconds.

“I’m so sorry. I-I…”

“Hey.” Your voice is just as comforting as your hand against the side of his face and he lets his eyes fall shut as he leans into your touch. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. To be honest I've never been a fan of this day anyway.” 

“So then what’s with the setup?” he asks when his eyes scan the place.

“Well…you’ve been gone all day and I wanted to do something special for you. It just happens to be valentines day, so…” you shrug as you look around at your candles. “I decided to do a little extra.” Deans hand slides into your hair, pushing a few strands back as he looks deep into your eyes.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” 

“You don’t have to.” you tell him sincerely, placing your hand over his before pulling it away and kissing his palm. “Now, why don’t you go take a shower and relax a bit.” you say as you rub his arm. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.” All Dean can do is lean in and kiss you sweetly. Between the day he’s had and to come home just to find out he’s forgotten valentine's day, he was trying to hide the frustrations he was feeling.

But he did as you suggested. After soaking your presence in and stealing a few more kisses he headed upstairs and took a shower. He even turned up the temp to a little hotter than normal to help his muscles loosen up. With how tense he was at the jail and even in Sam’s office, his body was hurting.

By the time he got back downstairs you were just finishing up with setting the table. It looked like you had a roast of some type along with some veggies, mashed potatoes and a salad all set out looking like a page out of a magazine. Not to mention that you had a glass of wine set out for yourself and Dean’s favorite beer sitting and waiting for him to drink. He honestly felt like he didn’t deserve you.

“That looks delicious.” From the surprise on your face Dean realized that you hadn’t heard him enter the room again. 

“I hope so.” you laugh nervously, looking over the table once more to see if you had forgotten anything.

“So…” you start as the two of you take a seat and start dishing out food onto your plates. “What happened today?” Dean stiffens for a moment, but quickly detours his thoughts and tries to explain to you without going into any deep details.

“Um…well, I uh, I found some new evidence for a case and I had to go to county to speak with one of the inmates and try to get some info out of him.”

“Fun.” you say sarcastically, sending a grin across the table to him.

“Yeah. Tons.”

“Any luck?”

“Uh..” he sighs softly as he sets the mashed potato bowl back in the center of the table. “Kind of? I had to make a deal with him. So I had to go and talk with some lawyers to change his sentence a bit.”

“That’s scary.” His eyes lift to yours. “Like how big of a change are you talking?”

“Well, in his case, not much. All we’re doing is taking off the death penalty, and that’s only if he cooperates.” You nod softly and then grab the bowl of salad, scraping a little handful onto your plate.

“Must be a bad guy.” you say with a light chuckle. “What did he do?” That’s when Dean freezes. He feels sick for lying to you, but he doesn’t want you knowing about what's going on until he can sort things out and right now, he’s run out of lies.

“You know what, I uh…I really don’t want to talk about it.” Seeing the defeat and stress in his expression, you dropped the subject.

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day and I don’t want to…”

“Dean, it’s fine. “ He’s relieved when he sees that you’re clearly okay with not talking about it. “You deal with a lot of crap, so…if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand that it’s for a reason. So, it’s okay.” His head bobs subconsciously as he watches you dig into your meal

“So, uh…what did you end up doing today?”

“Well, I booked the venue.” your smile grows when you look up at him. “So, that’s all set. Then I started looking at invitations online. But then I got a little tired so I just sat and watched TV for a bit, read a little of my book and then started dinner.”

“Sounds like you had a pretty good day then.”

“Yeah. Was really nice actually.” You spear some lettuce with your fork. “Would have been better if you were here, but…I’ll take what I can get.” Dean’s finally able to smile a little, the magic of just being in your presence at work again. No matter what his day was full of, coming home to you was always the cure.

[liyazaki]

the end of the novel of love | vivian gornick

[fieldofdaisiies]

gwyn x balthazar | 4k words | warnings: none | masterlist

Clotho sits behind her old, worn desk. And Gwyn has been looking at her for over five minutes, not yet stepping forward from where she is partly hidden behind a bookshelf. 

Clotho's is lost in the embrace of an old book, her eyes fully focused on the text in front of her. She hasn't noticed Gwyn yet. Although Gwyn somehow hopes she will. It would make it easier for her. 

Clotho would wave her over and she would start talking. 

But she can't stay hidden any longer. Mor is probably already waiting for her. They are supposed to leave in a few minutes, so Gwyn can't waste any more time. 

She treads carefully as she steps out of her hiding place, her fingers fisting her robes. She inhales deeply, calming her speeding heart. 

It is just one question. Not even a majorly dramatic one. But what if it is? What if Clotho says no? What if she is disappointed in Gwyn for even asking for something like this?

I am overthinking this way too much, Gwyn tells herself and lets go off her robes. 

