#a court of thorns and roses modern au

[surielstea]

Cancelled Plans

Based on this request.

Pairing: Modern!Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to get over her foolish crush on her roommate Azriel, Reader schedules a date with someone else but Azriel gets awfully clingy when she tries to leave.

Warnings: Smut | minors dni | fingering | teasing | oral (f receiving) | answering a call while receiving oral so semi public (?) | jealous Az

5.1k words

My dazzling black dress looked as if it was made for me specifically. The way it hugged every dip and curve, flared in all the right places. It was beyond just flattering, it made me look angelic yet sinful at the same time.

I spot Azriel on the couch when I enter the sitting room, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he reads from a novel with a worn cover that I've seen him reread a multitude of times.

He flicks his eyes up from his overused book to glance at me, then returns to his page. Then he visibly freezes and looks back to me, needing a double take to make sure what he saw registered correctly. He snapped his book shut when I flashed him a beaming smile.

"Where are you going?" He immediately interrogated, sitting up from his position.

I do a small twirl, showing off. "I have a date," I shrug and he stands, brows lowered. It was always hard to read my roommate's expressions but he had clearly been distraught at the information I gave him. "What? Don't think I'm capable of having anyone interested in me?" I joke and he narrows his eyes at me conspicuously.

"Just confused as to who you think deserves to see you dressed like this," His eyes rake down my figure, dropping all the way to my heels that wrapped up my ankles, slowly moving up the slit in the side of the dress that exposed most of my thigh, my waist, my chest, lingering at the cleavage there for a moment, then finally back up to my eyes.

"It's none of your business," I cross my arms and he tilts his head, unimpressed. I swore he could read me like the pages of his favorite book. "Okay fine," I fold beneath his piercing gaze. "I'm going to dinner with a guy named Nelm and he's super nice so don't—" He doesn't let me finish as he cuts me off with a sudden laugh and I flush in embarrassment. "He's nice, Az," I defend while he suppresses the rest of his laugh, resulting in a thin-lipped smile.

"Nelm cannot be a real name," He says like he refused to even fathom the idea of it.

"Well it is, and I'm going to be late so if you'll excuse me," I spin on my heel, away from him and towards the front door.

"You promised yesterday we'd watch a horror movie tonight," He croons in a sing-song tone that makes me cast a glance back to him with a guilty frown.

"I'll be back later tonight, we'll watch it then," I say, reaching for the doorknob but being mentally stopped by the feeling of something being lost. "Forgetting something?" Azriel hums, holding up my purse, the strap dangling from his finger tauntingly. I groaned, looking at the male.

"Give it." I sigh.

"Try and take it," He shrugs, holding the purse up above his head while taking three long strides forward and closing the distance between us. I look up at him with cold eyes which he only smiles at whilst I silently curse his tall height.

"Az, c'mon I'm going to be late," I claim and he only smirks at the idea.

"Late to what?" Cassian's familiar voice asks from the other side of the room and I jump, looking past Azriel and to my other roommate who was coming down the hallway shirtless, Nesta beside him, appearing to be wearing nothing but his stolen shirt. She practically lived here as much as the rest of us so I didn't bat an eye at the sharp-featured female.

"Great, let's get everyone involved in my love life," I murmur sarcastically while Azriel turns sideways to face both me and his brother.

"She's going on a date with some guy named Nelm," He explains and I glare up at him.

"Horrible name," Nesta mumbles as she enters the kitchen, Cassian trailing behind her.

"He's making it sound worse than it is," I claim and Azriel looks down at me pointedly.

"I only told them what you told me, it's your mind making it seem worse than it is," Azriel retorts and I clamp my mouth shut, knowing he was right.

"Well he's kind, and he's taking me to dinner," I look to Cassian and Nesta like I was someone on trial and they were the jury. "And I'm going to be late, so give me my purse," I take my gaze back to Azriel.

"I don't want to," He shrugs. We pause for a moment at the heaviness that sentence holds. Earlier he had made a taunting game of it, but now he simply just didn’t want me to leave, not for fun, but because he wanted me to stay and watch a stupid scary movie with him.

I was trying to get over him with this date, move on from my ridiculous crush and he was making it awfully difficult. It didn't help that we've made out a couple of times in a few desperate moments while we were both at our lows. But it was never more than lips, always just kissing, we made that line clear and we've both been walking along it for too long.

Nevertheless, my crush wasn't going away, and having it on my roommate of all people was not fun, especially when I saw him walk around shirtless, or roaming the house after showering with a towel loosely wrapped around his hips, hair still dripping water down onto his abdomen—

"How'd you even meet this guy anyway?" Cassian tore me from my straying imagination. Azriel and I both whip our heads towards him.

"Mor set us up," I shrug with a bashful expression.

"Oh," Cassian grimaced, Azriel matching his look of disgust.

"What?" I scowl at both of them, confused as to what's so wrong with that.

"Well Mor playing Cupid is similar to her solstice presents," Cassian attempts to explain.

"She means well, but the outcome is always, laughable," Azriel expands and I frown, looking to the floor in slight defeat, wondering how I would tear myself from this one. I huff and look back at the two males.

"Well he's not laughable, and it's just one date. I think I'll manage," I argue, waving Cassian off. Nesta pulls at his arm and he nods, following her back down the hall.

"Right, good luck then," He calls back and I smile in triumph, bringing my gaze back up to Azriel.

He stares down at me for a moment, mirroring my stubbornness with his pointed look.

"Alright, fine," He sighs, lowering my purse and placing it in my outstretched hands with a tentativeness I nearly didn't catch.

"Thank you," I reach for the doorknob, but I turn back to him for a moment before opening the door, my eyes lingering on pools of hazel.

"Have fun," He shoos and I offer him a grateful smile. "I'm sorry I made you late to dinner with your dad," He added beneath his breath and my smile dropped into a glare.

"It's a date, Azriel. I have a date," I restate but his smirk doesn't falter.

He looks to the door behind me, to my hand on the knob, then back to my eyes, as if anticipating my leave, but I didn't make the move. To be honest I'd much rather stay here and watch that horror movie I promised him than go to dinner with a guy named Nelm.

"Right, a date," He nods, crossing his arms, still waiting for me to take my departure.

"I know the concept of asking a girl out is foreign to you, but I think you can grasp it," I taunt and he chuckles, the amused sound making my stomach flip.

"I know how to ask a girl out," He claims and I smirk, because perhaps prodding his fragile ego was much more fun than any old dinner date.

"I don't believe you," My hand leaves the doorknob only to cross my arms over my chest and his smile widens.

"Yeah?" He leans against the door, indicating that I won't be leaving any time soon now that his weight is pressed against it. I nod. "Do you want to get dinner with me instead of a guy named Nelm?" He tilted his head and I swallowed thickly. Was he genuinely asking me out or just continuing this game I started? "Or we could watch that movie you promised me?" He proposed and my cheeks flushed pink.

"Yes," I blurt out and his brows raise a fraction in both shock and amusement. Gods this was embarrassing.

"Yes to dinner, or to the movie?" He tilts his head, his smirk widening.

"Would you think less of me if I blew off my date just to watch a horror movie with you?" I say, my voice just above a whisper.

"Never." He grabs my hand and pulls me away from the front door, towards the couch.

"Wait I have to change." I pull away from his grasp.

"But you look pretty," He grabs my purse, holding me back from leaving yet again.

"But I'm uncomfortable," I groan but he only tugs at my purse and pulls me closer.

"Just take it off, I won't watch," He closes his eyes and turns his head away from me.

"I'm not stripping down just because you're clingy," I huff and he opens one eye, looking at me with a scrunched nose, his stubbornness outmatched.

"Here." He grabs the hem of his shirt and takes it off with ease, leaving his chest bare.

"You can wear mine," He tosses the fabric at me. I sigh and place the shirt down on the couch.

"All because you want to see me naked," I mumble, dropping my hold on the purse and he sets himself on the couch, closing his eyes just as he promised.

I turn around anyway, unzipping my dress from the side and shrugging it off, allowing it to dip from my shoulders and then pool at the floor.

"Uh, can you hand me your shirt," I murmur, afraid to turn around.

"You were going to let a guy named Nelm see you in that?" He said and I whirled around, staring at him with wide eyes.

"You said you'd shut your eyes!" I grab the shirt in his hands.

"Forget the dress, no one deserves to see you in this," He ignored my exclamation and grabbed me by the backs of my thighs, and pulled me closer, staring up at me in my black lingerie that fit me just as well as my dress.

"You weren't going to let some other guy see you in this were you?" He questions with a certain possessiveness to his voice as I shrug the shirt on, pulling it over my head. Then down past my hips.

"Why does it matter? I'm not going anymore anyways." I plop on the couch beside him, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

"No," He smiles. "You're not."

"Just start the movie." I swing my feet over his lap and he does as says, letting the TV play while dimming the lights.

I still felt exposed despite Azriel’s shirt loosely around my body. Gods, it smelt so strongly of him, and now he was left shirtless and it made me helpless.

I reached over and grabbed a blanket from the armrest, spreading it out over me while readjusting so I was lying down, my thighs now on Azriel's lap.

"You seem comfortable," He remarks, his tone clipped and I look at him with a glare, still upset he made me cancel my date. "Oh c'mon, you can't be mad at me forever," He sighs, leaning down so his bare chest was pressed to my back. "I know how much you love to cuddle," He croons, using my own weaknesses against me. "Besides, who's going to protect you when all the jump scares start to happen?" He suggests and a shiver ran down my spine at the thought.

I hated horror movies, Azriel always made me watch them since they were his favorite. The sadistic freak laughed whenever I jolted at a scary moment.

I pout, burrowing deeper into the throw pillow.

"Fine, but only if you cuddle me too," I offer and he smiles, laying down fully behind me, our legs tangling as his hand snakes around my waist and pulls me further into his chest. I smile at the feeling. How was I ever supposed to get over him while he was actively pressing me into him while I wore his shirt?

I distracted myself with the movie, but it was hard not to think about him while he stroked the side of my waist with his thumb, silently soothing me during tense parts of the movie.

I was in the middle of imaging how good it'd feel to lose the barrier of the shirt and have skin to skin contact when the killer appeared on screen all of a sudden and I jumped, my entire body tensing as I grabbed his hand that was tucked beneath my head and put it in front of my eyes.

"You're alright," He whispers, a slight amusement to his tone that reassured me. "You're fine," He hums, intertwining my hand with his and pulling them away from my line of sight.

I shiver at the feeling of his hand clasped in mine, how intimate it was in such a quiet moment like this. "You cold?" He asks his lips just beside my ear with the position we were in. I nod, using that as my excuse. "Yeah?" He purrs and I swallow thickly, clenching my legs together at all the lewd thoughts developing in my mind at the single word. I needed help.

I nod again and his hand on my waist dipped down beneath the blanket. I stopped breathing for a minute as he slipped his hand beneath the hem of my shirt, his palm rubbing up the side of my stomach, then returning to gripping my waist with his large, warm hand. "Better?" He whispers and I swore that time I could feel his lips against my ear. I fight back my need to mount him and simply nod instead.

"Mhm," I murmur, tightening my grip on his other hand.

Now that I could feel every twitch and movement of his hand I couldn't think of anything else. The movie didn't even scare me anymore, I was too entranced with him to focus on anything else. I wanted him to feel me everywhere. His calloused fingertips brushed against my soft skin, creating a friction I couldn't erase from my mind. I slowly grab his wrist with my free hand and boldly guide his grip upward, his fingers coming to my breast and cupping it in his hand.

He doesn't say anything, stays perfectly quiet as he gropes my breast in his hand and I let out a soft sigh, my hand in his tightening at the satisfying feeling.

He begins to massage my clothed breast in his hand, with little hesitation in his movements with the action and I respond to his touch by leaning into his chest, the curve of my ass pressing to his hips. He dips his head down, his lips meeting the crook of my shoulder.

His kisses trail up my neck then back down as quiet, soft sounds escape from the base of my throat and I prayed he couldn't hear them. His hand leaves my breast and mortification dawns over me. He was going to pull away, going to call me stupid for having a crush on him since he was my roommate.

But he didn't pull away and he still didn't speak. He just continued to lower his hand until it slipped beneath the blankets, and ever so slowly cupped my heat. I let out a soft gasp, clenching my legs shut.

"This alright love?" He purrs into the shell of my ear and I nod.

"Please," I mutter and he smiles into my neck at the desperation in my tone. He rubs his fingers through my folds, the cloth of my underwear doing nothing to keep his hands dry as my arousal seeps through and soaks him anyway. I clench around nothing at the sensation, his finger pads finding my clit and circling it harshly. I flip onto my back, looking up at him with pleading eyes and gripping his free hand with mine.

He smiles down at me, slowly pressing his fingers to my most sensitive area. "Please, Az," I murmur.

"Please what?" He taunts and I pout, not wanting to say it. But he doesn't waver.

"I want your fingers," I confess. "Inside of me, please Az," I finished and his smirk widened, leaning down and capturing my lips with his.

"Look at how nice you asked, was that so hard?" He hummed and I shook my head no. He grants me a smile as his fingers hook under my waistband and he tugs my panties off, bringing them down to my knees and I thrash them the rest of the way off.

He cups my bare heat in his hand and my breath hitched. He presses his lips to mine again. He could feel how much I wanted him I was so wet. "Az," I sigh out softly as his thumb pressed to my clit. I grind down onto his palm, needing more friction. He meets my silent request by beginning to dive two of his fingers through my folds, coating them in my slick and preparing them for entrance.

I let out a breathy mewl as he flicks his thumb over my clit in a particularly stimulating way, making my legs fall open wider. He admired this, humming against my lips and slipping his tongue inside as I opened my mouth to moan his name.

His fingers slowly come down to my entrance, tracing it dauntingly and I stifle a whine, needing him to fill me entirely. I kissed him hard instead of begging, allowing him to explore every expanse of my mouth as he ever so slowly pushed two of his fingers into my slit. I clenched around him at the feeling, how godly it felt when he rubbed against my elastic walls, stretching them on his hand as he began curling his fingers at just the right angle, pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of me.

"There," I clench his other hand in mine, my nails digging into the back of his palm as he continues the lethal movements. I grit my teeth at how damned perfect it felt as he began to speed up, scissoring his fingers against it and creating an entirely new feeling.

Heat washed over me in waves, ebbing and flowing against me as my orgasm built, rapidly approaching.

"Azriel," I whimpered against his lips and he smirked.

"I love hearing my name moaned from your lips," He admitted, his fingers continuing to make a mess of me. "My pretty girl," He admired, his gaze finding mine. My brows creased at the name, and the possession that came with it.

"Yours," I whispered and he nodded, confirming it.

"All mine." He kissed my lips once more, his hand continuing its relentless pace as he flicked his fingers over that bundle, toying with it as I desperately chased my release.

His thumb returned to my clit, rubbing it harshly and I mewled, pulling away from his lips in favor of tilting my head back into the pillow, reveling in the heat running through my veins. "M'close," I warn in a soft tone and he presses a tender kiss to my cheek, then goes down to my jaw with a trail of the same gentleness.

"I know baby, go ahead, make a mess on my hand," He allows and can only obey, anything else would be downright masochistic.

I'm met with a white-hot pleasure that blinded me for longer than a moment, my eyes rolling back as my climax consumes me entirely, bringing both satisfaction and a craving for more simultaneously.

Once my body returns to its reality he removes his fingers from my cunt, now drenched with my dripping arousal. He smiles, bringing his hand up to his lips and licking up the wet expanse of his fingers, gathering my release on his tongue. He groaned as if the taste was revolutionary. "Gods, you're sweeter than I imagined," He confesses and my brows raise slightly.

"Imagined?" I pant out, still wrung from my intense orgasm.

He simply nods, flipping over me so he was settled between my bare thighs. "But I think I need to taste it firsthand," He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my sternum before beginning his descent, trailing delicate kisses down my stomach as he guides my legs over his shoulders, his head now trapped between my knees.

He rubs up and down my thighs, settling himself between them as he reaches the hood of my clit, dancing his tongue down it and without warning digging the pink muscle into my overstimulated clit.

I gasped, my hands going into his hair, grasping as he began kissing down my folds, soaking the lower half of his face. He wastes no time, eager to feel me writhe against his tongue.

I stare down at him in anticipation and he holds the eye contact. His hazel gaze was intense, so passion-filled that it gave me hope that this was more than just a one-time thing.

"Please," I mutter.

"Keep your eyes on me, alright love?" His breath was hot against my puffy pussy, it had been so distracting that I almost didn't hear what he said. But I nodded.

"Okay," I said shakily and before I knew it he leaned down, his lips meeting my entrance as his tongue entered my cunt with ease from him stretching me out with his fingers previously.

I gasped at the sensation, his tongue expertly flicking inside of me as he forced the impressive length of it inside of me.

"Az," I gripe, arching my back and digging my head into the pillows as I pull at his dark locks. He continues the wicked action against my core despite my thighs clamping around his head. He didn't seem to care if he lost oxygen, all he wanted was to taste me deeper and provide me more pleasure until I was finding release on his tongue alone.

I could barely breathe, my legs jolting as he continued his exquisite torture against my throbbing entrance.

"Azriel, right there—" My words are cut off by the familiar ringing of my phone, and it was easily compared to my alarm because it had taken me out of my dream. He looks up at me from between my thighs, his eyes glinting with devilry.

"Pick it up," He coos, and my brows bunch.

"Are you crazy?" I whisper shout at him as if the phone might understand me.

"For you," He purrs, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to my clit. I grip the cushion of the couch at the return of pleasure but the incessant ringing continues and it takes me right out of it again. "Pick it up, or I'll stop." He threatens and I glare at him but he's unwavering. I groan, stretching my arm out to the side and grabbing my purse off the coffee table.

I keep my glare pinned on him as I fish my phone out of the side pocket. The screen lights up with Nelm's contact and my eyes widen, I turn the phone towards Azriel, showing him that I could most definitely not pick this call up. He nods encouragingly and I shake my head rapidly, my brows creased. He begins to pull away from between my legs but I wrap my legs around his neck. "Fuck you," I grit out.

"I plan on it." He smirks against my heat while I bring my phone to my ear, and answer the call.

"Hey, what's up?" I try to mask my voice to be as casual as possible, despite my roommate being between my bare legs.

"Where are you? It's half past seven," He said, slightly irked but I was too busy looking down at Azriel to notice.

"Oh no, was our date tonight?" I gasp in faux shock and Azriel smiles, his eyes lighting with what I knew would be a horrible idea.

"Uh, yeah. I texted you yesterday making sure we were still on?" Nelm said through the other line and I gritted my teeth. I'm so fucked.

"Something came up and texting you slipped my mind—" My breath hitched as Azriel's lips joined with my cunt. I look down at him with panic, mouthing 'no' at him but he doesn't listen.

"Are you alright?" He asked and I felt guilty because he genuinely seemed worried for me.

"Oh— I'm fine just," I struggle to come up with an excuse while Azriel was fucking the thoughts out of me with his tongue.

"Just an emergency happ— happened with my, uhm my roommate," I choke out and Azriel just looks up at me innocently, his hands gripping my thighs as he rolls his long tongue inside of me at a certain spot and I have to fight a moan from slipping past my lips.

"Oh, alright well I can stick around for a while if you think you'll be able to make it?" Nelm suggests from the other end of the line and I curse myself for ever leading this poor guy on when I was clearly not ready for any serious relationship while actively living with my crush.

"I'm so sorry but maybe we can reschedule— fuck," My words turn into curses as Azriel bites at my sensitive clit, silently telling me that my chances of going out with anyone but him were never going to happen. He soothes the bite with the flat of his tongue, circling it directly after with tight, rough movements. I arch into his face, writing into the mattress as I fight my moans off.

"That's fine, when are you free?" Nelm asks and I grit my teeth, shoving my head into the pillows.

"Mm, you know what? I'll just, I can text you my schedule and— and gods, I, I'll let you know when I'm free," I voice, my tone coming off all too whiny as I let a few moans slip through.

"Okay, good luck with whatever your roommate's emergency is." He mumbles, a slight sourness to his tone but who wouldn't be upset after someone flaked on them?

"Yeah, thanks— bye," I grit through my teeth and quickly pull the phone from my ear and hang up the phone.

A loud moan immediately escapes from my throat as soon as the phone shuts off. I let it slip from my hand and fall to the floor absentmindedly as Azriel continues his cruel work at my clit.

I grab him by the hair and pull him away from my heat. "Why did you do that to me?" I pant out, my cheeks flushing with humiliation. He only grins, his lips coated in my slick as his dimples make an appearance.

"Had to show him what's mine," He says, his eyes dark as he leans down once more, flicking his tongue through my folds greedily.

"And I hate sharing," He confesses, diving back into my pussy, his lips sealing against my entrance as he continued fucking me with his tongue, flicking it in and out of me, alternating between my clit and entrance creating an overwhelming amount of stimulation. I pull at his hair and he delights in the pain. I clench my legs around him tighter and I didn't even get the chance to warn him before I teeter over that edge and cum on his tongue.

I pant out for air but it's lost on me as my second climax greets me, hitting me much harder than the last and threatening to knock me out. I swore my ears started ringing for a moment as my vision went fuzzy. Pleasure bloomed through me in the most intense way, still buzzing at my fingertips as he pulled away from my cunt and slowly kissed up my stomach, my sternum, my neck, all the way back to my lips and once he got there I regained all of my senses and enough energy to kiss him back.

His hand came up to my jaw, thumb stroking along it with a soft touch like I was the most precious thing in the world. He pulls away, looking down at me with a prideful smirk.

"My pretty girl." He admired and something in his gaze told me this was so much more than just a hookup.

"You were jealous," I say and he smirks, placing a soft kiss on my lips and allowing me to taste myself once more.

"Of course I was," He murmurs, pulling away less than an inch, his nose still brushing against mine. "But can you blame me?" He asked. "I can't just watch the girl I'm in love with go on a date with some asshole named Nelm," He grumbled and I discarded the insult towards the kind man, focusing on his confession. Heat stained my cheeks in slight shock.

