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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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Why Did It Have To Be Me?

Summary: 19-year old Nesta is stuck working with 21-year old Cassian as camp counselors for Windhaven Wilderness Explorers, a summer program that immerses tweens into the Illyrian forests. Will she find a way to address the sizzling tension between them before summer ends?

My first contribution for ACOTAR Writing Circle! Stay tuned with @azrielshadowssing to see who writes part 2 and 3! Also, that is an ABBA song reference in the title :)

Read: AO3 | 2.7k words | Mature | Modern AU

Being a Windhaven Wilderness Explorer counselor for the summer had been a way to make money. Nesta didn’t mind working with tweens; they had a wicked sense of humor, were old enough to take care of themselves to some extent, and were generally excited to be away from home. She liked being outdoors, liked exhausting her body so that sleep came deeply in the hot summer night.

What Nesta didn’t like was having to deal with her coworkers. Well, only one coworker in particular. Camp director Devlon had paired them up as counselor partners. The first week had just wrapped up, but Nesta didn’t know how she’d make it through the next three.

21-year old Cassian grated on her nerves from the moment she laid eyes on him in ways Nesta could not quite describe. Maybe it was because he was mind-bogglingly good at everything.

Foraging for wild herbs? Cassian knew the trails like the back of his hand. “You’re going the wrong way, Nes!” he had called out yesterday. Nes. That awfully grating nickname he’d given her the day they’d met.

Catching fish? The stupid fish seemed to flock to Cassian’s fish hook, while Nesta was left standing knee deep in the stream for half an hour without a single tug on the line. “Come over here!” Cassian had beckoned her over. And when she still failed to snag anything, he teased her, saying, “maybe they’re scared of your feet.”

“Says the one with hairy toes,” Nesta had bit back.

Starting fires? Nesta was still trying to strike a flint by the time Cassian had a toasty blaze going, rubbing it in her face by toasting marshmallows on a stick. “Ladies first,” he had said with a grin, offering her the first s’more.

Maybe it was because he was infuriatingly endearing with the kids.

They clamored for his campfire stories, always sought him out for wilderness advice, and wanted to be his buddy for the day. It made sense, given the number of jokes Cassian cracked and the broad smile he wore on his face 24/7.

Maybe it was because he was attractive, and Nesta knew she couldn’t have him.

With his roughly chiseled features, piercing hazel eyes, chestnut-browned skin, tall and muscled build, Cassian looked every bit the rugged wilderness ranger. Nesta preferred guys with shorter hair, but there was something about Cassian’s shoulder length black waves that had her imagining what it would feel like to run her hands through it.

Of course Nesta couldn’t have him. First off, hooking up with a colleague would be a HR dumpster fire and drama waiting to happen. Second off, as the ambitious and career-driven first-born of the Archeron family, Nesta didn’t need the tattered remnants of a summer fling weighing her down during the school year.

Whatever it was, being around Cassian put Nesta on edge, as if she was a vibrating violin string that had been stretched taut and plucked. His teasing eye contact often lingered a second too long, electrifying the air with newfound tension. Their scathing repartee had the kids giggling and whispering. And his winning smiles and smirks stripped her bare at every interaction, which was why Nesta preferred to keep her distance.

Nature hikes were an easy way to avoid Cassian, since he took the lead while Nesta was positioned at the rear. Their troop had stopped for lunch in a small clearing. Dappled sunlight filtered past the tree canopy, and a small stream gurgled nearby. Nesta bit into her slightly squished sandwich and munched on a crisp apple.

Cassian sat across from her, smiling and chatting with the kids. She had to admit, the way he listened attentively to their stories and chatter softened her stubborn heart.

After some time, a kid asked, “who’s your favorite person in this group, Cassian? Can I be your favorite?”

“Aw, I don’t pick favorites,” Cassian said, but he gave Nesta a crooked grin that made her stomach flip-flop.

“Do you go to school, Cassian?” one of the kids asked.

“I do go to school,” he smiled, and it was begrudgingly endearing. “Just like you.”

“Where?”

“Velaris University, with Nes.” Cassian jerked his chin in her direction. Nesta blinked. Cassian didn’t have social media (she’d checked the first day) so she didn’t know much about his personal life. But how could she have missed his swaggering persona on campus?

“You do?” she asked, surprised. “What do you study?”

“Environmental science,” Cassian replied, hazel eyes level with her blue-gray ones. As if he was conveying they’d met before. Environmental science, environmental science. Nesta wracked her brains for any possibility of class overlap with political science, but found none.

She realized she was staring at him a tad too intensely when their group of kids began giggling. “What’s so funny?” Nesta asked.

“Nessian,” a girl supplied. The kids’ eyes gleamed with mischief as they made little hearts with their hands. “It’s what we’ve been calling you two.”

“Nessian, huh?” Cassian smirked at her. “It does have a nice ring to it.”

***

The next day, Nesta sought out Emerie for a post-lunch walk because she was feeling especially vexed. The mosquitos would be having a field day with her nylon shorts and t-shirt, but she was too hot to care. Nesta hurled an acorn as hard as she could against a tree.

“Well, what did the tree ever do to you?” Emerie sighed audibly. “Or is it Cassian again?”

“Did you hear how he annoyingly picked out which birds were singing during the dawn chorus this morning?” Nesta demanded, throwing another acorn. Bird watching was—yet another—one of Cassian’s specialties. The man could identify the species, whether it was male or female, adult or juvenile, with a simple glance. No binoculars needed.

“Um, Nesta…I think he was just being helpful and answering questions,” Emerie gently suggested. “The kids were asking him, after all.”

Nesta gritted her teeth, not wanting to admit that fine, maybe she was a bit biased. “I’m trying to listen to the birds, not his loud ass voice,” she ranted. “I swear, if Devlon pairs us together for the second camp session in July I’m going to pitch a fit.”

Emerie was silent.

“And have you heard what the kids are calling us? Nessian. Nessian?”

“I mean…they do ship the two of you,” Emerie pointed out. “Let’s be honest, Nesta. You and Cassian would make a great pair.”

“Insanity. Can you imagine me with someone who is so damn cheerful all the time?” Nesta protested. “Like what is there to smile about at five in the morning? If I have to see his stupidly perfect mouth again—”

Emerie grabbed Nesta’s arm, squeezing it forcefully. In the midst of her complaining, Nesta failed to hear Cassian come up behind them.

She recognized him by his rounded muscles and toned abdomen, shown off by his blank tank top tucked into tan cargo pants. His standard backwards baseball hat, that kept his wild black hair in place. But the devastation in his expression—that was something new. Nesta’s stomach plummeted. Oh fuck, he definitely heard her shit-talking him.

“You left this in the mess hall,” Cassian said, his words sounding far away, as if Nesta was underwater. He held up her crimson fanny pack. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but stare at how his trademark openness faded by the second.

“Oh, thank you Cassian!” Emerie chirped with forced levity. She quickly bounded over to take the pack from Cassian.

Cassian’s hazel eyes were still fixed on Nesta, though his mouth even tightened with a forced, awkward smile. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you both later.” Nesta could only watch in silence as he turned and walked away, unable to stop him.

***

Out of all the social faux-pas…Nesta may have committed the worst one yet. Well, technically there were worse things out there. Like maybe talking smack about a manager in an email sent to everybody in the company. Or accidentally having a NSFW tab open on her phone browser. Still, Nesta felt like sinking into the ground and disappearing forever whenever she replayed Cassian’s hurt expression.

It was the weekend, so they didn’t have any scheduled activities with the kids. Still the camp was small enough that Cassian had to have been purposefully avoiding her for the rest of the day. She hadn’t seen him at all. Nesta tossed and turned in her bed, fretting. If he continued to avoid her, how would she find the dignity to face him on Monday?

“Where are you going?” Emerie asked when Nesta got up. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I need to make things right with Cassian,” Nesta grumbled. “I can’t sleep. Where is his cabin?”

“Cabin 23,” Emerie replied, engrossed with the videos she was watching on her phone. “He shares it with Tarquin.”

Fireflies drifted lazily along the edge of the forest, crickets chirped into the hot night air. The summer constellations glimmered up above, keeping watch over all the earth’s inhabitants. But Nesta barely noticed the beauty of the night as she stalked across camp, trying to think of what to say.

She found Cassian’s cabin rather easily and regretted wearing a thin white tank top and sleep shorts. Not because she was self-conscious of her full curves. If any mischievous kids were sneaking out, they would assume she was there to hook up with Cassian.

The prospect of hooking up with him still made Nesta zone out for a good five seconds. She did describe his mouth as “stupidly perfect” earlier. Hopefully Cassian was too caught up with her calling him annoying to remember her saying such things about his mouth.

She hesitated. What if Cassian was hooking up with someone else? The thought of him tangling with some amorphous other counselor added a shot of unreasonable jealousy to the mixture of nerves bubbling in her stomach.

“Nes.”

She jumped. “Fucking hell, Cassian, you scared me.” Cassian stepped out of the shadow, his arms crossed.

“What are you doing here? Coming to sing praises about me, or see what my stupidly perfect mouth can do?” His voice was bland, almost cold. Ah, shit. So he did hear every single word she said.

“Don’t be crude,” Nesta snapped, then softened her face. Not a good start to their conversation. “I came here to talk.”

Cassian glanced at the door. “Tarquin’s asleep,” he replied. “If you want to talk, follow me.”

Nesta jogged to catch up to him as he stalked towards the edge of the forest. “Emerie knows I went to find you, you know. So if you plan on murdering me, you won’t get away so easily,” she reminded him.

Cassian chuckled darkly. “Believe me, I wouldn’t try to mess with you, Nes. Those elbows of yours look pretty lethal to me.” He walked several yards into the woods and stopped. It was now or never, and Nesta could only pray to the Mother that she didn’t butcher her delivery.

Nesta folded her arms across her chest and leaned against a tree, trying to decipher Cassian’s neutral expression. He stood roughly three feet away from her, holding himself with a tense stillness as moonlight shimmered on his dark, wavy hair. “About what happened this afternoon. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Cassian tilted his head to the side. Assessing her in a closed off manner. “I’d rather you just tell me what you really think of me, than hearing you apologize and keep your feelings bottled up.”

“I don’t need a therapist, thank you very much,” Nesta said dismissively.

“Let’s see…you don’t like it when I ID the birds,” Cassian held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “You think I smile too much. If you needed me to be grumpier in the morning, all you had to do was ask. What else?”

“Gods, why do you care so much about what I think?” Nesta sniped back. She took a step forward, close enough to touch his chiseled body if she wanted to. “You have enough swaggering confidence for the whole camp and then some.”

“Because I like you,” Cassian replied with a simple shrug, not missing a beat.

Nesta was taken aback. Impossible, she wanted to say. But looking back, Cassian had always gone out of his way to greet her, to be around her, to help her out. And she’d interpreted it as him being annoying and patronizing. Because she didn’t want to deal with a summer romance, and feared humiliation if Cassian didn’t like her back.

Cassian’s shoulders and arms were now relaxed, but Nesta noticed the still-guarded look in his eyes. And the faint glimmer of hope, as if her sharp words and baleful stares could not squash out that small spark. This was a man who wouldn’t be cowed by her prickly exterior, who held her in high regard for some unfathomable reason, she realized.

“Why?” Cassian leaned closer, his eyes distractedly focused on her lips. Nesta self-consciously licked them.

“Why would I tell you that, when you don’t even like me?” He smirked, scanning her moon-washed face.

Heat seemed to bloom on Nesta’s cheeks and in the space between their bodies. Seemingly realizing just how close he was to her, Cassian took a step back, the desire in his eyes cooling away. But Nesta wouldn’t have it. Not when he was so close, touching her already.

She grasped his stubbled jaw in her hands and brought him down for a kiss.

Why didn’t I do this earlier, was the first realization that came to mind. The second realization was of how warm and surprisingly gentle his mouth was as it pressed against hers. Fire stirred in Nesta’s heart, flooding her body with burning desire.

Cassian pulled away, his face dumbstruck, his chest heaving hard. Nesta felt like a ball had gotten stuck in her throat, for she was equally speechless, unsure of what to say and how to proceed.

I kissed Cassian, she thought. Holy shit, I kissed Cassian.

“Interpret that as you wish,” she forced out, lips still tingling with the phantom imprint of his full mouth.

To Nesta’s surprise, Cassian placed a hand at the curve of her hip, pulling her closer. “I’ve never seen your hair down like this,” he murmured distractedly, tucking a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear. His hazel eyes darkened as Nesta placed a hand on his chest, not to push him away, but to rove over his chiseled body. She raised her head in silent affirmation.

Half a second later, Cassian had his mouth on hers again, pushing her up against the tree. His lips fit hers perfectly, and his breath tasted like minty toothpaste when her tongue ran along his teeth. Rough bark scraped along Nesta’s back, but she could hardly care about the risk of a splinter when Cassian’s entire body was slanted against hers.

“Nesta,” he groaned, and she relished the shape of her full name falling from his lips. “Nesta, you’re perfect.”

His rough hands traced the hem of her tank top, sparking electricity under Nesta’s skin. She moaned in encouragement when his fingers slipped under the fabric, then higher, and higher. Nesta arched her back as they broke apart. Her hands fisted in his hair, and it was soft and silky like she’d imagined. Cassian dipped his head down, peppering kisses along her collarbone, his stubble sending the most delicious sensations down her spine.

Gods, maybe she shouldn’t have worn a bra under her tank top. Not when she wanted Cassian to knead her full breasts, assuaging the sensitive ache that grew with each kiss he pressed against her neck.

Nesta needed more. The fire within her didn’t have to be quelled, as she had been trying to do for the past two weeks, it needed to be embraced. And Cassian’s attention was kindling. She was incandescent. She was weightless. She was—

“Shit,” Nesta gasped, pulling away. What the hell was she doing? “We can’t be doing this.”

Cassian loosened his grip on her, but his eyes still simmered with desire. “Why?” he rasped.

“Because! We’re coworkers. And someone could see us.”

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #nesta x cassian #summer camp au #modern au #nessian fic #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar writing circle

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hlizr50 · 11 months

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Men pay a lot of money to get their name into Gwyn's exclusive black book - enough that, with careful planning, she's putting herself through law school debt-free. Once she's graduated, she can retire the high heels and little black dresses and get to work in the pursuit of justice that she and her sister never received.

Azriel Singer's profile intrigues her, with a smile that never shines in his eyes and a delectable body. But will his attitude get in the way of any future potential?

Welcome to the ACOTAR Writing Circle!!!

This is part 1! Part 2 will be posted in 2 weeks, and Part 3 in two weeks after that! I can't wait to see where this story goes!

Thank you @azrielshadowssing for organizing this event yet again! And thanks to @headcanonheadcase and @mystical-blaise for your feedback!

Now, without further ado, here is part one of a new Gwynriel AU:

I Choose Who. I Choose You.

Read on AO3 or read the chapter below!

Gwyn squinted at her computer screen before rubbing her eyes to see if that would help the blurry words come into focus. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep - not since her shitty roommate had weaseled away the cash they’d set aside for rent. She’d had to work later and longer than she was used to over the previous week to make sure she still had a roof over her head. And now that she was occupying the small apartment solo, she would have to adjust her scheduling.

The copper-haired law student mentally ticked through the list again: twice as much for rent, internet, electric, water. She’d already nixed the cable, mourning the loss of SVU and Grey’s, but she would just have to cope. For the past year or so, she’d been able to get away with reserving Friday and Saturday nights for her work. Now she was going to have to expand that to Thursday or Sunday – maybe both. She’d just have to see how business was.

Only three more semesters. She could hang up her thigh-high boots and tiny dresses and insane push-up bras after that.

In spite of the judgment from society at large, Gwyn wasn’t ashamed of being an escort. When she’d been attacked, sex had been used as a weapon against her. It had consumed her; filling her with pain and guilt and shame. After she took control of her body again, there was only power. When she performed sex acts by her own free will, it was liberating. And nothing was more empowering than using it all to put herself through college and law school, after which she could exact the justice that she and her sister never received.

She chose who. She chose when. She chose how much.

If she didn’t want to fuck, she didn’t. If she didn’t get a good feeling from a guy, she wouldn’t even go meet him. She ruthlessly investigated the men looking to make it into her little black book, and only a few made the cut each week.

Gwyn worried her bottom lip as she read the same line of text about patent law for what had to be the seventh time. More work meant more internet sleuthing and social media stalking, which would take up time during the days that she would like to keep reserved with her schoolwork.

It was going to be a grind, but it would be better than a thieving roommate and her skeevy hookups. And the rent was still cheaper than anything else she’d find in the city.

With a muttered curse she snapped her laptop closed, choosing to abandon schoolwork when it was obvious that she would not be retaining any knowledge. Instead, she plopped down on the well-loved sofa with her cell phone and her tablet, determined to be at least somewhat productive. As soon as she tapped the button that would lead to what she called her ‘dashboard’, a familiar ding notified her of a text. She set the tablet down and grabbed the phone, eyeing the message bubble.

Nesta: Come out tonight?

Gwyn groaned, relieved that her best friend wasn’t there to hear and, therefore, admonish her for the reaction. She knew Nesta meant well, and that she wanted Gwyn to go out and enjoy all the things the buzzing city life had to offer a mid-to-upper twenty-something woman like herself. And the law student would admit that she always had a good time when she obliged Nesta and Emerie.

But, in spite of what she did for a living, being out in the unpredictable night made her nervous. She was always vigilant, to the point where it had to grate on the people around her, not to mention any of the service staff who had the unfortunate luck of dealing with her idiosyncrasies.

At least she was a generous tipper.

And now, with the rise in her expenses, Gwyn found herself yet another excuse to keep herself cloistered and safe behind the locked door of her apartment.

Gwyn: Can’t tonight. School stuff.

Okay, so a little white lie here and there wasn’t the worst thing she could do.

Nesta: BOO

Gwyn laughed as she thumbed her response.

Gwyn: Text me when you get home. Gwyn: Or a photo of the sorry sap you’re going home with and an address. Gwyn: And then text me when you get THERE. Gwyn: And then text me in the morning. Nesta: YES, MOM

She played into the bit, sending her a kissy emoji along with a message to “make good choices”, before turning her attention back to her tablet. If school wasn’t happening, then she’d use this valuable time for recon on her newest submissions.

And the photos that greeted her were, on the whole, quite impressive.

Tamlin Green. Tarquin Summers. Jaxon Vanserra.

She didn’t even open the Vanserra file. Instead her nose crinkled as she grimaced and immediately declined. Even if he wasn’t directly related, Nesta’s sister Feyre was close to a Lucien Vanserra who had the same fiery hair. Lucien was on-again/off-again with Nesta’s other sister, Elain. That potential connection was just too close, the prospect of meeting awkwardly at a holiday a little more likely than Gwyn cared to accept.

Tarquin Summers looked delectably exotic, with a brilliant smile that promised trouble. It was exactly that kind of vow that sent the law student digging into the profile he’d created, and she was not disappointed.

Summers was pretty young to own a company, the result of the passing of his father, whose private jet had crashed a few years prior. His leadership must still be solid, in spite of his age, because the hydro-power startup was thriving, and winning the hearts of environmentalists everywhere. Gwyn found his focus on the climate quite attractive.

What was also quite attractive was the way the man wore a three-piece suit. With his white-blonde braids pulled back from his face and his chocolate skin an incredible contrast against his crisp white collar and tan vest, with matching pants that were tailored to perfection and definitely highlighted that he had… a lot to work with downstairs.

That picture of a shirtless Tarquin Summers at the gym was quite a selling point, as well.

Gwyn returned to her home screen and opened another app, quickly transferring his information into it and submitting the background check. If everything came back on the up and up, she might just get to trace those washboard abs with her tongue.

With a satisfied hum, she returned to her dashboard and opened the file for Tamlin Green, even though the long, golden hair and too-perfect face screamed frat-boy with daddy’s money and nary a consequence in the world. Green was a looker, and he obviously knew it. He was older than Summers, his emerald eyes colder and more calculating, and Gwyn knew it wasn’t just because Tamlin simply had more experience with the real world and the hell that it could be.

Tamlin Green was the heir of an oil tycoon. Old money. Ruthless money. Where Tarquin was an industry upstart with a passion for conservation and paying fair and livable wages, Tamlin had been groomed by a long legacy of greed and profit at any cost.

Against her better judgment, Gwyn typed the first and last name into her search engine. She knew the background check for Tamlin would likely come back as pristine as his Crest-commercial smile. For serial troublemakers like him – with rich, influential fathers – Gwyn would stoop to scrolling through social media and internet news and gossip sites. Unfortunately, more often than not, those salacious stories were closest to the truth.

It took longer than she expected to find the questionable stuff – props to his family’s public relations staff – but when her finger fell on the article link, she didn’t need to read beyond the headline.

GREEN OIL, FORMER EMPLOYEES REACH SETTLEMENT Twelve women who accused Green golden boy of sexual harassment and stalking receive $125 million

The copper-haired student gave a disapproving tsk as she closed her browser and declined Tamlin Green’s application. While she was smug that the women who brought the lawsuit had come away with a significant sum for their trouble, to men like Tamlin $125 million was merely pocket change; a minor inconvenience for them to keep behaving badly.

A contented sigh escaped between Gwyn’s lips. Tarquin seemed promising, and tomorrow she would reach out to schedule a meeting to discuss wants and needs and expectations and compensation. But until then, perhaps she could–

Another face appeared before she could close the app, and she was met with the intense hazel stare of what could quite possibly be the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on. Even though it was just an uploaded photo, Gwyn felt like he was peering straight into her soul.

“Azriel Singer,” she tested the name in her mouth and found that she quite liked the way it fell from her lips. With hair that was somehow both perfect and disheveled and heavy dark ink peeking out from the unbuttoned collar of the navy henley he wore, this man screamed sex appeal. His grin was lopsided, and didn’t reach his eyes, but that didn’t make him any less tempting.

Brooding and mysterious? Sinfully sexy with a tormented past? Laughing to herself, she opened his profile and application. Gwyn was making him the main character in her own romance book before she knew anything about him at all.

Azriel Singer was a tech genius, specializing in cybersecurity, and was responsible for protecting the assets of Velaris, Inc. He also contracted his security services to other big name companies, and his programming prowess and talent for layered protection strategies made him worth every penny he invoiced. Unlike Summers and Green, Azriel Singer didn’t appear to be one for the public eye, and when he did venture out into the city, it was in the company of his two fraternity brothers.