With a deep, steadying breath, she musters the courage to approach Clotho, her footsteps barely making a sound against wooden floor. The moment she stops in front of her desk, the High Priestess lifts her head. 

A paper appears on the desk. So, you finally made up your mind?

Gwyn has to smile, a little giggle slipping through her lips — Clotho just knows everyone too well.

"I did," she says, nodding. Then Gwyn clears her throat softly, her heart racing as she continues, "I, ahm, I've wanted to ask you something…"

Clotho nods, her look telling Gwyn to continue.

Swallowing her unease, the young priestess chooses her words carefully, as if tip-toeing around something fragile. "So, there is this…this…this male…" Gwyn pulls her lower lip between her teeth and something sparkles in Clotho's eyes. 

"I've met him…I mean, I somehow did…And, well, he seems to be a very, very good male. He's not  a brute, no he is good in his heart and mind. And the others…" Her voice trails off momentarily.

Clotho observes Gwyn intently, as if wanting to look right inside her heart and soul, wanting to see if Gwyn truly means it, if this male truly means it. Yet, she does not react. 

Drawing in another breath, Gwyn continues, her voice gaining some confidence. "The others…Nesta, Emerie, Cassian, Azriel... they all know him too. They trust him, and I do too." 

Her fingers fidget her robes once again and Gwyn hesitates to go on. She feels how cold sweat coats the back of her neck, her skin growing hot, her breathing a little heavier. 

"I... I'm…I was…no, I am wondering if it would be alright... if I can invite him to, you know, to a service. He is kind, and has a good heart, and I would like to invite him. Only if that is alright, of course. That is why I am asking."

The High Priestess' gaze softens, her eyes shining brightly. She remains silent, of course, but her words are getting written on the paper in front of Gwyn. 

He truly is kind and a good male?

Gwyn nods.

You like him? Like him a lot?

Gwyn nods again, a faint blush gracing her pale cheeks. She feels how her body relaxes, and the skin of her face grows warm. 

And he likes you? Means only good things?

"He does, or at least I think he likes me. But he only means good things, I know this." A smile parts her lips and she tips her chin. Clotho smiles as well, slowly bowing her head. 

You have my blessing, Gwyneth. But you will have to ask the others as well, this is not only my decision.

Gwyn has technically already done so. She sent the letter to Balthazar, that she would love to visit Windhaven and see his woodcrafting space, two days ago, announcing her visit for this day. 

Right after she sent the letter, she started asking her fellow priestesses for allowance to invite him. To her utter surprise, even Merrill had agreed. And now she also has Clotho's blessing. 

This is a good day, Gwyn thinks. She grins, when she takes a step back from the desk. "Thank you! Thank you so much. This means the world to me!"

Clotho smiles a little brighter, her eyes twinkling like the stars in the night sky. 

Now nothing can stop her. She will invite him here, show him her space as well. This is a major step. One that is both exciting and absolutely terrifying. He will be the first male to ever see this space — her very personal space. But it feels right. She wants Balthazar to see this. She wants to see how he reacts when she tells him everything about her life, when she lets him in. She has to see it, has to let him know, in order to go further with whatever it is between them. 

But telling him, after he let her in on his worries, in his life, feels right. And it feels good — the thought of telling him makes her feel comforted. She knows whatever she has to say then will be safe with him. 

Because everything he told her, is safe with her. 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Gwyn's eyes widen with surprise as she ascends the staircase to the House of Wind, where Mor is waiting after changing into more Windhaven-appropriate clothing. Mor always looks stunning, but today she appears to have gone the extra mile. Gwyn can't quite put her finger on it why, but Mor looks absolutely beautiful in a tight plum-colored dress that perfectly accentuates her curves, her hair tied in a high ponytail.

Gwyn can't help but wonder why Mor has gone to such lengths, especially since it is just for a trip to Illyria. A small smirk graces Gwyn's lips, and her thoughts immediately drift to a certain Illyrian female, the one she calls her best friend — Emerie. Those stolen glances, the quiet giggles, and the way both of them blush when around each other — could that be the reason why? Most certainly!

"Good to go?" Mor asks, her voice joyful.

"I am, thank you for taking me." Gwyn smiles as she walks up to Mor who already reaches out her hand for her. "Oh, don't worry, I have…business to deal with up there anyway. You know, those males sometimes just need a female to talk business." Mor grins, her eyes sparkling brightly.

They walk outside, to the balcony, the sun already high up in the sky, its warm strays falling upon their skins. "I will stay until you want to go home, if you want to leave immediately after arriving it is also fine. You tell me, alright?"