"You're in love with me?" I murmur in slight shock and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"Ever since I can remember." He admits and a small smile spreads over my lips. "Sorry, if that scares you." His voice turns soft and I can't help but crumble in his hold.

"No, I'm in love with you too," I say slightly nervously, and dimples grace his features.

"Oh, thank god." He sighs then leans down and presses his lips to mine harshly, holding a level of confidence that wasn't there before.

"Why don't we take this to the bedroom?" He suggests as he pulls away and my grin widens, I wrap my hands around the back of his neck excitedly.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that," I hum, my legs wrapping around his hips.

"I think I have some idea," He says, his hips pressing into mine and at his words, I realize he's referring to his clothed bulge straining against his pants and rubbing against my folds. I flash a devilish smile.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

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[dark-dawn]

❝ HEART RATE HIGHS !! ❞ – azriel x reader

✭ pairing: gym rat ! azriel x archeron ! reader

✭ summary: you swear you only have a gym membership for self-improvement. it’s definitely not to see the cute guy you have a crush on.

✭ contains: modern au, f!reader, college au, but age is vague, anxious!reader who can’t see that azriel is already a little in love with you, gym culture, alcohol, meddling sisters, because reader is terrible at talking to guys, mutual pining.

✭ word count: 3k+ ✭ a/n: i absolutely love gym fics and i couldn't stop thinking about azriel in a compression shirt, so if i have to suffer, so do you <3

“wait, did i hear you properly? you’re going to the gym?” nesta’s voice cuts through the quiet murmur of the lecture hall. heads turn, and the professor pauses mid-sentence, frowning at the interruption. you cringe at the sudden attention and whisper an apology, slouching in your seat to avoid the stares.

“you’re acting like i’ve just sprouted wings,” you respond, trying to keep your voice low.

nesta blinks, her surprise melting into scepticism. “well, it is out of character for you. the gym, are you sure?”

“yes.”

“really?”

you nod.

you can’t blame her for being doubtful. among your sisters, you’re the most averse to exercise. even elain, thanks to her gardening, could likely outlift you. but –

“i don’t know if i should be offended that you’re so surprised.”

“hey, it’s not personal,” nesta replies, her voice softer as she glances around the room. the professor had resumed teaching and students were slowly returning their attention to their notes. “it’s just... unexpected. i mean, last time i suggested going for a jog, you looked at me like i’d grown a second head.”

“yeah, well, i just figured it’s about time i start taking better care of myself.”

“what brought this on all of a sudden?”

you shrug, trying to put your thoughts into words. “i guess i just realised that i’ve been neglecting my health lately. with school and everything else going on, i haven’t been feeling so great.”

nesta nods in understanding, letting you continue. neither of you really cared about this class, after all, and it wasn’t the first time you’d been called out for talking through a lecture.

“i just thought it might be a good way to clear my head, you know? like, a chance to zone out and focus on something other than deadlines and exams.”

“if you turn into a gym rat and only eat chicken and rice, i’m disowning you.”

“you’d have to pry ice cream from my cold, dead hands,” you say, nudging nesta with a grin. “nothing can take away my love of carbs and cheesy fries.”

“uh-huh, sure. that’s what they all say until they’re posting pictures of their meal prep on instagram.”

“you have no faith in me, do you?”

“none whatsoever,” she replies with a grin. “but hey, if this gym thing helps you feel better, i’m all for it.”

“if i ever mention a juice cleanse, you have full permission to stage an intervention.”

“deal. and if you lecture me on the importance of pre-workout supplements, i’m kicking you out of the apartment.”

after your year abroad, you found yourself back at the university of velaris, settling into a new rhythm with your three sisters. the four of you had decided to share an apartment, a decision fuelled by equal parts necessity and nostalgia. it wasn’t long before familiar routines took shape amidst the chaos of unpacked boxes and endless debates over furniture placement.

besides, feyre had been spending most of her time at her new boyfriend’s apartment, leaving a bit more breathing room for the rest of you. you hadn’t met him yet, but you’d heard he came from money and his penthouse had skyline views, so you could hardly blame her.

nesta wasn’t a fan, muttering something about “trust fund babies” under her breath whenever his name came up in conversation. but feyre seemed happy, and ultimately, that was what mattered most, even if a twinge of jealousy occasionally crept in.

“you should come with me.”

“i would rather die,” she snorts. “doesn’t mor work out? you should ask her.”

“no way, i’d look even more unfit next to her. i have some pride.”

“wow, so you ask me instead. you’re such a bitch,” she laughs.

as luck would have it, the gym was just a 10-minute walk away, conveniently offering a discounted price for students. the only downside was going alone.

“but i don’t know how to use the equipment,” you groan.

“and you think i do?” your sister retorts.

“well, no, but at least i wouldn’t look like the only idiot.”

“just find someone with muscles and ask them,” she suggests.

“right, of course, because i’m so great at talking to strangers.”

nesta raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “so, what’s your plan then? to stand in the corner and hope the smith machine starts talking to you?”

“maybe,” you mumble, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. you didn’t even know what a smith machine was until this morning.

nesta lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “stop being such a baby and put a cute workout outfit on. you’ll be fine.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you were very much not fine.

the blonde girl at the front desk, with her bouncing ponytail and bright smile that could probably power the entire gym, was very nice. she had given you a tour of the gym, showing you the rows of gleaming equipment and weight racks, and enthusiastically pointed out the array of classes available, from yoga and spin to high-intensity interval training.

she had, however, assumed you knew how to use everything, and you hadn’t been brave enough to correct her.

you had nodded along, trying to absorb the barrage of information she threw at you, but each machine seemed more complicated than the last, and you were positive some of them belonged in a medieval torture chamber. 

but you could do this. if guys who couldn’t even spell “midterm” could end up looking like greek statues, surely you could handle a single gym session. you were smart, you were pretty. everything was going to be just fine. besides, you had watched enough fitness influencers on social media to have a vague idea of what to do. with a deep breath, you reminded yourself that everyone had to start somewhere – or at least that’s what your therapist had told you.

deciding to start your session with something familiar, you made your way over to the row of treadmills. incline walking was hard to mess up. the downside was that it made you feel like you were dying.

thirty minutes later, you were profoundly regretting your decision as you clung to the handrails, legs burning with exertion. sweat had beaded on your forehead, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath.

with shaky legs, you made your way to the weights, steeling yourself against the familiar wave of self-doubt. this part of the gym was always crowded with an excess of men flaunting their egos, their grunts and posturing only serving to make you feel even more out of place.

you think of nesta and how she would never let anyone make her feel small. she would have your head if she thought you would let any man intimidate you.

deep breaths. everything is fine.

as you attempt to adjust the resistance on the leg press machine, your fingers fumble over the pin that holds the weight stack in place, causing the plates to clang noisily against each other. flushed and annoyed, you would love nothing more than to slink away in embarrassment.

“here, let me.” he crouches beside you and effortlessly rectifies your problem as if you hadn’t been struggling for the past ten minutes.

oh god, he looked like he could go viral on tiktok or be on the front cover of a fitness magazine.

and he was helping you.

stay calm. just ignore the fact that this might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.

you couldn’t help but steal glances at the way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his black compression shirt, each movement highlighting the definition of his arms and chest.

he was so pretty. you just hoped you didn’t look like you were dying.

“thanks,” you say, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended.

oh god, just breathe.

he flashes you a soft smile, “no problem. we’ve all been there.”

you’d like to say you committed to a gym membership for self-improvement.

(you would be lying.)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

before ever stepping foot in a gym, your taste in men was somewhat predictable.

you liked nerdy computer science guys you could play video games with and pretentious english lit students who gave you good book recommendations – the indoor sort.

they all tended to look like a light breeze could push them over. not the kind where you could steal their hoodies. and that was fine. you didn’t care, honest.

but then the cute guy at the gym completely ruined your usual type in men. you never imagined you’d be that into muscles, but he looked like he could toss you around like a rag doll, and you soon realised that you actually quite liked the thought.

you initially thought your crush would be harmless – glancing at him from across the room and playing out scenarios in your head.

but then he started offering to unload your plates, and showed you how different machines worked when you looked particularly confused. he would ask you to spot him, despite you both knowing you would be of zero help, and would refill your water bottle when he noticed it getting low.

he would even help to correct your form so you wouldn’t injure yourself.

that, however, had you so flustered you couldn’t even complete the full set. his hand grazing your waist made your heart pound so loudly, you were certain he could hear it. you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

you told him you had to leave early to finish your essay.

and then, like the gentleman he was, he had asked you about it the next time he saw you, and let you ramble about your major for far too long. the worst part was that he seemed genuinely interested.

you didn’t even know his name and yet you were pretty sure you wanted to have his babies.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“are you sure you really need protein powder?” elain questioned, picking up a bunch of celery for her green juices. “you can get all the vitamins and minerals you need from real food, you know.”

“but it’s so much easier to hit my protein goals with it,” you whined, clutching the tub of powder defensively.

“she’s only doing this because her crush drinks the same brand,” nesta teased, a sly grin spreading across her face as she tossed a box of granola into the cart.

“oh my god, keep your voice down,” you groaned, glancing around nervously. it was 10 pm on a wednesday. the grocery store was practically deserted, but you think you might cry if anyone overhears. “besides, it’s not just because of him. it’s practical!”

“practical,” nesta repeated, her grin widening. “sure, that’s the reason.”

“what’s his name again?" elain said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“i hate you,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up. you tried to focus on the nutrition label in front of you, but nesta’s laughter made it impossible.

“come on,” nesta said, nudging you playfully. “you’ve been pining over him for months. when are you going to actually talk to him?”

“never?”

“you should accidentally bump into him and spill your protein shake all over his expensive gym clothes. it would be a brilliant conversation starter.”

“please don’t jinx me.”

“oh, and then you could do his laundry as an apology, and he’d buy you a coffee because he thinks you’re pretty!” elain chimes in.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you’ve been working out long enough now that you knew the basics of gym etiquette. namely, don’t be creepy. a simple thing, really, but too many people struggled to act like sane, well-adjusted human beings capable of basic manners. it was as if the gym was some bizarre alternate universe where leggings made men’s brains short-circuit.

so you try very hard to not stare at your gym crush doing pull-ups.

but his biceps are flexing, his shirt is riding up, and you never knew you could be so attracted to someone’s back.

you feel like you’re twelve again – you want to write his name in a heart in your diary and talk about him for hours on the phone.

for the first time, however, you’re grateful you don’t know any concrete details about him. you would’ve stalked his social media, found out he had a girlfriend or horrible political opinions, and then cried yourself to sleep.

you’d really rather not know. hopeless yearning is much more to your taste.

but then he notices you across the room and smiles, and you realise your gym crush is very much not harmless.

you decide that you’ll be brave and actually initiate conversation for once.

a horrible idea, really.

“hey.”

“hey,” he responds.

“what are you listening to?” god, you didn’t think you were this awkward.

“oh, i don’t listen to music when i work out.”

“right, yeah, i totally get that.” you actually don’t understand that at all. the idea of exercising with just your thoughts sounds like a special kind of torture, but he doesn’t need to know that.

you fidget with the hem of your shorts, desperately searching for something else to say.

“so, uh, how’s your workout going?” he asks.

“it’s going okay,” you reply, the words tumbling out. “you?”

you want to disappear.

“yeah, it’s good too.” you swear you see a hint of pink in his cheeks, though it’s probably just from finishing his set.

your mind is blank and you have no idea what else to say. “great.”

you hope you look like you’re smiling and not grimacing.

this was quite possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had. you’re never speaking to a man again.

even if they are very pretty and look like they could pick you up without breaking a sweat.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

getting ready with three other girls in a cramped apartment was always a challenge. you loved your sisters, but if feyre didn’t get away from the mirror, you would scream.

feyre, always meticulous with her makeup, was painstakingly perfecting her eyeliner, ignoring the sighs from nesta.

“can you possibly move any slower?” nesta hisses, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms.

you exchange a knowing look with elain, who was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, scrolling through her phone. she had opted to stay behind, and you were growing increasingly jealous of her decision.

“why don’t we just take turns?” you intervene, hoping to avoid a fight before you even got to the party. “feyre, you finish up, then nesta, and i’ll go last. sound fair?”

feyre finally steps away from the bathroom and nesta wastes no time in taking her place, muttering something about how she could do a better job in half the time.

feyre had been persistent about attending one of rhysand’s house parties for weeks now, and despite your and nesta’s reluctance, she had managed to wear you down. it wasn’t so much her persuasive arguments as it was the promise of free alcohol that ultimately swayed both of you. plus, you were a little curious. feyre had been gushing about her boyfriend for months now. 

as you stood in front of the mirror, giving yourself a final once-over, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. feyre, radiant in her navy dress, was practically buzzing with excitement. nesta looked as though she’d rather be doing anything else, despite begrudgingly admitting that the three of you looked good.

you had opted for a short, tight-fitted black dress. shocking how regularly going to the gym could actually help your confidence.

feyre led the way, practically dragging you and nesta out of the apartment. elain, now comfortably nestled on the couch with a book, waved you goodbye. “be safe, and don’t drink too much!”

“it’s so cute that you think i could survive the night without being drunk,” nesta laughs. 

the cool night air is a welcome change from the stuffy apartment as the three of you step outside to wait for the cab. feyre was already chattering about rhysand and his friends, while nesta had shot her a look that could wither plants.

you really needed a drink.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

rhysand’s apartment ended up being a thirty-minute drive away, nestled in the wealthier district of velaris, and you could see why feyre spent so much time here.

you could hear the music before you even enter, and it smells so strongly of alcohol you already feel a little lightheaded.

it can hardly be called an apartment in all honesty, it’s nicer than most houses and certainly surpasses anything you’ve ever stepped foot in before. it’s spacious, with an open layout that flows effortlessly from one room to the next. plush couches and chairs face a glass coffee table that is currently covered in red plastic cups and half-finished bottles of vodka. luckily, all his furniture was black. you winced at the thought of cleaning the stains that were bound to appear after tonight.

you noticed the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a pretty view of the city skyline, the twinkling lights stretching out like a blanket of stars against the night. you weren’t the jealous type, but you had the sudden urge to strangle feyre.

she had navigated the apartment with ease, her eyes alight with familiarity as she disappeared in search of rhysand. left to fend for yourselves, you and nesta exchanged a glance before setting off in the direction of the kitchen.

as you weave through the throng of people, you catch sight of mor, effortlessly manoeuvring between guests as she pours drinks. she seems completely at ease, flashing dazzling smiles and looking stunning as ever.

mor’s eyes light up with recognition as she spots you among the crowd. with a beckoning gesture, she calls you over. “i didn’t think you two would be here!” she seems genuinely happy to see you, despite only talking to her after class a couple of times.

“our sister is dating the host, so naturally, we’ve been dragged along,” you reply. “she’s off hunting him down now.”

mor’s gaze shifts between you and nesta, realisation crossing her features. “rhysand is actually my cousin,” she explains with a smile. “so, i’ve met feyre a few times now.”

“that’s unfortunate,” nesta laughs. you’re pretty sure she’s only half-joking.

you elbow her. “come on, don’t be mean. i don’t want to be kicked out after five minutes of being here.”

“are you sure? we could go get pizza and ice cream and not wake up feeling like we were hit by a car?”

“are you seriously the voice of reason right now?”

“hey, if you’re going to the gym, then i can be a responsible adult.”  

mor perks up, her eyes brightening with interest. “you work out?”

you smile sheepishly, “i only started a few months ago.”

“you should join me sometime!” mor suggests eagerly. “i usually go with rhysand and a few others, but one of them hasn’t shown up in ages. it’d be great to have another girl!”

“speaking of which, i should introduce you to them,” mor adds with a grin before calling out, “azriel! cassian! get over here!”

and then you spot who is walking over.

“mor, what’s up?” a very familiar voice asks.

because, you realise, it’s your gym crush. it’s the guy you’ve been pining over for months.

your brain is really struggling to comprehend that he’s here, and he knows mor, and apparently rhysand?

has he met feyre too?

he’s wearing all black, like usual, and his biceps look even better in this lighting, and oh god, you want to melt into the ground before you somehow think of a new way to embarrass yourself.

your mind is racing a hundred miles per hour and you’re suddenly realising you’re going to have to avoid feyre’s boyfriend forever if he’s friends with him and – 

and as your eyes meet his, and realisation flickers across his features, you’re really wishing you had stayed at home with elain.

or vanish into thin air. that works too.

“az, these are feyre’s sisters!” mor’s voice breaks through your thoughts.

you’ve finally learnt his name, you suppose, but you’re pretty sure you’ll have to find a new gym.

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: A Feysand AU

Chapter One

She's a law student turned confidential informant. He's a prosecutor with only one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for illegal activity . . . What could go wrong?

Hi everyone! Here's chapter one. I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you're interested in being tagged. Any thoughts on the story are much appreciated, too!

Chapter One

Feyre collapsed against the wall as soon as class was over. Sweat dripped from her temples, sliding over the layer of concealer she had plastered on that morning. She wiped her forehead, swearing to herself once again that this would be the last time she allowed Tamlin to drag her to a Crossfit class.

Even though she had made and broken that same mental promise to herself three times a week for the past six months.

As she guzzled from her near empty water bottle, Tamlin slung a sweaty arm over her shoulders, his skin against hers slick. Oily. “Got any of that left?” Tamlin asked, already reaching for the water bottle.

Feyre sighed, handing it off to him. “A few drops.”

He knocked it back without another word. Not an appreciative smile. No thank you, Feyre. Not even a nod of gratitude for the water he had taken from her.

As she followed Tamlin out of the warehouse where the Crossfit classes were held, Feyre made another vow. The first of its kind, but perhaps with more resolve behind it than the one she had made only moments ago.

She was going to break up with him this week.

Feyre trailed Tamlin through the parking lot, eyes on the back of his neck, his blonde hair stuck to it with sweat. Her boyfriend of over a year had fallen into conversation with his best friend, Lucien. Lucien was also a regular at these Crossfit classes, but had met Tamlin through work. Tamlin had hired Lucien as his Director of Operations at his company, Spring Solutions. Five years later, the duo were best friends.

Lucien climbed into the passenger seat of Tamlin’s expensive truck, leaving Feyre to haul herself into the back as usual. Tamlin swung into the driver’s seat and made short of work of getting the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the highway that would carry them back into the city, back to the building where Tamlin and Feyre shared an apartment and Lucien lived a few floors down.

As the two discussed something about work—a topic Feyre didn’t particularly care about—she thought more about the terrifying new task she had set for herself.

Breaking up with Tamlin wouldn’t be simple.

Because it was her life, of course, and things were never simple.

She had shared an apartment with Tam, who was nearly seven years her senior, since the beginning of her second year of law school. Now, a month into her third and final year, their lives were fully intertwined. Feyre paid a few hundred dollars of rent each month, but Tamlin footed most of the bill. The downtown apartment was expensive, something Feyre could never afford on her own thanks to her law student’s budget.

She rarely paid for meals, either. Tamlin subscribed to one of those ultra-healthy meal services. A week’s worth of dinners delivered to their door every Monday morning. Feyre cooked them on study breaks, and the two would usually share a quick meal before Tamlin logged back on to work in his home office and Feyre returned to her books.

Most of the furniture was his, as was the art on the walls. The kitchen utensils, pots, pans. The bed they shared. Everything.

If Feyre moved out, she would have to return to her father’s house or increase the amount of student loans she had already taken out that semester. Neither option sounded appealing. She had lived with her father and her two older sisters her whole life—all throughout her undergraduate studies and until the end of her first year of law school. How she had made it so long trapped in that house, caring for her family in much the same way she cared for Tamlin, Feyre had no idea. So when Tamlin had proposed the idea of moving in together, she jumped at the chance. Didn't think farther than Get me out of my childhood home.

She hadn't considered what would happen if things didn’t work out. If she decided he wasn’t the one for her anymore.

She had gone straight from her father’s house to Tamlin’s apartment, and had fallen into Tamlin’s lifestyle, even if she still wasn’t quite used to it.

At least the bed in the guest room was hers, and the nightstand and the few books she had taken from her father’s house. Her painting supplies.

“Babe?” Tamlin’s voice scattered the plans she was fruitlessly trying to cobble together in her mind.

“What?” She inquired, blinking up at her boyfriend.

“I asked if you wanted to get dinner out tonight.”

Feyre bit her lip. She had already put off studying to come to Crossfit—if she didn’t get home soon, she would have to burn the midnight oil to get all her reading for class done at a decent hour.

“I really have to study,” she said quietly, praying he wouldn’t try to convince her to come to dinner. Because he would never let up and she, inevitably, would give in.

At Tamlin’s sigh, she tentatively tried again. “I’m really sorry! I wish my professors didn’t assign such long readings, but I can’t change it.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You know I would come to dinner if I could. I would much rather do that.” The words weren’t new—she’d used some variation of them numerous times over the past year and a half. They had almost lost all meaning to her, but she’d found this was the best combination to keep Tamlin happy: apologize, provide an excuse that was outside of her control, and assure him that he would always be her first choice.

“Alright. We’ll drop you at home and come back later.”

Feyre choked back her sigh of relief. “Sounds good. Thanks, babe.”

Lucien’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror—one ginger eyebrow cocking slightly. Feyre looked away, gaze fixing on her lap.

Twenty minutes later, she waved at the car as it sped down the street toward Tamlin and Lucien’s favorite sports bar. With any luck, Lucien would get him drinking beers and talking about work, and she would have at least three hours to herself to shower. Study. Maybe even time enough to feign sleep by the time Tamlin returned.

And indeed, she managed to accomplish everything she needed to do just before Tamlin came stumbling into the apartment hours later. Feyre shut her eyes tight from her spot on the right side of the bed, her fledgling plans swirling through her thoughts until she well and truly drifted away.

-----

The next morning, Feyre gazed at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to make sure every inch of her suit was clean and pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. The black jacket clung to her narrow frame, the pencil skirt she wore beneath it as flattering as a skirt that cut her off just below the knee could be. Her golden-brown hair fell in loose waves just past her shoulders, watery blue eyes popping thanks to the brown mascara she had applied.