When he did venture out into the city, he looked sexy as fuck.

Azriel was tall and muscular, but a little leaner than Tarquin. The attached gym photos weren’t shirtless, but they didn’t have to be with the way that the tank was practically painted onto his skin. The tattoos ran over his chest and shoulders, tapering off like tendrils of smoke as they snaked down his arms and up his neck, and for a moment Gwyn wondered if they signified anything.

She also wanted to touch them.

With her fingertips and her lips and her tongue and…

The redhead shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She was never like this – drooling after a man she’d never met. She was supposed to be the stoic one, the hard-to-get one. She had the power. These men were panting after her, not the other way around.

But there was something about the way that his eyes seemed dark and never glinted with mirth that made her want to know more. It made her want to understand whatever he might have suffered and help him shoulder the burden. Perhaps it was that younger, broken version of herself that felt so pulled to someone else who was cracked and imperfect underneath the veneer of beauty and wealth.

And even though she had Tarquin, with his mischievous grin and laughing eyes and perfect physique, in her queue, it was Azriel Singer who received her invitation.

Good evening, Azriel Thank you for reaching out. I would like to meet with you to further discuss what you’re looking for. Could we meet at Sevenda’s on Main on Saturday afternoon? I’m available between 2pm and 5pm. Looking forward to meeting you. Gwyneth

She had only just opened her reading app when she received a reply.