Gwyn's heart warms at the kindness, at the thoughtfulness. "Thank you," she says and it is then that mist wraps around them, they become weightless, their feet leaving the ground and just a moment later touching it again. Winnowing — still something that Gwyn finds herself marvelling at. 

The air is crisp up here, it always is. It always is cooler up here, Gwyn thinks and for a moment her mind drifts back to the Blood Rite, to how they were thrown into it with only their nightgowns on their bodies. It is still a miracle that they made it out alive. That they won. Emerie and her made it to the top, became Carynthian. Nesta won as well, she also made it out alive! And so did Balthazar, no matter what his father would have said — he made it out alive and that is a big win. 

"Will he come pick you up?"

Gwyn turns to Mor. "Yes. I asked him if he could meet me at the training pitch, as it is the only place I know around here."

Mor nods in understanding and the two females set out to walk over to the training pitch. It is midday, so hardly anyone is around, most Illyrian males are probably eating right now or taking a nap after lunch. The females are probably working in the kitchens, but all of this will change soon. Soon Balthazar will be officially announced as camp lord, and everything will change for the better. 

They arrive at the pitch, already a bit later than arranged but Balthazar is no where in sight. Gwyn does not grow nervous, but a tiny kernel of unease blooms inside of her. Where might he be? Did he forget her?

"You don't have to wait with me, Mor," Gwyn tells the blond female next to her. Mor is observing her surroundings, her eyes squinted, her hand placed against her forehead as she looks around, observes. "Of course, I do. I am not leaving you here alone." "Balthazar will be here soon." "Yes, and until then I'll wait with you." There is no room for protest, the decision is final. 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"When did this happen?" Balthazar slings his arm under his mother's shoulder, trying to help her up. "And why? What were you doing?"

"I was up in the attic, Baz. Trying to look for some things."

"There are no things up in the attic that are important." "Your f—" "Don't!" His voice is filled with both concern and warning. He does not want to hear it. He does not want to hear that his mother nearly broke her neck by trying to retrieve old things that belonged to his father. 

"I am sorry, Baz," she says in a voice tinged with hurt, and a tears trail down her cheeks.

Worry floods his being, eliminating any other thought or feeling. What if that happens and he is not around to help her?

His hands, strong and steady, support her fragile figure, offering both physical and emotional help. Balthazara assesses her for any signs of injury, his eyes scanning over her body, but she seems fine. And yet, his mother's vulnerability, her pain, grips his heart with icy claws, and sinks its fangs into his whole chest. With tenderness and care, he reassures her that everything will be alright, his voice laced with both love and worry. And Fiara clings to him, as if never wanting to let go. 

He helps her mover over to the couch, his gaze flicking to the old grandfather clock on the wall. It tells him he is already late. Again!

Balthazar ensures his mother is seated safely. He kneels beside her, wings draped on the ground and takes her hand in his. "Mother," he breathes and a tear slides out of Fiara's eyes. 

"I am sorry, Baz." Her voice trembles, her chin quivering. 

With gentle words and his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, he tries to ease her discomfort and get rid of any pain she may be feeling. Fiara's eyes are closed, her chest lifting and falling with deep inhales. She seems to fall asleep.

So, Balthazar carefully lets go off her hand and straightens up. "Mother, I have to go and…deal with something. I will be back later, but please, promise me to not go up there again. If there is something you want, Thena or I can retrieve it for you, but please don't do it yourself."

His mother nods weakly, her gaze meeting Balthazar's through heavy-lidded eyes. "I promise," she whispers and leans back against the cushions, eyes closing once again. 

Balthazar quickly bends down to place a kiss on the top of her head and pulls a wool blanket over her fragile figure. "I'll be back for dinner. I am cooking, you don't have to worry about that."

He is not sure his mother still hears this, maybe she is already fast asleep. 

The moment the young Illyrian is outside the door, he is running. He is running again, like usual. Somehow, he is always running. But when it comes to Gwyn, he would run everywhere. At any time. And as fast as he can. 

He runs past the huts, hurdles through the small pathways between the tents, turns around the corner of yet another hut and takes one last sprint towards the training pitch. A thin film of sweat coats his entire being, but Gwyn has already seen him bloody and dirty, so she will be able to deal with that as well.

"Gwyneth," he breaths when he comes to halt, voice breathless, but not from running, rather from how stunned he is once again by her beauty. He forgets to breathe, to think, to exist — she is stunning, almost like a queen or goddess. 

His eyes are solely trained on her, on the smile, this bright and beautiful smile, that parts her lips. 

"Balthazar." Her teal eyes sparkle, as they trail over his features and Gwyn takes a step forward. Only then does Balthazar's gaze move to the female next to her and he bows a little at the waist.

"Lady Morrigan." "Lord Balthazar of Windhaven!" The blonde female smiles at him, and reaches out a hand which Balthazar quickly shakes. 