“You look amazing,” a voice from behind her said.

Feyre turned, smiling at her boyfriend despite all the promises and plans she had made the night before. “Thanks, honey.”

“What’s the occasion?” Tamlin asked, striding forward and placing his hands on her hips.

Feyre stepped back, grinning up at him. “No touching. I have an important networking event with my firm today and I can’t get all wrinkly.”

Tamlin held up his hands, backing away a step. “My apologies, Ms. Archeron.”

Feyre smiled. Tamlin wasn’t always awful.

Just most of the time.

“So when can I expect you home today?”

Feyre sighed, grabbing her backpack and purse and brushing past Tamlin, striding out of the closet and into the master bathroom. “I’ve got a full day of classes, and then this networking event at six. I’m not sure how long it will go, but I’m really hoping to be back by eight.”

“Just as well,” Tamlin said. “I’ve got a late night at work—probably won’t be home until after ten.” Feyre nodded, and Tamlin followed her out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and down the hall to the kitchen. Feyre grabbed the smoothie she had made earlier that morning and tucked her lunchbox into her backpack.

“Have a good day, honey,” she said, pressing a kiss to Tamlin’s lips. He nipped at her lower lip, green eyes sparking. But Feyre just smiled, retreated, and didn’t breathe deep until she made it to the hallway, door automatically locking behind her.

This week. She was going to do it this week.

Feyre’s day dragged on in one long, miserable slog. She got cold-called by her professors in two of her classes, but she managed to answer most of the questions correctly, her heart thudding violently in her chest all the while.

Cold calls and the Socratic method of teaching were one of her least favorite parts of law school. Most professors gave no warning to their students before they called their names, subjecting them to several questions of the professor’s choosing. If you didn’t know the answer, they might move on. But some waited for you to at least attempt to respond, while the class stared and stared and hands jumped into the air all around, telling you that they knew the answer, that it was obvious. Answering a question correctly felt wonderful—but answering incorrectly usually caused Feyre’s cheeks to burn a bright red.

It didn’t matter how many of the randomly determined “calls” Feyre endured—every time a professor spoke her name, her hands started sweating, her heart rate climbing up and up and up until the professor moved on to another victim.

She spent a few hours at the library after class, tucked in her favorite corner. It was private, but better than sitting in the main quad where most of the law students gathered to study during daytime hours. Feyre hadn’t spent any notable length of time in the quad since the first semester of her 1L year. As her relationship with Tamlin progressed, the few friends she had made faded away as Feyre opted to attend the fancy dinner parties and events Tamlin invited her to. Maintaining a new relationship and keeping up with her studies didn’t leave much time for anything else—not even friends. That wasn’t to mention the time she had spent at home with her sisters and father her entire first year of school, taking care of most of the housekeeping and cooking duties because the rest of her family had “real jobs” and Feyre was still “just a student” who didn’t work a regular 9-5.

Now, she felt like a ghost in the halls of the school. She would wave to her old friends if they passed in the hallways, but Feyre had long ago accepted that this would be her law school experience: sitting in the back of the classroom, answering questions if forced, and generally keeping to herself.

It was a quiet, small existence she led. Class. Tamlin. Attending whatever events or obligations Tamlin dragged her to. Studying.

After she’d had enough studying for the day, Feyre took the train to downtown Prythian, checking her makeup at least four times before the train arrived at its stop a few blocks from a large hotel and event center in the heart of the city. She started to walk the five minutes to the hotel, staring up at the enormous shiny buildings rising around her.

To think, this would be where she worked full-time in just a few short months.

Thanks to competitive firm recruiting, Feyre had had her post-grad job lined up since the summer. She would be starting as a junior associate at Hybern & Night LLP, one of the largest and most powerful national firms in the country. Jobs at Hybern & Night were hard to come by, but thanks to Feyre’s top 5% ranking at Prythian University Law School, and her ability to say all the right things under pressure, she’d scored a job during early interviewing last summer.

The firm occupied the upper floors of one of the tallest buildings downtown. Tonight it was holding a networking event for its partners, associates, recruits, and other lawyers in the community.

She could have skipped the event, but her career counselor had emphasized how important it was to immerse herself in firm activities as quickly as possible—it would make her transition from student to junior associate much smoother, and allow her to make connections with more senior attorneys and partners who might be willing to provide projects for her to work on when she started.

So, she was here, clicking down the shadowed streets of downtown Prythian, gearing herself up to rub elbows with some of the city's wealthiest attorneys.

Some day soon, she would be one of them.

Feyre tugged her coat closer around herself, the chill in the air signaling autumn’s impending arrival. A block away, the windows of the event center glowed warmly in the shadows of the buildings around her. She increased her pace, and soon found herself ensconced in a world of cocktails and arguments. Feyre made a beeline for the refreshments table. She could certainly count on attorneys to ensure there was an open bar at events like this. She seized a glass of red wine and cast her gaze around the room, but didn’t recognize anyone. She had interviewed with at least five of the attorneys from Hybern & Night in order to get her job, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Feyre thanked the man who served her the wine, swallowing back memories of her own time spent as a bartender at Humane, one of the filthiest hole-in-the-wall bars in all of Prythian. She would have preferred talking to the bartender—less posturing required—but forced herself to skirt around the room, looking around for someone to engage in conversation.

She had almost completed a full lap when an enormous man leaned against the wall just in front of her.

“You look lost,” his deep voice rumbled, light brown hair sliding over his forehead, pale green eyes gazing down at her. His cheeks were flushed—probably from the alcohol—and as his eyes slid over her, Feyre was glad she hadn’t yet removed her coat.

“Not lost. Just—” Feyre broke off, shaking her head. “Feyre Archeron,” she said, offering a hand. “I’ll be starting as a first-year associate at Hybern & Night next August.”

“Jax Smith,” he said, an enormous hand encompassing hers. “I'm in my eighth year at Hybern & Night. Hoping to make partner next year. It’s nice to meet you, Feyre.”

Feyre swallowed, taking her hand back and sliding it into her pocket. “You too.” She cast around for one of her pre-prepared questions: So how do you like working at the firm? Any advice for 3L students preparing to enter the workforce? How do you survive the eighty hour workweeks year after year after year? Is the money worth it?

Luckily, Feyre didn’t have to resort to any of her questions, because Jax spoke for her.

“You look awfully young to be a 3L,” he commented, gaze sliding up and down her body.

Feyre cocked an eyebrow, a chill trailing down her spine. “I’m twenty-three.”

“That’s young.”

Feyre gritted her teeth. This was certainly unprofessional. “Not too young, I hope,” she said, forcing a smile. This man was going to be her coworker. She couldn’t just turn around and flee. “I’ll be twenty-four this December,” she said brightly. “Practically collecting Social Security.”

Jax didn’t smile. Only narrowed his eyes like he was trying to see through her coat.

Feyre swallowed another gulp of wine, and as he inched closer, she realized that the alcove where they stood was mostly obscured by two of the many enormous columns ringing the event center. There weren’t any lights in this section, and no one else seemed to be paying them any attention. The rest of the networking attorneys seemed miles away, even the sounds of their voices muffled by a dull roaring that started in Feyre’s head as Jax’s gaze fixed her in place.

“And are you married, Feyre?” Jax asked, one arm resting on the wall next to her head. His gaze dropped to her left hand, wrapped around the stem of her wineglass, her fourth finger obviously bereft of any ring.

“No,” she said, backing away another step.

But her admission only seemed to encourage Jax. He slid forward, eyes focused somewhere just south of her neck, where her coat had fallen open to reveal the v-neck of her dress shirt. “I would be happy to meet you for a coffee sometime. Maybe even a drink. Tell you more about the firm, away from all these stuffy partners. We could even find somewhere quieter here. To talk.” His eyes slid to the hall that led who-knew-where, just behind Feyre, stretching off into the shadows of the hotel.

Feyre’s eyes widened, a lump forming in her throat. This man was her future coworker, her senior. He might even be partner by the time she started at the firm. To turn him down could be fatal. If he took offense, he could spin it any number of ways: She had no interest in learning more about the firm. Couldn’t care less about team-building and getting to know her coworkers. Clearly came for the wine and nothing else.

He could ruin her reputation. And that was something she couldn’t afford. Not if she ever wanted to be free of Tamlin, of her family.

“What do you say?” Jax asked, bending down, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath hot against her cheek.

“I—” Feyre started.

But another man’s voice, smooth as velvet and gentle as the night, floated into the alcove, startling Jax and sending a wave of relief over Feyre.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

[talkfantasytome]

As You Wish - Part 1

Nesta has a small procedure and is stuck with Cassian being the one to drive her to and from. Little does she know he's planning on sticking around all day to take care of her.

Warnings: Fluff | Word Count: 2,418 | Read on AO3

Nessian Masterlist

a/n: Written for Day 4 of @sjmromanceweek - Little Things

Beep…beep…beep…

The incessant sound was music to Cassian's ears as he sat by Nesta's bed, the only sign that she was still alive, still breathing.

Her body was entirely motionless. Any movements spreading from the rising and falling of her chest were barely visible from where he was, her back to him. Apparently, the procedure called for her being laid on her side, and they didn't let visitors sit on that side of the bed. The nurses needed access there.

It had Cassian tapping his foot and rubbing his hands against his legs as he waited. She'd been out of the procedure room for over ten minutes now. How much longer was he expected to wait patiently? At what point was he allowed to worry?

He pulled out his phone and texted Az. She's still not awake.

Didn't she just go in? Az asked back, likely over the frequent updates Cassian's been giving. He wasn't allowed in the prep area initially. They'd made him stay in the waiting room until Nesta had gone into the procedure room. Only once she was back out after the procedure did they let him go back there. Likely checking to make sure Nesta felt safe with him.

It was good how the doctors would separate their patients from others and ask about their safety at home. How they'd find a way to ensure the patient had all the control over who was allowed to be with them when and where. He liked that they did that.

He liked even more that he'd been granted access to the prep room once she was back. That she'd allowed him in. Considering how hard Nesta had tried to find someone else to be her ride, he figured she would keep him as far away as possible for as long as possible.

She's been out for at least ten minutes, he typed into his phone. It was his best chance at distraction.

I'm not dignifying that with a response.

Dick.

Cassian rolled his eyes and shoved his phone back into his pocket. Fine, he would wait without any support from his brother. He'd just watch Nesta.

It was one of his favorite pastimes.

Her golden brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, strands of hair poking out from her hairband. Cassian had nearly lost it when he showed up that morning, seeing Nesta in a hairstyle other than her pristine braided coronet. Her hair was always so immaculate. Even at the end of the day, the wisps of hair that had fallen out of her standard updo always looked purposeful. But this, this was disheveled and honest. It said, 'This procedure is far too early for me to do anything but brush my teeth and put on leggings,' and Cassian loved it. Almost as much as he imagined he'd love her hair down.

Maybe he'd get the chance to see that today, too.

A nurse came to stand at the computer in front of Nesta's bed, checking that and her monitor. "Should be any minute now," she said to Cassian, her eyes relaying the kind smile she was offering him behind her mask. "Remind me who you are? Her boyfriend?"

Cassian's heart fluttered at the comment, the possibility. And nearly broke as he answered honestly, "No, just a friend."

That's all he'd ever been. For years. Sure, he wanted more. He'd be an idiot not to. Nesta was everything he'd ever wanted. Sharp, funny, challenging, devastatingly beautiful. It wasn't for lack of trying, though. He'd been flirting his little heart out since the day he met her three years before. Sometimes she reciprocated, other times she may as well have kneed him in the balls with how she responded. And then there were the times when he showed her all he was, when he took off his funny-guy mask and let her see his true self. And every time she'd offer the same, revealing a soft filling within a shell of iron. It was gorgeous, and gave Cassian the hope everyone told him he was a fool for holding on to.

"I'm sure she's glad you're here," the nurse said in her soft voice. Cassian wasn't so positive. "When she wakes up, she'll likely be a bit disoriented, but she should come to relatively quickly. It wasn't general anesthesia, so her mind won't be too cloudy."

He nodded just as the monitor's beeping quickened slightly. And then her body stirred. It was barely a twitch, but it was some form of movement. A sign of life, of growing consciousness.

Cassian still couldn't see her face, but her head moved a bit, and then the nurse was speaking. "Hey there," she said gently.

Nesta must've opened her eyes to prompt that from the nurse. Right? Those storm cloud eyes that haunted every one of Cassian's dreams. Mother above, he wished she would turn and face him. That he would get to look into those eyes, that perfect face, make sure she was truly okay.

"How are you feeling?" the nurse asked after a long silence.

"Fine," Nesta replied in a sleepy, scratchy voice. "My throat…"

"Yes, it will likely be sore for a day or two," the nurse explained. "If it's still sore by Monday, please let us know. Would you like to try and sit up?"

Cassian watched Nesta's head move up and down. The nurse walked over to the other side of the bed and helped her, adjusting the bed so that the head would be propped up a bit. Nesta grunted softly, as if the movement took more effort than normal. But soon enough she was settled against the pillows and sitting up enough to be able to turn and see him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice remaining groggy.

He gave her a crooked grin as he said, "You let me in, sweetheart."

Nesta rolled those grey-blue eyes, shaking her head at him. A very Nesta reaction, which likely meant the sedative was wearing off quickly. It warmed Cassian's heart, even as she replied, "Next time, I'm taking the bus."

"Good luck with that," he chuckled. She didn't respond, switching her focus back on to the nurse who was now asking her if she'd like something to eat.

The nurse grabbed her the Cheez-Its Nesta requested after being given a list of the options, and then began chatting with her as she undid the wires and all that was attached to Nesta. "So remember, you'll need to take it easy today. No driving or operating machinery, and you shouldn't work. You should have mild side effects, maybe a bit of bloating. I'd suggest eating smaller meals today. You might feel some slight nausea, but if you can't keep anything down please let your doctor know immediately. But you should be okay, it's one of the reasons we give people some food after the procedure."

Nesta was nodding along, listening fairly intently, but her eyes kept darting to Cassian, who was watching her shamelessly. He didn't care what anyone thought, she was the one who just had the procedure. He could hear the nurse and keep his eyes on Nesta at the same time.

"Once you're ready to get up let me know, we'll leave the space so you can change," the nurse continued. "And then you can go into the office and wait for the doctor."

"I'm ready!" Nesta said, sitting up straighter. The nurse panicked slightly as Nesta started fidgeting with the railing on the bed, attempting to get it to go down.

"Hold on," the nurse sighed, rushing over. "Let me help you." She folded the railing down and then held out a hand for Nesta. At first, Nesta didn't accept the offer of help. But the second her feet were on the floor and she was putting weight on them, she was reaching out for that hand, for a steadying weight. "Sir, if you can wait on the other side of the curtain?"

Cassian let out a small chuckle, gaining Nesta's attention. "Sure you don't want my help, sweetheart?"

"Why don't you go warm up the car," Nesta spewed out, sounding more like a grumpy child than the ice queen she typically perfected.

"As you wish." He bowed his head slightly and then smirked over at her as her eyes narrowed at him. No doubt she was attempting to understand his meaning, to decide if the quote from one of her favorite movies was purposeful.

He was always purposeful with Nesta.

"What are you doing?" Nesta demanded as she saw Cassian turn off the car, remove his seatbelt, and open his door.

"Getting out of the car?" he said in more of a question than a statement. He shut his door again, cars flying past them faster than they should be going in her neighborhood. Philly drivers.

"Why?"

He cocked an eyebrow up at her. "To help you out and get you into your apartment."

"I'm fine Cassian. I don't need your help. I only needed the ride because it was required." And that was the truth. Nesta felt perfectly fine. Maybe a bit hazy. Enough that she could admit to herself she did need someone else driving her home, but she sure as hell wouldn't say that out loud. To Cassian.

She took off her own seatbelt as he shook his head and sighed, "Too bad, sweetheart."

Gods, he moved fast. Before Nesta could step out of the car he was already at her door, holding it open and offering a hand to her. One she certainly did not take. But damn it, she couldn't stop him from grabbing her bag out of his car before she could. He'd likely hold it hostage, force his way into her apartment just so he could annoy her all day.

"Are your keys in here?"

"Don't go through my bag!"

"I never would, Nes," he said as he closed the car door. He let out a mockingly offended scoff. "Without your permission. Though that reaction does make me more curious."

Nesta could've growled at him. Well, sadly, she couldn't, because that wasn't exactly a skill most humans had. But if she could… Perhaps her cat would. Instead, she just snatched the bag out of Cassian's hand, losing her balance for a second. But Cassian was there, a gentle hand at her arm, helping her stay upright. It had Nesta's face heating.

To keep him from seeing that, she fished her keys out of her bag and started toward the door, beginning the dance with her door. Did she get the right key for the right lock? She almost never got it right on the first try, with three identical keys used for the four locks she had to get through. Her landlord sure hadn't made it easy to access her second floor apartment in the converted townhouse.

He stopped her from closing the front door on him, making Nesta roll her eyes. "You really don't have to come in."

"I do," he disagreed. "Someone needs to make sure you get settled and are doing okay today. Make sure you drink enough water. All that."

"Cassian."

"Nesta," he countered. He held her gaze, matching her ice with the fire that was always sparkling in his eyes. Gold flakes danced in the sea of hazel, drawing her in, holding her stare captive.

She took a deep breath, steadying her mind before it danced off into the fantasies she tried to ignore. Then Nesta sighed a small, "Whatever," and turned to open the second door. She ignored the massive grin he put on at her response, already feeling the weight of the sleepiness beginning to build.

It took barely three minutes for Nesta to hang up her coat, remove her shoes, and find herself on her small sectional couch, nestling in to the chaise part. Her cat was even quicker to hop up and snuggle next to her.

Cassian was slower to make his way into the living room. After another few minutes he finally showed up, pillows from her bed in hand. "I thought you might like to have these," he explained, placing them next to Ataraxia, who started at the sudden wind rustling her silver fur.

Nesta nodded her agreement. They'd be useful if she actually decided to lie down.

Cassian walked in front of the couch and grabbed at the handle beneath the mid-section, pulling to bring out the pop-up part that turned the couch into a queen-sized bed. She lifted an eyebrow at him, making him chuckle as he said, "So you can spread out as needed. Are you comfortable? Warm enough?"

"I'm fine, Cassian," she breathed, even as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Sure you are." He lifted her legs to get the electric blanket from under her feet and then spread it across her. "What setting do you like, again? Four?" Nesta nodded softly, the throes of sleep already setting in. She could feel her eyelids beginning to fall as Cassian clicked the blanket on and fiddled with the settings. "I'm going to do a quick grocery run for you. Anything special you want?"

"I have food," Nesta mumbled.

Cassian let out a chuckle that sent a chill up Nesta's spine. "You have snacks and an absurd amount of chocolate."

It took nearly all her remaining strength to roll her eyes, but it was worth it to display just what she thought of his comments. She was fine on food. So what if she ate take out every night? That just meant she was eating good food every night. But whatever, she was too tired to bother trying to stop Cassian. Though, if he's really here to serve her, she started to realize, she might as well milk it. "Can you get my Comfy before you go?"

The grin on Cassian's face when he handed her the plush, light purple wearable blanket was almost too much for her. The way his eyes crinkled as his lips curled upward, how they seemed to sparkle even brighter. It was the last thing Nesta needed to see. It was the first thing she wanted to see every morning. Traitorous mind.

Nesta snatched the Comfy out of his hands, but his only reply was a soft and kind, "Get some rest. I'll be back before you wake." He really needed to stop doing that.

She'd barely gotten the blanket on before sleep completely took over.

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @imsointobooks @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @shinya-hiiragi @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @superspiritfestival @thewayshedreamed @lunabean @xstarlightsupremex @mis-lil-red @wannawriteyouabook @dealfea @bridgertononmymind @daydreamer-anst @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @hiimheresworld @c-e-d-dreamer @kale-theteaqueen @charming-butt-insane @charliespringsleftconverse

a/n: Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list!

There will be a part 2 to this. This was meant to be just a one shot, but someone is bad at time management and she wanted to get something posted on the right day. XD

[animezinglife]

"The humblest tasks get beautiful when loving hands do them." - Louisa May Alcott, Little Women Modern (Cottagecore) Elain Archeron Moodboard

[0hmyg0th]

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲, #𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 ★ ( modern au! headcannon )

★. . . introducing a new series and a new fandom 𓆩♡𓆪 this is a modern alternative universe of a court of throns and roses. this is only a headcanon! i'm not sure if i'm going to make this into a drabble. we'll see how this goes :) ★ . . . synopsis ⸻ you accidentally throw one to many parties a few... many times and now all of a sudden your landlord is kicking you out. who knew!? and on that unlucky day your angel from above found a "roommate needed" poster on one of the bullent board at school. desperate times calls for desperate measures. who knew this day and every single day after that would turn into the most luckest days in your life. 𓆩♡𓆪 ★ . . . note ⸻ female!blackreader, "the inner cirlce" will only consist of rhys, cassian, azriel for now and mor is not related to rhys in any shape or form.

it's been 3 months since the boys ⸻ ( not azriel apparently ) opened their hearts and their homes to you! and you still couldn't believe how things drastically changed, like you almost found a box to live in! Basically. but in all seriousness, you were extremely grateful. you didn't know where you were gonna end up 3 months ago so now, you carried nothing but gratitude in your heart.

however, living with three grown men can be a hassle and sometimes it can be overwheleming. with their scents suffocating you with every step they took around you and oh! did i mention that they are bigggg like fuck! with their muscle straining against their shirts and sometimes you would get caught staring at them; moslty rhys. but in all honselty it wasn't your fault!, like they should as least put on a shirt once or twice when you are around the house.

which brings up the topic of: ground rules you felt like yall needed some especially after the countless of times the boys would walk in on you changing or walking in on them. so it was perfect time to bring up this conversation

"honey, i'm home" cassian sang the words, with rhys snickering in the back and if you listen real close you can hear the huffs and grunts of azirel.