2pm at Sevenda’s works for me. See you there. A. Singer

~~~

Azriel Singer was… quiet.

And, if she were honest, a bit of an ass.

He sat across from her, arms folded across his broad chest, wearing a frown. And for the life of her, Gwyn couldn’t figure it out. She knew she was attractive, and he had been the one to submit an application and agree to meet. So what was his problem?

“Listen, I don’t know if you were put up to this or have had a change of heart. But you clearly don’t want to be here, so maybe we should just part ways and call it a good try.” She shrugged as she hit him with some truth. It never bothered her if compatibility turned out to be an issue – that’s why they had these meetings. Might as well be as upfront as possible and get it over with.

The tall, unfairly handsome man across the table snorted. “Didn’t think I’d ever find an escort turning down money.” Annoyance flared to life, spiking her pulse, but she kept it cool and let her grin curve into something feline.

“You’re not the only man in my book, Azriel Singer,” she purred. His eyes grew cold. Calculating and hard.

“Of course not. How many men do you have on the docket tonight? Or is there a corner you prefer?”

Gwyn cocked an eyebrow, her ire simmering just below the surface. “That seems particularly judgmental considering you’re the one who requested my services.”

“My brothers suggested I try something to get a girl out of my system. A one-time thing. What’s your excuse?” he seethed.

In one surprisingly graceful move, she looped her arm through the handle of her purse and rose from the table. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Mr. Singer, but I’m going to humor you,” she explained curtly, stepping around her chair and pushing it in. She waved down a waiter and handed him her card before turning her burning gaze back on the man whose eyes flickered back. “I chose this profession, because I did not always have that choice. I choose who. I choose when. Nobody else. And that is power.” The server returned, and Gwyn furiously signed her name on the dotted line and gave him a radiant smile and a thank you.

“Have a lovely evening, Mr. Singer,” she hissed, “and you’re welcome for the drinks.”

And with that she stalked off, intent on messaging Tarquin Summers as soon as she returned to her apartment.

#acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #acotar #gwynriel au #escort!gwyn #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel fic #fanfiction #fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar au

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foundress0fnothing · 1 year

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When It Rains—Part 3

This is the final update for When It Rains as part of the ACOTAR Writing Circle. You can find part 1 by @headcanonheadcase here and part 2 by @sunshinebingo here.

Thanks to @azrielshadowssing for organizing this incredible event!

Sorry for the late evening update—I was without wifi in rural Kentucky this weekend 🫠

Please note the rating change--this gets smutty!

Read on AO3!

Gwyn was not too proud to admit that she had fantasized about kissing Azriel for almost as long as she had known him.

In her mind, their first kiss had gone a lot of different ways: after a heartfelt profession of love in the pouring rain, as a secret liaison out of sight in the kitchen during one of their friend group game nights, and—after going on a Spider-Man movie binge with Nesta and Emerie—with Azriel hanging upside down somehow. Which, in Gwyn’s opinion, would make him more like a bat than a spider, but that was neither here nor there. Probably.

And yet despite all her fantasies, she had not imagined that their first kiss would be in the middle of the night on their annual camping trip, with both of them half-naked and packed into a sleeping bag together. At least there was rain, she supposed.

But as she savored the feeling of his lips on hers, tentative and tender—and as Azriel kissed her back—Gwyn knew that she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

But she wanted to see his face, wanted to hear him say her name, wanted to confirm that he too felt the magic of this kiss. So she broke away, pulling back to better see him.

Azriel opened his eyes slowly, as if he were trying to hold on to the moment before it slipped away. Lips slightly parted, he let his eyes drink her in, wandering lower and lower until they stalled where his hoodie hit her upper thigh. She could feel the heat of his gaze searing her skin and wondered for a panicked moment if he could tell she was bare underneath the black fabric. His eyes snapped back up to hers, the air between them suddenly electric, and Gwyn was sure he knew. But he only made a low sound in his throat and said, “Fuck, I love you in my clothes,” before cupping her face, his hand stretching from her temple to her chin, and drawing her in for another kiss.

While the first kiss had been curious and sweet, this was something much different—hungry and feverish and insisting—and Gwyn found herself wondering, hoping even, that perhaps Azriel had been wanting this as long as she had.

Breathing raggedly, this time Azriel was the one to pull back, although he kept his hand on her face, chuckling softly under his breath. Gwyn narrowed her eyes at him. “Something funny, Azriel?”

“No, I’m—I’m not laughing at you. Or us. Or this. It’s just that—“ he smiled, the left corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “I think I’ll need a new ‘never have I ever.’”

Gwyn rolled her eyes at that, although she too started smiling. “I don’t think we need to keep playing anymore.”

“No, I think we do,” Azriel said, moving his hand lower so he could capture her chin and better tilt her face up to his. “Everything I say seems to get turned on its head with you. And I’d like that to keep happening.” He kissed her, light and teasing.

“You sound a little too sure of yourself there, Azriel.”

“Well, Berdara, you haven’t proven me wrong yet.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Never have I ever met a more infuriating person than you.”

Azriel hummed and raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Gwyn said primly, although she couldn’t help the smile that broke across her face.

She marveled then that she might get to have this—might get to have Azriel as both her friend and her partner, someone to laugh with and kiss and tease and love, all in one. It seemed almost too good to be real.

And Gwyn knew—she knew—that it was, and that he was feeling this as strongly as she, but she wanted to hear him say it anyway. “This isn’t just a game to you, Azriel, right? Not just trying to beat me at never-have-I-ever?”

His mouth settled into a serious line, although Gwyn could still catch hints of mirth from their banter lighting his eyes. “Does it feel like a game, Gwyneth?”

She smiled. “No?”

“No,” Azriel confirmed. “Not a game. Not with you.”

There was a beat of silence, neither of them quite sure what came next.

Gwyn decided to break the stalemate. “I’ve liked you for a long time, Az.”

She was expecting him to answer in kind, to tell her that he had also been pining after her since they met three years ago, to use their mutual vulnerability to steal another kiss, to let his hands start to wander while he kissed her, to—but Azriel interrupted her fantasies of a grand romantic moment, saying instead, “Mmmm no, I don’t think that’s true.”

Gwyn blinked at him. “You don’t think it’s true…that I’ve liked you for a long time?”

“I don’t. And do you want to know why, Gwyn?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s because you said you loved me.” He quoted her: “Never have I ever kissed someone whom I have loved for years.” Azriel smiled at her almost smugly, eyes challenging.

Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

Gwyn blinked at him, not trusting herself to say anything yet. Did she love him? Yes. How could she not? Azriel was unfairly hot, and she had eyes after all. He was also the person who always made her laugh. And that was perhaps even more important.

But was she ready to tell him that—that she loved him—today? Right after their first kiss, like this? Fuck no.

Hoping that her hesitation hadn’t been too noticeable, Gwyn forced a laugh and said, “Well…uh…I…I must have gotten confused about the never have I ever rules,” she babbled. “Can never remember if you say something that’s true or not, you know—the wording is confusing, and—”

But Azriel didn’t buy it. “I thought we weren’t playing games, Berdara.”

She blanched. “I’m not playing games. I just—” she paused, trying to find the right words. “I just didn’t want to tell you so soon. Or like this.”

“But you do? Love me?”

Gwyn nodded and whispered, “I do.”

He smiled widely at that, the expression more open and joyful than anything Gwyn had seen on his face before. “So how would you have told me? If it were up to you?”

“Do you think I’m that insane? Trying to plan out everything?” Gwyn retorted, choosing to ignore the romantic plans for their evening she had been making a few moments earlier.

Azriel knew her too well. “Don’t you?”

At that, Gwyn decided the only acceptable response was no response at all, and she jokingly turned her head away with all the dignity she could muster.

But Azriel didn't let the silence linger long, only laughing slightly at her stubbornness before admitting, “I’ve planned it, Gwyn. How I would tell you that I loved you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she turned back to face him. “You—what?”

“I’ve been planning how I’d tell you that I love you since I first saw you in our campsite three years ago.”

“Your campsite?” The groups had never resolved who was at fault for the site mix-up, and so arguments like this had long been a staple of their gatherings.

Azriel scowled. “Is that really the detail you want to focus on right now?”

Gwyn kissed him lightly on the nose. “No. Please continue. I want to hear more about how you’ve been chickening out of telling me that you loved me for three years,” she teased.

“Like you haven’t been doing the exact same thing, Berdara.”

“Is that really the detail you want to focus on right now?” Gwyn parroted his own words back at him, looking at him in challenge.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He paused, and then said, all in a rush, “I’ve thought about telling you that I love you every single day for the last three years. I kept trying to find ways that first camping trip—hell, I even stashed my tent in your car after I chickened out all weekend, just for another chance to see you again and get my head out of my ass. And then kept chickening out every day after that. And then everyone started coupling up and the moment never felt right, you know?—I didn’t want you to feel that I only wanted you because it ‘made sense’ for the group. And now it turns out that I didn’t even get to tell you that I love you first—you beat me to it, Gwyn. You were brave first.” His hand, which had settled somewhere around her shoulders, reached back up to cup her face.

Gwyn felt a little dizzy. “You…you mixed up the tents on purpose?”

“I’m sorry—that’s what you’re taking from this?” Azriel looked a little affronted.

“No, no—well, not totally.” Gwyn was quick to reassure him, feeling the fever pitch of his heartbeat underneath her hand that still rested on his chest. “I just—I can’t believe that was you.”

“I was a desperate man, Gwyn.”

She laughed and then narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Are you still? Did you plan all this?”

“Did I plan…all what?”

“I don’t know, tonight—the tent rip, the rain, the shirtlessness.” She reluctantly moved her hand away from him to gesture awkwardly at his body in the close confines of the sleeping bag.

At that, Azriel laughed. “You think I called in a favor with the weather gods to make tonight happen?”

She scowled. “Well, the shirtlessness, at least, has to be intentional.”

“Are you complaining, Gwyneth?” His voice, which had returned to its more normal register after the earlier passion of their kiss suddenly deepend, turned challenging, sensual.

Not to be outdone, Gwyn scooted back as far as she could and looked him up and down, making a big show of ogling the sculpted muscles and intricate tattoos that had been the object of far too many of her daydreams since she first laid eyes on them. God, how she had dreamed of running her hands across his chest, of kissing down it until she reached the line of his pants and the V of his hips and she could finally taste what was underneath.

Caught up in finally indulging herself, Gwyn didn’t notice that her maneuvering had shifted the hoodie up higher on her legs. But Azriel didn’t miss it.

“Well, Berdara,” he said, his voice a little strained, causing Gwyn to snap her eyes back up to his face. Had she offended him with her teasing? But his gaze was once again directed at her legs. “There’s another never have I ever you’ve ruined for me, Berdara.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” He echoed. “I can no longer claim that I’ve never shared a sleeping bag with someone who decided it would be fine if she just took off her underwear.”

Shit. Gwyn glanced down at herself, and, sure enough, the hoodie had risen just high enough that it was clear she wasn’t wearing anything except the hoodie. Not that he could see much from their angle, but still. Her heartbeat raced, and she felt a furious blush color her face. “I—” Fuck, what does one say in this situation? Gwyn certainly didn’t know. “I wasn’t trying to start anything, I promise! It’s just—they were wet.”

“Oh, were they?” The challenging purr was back in his voice.

“Yes.” She paused, then—“From the rain, you pervert.”

He clicked his tongue. “Disappointing.”

“Uh…” Gwyn was still mortified, still didn’t know what to say. Maybe it would be better if she got up now. It couldn’t still be storming, right? Sleeping in a waterlogged tent couldn’t be worse than this, certainly. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to reach her hands between them and yank the hoodie back down.

But Azriel stopped her hands before she could. “I think you misunderstood me. I’m disappointed they were only wet from the rain, not that they’re not there. That, I don’t mind at all.”

Gwyn felt her breath shudder at his words. Her heart was still racing, face still flushing, but for an entirely different reason than before, heat pooling deliciously in her stomach. She found her voice again: “Is that so, Azriel?” She tried to match his purr, to sound as flirty and coy, but she was a little too breathless to pull it off convincingly.

“Mmmm. It is.” He moved her hands to settle around his neck before allowing his own to graze the sides of her waist, moving in slow, tortuous circles. She arched into his touch, desperate for more of the sensation of his hands on her body.

Eyes on hers the whole time, Azriel asked, “If I touched you now, Gwyneth, would you still only be wet from the rain?”

Emboldened by the challenge in his gaze and the ache coursing through her body, Gwyn retorted, “Why don’t you find out, Azriel?”

And that was all the invitation he needed, eagerly slotting his mouth back onto hers with a ferocity that made the passion of their earlier kisses feel embarrassingly chaste. He shifted his weight to the side, moving one hand up to cup her breasts under the hoodie while the other skirted lower and lower until it teased her inner thighs.

Gwyn made a soft sound involuntarily in her throat, spreading her legs wider in invitation.

“‘Eager, Gwyn?” Azriel teased, relinquishing her mouth for just a moment.

“Yes.” She admitted shamelessly—“I’ve been waiting for this for three years, Azriel.”

At that, he grimaced. “Allow me to apologize for my earlier cowardice then.” He captured her mouth again before gently sliding a finger into her soft, wet heat.

“Oh.” Gwyn couldn’t contain her moan as Azriel almost lazily started pumping his finger in and out of her cunt, teasing her clit simultaneously as he did so. “Azriel…”

“That’s right, Gwyn,” he said, voice gruff. “So wet for me, baby. Just like that.”

He slipped another finger inside, hitting a spot that made her see stars for a moment. Her breathing grew heavy as her head swum and she wanted, she needed—

“So perfect, Gwyn, that’s right.” He interrupted her desperate train of thought.

She moaned at his praise and he continued, “Be my good girl, baby. Come on my fingers.”

And Gwyn shattered.

As she came down from the high of her orgasm, she found Azriel still gently teasing her clit, kissing her collarbone as he gazed at her with a self-satisfied grin.

“Do you accept my apology, Gwyn?” He asked between kisses.

No. She did not. Especially not with that look on his face. Narrowing her eyes at him, she said, “I’m not sure. Is that the best you have to offer?”

Azriel’s eyes flared at her challenge. Holding her gaze steadily, he removed his hand from between her legs and brought it up to her mouth, smearing her lips with the evidence of her pleasure. Gwyn almost moaned from the loss of contact and then from the dominance of his action.

“Does it taste like an insufficient apology, Gwyneth?”

God, she wanted more. Gwyn could have guessed that Azriel would be like this in bed—commanding and bossy and far too cocky—but she loved every bit of it, craved more of it.

“Tell me what you want, Gwyn,” he continued, tilting his head down to kiss her and taste the remnants of her orgasm. “Tell me how to make it up to you. Tell me how to show you that I love you.”

“Fuck, Azriel, I—” She groaned as he kept kissing her. “More…I need—more. I want you to fuck me. Now.”

The kisses he was peppering across her lips suddenly renewed in ferocity as he ground himself into her and Gwyn felt the evidence of his arousal, long and hard, through his sweatpants.

Breaking the kiss and sliding back to slip the pants off, Azriel paused in his motions to gaze at her. “Take the hoodie off, Gwyn.”

She did.

“Beautiful.” He breathed out, eyes hungrily tracing the contours of her breasts, of her stomach.

She blushed, then reached up to help him slide his sweatpants off. If he got to look, then so did she.

And oh.

Gwyn knew that Azriel would be big from what she had felt previously. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight of his cock, long and hard and unfairly pretty. Almost unconsciously, she reached her hand out to grasp it, running her thumb through the precum beading at the tip before she started to pump him.

“Christ, Gwyn.” He moaned, breathing ragged. She would have kept going, but he stopped her hand. “Not tonight. Not if you want me to fuck you.”

And she did. “Condom?”

Azriel flung his arm over to his bag, fishing around in an inner pocket until he pulled out a square of shiny foil. “Came prepared,” he said, slightly sheepishly.

“Yes. Good. Perfect.” She panted, deciding that she would tease him about his preparedness in the morning.

Ripping open the package and rolling the condom down his cock, Azriel lined himself up with her entrance and began to slowly push into her. Gwyn’s eyes rolled back in her head—he was so big and she was so full and she needed—“More, Azriel. Fuck me.”

And he did, snapping his hips forward and fucking into her, hard and fast and perfect, and Gwyn thought this might be heaven. She moaned loudly, not caring if the other tents heard her, caught up in the bliss of this moment.

He swallowed her moan with a kiss. “Perfect, baby, yes. Be loud for me, Gwyn, that’s right. I want to hear you.”

“God, yes, Azriel,” Gwyn breathed out.

“Are you going to come on my cock, baby? Fuck, you take me so well.” She was close, her breathing heavy, hands feverish as she tried to snake them between their bodies so she could play with her clit.

“Let me, Gwyn.” Azriel reached between them and began to do it himself, driving her almost to insanity with the overwhelming sensation of him everywhere. “This is my apology after all. Let me do the work.”

She could feel her pleasure rapidly climbing, his hands and his words and his cock almost too much to take. “Azriel, I’m going to—”

And she came with a loud moan, Azriel roaring with his own climax a moment later. The two of them lay there, panting, spent, in each other's arms for a moment.

This time, Azriel was the first to speak. “I love you, Gwyn.”

“ I love you, Azriel.” As they cleaned up and Gwyn snuggled into his chest, she thought that this moment might have been worth the ripped tent and soaked sleeping bag after all.

Gwyn and Azriel did not stumble out of the tent until late the next morning. Hand in hand, blinking in the bright morning sun, they were immediately greeted with raucous applause and catcalls from the group. Even Elain, who normally pretended to be a little more reserved than the rest of the party, gave a shockingly loud wolf whistle.

Gwyn felt her face begin to heat as she realized that everyone—all eight of them—knew exactly what she and Azriel had gotten up to last night.

She almost ducked back into the tent, but Azriel kept a firm grip on her hand and dragged her over to the fire where coffee and breakfast were keeping warm, only relinquishing his grip to pour two cups of coffee after he was certain she wouldn’t flee.

Nesta and Emerie pounced on her immediately. “Fucking finally,” Nesta said. “Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this?”

Gwyn rolled her eyes. “I think that’s a little dramatic, Nesta.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Nope. Not even a little. And I expect you to tell me exactly how it was.” To emphasize her point, Nesta held her hands up facing each other and began to spread them wider. “Just tell me when to stop, Gwyn. I need a sense of what we’re working with.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything, Cassian interrupted from behind them. “What the actual fuck, Nesta? I rip the tent on purpose for you and spend all day feeling bad for little Gwynnie, and this is how you thank me?”

Gwyn whirled on him. “You ripped my tent on purpose?”

He at least had the dignity to look a little ashamed. “I’ll buy you a new one? Not that you need it now, apparently.”

She glared at him.

He smiled defensively. “I just thought you needed a push, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, you thought they needed a push?” Nesta interjected. “It was my idea.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“No, it was my idea,” Feyre said, suddenly joining in the argument. “I mentioned to you months ago that Rhys and I thought Az and Gwyn would make a cute couple.”

“Like hell you did, Feyre—” Nesta began.

As Gwyn fondly watched her friends—her family, really—devolve into an argument, she felt Azriel at her elbow. He handed her a cup of coffee, and she took it, looking up at him. He shrugged at her with a pointed look, much like he always had when the two of them had been the only single ones watching the antics of the couples in the group. She grinned back at him, taking his now free hand and settling it around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head.

It had taken three years for them to get here, and Gwyn wouldn’t change a single thing.

#gwynriel #acotarwritingcircle #acotar writing circle #gwyneth berdara #azriel acotar #acotar au #gwynriel smut #gwyn x azriel

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captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship · 11 months

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Thank you to @azrielshadowssing for organizing this event!! This is my first ever writing circle, and I am so happy I could write for gwynriel first!! It is my first time writing gwynriel, and my first time writing a smutty/steamy scene from scratch, so I hope you all enjoy! See the other amazing works in the writing circle here

Summary: Working as a Spy for the Night Corp has gotten Gwyneth Berdara everything she ever wanted out of life: a group of friends who would die for each other, a chance to make a difference, and a love she only thought existed in fairytales.

Gwyn is undercover in Mayor Beron Vanserra's office to expose the hidden truths about how he came into power. Her true reasons for working at the Mayor's office aren't the only thing she's keeping secret. Her relationship with her supervisor, Azriel, is kept tightly under wraps. If anyone found out, it would change their lives forever. When a masquerade fundraiser poses the perfect setting for her mission to proceed, more than just Beron's secrets are brought to light.

Warnings: NSFW and BDSM themes

~5k words

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Part 2 | Part 3

Gwyn awoke to the fresh rays of morning light caressing her face as they peeked through the open curtain of the bedroom window. Groaning from the early wake up call, she made a move to get out of bed to close them. Before she could even shift towards the light, an arm snaked around her waist and pinned her back to the body laying beside her.

“You know better than to sneak away, Angel,” said a gravelly voice into her ear. Just the sound of his sleep-addled voice was enough to send her whole body into overdrive. She opened her neck up to him, silently pleading for his lips on her skin.

He chuckled at that and whispered, “So greedy for me, aren’t you?”

A shiver of anticipation snaked up her spine at the way his breath caressed her ear. With a soft chuckle, he started kissing his way down her neck, each kiss left a trail of heat and desire in its wake. When he finally reached the junction between her neck and shoulder, he bit down just hard enough to get her blood to boil under her skin. Before she had time to react, he flipped her over so she was caged between his arms, his head so close to hers that his black hair was brushing against the speckled ivory Gwyn’s forehead. Looking up, her teal eyes met his hazel ones and the predatory look he gave her was all Gwyn needed to know that she was not going back to sleep.

Her hand met the back of his neck as she pulled him down in a fervent kiss. Every place their skin met sent shivers down her spine. When they came together it was like a hurricane, powerful and unrelenting. Everything about Azriel consumed her, forged her, and ignited the parts of her that she had never known existed before he came into her life.

Gasping for air, his mouth never left her skin as he made his way slowly down her neck. “Good morning, my love,” she said breathlessly.

His hand found her breast and began to knead it as he made his way back up to her mouth, nipping her earlobe as he whispered, “Good morning.”

She arched into his touch, his breath, his voice. Everything about him set her body into a ravenous, unending hunger. As he pulled his head back to take a look at her, she saw the lust and love and playfulness that only came out around her.

Gwyn had lifted her head to kiss him again when a sound rang out from across the room. Her head unceremoniously flung back down to the pillow as she let out a groan of frustration. Her damn cell phone was going off.

By the second ring, she was trying, and failing, to push Azriel off of her to see what her pain-in-the-ass boss wanted. Gwyn knew it had to be him because no one else would try to call her at 6am except for him.

“I need to grab that,” Gwyn sighed in exasperation. Azriel took her tone as a challenge and pinned her arms to her sides while he kissed down her body slowly.

“Let it go to voicemail,” he said, his voice full of predatory intent at her half-hearted protest.

She sighed again, letting herself succumb to his efforts of convincing her to forgo the call. The sound of phone ringing became little more than white noise as it was overcome by the pounding need flooding her body. The moment it finally stopped ringing, she could feel Az’s smirk from where he was situating himself between her thighs. His face was just inches away from her core. Gwyn tried to wiggle and get him closer to where she really wanted him, but Azriel’s hands held firm while he dipped his face, aiming for the parts of her that were already aching to be touched by him.

Instead, Azriel bit down on the skin above her hip bone hard enough that she let out a yelp. Her eyes met his in protest. With unfiltered lust and dominance, he said, “Only good girls get what they want, Gwyneth. Are you going to be a good girl for me?” She groaned at that, her need to please and be pleased filled her every thought.

“Yes, sir,” she breathlessly pleaded. Azriel’s beautiful face shifted into a knowing look that sent more heat rushing between her legs.

Just as he began lifting her nightgown past her hips, another sound blasted through the space between them. Looks like both of them forgot to turn their phones to silent. He buried his head into her stomach and groaned, knowing that if they were both being contacted it had to be important.

“Stay right here,” he all but growled to her as he stood up and grabbed his phone from its charging spot on the dresser.

“What do you want?” Azriel said as he picked up, letting all of his annoyance lace his every word. He and Rhysand chatted idly back and forth for a few minutes, and all of the lust that had overcome her moments ago vanished with every word. Gwyn sat up and crawled to the edge of the bed to see if she could overhear the conversation.

“I don’t know where she is,” he replied to Rhys but gave Gwyn a mocking smile that made her realize that they were talking about her. “I’ll find her and let her know. See you later, brother.”

He set his phone down and prowled over to where Gwyn sat on her knees at the edge of the bed. Azriel wrapped a light hand around her throat, just enough that he could angle her head so she was forced to look up to him. “I told you not to move, Angel.”

She stepped off of the bed to stand before him before swatting at his wrist, and he ultimately let go. Rising onto her toes, Gwyn kissed his nose, smirking at his annoyance. “And I told you I needed to answer my phone. Apparently neither of us like being told what to do.”

Before he could react, she danced out of his arms and towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for work,” she called out behind her. Feeling his gaze blaze a hole through her back, she threw over her shoulder, “Alone. We will never make it out of here on time if you join me.”

His answering grumble of frustration was all it took to make her laugh as she entered the bathroom and started the shower.

Thirty minutes later, she was clean, her hair dried and styled. Gwyn made her way over to the makeup vanity Azriel had gotten for her. It was set up in front of the floor to ceiling windows of the dressing room, giving her an unobstructed view of Velaris bathed in the glow of the sunrise.

Her teal dressing gown clung to her still damp skin as she sat to begin her makeup. Azriel strode in a minute later, still wet from his shower, and began to get dressed for the day. He picked out his usual black button down and black dress pants. His wardrobe rarely changed, usually only replacing his button down with a black sweater in the colder months. Gwyn couldn’t help but stare unabashedly at Azriel when he dropped his towel, leaving him bare behind her. If they didn’t have places to be, she would sink down in front of him and show him just how much she wanted to see his tie wrapped around her neck instead of his.

Azriel cleared his throat and her eyes darted up to meet his through the mirror. His smirk was full of male pride, giving her a look that seemed to say that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Gwyn bit her lip with the thought of what they would be doing if they could have it their way today.

“My eyes are up here, Angel.” He teased. She couldn’t help the light blush that crept up her neck to her cheeks under his knowing gaze.

“I know,” she retorted. She sent him a look that blazed with the promise of all that she was ready to do to him when they finally had the time together tonight.

Gwyn went back to getting ready, and as she was putting on her finishing touches she sighed with annoyance. Azriel furrowed his brows, and he strode over to stand behind her. His scent - a mix of cedar, mist, and sandalwood- enveloped her. She couldn’t help but lean back into him, close her eyes, and take all of him in.

“What's wrong?” He asked as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

Another annoyed sigh left her lips. “You know those earrings Catrin got me for our birthday? I left them at my apartment and I wanted to wear them today.”

He chuckled. “I told you that you should just move in with me already. You already spend nearly every day here anyways. You even brought Shadow here.” As if she were agreeing with the man behind her, Shadow meowed from her cat tree in the corner of the room.

“I spend every day here because your apartment is 10 minutes away from the Mayor’s office and I have been assigned there for the last month by our oh-so-secretive client. Let me guess, Rhys was calling to confirm our 2pm appointment with him?”

Azriel hummed in agreement as his hands began lazily dragging up and down Gwyn’s arms, her skin pebbling under his touch.

She turned around to face him, and he sat down on the bench beside her. Her head rested on his shoulder as she spoke the next words, “You know why I can’t move in. If our boss found out… they might not let us work together anymore. I want to tell the world about us- you know that, Az. I feel… selfish. For wanting it all. To live with you, to be able to walk into work and kiss you. To be able to hold your hand when we go out with our friends.” Gwyn paused there, her lip quivering with emotion. Sensing the weight that this had on her heart, Azriel did the only thing he could do and held her hand in between his on his lap. “I just don’t want to put all we’ve worked so hard for at risk.”

She finally looked towards him, his gaze tilted downwards towards their clasped hands. “I know, Gwyn. You’re right.” He shook his head and let out a bittersweet laugh. “You’re always right. Even when you’re wrong, you’re right. I’m selfish too. I want to build our life together. I want it all.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them contemplating the difficult path ahead. Finally, Gwyn let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. She went to rest her head onto his shoulder again and whispered, “Do you think…” she swallowed, her fear rising into her throat. “I am willing to risk it. All of it. We deserve to have it all.”

She felt his lips caress the top of her head softly, like a gentle breeze on an early autumn morning. “I am too. I want it all with you, Gwyn. You make me feel… alive. In a way that I have never felt before and I never want to feel again if it isn’t with you.” Her head tilted up to meet his gaze, silver lined his hazel eyes as she joined her lips with his in a soft and promising kiss.

When they finally parted, their foreheads rested on each other in content bliss. Gwyn hated to pop that perfect bubble, but she finally said, “We will tell them all soon. After this mission. If this is the last one we might have with each other, let's go out with a bang.”

Azriel’s gaze bore into hers, spearing her with all of his love and admiration, “It’s a deal, Angel. I’m all yours. From now until the heavens claim us.”

And they sealed their deal with a kiss.

—---

Gwyn entered her office at 7:55am. Setting her own coffee on her receptionist desk, she brushed down her skirt and checked her appearance one last time in the hall mirror before knocking on the looming double doors behind her.

“Enter,” a rough male voice boomed.

Gwyn took a deep breath, plastered on her most convincing fake smile, and opened the door to Beron Vanserra’s office.

“Good morning, sir. I have your coffee for you. It is your usual, of course.” She said cheerily as she strode over to his desk. She made sure that her blouse was low enough cut that he could barely see the lace of her bra peeking out as she bent over to set down his coffee. His eyes glazed over for a moment as she noted him taking in her cleavage.

Target acquired.

Beron Vanserra had been the mayor of Velaris for the last 2 years. As the years went by, any progress that the city had gained by their last mayor, Tarquin Summers, vanished after Tarquin’s untimely death. It was suspected within her circle that Beron was behind Tarquin’s death, but nothing was ever proven. That is, until now. She had copied the last of his encrypted files yesterday, and given the thumb drive to Azriel so he could begin decoding them. The faster she could get the proof to their client, the sooner she would be able to stop working for this misogynistic asshole and go back to her real job.

“Thank you, Gwyneth,” he crooned. Gwyn was sure he thought it was sexy, especially coming from a man in power. But to her, it was just downright creepy.

“You’re welcome, sir,” she said with a bow of her head. He liked his women submissive, meek and soft-spoken. If the next few days go according to plan, he wouldn’t be a pain in her ass anymore. “You have a meeting with Eris at 10am, then a press conference to discuss the opening of the new community center at 1pm. I do have that appointment I mentioned to you before at 2pm today, so Cressida will be taking my place as your assistant for the press conference and the rest of the day. Then we have the masquerade ball fundraiser tomorrow night.”

He nodded along, not really listening to her. His eyes darted down to her breasts every few seconds, as if he thought Gwyn wouldn’t notice. Such a fucking pig.

“Of course, Gwyneth. I want you to get all pampered before the fundraiser. I will have a dress sent to your apartment so you will look… appropriate for the function. Your ticket is on your desk. Have Cressida come in tomorrow so you can spend the time getting ready. I want you looking your best.” He said in a punishing and demanding tone. She’s sure this act must have worked for him before, but he was old enough to be Gwyn’s father. There was no way in hell she was getting within spitting distance of his dick if she had any say in it.

“Thank you sir, I appreciate it.” She bowed her head again in thanks. “I cannot wait. It’s going to be a night to remember.” If all goes well with their plan, it would be the last free one he would have for a while.

“Get to work and I will see you tomorrow, Gwyneth.” He purred at her. This man was a nightmare. The dress he would send to her now empty apartment would probably be extremely revealing, leaving nothing for the imagination. He preferred women to be seen, not heard. Beron even had a god's damned wife who would be on his arm all night. Just the idea of him ogling her in front of Amara made Gwyn sick to her stomach. It had happened enough times during her tenure here than she pitied the poor woman. And she had only been here a month.

“See you tomorrow, sir. Let me know if I can be of further assistance.” She bowed her head once more before leaving. Gwyn let her hips sway a little more in her short pencil skirt, just for an added measure. His gaze coated her skin like oil, and it took everything in her not to shudder.

The more he is focused on your ass, the less he notices that you are plotting his downfall.

She had to keep reminding herself of that.

Approaching her desk, she found an envelope on her keyboard with her name scrawled upon it. She opened it up to find one ticket to the fundraiser and a handwritten note that said, ‘I cannot wait to see you in your dress tomorrow. I have such fun plans for us.’

She let out a shudder of disgust and placed the ticket in her purse so she wouldn't forget, right next to the one she had stolen last week just in case her flirting didn’t work.

The only interaction she had with anyone that morning was when Eris Vanserra arrived for his appointment with his father. Eris was the vice-mayor, and the eldest of Beron’s seven sons. All but his youngest, Lucien, were currently in politics or studying it.

Eris strode over to her desk with the swaggering confidence she suspected any son of Beron’s would possess. He leaned on the wall beside the door to her back, forcing her to yield her position to accommodate him. “Hello, gorgeous. Long time no see.” He said with a knowing smirk.

Eris wasn’t nearly as bad as his father. He was only 7 years her senior- and if she squinted… and took a few shots of tequila, she might even call him handsome. Gwyn had a type, though: tall, gorgeous, broody nerds named Azriel. Eris didn’t fit the bill for 4 out of 5 of those criteria.

“Hi, Eris. It hasn’t been long enough,” she sneered out. Gwyn only had to be nice to Beron, afterall. She already had one foot out the door here, and she didn’t want to keep up the charade any longer than necessary.

“You wound me, Berdara.” He mocked as he tipped his head back and put a palm to his heart in fake anguish. “I was hoping we would be seeing more of each other, not less.”

“In your dreams, Vanserra.” She scoffed. How she wished to yell to the world that she had the sexiest, smartest, and deadliest boyfriend in all of Prythian.

His eyes raked over her outfit and he shot her a smirk, “Did my dad make you wear that or do you just enjoy dressing like a porn star?”

She bristled under his knowing gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Eris. I am dressed perfectly for work.” His smirk only grew, as if he knew something that she didn’t.

Before he could respond, the doors behind him opened, revealing Beron in one of his tempers. Gwyn couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Eris in that regard. No one deserved to be on the short end of Beron’s temper. She had witnessed enough people walking out of his office dejected and broken; a fate she wouldn’t wish upon her worst enemy.

Eris would be his last victim if her mission went according to plan.

—--

By noon, she was finally out of that cesspit of a capital building. With two hours to spare, she decided to wander the Rainbow of Velaris before eventually going to the River House, Rhysand’s base of operations which housed all of the Night Corp. Gwyn was smart, so smart that she graduated top of her class at Velaris University, receiving her Masters in both Comparative Literature and Digital Forensic Engineering. She had started the Valkyrie training program in her Freshman year of college where she met her two best friends, Nesta and Emerie. It was a female empowerment self defense club that combined krav maga, meditation, and an ancient form of fighting called Pankration-courtesy of Gwyn’s fascination with Ancient History. Although it had once been Catrin’s dream to advocate for female empowerment, her death pushed Gwyn to start the Valkyrie Training Program in her honor. Once Gwyn had exhausted all of her knowledge on the subjects, she found a Kinesiology graduate student to help train them in exchange for being subjects for his graduate research. He in turn recruited his brother, a martial arts specialist, to help as well.

And that was how she first met Azriel.

They hated each other at first, always butting heads and arguing on how to combine ancient techniques with Krav Maga. Azriel was also getting a Masters in Computer Engineering at the time, and ultimately was the reason she fell in love with Digital Forensic Engineering. It wasn’t until her Sophomore year of college that she found out what Azriel and Cassian were really in college for. The Valkyrie’s had shifted their training, schoolwork, and lives to join their friends in on their venture. Cassian and Azriel’s other brother, Rhysand, was slated to take it up running it after he graduated. His father, a cruel and wicked man, had left the business to Rhys and his cousin Mor in his will.