Gwyn, even if it makes absolutely no sense, and especially since she has only a short time ago pondered about Mor and Emerie, feels a pang of jealousy inside of her when their hands touch. It is so odd and irrational that Gwyn has to shake her head. But she knows this feeling, knows it is jealousy, even though it makes absolutely no sense. 

"Lord Balthazar, you know where Lady Emerie's shop is?"

He thinks for a moment, but then nods. "Of course, I do." "If Gwyn wants to go home, you will immediately get me. You will find me there. Or you will bring her to me, do you understand?"

"I do," he says, voice stern and sincere. Of course, he would do this. Immediately. 

"Good, otherwise, me and my favourite dagger will do very lovely things to you, to very important body parts of you." Warning flashes brightly in Mor's eyes when she steps past him. 

For a split second, something like shock passes over the young Illyrian's face, but he quickly finds himself nodding once again. And so Mor leaves, flashing Gwyn an encouraging and happy smile which the young priestess returns. 

Balthazar seems a little nervous when the young priestess searches his gaze. His brows are furrowed and he is nibbling on his lower lip. He inhales a deep breath, solid chest rising with it, and wipes the palms of his hands down his thighs. "Alright, my woodcrafting space. Shall we?" He asks and nervousness takes root in his chest.

Gwyn is the first person, outside of his family and Corrian, to ever see this place. He has never shown it to anyone, no one has ever been in there — this feels like a major step in his life. Like he lays his soul even more bare than he had already done when he had told Gwyn about his father and his nightmares. 

"But first, how are you feeling today?" 

His voice, so low, with the slight rasp, and so comforting dances over her skin and Gwyn finds herself smiling. "Thank you for asking, I am feeling very good today." Her smile turns into a grin that Balthazar mirrors with his lips. 

"And you? What about you?"

"Never felt better," he says, but the smile on his lips does not reach his eyes and Gwyn immediately knows something is up. She herself is surprised about how well she can read him already. 

Her own smile falters, brows furrowing. "You are not being honest, are you? Did something happen?"

A little huff accompanies Balthazar's sad smile and he says, "My mother fell earlier and I am a little worried about her. But it is all alright, she is sleeping now."

"You can go to her!" Gwyn blurts out. "Stay with her. You don't have to spend time with me when—" "I want to spend time with you. As I said, she is sleeping, it is perfectly alright. I want to be with you this afternoon, spend time with you. It is the best thing that can happen to me today, the nicest distraction from all the chaos right now." His smile is now more sincere, honest and does reach his eyes. He means it, he really does. 

"Alright, shall we?"

Gwyn nods excitedly, but when she looks around to where a few Illyrians start to return to their chores outside, and also to the smaller training pitches, a kernel of nervousness blooms inside of her. Her heart quickens when her gaze ping-pongs between the males. Then she looks up at Balthazar with a hint of panic in her eyes. 

He must sense her unease, taking a step towards her. 

Summoning her courage, and pushing past the restraint that held her back the last time, she looks up at him, her voice soft and hesitant, "Would it be alright if... if you—could, please, hold my hand while we walk over to your hut?"

Gwyn lowers her gaze, her fingers curled around the lower edge of her sweater. She feels vulnerable in this moment, not strong. 

But she knows how easy it is to lose control in moments like this, to fall back into all patterns of angst and panic whenever a male gets too close. She does no longer want to be afraid. And she knows that Balthazar holding her hand will help her keep control. He will give her the necessary comfort, the necessary strength she needs in this moment. 

She waits for his response, her eyes briefly meeting his before flickering away. It is such a simple request, but a tremendous step for Gwyn. She hasn't touched a male like this in ages, and most definitely not after…Sangravah. But Balthazar does not scare her, his closeness does not worry her, and his touch, it won't hurt her. 

Something like pain passes over Balthazar's face, almost like he can sense that there is some deeper pain hidden inside of Gwyn. Some secret that makes her so cautious, so wary, so…scared. 

"You never have to ask for something like this, Gwyneth," the young Illyrian whispers. 

He reaches out his hand, not grabbing hers yet. He gives her time, lets her take his hand when she is ready for it. 

Gwyn's fingers tremble slightly as she slowly reaches out, her hand hovering near his for a moment before finally making contact. The touch is delicate, her fingers sliding into his in a tentative grip. The skin of Balthazar's palm is a little callused, probably from all the fighting with swords and the woodcrafting he does. 

Balthazar has never felt something like what he feels when Gwyn's palm brushes his. Her slim hand perfectly fits into his broad hand, like they were made for one another. 

He holds her hand, not tightly, so she can pull it back whenever she wants to. But the spark, the sensation that explodes on their skins the moment their palms really meld, does not go unnoticed by either of them. 