"hello, boys" you purred, you rose to your heels; trying carefully not to ruin your freshly panited nails. "i need to talk to yall." you stated clamly. the three tall giants gazed over you, azirel was puzzle, rhys show signs of concern and cassian just stuffed his big mouth with trail mix while the crumbles dropped periodically onto the shiny hardwodden floor.

you leaned back onto the kitchen counter, supporting yourself by your elbows. the small movemnet caused your chest to rise towards the celling and with your relaxed posture made the boys feel at ease. all three of them are insanely attractive that it even hurts to look at them.

rhys sat on the arm chair with his legs spreading wide as he steadied himself on it. your eyes didn't faltered, you didn't look down there you told yourself  it was a trap to look there and oh boy there were countless of times where rhys caught you looking.

cassian sat on the edge of the cushions with his elbows perched on his kness.

Azriel standing the farthest away from you and the boys. brooding and letting the shadows of his bedroom engulfed him as he leaned against his doorway.

"so.." you trailed, and they watched intensively. your eyes dropping to rhys to your dried toes. they let you gather your thoughts, “We need to lay some ground rules, or like at least mention it"  The invisible weight dropped off your shoulder, and so did they.

“oh, that's not so bad. you had me worried" cassian confessed. they all agreed in union.

you laughed, “How do feel about me bringing in guys over"  You swallowed. your eyes darted to Rhys, whose expression was shocked to Cassain who tried to hide his smile and Azriel looked puzzled. as if,  you looked like the type to never have a boyfriend or even mention a boy before.

 you felt offended, "well don't look so fucking shocked" you spit out. rhys inhaled deeply as his mouth began to move, "no no, i-its just-

"we don't mind"

your eyes landed on Cassain after he cut off Rhys. you locked eyes on him and somehow he had you under his spell, he was so easy to talk to, and by easy you meant; all he had to do was look at you, and then all of sudden your lips were moving and he's giving you nothing but warmth.

"good, cuz-

"no overnight stays." azriel stated firmly. he locked eyes with you.  holding you into his stare, like some sort type of competion.

 you pushed yourself of the counter and nodded your head in agrument.  "of course, this isn't a bed and breakfast. they leave before the sun comes up" you reply quickly. not backing down from he's intimate stare

"just keep the ...noise down" rhys mutters. you would of thought that you guys was talking about the bird and the bees in front of yall parents.  like im pretty sure they bring in girls here all the time, well.. actually you haven't see that or you haven't even seen them with a girl in the first place. and you are 100% sure that their asses is not celibate.

it kinda makes you wonder a bit.."so um what about you guys ?" you curled you lip behind you teeth. rhys drly chuckled, he turned around to face cassian and azriel. which made you even more curious to know their sexual relations. i mean, its none of your business but at the same time you can't help to wonder. like do they share women secretly? or are they embrassed to bring with them around because you're here. 

"uh, let's refocus. any more rules you got sweetheart?" your attention left rhys's who didn't stop staring to cassian who cheeks stained a pinkish color. you rasied your eyebrows, oh yeah they are definitely hiding something. and you have every intentions on finding out what. 

but for now you continue with your ground rules,

number one: one night stands leave before breakfast 

number two: knock, always knock. 

number three: no snooping. ( az looked at you when he said that )

number four: help with grocery, dishes, cooking etc. ( duh ) 

number five: split household chores/clean after yourselves ( the boys are clean people for the most part but just in case )

number six: no being half naked or naked in the presence of eachother ( very important!!) 

⸻ you know, you thought living with three full grown men would have cause you to pull out your hair in distress but now with ground rules in place you wouldn't mind living here full time. instead of a temporary stay, like you planned in the beginning. 

author's note: i wanted to write more but tumblr got this thing about can't go over 4000 thousands word count so i hope yall enjoy this!

comment and rebloging is appreciated not required :)

[velidewrites]

Gwyn, texting: SKFJDKDK

Azriel: What is that

Gwyn: A keyboard smash

Azriel: How do I do that?

Gwyn: You just press any key

Azriel: 6

[gaysindistress]

The Bat Boys but make it a modern/motorcycle au

Did I reread the series? Yes. Do I have about a million other things to write? Yes. Am I procrastinating? Yes. It’s fine though 🙃

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest.

[slytherhys]

12 Days of Christmas - ACOTAR Edition

In the spirit of the Holidays, I will be writing & posting short stories about the ACOTAR characters for the next 12 days. Please note that some will be shorter than others and that this is simply meant to be a fun time for everyone that loves these characters as much as I do!

PS. I'm open to requests.

AO3

1st day of Christmas - Christmas Decorating

New Traditions (Modern Elriel AU)

Living with Elain Archeron, Azriel had found, implied a great many things. For starters, there wasn’t a windowsill that wasn’t peppered with colourful vases, the leaves green and luscious all year around. The kitchen, now covered in all kinds of baking supplies he couldn’t even begin to name, was constantly in such a state of disarray that the simple task of getting a glass of water easily turned into a hefty task. He couldn’t complain – not when every day he was greeted by a different kind of pastry his girlfriend was eagerly trying for the first time.

These, however, were details Azriel had been expecting when he first asked Elain to move in with him. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the sight of the enormous garland covered in berries, orange slices and small pinecones, hanging on their front door. Nor did he expect the tiny, chubby snowman sitting on it, staring at him with unwarranted joy. Azriel scowled.

It was the first day of December.

He opened the door, briefly wondering if Bing Crosby’s voice was crooning from their neighbour’s living room and not theirs. If the sweet voice singing along wasn’t his girlfriend’s – who couldn’t possibly be decorating on the 1st day of December – and belonged to Mrs. Allis instead.

Such wishful thinking was short-lived.

The house, Azriel noticed, smelled distinctively of ginger and cinnamon, and the wooden table in the foyer, usually covered in random knickknacks and their house keys, now sported entirely too many candles and a knitted reindeer wearing a Christmas sweater, welcoming him home with an innocent smile. Azriel settled his keys next to it, feeling oddly disturbed.

Azriel eyed the kitchen with concern. He wouldn’t go in – not yet at least – but he could glimpse Elain’s baking supplies on the counter, as well as a plate filled with red velvet brownies. Azriel swallowed a groan, fighting the urge to eat one – Elain knew how much he loved red velvet, but this felt premeditated. It felt like a bribery. 

He kept walking, following the sound of Elain’s voice as he pointedly ignored the gingerbread house kit on the kitchen table (and the fact it remained unopened). Apprehension coursed through his body as he eyed the mistletoe hanging in the archway leading to the living room. As it was, Azriel usually decorated on the week before Christmas, and that was if Cassian nagged him enough that he’d just give up and put up whatever crappy decorations he had gotten throughout the years (read an old, plastic Christmas tree and a few random Christmas ball that didn’t really look good together). Azriel rarely spent Christmas in his own house, so it had never made much sense to decorate in the first place.

Elain, however, clearly had different plans.

Sure, this was their first Christmas together, but he couldn’t say he had expected this much…dedication on her part.

Azriel stopped in his tracks just as he reached the living room, eyes widening as he took in every single detail. Their once cosy living room was no longer. Their couch, a beige, dull thing by default, was covered in a fuzzy, checkered blanket, white pillows dotting its cushions. The usually empty mantelpiece was now covered by a green garland, dotted with fairy lights. Hanging from it, two stockings – one with an A stitched into it, the other with an E (if he seemed to smile at the sight of it, it was purely a muscle spasm).

He fought the urge to groan, side-eyeing the checkered blanket with horror once again. At least, he thought, there were no knitted animals in the living room.

Needless to say, he wasn’t entirely convinced on the Christmas decorations.

His girlfriend, however, was a sight to behold. He crossed his arms, fighting to not let his amusement show as he watched her. Even in her pyjamas and frowning at the tangled Christmas lights in her hands, Elain was lovely. Her cheeks were slightly pink, lips pursed in concentration as she appeared to fight the knotted mess in front of her (it seemed to Azriel she was losing, but he refrained from commenting on it). There was an old Christmas hat on her head, one Azriel faintly recalled taking home from one of Cassian’s holiday parties. It was entirely too big on her head, but it only made her all the more charming.

She was sitting on the floor, right next to a very tall, very bare Christmas tree. More boxes littered the floor around her, but Elain remained humming, unconcerned and completely unaware of Azriel’s presence in front of her.

Azriel hated to ruin her peace, but the checkered blanket seemed to mock him from the couch. He cleared his throat, face stoic ever as Elain yelped and looked up, eyes widening as she blushed.

“You’re home!” She greeted, standing up as she unceremoniously dropped the Christmas lights on the floor. Azriel raised an eyebrow, watching her as she turned down the volume of the music.

“What are you doing?” He asked, briefly wondering if this was one of those times Nesta had accused him of taking himself too seriously. Whatever that meant.

Elain, however, wasn’t deterred by his seriousness. She smiled prettily. “Decorating.”

Azriel made a show of raising both eyebrows. “It’s the 1st of December.”

“Yes.” She simply said, as if that explained everything.

“It’s the first of December.” He said again, not sure she had heard him correctly the first time.

“I’m aware.” She said, pushing the beanie away from her eyes. She did look adorable. “I’m in a festive mood. I wanted to do some light decorating.”

“Light?” He was vaguely aware he sounded like a crabby old man. Elain was too if the twitch in her lips was any indication. “Isn’t this all too much?” He still asked, eyeing the blanket.

He truly didn’t like that thing.

Elain blinked. Then she blinked again, taking in their living room. The couch, the tree, the mantle garland. Then she frowned. “Are you messing with me?”

Azriel scoffed. “Why would I be messing with you?” He took a step in her direction and Elain eyed him suspiciously. “There’s a gingerbread house in our kitchen.”

“No, there’s a gingerbread house kit in our kitchen.” She explained very slowly. “We’re going to build it together.”

“No, we’re not.” He chuckled, but his smile quickly fell away at her raised eyebrows. “We are?” He asked, frowning even as she walked towards him, a pretty smile on her lips.

“We are.” Elain said, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down as she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “But I made you red velvet brownies as a reward.” She whispered.

Azriel groaned, pressing his head against her neck, making her squeal as his beard tickled her skin. “You can’t distract me with brownies.”

“Are you sure?”

Azriel chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist as he pushed the Christmas hat away from her eyes. “I am.”

“Well, can I distract you with something else?” She asked, her fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck. Azriel hummed, pressing his nose against her neck, taking her in for the first time in hours. He was almost distracted. Almost.

“Can we at least get rid of that blanket?”

Elain frowned, eyeing the couch. “What’s wrong with the blanket?”

Well, its very existence was wrong, in his opinion, and he opened his mouth to say just that.

“Nesta gave it to me.”

He promptly closed his mouth. The blanket was staying, then. Mother’s tits.

He cleared his throat. “And the tree?” He asked instead, trying to swiftly change the subject. Elain eyed with him a cheeky smirk, making it clear she was fully aware she had won the fight before it even begun.

Gods, he loved her.

“Were you going to start decorating it now?”

“Oh, well. No.” Elain turned shy, chuckling nervously. “I actually wanted to decorate it with you.”

“Right.” He nodded. “On the 1st of December?” He asked. Just to be sure. Elain chuckled, playfully pushing him away even as he tightened his hold around her.

She looked at the tree, avoiding his eyes. “I just wanted to give you a new tradition.” She shrugged. “Our own tradition.”

Oh. Oh.

He was an absolute fool.

Azriel looked at her, his heart beating wildly inside his chest. “You did, love?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If you want to, that is.”

It was all he could do not to drop to his knees and show her exactly how much he did.

He kissed her instead, his tongue seeking hers, his hands roaming around her body. He groaned at the taste of her, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. Elain smiled against his lips.

“Is that a yes?” She asked, gasping as his hands found her ass.

“How could I ever say no to you?” And little did she know how much he really meant it.

Which would explain why, merely hours later, Azriel could be found wearing a stupid Christmas hat, ignoring the stupid checkered blanket, and helping Elain put up the last of the ornaments on the too big Christmas tree. And if he had a smile on his face…

Well, that had everything to do with the girl in his arms.

[acotrash]

First Date with Azriel

Azriel head canons 

Your friend sets you up on a blind date 

And you hate blind dates because they’re so awkward for everyone involved 

But they’re your best friend so you agree because they rarely, if ever ask anything of you 

The guy they set you up with is named Azriel

The date itself is to an art museum, you don’t hate it because if the guy is boring and self centered like the many other blind dates you’ve been on you can simply wander to a different exhibit, it’s a big museum you can get lost easily 

Azriel is waiting outside the main entrance when you get there, his hair is messy like he ran his hands through it one too many times and he keeps looking up whenever someone passes him

He looks better than the half blurry photos your friend showed you, all giddy that you agreed to this stupid date “this is Azriel” wiggling their eyebrows at your reaction

You take a deep breath, walking up to him ready to get this over with  “Azriel?” “(Y/N)?”

 He looks just as worried about this date as he opens the door for you

He’s such a gentlemen letting you decide which exhibits you want to see

He doesn’t even make a single comment when you get lost trying to find the Degas painting 

It takes you about 15 minutes longer than it should’ve as it was right next to the exhibit you were currently in

He’s also nice enough to not mention you almost walking into a wall either as you were too busy studying the map printed on the pamphlet

You’re not sure if the date is awkward at first, or if he just simply doesn’t like you by how quiet he’s being 

He opens up, a little, like you find out his favorite artist is Edward Hopper and that he generally likes the art museum as he comes here often with passes

You two comment on your favorite paintings 

You also find out he fidgets with a small gold chain around his neck whenever he’s nervous, getting a glimpse of the gold whenever he opens his mouth and his eyes flicker to you before looking back at the painting

He fidgets with that small gold chain around his neck constantly 

He buys you a few postcards from the gift shop that you had in your hand, easily slipping money across the counter before you could even open your purse

You go to refuse but he just shakes his head grabbing the small paper bag from the cashier 

After the museum you look at him hopefully, you didn’t realize how much time you actually spent in the museum, walking back through a few exhibits multiple times but you generally enjoy his company 

You and him walk to a little coffee shop across the street 

He orders a double shot, you order a vanilla latte 

He listens as you talk about school, your job, your shitty apartment and all the good books you’ve recently read 

Both of your coffees are long gone when you look at the time again, apologizing profusely that he didn’t get a change to talk about himself 

You hate people who only talk about themselves and yet you just did that 

But Azriel just shrugs, a small smirk on his face “How about next time I’ll talk about myself?” 

And you blink, taking a second to realize he asked you out on a second date 

You smile blushing and nodding “I’d like that very much” “It’s a date then (Y/N)”

You both stand, Azriel walks you back to your car dispute that he passed his own car on the way to yours

He opens up the driver’s side door for you, he second guesses himself before he presses a light kiss to your cheek, you raise an eyebrow “Did you miss there?”

He tilts his head, shaking it slightly as you get in the car “No, I only kiss on the second date” he replies “good think you agreed to a second date” he winks before gently closing your car door 

[surielstea]

Ruined Ice

Pairing: hockey!Azriel x figure skater!Reader (fem)

Summary: Az shows up early for practice and catches reader in the middle of her program, rutting up the fresh ice.

Warnings: cursing | name calling | fluff

A/N: Guys I know nothing about hockey or figure skating so please don’t come for me if some of this is wrong lmao 😭

2.3k words

The blades on the bottoms of my skates could cut through steel they were so sharp. I had made the mistake of running my thumb pad across the toepick and nicked my skin, no bigger than a paper cut but I barely even touched the metal before blood began to bead at where it had made contact.

My mood, however, was improved to its full extent when I stepped onto the ice and realized it was untouched.

I beam wildly as I begin to glide on my smooth blades around the rink, beginning my warm-ups and leaving light trails with every move I make.

Warming up took a quarter of my rented time in the rink, and the next two quarters were spent practicing my program. The state tournament was close, and approaching all too fast. My coach wasn’t able to make it tonight, yet he practically ordered me to practice anyway. I wasn't complaining, well I had been, but on this fresh ice with the cold wind nipping at my cheeks in an empty rink, I had never been more at peace.

That was the case, at least until the Hockey Players began showing up for their practices. I still had fifteen minutes left of ice time but none other than the infamous Azriel Teller was lacing up his skates on the sidelines, staring at me as I went through my routine, doing my best to ignore his gaze.

It was hard though, the man was so damned observant and I swore I could feel his eyes tracking me across the ice.

I finish my routine in my final pose, heavy breaths escaping me as I let the stance fall and I go back to my phone on the side of the wall where I can restart my music.

My phone that happened to be right in front of Azriel.

I ignored his stare and kept my eyes on the wall, making sure to go slow, knowing my freshly sharpened skates would force me straight into the wall if I went any faster.

I grab my phone with cold hands but before I even get the chance to unlock it, the male in front of me speaks up.

"You're ruining the ice," He hums and I look up from my phone, glaring at him, silently asking him if he was serious.

"Your whole team ruts up the ice every chance you get, don't start," I wave him off, scrolling through my phone to find a song to cool down to since my ice time was coming to an end.

"We rut the ice? You and your fancy twirls practically make holes straight through," He defends and I wince because I knew he was right. Especially since my skates were extra sharp tonight.

"It's not my fault you can't evade them like some bad skater," I taunt, picking a song and letting it blast over the speakers to drown him out as I skate away.

Calling Azriel a bad skater was absurd, he must've been the fastest on the ice when compared to the rest of his team, not to mention his accuracy when it came to scoring goals was outmatched. I had heard from Feyre— my best friend who was dating the team captain, that Azriel was the brains for the whole team as well, always the one planning the strategic plays, but apparently, he wasn't allowed to be a captain since he got into one too many fights during his first season.

When my cooldown music ended, mostly everyone else on the Velaris Bats had shown up for practice, staring at me as I stretched my leg up beside my head like I was an animal in the zoo. I still had five minutes left of ice time, so I made sure Azriel was watching when I practiced doing my ‘fancy twirls’, the exercise had exhausted me but it was worth it to see the look of silent rage on his face.

I continued to grin, using him as my spot as I whipped around in the air and landed gracefully down onto the ice, at such an angle that it left a horrid chip in the ice I'd have to avoid for the rest of my routine.

I spot some of the other boys noticing this as well, scowls on their faces as I give them a wink before they rush off to what I assume is the locker room to get their equipment.

Again, leaving only Azriel and I. He steps onto the ice before my time is up and I glide past him with a smirk and he returns it, something in his gaze telling me he knew something I didn't.

I brush it off and continue with my spins and jumps.

I had just come out of a lutz with enough momentum to push a boulder down a hill when suddenly all the lights in the rink shut off. I freeze, my legs buckling at the sudden change, my eyes not used to the atmosphere and before I know it I'm speeding towards a wall, incapable of scrambling to a stop on my skates that were far too sharp.

I shrieked, attempting to pivot on my toepick but it only sent me tumbling forward. I blanch at the realization that I was about to slam into the ice over such an amateur move.

But before I make contact with the frozen ground, hands come to my waist and pull me away from my sudden doom. I gasped, catching my breath as a figure steadied me, gliding along the ice along with me until I managed to come to a stop.

I look up to my savior only to find Azriel standing in front of me, his hands still on my waist as if we were pair skaters. Why was he so effortlessly graceful in the rink?

"Thanks," I mutter, my skates making a crisp sound as they halt against the ice.

"Don't thank me, it was my teammates who turned off the lights," He said, looking down at me, his hands still on my waist as we stood in the center of the rink with the lights shut off.

With the absence of his pads, I could feed his abdomen pressed to my chest, I had been panting from my restless jumps but he hadn't seemed affected when he saved me, like he knew I'd panic.

"Still, I can't afford to get any more bruises," I say through heavy breaths. He cracks a smile.

"I know the feeling," He hums, making no move to let go of my waist, and I'd be lying if I said he wasn't heavily supporting my tired limbs at the moment.

"Usually I'm better at stopping, I just got my blades sharpened," I explain and he arches a brow, his gaze almost amused.

"You don't have to make excuses, Princess, you could just admit you wanted to be in my arms," He taunts and I roll my eyes, pushing him away to which he glides back.

"Quit calling me that," I toss at him as I slowly make my way off the ice, returning to the solid ground as I put on the guards over the blades of my skates. Snow Princess had been my stage name when I was younger, it was my mom's choice, and I had been happy with it at the time, Azriel liked to remind me of it every waking moment he saw me, in fact, I couldn't remember the last time he called me by my actual name.

"Not in a million years, Princess," He continues his teasing and I huff, untying my laces and shucking my blades off, favoring a pair of tennis shoes that felt like walking on clouds compared to the tightness of my skates.

The lights turn back on and I look out at the rink, seeing just how much damage I did with my turns. I smile in triumph as I watch Azriel avoid the chips in the ice as he practically soars throughout the rink.

The rest of the players came out onto the ice only a moment later while I shrugged my coat on, losing interest in the others once it wasn’t just Azriel. They had all pushed him off the rink, telling him to hurry up and change so they could start practice already.

I ignore their raucous laughter and crude words as I make my way into the locker rooms, eager to get my stuff and then go home. I could already feel my legs aching with soreness and it's barely been a few minutes off the ice.

I opened my locker just as Azriel strolled in.

I hadn't known his locker had been situated directly next to mine until he opened it and took out all his pads and equipment, then, right then and there to my utter shock he began changing right in front of me.

"You know there's changing rooms, right?" I avoid looking at him, my eyes pinned straight to my locker as I clean it out, stuffing things into my bag.

"I'm in a rush," He said and I could see him shrug from my periphery. "I was too busy saving you from the wall," He remarks and I whirl to face him, then immediately regretting it because he was still shirtless.