Of course, when people mention they’re taking over a family business, they usually mean something like a jewelry shop or a chain of restaurants. Not a multi-million dollar marketing agency that was actually a cover for a multi-billion dollar espionage and assassination institution.

And when she entered college, with her twin Catrin by her side, she did not expect to come out of it a single child and signed on as an espionage consultant to work right under Azriel. Nesta and Cassian danced around each other for a while, but while Nesta was the CFO for the marketing side of the business and Cassian was the head of security for both companies, Nesta ran out of protests and finally decided he was hers. Nesta then introduced everyone to her sister Feyre, who had been going to an art college nestled in the Rainbow. Rhysand was enamored with her ever since. After she ended her toxic relationship with her ex-fiance, she and Rhysand were inseparable. She now worked on an as-needed basis as a graphic designer, art consultant and appraiser. But mainly, she spent her days teaching painting lessons in her art studio in the Rainbow and taking care of their one-year-old son, Nyx.

Once Emerie and Mor took one look at each other they were inseparable. Mor was Rhys’s right hand woman, and the media manager of the Night Corp. Emerie was the only one who needed convincing to join in the venture. She had always wanted to own a small shop selling incense, organic clothing, and eco-friendly products. However, Emerie’s degree in international policy made her an unstoppable negotiator. When she and Mor were sent in to close a difficult deal, they always came out on top. No matter if that meant they signed a contract or had to dump a body bag in the Sidra. She did stay loyal to her roots and opened a small Etsy shop to sell her organic goods.

Everyone managed to get everything they wanted, but it seemed like Az and Gwyn’s futures were as unattainable as ever. Gwyn worked in intelligence and was the top espionage operative in the business, Azriel was her direct supervisor in his role as head of Cyber Security and Intelligence. Falling in love had complicated things and they still couldn’t find a way to make it all work, even after being romantically involved for over a year.

At least being a spy for the Night Corp beats being the secretary for Beron Vanserra any day of the week.

Besides getting to work with her best friends and having “badass” as her unofficial title, she selfishly loved having a cool work nickname. It made her feel like a spy in a cheesy movie. Cassian was the General, Rhys was the High Lord, Azriel was the Spymaster, and Gwyn was the Priestess. What started out as Az’s nickname for her due to her religious upbringing, he said watching her get into the zone was like watching a priestess praying to the Mother. At some point, that nickname went from one of teasing to a term of endearment.

After completing some shopping and stopping at Feyre’s studio to say hi to her and Nyx, she finally made her way to the River House. It was situated along the sidra just a short ten minute walk from Feyre’s studio, just so she could be close in case of an emergency.

As Gwyn reached the penthouse floor of the complex, she was greeted by Nuala and Cerridwen, two of her fellow spies and the receptionists who dealt with their more nuanced clients.

“Afternoon, Ladies!” Gwyn chimed as she strode towards Rhysands office.

“Morning, Gwyn,” the two chimed in unison. It used to bother Gwyn that they were always so in sync with each other, but she bet that truly stemmed from her jealousy over the twins and the bond that they shared. Being close to them helped Gwyn remember the good things about Catrin, not just the bitter end of their connection.

Gwyn came to Rhysand’s sleek black double doors which were open just slightly. She knocked as a courtesy, even though she knew that if his door was ever open like that it meant that anyone could come in without notice.

As she entered the office, Rhys was seated casually behind his desk, and before him lay Azriel. She was grateful neither of them had superhuman hearing, or else they would have heard her heart skip a beat at seeing Azriel for the first time since their discussion that morning. She took all of one second to school her face into neutrality before coming in and sitting next to him before Rhys’s desk.

“You wanted to talk to me, Rhys?” Gwyn said, wanting to get straight to business. The sooner they could finish this meeting, the sooner she and Az would go home and finish what they started this morning.

“Yes. Afternoon to you too, Gwyn,” Rhys chuckled in a mocking tone.

She smiled at the man who had become more of an older brother to her than a boss. They had bonded when Catrin died as Rhys had lost his sister and mother to a car accident a few years prior. Gwyn reminded him of his little sister, and Rhys had the same tenacity and quick mind that Catrin had. By this point, Rhys knew that if Gwyn wanted to get right to business, it was nothing personal.

She had always hated the idea of mixing her personal life with work, but now those lines were as blurred as she could possibly make them.

“Good afternoon, Rhys. The weather is lovely. I stopped by the studio to see your wife. You are going to have a fantastic time getting the green paint out of every nook and cranny of that wild son of yours. Feyre’s forest-scape palette ended up all over him,” Gwyn teased him. Nyx was adorable and everytime Gwyn saw him of late, she always imagined what he would look like with red hair and freckles instead of his black hair and blue eyes.

Rhys just laughed and sighed at that. His son was a hellion, and growing up in an art studio gave him free reign to get into as much trouble as his little heart could handle.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, I would like to know why you called me out of my assignment early today.” She shot a wary glare towards Azriel as she said, “And why are you here, Az? Shouldn’t you be decoding the information on the flashdrive I gave you?”

Az glared right back at her. They both knew better than to think that the glares given to each other here were real. It was all just an act. “I finished decoding them last night. We got everything we needed. The final hit is good to go.”

Gwyn bristled. Last night. He hadn’t even mentioned it to her. The shock on her face was genuine as she said, “Seriously? Their encoding must be garbage if you could get through them within a few hours.”

Az threw her a wry smirk, “I'm just that good, Priestess. Do keep up.”

They could have kept this going forever, but Rhys cleared his throat and said, “Now that we have the evidence we need, the final stage of the mission can begin . You two will need to infiltrate the fundraiser gala tomorrow. Gwyn, you got the tickets?” She nodded in response. “Good. You will need to find a way to get Beron alone with you, where we will then ambush you two. He will never suspect your involvement. From there, it's up to you,” he gestured to Az, “if you want to make him talk or not. I trust our client will give you the rest of the details.”

“And who, pray tell, is our client High Lord?” Gwyn teased. Finally, finally she was going to meet the client who had been paying millions in advance to gather the information we needed to incriminate Beron and get him wiped off this planet permanently.

“Glad you asked, Priestess,” Rhys said with a knowing smile. He pressed the button on his desk and said, “Bring him in, Nuala.”

A moment later the door swung open. And standing there was none other than Eris Vanserra himself.

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vikingmagic33 · 11 months

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A little meet-cute in the garden leads Elain to visit Gwyn in the library. Here is the first installment for a Gwynlain fic for the ACOTAR Writing Circle 3. @azrielshadowssing which happens to coincide beautifully with @gwynweekofficial and pride.

Read on AO3 here!

~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~

Gwyn raced up the darkened stairwell, before spilling out of the doorway and into the rooftop’s blistering sun. She squinted up at Rhysand. He chucked down affectionately at her disheveled appearance. “You’re late,” Rhys stated with mock annoyance.

The sun was making its descent and baked the clay roof in a crackling glow. Gwyn caught sight of steam and her vision of the horizon beyond blurred through pockets of sweltering air. She gulped it down and savored freedom on her tongue.

“Let me guess.” Rhys continued. “Merrill has concocted some new form of torture?”

“Nothing new about it.” Gwyn smoothed the folds of her robes and gave him an impertinent stare.

“But still torture.” He looked immediately concerned. “I can speak to...”

“I’m fine, Rhys.” Gwyn blurted. “I’ve told you that a million times already. I’m fine. I can deal with Merrill. Shall we?”

She reached for his arm without waiting for his response. Rhys reached down to gather her to his side, as wings appeared, and he pushed up once in a massive boost just beyond the wards. The force of the push caused her sandals to slip. She heard them drop against the roof mere seconds before he’d winnowed them away.

The first thing Gwyn noticed was the feel of a slightly damp lawn under her feet. The River House was close enough to the water that even on a hot day, spray from the river kept the gardens dewy and fresh. She drew up her hem only slightly to peer down as her toes wiggled. Emerie had painted them a perfect robin’s egg blue at a book club sleepover the night before and Gwyn relished the look against the green and soaked the silkiness through the soles of her feet.

Rhys had asked that she give regular reports on life within the library. Clotho was technically the correct chain of command, but Rhys had expressed an interest in speaking informally on morale and their general quality of life. Gwyn had been happy to oblige. She had a list tucked into a pocket of her robes and she respected his concern. They had been meeting regularly for months, but that was the first meeting since Rhys had suggested they move them to the River House and expand their discussion to include the new Valkyrie training program.

“You’re getting positively tan, Gwynnie.” Cassian’s bark boomed from the back steps and Gwyn’s gaze lifted from her feet to her friend’s face. “I think you’ve got twice as many freckles as you did when I first met you.” He chuckled before reaching up to tweak the end of her nose. Nesta swatted his hand and Gwyn rubbed her palm over the spot dramatically, but still managed to stick out her tongue when nobody was looking.

She hadn’t seen the pair on the roof, so they must have arrived sometime earlier. From the state of Nesta’s hair, they could have been flying. Then again, there was no telling what else could have tangled it so much. Gwyn eyed her friend’s appearance and lifted a brow. Nesta just shrugged. Not flying then. Gwyn grinned. She was happy for Nesta.

“I could give you a hat.” Gwyn spun at the sound of a feminine voice behind her in the flowers and found Elain kneeling in the garden. Elain set aside a pair of shears and slowly rose to her feet, careful not to touch her dress with her filthy gloves. “Not to say that freckles aren’t very pretty. Just… if you wanted a hat, I do have plenty. I could spare a few for you. If you’d like.”

Gwyn’s gaze traveled up to Elain’s wide-brimmed, straw hat. It had an elaborate ribbon tied just beneath her chin. The absurdity of the offer was simply adorable. Gwyn couldn’t train in a floppy garden hat, but sincerity and perhaps nerves were clear in Elain’s voice, so Gwyn did not scoff.

“Thank you, Elain,” Gwyn replied gently. “But I can’t see that I would have any use for such a thing in the library or in the training ring.” She noticed Rhys and Cassian disappearing through the kitchen door, but Nesta waited for Gwyn.

“But surely elsewhere...” Elain studied Gwyn’s face as though she was being asked to state the obvious.

Gwyn’s heart lurched and her face must have fallen. She saw confusion bloom in Elain’s eyes and again her heart softened. Elain wasn’t criticizing her. To hear Nesta tell it, Elain didn’t travel very far herself, but at least she could venture into Velaris unaccompanied. Nesta stepped forward and started to speak, but Gwyn stepped between the two.

“We don’t get much light in the library.” Gwyn chided herself for her choice of words. She felt heat creep up her neck. She sounded like a moron or some sort of neglected houseplant.

Elain was positively glowing, standing there, in her immaculate garden and she wasn’t actually wrong. Gwyn should be going more places. Gwyn should have need of a hat.

“None at all?” Elain stepped forward and wiped at her brow with the back of one delicate wrist. All she managed to accomplish was to trap one dark blond curl into the dampness at her temple and Gwyn hid a smile. “How can anything hope to thrive in utter darkness?” Elain sounded ready to picket.

“They do have candles, Elain.” Nesta sounded cross and Gwyn waved her off. She didn’t want to be the source of strife between the sisters. There had been plenty of that in the past and things were just starting to settle.

“Not everything needs to be baked in the sun, Elain. We are the Night Court, are we not? Night can be beautiful too.” Gwyn practically purred. She was shocked by the tone in her own voice. Where had that come from?

“I guess so.” Elain huffed a breath distractedly at that pesky curl, but it did not budge.

“Here. Let me help you out.” Gwyn reached over and tugged the curl free. “Better?”

“Thank you, Gwyneth.” Elain breathed her laughter. “I’m a mess.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of sweat,” Gwyn added, froze, and tried to pivot. “You’ve been hard at work.” Gwyn pointed awkwardly to an impressive pile of rose branches discarded near Elain’s very organized workstation. It was a folded towel for her knees and a bucket of what appeared to be bonemeal. Gwyn had been impressed to hear she recycled them from kitchen scraps. “We should let you get back to it.”

Elain nodded. “Always nice to see you, Gwyneth.”

“You too, Elain.” Gwyn took Nesta’s arm and aimed for the house. Nesta narrowed her eyes.

“What was that?” Nesta hissed.

“I have no idea.” Gwyn lied. She did have an idea. In fact, she had several.

“You were flirting with my sister.” Nesta accused with a hungry smile.

“I was doing no such thing!” Gwyn denied with a pout. “I was just being nice. Can’t I be nice?”

“Liar,” Nesta growled under her breath. “You’re never that nice to me.”

“Well. You’ve never offered me a hat.” Gwyn hid her blush by rushing forward into the house.

~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~~•~

Elain made her way quietly down the dimly lit hall. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to sneak, assuming that was even a fair description of her behavior. But it always felt like she was sneaking around the River House or the grounds or even into Valeris. The last, she liked to consider more exploration, even if she would bet all of her allowance that her sisters would scoff at that characterization.

Rhys could be counted upon to be visiting Feyre’s art studio in the Rainbow on most afternoons and she’d timed her trek upstairs accordingly. Elain had no interest in dealing with the High Lord. Honestly, she had no interest in interacting with anyone, save perhaps the twins.

It wasn’t that she disliked her sisters. She didn’t even dislike the families that both had chosen for themselves, not objectively at least. But the twins didn’t avert their gazes too quickly, nor did they let them linger with confusion, when Elain’s comments or behaviors were inevitably deemed uncouth or to be based on some outdated human mindset that Elain had yet to identify and sufficiently weed out. Worse were the moments when time skipped and snagged when a vision nudged or whispered and Elain simply fell behind in conversations or trailed off in the middle of speaking.

Elain was not some shy or shrinking violet, nor was she a masochist. Solitude was just simpler and she found she liked people more when they said less and when she didn’t have to see them.

She didn’t usually find herself in his library. Libraries in general were foreign and unknown. Visits were not something that her late mother encouraged and familiarity hadn’t been possible in their new lives after her death.

Elain needed information though, so she tapped lightly on the door. She sighed happily at the lack of response and turned the ornate knob. Elain pressed her shoulder against his heavy door as it swung gently into the darkness of the room beyond. Need was perhaps a strong word. Elain wanted information. The idea of a gift had bloomed in her mind and she couldn’t seem to shake it. She didn’t want to shake it.

Ultimately, the library trip had been an utter waste of her time. It had actually taken three trips into Velaris, a visit with a local botanist, and the aid of a rather talented glass blower. Finally, she found herself standing with an awkwardly large box in her arms, asking Rhys for transport to the House of Wind and his permission to visit the library below.

“Sure.” He dusted toast crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “I’m going up there anyway. I will take the box for you.” Rhys responded absently. Had he even noticed that it wasn’t what she’d requested from him at all?

“I’d rather deliver them myself. Thank you though.” Elain responded as Feyre peeked over the edge of the box at the greenery within. “There are care instructions and all.” Elain shrugged and adjusted the box in her arms with the help of one knee. “If you could just let this Clotho person know that I will be visiting within the library today, you can just drop me at the entrance. I believe there is one somewhere on the roof?”

Feyre’s head shot up before she offered with a glint of curiosity in her eye, “I can take you.”

No way. Not a chance. Elain shook her head.

“Rhys just said he was going anyway. Did he not?”

There was some comfort in knowing that Rhysand didn’t understand her and had no interest in figuring her out. It was neglect masquerading as privacy and she offered back resentment passing for respect.

“It is done.” Rhys tapped his temple with one finger as he took one last bite of toast and rose from the table. He bent to plant a kiss on his son’s head and one on his mate’s cheek before heading for the door.

Clotho had been polite and accommodating and Gwyn turned out to be fairly easy to find.

“This one is called Bird's Nest.” Elain pointed to the first plant. “They call this one a snake plant, but I’m not sure why. The spider plant makes a little more sense when you see the little baby plants that sort of shoot off as it grows.”

“That sounds like quite the kerfuffle.” Gwyn beamed and her laughter washed over Elain. She was happy. The gift had been a good idea after all. “I’d better keep my eye on these and make sure they all stay in line.”

“Yes. Well.” Elain blushed. “And this one, it’s a bromeliad. No silly name. It even blooms without any sun. None need sun. Although they will thank you for these little bauble lights I got in town. The shop owner assured me that they mimic low sunlight.”

“Are these for light too?” Gwyn peered from across the box and reached a hand underneath for support. Their fingers brushed slightly and Elain’s pulse raced.

“Oh, no. Those are for water.” Elain tried again to adjust her hold on the box and the whole thing nearly toppled despite being trapped between their chests. Elain managed to grab hold of a colorful orb on a long glass stem. “You fill these with water and then stick them into the dirt. They will help with watering.”

“Thank you.” Gwyn smiled and Elain was nervous at the sheen in Gwyn’s eyes.

“This one is poisonous to cats.” Elain blurted. “You don’t have a cat do you?”

“Sometimes I think we might, but if he’s going to prowl around here nibbling on my plants, then he deserves a bit of mischief. Don’t you think?”

“He? If you’re not sure that there is a cat, how do you know it is male?” Elain asked, genuinely amused.

“A girl cat would know better than to eat strange plants and probably would’ve made some friends by now. At least, with the kitchen staff.” They were talking nonsense and Elain was blissfully happy.

“So.” Elain had no idea what to say next. “I’ll just give these to you.” Elain aimed for subtle, but managed to shove the box at Gwyn.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Gwyn stepped away, hands raised. “You can carry them down and help me place them around my reading nook.” She turned toward the stairs. “And I hope you mean to visit them.”

“Pardon?” Elain squeaked.

“You can’t just give a girl a basket of living things and some vague instructions and expect them to survive.” Gwyn chided and Elain was fairly sure she was teasing her.

“Box,” Elain mumbled.

“Pardon?” There was definite teasing in Gwyn’s voice as she mimicked Elain’s earlier nerves. Elain blushed, though not unpleasantly, she noticed.

“It’s a box, not a basket.” Elain clarified and Gwyn chuckled. Warmth bloomed in Elain’s chest.

“If any of the other priestesses should want...”

“They can keep their mitts off my ferns.” Gwyn yanked the box possessively to her chest then.

“Bromeliad.” Elain corrected.

“See,” Gwyn called over her shoulder as she continued down the stairs. “I’m in over my head already. You simply must save me, Elain.” Perhaps they were both in over their heads, but for the first time that she could remember, Elain didn’t mind at all.

#ACOTAR writing circle 3 #gwyneth berdara #elain archeron #gwynlain #dual pov #pro gwyn #pro elain #my kind of why pick #crush #lesbian pride #best friend’s sister #sister’s best friend #idiots to lovers #two versions of rhys #acosf #ACOTAR #acotarwritingcircle #acotar writing circle

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mercarimari · 11 months

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Warnings: Contains some suggestive themes and content. A touch of smut and an all around good time. Please enjoy responsibly. I look forward to seeing what the next part brings. <3 PART ONE of THREE in a new Nessian AU brought to you by the Acotar Writing Circle! Cover made by @hlizr50 and a special thanks to Heather for also reading and helping suggest minor edits. Based on the song: Fictional by Khloe Rose Summary: Nesta has always hidden herself in books. Most if not all of her real life relationships had ended in fire and chaos. She was an expert in self destruction after all. But when a birthday gift from her sister brings a touch of magic to the world, and a piece of fiction into her reality--- Could things really change for the better?

Cassian chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling— She tried to keep herself from falling into that sound. How could one male hold so much power with one sound? “I would hate him if he were real.” Nesta rolled her eyes, slamming the book shut as she shifted on her bed to flop back against her pillows in a particularly ungraceful fashion. Why did he have to be such an arrogant bastard? And why was that hot? Like really hot? She wanted to scream, instead. A second later she eyed the book, leaned forward, picked it up, and flipped it open to her last page. She watched him from where he stood across the room, leaning against the door frame. His long hair was piled up on his head in the messiest of buns. And she couldn’t help but stare at the size of him— And the fact that he was in nothing but a towel. “Go put some clothes on.” She laughed, hiding her face in her hands to avoid him seeing the blush that came glowing on her cheeks.

“Aw, but I really wanted to show off.” He taunted, moving from that spot on the door and towards the bed. Her eyes wandered lower, to where the towel loosened at his waist as he moved. It was going to fall before he made it to her bed, and she knew what would come next.

“This book is far too predictable.” Nesta groaned, “And she is nothing like me. Whoever wrote this needs to learn how to appeal to their audience.”

Given that the book had been a gift from Elain for her birthday, Nesta didn’t complain about it too much. At least not to her face. But Elain had paid a small fortune to someone to have this story commissioned. To have her in it. Or at least her name, and her likeness. Not much else about the book seemed to carry true to her. She wondered if anyone else in the world who’d purchased one of these had found the same feeling. Like they were reading about them, but a skewed, weird version of themselves. How was it that this fictional version of her was charming and sexually shy. Why was she hiding her face when Nesta would’ve watched that towel fall from his hips? Fuck. She hated it. But it was such a train wreck that it was hard to put it down. She’d have to let Gwyn and Emerie read it when she finished it, because she needed them to see how horrifically awful the author had managed to portray her.

Cassian pounded into her, one hand holding hers over her head, the other firmly at her throat as he took her from behind. “Fuuuuck.”

She closed the book again, slammed it down on her bedside table, and rolled over to stare at the window.

“I can’t with this. It’s so bad.” Why did Elain have to buy her that stupid book? She’d never actively tell Elain that she hated it, of course. She couldn’t do that. It would mean having to face the hurt puppy look on her face if she realized that the gift wasn’t appreciated, and Nesta wouldn’t do that. She’d pretend she liked it for the rest of eternity if it meant keeping Elain’s smile where it belonged. But what she wanted more than anything now, was this story— Accurately told. Wanted Cassian with that hand around her throat pounding into her as she demanded more from him. She wanted to know what it’d be like if he fucked her rough and hard, not this slow sensual sort of domination on the page. It’s not like she was worthy of much else anyway. She was an expert after all, in self destruction. Which is exactly why she pulled out her phone and sent a message to her group chat with Gwyn and Emerie.

Club? I need to go blow off some steam. Gwyn is typing…

Nesta drummed her fingers on the bed as she watched the words flash across the screen. Watched as they started and stopped and started again.

Gwyn: Hey, so I can't make it tonight. Boss called me in to help organize some things for the press release tomorrow.

Emerie is typing…

Emerie: Shit. I was counting on Gwyn being able to go. I've got a huge order coming out of the shop tomorrow that I need to finish up.

Nesta rolled her eyes at the phone in her hand. She'd be drinking alone it seemed.

Nesta: Don't work too hard. I'll have a few for you guys.

### It had taken Nesta all of twenty minutes to be presentable enough to leave the house, the plunging neckline of her black party dress left little to the imagination, and the shortness of it left even less. High heels, messy bun, she was dressed to attract male attention and any number of them would be willing to take her home. She’d learned that a long time ago.

And now she was standing in the seediest bar in town, one of the few places she would never bring Gwyn. It didn’t fit her vibe, and it most definitely would’ve made her uncomfortable, if not downright anxious. But for Nesta, this was home. This was where she could find the one nights that would treat her like she felt she deserved, use her up, waste her and go about their business.

She sat at the bar, staring at her phone as if waiting for someone, anyone to text her. Seemingly disinterested in the bars population. Another thing she’d learned over the years, if she made herself look uninterested, it made the bastards in this club want her more. And she liked to have her pick of the litter when it came to who she’d go home with.

She shoved her phone in her purse and turned her focus to the drink in front of her. She picked it up, swirled it around for a few rotations and then tipped it to her lips downing it in a few solid burning gulps. She set the glass back on the bartop and made her way out to the dance floor.

It was time to hunt her prey for the night. Or at the very least for a fix.

And she'd take that fix as a quickie in a bathroom stall with a hand around her throat if she had to.

A turn around the dancefloor and she'd found several interested parties. Or at least, parties interested in dancing. One who was interested in taking her home. And one who wanted her to be the mystical unicorn in his throuple.

She didn't even date, and all of her relationships had ended in disaster. So why the hell would she want to be relegated to fixing someone else's relationship? Not unless they were looking for an expert to school them in self-sabotage. Fuck that.

None of them were catching her interest. None of them had the type of attitude that she needed from a night out like this one. Because all that damned book had done was make her feel less than worthy of the things that she refused to let herself have. She couldn’t be the charming shy princess of the story. She’d never be that. Nesta knew and had always known that she was a raging bitch. She’d abandoned her sisters in hopes that their father would get his shit together and actually take care of them, leaving Feyre to pick up all of her slack. Feyre had a job at sixteen, paid most of the bills and kept food on the table. What had Nesta done? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. And when their father died? She’d just shut down. She’d turned to the drinking and the seedy bars, and one-night stands. Once a bitch always a bitch. It was better to be treated like one. Maybe she needed to try another club. Or maybe she just needed more to drink so that she was less picky. So she made her way back to the bar, sat in her seat and propped her chin on her hand. “Can you get me another double? I’m not drunk enough.” The little girl behind the bar, dressed in her crop top and short shorts, shook her head as she started pouring the double shot of whiskey. “I figured you weren’t. It usually takes you three or more to be in the right mindset to pick a guy.” “Gee. Thanks.” Nesta rolled her eyes and took the glass into her hands. She made quick work of double shot number two. And waited patiently for the girl to refill her glass. Give it a minute and it’d hit her like a freight train, and then she’d really be ready to get the party started.

She stood from her chair, and scanned the floor again. The options were already looking more appealing. Though— One in particular caught her attention. He was on the other side of the bar, standing taller than most of the people in the crowd. Broad shoulders, long hair piled up in a half assed man bun on his head. Muscles for days, looked like he could absolutely wreck her. And those eyes— A gasp. That wasn’t possible. That was less than possible. It was absolutely impossible. First off men like that didn’t exist, not in places like this. And definitely not in her world. This son of a bitch was the spitting image of the bastard in that damned book. A dead ringer for Cassian. “Of course I knew where to find you. I know you better than you know yourself.” The line from the book jumped to the front of her mind, those amber eyes holding her gaze as he made his way across the club to stand in front of her. She looked up at him, her face set into a scowl. And he smiled, a heart stopping sort of expression that she knew she was wholly unworthy of. “Hello, Nes.”

#nessian #acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #nesta archeron #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar au #based on a song

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starfall-spirit · 11 months

Text

On the Edge of Losing You

Thank you @azrielshadowssing for organizing the Summer ACOTAR Writing Circle. This is my first time participating, and my first collab fic in general. I am thrilled to be kicking this off with my OTP, Feysand. Writers of part two and three, you are more than welcome to reuse the banner I created or make your own if you don’t like my theme.

Also a huge thanks to my beta readers, @deepsleep07 and @headcanonheadcase for the critique that really helped form this piece. Without further ado, I hope you all enjoy it!

Summary: Feyre and Tamlin are set to say their I dos on the beautiful beaches of Cancún. The problem—Feyre's wedding jitters have escalated to the revival of a crush on her best friend a few days before the wedding.

CW: None

Word Count: 3,318

Part 2 (@thegloweringcastle) // Part 3 (TBA) // Ao3

Chapter I: Do I Say I Do?

“Careful, Rhys. Someone might start thinking you have ill intentions.” He knew Feyre had sensed him the second he appeared on the surf, lingering a few feet from where she lounged in her beach chair that sat low to the ground, her long legs extended so her feet were cooled by the rising tide.

Haloed by the July sun wearing only her bikini she looked… He wasn’t ready to think about how Feyre looked. Not with that sun glinting off an emerald-topped engagement band she never took off. Not with her fiancé throwing a fit every time Rhys was within a ten mile radius of her. For someone who had secured an engagement and was beginning his vacation that preluded a disgustingly grand destination wedding, Tamlin failed to view Rhys as anything other than a threat.

He snagged a camping chair and set it so it sat parallel to hers and he wouldn’t have to get so low to the ground to join her. “You’re looking a bit pink already. You know you’re hopeless when it comes to tanning, don’t you?”

Her lips turned up into a small smile as she rose to a sitting position. “I took a dip earlier. And it’s been a few hours since I applied.”

He took the sunscreen bottle from the pocket of his chair and passed it to her. “No need to be burnt on your wedding day.”

Her eyes snapped back to him, the set of her mouth telling him she didn’t approve of the bitter note in his voice. “Rhys—”

“I know. He’s perfect and hasn’t shown any of the red flags I mentioned from the moment you met, right?”

“Rhys!” She was red-faced for an entirely different reason now. “You are my best friend, but it is not your place to worry about my marriage.” She took his hands in hers. “You are my best friend,” she repeated, “and he will be my husband in a matter of days. I want both of you in my life. But this tension between you has to be resolved.”

This tension. A kind way of putting Rhys’ loose tongue about all of the faults he saw in his best friend’s fiance. And Feyre, stubborn as she was, refused to listen to him this time. He didn’t want to control her. He just wanted her to see sense.

“Right. Call me when he doesn’t find a guy talking to you to be a criminal offense.”

“He’s protective,” she insisted, breaking eye contact as she rubbed the sunscreen into her arms. “There’s nothing wrong with protecting someone you love.” He opened his mouth to argue again. “I’m done with this, Rhys. We can speak pleasantly or you can leave.” She sighed, turning to bare her back to him as lifted her braid. “Help me with my back please.”

Fuck. After the conversation they just had about her “protective” fiancé? He really didn’t feel like dealing with the huffing and puffing today. “Feyre, seriously?”

“Oh stop it. It’s never been a problem before now. I always miss spots if I do it alone. If Tamlin’s your concern he won’t be back for a while. Even if he was, he’d see reason.” He didn’t think either of them really believed that. “It’s not a problem.”

No, it hadn’t been a problem. Then they'd gotten older and he found himself crushing on her. And that crush grew. They hit their teens and his sweet friend who was once all knees and elbows from too few meals was standing in her prom dress, taking his breath away.

His mother had made sure Feyre and her sisters were cared for when she saw the signs the Archeron family tried so hard to hide. Things got better, even if their father took it as an insult until the day he died. Their father’s feelings aside, they made friends and had food in their bellies. And Rhys bonded with all of them. But things had always run deeper with Feyre. Her older sisters teased and teased her for it as children, but there had never been anything to act on.

She had been objectively attractive, of course. More so than her sisters. But one doesn’t think that of their best friend. Rhys didn’t let himself think that way. Not until she came down those stairs on prom night. He could remember every detail, a girl of sixteen attending the school dance in his senior year. She was a vision in a gown of midnight blue and silver.

He finally saw her as a woman he hadn’t been able to look back since. Even after he graduated and the world pushed them apart for years on end. There had been other women, college flings and bar hookups. But none of them were Feyre.

Here they were at twenty-six and twenty-eight, both a little wiser and in control of their own lives. And the honest truth was he couldn’t focus on anything around her. If she hadn’t announced she was dating Tamlin six months ago, he might have acted on those growing feelings by now. Yet here they were, lounging on the private beach in Cancún with a whirlwind romance dropping Feyre at that altar. If she couldn’t see the timeframe as a red flag he didn’t think anything would change her mind.

“Rhys.”

Scanning the beach for the blond bastard, he obeyed, rubbing the sunscreen into her back as quickly as he could, trying very hard not to think about how he really wanted to run his hands over her. Slowly, not leaving an inch of skin unmapped. He shook the thought away. “There. You should be covered.”

“Thanks.” She offered him the bottle. “Need some?”

“Sure.” He came here to hang out, after all.

She leaned back in her chair again, folding one arm behind her head. “So, what took you so long to fly in?”

He chuckled. “Other than the fact I’m a full time professor in the height of summer courses, grading a buttload of essays for Astronomy 101? Some of those students…” He shook his head.

“Girls?” Feyre asked with a knowing smirk. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of her assumption. “You’re the youngest teacher in the department, Rhys. They’re failing because they're staring at your pretty face instead of the whiteboard.”

He snorted, not ready to admit there had been a student or two who scrawled a ten digit number on the back of their final. “Yeah, well, flirting never got anyone an A.” He squeezed her hand. “I got here as fast as I could. Whatever disagreements I may have with Tamlin, you know I wouldn’t miss this. I said I’d be there for you through everything good and bad. This fits the bill.”

Even if he pictured himself on Tamlin’s side of the altar every time he saw the wedding invitation on his apartment’s fridge door. “I wanted to ask you—”

Before she could finish, a high-pitched squeal pierced the air. “About time! Get over here!”

Feyre jumped as white sand sprayed up onto her, clinging to the fresh sunscreen. “Mor, really!”

He saw a flash of blonde before his cousin was barreling into his arms, giggling maniacally. With her traveling so much it had been an age since they saw each other. It had been her dream to explore the best of life overseas and it seemed to do her some good. But then, any freedom must feel like heaven, growing up with a father like Kier. There were many days Rhys still ached to throttle his uncle for keeping Mor on such a tight leash. The stern hand his own father took seemed forgiving when his cousin finally opened up about everything in their early college days. Feyre had been the one to pry it out of her, simultaneously convincing Mor to lean on the found family who cared about her so much.

She was better for it now, bright-eyed and cheerful most days they talked in person or on a video chat. “Where’s Cassian and Az?” she asked. “They were here an hour ago.”

“Looking for some activities. You know it’s a crime asking men to just relax on the beach,” Feyre jested, picking up some sort of fruity cocktail she’d ordered. How she and Mor could tolerate them was beyond him. “This one’s only sitting here because he feels obligated to be nice to me.”

He frowned. “You know that’s not true. I—”

“Rhysand.” He grimaced at the too-familiar voice behind him, ignoring Feyre’s glare and its silent demand that he keep playing nice. “So glad you could finally join us.” Though his gait could almost be considered casual, there was no denying he was once again using his own body as a barrier between Rhys and Feyre. “Enjoying your stay?”

“I just flew in, but I’m sure it will be a delight. Thank you for so graciously inviting me.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“If you two are finished,” Feyre groaned. “Rhys, can you walk with me for a minute? Just down the beach?”

Tamlin’s body locked, a vicious glare in his eyes aimed at Rhys. How could he turn the lady down now? “It would be my pleasure, Feyre darling.”

She smiled, reaching for her dark cover up, despite the lack of wind and the noon sun beating down. It wasn’t his place to comment on that. Even if he felt it very much was his place to characterize the man his best friend intended to spend the rest of her life sharing a home with.

Feyre was silent at first, watching the birds soaring ahead of them. He didn’t pry, waiting until she was ready to share what needed to be shared. “I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“Yes?”

She swallowed. “So much of this has been planned by… friends. I let things go, when it came to the technicalities of the wedding. Ianthe has been… helpful.” He suppressed a snort. Just days ago, Feyre had been moaning and groaning about how Tamlin’s old friend and apparent officiant couldn’t keep her nose in her own business. “I just…”

He paused, gently taking her hand and squeezing it. “Are things okay? Are you having doubts?”

“About marrying Tamlin? No. I’m just feeling off-kilter I guess. Caught up in a whirlwind of planning and out of control. I just want to hit the pause button and make my own choice on something, but I don’t even know the first thing I’d change. I need an anchor. Something they haven’t thought of yet.”

He furrowed his brow. “And you think I can help?”

“Yes. Before Tamlin sticks it on Lucien or something. I don’t want anyone’s feelings hurt.” He cocked his head. “I don’t have my father anymore. And even if I did… things were strained when I got older. And then he died before things could mend. Rhys, would you walk me down the aisle?”

And if that wasn’t a punch to the gut.

He cast a nervous look over his shoulder. “Feyre, are you sure?”

She nodded, lacing her fingers through his. “It’ll be fine, Rhys. He knows I want you in my life. I know things will get better for you two. And I should have some say in my own wedding, shouldn’t I?”

“Of course, but…” He shook his head. He couldn’t and wouldn’t try to stop the wedding. Feyre was smart. She had to know Tamlin well enough to feel safe if she had agreed to marry him. So he would step aside. He would do this one last thing for her, even if he broke his own heart in the process. “I’d be honored, Feyre.”