Gwyn's eyes briefly meet Balthazar's, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability evident in her gaze. With a shy smile, she draws in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and begins to walk alongside him, her grip tightening ever so slightly when they head towards the huts of the Illyrian war camp.

"Thank you," she says, her tone barely above a whisper. Balthazar does not answer, but he gives her hand a gently, assuring squeeze and it is all Gwyn needs in this moment. 

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Gwyn's eyes are wide as she takes in the interior of the hut. She stands in the middle of it, turning and spinning on her heels so she can look at every little corner, every nook, of the room, so she won't miss a single thing. She can still feel his touch against her palm, how good it felt, and how right it was. It was perfect, and it was a big step she is now happy and proud she took. 

"You made all of this?" she breathlessly expresses. 

"Yes." Balthazar looks happy, bouncing on his toes, wings and hands folded behind his back. Instead of looking at the room, he looks at Gwyn, watching her as she swirls and looks around. So stunning… his lips part in silent admiration. 

"Is this the chair you mentioned last time?" 

Balthazar explains to her that it is, and also tells her what it still misses but that it will be finished soon. He also shows her the other objects, certain small stools, a box, a shelf that he has only started recently, little figures and many more things. They wander through the whole hut, it is small, but there is just so much too see and Gwyn is so interested. She wants to see everything, wants to run her fingers over every smooth surface. And she also wants to hold his hand again. 

The dedication he pours into every project is very visible and Gwyn is happy to learn a little more about him whenever they meet. He is an interesting, intriguing male, with a heart of gold and a mind as sharp as a blade. She loves that about him. Somehow she has always dreamed to meet a male just like him. 

"How do you now feel about the camp lord business?" Gwyn suddenly asks, glancing over her shoulder at Balthazar. 

The smile on his face vanishes for a split second and he says, "Better. And alongside my sister and my best friend, I definitely have you to thank for this. I am starting to believe that I can do this. That I am ready for this."

She turns, so her front faces his and reaches out to hold his hand once again. "You don't have to thank me for showing you the obvious. You are perfect for this position, you were just too blind to see it."

Balthazar smirks, his hand tingling where it touches Gwyn's. "Did you just call me blind?"

A grin parts her delicate lips and for a moment Balthazar's falls drops to her mouth. 

"Well, you are blind. You clearly don't see your potential, your skills, your power." She traces her thumb over the siphon on the back of his hand to make her point clear. Balthazar nearly shudders at the feeling, his breath getting caught in his throat. 

"Gwyneth," he hums.

The priestess' cheeks warm a little, her breathing turning heavier. It is the way he says her name — her full name. It does something to her, makes her body feel something she hasn't felt before. But hearing her name on her lips, it is…no words can describe the emotion she is feeling. 

Somehow it feels like in all those romance book, when the love interest whispers dirty somethings into the female's ear. Yes, yes, this is somehow comparable to what him saying her name feels like. And Gods, will he ever say her name like this to her when they— She can't think about this right now. This would be scandalous!

"Would you like to come see a service some time?"

Balthazar seems to not understand immediately. His forehead lies in furrows, his hand loosening its hold on Gwyn's. She giggles softly, loving his confused expression. He is still so very handsome, but Cauldron, does he look adorable like this. 

"I am a priestess and we have services and I was wondering if you would like to attend one. I asked, if it is alright for everyone, and it is. You may come, if you want to."

She looks hopeful and finally Balthazar nods. "I would love to. Will you sing again?"

"I will."

"Then there's nothing I'd rather do. When can I come?"

Gwyn's heart does many happy skips at his excitement and the grin blooming on his handsome face. 