"You didn't have to do that," I wished my words came out a little more sour but instead they trailed off, similar to how my eyes dipped from his face to his exposed skin, the cut of his abdomen, the ripples of muscle in his arms, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When my eyes meet his again, I'm also met with a stupid smirk on his lips. "Seems like you wanted me too," He teases, leaning dauntingly closer. I swallow thickly. He was so damned near I could practically feel the heat from his skin. "Seems like you want a lot more from me than just my arms wrapped around you," His gaze was entirely predatory. I swallowed thickly, heat staining my cheeks and I knew that I was blushing. "Do you want to wrap around something else?" He arched a brow and I pushed him away, my hands feeling like they were burning the moment they touched his bare skin but he stumbled back and the look of surprise on his face was priceless.

"You're such an asshole," I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder.

"That wasn't a no, Princess," He crooned.

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that?" I frown. I could leave if I wanted to, I have my bag, I was ready. But he knew I'd rather sit here and argue with him than go home.

"I thought I told you no?" He retorts, taking a long stride forward and pinning me between him and the lockers. "It suits you," He surmised. "A stuck-up, prudish, princess," He leans closer with every word, and by the time he finished speaking his nose was nearly brushing mine. I maintained eye contact, holding my ground.

"I'm not stuck up, and I'm definitely not a prude," I cross my arms over my chest defensively.

"Is that right?" He tilts his head, his voice low. His eyes flick down to my lips, then so leisurely trail back up to my eyes.

"I'm not kissing you," I scoff, I hadn't meant to say it aloud, but now the bastard's smirk was wider.

"I don't remember saying anything about a kiss?" He taunts and I grit my teeth. “Is that what you fantasize about to help you sleep at night?”

"Oh, just shut up already.” I crash my lips onto his.

He immediately reacts to the movement, his arm wraps around my waist while his other cups my jaw, pulling me into him, not wasting a second before we have to pull away for air.

I melt into him, my cold body from the ice immediately heating as my fingers press against his bare abdomen, sliding my hand up his chest.

His hands find their way to my hips, slipping to the backs of my thighs and lifting me up, my back pressed against the lockers as my legs wrap around his torso. My arms wrap around the nape of his neck as I taste him deeper, every flick of his tongue over mine sending waves of pleasure down my spine. "We shouldn't be doing this in here," I whisper against his lips.

"I don't care," He confessed, his hands gripping the underside of my thighs tighter.

"Someone could walk in," I argue, but I don't bother pulling away.

"Are you nervous about being seen with me?" He taunts and I hit his shoulder playfully, kissing him deeply as a reply before pulling away a fraction to say,

"You're going to be late," I try to defend but I swear he could barely hear me with how drunk he was on my lips because as soon as I was done speaking his mouth was back on mine and any other words I could conjure were swallowed by his all-consuming kiss.

"You worry too much, Princess," He grumbled.

"Yo, Az!" A familiar voice shouts through the doorway of the locker room, and gods we were lucky that he had me pinned to the wall. "What's taking so long hurry up," Cassian calls, and Azriel slowly pulls away from my lips.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a second," He retorts and my head slumps back against the lockers while Azriel slowly puts me back down onto my feet.

"You're lucky we didn't get caught," I glare up at him but he only returns it with a smile. He grabs his equipment bag and slings it over his shoulder.

"This," He gestures between me and him. "Isn't over, alright?" He leans in close and I only nod. He pecks my lips before leaving the locker room, the door creaking as it shuts and leaves me standing there utterly speechless.

What the hell just happened? And why did I enjoy every second of it?

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[dawneternal]

⊹ Gwyn x Azriel Modern college AU

⊹ Summary: Nesta has been trying to throw Azriel and Gwyn together for a while now. When a group project comes along, Nesta snags Az for their group so the pair are finally forced to interact.

To make matters more complicated, Gwyn accidentally sends the wrong document to the group, replacing the writing assignment with a smutty chapter of fanfiction.

Things only bloom from there, forcing Gwyn to either let down her walls or lose a friendship that has become important to her.

Prepare for fluff, angst, classic college tropes, and some cheesiness

⊹ Warnings: Gwyn struggles with social anxiety and PTSD. Talk of past hospitalizations due to mental health (no graphic details.) other characters have struggles with mental health. There will be talk of past trauma including assault. More warnings included before each chapter. <3

⊹ Word Count: 2.1k

⊹ AO3 Link

Gwyn was lost in her own world, silently tapping her foot to the song stuck in her head. She scribbled in the corner of her notebook with sweater sleeves pulled up over her chilly fingers. Nesta would let her know if she missed anything important. 

So she let the classroom fade into nothing as she thought of lines for her next fanfiction chapter. Fanfiction for Vow of Roses, her favorite half-fantasy, half-romance book series. Writing the next chapter would be her reward for surviving another week of school. Now she was just biding time until she could get back to her room and dissolve into a word document. 

Nesta gave Gwyn a gentle nudge just as the professor announced, “You’ll complete this next assignment in groups of four. If you really can’t manage to get into groups yourself, I’ll mediate. But at least try, first.” 

The moment the sentence had ended, Nesta turned and waved her hand. 

“Az!” She shouted, ignoring the disappointed sigh of a girl seated behind them. Azriel flashed Nesta a smile. 

Gwyn’s stomach sank as her mind struggled to return to reality. This was the boy Nesta was determined to set her up with. The boy that every other girl in the class seemed to be competing for. When Nesta straightened in her seat and caught Gwyn’s incredulous look, she only raised her eyebrows and shrugged. 

“What?” Nesta tossed her braid over her shoulder, “We don’t know anyone else in this class.”

The room was full of murmurs and shuffling as the class split up into groups. Azriel took the seat across from Nesta, gently setting his stack of books on the table. Gwyn dared to take a peak at him as he was busy searching his backpack for something or other. 

He was gorgeous, as always, only adding to her churning anxiety. 

His inky black hair was messy, forming perfect curls by his ears and neck. He had a variety of tattoos scattered over his tan skin, interspersed with freckles. And his eyes were, of course, beautiful. Glowing amber even in the gross classroom lighting, framed with long dark lashes. The earrings he wore caught the light and glittered, almost matching the flecks of gold that ringed his pupils.

Gwyn turned her gaze away before he could catch her looking.

He finally gave up his search, leaning forward to ask Nesta something, but he was interrupted by textbooks slamming down on the empty corner of the table. 

“No one else wants me,” A boy named Connor announced with a grin, slumping down in the last empty chair. 

Gwyn did not know him well, only enough to guess that she’d prefer just about anyone else to join this project. Including one of the girls who was constantly vying for Azriel's favor. Azriel didn’t look too happy about the prospect of Connor either, mouth spreading into a thin line. Nesta scowled, her eyes gleaming with a promise of cruelty. 

“No strays? Perfect,” The Professor proclaimed, and launched into the details of the group project. Solidifying their fate.

Gwyn only half-listened, distracted this time by anxiety and not daydreams. She did not know Azriel very well, either. He was Nesta’s friend, chosen-brother to her boytoy Cassian. 

He seemed nice enough, but social anxiety does not often seem to care about the niceness of people. He was still a stranger, and now he was in her space with his dizzying smell without proper time for her to adjust.

And as for Connor, he was a wildcard. He was the sort of unpredictable that was a nightmare for her anxiety. He could be decent one minute and make a disgusting misogynistic joke the next. Or decide to throw something at you as a “prank.” He also seemed desperate for any scrap of attention from any girl in the class and determined to get it in the most obnoxious ways possible.

This was a lot to handle in a short amount of time. Gwyn had her books shoved into her backpack before the class was dismissed, ready to bolt the second the big hand hit 3:30. As the professor recapped important information, Gwyn breezed out the door. She was out of the classroom before Nesta could stop her and tucked into the alcove by the water fountain before the stream of students could overtake her. Luckily, Connor did not pursue her. 

The hallway had mostly cleared by the time Nesta made her way to Gwyn, Azriel following behind her. Gwyn had not realized how tall he was. Nesta was on the shorter side, but Azriel towered over her.

“You good?” Nesta asked, eyebrows raised high. She recognized the signs of panic, but she would not say so in front of Azriel.

Gwyn nodded, wondering how silly she looked just then, hood up and knees to her chest. It had been a while since her anxiety had been triggered like that, but it was her own fault for letting her mind drift so far. If she’d looked at the syllabus and not her doodles, she would’ve been prepared. Maybe they could've scoped their fourth group member ahead of time.

“Good,” Nesta declared, “Because we’re getting ice cream. Come with us? Group project bonding time.” 

Gwyn’s gaze shifted to Azriel and she found that he was watching her, waiting for an answer. He gave her a soft smile that soothed her nerves just a touch. 

“I can’t,” She said, though she returned Azriel’s smile, “I have a couple of things to finish up before dinner. Text me the project details?” 

“Fine,” Nesta sighed, “But you’re coming next time.” 

Gwyn watched them go, chest tightening with the feeling of missing out. But she wasn’t up to it, today. She shook the self-deprecating thoughts from her head and hauled herself up from the ground. She went back to that song that had been stuck in her head, humming it aloud to block out the torrent of ‘just try harder’ as she began the trudge back to her dorm room. 

This was better than ice cream. Layered under fuzzy blankets, lights dimmed and some angry rock song blaring in her headphones. Gwyn shifted her focus back and forth between her latest fanfiction chapter and the assignment for the group project. On one tab of her computer she had pulled up moodboards and fan art for writing inspiration. A volume of Vow of Roses lay on her desk, pages full of underlines and sticky notes open for reference.

As for the project, she still did not like the group aspect but the writing was easy. She’d have it finished up and sent off in a little while and then she didn’t have to think about it for the rest of the weekend. The fanfiction flowed even easier, scenes and similes appearing on the page and erasing every qualm from the day.

Emerie, her roommate, lay in her own bed across the room, singing to the theme-song of her show in increasingly goofy voices.

“Hey!” She shouted, loud enough to be sure Gwyn could hear it through her music.

“What?” Gwyn lifted one ear of her headphones. 

“Hurry up with that chapter, I want to read it before my shower,” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. 

“You’re gross,” Gwyn laughed, swooping to pick up a dirty sock from the floor and toss it at her roommate's bed.

“You’re the one who writes it,” Emerie scoffed, flicking the sock off her bed. She pressed play on her laptop and continued singing along. 

Gwyn returned to her document, putting the finishing touches on the ending paragraph. Emerie was also a huge Vow of Roses fan, as was Nesta. But neither had managed to uncover Gwyn's secret blog yet, so they impatiently waited for updates via email.

Pleased with herself, Gwyn attached the file to the waiting email draft and pressed send.

“Just sent it,” Gwyn called. Emerie squealed and jumped from the bed, grabbing her phone and shower caddy. 

“See you later,” She sang, throwing a towel over her shoulder and heading for the showers. 

Not too long later, Gwyn was half-asleep watching a period drama on her computer, box of goldfish in her lap. She was done being productive for the day and ready to let her brain turn into mush. Maybe she'd even skip dinner and just eat snacks here in bed.

Then her phone rang, pulling her from her stupor. Nesta's contact photo popped up on the screen.

“Hello?” She sang into the phone, reaching into the box for another handful of crackers. 

“Hey babe, you sent the group the wrong file,” Nesta said the words in a rush.

“What?” Goldfish crackers scattered to the floor. 

“Yeah, you sent us the smut you wrote,” Nesta sighed, like it pained her to say it. Like she knew what it would mean to Gwyn. 

Shit. Fuck.

“No,” Gwyn whined, rushing to open her email and pull up her recently sent messages. 

Sure enough, Emerie had received the writing assignment, and the group had received her newly finished chapter. Complete with the subject line ‘here you go, pervert.’

“I’m going to die,” Gwyn whispered into the phone. 

“You can unsend it, right? That’s a feature they have now?” 

“In like, the first 30 seconds after you sent it,” Gwyn wailed, “I have to say something and apologize. This is so embarrassing.” 

“I'm sorry sweetheart. Connor may be a dick, but I know Azriel would never use it to tease you.”

“You're sure?” Gwyn chewed her lip and pressed her hand to her warm face. She already struggled to act normal in front of Azriel, between Nesta's schemes and his unearthly beauty. He did not need another reason to think she was strange.

“I'm sure. And if he does I'll kick his ass and so will his brothers.”

Then, Gwyn heard a stifled giggle through the phone. 

“Nesta, don't laugh!” She cried.

“I mean, it was really good smut at least,” Nesta soothed. 

“Goodbye,” Gwyn growled and hung up. Which was maybe too harsh, but she’d worry about it later. Nesta was not easily perturbed, anyways. Or she'd be too busy laughing to care. 

“This sucks this sucks this sucks,” Gwyn muttered, burying her head in the pile of fuzzy blankets. 

In her experience, there weren’t many people out there who understood what writing meant to her. In the past few years, it had become more than a pastime. It was a tool she utilized to ease her brain through a very painful healing process. It was catharsis. Even the smut was a part of that.

And she had just sent that chapter to two people who were among the least likely to get it. Or the least likely for her to ever share those vulnerable thoughts with. 

They would just tease her, probably. That would be all. But she was not ready to be teased. It was still too painful, like salt in fresh wounds. Not to mention that teasing was the enemy of her social anxiety. It never failed to rid her brain of all common sense. And when embarrassment guided her actions, she always did something stupid.

“Hey,” Emerie laughed as she entered their shared room, hair damp from the shower, “That was definitely not spicy. What happened?” 

She took in Gwyn’s miserable face and teary eyes and dropped her things to rush forward. “Oh no, honey, what’s wrong?” 

Gwyn explained her mistake, and Emerie listened intently. She held Gwyn’s head in her lap and fed her goldfish crackers as she cried. Emerie knew the depth of her struggles, some of which they had in common. She brushed strands of copper hair from her face and diligently watched episodes of the favored period drama until her friend felt a little better. 

“Azriel is the boy that Nesta’s been throwing at you?” Emerie asked, after a long silence. Gwyn hummed an affirmation. 

“He’s pretty,” Emerie said. Cautiously. 

“Suspiciously pretty,” Gwyn answered. Her opposition to Nesta’s set up was not so much about his looks, but her own apprehension towards strangers. And the burden of her mental health, bound to ruin any relationship. There were already too many burned bridges in her past. 

But also, Azriel was ethereally beautiful. There had to be a secret underneath it. 

“He could be the exception,” Emerie said, her voice soft. But Gwyn ignored it.

“I think I'd rather have sent that email to my parents by accident,” She grumbled. Emerie chuckled and shook her head, wisely saying nothing more about the beautiful hazel-eyed boy.

Before they went to sleep, Emerie typed a message to the group on Gwyn's behalf, apologizing and imploring them not to open the document if they hadn't already. The sting had eased up some, but Gwyn was still not looking forward to the consequences of this mistake. The thought of Azriel reading any number of the salacious lines she'd written had her blushing all over again. 

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: Chapter Four

A Feysand Modern AU

She’s a law student turned confidential informant. He’s a federal prosecutor with one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for his white collar crimes. What could go wrong?

Author's Note: I finally did it! Shoutout to SZA's song "Saturn" for helping me finish this chapter. I'm so excited for where this is going, everyone. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged. No promises on the editing.

Strictly Confidential Masterlist

My Other Feysand AU Fic (Completed)

Chapter Four

Feyre cursed herself for a fool from where she hid, deep in a supply closet on the fifth floor of Tamlin’s environmental empire, Spring Solutions.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. It had taken days for her to convince Tamlin to finally show him around her work. Only after she assured him she wouldn’t leave his side while there had he agreed to let her accompany him to the office on the following Friday morning.

Feyre forced her breaths to remain steady as another person passed by the door, the band of light between the door and the floor guttering with the motion.

“Where the hell is she?” A muffled, angry voice filtered through the walls around her.

But then the sound of the footsteps, along with the angry voice, receded.

Feyre took a deep breath. It was now or never.

She placed her hand on the cool metal of the door handle and pushed.

Three Days Earlier

The newfound knowledge of Tamlin’s alleged crimes slowly ate away at Feyre over the next several days. She couldn’t focus on her schoolwork. She missed a cold call in class. Her father called twice and she actually managed to ignore him.

When Tamlin returned on the following Monday, Feyre had to force herself to act as if nothing had changed. She let him touch her, kiss her, wax poetic about how much he had missed her.

Before he proceeded directly into his study to get back to work.

Feyre was on pins and needles for the hours he sat at his computer. She waited for the moment he somehow discovered she had accessed his computer and came to demand an explanation.

But he never did.

And so Feyre began to execute the next part of her plan.

When she came home from school on Tuesday, she gushed about how much she was enjoying her environmental law class. Tamlin listened intently, sitting forward on the couch as she paced in front of him, declaring her newfound intentions to pursue a career in environmental law. Lucien, who had been present for Feyre’s little performance, leaned against the kitchen counter behind Tamlin, eyebrows creeping higher and higher as Feyre delivered her monologue.

“That’s great, honey. I’m so glad you love this stuff as much as I do,” Tamlin said, eyes shining with sincerity. Feyre bit back her disgust.

“I really do,” Feyre said. “Which is why I wanted to ask if you would be open to me shadowing you at work. I would love to talk to some of your in-house counsel, just get a feel for what environmental law looks like in the real world.”

Tamlin sat straight up.

“Oh. Really?”

Feyre nodded, ignoring Lucien as he folded his arms at her words, his eyes tracking her every movement.

“Let me think about it,” was all Tamlin said. Feyre didn’t want to risk pressing harder, so she dropped the subject for the night.

But the next day, she resumed her prodding. Asked Tamlin if he had had time to think about it. After receiving a similar response, she waited until Thursday to ask once more.

In the intervals in between, Feyre found herself looking over her shoulder everywhere she went. On the train to and from the law school, during her walks in the park, while she was at the gym. She knew the FBI had to be on her trail, but never once did she catch a glimpse of Special Agents Claret or Lapis. And though she knew there was no possibility that Rhysand was the one observing her, she couldn’t help but wonder what he would think of her life if he was watching. Her quiet, appallingly small life. If he was watching, he would see her utter lack of a social circle, the disgusting amount of hours she spent hunched over her books, snacking on chips from the vending machine and whatever form of caffeine was closest.

It was probably better that Rhysand wasn’t the one watching.

On Thursday, Tamlin at last relented. He offered to meet Feyre at his office the next morning, for an hour before his lunch meeting.

And Feyre had duly accepted.

After her Friday morning class, she took the train back downtown, getting off at a stop about a block away from the enormous high-rise building that housed Spring Solutions. The receptionist, a young woman who looked to be a few years older than Feyre, struck up a conversation with her as they waited for Tamlin to emerge from the elevators that led up to his floor.

“I’m Ianthe,” the receptionist said, long blonde hair cascading over narrow shoulders, her sky-blue dress making her eyes pop. “You must be Feyre.”

Feyre gave Ianthe a nervous grin, shaking her perfectly manicured hand. This woman must spend hours on her makeup every morning. Her skin was absolutely flawless, lower eyelids lined with white, black mascara only further emphasizing those piercing blue eyes.

“Sorry,” Ianthe beamed. “Tamlin’s mentioned you a few times. I feel like I practically know you already.”

Feyre sucked on the inside of her cheek. “Ah.” Tamlin had never mentioned his gorgeous receptionist Ianthe. And yet he had been talking to Ianthe about Feyre so much that Ianthe already felt like she knew her?

Feyre reminded herself that jealousy was not a productive emotion. Especially when her boyfriend was in all likelihood a white collar criminal.

As Ianthe asked her about law school, Feyre wondered whether the receptionist knew about what went on behind the scenes at Spring Solutions. If there was indeed a “behind-the-scenes” to be spoken of.

Feyre answered Ianthe's questions with the shortest answers possible. But after the basic What practice areas are you considering pursuing? What led you to law school? What did you study in undergrad? questions, Ianthe launched into a monologue about how hard she had worked to decorate the atrium of Tamlin’s business.

Which was even more boring than the Administrative Law class Feyre had taken during her second semester of 2L.

To Feyre’s relief, the elevator to the left of Ianthe’s desk emitted a faint but elegant ding, and Tamlin emerged in his usual crisp, dark suit, his blonde hair perfectly arranged. Feyre pasted a smile onto her face, words sour in her mouth. “Hi, babe.”

Game time, Feyre thought. No matter how hard this would be, perhaps finding evidence of Tamlin's illegal activity would give her a stronger reason to break things off with him.

But hadn’t Rhysand said that Tamlin’s illegal activity would make it even more difficult for Feyre to leave him? Even dangerous?

Feyre shook her head, giving Ianthe a wave over her shoulder as Tamlin guided her into the elevator, a possessive hand on her lower back. Feyre turned to face him in the elevator, casually stepping out of his grip and leaning against the mirrored wall.

“How’s your day?” She asked. “Stressful?”

Tamlin stepped closer, one hand caressing her neck. “Much better now that you’re here.”

Feyre tried not to flinch away.

Gods, one second she was letting him pull her into bed and the next she couldn’t stand the feeling of his touch against her skin.

If she was honest with herself, discovering that he really was a criminal mastermind would probably make her life much less confusing.

Unfortunately, Feyre had to put up with Tamlin’s hands all over her as he toured her around the four floors of the high-rise that his company occupied. She met several accountants, a myriad of consultants, a plethora of assistants. Lucien joined them about halfway through the tour. He greeted Feyre as usual, but kept close behind her as they walked. Feyre couldn’t tell if his green eyes were tracking her every move or if she was just being paranoid.

At last, they reached the top floor—where both Tamlin and Lucien had their offices, and where the in-house legal department resided. Tamlin guided her into a large conference room, where several attorneys were gathered on one side of a long table, a lunchtime feast of sandwiches, chips, and coffee spread before them. It looked like a lunch break in all aspects except one: each attorney had a laptop propped in front of him or her, not even speaking to each other.

So this was what Feyre had to look forward to—work above all things. A twenty-minute lunch break to get to know one’s coworkers? Forget about it.

She knew in-house was different than big law, but if anything, big law firms like Hybern & Night were much more notorious for their bill or die mentality. These in-house attorneys were either unprecedented workhorses, or they were working on something important.

Feyre wondered if it was something illicit.

Feyre shook the three attorneys’ hands, smiling as they introduced themselves. Tamlin, Lucien, and Feyre joined them at the table, and Tamlin plated Feyre a ham-and-cheese sandwich, forgetting once again that she much preferred turkey.