~~~~~

“You did what?”

She sighed as she opened the door to the bathroom. “Tamlin, you said you were going to try. You aren’t trying. Not even slightly.”

“That arrogant piece of—”

“My best friend, you mean?”

He let out a huff. “Rhysand,” he hissed, “has no place walking you down the aisle. That’s—”

“That’s whose job, Tamlin? Certainly not my father’s any longer. Or did you expect Lucien who I’ve known for a matter of a few months to do it? Rhys and Mor and Cassian and Az will always be my family. They aren’t going anywhere, no matter how many fits you throw about it.”

“Your sisters are an option, of course.”

“Tamlin, don’t. What’s done is done. On our wedding day Rhys will be my escort. And you will keep your mouth shut about it and keep a smile on your face.”

“You have other friends, Feyre. You and Ianthe get along well.”

“Oh do we? I’m sure you know my feelings so well when it comes to tolerating her.” He reared back. “Ianthe will keep batting her eyes and paying compliments as long as you let her leech off of you, Lucien hasn’t even tried to hug me because you probably threatened to cut his arms off for doing so. Tamlin, you will stop this overbearing asshole behavior or I will not marry you.”

Faster than she could react, he lunged, red-faced and wild-eyed. His grip on her arm was bruising. While she was all fired up and ready to lay things out he had been stewing with every word. “I am doing what’s best for you,” he snarled. And that was the wake up call.

God, had Rhys been right? Was it taking the cogs turning just days before her wedding to see the red flags as Rhys called them?

“You are trying to control me. And I will not let you. Now let me go.” Seemingly in a daze, he uncurled his hand from around her wrist, the pale print from his hand beginning to pinken again. “I’ll be back later.”

“Feyre.”

“I said I’ll be back,” she snapped, shoving her feet into her flip-flops. “Do not follow me and do not send Lucien like some hound on my trail. I need some space.”

One thing. She asked one thing of this wedding and it was that her best friend be more than another name on the absurdly long guest list. What a crime it was. Down where the beach started to soften, she removed her shoes, letting the sand sift through her toes. Minutes or miles she walked with nothing more than her thoughts and a nocturnal choir around her. While the silence might have bothered most, She had always found peace in a quiet night.

Feyre sank to the sand, leaning back on her hands and tilting her head to view the sky above her. She was lucky the busy lights were on the other side of the resort. Here on their side, even with the light pollution day and night she had a chance to enjoy the star-flecked unknown. She was hopeless to identify constellations without her favorite astronomy professor of course, but they were still pretty to look at alone.

“You can see Lupus from here.” She jumped slightly, whipping her head over her shoulder. “Sorry if I startled you. Can I sit with you?” Rhys asked.

“Always.” She sat up so they could sit shoulder to shoulder and he reached for her hand, frowning when she jolted away and rubbed it instinctively. The tenderness there scared her more than she wanted to admit. And Rhys was staring. “What?”

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

“Nothing.”

“Feyre.”

“Rhys.”

“I know you too well to fall for your lies.” She bit her lip, casting her eyes to the ground, only looking back up when he gave a heavy sigh. “Ara.”

“What?”

“Ara, it’s almost straight ahead. And there’s Corvus there.”

“You’re speaking Latin to me.” He snorted at the frankly terrible joke, nudging her shoulder good-naturedly. She slumped against him, exhaustion taking over. “You’re going to have to carry me back,” she mumbled. “In the morning.” He tensed beside her. “I can’t go back there tonight. It would just be weird.”

“Why?” She shrugged. “Feyre.”

“He doesn’t like you.”

His lip curled slightly against her head. “I think I’ll survive.”

“We were fighting over it. You. All of you. He has his bubble, and if he can’t control the people in it… I didn’t realize how deep it ran until I told him you would give me away. I’ve never seen him so…”

The word hung between them as he reached for her wrist again. She wondered if it would bruise by morning. If Ianthe would try to dab a bit of powder over it before Mor showed up and had a cow. Feyre didn’t know what she would do at that point.

“He’s been stressed lately. Between the wedding and work and—”

“Do not make excuses for him.” The edge in his voice put a new heaviness between them. “Do not pretend this is okay, Feyre. You want to know why you’ve never seen him so violent? It’s because cowards like that need control to feel they hold the power. That they’re worth something. He let you speak your mind this long to make sure he had you for good, but the second you say ‘I do’ everything is going to change.”

If Tamlin’s anger was the strike of a storm, Rhys’ was the deadly calm before it. Chilled as death even as those violet eyes glinted against the moon. He twisted in the sand, cupping her face and pressing his brow to hers, as he had done so many times to calm her from her panic. This time he needed that calm.

“Do not make excuses. Do not wait for that stress to go away. And Feyre, please do not marry a man who will free his temper the moment you kiss him on that altar.”

She twisted her lower body to face him fully, stroking a hand over the short stubble at his jaw. It had started as a teasing touch when he was just old enough to start growing facial hair, later a habit she couldn’t resist maintaining. Until she met Tamlin and all the fond habits and touches earned scowls and glares. That hand teasing his stubble rose to run through his hair, a touch to sooth. It still seemed to work.

“All I’m saying is that six months is awfully fast for a wedding,”

“Oh, is that all you’re saying, Rhys?”

She pulled at his hair slightly and his eyes fluttered open again. If she didn’t know better, she would say time had turned back for them. They were kids again and he was taking her to his senior prom, despite her only being a sophomore. Coming home from the dance she’d joked on her front porch that they were at the point where he was supposed to kiss her goodnight.

She’d been the typical sixteen year old, crushing on a senior. Except that senior was her best friend. Romantically off limits was an unspoken rule of friendship to them, no matter what their friends and family thought. But for a moment—one fraction of a second—the world paused, giving her a glimpse of a boy that wanted to kiss her back.

She never saw that boy again.

Until now.

Days before her wedding he was staring at her like she hung the moon. Like she was the only thing keeping his world turning, as ludicrous as that seemed. But god, she wanted someone to want every part of her that badly. Looking into his eyes now, she realized all of the things she’d been compromising.

“Feyre, what are you doing?” Her hands slid down to cup his face. “Feyre.”

Every moral she had was screaming for her to stop. She was an engaged woman and kissing her teenage crush could be the biggest mistake of her life. And yet the devil on her shoulder spurred her on.