"Sunday. The next one is on Sunday."

~~~~~~~~~ tag list: @a-frog-with-a-laptop @brekkershadowsinger @moonlightazriel @callmeblaire @headcanonheadcase @waternymphia @autumndreaming7 @devilsfoodcake22 @readercacau @sv0430 @bubybubsters @cyntia-ktn

[shallyne]

Day 6:

The office was a mess. Every bookshelf was empty and all the books were strewn across every other surface in the room, stacked in organized piles. There wasn't a partivular reason why Rhys did this, he just woke up this morning with the urge to reorganize his bookshelves. Now he was only fifty books away from starting to shelf the books again.

"Rhys!" Mor chirped as she breezed into the room, not bothering to knock, and came to an abrupt stop before she crashed into an M pile. "Cauldron, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Rhys countered, putting a book on the E pile. "I'm reorganizing my books."

Sighing, his cousin carefully stepped over piles, stumbling over box with wool and knitting needles, his latest project, and stopped at Rhys's side. "Why? Didn't you like how they were organized before?"

"They were were only organized by height and genre, it was chaos! Now I'm going to order them alphabetically by author and genre. Maybe height if possibe." he explained.

His cousin sighed again, this time more dramatically as she bent down and picked up an old tome and skimmed through it. "That seems like a peculiar task seeing the amount of books you own. Have you read every single one?"

"Of course I have."

A single piece of paper fell out of the tome Mor held. Rhys was about to grab it but Mor was faster, snatching it up. "Oh!" she shrieked, "How adorable! It's one of your poems–"

Rhys swiped the piece if paper out of Mor's hand and she cried out in protest, he tucked it away. "Hey!" she said, "I wanted to read that? By the way, are you still writing?"

"No." Rhys replied.

Mor frowned, "You're in a mood today. It would be more fun to talk with Amren about the meaning of life."

"She'd hate that." Rhys added another book to the U pile beside him.

"Exactly." Mor said, sitting down opposite of Rhys, crosslegged. He looked up from his books, watching her. She wore yellow wide-legged oants, typical for night court fashion, with a white sweater, her brown eyes taking in the room.

"Did you come here for a reason?" Rhys asked.

Mor gnawed on her lower lip, thinking about what to say. It went quiet for a few moments, only dull sound from behind the great wood doors of his office to hear. Then she turned her head to Rhys, speaking, "Feyre asked me if you are fine. She thought you seemed off this morning, I told her I'd talk to you." understanding found Mor's features, "You didn't do this for a few years now, Rhys. What happened?"

"I'm only reorganizing my bookshelf, I'm fine." he replied, but his words were missing the intended bite.

"It's not only the reorganizing, Rhys, I've paid attention, you know?" she pointed to the box with knitting supplies, the clubs 8n the corner and a look to the fishing rod near his desk. "You're trying to distract yourself."

Rhys didn't answer, averting his cousin's gaze as he cintinues to organize his books. Pile A, Pile H, Pile D....

"You can grief, Rhys. It's okay."

He stopped, looking at his hands. His voice was hoarse as he said, "If I let myself grief...I fear that I won't find my way back. I can't afford it to grief, I have a son to take care of now and we are in the middlenof rebuilding Velaris, there's no time."

"There is, Rhys. We will understand, Feyre will understand. Talk to her." Mor smiled softly, "You're not alone, cousin, even though you're hellbent on managing everyrhing on your own."

"I don't know what to say." Rhys admitted. Just thinking about explaining that the anniversary of his mother's amd sister's death neared had him feeling a lump in his throat.

"Talk from your heart." Mor said, "Feyre will understand." She repeated, getting up and extending her hand.

Tentatively, Rhys took it and she helped him up. "Thank you," he said.

"Of course," Mor flipped her head over her shoulder. "But Rhys, one more thing–"

He raised his brow, waiting.

"Why again? Do you have nightmares again?"

Rhys shrugged, walking to the doors of his office. "At this time of year, always." he stepped out, feeling surer about talking to Feyre. It wasn't that he didn't trust hery he trusted Feyre with his life, even feeling ashamed that he couldn't get himself to talk to her but the topic of his mother and sister still left him as raw as it was centuries ago.

Talking to Mor, though, it reminded me how lucky he was with the family he found along the way.

@officialrhysandweek

[otherworldseekers]

FFXIVwrite2023 prompt 18: A Fish Out of Water

Shortly after Omega, Nero is set up as the manager of Garlond Ironworks' Mor Dhona branch, and proudly shows off his new office to Severia.

Nero was beaming as he led Severia through the door of his new office/workroom at the Garlond Ironworks location in Mor Dhona. 

A large desk of darkly stained wood stood up against one wall, monitors apparently commandeered from Omega lining the wall above it. The surface was covered in scattered papers that spilled onto the floor. A nearby bookshelf featured a messy collection of tomes, tomestones, scrolls and parchments. But Nero walked right past it for the other end of the room where sturdy tables lined the far wall, an array of instruments and tool neatly lined up on shelves or hanging from the wall. Already the tables featured several burn marks and other signs of use. 

Nero stood in front of thee workbenches and grinned. “What do you think?”

Severia didn’t know quite what to think. She was, frankly, entirely out of her element when it came to the kind of advanced technological expertise Nero pursued. But this was his new space and he was so excited about it. So she tried. 