But she smiled, ever the gracious and perfect girlfriend, launching into a stream of pre-prepared questions as the attorneys gave her their full attention. About halfway through the discussion, a secretary of some sort stuck her head into the conference room, telling Tamlin that he had an important phone call on line one. Tamlin excused himself, gesturing for Lucien to accompany him. Feyre waved them off, listening intently to one of the male attorneys—Hart—as he explained the benefits of taking “Tax Accounting for Lawyers” in law school. This rivaled Ianthe’s interior design diatribe in terms of how well it piqued Feyre's interest.

Feyre made herself wait two minutes before she excused herself to use the restroom.

As soon as she was clear of the conference room windows, she had to resist the urge to run. There must be cameras all around, and if she looked like she had a purpose, rather than lost on the way to the bathroom, this whole thing would be over before it began.

So, instead of rushing through the halls, she meandered, looking around herself, eyebrows scrunched together. She really should have pursued acting, rather than law.

At last, she passed what looked like an empty office. She shut herself inside, and almost giggled in nervous relief when she saw a phone on the desk. She picked it up, knowing the chances of it connecting to Tamlin’s line were close to zero—but—

She dialed one.

Tamlin’s voice erupted through the speaker the second her finger hit the button:

“What do you mean they’re not ready?” Tamlin growled.

Feyre almost gasped at the anger, the vitriol, in her boyfriend’s voice.

A muffled voice responded, so quietly Feyre almost missed it in her surprise at the harshness of her partner's tone. “They need another week.”

“We don’t have a week.” That was Lucien. Quieter, but just as tense as Tamlin.

“There’s no way they’ll be ready for you in time.”

“I don’t give two shits whether they’re ready. We’ll be there on the established date, and they better be ready to implement the recommendations we have already provided.”

The muffled voice didn’t respond.

“Brannagh?” Lucien’s voice cut through the silence.

“We’ll see you in a week.”

“Good.”

The receiver clicked. Feyre bit her lip.

This didn’t mean anything. It proved nothing.

But if it didn’t matter, why was Tamlin so angry? And what did “we’ll be there mean? He hadn’t mentioned going out of town again. . . Was this a local job?

Feyre bit her lip, carefully hanging up the phone before easing back out into the hallway, replaying the conversation she had just heard in her head. What did it mean? Was it innocuous or incriminating? Was it enough to bring to Rhysand?

Feyre wandered down the hallway, now truly on the lookout for the restroom. She had just spotted the signs when a man emerged from a conference room down the hall and to her left, clad in a much less expensive looking suit than the one Tamlin had worn, earbuds firmly fixed in his ears.

Feyre froze, but it was too late. He had seen her.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” The man demanded, striding purposefully toward Feyre.

Feyre swallowed, giving a little shrug and a sheepish smile before she turned down another hall, hopeful the man would conclude that she was the lost girlfriend of one of the many men who occupied the Spring Solutions Tower. Because that was at least one thing Feyre had learned about her partner’s business: very few women were employed there, and if they were, they were secretaries or Ianthe.

Unfortunately, Feyre heard the thundering of heavy footsteps behind her as she rushed down the hallway. Shit.

Feyre ducked into another hallway and threw open the first door she saw, breathing a sigh of relief when the sight of a dim janitorial closet greeted her, complete with mop bucket, broom, and shelves full of various cleaning products. Feyre slipped inside, standing where the door would hide her from view if opened, trying not to remember the few times she had convinced her older sisters to play hide-and-seek with her when they were kids.

Nesta rarely agreed, but Elain had played with her on several occasions, humoring her years-younger sister out of the goodness of her heart.

Feyre shook her head, clutching the hem of her suit jacket as heavy footsteps thudded by.

“Where the hell is she, Belfort?” A voice—this one different from the man with the earbuds—sounded from somewhere to her left.

“Do I look like I know?” The earbud man's voice responded.

Feyre swallowed, grateful when the footsteps faded away. Were these men unfamiliar with the layout of the building? Perhaps they were new . . . Or perhaps they didn’t usually work here. Because if Feyre were searching for a potential intruder, the broom closet would be the first place she checked.

She slid out into the hall, relief coursing through her at the sight of the empty hallway. She rushed back the way she came, looking over her shoulder as she turned back into the hallway where she had met the in-house attorneys—

Her chest collided with a wall of muscle, sweaty hands wrapping themselves around her upper arms in a grip that was just a little too tight.

Feyre turned to face her captor, catching a glimpse of hard dark eyes and a tight jaw, downturned lips and a forehead creased with anger, before a voice from behind the man had him straightening up and releasing Feyre.

“Is there a reason you’re manhandling my girlfriend, Belfort?”

Feyre stumbled backward, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of Tamlin, followed by Lucien and several members of what appeared to be the security team.

“Your girlfriend, sir?” Belfort asked, glaring at Feyre one last time before he turned to face Tamlin. “But—”

Feyre cut him off, striding toward Tamlin and setting a hand on his shoulder. “I got lost on my way to the bathroom. I think they must have thought I was an intruder or something,” she said with a laugh, leaning into her boyfriend’s side.

“Belfort?”

Feyre stared at Belfort and hoped his desire to avoid a disagreement with his boss would win the day.

Evidently it did, because Belfort held up his hands. “My mistake, sir. Please, return to your lunch.”

Tamlin nodded, turning so quickly that he missed the look Feyre caught on Belfort’s face—

It was a look that said, I’m watching you.

------

Feyre stopped at a coffee shop on her way home from Spring Solutions, even allowing herself the time to sit in a booth at the window to drink it. She pulled out her current read—Foster, by Claire Keegan—but the book sat abandoned on the table in front of her as she stared out the wide windows at the streets of Prythian, mulling over the events of the morning.

Tamlin’s anger during his phone call. The man on the other line—Brannagh’s—response. Belfort stalking her through the shiny bright hallways of Spring Solutions just because she had walked down the wrong hallway.

To a court of law, none of this had any meaning.

But that feeling in the pit of Feyre’s stomach, the flash of fear she had felt when Belfort had caught her, the small bruises already forming on her biceps from his grip. . .

Feyre’s instincts told her something was wrong, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she discovered exactly why.

She took a sip of her coffee, sighing through her nose, resolving to give herself ten minutes to collect her thoughts before she walked the rest of the way home to resume studying.

But any chance to calm herself flew out the window when a man slid into the booth across from her.

Feyre jumped a mile high before she registered the hazel eyes, the classically beautiful features, and the scarred hands.

“Agent Lapis,” she breathed.

The SA held up a hand, his lips pursed. “Please, call me Azriel.”

Feyre glanced around her, as if she hoped to catch a glance of Cassian—or Rhysand—hovering somewhere nearby. But the rest of the cafe was occupied by innocuous coffee drinkers and several students with books and laptops spread across the tables in front of them.

“Azriel,” Feyre said, forcing herself to take another drink from her coffee.

“I’m here for your answer,” he said, eyes scanning the room even as he spoke to her.

When Feyre didn’t respond, his gaze snapped to hers. Whatever he saw there put a frown on his face.

“Are you alright?”

Feyre shifted in her seat, and couldn’t resist the reflexive look she gave the bruises on her biceps.

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his hand tightening on the mug of coffee on the table between them. “What happened,” he breathed, his voice soft, but so lethal it sent goosebumps erupting over the back of Feyre’s neck.

“I got into Spring Solutions today,” Feyre started, but Azriel was already shaking his head.

“We know. What happened inside?” He asked, giving her upper left arm a pointed glance.

Feyre quickly and succinctly relayed the events of her time in Spring Solutions to Azriel, whose stoic expression didn’t waver as he listened.

“None of it means anything,” Feyre finished, running her hands through her hair. “But—I can’t explain it. Something just felt . . . wrong.”

Azriel shook his head. “It might not seem important or groundbreaking to you now, Feyre. But Rome wasn’t built in a day. Any detail learned now could always be useful later. And while none of what you told me today is enough for an indictment. . . It certainly could be if we learned more information.”

Feyre nodded, staying quiet. It was clear Azriel had more to say.

“You did a good thing, today, getting inside Spring Solutions. But if you agree to work with us, we’ll have to establish some ground rules. For your safety, and the good of the investigation.”

“My safety?”

Azriel nodded. “Rhys almost marched into that high-rise after you as soon as we sent him word you had gone there to meet Tamlin.”

Feyre blinked. “Rhys—Rhys knows I got inside?”

Azriel lifted a brow. “He’s the one leading this investigation. We keep him apprised of all notable updates.”

“Ah,” Feyre said, ignoring the cascade of confusing emotions that had unfurled inside her chest and stomach as soon as Azriel had said the words Rhys almost marched in after you.

“But the protocols will come later. What I came here to ask you today was whether you had decided.”

Feyre didn’t ask for further explanation. She knew what the SA meant.

She also knew her answer.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes meeting Azriel’s. “I’ll do it.”

-----

Author's Note: More Rhys is coming, I swear :)

Taglist:

@rhysiedarling @shedoessoshedoes @popjunkie42 @adreamof-spring @that-little-red-head @witch-and-her-witcher @cinnamonmelody @azrielover @1islessthan3books @jenahid @toporecall @martzja @marinated-fish @muaddib-iswriting @queenofdivas

[thesistersarcheron]

Pairing: Elriel Rating: E Word Count: ~4.7k Tags: Kindergarten Teacher Azriel, Shibari Artist Elain, Fluff, Smut, Social Media, BDSM, Modern AU Summary: After a messy breakup with her college sweetheart, Elain retreated from her life as a social butterfly, moved home to Velaris, and started a work-from-home career as a shibari artist and a playful, kinky influencer on social media. She’s perfectly comfortable at home, using her earnings from her small online empire to build a greenhouse in her backyard and start a side-hustle as a florist.

But her little sister, Feyre, is eager to get Elain out of hiding—and to set her up with a man who she might cling to for some peace and quiet. However, there’s more than meets the eye to Feyre’s long-time friend and the local kindergarten teacher, Azriel.

And Elain knows it all too well.

Read this fic on AO3!

Azriel Teller was so fucked.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A breath hissed through his teeth as he took one long, final glance at his phone before swiping out of the app he’d been scrolling through and stowing it in his oversized tote—a Teacher’s Friend, the Amazon listing named it. Really, it was a heinous mishmash of faded denim and novelty buttons shaped like pencils and apples, but the abundance of pockets, including one for a supersized water bottle, couldn’t be beat.

Often, Azriel found himself wondering which poor elementary school teacher had to die so the manufacturer could tear her themed rompers out of her cold, dead hands for his bag.

The scent of crayons, Elmer’s glue, and stale coffee assaulted him as he pushed through the small employee entrance at the back of the school. The faded couch in the faculty break room seemed to sag when he passed it with only a small, sidelong glance—the old beast was still standing, at least for today—to toss a crumpled grocery bag full of the odds and ends that made up his lunch into the fridge.

He was pretty sure he’d packed a whole bell pepper, some lo mein that was edging its way past its prime, and a bottle of salad dressing today. Pretty sure, because he hadn’t looked as he packed his lunch. He wasn’t even sure if he had any utensils for the lo mein.

He had been too busy filling his supersized water bottle with cold brew and scrolling through TikTok, as he did every morning.

Azriel couldn’t be certain, but he thought the couch might have groaned in disappointment as he passed it on his way out of the break room 

A glance at the watch strapped to his wrist made him pick up his pace. With only ten minutes until the doors opened and kids started flooding in, he needed to at least get the lights on in his classroom and get a video looping mindfulness and affirmations going on the projector.

The Meditation with Miss Gwyn Youtube channel was the only damn thing he knew of that kept twenty-seven five year olds hyped up on maple syrup and sugary cereal bars calm until morning recess.

He made it to his room without incident, sidling past Merrill’s fifth grade class, and dug a hand into his Teacher’s Friend for his keys. The lanyard caught on his wrist, and he pulled, blindly selecting the proper key and shoving it in the lock—

“Az!”

The Spanish teacher strode down the hall toward him with a student perched on his shoulders—Nyx, Rhys’s son. The principal’s son, which was why he got to be the one child in the building before opening hours and not outside with his classmates and the teachers who had the extreme bad luck of pulling morning drop-off duty this month.

Nyx untangled one of his hands from Cassian’s hair and waved. “Hi!”

Azriel folded his hands together behind his back. Calm, cool, and collected—that’s who he was. That’s what he was manifesting for his classroom this morning.

“Hello, Nyx.”

Cassian caught his eye and waggled his brows. “It’s Friday, brother. You up for Rita’s tonight?”

Despite himself, Azriel scowled back.

Cass’s smile sharpened—challenge accepted, it seemed to say—and Nyx dissolved into a gale of laughter as he practically crawled down Cassian’s body to get to Az.

Hopes for a calm day shattering, Azriel still had to swallow down his own amusement; all of his students seemed to think that his penchant for wearing black and frowning deeply at them when they were too rowdy to pay attention to his lessons was the most amusing thing they’d ever seen. It was delightful, even though it turned basic classroom management into a special sort of hell for Az. 

Tiny heathens they may be, but he thought the collective sense of humor of five year olds was unmatched.

“Come on.” Cassian unhooked Nyx’s legs from his shoulders and deposited the madly giggling child at Azriel’s feet. He waved a hand down the hall toward the specials classrooms where he and Feyre reigned. “Feyre already talked Rhysie into paying the tab, so you’re coming, like it or not.”

Nyx’s grin turned devilish. “Rhysie.”

Cassian pointed at him, “Don’t tell your dad.”

Nyx shrugged.

It was not a shrug of agreement.

But Cassian was appeased, because he turned back to Azriel. 

“Mor will be there,” he crooned, off-tune and off-putting. “Her half-birthday is coming up so she promised to bring those fluffy icing cookies she and Feyre love.”

Once, that would have been enough to light a fire under Az’s ass. He would have gone to Rita’s and stuffed himself with cookies that tasted like some mad scientist decided that sugar and chlorine were a perfect flavor combination if it meant Mor might look at him twice. But now…

“Mm. Lofthouse. My favorite,” he deadpanned. At Cassian’s pointed—and disappointed—look, Azriel shrugged. “I’ll think about it. It’s been a long week.”

He would, too. But he would be thinking about how exhausted he would be after nine hours of wrangling twenty-seven kindergartners without the teacher’s aide the district had been promising him for years now. How his caffeine problem was definitely messing with his ability to sleep through the night. How he just wanted to go home after a long day and load @boundinivy’s blog to see if she posted the video she’d teased that morning on TikTok.

God, he needed to see that video.

A small tug on his belt loop caught his attention.

Azriel looked down.

At his side, Nyx swayed on one foot, one set of small fingers gripping Azriel’s belt loop to help him balance. The other was knuckle deep in his nose as he dug and dug, sniffling and snorting.

Cassian grimaced. “I’ll let you get settled in for the day. Be good, Nyx.”

Azriel sighed through his nose as Cassian clapped him on the shoulder (“I’ll be back to drag you out of here at 3:30!”) and all but sprinted back down the hall, preparing himself for a long, long day as he swiped a box of tissues from the bookshelf just inside the door.

A small voice piped up from knee-level. 

“I’ll go if you go.”

Azriel shot his godson a look.

“Neither of us is going.” He kept his face straight as Nyx frowned up at him, inspected the finger that had been in his nose, and stuck it in his mouth. “Mother above, come on, pal. We can treat ourselves better than that.”

With a tight grimace, Azriel returned the tissues to the bookshelf. Nyx was already wiping his finger on his shirt, and Az decided that it was better not to waste such a precious commodity at all when, apparently, the kid preferred alternative methods of booger disposal.

The neon sign in the window of Rita’s Taphouse taunted Elain as the steps up from the metro station spit her out into the middle of Arktos Avenue.

O… P… E… N.

Each flashing letter bathed the slush-damp pavement in a fresh wave of blue light. Each ticked down another second she was late to meet her meddling little sister.

She bit her lip and glanced down at her phone. Half past five—half an hour late. 

More than half an hour, she thought, slowly mincing her way across the slick street. Although her sturdy winter boots were suited for the ice and wet, the fluttery skirt of the dress she had been foolish enough to wear beneath her woolen coat was not, nor were her thickly knitted tights.

She shivered at the thought as she edged around a puddle. If her tights got wet, she would rather turn around and go straight home rather than spend an evening with her calves turning into icicles beneath the table, no matter who she was supposed to meet at the bar.

But she made it across the street without incident. With one last, mournful glance at the metro station, she pushed into Rita’s. The handle of the door was so cold it bit into her skin, even through her mittens, and for a moment, she regretted ever agreeing to meet Feyre for an evening out.

“It’s not really my scene,” she’d initially demurred when Feyre called during her lunch break, glancing at the clock half-hidden by her monstrous fiddle-leaf fig. Two o’clock, on the dot—a ridiculously late lunch for an overworked art teacher whose day started at seven.

“Your scene?” Feyre’s voice had been incredulous. “Then what is your scene? Your backyard?”

Elain had blushed and looked down at herself then—at the ropes crisscrossing her torso and the freshly cut flowers she had been in the middle of weaving in beside the intricate rigging of knots and loops when her phone rang.

No, her scene was somewhere decidedly more selective of its clientele than a dive like Rita’s, no matter how discreet the bar’s owner was rumored to be. But it had been years since Elain had patronized the BDSM clubs in Rhodes during college with her ex. If a similar establishment existed in Velaris, she didn’t know of it.

But it wasn’t like Feyre knew that about her. She had never dared tell either of her sisters what she and Lucien had gotten up to all those years when she lived in Day… or the lucky break she’d had at turning it into a work-from-home job when she mustered up the nerve to take a few safe-for-work videos of a harness crafted of ropes and flowers that she was particularly proud of and post them TikTok, only to have them go viral. 

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of it, of the fact that, no matter how clean she kept her TikTok account, the content on the subscription-only blog where she posted most of her work veered irrefutably into the territory of sex work. On the contrary, in fact; whenever she logged on, she felt something within her swell with pride that she had managed to turn a passion project into a lucrative, if modestly so, career. Her following was large enough—and generous enough with their monthly gifts—that she had been able to purchase a small house on the outskirts of the city when her relationship broke down. She’d even had enough left over to build a little greenhouse in the backyard, so she could try her hand at growing her own flowers. 

But Elain knew that if she ever dared to utter the words “kink influencer,” Nesta wouldn’t wait for an explanation; she would start a fight that might level all of Velaris before turning her sights on Lucien for corrupting her little sister. And although Feyre might appreciate the artistry of it, she was far too nosy not to go digging, and Elain felt herself flush from her hairline down to her toes at the thought of anyone she knew “in real life” seeing some of her more risque riggings.

And, yes, maybe she was a little nervous to admit to them both that all the time she spent studying and mastering her backhand swing to win a tennis scholarship to one of the best colleges in Prythian hadn’t quite panned out in the way she expected. Maybe she had wasted two additional years pursuing a master’s degree in a field she ended up loathing when she was supposed to be a lawyer or a teacher like Nesta and Feyre by now. 

She was supposed to have a real job, one that came with health insurance benefits and a retirement account. Something where she could flex her wings like the social butterfly she had been in school and shine.

She wasn’t supposed to be a recluse with a vague job as a content creator that made Nesta’s lips purse and Feyre’s eyes go a bit too soft with concern every time it came up in conversation.

Thus, the phone call.

The line crackled as Feyre sighed into the receiver when Elain didn’t answer. “I’m just worried about you. You moved here to be closer to us, but you holed yourself up in that house and we never see you anymore. I know the breakup was hard, but—”

“Feyre, I’m fine.” She was fine… most days. Elain didn’t know how to infuse her voice with enough pep to convince her sister of it, though. “I told you: I’m not holed up here. I’m just working from home.”

“Are you playing from home too?” Feyre asked, sharp as Nesta could be sometimes.

Elain’s spine stiffened, and she didn’t justify Feyre’s attitude with an answer. The first few months after leaving Lucien last year had been hard, yes. They had been together since high school, and adjusting to life without him after a full decade had been more trying than she anticipated. It had been hard enough, some days, to uncurl her limbs and slink out of bed for a few minutes to eat some instant noodles or wash her hair when the sun sank below the horizon.

But the worst had passed months ago. Elain had picked herself up, throwing herself into building her greenhouse before winter hit, and even Nesta had deemed her well enough to stop coming to check on her every morning before heading to work.

Her little sister let out another long, slow breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

“I know you are. But you don’t need to be. I said I’m fine and I meant it.” Her words were short, clipped, and she regretted them as soon as Feyre made a gentle noise over the phone.

“You’re alone.”

“I am not! I just went to brunch with Nuala and Cerridwen this weekend, and we’re planning to take a girls’ trip to Adriata this summer—”

Nulana and Cerridwen, the twins who worked at the local florist shop where she got all of her flowers while her greenhouse was still a pitiful stack of steel and glass and bags of potting soil, were the best thing that had happened to her since she fled Rhodes.

“Elain!” Feyre exclaimed. “It’s November.” 

Ire bit at Elain’s throat, tugging at the tenuous leash keeping it on, and she snapped, “You know, Feyre, we don’t all have to be married with a kid by the time we’re twenty-five to be happy.”

The line went silent, and Elain sagged against her chair. She reached out an idle hand, grasping one of the violets on the table in front of her and pressing her nail against the cut stem until it split. 

Married with a baby by twenty-five—that had been her goal once. Once, before Lucien’s world fell apart when his parents split up and a secret father slinked out of the woodwork. He had vowed never to have a child of his own, to never introduce even the possibility of harming one as much as he felt he had been into his life after that, and Elain’s plans had been tipped into the incinerator of his hurt like so much garbage.

“Now I’m the one who’s sorry,” she muttered into the phone. Feyre hummed shortly, and Elain said, “I love Rhys and Nyx with all my heart, you know I do. I’m just… I’m only twenty-seven. I’m not some sad old maid rotting away in this house.”

“Then come out with us tonight. Rhys misses you. Nyx, too.”