And Feyre listened, kissing Rhys for the first time. Only the stars could damn her tonight.

~~~~~

AN: I hope this is alright in length and content for the first part. As I said, this is my first writing circle fic.

Taglist: @goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow

#acotar #feysand #acotar writing circle #feysand fic #collab fic #part 1 #fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand #summer writing circle #acotarwritingcircle

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sunshinebingo · 1 year

Text

Sunny one so true, I love you

Ship: Elucien

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: NSFW

Read on Ao3 here

Part 3 of the fic written for Acotar Writing Circle. Thank you again @azrielshadowssing for organising this. It was really fun and I am so glad to be a part of it.

Check out Part 1 of this elucien fic by @fieldofdaisiies and Part 2 by @kingofsummer93. I absolutely love their part and i hope that my contribution to this lives up to theirs. Also check the Acotar Writing Circle Masterlist for more amazing fics by incredible writers.

Enjoy!!

.....

Elain stared up at Lucien. She had expected him to react like the bad boy he claimed he was; smug about finally getting a way to her panties, or dental floss as he had called her pink thong. But instead he seemed shocked at her positive response. Elain found it adorable that beneath his confident demeanour, he still had a little doubt about her response. But adorable was not what she was seeking right now.

‘’So,’’ Elain raised her eyebrows at him, ‘’are you about to show me if you are a nice guy?’’

Lucien’s smirk returned then. And if she was not already completely gone for him, that smirk would surely have done the trick. Elain lifted her ass a bit. She desperately needed to be closer to him.

‘’Are you getting impatient Sunny?’’ Lucien moved his hand up her bare legs, causing the heat in her core to build up.

‘’What happened to Thunder?’’ she asked breathlessly. She tried to close the distance between their lips but Lucien slightly pulled back. He looked so smug when he stared at her lip that she started to bite it in frustration.

Damn him and his teasing and his hand that was getting so close to where she wanted him to be.

‘’Sunny suits you best,’’ he said, ‘’because you light up my world by just existing.’’

Elain snickered. ‘’That was so corny.’’

‘’You like it,’’ Lucien wiggled his eyebrows.

Elain wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. A tingling sensation went through her body when their lips brushed. But Lucien was not done teasing her. Even when Elain was feeling the tension in his body.

‘’Admit it first,’’ he said against her lips. He was holding himself back and Elain hoped that he would fuck the life out of her once he was done playing games.

‘’Okay fine,’’ she rolled her eyes, ‘’I love it. Happy?’’ Lucien’s smile was so bright that she instantly forgave him for the teasing. But Elain wanted to return to favour. There was no reason for her to be the only one aching for him.

‘’Now,’’ she started to glide a hand down his chest, ‘’are you going to show me if you are a nice guy or not?’’

Her pussy throbbed at the feel of his hard muscles beneath her fingers. Lucien closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers when her hand went even lower. She slowly started to tug on the string of his sweatpants. He gripped her leg tighter while his other slipped under her t-shirt to grab her small breast.

‘’I knew that you are not the good girl you pretend to be Sunny.’’

‘’I can be anything for you Lucien,’’ she said as she spread her legs wider. He took the invitation and moved his hand there. When his thumb grazed her bare centre and he felt how wet she was, Lucien’s control finally snapped.

‘’Fuck,’’ he muttered and claimed her mouth in a hard kiss.

Elain moaned at the first contact that their tongues made. She pushed herself closer against him and Lucien did not hesitate before he started rubbing his fingers on her pussy. She pushed his sweatpants down and – gods – he was big. And he felt so good in her small hands.

Elain started pumping his cock in her hands. Lucien gasped and inserted a finger inside her. She threw her head back on the couch, giving him access to her neck. Lucien moved his finger in and out of as his lips lowered on her neck. He bit her and soothed the sting with his tongue and lips.

He dipped another finger inside her and Elain moaned at how much he was stretching her just like this. Lucien started to slowly thrust in her hand when she gripped him harder. She was so close that her moans turned louder. The pace of his fingers inside her increased. The feeling hit her so hard that she forgot everything but Lucien’s name as she came.

For a moment she felt like she was about to black out. But then she opened her eyes to find Lucien smirking at her.

‘’That’s my girl,’’ he said and sucked his fingers until they came out clean.

Elain was still breathing unevenly but she released her hold on his cock and pulled him down for a kiss. The taste of her on his tongue made the heat inside her rise again. Without breaking the kiss, Elain placed a hand on Lucien’s chest and started to push him back. They both moved until Lucien was fully seated on the couch.

They broke apart so they could get rid of their clothes to toss them across the room. When Elain straddled him, she took the time to admire his glorious body. Her eyes trailed from his beautiful face to his strong arms and his sculpted abs. Her mouth watered at the sight of his cock, big and hard and almost throbbing for her.

Lucien placed a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face until she could look into his russet eyes. ‘’We’ll have plenty of time to experiment Sunny,’’ his deep voice reverberated through her, ‘’right now I want to be buried deep inside you.’’

Elain crashed her lips on him. Lucien grabbed her by the ass and pulled her closer. She felt his cock pushing at her entrance a second later. He swore as Elain lowered herself on him. She plunged her fingers in his hair, pulled at his roots and started riding him. His fingers had felt good. But the feel of his thick cock deep inside her was something that could not be compared to anything that Elain had known before.

This could not be called love-making. It was a frantic fucking after both of them had been holding back for so long.It was a result of all the time spent pining after the other topped with the frequent teasing and flirting.

Lucien lowered his head and started sucking on her nipples. He took the other one between his fingers and pinched. Elain pulled harder on his hair, loosening them from the messy bun that they were in. The pressure inside was becoming so intense that Elain buried her face in his shoulder. Lucien could feel how close she was. ‘’Come for me Sunny,’’ he whispered in her ear. ‘’ I want you to soak my cock with your cum.’’

The words went straight to the place where their bodies were connected. Elain exploded around him so hard that her legs trembled. Lucien wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He thrust his cock deep inside her a few more times before Elain felt his groan as he came inside her.

He held onto her, rubbing his hands up and down her back. When he suddenly froze, Elain pulled away to look at him.

“Shit we forgot the condom.”

Elain’s eyes widened. How could they have forgotten that. But then she remembered…

“It’s fine. I take the pill.”

Lucien released a sigh of relief. Then he stood up, taking Elain with him. She winced slightly when his cock slowly slipped out of her though she immediately felt the absence of him there.

He walked to the bathroom where they both cleaned up. Lucien was so careful when taking care of her that Elain’s heart swelled with a feeling other than lust. He might be more than good at pleasuring her but he was more than just a walking sex toy.

After they were both somewhat dry, Lucien lifted her in his arms again. This time he carried her to his bedroom and placed her on his bed.

His sheets were covered in his sweet and spicy scent. Elain smiled as she buried her face in his pillow. Lucien came to lie next to her and she snuggled in his arms, feeling hopeful that what happened on the couch and after was just a beginning.

.....

The weekend that Lucien had spent with Elain had been nothing short of blissful. Being with her came so naturally that one would think they had been together for a while. The truth was that Lucien had only mustered the courage to ask his long time crush out on an official date when they had been cuddling in his bed after their first time having sex on the couch.

Elain had been thrilled by the idea. This was a good omen for Lucien who was afraid that his ‘’bad boy’’ reputation would make her hesitate to pursue something with him. The cherry on top of her positive response was the mind-blowing sex they had after that. They might not have officialised their relationship yet but they sure were having good practice in the bedroom. And the bathroom. And the couch of course. And maybe also the kitchen judging by how delicious Elain looked sitting on the counter wearing one of Lucien’s shirt. The song that had been stuck in his head for days played in the background.

Sunny, thank you for the love you brought my way

You gave to me your all and all

Now I feel ten feet tall

The words could not be more true.

‘’Vassa will skin me alive when she finds out,’’ Lucien said when he came to stand between Elain’s legs and started to caress her bare skin.

The sound of Elain’s laugh sounded even more perfect now than when Lucien did not know yet what her beautiful smile tasted like.

‘’Is she really what you are thinking about right now?’’ she asked, tucking a strand of his messy hair behind his ear.

Lucien tilted his head to place a kiss inside her wrist. ‘’You don’t know how scary she can get Sunny.’’

You're my spark of nature's fire

You're my sweet complete desire

Sunny one so true, I love you

This song was turning into his favourite.

‘’Oh trust me I know,’’ Elain smirked. ‘’Sometimes I wonder if Jurian is still with her because he is scared for his life.’’

Lucien laughed, remembering the few times he’d had to reassure Jurian after his best friend was certain that his girlfriend would murder him because he did something stupid. As if they had been summoned by the ongoing conversation, Jurian and Vassa entered the apartment. Both of them dropped their bags on the floor as soon as they saw their friends and roommate being closer than usual in their shared kitchen. Elain and Lucien froze. He cursed when a mischievous smirk appeared on Vassa’s face but did not remove his hands from Elain’s legs. He could always pretend that he was trying to warm her.

To Lucien’s surprise, the first thing that came out of Vassa’s mouth was ‘’You owe me 50 bucks’’ when she addressed Jurian.

‘’Excuse me? You are the one who owe me,’’ Jurian replied.

‘’Look at them,’’ Vassa pointed at them while still addressing her boyfriend. Lucien and Elain just stared at them questioningly.

‘’I am. And I see that you owe me some money babe. So you –‘’

Elain cleared her throat, causing the bickering to stop and their friends to turn to them.

‘’What are you two talking about?’’ Elain asked.

Vassa rolled her eyes and started to walk to the fridge. ‘’I bet that we would walk in on you doing some dirty stuff,’’ Vassa explained as she retrieved a box of ice-cream.

Lucien raised his eyebrows in surprise. What surprised him was that Vassa was not only fine with him being so close to Elain but that it seemed like she was expecting it. He turned to Jurian and asked ‘’What did you bet on?’’

His best friend shrugged. ‘’That there would be some development but we would not walk in on anything.’’

‘’You see,’’ Vassa waved her spoon at Lucien and Elain like a sword. ‘’I win.’’

‘’They weren’t doing anything,’’ Jurian scoffed.

‘’They were about to.’’

Jurian took the ice-cream from Vassa. ‘’About to but they haven’t yet.’’

The argument between the two did not stop as they walked towards the living room. Jurian was about to place the box of ice-cream on the couch when Elain suddenly shouted ‘’DON’T’’. Vassa and Jurian quickly turned to look at her.

‘’…put the ice-cream on the couch,’’ Elain slowly continued.

Understanding dawned on Lucien when he noticed that Elain’s gaze was still fixed on the couch. Vassa eyed her friend suspiciously. Elain looked away, a blush clearly starting to spread on her cheeks. Lucien pursed his lips to retain his laugh when Elain buried her face in his chest.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Vassa yelled at them.

“What is happening?” Jurian asked, placing the ice-cream on the coffee table instead.

Vassa pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed in exasperation. “They had sex on the couch.”

Jurian's expression started to turn into one of disgust. ‘’Oh come on,’’ he exclaimed, looking straight into Lucien’s eyes, ‘’the couch is sacred.’’

Not anymore, Lucien thought. Jurian had mentioned once that he and Vassa avoided having sex around the apartment in places where all of them would hang out together. But that was their rule not Lucien’s. Unable to hold himself any longer, Lucien burst out laughing.

Vassa shook her head in disbelief. Then he took her boyfriend by the wrist and started to drag him away.

‘’Where are we going?’’ Jurian asked but did not resist.

Vassa narrowed her eyes at Lucien and said ‘’To have sex somewhere they will put their asses on.’’

‘’Okay,’’ was Jurian’s response.

Elain lifted her face and watched them leave the room. Soon after, they heard the door to the bathroom shut. Elain looked up at Lucien and snickered.

“We will use your towel to clean the mess Lucien,” Vassa shouted from behind the door.

“Guess I will just have to burn it after,” Lucien simply shrugged.

Elain laughed and hopped off the counter. She grabbed the ice-cream from the coffee table and took a spoonful of it. Lucien’s eyes narrowed on her mouth as she licked the remaining off the back of the spoon.

“Why don’t we make better use of that,” he said as he took the ice-cream from her hands.

‘’Can we use it for some dirty stuff?’’ Elain asked, batting her eyelashes at him in mock innocence.

‘’You will be the death of me Sunny,’’ Lucien purred.

Elain giggled and followed him to his room.

#elucien #acotar writing circle #elucien smut #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #vassa #jurian #jurian x vassa #elain x lucien #Don't forget to check part 1 & 2 #because they are great!!

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kingofsummer93 · 1 year

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Pairing: Feysand Word Count: 5k CW: Tamlin Summary: Newly single, Feyre decides to crash at Mor's apartment while she's away on a European vacation. However, she quickly realizes that the next few weeks might not pan out exactly as she wants for two reasons: 1) Rhysand is there, and 2) the AC breaks. Will they be able to come out of it without falling in love killing each other? Or will they succumb to the heat?

This is part 3 of a collaborative fic written for the writing circle organized by @azrielshadowssing! Check out the masterlist to read the other fics!

Read it on Ao3

Part 1 written by @damedechance

Part 2 written by @hlizr50

Feyre hated the way her body reacted to his presence- the anxiety that rattled her nerves, the defensiveness in her stance, the excuses and apologies instinctively forming themselves on the tip of her tongue. Bracing herself for accusations and outright aggression. Or else, for subtle manipulation, ready to trip her up in a snare of lies and empty promises.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was flat, devoid of any sort of emotion except for blatant disinterest. As if he were a mere stranger she’d bumped into on the street, and not the ex-fiance whose face she had hurled a ring at a week ago.

She could still feel the weight of that ring on her finger- the physical and symbolic weight of that gaudy monstrosity. Three carats, with a halo of smaller diamond around it, and even more diamond embedded into the band. A dream ring, for some, but the complete opposite of what she would have chosen for herself. Feyre had gaped at the sheer size of it, and then had balked as she tried to imagine the astronomical cost of a ring like that. She had tried not to think of what that money could have bought, other than a piece of jewelry. Actual, tangible things, useful things, like rent and food and security. Things that she had gone so long without.

But those were things that Tamlin had, of course, and therefore didn’t need to worry about. Throwing away an exorbitant amount of money on an engagement ring was not something he had to think twice about.

Feyre clenched her left hand in a fist, trying to dispel the memory of that ring that had started to to feel more like a shackle the longer she wore it. Tamlin caught the movement, his eyes dipping to her left hand. His brows creased in displeasure.

“I was hoping I’d find you here. I’ve been trying to call you, but you’ve been ignoring my messages.” His frown deepened, his tone laced with accusation.

Feyre resisted the urge to roll her eyes or sigh too deeply as she glanced at her phone. She’d been in such a rush that she hadn’t even checked her messages before running out the door. A quick scan of her messages and missed calls showed no less than ten text messages and eight calls from Tamlin, starting late last night. Last night, when she’d been…

Feyre cleared her throat, feeling a flush rise up her neck at the memory of her night with Rhys. She wondered if her expression looked guilty, and then mentally slapped herself. There was nothing for her to feel guilty about. She was free to do what she liked, with whoever she liked. And besides, she told herself, remembering the floral perfume on his shirts, the late nights at the “office”- if anyone should feel guilty, it was definitely not her. And she’d be willing that her ex-fiance didn’t feel a drop of guilt about what he’d done.

She quickly scrolled through his messages, her stomach clenching at the forced casualness she recognized even through text messages, that tone that demanded to know where she was and what she was doing.

I just want to talk.

Don’t you think you owe me that, at least?

Why are you ignoring me? Where have you been staying?

Her phone pinged, startling her so much that she almost dropped it to the pavement. An unknown number appeared on her screen, with three short messages:

Canceled my meetings for the rest of the day.

I simply can’t wait for my personal feast.

Don’t bother getting out of bed, darling.

Her burning flush intensified, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. At least she could blame it on the suffocating heat. She shoved the phone back in her pocket, shrugging as nonchalantly as she could, given the image Rhys’ message had conjured to her mind. If only she’d slept for another ten minutes, then she might have ditched work and stayed in bed. Or, as his note had suggested, waited for him on the table, which was the perfect height for him to kneel and…

“Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

Tamlin narrowed his eyes, that cold green gaze flicking back and forth from the phone in her pocket to her face. If they were still together he would have already demanded to see the phone by now, to see what (or, more specifically, who) had caused such a reaction.

“Who was that?” he asked, right on cue.

“That’s none of your business, Tamlin,” she replied, as calmly and evenly as she could.

Sweat was running down her back, she was getting cranky from this encounter, and she needed to get out of this goddamn heat.

“Why are you here?” she asked again, angling her body away from him. I am busy, the posture said. I have nothing to say to you.

Tamlin flinched, but rallied. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

Feyre loosed a deep sigh. She would rather stand on this sweltering bit of pavement all day than go somewhere with him.

“Please?” he added, before she could say anything. The pleading in his tone gave her pause. That, and the word itself. Tamlin was so used to getting what he wanted out of life that please and thank you were mostly foreign concepts to him.

Tamlin took her surprise for hesitation and pounced for the kill. “I packed more clothes for you. The bag’s in my car.”

Feyre blinked in surprise. “What?”

Tamlin ran a hand through his blonde hair, looking almost embarrassed. “Well, I didn’t know how long you’d be staying here, but I figured, you know, you’d probably need more than a duffel bag’s worth of clothes eventually…”

There was a catch to it, of course, but Feyre softened slightly at the gesture. “Oh. Thanks. I was going to come around to get the rest with Mor, once she’s back from-“

“You’re staying here alone?”

Feyre looked away from that calculating gaze, hating herself for feeling guilty at the lie. “Yes.”

“Can we go up? I just want to talk, just for a few minutes.”

“No!” Feyre blurted. Tamlin’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “No, Tamlin. I don’t want to hear it, ok? Whatever excuses you’re about to spew at me-“

“No excuses! I just want to talk. Five minutes, and then I��ll get out of your hair.”

“Tamlin-”

“Five minutes, Feyre. Don’t you think you owe me that? After throwing your ring in my face and storming out?”

No. No, she didn’t, but Feyre felt a familiar twinge of anxiety at his tone. Carefully controlled, but balanced on a knife’s edge. Ready to tip over into anger at the barest push.

“Fine. Fine.” She threw up her hands, too hot and emotionally drained for a public fight. “Five minutes. But can we at least sit somewhere with AC? I’m about to faint.”

Tamlin’s shoulders sagged with relief. Feyre ignored it, along with the gleam of triumph in his eyes.

---

Rhys felt the condensation on the large iced coffees he was holding drip over his fingers as he stood in the shadows of the coffee shop across the street. His fingers clenched at the scene unfolding in front of his eyes, sending icy liquid spurting from the take-out cups. He had half a mind to march across the street, haul Feyre over his shoulder, and get her as far away from that dickhead as physically possible.

He watched, not quite willing to accept what he was seeing, as they reached a bright blue sports car (of course the asshole would have a car like that), got in, and drove away. Together.

Time seemed to slow down. For a whole minute he couldn’t bring himself to move. If he did then the world would resume its normal activity and he’d be forced to accept that what he had just seen had been real and not just a heat-induced fever dream.

Someone bumped into him on their way out of the store, and time sped up again. “Watch it,” he growled, glaring at the startled customer.

“Sorry!” a teenage girl squeaked, hurrying away from him.

Great. Now he was that asshole who picked fights with strangers on the street.

Rhys stalked to the nearest trash can and dumped out the two coffees unceremoniously. It was on autopilot that he made his feet take him back to Mor’s building, up the stifling stairs, and into her even more stifling apartment.

Moronic. He’d been moronic to think that he was finally getting his shot at the one that got away. For the past three years not a day had gone by where he hadn’t thought of that night on the beach.

Feisty, clever, sharp-tongued Feyre, with those eyes that burned into him as if she couldn’t decide whether to fuck him or punch him. He’d never get over that look.

It had been a huge mistake to pounce on her like that last night. She was fresh out of an engagement (or not, he remembered with a pang) and he’d pounced on her like some sex-starved animal. And beyond that, now that he had reminded himself of the taste of her, the feel of her, the sounds she made- he’d never be able to forget it.

It was punishment, Rhys figured, for letting her slip out of his grasp three years ago. If only fucking Amarantha hadn’t clung to him like some hyena during that entire work function. If only he’d shaken her off, if only he’d gotten Feyre’s number earlier and just fucking called her like a normal person.

And now she’d once again slipped out of reach. If she had ever been within reach, anyway.

She was probably already reuniting with Tamlin, letting him do all the things he had promised to do to her. He spotted the note he’d left her on the counter, the white stationary so innocent compared to the filthy things he’d written. The sight of it suddenly made him see red. He ripped it to shreds and dumped it into the trash without another thought.

It only took another minute for him to pack his clothes and leave the apartment. For a moment he hesitated at the top of the stairs, and then he turned back, fished his key out of his pocket, and left it under the mat.

---

Feyre was boiling. She was steaming, really, and not just from the heat, as she made the trek up the stairs to Mor’s apartment.

Asshole. What an absolute dickhead she’d almost married. Thank god- thank whatever god was up there watching her that she had dodged that bullet. Thank god she had found out about his infidelity when she had, and not after the wedding. She hated to think of what would have happened if she hadn’t. How long would she have suffered his manipulations, before having the courage to leave? If she ever got the courage, that is- if his control and subtle manipulations hadn’t brainwashed her into thinking that kind of relationship was normal.

A shiver ran down her spine, despite the suffocating heat of the stairwell.

The conversation had gone as poorly as she had suspected it would. Bullshit excuses dripping with condescension, essentially blaming her busy schedule for his infidelity. No matter that she always made sure to be home before him. No matter that she had had to explain why she wanted a career in the first place.

“Feyre,” he’d pleaded, as if talking to a small child, “you’ve made your point. We both need to do better. But you can come home now, I won’t hold it against you.”

In the end she had stormed out of the coffee shop and stood by his car until he had been forced to reluctantly hand over a gym bag full of clothes. At least he hadn’t lied about that.

By the time she reached the seventh floor landing she was panting and dripping with sweat. She wondered if Rhys was back yet, and if she’d have time to take a shower and change.

She shivered again, from anticipation this time, as she opened the front door and dumped her bag on the floor. A day in bed (or couch, or table) with Rhys was exactly what she needed to put this morning’s ugly encounter out of her mind. There would be other encounters, of course- she still had to go back and get the rest of her possessions from his apartment. But for today she’d settle for getting the whole ordeal fucked out of her brain.

“Rhys?”

The apartment was silent, and Feyre breathed a quick sigh of relief. From the amount of sweat she could feel dripping down her back, she doubted Rhys would enjoy the feast he’d planned if she didn’t shower first. She chucked off her sticky clothing on her way to the bathroom, almost tripping over her own feet as she struggled to peel off her jean shorts.

After the world’s quickest shower she wrapped a towel around herself and stared at her two duffel bags’ worth of clothing, currently dumped in a heap on Mor’s bed. What, exactly, did one wear for a marathon of sex? Mor would know, of course, but she would also demand to know who she was getting ready for. Feyre chuckled to herself at the thought. That conversation could wait, too.

She pawed through her shorts, tops, and workout clothes, all about as sexy as her sweaty jean shorts she’d dumped in the hall. Why couldn’t she have packed a sundress, or even a cute top?

After a brief hesitation she took out her phone and typed a lightning fast text to her sisters.

HELP

WHAT DOES ONE WEAR TO WAIT FOR A MAN TO COME HOME AND RAVISH THEM?

The answers arrived almost instantly.

Nesta: Who are you fucking?

Elain: Excuse me? Who are you sleeping with? Why haven’t you told us?

Nesta: But to answer your question, one wears nothing. It’s coming off anyway

Elain: Nesta!

Nesta: What? It’s true

Elain: At least a robe. A silky one though, not a terry cloth. OR a cute matching set

Nesta: Yes, that works too, actually. Preferably something strappy. Do you own any corsets?

Elain: Of course she doesn’t own any corsets, she’s an artist. Maybe a teddy, though?

Feyre choked on a laugh. She had no idea what a teddy was but there were certainly none in the jumble of clothing she had brought. Although…

She glanced at Mor’s dresser, where she knew for a fact her friend kept an impressive collection of lingerie. She wouldn’t mind.

Or else she’d just burn the garment and never tell her about it.

THANK YOU

Love you guys

Wish me luck!

Her phone kept buzzing as she rushed to Mor’s dresser. Her hands were shaking with nerves and excitement as she found Mor’s lingerie drawer and quickly looked through the contents.

Something occurred to her as she looked through the mess of lace and silk with growing uncertainty. Was it strange to borrow Mor’s lingerie to sleep with her cousin?

Feyre shut the drawer with a snap. Yes. Definitely strange. Which left her with…

She looked down at the towel wrapped around herself. Elain had said no terry-cloth, but this would have to do. After a quick swipe of gloss and a quick fluff of her hair she padded back towards the main room. She was glancing back and forth between the couch and the dining room table, debating the merits of both, when something caught her attention.

Or, more specifically, the lack of something. Rhys’ note was missing from where she had left it on the counter that morning. Feyre frowned. She clearly remembered leaving the note on the counter, thinking of how insufferable Rhys would be now that they were…doing whatever it was they were doing.

Something like dread was starting to coil itself in the pit of her stomach. Alarm bells were ringing, some bone-deep instinct she couldn’t explain. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t place what it was.

Until she pivoted on her feet and faced the hallway that led back towards the bedrooms. Rhys had left the door to the guest bedroom open all week, even at night, to her endless annoyance. She had no doubt it was his way of reminding her of his presence every time she walked by the spare bedroom. That door was now shut.

Her feet started moving on their own, until she was standing in front of that door. She knew, somehow, what she would find inside. What she wouldn’t find inside. Her heart was in her throat as she wrapped her still-shaking fingers around the handle, and pushed it open.