“You certainly have a lot of space,” she offered. 

“Yes, and I had to fight tooth and nail for it too,” Nero growled. “Can you believe that bastard Garlond expected me to work in the same space as the interns? He continues to try to undermine me at every step!”

“How terrible,” Severia said in only slightly mocking sympathy. “What was it used for before?”

“Storage, but it had already been almost cleaned out to stock his new facility in Rhalgr’s Reach so there was absolutely no excuse for not giving it to me,” Nero explained as he leaned against his workbench. “And I managed ton salvage some very useful items that had just been tossed aside in here.”

He motioned her closer to examine some of the gadgets on the wall. The designs looked slightly familiar and she realized they probably came from Azys Lla. “The man hasn’t the slightest idea about most Allagan technology, you know.”

He launched into detailed explanations of how he had made the devices work for him, and Severia was barely able to follow along with the occasional “oh” or “I see”. If this was an early glimpse into her future, she realized, she would have to put some effort into learning more about Nero’s work. He deserved to have someone listening to him that wasn’t completely lost. 

“I did have to remind Garlond that I would be the one fashioning your armor in the future so it was in your best interest that I have the most cutting edge tools…”

“Nero, you didn’t,” Severia sighed. He knew she hated having her name thrown around. 

Nero smirked as he pushed off the workbench and slowly walked toward her. “I know. I’ve been a very naughty boy. But who will punish me now that I’m the boss here?”

“Nero Scaeva…” she said in a warning tone, but it was too late. He’d already grabbed her by the hips. 

“You know what else this workbench could be good for?”

“I thought you said you should be punished, not rewarded.” Severia wrapped her arms around his waist. It was frustrating, but she couldn’t resist this man. 

“Well, one man’s punishment might be another man’s reward.”

“So what you’re saying is I should bend you over that workbench.”

“Why do you think I wanted a private workshop?”

[tameblog]

Flat-pack furniture gets a bad rap—it’s often considered flimsy, poorly-constructed, and cheap in a way that is visually (and actually) unappealing. Ikea, the leader in this field, has made strides towards improving the category’s reputation, but the vast popularity (and convenience) of furniture that can be built just as easily as it can be broken down has cleared the way for designers to experiment.  In recent years, we’ve been tracking the rise of smaller designers putting their own spin on this style. But the best way to see if something is worth it is to try it for yourself. So three Dwell staffers tested out products from three such brands—Studio Furnis, Unfnshed, and Lucca House—to see what all the fuss is about.  Studio Furnis Studio Furnis Yankel BookcaseThe YANKEL bookcase assembles quickly and efficiently, requiring no tools and just minutes of your time. Its slender design maximizes storage while taking up minimal space in any setting. H 80" x W 15" x L 10" It’s no secret that "I found it on Instagram" isn’t usually a compliment when it comes to your latest impulse purchase. So you’d be forgiven in thinking that since, as memory strikes, Studio Furnis’s items were brought to our attention from that very platform. When it comes to quality, however, their products are far from what you’d happen upon while idly scrolling.  They're designed intentionally for city living, where, according to their website, "apartment living often means constant change," but the furniture made to easily accommodate easy moves is often poorly made. The small, Brooklyn-based team was founded by Tomás Mor in 2023, who leads design and production. Studio Furnis, which has collaborated with Viso, makes it furniture out of Baltic birch wood, and they now offer a small array of bed frames, side tables and chairs—and produce very cool custom pieces as well—all of which is made to order, and designed to be flatpacked and put together without screws or any tools. Once we arranged the piece I’d be testing—the tall, slim, Scandinavian-meets-’70s-undulating-curves bookcase from the Nü collection—Mor offered to drop it off, since their workspace isn’t far from my home. Since this is solid wood, the box it came in was long and heavy, but maneuverable. I was hesitant to begin assembly without some assistance; what if I messed it up?  The unit came without a manual, so I relied on pausing the video on the website in my quest to put it together. After sliding the shelves into the slots of the two sides-slash-legs of the bookshelf, I realized I had put it together backwards, reversed everything, and was finished. This meant that my process from unpacking to completion took probably five minutes instead of the two and a half it would take someone paying attention. That’s literally it. The bookshelf is freestanding, the quality of the wood and the smooth finish extremely satisfying. There’s perhaps an expected roughness to furniture this simple, but when done successfully, it can have the level of detail that Studio Furnis has put into these pieces. The entire thing seemed almost too good to be true—exactly what you want from flatpack furniture. I have no plans to move anytime in the near future, but they now have me wondering if I need a new bed frame. —Kate Dries Unfnshed Unfnshed Side TableMeet the Unfnshed Side Table: Your blank canvas for comfort and style. No tools needed, just your imagination. Paint it, stain it, make it yours. Use it as a table, seat, or plant stand—the choice is yours! Top: 12" or 18" Diameter  Height: 18"  Weight limit: 200 lbs Despite living in an apartment that is already filled with furniture, an occupational hazard is the constant desire for