“You’re taking Nyx to Rita’s?” Incredulity coated every word, though… Elain could see her wild-hearted sister slipping Nyx into a dark booth quite clearly. The little boy was the only child in their family, and he was so beloved by Feyre’s entire inner circle that Elain knew his presence on one of their nights out would only be celebrated. That he would be pampered and treated like the little adult he sometimes pretended to be, while pride shone out of his every pore simply because he was being included.

“Well, no. He’s staying with Clotho this evening while we’re out. But I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to Aunt Elain dropping by for a hug before bedtime on her way home,” Feyre wheedled. “Come on, Nesta and Cassian are circling each other like sharks and I need you to witness it with me. She keeps trying to drag me into their little spats to defuse the situation, but it’s painfully obvious it’s just foreplay.”

Elain curled the stem of the violet around her little finger. She never could say no to seeing Nyx or Nesta. 

A glance out the window revealed the shadows stretching across the snowy rooftops of the city. Darkness fell earlier and earlier every day, and although Elain had once thought the endless winter nights in the north were oppressive, this one seemed to beckon to her now, to beg her not to spend another lonely night puttering about her empty house.

But the thought of going to Rita’s still made something like panic rattle her ribcage.

“Why don’t I just take Nyx tonight? We can go see that new train movie and get some ice cream,” Elain offered.

A muffled bell rang, and Feyre huffed. “We’ve already arranged it with Clotho. Please come with us? Az will be there—you can finally meet him!”

Elain bit her lip.

Az.

Azriel. Her nephew’s godfather, one of her brother-in-law’s two best friends. Her sister’s coworker. It was almost embarrassing that she hadn’t met him yet; he featured in damn near every story Feyre told, and although he was always lingering in the cut-off edges of every photo, he still showed up in every one in three posts Rhys and Cassian made on Instagram.

Not that Elain was keeping count. 

Hell, they were even following each other on Instagram, though they had never interacted aside from silently liking one another’s photos. @azriel had popped up in the notifications of her personal account when she posted about a visit with Feyre a few months after Nyx was born. And Elain, curious about who he had to kill to get a first-name-only username, still living hundreds of miles away from her family with Lucien, and desperate for whatever crumbs of her little nephew’s chubby baby cheeks that she could get, had followed back without a single qualm.

And if Elain were a recluse, then Azriel seemed to be a hermit. He only went out when Feyre’s friends dragged him out, it seemed, and only posted when Feyre was the one taking and editing the picture. Elain couldn’t blame him. She doubted any job was nearly as loud or as exhausting as teaching twenty-odd five year olds their ABCs all day long. A little peace and quiet in his own head must be a welcome relief after he went home for the evening.

But on that note… it certainly didn’t hurt that her nephew’s godfather was a drop-dead gorgeous kindergarten teacher—all high cheekbones and sweeping black hair and sweaters stretched over a toned chest and rich, brown skin. Just his passing presence on her feed had enlightened her to the meaning of all those “female gaze” memes floating around the internet. 

So Elain did what any self-respecting woman would do when weighing the prospect of meeting a hot man who loved kids and her sister’s husband versus another quiet night at home and said, “Alright. I’ll come. I’ve just got to get some work done before—”

“Yes!” A din of high-pitched voices filled the background on Feyre’s line, and she cawed triumphantly. “Me too! I’ve got a class now. Meet us there at five.”

“Five—?”

“Bye!”

And so Elain had rushed through placing the rest of the flowers in her ropes, filmed the short, playful video about rigging up a macrame holder for small flower pots for indoor plants that she had teased that morning, and edited it in record time.

Shibari really was a fantastically versatile skill, after all, if only one got creative with it.

She could still feel the indentations from the rope on her upper arms when she pushed through the door into Rita’s and busked her hands over her arms, trying to generate some kind of warmth. Her cheeks warmed before the rest of her, and she peered into the happy hour crowd, searching for her family as a small mental war started up between the desire to stay and the growing impulse to run.

But Rhys spotted her before she could come to a decision. His blue-black head of hair swooped down out of nowhere, and he dropped a kiss on her cheek as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The familiar bulk of him and the comforting salt-and-citrus scent of his cologne drowned out the Top 40 radio station playing over the muffled old speakers and the stale scent of cigarette smoke and beer.

In for seven seconds. Out for four seconds. Elain stole the moment to gather herself, and Rhys, undoubtedly sensing her hesitation in that uncanny way of his, held onto her until she pulled back. When she mustered the courage to look up, his violet eyes were gentle, and when she gave him a tentative smile, he returned it with a handsome grin. 

“I’m so glad you could make it, ‘Lain.” 

He was so earnest, so polite, that Elain couldn’t help but say, “Me too.”

“Come on, let me take that—” One smooth flick of Rhys’s wrist had Elain turning, and then her blue coat was draped over the crook of her brother-in-law’s arm, her mittens finding a home in his pocket, as he shooed her further into the bar. “—and you go find your sisters. We’re in our usual booth. Cass and I were just grabbing drinks for everyone.”

“Your usual?” It seemed impossible that the massive bulk of Cassian could hide behind anyone, but he slid out from behind Rhys with a small, considerate smile playing on his lips. “Vodka cran?”

Elain let out a shaky breath, and just the thought of a little alcohol in her bloodstream had her nervous limbs loosening. “Yeah. Yeah, why not?”

“Excellent!” Cassian rustled a hand over her hair, clapping her on the shoulder. “Follow the trail of ice and you should find Nes.”

“Oh, Cassian, don’t bait her.”

Cassian made a face and pointed at one of the nearby speakers. It wasn’t nearly loud enough to justify the way he cupped a hand to his ear and shouted, “What? I can’t hear you!”

Elain pressed her lips together to hide her smile, shaking her head at him, and began winding her way through the crush of bodies once he and Rhys disappeared into it, sidestepping a couple already swaying drunkenly to the music. A tattooed hand broke the surface of the small sea between them, and Elain’s shoulders dropped as she quickened her pace, cutting through a small crowd of red-haired men that looked too much like her ex for comfort.

“Elain! Over here!”

Feyre met her halfway, liberally applying her elbows to the crowd. She wrapped Elain in a crushing hug, walking backwards with her arms still wrapped around her sister. “Just a few more steps,” she muttered, as if she could tell that Elain wasn’t comfortable with the press of bodies around her.

They slipped out of the crowd and into the booth in record time, and Feyre ushered Elain in without a backward glance to her husband. 

Nesta and Morrigan sat at the table across from her, a plastic tray of grocery store cookies half-hidden by a massive, stylish tote back spread between them. Elain dropped her small purse on the table beside it as Nesta blinked at her, her cool blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Hello, everyone. Are these for the table?”

Elain carefully ignored the way Nesta’s mouth thinned into a straight line, sending her elder sister a small smile as she reached for the cookies. She wouldn’t say no to sweets, or to the helpful distraction they provided, but the furtive glances Mor was throwing at the bar seemed to hint that they weren’t quite allowed in Rita’s bar. 

But the tray was just out of reach, and her fingertips only grazed its outer rim. A male arm slipped out of the shadows of the booth beside her, a hand mottled with scars that stretched and shone in the low light reaching further than she could, and—

Elain froze.

That hand.

That hand.

She knew that hand.

Like a boiling kettle had been poured over her head, mortified heat sank down from her cheeks to her chest. 

Oh, gods.

Ages ago—it had been ages ago that she’d first seen it. The small, independent gallery on the edge of Rhodes’ arts district hadn’t been her scene then either, but she had gone to take a few photos for Feyre during her freshman year. It was supposed to be some kind of proof, she supposed, that life got better after graduating high school and moving out of their father’s run-down cottage in the foothills bordering Velaris.

But when she’d arrived…

When she’d arrived, the gallery had been full of sharp, strange angles and harsh lines and so, so much red and black. Inside, wooden crosses shining with gold leaf took up half the floor, and shredded tapestries had been twisted and woven strange, short benches scattered throughout the floor. One small room had been entirely dark until she walked in and a spotlight shone on her, blinding her to the small crowd waiting to follow her path through the room one-by-one as the attendant at the door instructed.

Lucien had ushered her through the entire exhibit, laughing at the way she turned pink and wide-eyed every time she caught sight of something new, and when they finally got to a wall of black-and-white photographs, Elain had relaxed…

Until she saw the ropes. 

So many ropes, wound sensually around nude bodies that, even now, she blushed to think about. Each and every one was knotted into the shape of a hand somehow—a massive, grey hand spanning a woman from shoulder to hip, covering her breasts entirely and leaving the rest of her exposed. A gentle hand of black rope cupping the jaw of a man whose face was etched with ecstasy. A possessive white one, grasping a lush female backside with such force the ropes dug into her soft curves. Dozens of examples, lined up like soldiers in two neat lines.

And then one photograph, the final and smallest photograph on the wall—two viciously scarred hands, knotted and marled and wound in rope like some sort of medical brace. Like some sort of tool that only those hands could make use of, some special device only their owner could make sense of.

She knew then that she would never be able to tell Feyre about this gallery. That she would have to find something else, somewhere else, and never share what was on show at the first exhibit she went to: the famously anonymous Shadowsinger’s shibari art.

By that time, Elain had been reduced to clenching her thighs together to fight off the growing heat between them as she made her way down the line. Every blink of her eyelids was an effort; every breath seemed thick, heavy with some sort of anticipation, and Lucien—

Lucien had gently walked her through every other exhibit, but the photos… Elain had been captivated. Gods, she hadn’t even known what those intricate, intimate ropes meant then. She’d read it the name of the display off of a small placard on the wall next to the photograph of the scarred hands several times before she made any sense of it and hastily jotted it down in her Notes app as her boyfriend’s fingers began to wander, his voice turned teasing in her ear, undoubtedly sensing her interest. 

She had gone home and typed that beautiful, strange word into the search bar on her laptop and it had all been over for her.

And now those scarred fingers twitched on top of the table beside the cookies, and Elain lifted her own hand to her mouth.

Beside her, Feyre coughed, the sound awkward and uncomfortable, and the mottled hand slid away into the shadows beneath the table as Elain finally looked up, finally met the shadowed hazel eyes of the man they belonged to, and said to Azriel stupidly,

“Oh, but I always thought your hands were so beautiful.”

And that’s what you call a bait-and-switch.

Anyway, happy Elriel Month! Here’s my small, unhinged contribution Please expect one chapter a week, plus a short epilogue.

[talkfantasytome]

Small Steps

Cassian has a rough day that really shakes him. Nesta meets him where he is, using physical touch to try help him.

Warnings: Mild Angst | Word Count: 2,717 | Read on AO3

Nessian Masterlist

a/n: Based on this ask. I took to heart the "change anything". 🙈 So no smut, friends, I'm just still not there, and I wanted to get more to the heart of the love language.

Written for Day 2 of @sjmromanceweek: Love Languages.

The massive sigh that escaped Nesta's lips practically echoed through the sitting room.

She rarely read in that room. Then again, despite the book in front of her, she really couldn't say she was currently reading, either. Not as her eyes flicked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass door every other second. Checking on the balcony, making sure she didn't miss it when he got back.

As if she could. Who could miss someone of that size?

Thump.

Her eyes snapped back to the balcony, but nothing was there. It took her a minute before she realized the sound had come from the book that slipped from her lap.

She must be getting tired. It was rather late. And with how dark it was, she could actually miss it. Perhaps she should just go to bed, wait for Cassian there. Nesta would likely wake up when he got in…he was never particularly quiet getting ready for bed.

With a yawn, Nesta closed her book and stood from her seat, jumping as she heard the door open behind her.

"Finally!" she sighed, placing her book on the table and turning to see Cassian standing in the threshold, his hair wet and clinging to a forlorn face. It must be raining outside. "Where have you been?"

Nesta padded over to Cassian, pulling him further into the House and shutting the door behind them. The wind was harsh, blowing against her efforts, but she got it closed and locked before too much water came in. And what did was magically dried away by the time she heard the lock click.

Cassian didn't answer her. He just stood there, a few feet away, eyes distant and unresponsive.

"Cassian?" she questioned. Nesta kept her voice soft, tilting her head to try and meet his gaze. But even when she made contact with his hazel irises, that's all she was doing. There was no recognition that he was seeing her, meeting her eyes. She brushed a hand up his arm and asked, "Is everything all right."

He turned his head away, as if he couldn't look at her, and then pulled his arm back. It wasn't the response she wanted, and she couldn't pretend it didn't cut like a knife, but at least it was some type of reaction. "Cassian," she tried again, taking his hand. "What happened?"

Still no answer.

A pit began to emerge in Nesta's stomach as she watched her husband and mate remain still and cold. It wasn't like him. Cassian was all warmth and openness, jokes and laughter. He didn't fluster. Nothing ever shook him. Not like this. The worst Nesta had ever seen him before was in times when she was in danger, and even then there was something more than this.

She didn't know what to do. How could she? Five years together, and this was a first. She should know how to comfort him - she did know, typically. But this wasn't the same as sad Cassian or worried Cassian or pissed-off Cassian. And she doubted some sarcastic insults or gentle kisses would pull him out of the stupor he was in.

But Nesta had to do something. Cassian was always the strong one. For her…for everyone, really. It's what he did, constantly. And now she had to do it for him.

Holding back the tears that were begging to be set free, Nesta quickly requested a meal for Cassian from the House as she led him to the table. A plate full of steak, fried potatoes, and broccoli appeared just as she got him into a seat - his favorite meal. She sent a silent thank you to the House for that. The House didn't always seem to like Cassian, but clearly it could tell that now wasn't a time for whatever grudge it held.

Cassian sat there, hands at his side, staring off into the distance. She wasn't sure he even realized the food was there, but that was fine. He'd eat it, anyway. She'd make sure of that.

Nesta picked up the silverware and cut a piece of steak, cooked perfectly between rare and medium-rare, exactly how Cassian liked it. She then brushed some of his hair behind his ear and lifted his face to meet her gaze again.

This time, something registered in his eyes. The faintest twinkle that said he did see her. And for a moment she let the relief flood her, but only a moment. Because as quick as the twinkle came it faded again.

"Please, Cass," she breathed, holding the bite of steak up. "Eat for me?"

He lifted a hand and placed it over hers, guiding the steak into his open mouth. After that first bite, he took the fork in his own hand and began to work on the meal.

Nesta let out the breath she'd been holding and then sat beside him, keeping one hand on him at all times, her fingers curved around his broad shoulder. She stayed clear of his wings for the moment, unsure how he'd react in his current state to even an accidental brush against them.

It was quiet as he ate, only the sounds of his bites and chewing filling the room. And the inconsistent clicking of his jaw. The sound usually grated on Nesta a bit. Tonight, however, it was music to her ears.

His hair began to fall into his face, and Nesta pushed it back behind his ears, stroking him for a second with her thumb. Once again, no reaction from Cassian, but Nesta was too busy noting how cold his cheeks felt to worry about that. It felt as if he'd been out in freezing temperatures long enough for it to chill his very bones.

Turning her face toward the ceiling, Nesta asked, "Could you start a hot bath, please?" A gentle breeze caressed her face in response, and she added a whispered, "Thank you."

Cassian set his fork down a couple minutes later. He didn't move beyond turning to look at Nesta. He seemed to be asking 'what next', and it broke Nesta's heart and healed it at the same time. One step at a time, that's all she needed from him. She took his hands and stood up, pulling him up with her, and thanking the Mother that he registered it enough to help. She wasn't actually strong enough to move him without his help.

Keeping one of his hands in hers, she led him down to their suite. The bathroom was warm with the steam from the bath. Cassian followed Nesta into the room and stood in the center of it as directed by Nesta. She didn't bother waiting to see if he'd start to ready himself for the bath.

Nesta started on his jacket. She had to walk around him as she slid it off his arms and wings. And then she was on her tiptoes, peeling his shirt off of him, grateful he was present enough to lift his arms and duck down a bit to help her. Once the shirt was on the floor, Cassian straightened. It gave Nesta the chance to look over his torso. Not in admiration, as was so often in the case, but instead Nesta found herself scanning his body for injuries.

She couldn't imagine that was what was getting to Cassian. He typically played off injuries as if they were nothing, only resting to get Nesta to shut up. But that didn't mean he couldn't also be physically injured, along with whatever had happened to affect him emotionally.

There wasn't much, however. Just her husband's extremely toned chest and those entrancing tattoos that never ceased to astound her. She trailed her hands up and down his arms, hoping the touch would offer him a bit of comfort, or at least some warmth. He slanted toward her a bit, as if he were leaning in to the touch, but when Nesta looked up his face was still vacuous, even as his eyes followed her.

Nesta gave him a small smile anyway, giving his chest a quick kiss before she moved on to his legs. She knelt down to get off his shoes and socks. They were dirtier than she'd realized. He must've been tracking mud through the entire House. And the socks, too, were damp. But the worst part was the pinkness of his toes. How long had he been in his wet clothes? Nesta hadn't realized how wet they were. She was pretty sure Az had gone with him that day, so he shouldn't have needed to fly home. Just the quick flight from beyond the wards to the balcony of the House. They should've been lightly damp.

Based on the feel of his socks, they'd likely been drenched hours before. Dried enough they wouldn't drip, but not so much that they weren't still wet and cold. She should've had him bathe first.

With this new realization, Nesta was quick to remove his pants and lead him toward the tub. Whorls of steam danced across the calm water. She tested the water quickly and it was perfect. Hot, definitely, but not so much it would burn his skin.

She looked back up at him, meeting his blank stare. "Cassian, can you get in the tub for me?"

His eyes shifted to look at the tub and he gave her a solitary nod of his head. He was slow to move, but he climbed into the large bath. He always commented on how it was too big for him alone when Nesta didn't bathe with him. Seeing him in it without her, Nesta actually believed him.

Cassian sat down in the water, everything but his shoulders and head submerged. Nesta knelt beside the tub once he was situated, surprised to find a pillow on the floor waiting for her. She didn't reflect on it too much. Just accepted the plush object and reached to grab the soap and a loofah.

She didn't scrub too hard. He wasn't noticeably dirty, nor did Nesta want to hurt him. But still she made sure to wipe down his arms and torso, and did her best to get to his legs as well. And then she worked on his hair. She poured a large dollop of the hair cleansing concoction they kept into her hands and then lathered it into his hair.

Letting off a soft groan as she massaged his head, Cassian leaned into the touch and something lightened in Nesta. She let out a sigh of relief and smiled to herself as she continued to rub the soap in. Nesta took her sweet time with it, making sure she got every inch of his head, hoping to prolong his enjoyment. She then began to scoop water up to rinse the mixture out of his hair. It was slow work, but it was better than asking him to dip his head.

Once all the soap was off him, Nesta reached into the water and grabbed Cassian's hands, standing up and leading him to do the same. He followed, a waterfall cascading off his body as he did. Nesta grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him before she carefully helped him out of the tub. He held the towel around himself as Nesta patted it against his body, attempting to soak up as much water from his skin as possible.

Cassian watched her as she did. Something in his features scrunched, his eyes focusing on her chest.

Nesta couldn't hide her shock. She doubted Cassian was actually interested in doing anything that night. And she wasn't sure he was in a place for it anyway. Following his gaze and looking down, Nesta realized it wasn't actually her chest that was drawing his attention, but the fact that her dress was entirely soaked. She hadn't even noticed. "It's fine. I'll be out of this soon enough."

He didn't respond, but Nesta didn't care. It was a tiny step, and that was all she needed.

They walked into the bedroom and Nesta began to turn down the bed before going to the closet and pulling out Cassian's favorite pair of lounge pants.

"Do you want to wear these tonight?" she asked, holding them up for him. He looked them over, taking a minute before finally nodding. Nesta held them open and helped him into the pants.

Her hands met his waist as she let the pants go around him, and then they were trailing up his stomach and landing on his chest. It was a soft touch, not the kind that was meant to lead to something else. Just to comfort.

Cassian watched her. And when she looked up into his face, she found his hazel eyes staring back at her. They weren't as distant as they had been earlier. There was still something vacant about his face, but it wasn't entirely blank anymore. She smiled and lifted one hand to caress his cheek.

"I love you, Cassian," she breathed. Cassian tilted his head against her hand. All the response she needed. "Do you want to get into bed? I'm going to get into my nightgown, and then I'll join you."

Despite her words, Nesta didn't move her hands until Cassian had moved far enough away that she wasn't touching him anymore. He climbed into their bed as Nesta got on one of her nightdresses, and then she was joining him.

He stayed on his side, his back to her, and it took all the strength Nesta could muster to not finally break down. As much as she wanted to, Cassian still needed her. Even if he wasn't turned toward her with his arms open like he was most nights.

So Nesta scooted toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nestling her face between his wings. She left a soft kiss on the center of his back and made sure her entire body was up against his, mimicking his position.

Lifting one arm, Cassian rested it on top of Nesta's. His hand curled around hers and she nearly burst into tears. He was there, somewhere. Tomorrow would be for talking. Or the next day. Or whatever day he was ready. Tonight, she would hold him and stay close. And his hand grasping hers was enough to know that's all he needed.

She nuzzled as close as possible and held him tight. It wasn't long until his breathing evened out, his body relaxing in sleep. Nesta was able to drift off soon after that.

Nesta awoke to a room so bright, even with her eyes closed it was blinding. She groaned slightly to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and curling into the body that was holding her.

A deep, soft chuckle sounded beside her and Nesta's eyes shot open.

Cassian was there, smiling down at her, his arms tight around her waist.

"Cassian?" she whispered.

He lifted one hand, bringing it up to cup her cheek. "'Morning Nes," he breathed before leaning in and kissing her on the forehead.

"Is everything-are…are you okay?" she asked gently.

He nodded, pulling her closer to him and resting his head on top of hers. "It was a bad day, yesterday."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She could feel him shake his head as he replied, "Not yet. I just want to stay here a bit longer."

Nesta nodded and tightened her arms around him. "We can stay as long as you like. And we can talk when you're ready."

"Thank you. For that and…for last night."

Nesta brushed her nose against his chest in response and said, "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"No," he stated quickly. "It was exactly what I needed. You were perfect." Nesta buried her face into his chest, hoping to hide the tears that were finally breaking free. "You are perfect."