The bed was stripped, the open closet door showing nothing but boxes of holiday decorations and spare sheets. There were no dark suits hanging in the closet, no books on the nightstand, no dirty gym clothes in the hamper. Rhys had left.

There was a roaring in her ears as she stumbled out the room and slammed the door shut, as horrified as if she’d walked into a crime scene. Her breaths were coming in sharp, quick bursts, and to her horror she felt tears prickling behind her eyes.

He’d played her. Had played her so thoroughly that she had fallen for it, no questions asked. As if once hadn’t been enough. As if she hadn’t been broken enough the first time.

Her gaze snagged on the trash bins. There could still be an explanation, she told herself. Maybe he’d been called away on a business trip. Maybe there were problems with his renovations that he needed to attend to. Except…except that he had her phone number now, and he hadn’t texted her or left another note.

As she looked into the recycling bin all her made up explanations faded out of her mind. She stared at the note that could have changed it all, torn up into dozens of pieces, and her heart broke into just as many fragments.

---

The story ends when it was cold and it was winter and-

Six months.

One hundred eighty-two days.

Four thousand three hundred sixty eight minutes.

Two hundred sixty two thousand eighty seconds.

Feyre stared at the familiar door in front of her, trying not to think of precisely how much time had passed since The Incident. She’d been back to this apartment since then, of course, but now, standing here alone, the memories all came rushing back to her in a torrent.

The shredded note in the trash, her heart shattering into as many pieces. Staring at the text messages from the unknown contact, willing another message to appear, or for her phone to ring. Concocting excuse after excuse, the same way she had with Tamlin.

Thinking that it was her fault, somehow. It was always her fault.

How long had she spent spiraling into dark thoughts, blaming herself, until finally accepting that Rhys wasn’t coming back, that he wasn’t going to text or call her? That it was over, once again, before it could begin? How many times had she typed out a message, her finger hovering over the send button? She didn’t remember, and she didn’t care to.

Did you have to go back to work? had been the first, pathetic one.

Did you get hit by a bus?? had been an attempt at humor.

And it had spiraled, accusations and insults and verbal diarrhea.

YOU ABSOLUTE PRICK, she’d written, about a dozen times. You are the worst person I’ve ever met and I never want to see you again.

But of course she had never pressed send. Because doing so would be acknowledging what he had done, and how thoroughly, how effortlessly he had hurt her. In the end she had eventually deleted that number and the incriminating text message along with it. Some weight had lifted off her shoulders when the message disappeared from her phone, even as she struggled to contain her tears. Tears of anger- at him, but also at herself, for letting him swoop through her defenses and leave her high and dry without so much as a thank you. For the second time.

Feyre squared her shoulders, shaking the memory out of her mind. She wouldn’t let her mind go down that road again. Not now that her life was finally falling into pieces- a feat that she had only herself to thank for, and not a boyfriend or fiance.

After she had finished her first few pieces for Mor’s office there had come a torrent of inquiries, all practically begging her for a chance to commission her for pieces. She had become so busy that she’d even had to turn down work lately. Feyre still couldn’t believe it- that this was her job, that people were actually paying her to do this. Sometimes, when she received a new email from a prospective client, she had to pinch herself to remind herself that this was her life.

Her loft downtown might not be as luxurious as Mor’s, but it was hers. It was her name on the lease, when stuff broke she had to figure it out. There was something liberating about not taking care of others, or being taken care of, but simply taking care of herself.

She would never forget that it had been Mor who had given her that first boost, and who had helped put her back together last summer. It had been Mor who had stood by her side when she had gone to pick her stuff from Tamlin’s, and it had been Mor who had cradled her like an infant every time she had fallen to pieces in the weeks she had crashed at her place.

A familiar pang of guilt twisted itself in her gut at the memory. She had never admitted to her best friend what had happened between her and her cousin. It was easier to blame her broken heart on her ex-fiance than on a one-night stand (two-night stand?) who had never made her any promises anyway.

Which was why, when Mor had asked her to take care of her new kitten while she went on a business trip, she couldn’t very well say no.

Just one week, she told herself. Just one week in a luxurious apartment with a kitten. Get a grip.

With that she stuck her key in the lock and walked into the apartment. The scent of Mor’s favorite air freshener hit her first- curtsy and fresh, almost salty. Like a tall glass of lemonade sipped by the seaside.

And then- a high pitched mewling, followed by a ball of fur careening its way towards her. Feyre let out a choked squeal, dumping her bag to the floor and dropping to her knees as the kitten raced towards her.

“Hi, Lanthys,” she crooned, wincing as the kitten’s sharp, tiny claws dug through her leggings as he pawed at her in excitement. “Calm down, you little monster!”

Feyre cradled the ball of fur, laughing as he licked her nose with his tiny pink tongue. He was purring so loudly and excitedly that she could feel the vibration against her chest. Maybe she should get a kitten. Or a puppy. It sounded like the perfect relationship, actually- they didn’t expect anything other than cuddles, food, and daily walks, and reciprocated with their unending love and loyalty. Much better than a boyfriend, really, they didn’t even talk back.

As if to prove her wrong, Lanthys dug his razor-sharp claws into her jacket, piercing clean through the fabric. “You little devil! Watch it, or I’m going to start calling you Prick…”

A choked sound that definitely did not come from Lanthys made her freeze. Even the kitten seemed to go still in her arms. There was someone else in the apartment. She had probably been too lost in her own thoughts to realize.

As if in slow motion, she lifted her head. She already knew, somehow, who she’d see. Some instinct, perhaps. Some ancient, protective reflex.

She didn’t want to look, but her head moved of its own accord, and there he was, sitting on the couch. As impeccably dressed and handsome as ever, his startling eyes wide as he stared at her. He seemed to also be frozen, halfway between sitting and standing, as if he hadn’t been able to make up his mind.

No. No, no no. She was making this up, this was her mind making up stories, this was-

She didn’t know how much time passed as they stared at each other, frozen in place, Feyre crouching on the ground, Rhys hovering near the couch. Feyre’s hands tightened around the kitten, and Lanthys hissed, digging his claws into her. She let him go with a gasp, and time sped up again. Lanthys wriggled out of her grasp, disappearing into the shadows.

Feyre stood up slowly, her gaze locked on Rhys. She wished her heart wasn’t racing the way it was- she wished the sight of him didn’t awaken something in her the way it did.

Rhys settled back on the couch, seemingly able to master himself faster than she could. “Hello, Feyre darling,” he drawled.

Feyre choked out a laugh. “Darling? You-” She took a breath, unzipping her parka and dumping it to the floor. She was already sweating. “What are you doing here?”

Rhys stood up slowly, as if he was afraid of approaching her. “Mor asked me to look after Lanthys.”

She opened her mouth to retort, and then thought better of it. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Mor would have known. She had done this, she had set this up, not knowing what had happened last summer. Feyre didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You can stay,” she said flatly. “I’ll go.”

“Wait!” The strain in his voice made her pause. “Please. I’ll go, you stay, I-” He ran a hand through his hair, so unlike the usual calm, cool, and collected Rhys she knew that it caught her off guard.

“I’ll go,” he said, defeatedly. “Stay. Enjoy the apartment.”

He hurried towards the bedrooms, and Feyre stood, mutely, watching him. Emotions and memories were warring in her mind- Rhys picking her up and bringing her to bed, finding his note on the counter. Lies, she reminded herself. All lies, to rope her into sleeping with him and making her think it would lead to something more.

Rhys rushed out of the spare bedroom, gym bag slung over his shoulder, and when his eyes met hers Feyre couldn’t breathe. That blue gaze dipped, and he frowned.

“Where’s your ring?” he asked

Feyre sputtered, almost choking. “My what?”

“Your ring,” he repeated, his brows furrowing irritably.

It took a long time for Feyre’s mind to catch up to the present. Once it did, she looked at her left hand curiously, almost as if she'd find a ring there.

“What ring?” she asked, very slowly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Rhys’ jaw clenched. “Your ring,” he repeated, lips curving into a sneer. “When’s the wedding?”

For a moment she could only gape at him mutely, her mind still catching up to his words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she demanded. “I broke up with Tamlin in July. You were here. You were…” Her voice broke. “You were here, you absolute asshole!“

But Rhys was moving, and she barely had time to register what was happening as he dumped his bag on the ground and stalked across the apartment towards her.

“What are you-“

She couldn’t breathe as Rhys rushed towards her, and then his hands were on her, lifting her up and pressing her against the wall.

“Put me down, you fucking-“

“What did you say?”

She smacked him on the chest, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. “Put. Me. Down.”

Rhys chuckled, his voice so low and hoarse that goosebumps erupted on her skin. “I saw you.”

Feyre was having difficulty breathing. He was so close that all she’d have to do is lean forward an inch and then his lips would on hers. “You saw me when?”

He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. “Last summer. I saw you get into his car. You went with him. I thought-“

The pieces clicked into place, and Feyre gaped at him. “You thought I was getting back together with Tamlin?” Meanwhile she’d been here, wrapped in a towel, waiting for him to come back. It was so absurd that she closed her eyes and laughed.

When she opened her eyes again Rhys was staring at her, an unreadable expression in his blue eyes. “I waited for you.” It came out as more of an accusation than she had meant it to, and he flinched as if she had hit him. “I came back here and waited for you in a fucking towel.”

Slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, his lips curved into a grin, amusement shining in his eyes like stars. “My own personal feast,” he whispered.

Feyre smacked him again, even as his words made her shiver. “Why didn’t you call? Do you have any idea how long I waited for you to just call me?”

“I’m sorry.” He dipped his nose towards her neck, his breathing ragged. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why didn’t you call?” she asked again, her voice small.

Rhys lifted his head, all traces of amusement gone. “Because I thought I’d just lost you for the second time.”

Feyre’s hands clenched around his shirt. “For the second time?”

“I’m not making that mistake again,” he declared, voice ragged. He leaned in closer still, as if to prove his point, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m going to put you down on that table, and then I’m going to have that feast I planned. And then I'm never letting you go again.”

Feyre shivered as his words set her blood on fire. She was sweating- from the heat radiating off him, from the sheer presence of him.

“I need you to say yes, Feyre darling.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why are you so annoying?”

He grinned again, eyes shining with pure, wicked delight. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you prick!” She needed him to shut the hell up and kiss her, but from the way he was grinning at her she had a feeling he was planning on taking his sweet time.

“Yes,” he agreed, as if he had read her mind.

His gaze dipped to her mouth and he licked his lips, slowly. Feyre bit back a groan.

Finally, finally, he angled his head, his eyelids drooping closed. And then- a vague, mechanical noise from somewhere in the apartment. Rhys froze, his lips a hair’s breadth away from hers.

“What was that?”

“I think,” he said, very slowly, “that the heating just went out.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

#acotarwritingcircle #acotar writing circle #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfiction #feyre archeron #rhysand

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shadowisles-writes · 1 year

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ACOTAR Writing Circle 2 Masterlist

Gwynriel

When it Rains, part 2, part 3 ( @headcanonheadcase, sunshinebingo, foundress0fnothing )

You Are Mine, part 2, part 3 ( @sunshinebingo , damedechance, headcanonheadcase)

Double Blind, part 2, part 3 ( @hlizr50 , foundress0fnothing, azrielshadowssing)

Elucien

Sandcastles in the Sky, part 2, part 3 ( @kingofsummer93 , vulpes-fennec, fieldofdaisiies)

Sunny one so true, I love you, part 2, part 3 ( @fieldofdaisiies , kingofsummer93, sunshinebingo)

Feysand

the story starts when it was hot and it was summer and, part 2, part 3 ( @damedechance , hlrizr50, kingofsummer93)

Nessian

Why Did It Have To Be Me?, part 2, part 3 ( @vulpes-fennec , azrielshadowssing, hlizr50)

Watch Me Fall Apart, part 2, part 3 ( @azrielshadowssing , headcanonheadcase, damedechance)

Azris

Meet Me in the Woods Tonight , part 2, part 3 ( @foundress0fnothing , fieldofdaisiies, vulpes-fennec)

#acotar writing circle #acotar writing circle masterlist #acotar masterlist #masterlist #nessian #gwynriel #elucien #feysand #azris

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damedechance · 1 year

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You Are Mine

ACOTAR Writing Circle - Part 2

Read on Ao3: Pt 1, Pt 2 (2/3)

Keep reading below for all of Part 2!

The ACOTAR Writing Circle is an event organized by @azrielshadowssing where several writers each start a fic, and then pass it off to someone else for the second and third parts. Please go to her page for more information, and to see the masterlist so that you can read all of the fics! Part 1 was posted March 26th, Part 2 is posted today on April 9th, and Part 3 on April 23rd!

For Part 2, I am continuing the fic started by @sunshinebingo!! I was so excited for the opportunity, and she did a fantastic job with part one, so please go back to read it for context, of course!

Pairing: Gwynriel Word Count: 9.5k (~11k total) Rating/Warnings: E (explicit content, blood, violence, needles, firearms) Summary: When Gwyn awakes, she is tied up in her own house and finds out that Beron, her father's closest associate and distant cousin, has a plan to keep her by his side. If only someone knew what was happening to her. Maybe they could help her escape.

PART TWO

Once, when Gwyn was in the fifth grade, she and Catrin had walked together to the convenience store after school. It was a small place just down the street–hardly much of a distance at all–but instead of leaving school from the front, they had taken the back exit in order to avoid catching the attention of one of their dad’s cards. They didn’t want to be shuffled around by yet another nameless face, not that day, and so they had fled to the convenience store for just a few moments of peace.

They’d been giggling with their heads bent together in the candy aisle, giddy with their success, when they heard a familiar voice that had seemed so out of place that it made cold drip down their spines.

When they’d looked up, they saw their teacher, Ms. Scranton, in the family planning aisle with a box of condoms in her hand.

Inexplicably, this moment felt exactly like that.

A single second passed, stretched into taut eternity. More gunshots overhead, and the feeling of the guard’s fingers digging into her skin. Gwyn stared wordlessly at Azriel, this man who had somehow been in the right place at the right time, clearly aiming to save her, but he didn’t return her gaze. He hadn’t looked at her at all since that first glance when the guard pulled her into this room.

There was blood sprayed across his face, and it felt so out of place that all she could think of was that box of condoms in Ms. Scranton’s hand.

The second ticked away, and Gwyn opened her mouth to say something. Azriel’s eyes flicked over to her–fleetingly, as if drawn by the movement of her lips but then deciding that it was nothing worthwhile–and instead of pulling the trigger, he reeled back his arm and drove the butt of the gun into the guard’s forehead. Instantly, the grip on her arm went slack as the guard crumpled to the ground.

“Come on,” Azriel said. He took advantage of her shock by grabbing her elbow, replacing the guard’s cold, stony grip with his warm and broad hold. He spun her around so that instead of facing the front door–where she thought she saw Beron exiting in the midst of all the gunfire–they headed towards the back of the house.

He pushed on the small of her back, ushering her ahead of him as they made their way through the foyer. And Gwyn was so stunned by the pools of thick blood on the ground, on the rug she had helped her father pick out, that she didn’t even think to challenge him. She felt his fingers begin to undo the knots at her wrists, and automatically began to slow down to help him reach the ropes better.

“Hurry,” he said behind her. “We only have a few seconds before Beron realizes that you aren’t right behind him, and he sends someone else in here to get you.”

The feeling of the ropes finally going loose around her wrists was enough to break through the daze. Gwyn realized that she was allowing a man–who for all intents and purposes was a complete stranger to her–to give her orders. She whirled around to face him.

“What’s going on?” Gwyn rasped out. Her head swiveled around to search for Beron. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, couldn’t hear the gunshots anymore over the ringing in her ears but she felt the vibrations of them. Someone was still shooting, somewhere.

Azriel didn’t miss a beat. He continued charging towards the back of the house, catching her by the wrist and towing her right along after him.

“We have to move,” Azriel rushed out. “Come on.”

Gwyn shook her head. Even if he couldn’t see her gesture, it made her feel a little bit better. All of this was so wrong. There were bullet holes in the childhood photos lining the hall, and a gun in the hands of the man in front of her.

A gun. Azriel, her friend and an accountant, was holding a gun.

“Give me that!” Gwyn suddenly gasped as Azriel pushed open the back door. They crossed out onto the patio, and she had to squint her eyes against the onslaught of sunlight. She reached out blindly for the gun. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Gwyn didn’t have much experience with guns–she much preferred her self defense courses, and knives–but she felt sure that the firearm training courses her father had forced her and Catrin to take gave her far more authority to wield a firearm than Azriel’s CPA license.

Azriel smoothly maneuvered Gwyn away without missing a single step, keeping her at arm’s length as he continued to lead her towards the back fence. Their feet pounding into the grass, and his eyes going wide. As if she was the insane one.

“Gwyneth,” he said. “We don’t have the time–”

Azriel’s voice was interrupted by a clamor coming from behind them. Beron’s men, barging back into the house as it became clear that Gwyn wasn’t coming. Azriel rolled his eyes, let out a very exasperated sigh, and then hauled Gwyn up into his arms.

Perhaps he was right. Maybe she was insane, because the logical reaction to some strange man with a gun grabbing her would have been to scream, especially since she had just been kidnapped by Beron not ten minutes ago.

But she swallowed down the sound, sure that screaming would have only drawn Beron’s men to her sooner. Their voices were getting louder, and the gunshots had faded away entirely. Apparently, whoever had been holding them off was long gone.

And so Gwyn went with the second, far less practical reaction. As Azriel carried her over his shoulder, past tasteful patio furniture and her mother’s now decrepit garden, she leaned over and dug her teeth into Azriel’s shoulder.

She was rewarded with the sound of him grunting, but nothing else, and then he skillfully extricated her from his shoulder and tossed her into the open air.

The breath was stolen from Gwyn’s lungs as she plummeted, and for a split second she tried to remember if there was a cliff in her backyard, and if she was going to die. But Gwyn reached the end of her descent very quickly, landing on something hard. Her eyes burst open to find that she was on the other side of the fence bordering her yard, and that there was a face above her. A stranger, with a slit in his brow and his long, unruly black hair pulled back behind his head.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

He was such a big man that Gwyn would have been terrified, if not for the fact that the smile on his face could only be described as goofy. She found herself nodding in agreement, and wrapping her hands around his neck so that he could carry her more efficiently.

Another gunshot rang through the air, and after such a long time of not hearing any at all, this one caused Gwyn to jump. She glanced to the side, just in time to watch Azriel’s body falling down from over the fence beside them. He immediately began to try to peel himself up from the ground, a hand clutched over his side.

Gwyn kicked the man holding her, and he let her gently onto the ground without complaint.

“I told you that you’d hurt yourself!” Gwyn chastised.

She leaned over immediately to take away Azriel’s gun, if only to prevent further damage, only to find that the wound was on the complete opposite side of the weapon. It would have been almost impossible to have given himself that wound, if he’d been aiming in the general direction of Beron’s men at all. At the last second, Gwyn found a knife holstered to his waist, and took that from him, instead. She helped him fully onto his feet, and then they both began to follow the stranger further into the small patch of trees behind her house.

“Where are we going?” Gwyn said. A few more gunshots sounded out, and Gwyn could only hope that the sparse covering of trees would prevent any of the shots from landing.

“Next street over,” the stranger said. “I have a car, but we have to hurry if we don’t want them to follow us.”

“Too late for that,” Azriel gritted out. “Look.”

And as they crossed through the last few trees, Gwyn saw a black, nondescript car idling on the side of the street, covered entirely in shadow. Then, from around the corner, she saw another car swerving in the road, still a decent distance away, but rapidly closing in.

And behind them, more gunshots. Beron’s men, who had hopped the fence and were running in their direction with guns aimed straight for them.

“Move,” Azriel said, pushing Gwyn’s head down just as a bullet whizzed past, burying itself into the side of the black car that was waiting for them.

This time, Gwyn allowed Azriel to tug her along. He shoved her down into the car as the stranger held open the door, and waited as she crawled over the seat to make room for him. The stranger had gotten into the front seat and began driving away before Azriel had even fully closed his door.

The entire car was blanketed in a thick silence as they raced down the street, the tires screeching against the asphalt. Gwyn tried to peek her head up over the back seat to see if Beron was still following them, but Azriel shoved her back down with a hand on the crown of her head.

“Yes, they’re still coming,” he informed her. “Don’t look.”

“Why would I take advice from you?” Gwyn snapped back. She jerked her chin down towards where he was still clutching his side. “I wasn’t the one who got shot.”

Azriel rolled his eyes at her, and she poked his wound in retaliation. Azriel hissed.

“Lift your shirt,” she ordered him.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “No.”

“Just do it.”

He did.

“So what exactly was your plan?” the stranger said from the front seat.

This drew Azriel’s attention away from Gwyn just long enough for her to examine the wound in his side without his scrutiny. There was a pretty nasty gash, right along the line of his bottom rib, but it didn’t look like an entry wound–Gwyn had seen too many of those on her father or her father’s associates. It looked like the bullet had merely grazed him, the lucky asshole.

“Shut up, Cass,” Azriel groaned from beside her.

The car jerked as Cass took a turn at a worrying speed, which caused Gwyn to tilt over in the seat, pressing her cheek into Azriel’s shoulder. His arm had been raised to allow her access to the injury, but it fell down upon her shoulders to catch her as Cass righted the car. She pushed herself off of him with her hands flat on his chest.

Cass. Gwyn mentally rifled through all of her previous conversations with Azriel, trying to place the name. He’d mentioned a few of his friends before, and she kept mouthing the nickname to herself until she could place it.

“Cassian?” she said, leaning away from Azriel so she could look in the front seat. Which was a mistake, because they had made it into the city, now, and the buildings were rushing by so fast as Cassian wove in and out of traffic that it immediately made her nauseous.

“That’s right,” Cassian said, winking at her. Her stomach churned, and didn’t settle until his eyes were back on the road.

She fell back into her seat, sinking down until she couldn’t see out any of the windows.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Cassian said. “We’re splitting up soon. I’m gonna lead Beron away while Az gets you somewhere safe?”

Why should I trust either of you?

The thought rose up to the forefront of her mind as Gwyn glanced at the man beside her. He was pressing his hand against his side again, but she was too exhausted to summon up any sympathy. Reality was crashing down on her before the adrenaline had even begun to melt away, and the stress and worry began to coalesce in a sickening, migraine-inducing way. All she wanted to do was get out of this car, free from Cassian’s reckless driving, and go back home.

Except, she wasn’t sure she had a home, anymore.

“Don’t tell–”

“Rhys,” Cassian finished for Azriel. “Obviously.”

Cassian brought the car to a lurching halt, and then hopped out of the driver’s seat before even putting the vehicle fully in park. Azriel was close behind him, and then Gwyn was left with no other choice than to scramble out after him. When she stood up, she realized that they were in a busy parking lot outside of a Whole Foods.

“This is where you plan to kill me?” Gwyn muttered to herself, though she watched as Azriel surreptitiously tucked the gun in the back of his jeans. He must have still been hurting, and his hands were covered in blood, but he was opening the door to the car right beside them, and ushering Gwyn inside once again.

“See ya later,” Cassian said as farewell, as he hopped into the car on the other side. He started the engine, and waved heartily at Gwyn as he peeled away.

She didn’t say bye. Instead, she turned around and crawled over the center console and into the passenger seat. Azriel landed beside her, and Gwyn studied him carefully as he turned on the car and pulled out of the parking space.

“They might still be following us,” Azriel said. He gave no indication that he was injured other than his stilted tone. “Cass did a nice job of shaking them off, but Beron has a lot of people on high alert all over the city, and he’s pissed. So we’re going to take the long way to the safe house to make sure we aren’t being ta–tracked.”

The stammering was new. Gwyn had never known Azriel to fumble over his words.

You never knew him at all, she thought.

Gwyn didn’t say anything. Azriel glanced over at her, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As they maneuvered out of the busy parking lot and onto a far emptier side street, his speed picked up. Gwyn watched the needle on the dashboard, and then looked back at his face. Assessing.

“Put on your seatbelt,” he said finally.

His driving was far smoother than Cassian’s. Just as fast, maybe, but she didn’t feel the need to vomit with every turn. She’d take her chances.

“Who are you?” she said.

Her eyes didn’t miss the way his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“It’s gonna be a long drive,” he said. “You should put it on.”

“I will when you do,” Gwyn said dismissively. She tried again, “Who are you?”

“You know who I am,” Azriel said. His eyes never left the road, which wasn’t as much reassuring as it was suspicious.

“I know who you want me to think you are,” Gwyn said. She crossed her arms and turned away to look out the passenger window. The buildings all whisked past her at a dizzying pace, but it was a welcome change from Azriel’s stoicism.

“That’s all you need to know.”

Gwyn wasn’t as certain about that as Azriel seemed to be. Her mind was spinning out of control, and it had nothing to do with the lingering adrenaline or carsickness. She kept looking out the rearview mirror to see if anyone was following them. She began mapping the splatter of blood on her white dress until she could still see its shape imprinted in the black when she closed her eyes.

The city streets faded gradually into forest, and then into crags and boulders. The road became less pavement and more packed dirt as they circled the base of the mountains, to a place so remote and secluded that she wondered if he really did bring her here just to kill her. They were at a small lake at the base of the mountain, where a small, rickety cabin sat nestled up against the rock.

And Azriel had remained silent and steadfast for the remainder of the drive. Something she wasn’t unfamiliar with, but that grated on her nerves nonetheless.