more. Inundated as we are every day with beautiful objects, when a particular item does catch my attention—and holds it—then that’s something worth investigating. Unfnshd is one such company. Their wares held my attention over the course of a couple of nights’ worth of Instagram scrolling, and, thanks to the algorithm, after clicking on an ad for it just once, my feed was flooded. A corner of my living room desperately "needed" a side table—something petite and narrow but also nice to look at—and Unfnshed’s Side Table fit the bill.According to the website, Unfnhsed was founded by Abdel Ibrahim in 2023; after he realized an earlier prototype of their first product, made from laminated plywood, would be too expensive to produce, he pivoted. The result is a suite of very reasonably-priced furniture made from Baltic birch plywood that is, as the name suggests, unfinished—a beautiful canvas for creativity, if the wind moves you that way.My little stool arrived in one box and was dead easy to assemble. The stool came in just three parts—the top and then the bits that form the legs—and slotted together so fast that I was nervous that I did something wrong. And I’m not surprised to say that I did—like my colleague Kate, I had inadvertently put the legs on in a way that felt (and was) wrong. I corrected my error, deconstructed and reconstructed the stool a few times to make sure, and then did what I love to do to wooden furniture: painted it.To be clear: the stool did not need the paint, because the material itself is so high-quality, smooth to the touch, and beautiful in its own right. (If you do want to paint or stain your piece, the website offers some simple tutorials for inspiration.)However, I love a project and was briefly obsessed with the idea of an icy, prissy blue side table. So I took matters into my own hands and painted the stool’s top and just one of the legs, for a subtle moment of contrast. When it came time to reassemble the stool after the paint had dried, I realized my mistake. In my exuberance I painted the part of the legs that slot into the table, which made the pegs thicker than they were before. It was a bit of a struggle to put the stool back together and I did have to really put my back into it in order for the stool to be structurally sound. I did the best I could, cursing my impetuous nature, and put the stool in its place, where it now holds a fake plant.Despite the user error detailed above, I love my stool! The rest of Unfnshed’s offerings are alluring to me, too—I could always use a bookshelf or a bench or really, any surface upon which to pile things. For right now, though, I am at capacity for furniture—but there’s a rickety Ikea bookshelf in my apartment that’s fighting for its life. Once it succumbs, I have a vision and this time, I won’t make the same mistake. —Megan ReynoldsLucca House 4x2 ShelfA shelf or storage for any space. Similar to the 5x2, but with an extra shelf in the middle for even more options.  Laminated maple ply. Assembles in 1 minute. Exterior 47.5 x 23.5 x 11.5" Interior 10.5 x 15.5 x 12.5" / 16.5 x 15.5 x 12.5” The first thing I notice about the Lucca House 4x2 shelf when it arrives is that it’s light—important if you live in a fifth floor walk-up with crumbling stairs, as I do. The next thing I noticed is that even though it’s light, it’s sturdy. As I unpack it and slot it together, the maple plywood is more resilient than the cheaper particle-board stuff offered by other, larger brands. The pieces slide together tightly, so I have to take a hammer and tap the pieces together (with the protection of an improvised cardboard cushion), but everything holds up. The whole process is very fast, and there are no confusing directions or hex keys to figure out. There is no hardware at all, actually, but it’s still sturdy enough to handle everything I’ve loaded onto it.Visually it fits into my home as easily as it does physically. I’m not generally a light wood kind of person, but the little strips of color on the edges keep the shelf from going too Scandi-modern. I got the multicolor/Harlequin option, and the colors are muted enough to keep it from feeling childish. It feels distinct without screaming for attention, and I can see myself holding onto it for decades.All this supports the ideas behind Lucca House: that young-ish urbanites are moving every few years and need nice, affordable furniture that they can easily move with them. "We're trying to make it as simple and straightforward as possible," Lucca House’s founder, Lucca Zeray, tells me. The shelves are meant to be "idiot-proof" and fill a niche between the usual disposable furniture available elsewhere and the gallery-quality stuff that most 20- and 30-somethings can’t afford. Which is not to say that the brand is not sophisticated; Zeray worked previously at Matter, the collectible design gallery in New York, and cites Dutch flatpack furniture from the 1940s as inspiration. Zeray brings that design intelligence to Lucca, which makes everything in house at their shop in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Though shelves are the company’s only offering now, he promises more soon, potentially a desk and other kinds of furniture that urban professionals have to tote with them from home to home. Zeray recognizes that there are a bunch of flat-pack design companies out there, but he embraces the company. "I do think a rising tide lifts all ships," he says. "More people making stuff more or less locally is a good thing. I think it will make consumers and make us designers a little bit sharper and more critical of what is being produced and being consumed." So far, Lucca stands up to scrutiny. —Jack Balderrama MorleyWe love the products we feature and hope you do, too. If you buy something through a link on the site, we may earn an affiliate commission.Related Reading: Source link