They stayed like that for most of the day, neither wanting to move or be far from each other. There wasn't much talking, but Nesta knew Cassian would share when he was ready. For now, she took joy in the small steps. The conversations they did have, the touches Cassian initiated, the way his eyes finally sparkled again as he looked at and laughed with her.

It was more than enough.

a/n:I hate that last line but I literally couldn't think of anything better, so...😬

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @clemidansleschoux @meher-sumedha @labetenoir @vinylcryes @shinya-hiiragi @starryblueskies7 @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @superspiritfestival @aks18 @thewayshedreamed @lunabean @xstarlightsupremex @mis-lil-red @wannawriteyouabook @dealfea

[stillwintering]

All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Cassian spent the rest of his evening at the River House, which had turned into an impromptu campaign headquarters of sorts. After all the official business was settled and Amren had left to take the last flight back to DC, Cassian found himself lingering in the company of Rhys and Azriel. They gathered in Rhys's expansive wood-paneled study for a nightcap.

It had been too long since the three of them had the chance to simply exist together as brothers in arms without the weight of duty or the shadow of danger looming over them.

The day's activities had visibly taken a toll on Rhys, understandable given how many media appearances he completed. By all accounts, the speech had been a resounding success, yet Rhys seemed lost in thought, gazing pensively at the drink in his hand, almost sad.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet." Cassian's voice broke the silence. He leaned in, trying to catch Rhys's eye, giving him a teasing nudge on the elbow. Azriel, seated in an armchair on Rhys's other side, only observed silently.

Rhys raised his head, a faint smile on his lips, though his eyes remained somber. "Something like that."

Cassian sucked in a breath. "I'm afraid it's too late to turn back now, brother." He held up his crystal glass, the amber liquid inside glinting in the lamplight, before taking a sip. "The horse is out of the barn."

"What if..." Rhys looked away to the moonlit sky out the window of his study and the Sidra sparkling under the stars.

"It will be a tough fight for the nomination and a even tougher fight in the general election." Cassian smiled at him reassuringly. "It's going to be hard and chances are, we'll lose. But no one will fault you for that."

Rhys shook his head, his expression turning resolute. "No, I mean what if I actually win?"

A moment of realization washed over Cassian. "There's no one else I'd trust more with such power and responsibility," he told him.

"I don't trust myself," Rhys murmured, his voice tinged with a vulnerability rare for him.

"I know you." Azriel knocked his knee gently against Rhys's. "You're the one," he stated firmly.

Rhys's gaze drifted away again, his doubts still clinging to him like shadows.

Cassian turned to Azriel. "They say a good man can't get elected President these days," he mused with a half-smile. "I refuse to believe that. Do you, Az?"

"Absolutely not," he responded without hesitation.

"And you think I'm that man?" Rhys interjected, his face still dark, "Does it matter that I'm not as sure?"

"Do you remember that operation outside of Kabul? The one that went sideways real fast?" Cassian reclined back in his armchair, his demeanor thoughtful. "Our first hot zone and we were completely outgunned, stuck in a crossfire with enemy combatants all around. I’ll be honest, I thought we were done for. We were just rookies back then. But you, Rhys, you just took over like you were born to do it. Directing our moves, calling out targets, staying cool under that kind of heat. You got us out of there with zero civilian casualties. It’s a rare thing, Rhys."

Cassian stopped to catch his eye. "I knew from that moment that I would follow you into the Mist of Avalon."

Azriel only chuckled while Rhys let out a dry laugh. "Cass, please, you're the one with the natural aptitude for strategic combat." Rhys waved his hand. "But I do find, somehow, urban warfare easier to navigate than politics."

Cassian raised his glass in a toast, prompting the others to do the same. "To fighting the good fight then," he announced with a wink. "Political or otherwise."

Azriel joined in, his glass meeting theirs with a gentle chime. "To making a difference," he added.

Rhys looked at his friends -- his brothers -- their faces unflinching. "To the future," he said, his eyes clear and focused. "May it be brighter than we dare to hope."

---

By the time Cassian and Azriel returned to the House of the Wind, the inky night had draped its silent shroud over the building. They expected the grand lobby to be completely deserted at this late hour. Yet, to Cassian's wonder, Nesta was there.

Lost in a world of her own, Nesta walked under the dim glow of the ornate chandelier, her figure casting long, fluid shadows across the polished marble floor. From the way she was dressed, it looked like she was about to go on a late-night run.

It wasn't until Cassian stepped into her space, closing the distance to a mere foot, that she snapped out of her thoughts. Her gaze, sharp and piercing, lifted to meet his and then to Azriel's. A flicker of surprise darted across her features before she veiled it with a practiced air of indifference.

"Going on another evening run?" Cassian asked her as a way of greeting.

Nesta's response was terse, her lips pursing slightly as she uttered a succinct "Yes." She looked over the both of them again. "Anything happen at the meeting at the River House?"

"You didn't miss much," Azriel responded. "Amren will send out a memo first thing tomorrow."

Cassian studied her for a beat longer, noting the slight clench of her jaw and the way her eyes darted to the lobby doors. An idea sparked in him.

"If you give me ten minutes," he offered, gesturing towards the elevators with a hopeful tilt of his head, "I can join you."

The words hung in the air, a delicate offer. He saw it then -- the imperceptible stiffening of her posture, ready to refuse. So he quickly added, a playful note in his voice, "I know all the good running routes around here."

Nesta hesitated, but her expression wavered. "I would rather run on my own."

"I don't blame you," Azriel teased, unable to stop himself. "Cassian is terrible company."

Cassian scowled at his brother. "It's dark out, Nes," he tried again. "Let me come with you."

Nesta looked away to the pitch-blackness that lay outside the lobby doors, calculating. Although Velaris was generally a very safe city, she had never tried to navigate it in the dead of night. Finally, she looked back at him, her expression unreadable.

"Fine," Nesta acquiesced. "Ten minutes."

She gracefully sidestepped, allowing Cassian and Azriel access to the elevators. She then glided to a nearby sofa, settling into its plush cushions to wait.

Cassian burst into the elevator and jabbed at the buttons for their respective floors, his foot tapping impatiently. Azriel leaned back against the elevator wall, his arms folded casually across his chest, with a mischievous grin on his lips as he observed Cassian's barely veiled agitation.

"Easy there, big guy," he remarked affectionately. "She's not going to disappear."

Cassian shot him a quick, frustrated glance. "I just don't want to keep her waiting longer than necessary," he muttered.

"Oh, is that so?" Azriel's eyebrow arched in amusement. "Or could it be that you're just eager to spend time with her under the starry sky?"

As the elevator finally dinged at Cassian's floor, he practically leaped out. "You don't know what you're talking about, Az," he retorted over his shoulder.

Azriel laughed, shaking his head as the elevator doors slid shut. "Good luck!" he called after Cassian.

---

Cassian led the way, his stride confident and familiar as they ran up the winding road that hugged the contours of the mountain behind the House of the Wind. The path, bathed in the soft glow of well-placed lights, carved a serpentine trail through the dense pine forest and upwards into the heart of the mountainside. A delicate mist had descended, settling into the treetops like cobwebs.

"There's a lookout a few miles up with an amazing view of the city," Cassian said, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet night.

Nesta only nodded, allowing him to set a moderate pace. The scent of pine and earth filled her senses, and she found herself leaning into the night air, into his steadfast strength beside her.

Their heavy breaths, synchronized and rhythmic, filled the silent space between them.

As they ascended, the forest around them began to change. The trees grew taller, their branches interlocking above to create a natural cathedral, their needles whispering secrets. She let all the noise of her mind recede into the thickening mist, let it wrap around her like a soothing embrace.

When they finally reached the lookout, Nesta stopped, her breath labored from the climb, and gazed out at the glittering city below, beyond the mist of the forest, sprawled like a jeweled tapestry, the lights flickering like distant stars caught in an earthly web. The world seemed to pause -- the only sounds were their heartbeats and the distant hum of Velaris.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

Cassian turned towards her, his expression soft yet intense. His hazel eyes, reflecting the city's lights, narrowed on Nesta as if she were the only object in this vast, sparkling expanse. "Yes," he breathed.

Nesta could feel the blood rushing through her head. A breeze tousled Cassian's hair, setting it dancing wild under the silver glow of the moon.

"Tell me why you're here," Nesta asked, her words floating on the night air.

He bowed his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me why you left a promising military career to work on a long shot political campaign."

He studied her face intently, sensing the urgency in her question. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Because I care about who gets to be in the room where it happens," he finally said.

Nesta's brow furrowed, her eyes searching his for more.

"I was a good soldier," Cassian continued. "But in the military, I was a cog in the machine. Being on the ground, seeing the consequences of following orders... it changes you."

He paused, his gaze growing distant. Cassian remembered his lover during the war -- Tanwyn, with a smile like a storm, who was a surgeon with Doctors Without Borders. She chose to work at a hospital in the middle of a conflict zone and chose to stay even when the town came under siege. After the bombing started, Cassian disputed his commander's decision to engage the enemy so close to a civilian-occupied area. When that went nowhere, he had begged, begged her to get to safety. But Tanwyn had refused, "I didn't go through 14 years of medical training to abandon my patients." Her last words to him.

It took Cassian a very long time to get over her death.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"I've experienced the fallout of strategic miscalculations, witnessed the collateral damage of executive decisions made in far-off offices," Cassian concluded. "No more senseless wars. That's why I'm here."

Nesta listened, absorbing his words. She tried to understand the rollercoaster of emotions that had swept through his face.

"And you think Rhysand Starborn is the right person to be in the room where it happens?"

Cassian gave her a wry grin. "Funny you should ask."

"Why?"

He dismissed the moment with a shake of his head.

When he faced her again, Cassian's expression was one of unwavering conviction. "I am certain he is the right person for the job."

Nesta took a long moment to study him, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the gentle curves of his lips -- the lines crinkling around his eyes seemed to tell stories of bravery and compassion.

"Okay," she said at last, as though settling an internal debate.

"Okay?"

Nesta nodded, this time with a certainty that seemed to anchor her. "Yes, okay," she repeated, giving him an assured smile.

They stood together for a moment longer, time seemingly stretching out as they surveyed the panoramic view of Velaris. The night breeze caressed Nesta's skin and sent a shiver down her spine as her body cooled from their earlier ascent to the overlook.

"Shall we head back?" she suggested, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself for warmth.

Cassian agreed with a dip of his chin, but his curiosity piqued. "These evening runs of yours, are they a regular thing?"

Nesta hesitated, her words tangling slightly. "Yes -- no, well, sort of. I'm actually training for the National Women's Half Marathon," she clarified. "I've committed to running it with some friends."

"If you want, I could help -- I could train with you."

Nesta mulled over his offer again, the sincerity in his voice apparent. "That might be nice," she said, giving in to the tug in her heart. "I'll let you know when I'm planning my next run."

Cassian's answering smile was so bright, so full of warmth, that Nesta felt momentarily dazed -- a radiance that rivaled the moon above.

"Come on then." He turned from the outlook, and Nesta followed, falling into step beside him as they began their descent.

---

Nesta inhaled deeply, trying to stifle the swell of emotions in her chest. She stood on the meticulously groomed lawns of the River House, where Feyre was hosting a luncheon for the League of Women Voters of Velaris.

In front of her, the Starborn's grand conservatory was bustling with guests -- their conversations a steady buzz against the clinking of fine china. The large glass structure was situated in the back of the house, hidden from view from the street. Sunlight poured in through the expansive glass panels, bathing the interior space in a golden, dappled light. The conservatory itself was an oasis of botanical beauty, brimming with an array of vibrant flowers and delicate greenery. Nesta knew immediately that Elain must love it here.

Feyre weaved through the crowd with grace and charm, playing the part of hostess perfectly, but Nesta knew her sister was still adjusting to the relentless glare of the public eye. That was why she agreed to drop into the luncheon to make sure that the reporter the local paper sent to cover the event was on their best behavior.

Nesta had never been to the River House before. Every Christmas, a perfunctory invitation to visit from Feyre would arrive, and each time, Nesta found a convenient excuse to decline, preferring to maintain a distance from the life that Feyre had carved out for herself. Standing before the River House, with its stately charm and the Sidra flowing majestically in the background, Nesta couldn't help but feel a pang of regret mingled with a deep urge to flee.

When Feyre's eyes found hers through the glass panels, Feyre's relief was evident as she beckoned Nesta inside.

"I'm so glad you're here," Feyre murmured.

Nesta, feeling a rare surge of sisterly affection, reached out and gave Feyre's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing great," she offered, her voice softer than usual.

Feyre's smile wavered. "I've been so nervous about this event," she confessed. "And talking to that reporter later. I've never done any press without Rhys before."

"I've already vetted the interview questions. There won't be any curveballs," Nesta reassured her. "It's a simple society piece for the local paper, nothing too intense. Just steer clear of any policy talk. You'll be fine."

Feyre bit her lip. "Can you stay until after I talk to the reporter?"

"Of course, I'll stay."

With a nod of gratitude, Feyre turned and glided gracefully back to mingling with her guests.

Left to herself, Nesta pulled out her phone to go through the emails that inevitably crowd her inbox. She glanced around and noticed a large door that led into the quieter recesses of the River House. The luncheon was in full swing, but she couldn't find it in herself to work the room the way Feyre or Rhys would.

Nesta crossed the threshold, finding herself in a peaceful hallway. She took in the grand space around her: the high ceiling, intricate moldings, and silk curtains framing the windows. As she looked down the corridor, her eyes followed the row of oil paintings lining the walls. Something about them seemed deeply familiar -- the impressionistic brushwork and open, airy compositions bore the unmistakable touch of Feyre's hand.

Nesta made her way down the hallway, her steps soft and nearly silent on the plush carpet, looking for a quiet space away from the party to focus on her inbox. Eventually, she found herself in a cozy sitting room, its wide walls lined with books.

Her eyes immediately fell to the shelves full of framed photographs. Nesta stepped closer to study the pictures.

There were several of Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian together, chronicling different chapters of their lives -- from their college days to their military service to ski trips that appeared suspiciously like snowball fights.

In each image, Cassian's smile was wide and unrestrained, his arms invariably slung around his brothers, his hair noticeably longer in his younger years. Azriel, by contrast, looked stern, though his eyes were warm. Rhys appeared relaxed and completely at ease among his friends and family -- a side of him she had never witnessed.

There were photos of Mor exuding her usual glamour and confidence. In one snapshot, Mor stood between Azriel and Cassian. They were dressed to the nines. Azriel looked at Mor with something like total adoration on his face, while Mor was laughing with her head thrown back, leaning into Cassian. But Cassian was grinning at the camera.

An old photograph tucked in the back was of the Starborns -- Rhys's father and mother. Beside it was a portrait of Rhys's mother sitting by the fire on what looked like Christmas morning.

Then Nesta recognized an image that must have been taken the night Rhys had first won his congressional seat -- even Amren was smiling in that one. Feyre, joyous, was in the middle of leaning into a hug from Rhys. He looked only at Feyre even as the dozen faces in the photos were turned towards him.

Scattered in between the memories of their "inner circle" were many photos chronicling Nyx's young life -- a teary-eyed Rhys holding an ultrasound with Feyre behind him; a portrait of Feyre with a swollen belly; Feyre holding Nyx for the first time on a hospital bed with Rhys next to her; Rhys lifting a toddler Nyx into the air. There was a blurry image of Nyx at his third birthday party, white frosting all over his face, with Cassian and Mor fussing over him and Azriel standing to the side laughing, clumps of frosting in his dark hair.

The most recent photo was one of Elain and Nyx together, surrounded by flowers in a field.

Nesta felt her pulse quicken in dread. These photographs were windows into the vibrant life Feyre had lived, yet, Nesta found no trace of herself in these frozen moments.

Finally, she noticed a large photo in a corner -- Feyre was wearing a simple white slip-dress, her arms interlocked with Rhys, dashing in a blue linen suit. They were standing barefoot on a beach, waves crashing behind them. Feyre held a large bouquet of hydrangeas and roses in her other hand. Surrounding the smiling couple on either side were Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and Amren. They were all beaming, although Mor had clearly been crying. It was plainly a wedding photo.

It suddenly struck Nesta that there were no images from the grand Velrais wedding at the House of the Wind. Rather just another portrait of Feyre and Rhys -- taken on the same day on the beach -- looking adoringly at each other. Their hands were joined, prominently displaying their golden wedding bands.

Nesta realized that she hadn’t encountered Cassian, Azriel, or Mor at the ceremony she attended. She was certain she would have remembered someone like Cassian with his distinct presence. The Velaris wedding was a formal event attended by hundreds of guests, a high-society wedding. But the pictures on the shelf displayed a private, intimate celebration for only those closest to the couple.

She didn't know how much time had passed as she stood there, taking in the evidence of the chasm that had grown between her and her sister. The pictures showcased a version of Feyre's life that Nesta had never been part of, a narrative woven from experiences and bonds she hadn’t shared.

Nesta felt like a stranger looking in, witnessing a parallel world where laughter and joy flowed freely, a stark contrast to the guardedness that marked her own interactions with Feyre.

"Aunt Nesta!" A child's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Nesta turned swiftly at the call. "Nyx?" she asked in surprise, her eyes landing on her young nephew. His round cheeks were just visible as he peered around the edge of a nearby armchair.

"Hi Nesta." Elain emerged behind him with Mr. Carrot in tow.

Nesta felt every muscle in her body tense. "Hi Elain," she returned, keeping her voice neutral.

"Feyre mentioned you might drop by today." Elain smoothed her skirts, almost nervous, but smiled tentatively. "I hear things are going well with the campaign."

Nesta bristled at the comments. She hated that her sisters seemed to treat her like a problem to be handled -- managed.

"The campaign is going as expected," she replied curtly.

Elain hesitated, her lips parting as if to say more, but her gaze shifted to Nyx. "Are you hungry, dear?" she asked him softly.

Nyx, his attention still fixed on Nesta, shook his head, his curiosity about his aunt undiminished.

Feeling the need to escape the conversation, Nesta made a move to leave. "I should get back to -- "

"Nesta, wait," Elain interjected quickly, her expression turning earnest. "Won't you stay for tea? It's been a while since we all sat down together." Her hand dropped to rest on Nyx's shoulder. "We really should catch up."

Nesta's eyes swept the room -- this house with its layers of memories, the shelves lined with snapshots that narrated a life where everyone was content, perhaps even better off, in her absence.

With a dry chuckle, Nesta gestured at their surroundings. "I think I'm all caught up, thanks."

Elain's expression faltered. "Nesta, that's not fair," she said as a flicker of hurt crossed her features. “I’m sorry I never got around to returning your calls. But -- ”

Nesta's gaze hardened. "Are you?" she countered, her voice low but sharp. "Everyone here seems quite happy have their entire lives subsumed by Rhysand Starborn."

Elain frowned. "Please Nesta, it's not like that," she began, but Nesta cut her off.

"I can't have this conversation right now." Nesta turned towards the hallway, her movements brisk.

She needed space, air -- something to clear the tightness building in her chest.

"Where is Aunt Nesta going?" She heard Nyx ask behind her.

But Nesta didn't stop. She looked for the nearest exit -- a pair of French doors that took her back onto the house's sweeping lawns.

She walked towards the water's edge, taking in the midday light, calming her thundering heart. She did not understand herself, why she couldn't bear the hurt in Elain's eyes, why she always felt the need to retreat into herself whenever her sisters were around.

---

Eventually, Nesta took the long way around the grounds of the River House, back towards the conservatory. Feyre was already speaking with a young female reporter when Nesta found them sitting on a pair of Adirondack chairs on the crest of a gentle hill overlooking the Sidra.

She gave them some space as they finished the interview.

"We corresponded over email earlier," Nesta said as she introduced herself to the reporter, reaching out to shake her outreached hand.

The young woman beamed in recognition. "Ms. Archeron," she said.

"Do you have everything you need?"

The reporter nodded. "It's been an absolute pleasure, Mrs. Starborn," she said to Feyre, putting away her voice recorder.

"Do you mind sending us a copy of the story before it goes to print?" Nesta asked.

The reporter's smile never faltered. "Of course," she replied and picked up her bag. "Someone from the paper may reach out later for fact checking."

"You have my contact information," Nesta answered as the reporter shook Feyre's hand goodbye.

When they were alone, Nesta asked, "How did it go?"

"Fine, I think," Feyre replied, her voice wary. "I am just relieved it's over."

"Don't worry," Nesta said. "We'll get a chance to correct the article before it comes out."

Feyre reclined in her chair. "Can you sit with me for a while?"

Nesta flinched. "Feyre," she answered, feeling the tightness building in her chest again. "I have to get back to work."

Feyre looked up at her, her blue-gray eyes shuttered. "Oh," she breathed. "Of course. Sorry to keep you," her voice turning oddly formal, "Thank you for coming today."

---

Nesta threw herself into her work for the rest of the afternoon, finding a quiet refuge in the familiar demands of her tasks. By the time she returned to the House of the Wind, the sun was a fiery orb hovering low in the sky. The majestic sight of the House, silhouetted against the orange and pink sky, was strangely comforting. But the solitude that awaited her in her room felt overwhelming -- for the first time that day, she did not want to be alone.

She stopped at the front desk to ask for Cassian's room number. With a kind of new-found courage, Nesta took the elevator to his floor.

Cassian opened the door on her third knock.

"Azriel, I thought --," he began, before his voice trailed off, his eyes widening at the unexpected sight of Nesta standing before him.

"Hey," she said, taking him in. Cassian's crisp white dress shirt was casually half unbuttoned, giving a glimpse of the defined muscles of his chest and the intricate whorls of black tattoos that contrasted against his golden skin.

Cassian quickly recovered from his initial shock. "Nesta, I wasn't expecting you," he said, holding his door open wider. "What can I do you for?"

Nesta immediately felt the knot in her chest loosen at the humor in his voice. His eyes were studying her gently. The corners of her lips twitched upwards.

"Run with me?"

---

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