“We’re here,” Azriel announced, the sound of the car door slamming shut behind him punctuating his words.

Almost reluctantly, Gwyn climbed out and followed Azriel up to the cabin. He had parked somewhere behind the shaky looking structure, obscuring the car from view, as if anyone would ever mistakenly happen upon this place to begin with. She scrambled after him as he ducked through a back entrance, and felt her face fall as soon as she entered the cabin.

It was a single room, fitted with a small kitchenette, a lumpy old bed with several moth-eaten quilts, and a door to the side that she suspected led to a bathroom. Altogether, the space was very tight. And in shambles.

She’d been expecting some place built for romantic getaways, or hiking trips. Not the house of sticks made by the second little pig. Gwyn wondered who was supposed to be the wolf.

She turned around slowly, watching as Azriel secured the door behind him, and waited until he was facing her.

They stared at each other for a moment, like two opponents sizing each other up, before Azriel brushed past her and took the one and a half steps necessary to reach the bed. He got down on his knees and rooted around underneath it for a while before coming back up with a white first-aid box.

He settled down on top of the bed, and began taking off his shirt, wincing as he raised his arms over his head. Gwyn noted that the wound was still bleeding, and had to hold herself back from immediately going to his side. The pained expression made it a bit easier to pity him, but she still held a grudge over his not being very forthcoming with information in the car.

“You’re an accountant,” she said flatly.

Azriel tossed his shirt into a corner, and then pulled gauze and antiseptic from the kit.

He didn’t look at her. “Yeah.”

“Why do you have a gun?” she said. It was the wrong question. It didn’t fully encompass everything that was currently rattling around in her brain, but it was the first thing that came out of her mouth. Again, she recalled Ms. Scranton, and the question she had blurted to Catrin without thinking.

Why does she have condoms?

Azriel began cleaning his wound, hissing, and Gwyn took a step towards him before she remembered that she was supposed to be pissed. That she shouldn’t trust him. This wasn’t Azriel the accountant, Azriel the man who came to the library every week for book club. Not Azriel, the man who stopped by every Monday morning with her favorite pastry. Not even Azriel, the guy who sometimes spent a suspicious amount of time in the adult romance section.

This was Azriel, the guy who had mysteriously appeared at her house just in time to shoot a couple of people, kidnap her, and bring her into the mountains.

She found a perverse amount of pleasure in the fact that he–apparently–was horrible at doing sutures.

Gwyn still had the knife she had taken from him, and she twisted it around in her hands before falling down onto the bed beside him. The mattress bounced, causing Azriel to poke himself with the needle, and she smiled.

When Azriel realized she was still looking at him, waiting for an answer, he met her gaze and shrugged.

“Why are you wearing a wedding dress?”

Irritation flared up in Gwyn, heating her cheeks and causing her to clench her teeth. She crossed her arms, and glared at him.

“You’re going to start answering my questions,” Gwyn seethed. “Or else I’m going to head right back out that door and–”

“What?” Azriel asked, his eyes suddenly jerking up from his task and meeting hers. She found the hazel of his eyes had cooled to a dark, fathomless shade, and bit down on her tongue to keep from gasping. “You’re going to leave, and then do what? Head back to Beron? Please.”

The sound of him scoffing scraped against every single one of her nerves. Gwyn gritted her teeth, and practiced tensing and then relaxing each of her fingers before she spoke again.

“Just answer me,” she said in a measured tone. “Why did you–”

“Start asking better questions.”

Gwyn’s hold on the knife tightened. She could kill him. No one would ever find him here, and besides, he’d probably been planning to do it to her, anyway.

Azriel flicked a dirty bit of gauze off the bed onto the floor, and she saw a muscle jump in his cheek. Good. At least he was just as pissed off as she was.

“I’m doing the best I can,” Gwyn said through her teeth. “Considering the fact that I was just drugged less than a few hours ago, that I just witnessed a gunfight in my living room, and that I’m now trapped here with you.”

She made sure to say the last word like an insult.

Azriel gave up with the sutures, instead electing to simply pack the wound with gauze, and then wrap a bandage around his middle. He sat up with a slouch that was typical of his abhorrent posture, but for some reason when he was pathetic and shirtless, it had Gwyn’s mouth going dry. She wrenched her eyes back up to his face.

“We can stop pretending, Gwyneth,” Azriel said. “Ask. Better. Questions.”

“Pretending what?”

Azriel shot up from the bed, stomping over to the other side of the room as if it would do anything to put some distance between them, but in the cramped space, all Gwyn would have to do was reach out in order to touch him. She kept her fingers clenched tightly around the knife.

“This innocent act isn’t cute, Berdara.” Azriel said. His eyes narrowed, and she could actually see them become darker and darker, until she was so deep in the black of them that she had no hope of clawing her way back out. “We both know who you are, and I think it’s about time that you laid all of your cards out on the table if you want any chance of getting away from him. I can help you, you know.”

“Help me–” Gwyn shook her head, and her eyes going wide as she stared at him. Dumbfounded. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Azriel’s expression smoothed over, going completely unreadable as something in him shifted. When he spoke again, his tone was blank–clinical, even. Cold.

“Gwyneth Berdara,” he said. “Twenty-six. Daughter to Marienne Berdara, now deceased, and Samuel Berdara, now missing. Twin sister to Catrin Berdara, now deceased. Master’s in Library Studies from Velaris University, currently working in the University Library and assisting with research–”

Gwyn interrupted, if not to piss him off, then only to shake off the bit of panic that had begun to creep up at the mention of her mother and sister.

“How do you know all of that?” she said breathlessly.

Azriel continued. “Fire, I think it was. For your mother and your sister. Of course, that’s only the official story. Your father has been known to be involved in some rather…unofficial business. Getting involved with the likes of Beron Vanserra, his cousin. Making money and then gambling it away. Writing checks he couldn't cash. No wonder he ran off.”

“Stop it,” Gwyn said shakily. She got up from the bed, and held onto the metal footboard to keep herself from falling over. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He raised an eyebrow, the first hint of an expression on his face ever since he’d begun laying out every detail of her sorry life like it meant nothing. The first hint of an expression, and it was as if it was all to say: Wanna bet?

“Works five days a week,” Azriel said. “Eight to five. You go to the deli a few blocks down for lunch, sometimes you meet your friend Emerie and you order a veggie sandwich with avocado. On Sundays you sing at church, and on Saturdays”–he paused to take a thready breath–”you lead book club.”

Gwyn let go of the metal railing, and slowly–deliberately–walked up to him. She didn’t stop until they were toe to toe, until she could tip her chin up, and stare him directly in the eyes. She turned the knife over in her palm.

“Who,” she said, “the fuck are you?”

The corner of his mouth turned up, something wry and pitying, and then dipped back down.

“You’ll have to excuse me for next week,” Azriel said. “I didn’t finish chapter fifty-five.”

Gwyn almost stabbed him right then. Consequences be damned, she was furious. She had sat next to this man in her library every Saturday afternoon for six weeks, and had never known that he was this deranged. That he knew all of this information about her, or even that he had ever held a gun before in his life. He’d sold this story to her so well, the one of him being an accountant with two cats and a mortgage, of romance novels being his guilty pleasure. He’d treated every bit of information she’d shared with him as if it was brand new, acting surprised, and asking questions. Just how much of it did he already know?

She’d flirted with him. When she thought he was just a harmless, if impossibly fit, guy, she had flirted with him. She remembered thinking that his quiet demeanor was charming, that the tattoos she could see peeking up around the edges of his shirts were mouthwatering, that he was awkward as hell and she liked it.

She thought his eyes were pretty. But now, with them staring down at her, all she could feel was heat. Not pretty. Scorching.

“Now,” Azriel said after a beat. “This is where I’m stumped, so you’ll have to help me out. I’ve been tailing you for weeks trying to figure out what you did for them. Your father kept you so close, and Beron definitely had taken notice. So what is it, Gwyneth? What kind of irreplaceable work do you do for the Vanserras, and how have you been hiding it all this time?”

“I have nothing to do with them,” Gwyn said. She lifted the knife, pressing the end into Azriel’s abdomen. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he pressed his palms flat against the wall behind him, as if welcoming her to try it. “I’m just a librarian.”

“That might appear to be true,” he conceded. His head tilted to the side as he studied her, a strand of hair falling down over his forehead. “Your internet history certainly turns up clean. And all of your whereabouts can be accounted for every single night with a solid alibi. So it must be something behind the scenes. What is it, then? Drugs? Medical care? You did have that brief stint in nursing school–”

“You’re insane,” Gwyn said, suddenly grabbing him by the neck just to shut him up. His expression faltered, just for a second, maybe some uncertainty, and then the mask was back on. “None of what you’re saying is making sense. I’m just a librarian. I made a point of it, ever since the night of the fire, to have as little to do with my family as possible. How can you even think that?”

“We counted numerous phone calls with your father, his associates, and the Vanserras,” Azriel said. “And then Beron’s sudden interest in you, and the sudden deposits into your account.”

“That was my father’s last attempt to hoist his blood money off onto someone else,” Gwyn said, glaring. “I reported it. Beron thinks he chased my father away, but it was me.”

There it was. Another crack in the facade. Azriel wavered.

“It all looked very convenient.”

“Does this look convenient?” Gwyn asked, nodding down towards her bloodstained stress.

Azriel opened his mouth and then closed it. His shoulders sagged.

“I’m tired,” he said suddenly, voice devoid of all emotion.

She didn’t release him. “Just how long have you been tailing me, Azriel?”

He didn’t answer her. His eyes drifted away towards some point over her shoulder, and she pressed the knife a bit harder against him to draw his attention back to her.

“I let you do my taxes,” she said.

“I hired someone else to do them,” he confessed.

Gwyn gasped. “You fu–”

“Two months.”

The blood drained out of her face. “Two months?”

He shrugged, unaffected. “It’s nothing personal, Gwyn. I do what I’m told.”

Suddenly realizing that she was close enough to him that she could feel the breath coming from his lips and fanning across hers, Gwyn released him. She feigned disgust, as she backed away. She should have been revolted.

“And who gives the orders?” Gwyn said. She decided to try her luck. If he believed her, then he might finally start to give her some answers.

Azriel’s eyes dragged down her form, from her eyes and to her toes, and then all the way back up.

“Finally,” he said. “You’re starting to ask some good questions. Rhysand calls the shots, usually. Sometimes he delegates. You met Cassian.”

Gwyn mentally retrieved the other handful of names Azriel had mentioned in the past. “And Amren and Morgan, right?”

“Morrigan,” he said. “Sure.”

“And what exactly,” she swirled the knife in the air, “do you guys do?”

“We’re a…” he trailed off, chewing on the side of his cheek. “We’re a company that specializes in organized disobedience.”

“Crime,” Gwyn corrected. “Like Beron.”

“Nothing like Beron,” Azriel corrected, his voice dropping so low that Gwyn supposed she should have been intimidated. Instead, it made her cheeks feel warm. “Or the Vanserras. They’re indiscriminate with their dealings. They don’t care about who they might affect, or what the outcome of their actions might be. They only care about greed and causing the most destruction possible. We’re far more magnanimous with our goals.”

“Why does this sound like a superhero comic?” Gwyn scoffed. “The misunderstood villains, who really just want to do the right thing. I feel like I’ve seen this exact movie.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed. He stepped away from the wall, but Gwyn backed up again to maintain the distance.

“You really think we’re the same as Beron, then?” Azriel said. “What was it you said earlier? About how he seemed so preoccupied with his whores? Please don’t tell me that’s all you think.”

“Oh, I’d love to hear your theory,” Gwyn said, laughing humorlessly. “Go ahead. Why do you think Beron is so insane?”

“His wife left him years ago,” Azriel said. “He’d gotten in the habit of distasteful affairs, sure, but more than that, he began to lose his grip on reality. He started making calls that not only weren’t sound business decisions, but that also ended up turning innocent people into collateral damage. It gives the rest of us all a bad name.”

“Seems like you’d do a pretty fine job of that all by yourselves,” Gwyn said. “Considering the fact that you were stalking me.”

“Then why are you here with me,” Azriel said. He took another step forward, and this time, she had nowhere else to go. The backs of her thighs hit the edge of the bed. “And not back there with him? Do you truly think I’m just the lesser of two evils?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Gwyn murmured. So quietly, that she thought he didn’t hear it, at first.

And then his face softened, and he lifted up both hands to rake them back through his hair. His eyes darted all across her face, before he groaned, and turned away from her.

“Go take a shower,” he dismissed her. “There should be some clothes in the bathroom so you can change. If you leave that ugly dress outside the door, I’ll get rid of it.”

“You want me to shower?” Gwyn asked. “Just like that?”

Azriel shrugged, still looking away from her. His arms dropped back down to his sides. “We clearly don’t trust each other. None of that is going to be fixed right now, and we have to wait for Cassian to get back, anyway, before we do anything about Beron. Might as well get comfy.”

Gwyn blinked at him, and then felt her arms go slack.

“You want me to shower?” she asked again.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Why?” she asked. “So you can watch me?”

His face went pale, and when he looked back towards her, his eyes were wide open.

“I’m not going to–”

“Why not?” Gwyn said, setting her jaw. “It probably wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I never watched you shower,” Azriel said, his tone clipped.

“Did you put cameras in my teddy bears?” Gwyn said. “Because that might be a step too far.”

“Do you have teddy bears?”

“Seems like a thing you should know,” Gwyn sniffed, as she strode past him and headed towards the bathroom. “If you were any good at your job.”

She closed the bathroom door behind her before she could bear witness to his response, if he had one, and leaned back against the door for a moment to collect her thoughts. Once she felt like she had her breathing under control, she immediately ran over to the shower, turning it as hot as it would go, and let it run while she searched every inch of the bathroom.

Clearly, Azriel wasn’t who she had thought he was. And clearly her distant uncle was insane. And Gwyn didn’t like the idea that she had to choose either of them, but she was–tragically–out of options. She would have to stay with Azriel, at least for now, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t search for any escape routes.

The bathroom had a small window, but she thought it was just a bit too small for her to wiggle through, and so she began to search for other ways to get out undetected, if things went wrong. There was a narrow water closet, which turned up with nothing, and then a cabinet under the sink where she found the clothes Azriel had promised along with a fully equipped toolbox.

Her prospects were dim.

Sighing, Gwyn finally stripped down and turned to the shower. At least if she didn’t have a concrete plan of escape, she could console herself with the fact that she was draining the last of the cabin’s hot water for whenever Azriel took his shower. She took her time washing the blood out of her hair and scrubbing it beneath her nails, until her skin went red from the scalding water. And then she waited even longer, until the water was just tepid, and stepped out.

Allowing a puddle to collect beneath her, Gwyn leisurely dried herself. Maybe Azriel would slip in the water and knock himself unconscious, allowing her to steal his car and drive… somewhere. She sighed, wondering where she would even go if she had the chance, and began to step into the clothes Azriel had provided. They were a bit loose, but she could tie the pants tighter, and cuff the sleeves of the shirt. In the end, it was far more comfortable than the excuse for a wedding gown Beron had forced her into.

When Gwyn stepped back out into the main room of the cabin, a cloud of steam followed her, filling the room.

“All yours,” she said as she plopped down on the bed beside Azriel. She glanced around, happy to note that the dress was gone. He must have been rifling through the kitchen, because there were cold cans of soup and stale granola bars all over the mattress. She picked up one of the least offensive granola bars and began chewing on it.

Azriel didn’t move. He watched her curiously for a moment, and then slowly raised his hand.

Gwyn felt his fingers on her cheek–light, barely grazing–before she realized what he was doing. She pushed herself up off her stomach, and rolled back onto her heels just to escape his touch and the bizarre things he was doing to her nerves. She swallowed down a bite of her snack, and stared at him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Your face is still swollen,” Azriel said. His hand was still lifted towards her, and he leaned forward so that his thumb could catch her lip. “And this cut doesn’t look good.”

Gwyn shrugged. “It’ll go away.”

“I don’t have any ice,” Azriel said, his tone a bit lofty. “But you need something. For the swelling.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Gwyn said. She slapped his hand away, and then pointed towards the door to the bathroom. “Don’t you wanna go clean up?”

Azriel watched her suspiciously for a few more seconds, but once she simply resumed eating her granola bar, he eventually got up from the bed and headed into the bathroom. Gwyn waited until she heard the shower turn back on before she got up and began to search around the cabin.

The first thing she looked for was the car keys. The second thing was the gun. Azriel had taken both with him.

Gwyn groaned with frustration, and allowed herself to fall back onto the bed, crushing packs of crackers beneath her as she stared up at the ceiling. She was well and truly out of options now. If Catrin was here, she might have been able to come up with an escape plan, but all Gwyn had was Azriel, and today had clearly shown that she had no idea who he was.

But maybe he still had a plan.

She waited patiently as he finished in the shower, carefully tucking the knife she had taken from Azriel between the mattress and the frame, so that she could reach it if she needed. As soon as the water had turned off, she sat up on the edge of her bed, leaning forward as she waited for him to come out. Call it boredom or desperation, but she was almost glad when she saw his face.

And then absolutely giddy when she saw how furious he was.

“No need for ice,” he grumbled, ruffling his hair with a towel. “The water in the shower is cold enough to bring the swelling in your face down. Wanna go back in?”

“I’m,” Gwyn said between fits of laughter, “good.”

Azriel retaliated by shaking out the rest of his wet hair all over her, leaning over the footboard of the bed to ensure that the droplets would land on her. She shoved him away, eager to maintain all pretenses of being revolted by him, but she couldn’t deny the fact that when he had settled down on the bed beside her and her laughter had dissipated, the smile remained achingly on her face.

“So,” Gwyn said finally, sighing as she fell back against the pillow. She looked over at Azriel, who was still sitting up and carefully extricating all of the food out from beneath her back. “What’s the plan?”

“What plan?” Azriel deflected. “Can you get off the chocolate chip ones? They’re my favorite.”

She didn’t move. “You know, the plan. Are we just gonna kill Beron, or what?”

Azriel snorted, his mouth pulling into a smile as he finally freed the last of the granola bars from beneath her. He tossed them onto a side table, and then landed down on the bed beside her.

“That’s too easy,” he said. “He deserves to watch his worthless empire burn.”

Gwyn nodded, as if she had any idea what it felt like to be so melodramatic. “Sure. So what do we do?”

“We don’t do anything,” Azriel said. “You stay here, and when everything is safe, we’ll drop you back off at home. That is, if you’re telling the truth about having nothing to do with Beron.”

Gwyn didn’t bother with trying to convince him to believe her. Not anymore. Afterall, wouldn’t that be kind of hypocritical of her, considering she didn’t believe him, either?

“If you think I’m staying here and letting you take care of him when he was the one that almost forced me to marry him,” Gwyn paused to gag, “then you’re stupider than I thought. So. What are we going to do?”

Azriel's head rolled to the side, and when he looked at her this time, it was still in that calculated, indifferent sort of way, but the black of his eyes had warmed some. Had gone bronze, flashing gold and green in the waning light from the cabin window. She felt her breath hitch behind her ribs, and her fingers twitch from where they were folded over her stomach. She wanted to brush the hair away from his forehead.

“Fine,” Azriel said finally. “I’ll tell you.”

She might not have known the full extent of his organization’s influence, not really, and he definitely hadn’t been forthcoming with any of the details about his identity, or his tailing her–but in his explanation of the plan they had for bringing down the Vanserra’s, Gwyn was able to glean little details about Azriel and his friends. That they headed a small, but powerful sect of organized crime in the city that apparently had their own moral code, one that directly opposed the morals lauded by the Vanserras. She learned that they had a seemingly bottomless pit of resources, connections, and money. And that they had connections within the Vanserra family. An older son, who appeared to align with their values, and would likely become the new head of the family, should Beron fall.

Azriel outlined the plan into the late hours, allowing for questions and suggestions made by Gwyn. Cassian didn’t come to interrupt them, and Azriel didn’t seem worried that they were still stuck at the cabin. He continued explaining that they had been planting evidence on the Vanserras for months, that everything would culminate into one final operation tomorrow, where Az, Cassian, and Rhys staged a messy crime scene that would place Beron Vanserra, beyond reasonable doubt, right at the center of it. He’d be taken down for the months of evidence, as well, shamed into earlier retirement, leaving the door open for his eldest son to take the reins. And if all else failed, they’d kill him. Would likely still kill him, even if everything went right.

The only thing that wasn’t part of this plan, apparently, was Gwyn. Rhysand had given Azriel explicit orders not to interfere when it came to her. She was a wildcard, apparently. A liability. She’d be fine without their direct intervention.

“Dramatic,” Gwyn said, summarizing Azriel’s entire speech with a yawn. “Don’t you guys ever have anything better to do than scheme and stalk random girls?”

Azriel smiled wryly. “Just go to bed. If you really want to come, you’ll have to be well rested when Cassian gets here.”

“You’ll really let me come?” Gwyn said, even as she pulled back the covers and settled her head against a pillow.

It wasn’t that late. In fact, the sun was still lingering along the edge of the horizon. But Gywn could hardly keep her eyes open, and her limbs felt so heavy she could barely lift them to pull the covers over her shoulders.

“If you sleep,” Azriel said, nodding. He slid into the bed beside her, and she felt his knee bump into hers as the mattress bounced. “I’ll even let you take the first shot.”

Gwyn closed her eyes, and listened to the sound of crickets outside.

“I don’t believe you,” she murmured. “Not for a second.”

Azriel chuckled, though she couldn’t tell what was so funny. “Why not?”

“Because nothing’s real,” Gwyn said immediately. She could feel her tongue moving sluggishly in her mouth. The adrenaline had completely left her body, leaving her drained, exhausted, and useless.

She felt Azriel’s hand cup the side of her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open to find that odd expression on his face again. The soft one, made of bronze and warmth deep in her abdomen. She swallowed, and tried to keep her eyes open as he traced a lofty arch over her cheekbone with his thumb.

“That’s not true,” he murmured, his head pitching forward until his forehead pressed against hers. “Some of the things were real. It wasn’t all an act.”

“Like what?” Gwyn challenged. “Because you already admitted you can’t do taxes.”

He smiled, a bit of his teeth showing, and Gwyn was struck with the inexplicable impulse to taste the edges of them with her tongue. Errant desires from before she had realized what she knew of him had all been a carefully crafted lie.

“This,” he said, allowing his hand to drift down from her face and to the place where her neck dropped in a curve down to her shoulder. The knuckles of two of his fingers swung back and forth. “This is real.”

“Did you really read the books I assigned?” Gwyn asked suddenly, eager to evaporate the tension. Somehow.

It didn’t work. Azriel whispered to her again, this time in such a low, rough tone that her eyes nearly rolled back in her head. She remembered sitting next to him on a couch in book club, the feeling of his thigh against hers, and his voice as he whispered a line from one of their books.

“I should have known,” he drawled, “that the books would be what mattered to you most. Yes, Gwyneth. I really read them.”

She nodded, as if she was satisfied with his answer, and then drew in a shaky breath.

“What else,” she huffed out, “was real?”

Azriel hummed thoughtfully. “I think I told you once I liked your eyes.”

“Yeah,” Gwyn said. His hand dropped from her shoulder, trailing down her arm until it fell to her waist. She felt his fingers, warm and gentle, right at the hem of her borrowed shirt, and arched towards him. Azriel smiled appreciatively.

“And your smile,” he said.

She licked her lips. “Okay.”

“Do you need more?” he asked, his fingers swinging back and forth across the hem of her pants.

More what?

“More what?” she asked.

His fingers stopped at the front of her pants, tugging lightly, and then she felt tension in the drawstrings at the front. Like he might untie them.

“More things that are real,” he said. “Of course.”

“Right,” she said. She swung her leg up over his waist, canting her hips towards his. “Of course.”

“Gwyneth,” he said. His nose brushed across hers, and his other hand came up in the space between them to slip between the side of her neck and the pillow. She could feel her pulse pressing against his palm, and tried not to feel embarrassed because of it. “Were you thinking of something else?”

“In your dreams,” she breathed, even as she began to roll her hips forward. His fingers pulled one of the drawstrings free from the tie, loosening it.

“Probably,” he admitted. “Tell me, do I appear in your dreams, too?”

He used to. Ever since the first day he’d shown up in the library, and every day since. Oh, Gwyn had dreamed about him. His fingers, his mouth. Sure, yeah, his cock. Those thoughts didn’t just go away because a man brandished a gun in your honor and saved you from the whims of an insane man. If anything, they simply burned brighter.

Fuck.

“No,” Gwyn said. “Maybe you should try.”

He laughed lightly, his fingers already slipping beneath the edge of her pants. She bit back a moan. He was barely even touching her, and she felt like a livewire.

“Try to do what, exactly?” he asked.

“Try to earn your place,” she gasped as his fingers brushed across her pussy over her panties. “In my dreams.”

I’m losing it, Gwyn decided, and Azriel rolled over her, shoving the blankets out of the way. He settled himself with his knees between her legs, and one hand braced on the pillow on either side of her head. I’m completely fucking losing it.

She felt his lips for the briefest of moments on the corner of her mouth, and then she felt his tongue flicking across her pulse, as if in affirmation that yes, he had felt it earlier. His hands left the mattress to brush up across her abdomen, dragging her shirt along with it, and when his fingertips met the bottoms of her breasts, his lips joined them. Kissing lightly across all ten points where his touch melted into her.

And then he pushed his hands forward, curving over her breasts, and cupping them so that he could close his mouth over a nipple, flicking it with his tongue.

“Azriel,” she sighed. Her fingers dug into the blankets beside her, so tightly that her fists shook. She pressed down with her heels on the bed, bringing her hips up to meet his, but he was too far away. Hovering, just out of reach. “Fuck, can you…”

She trailed off when his teeth scraped across her nipple. Just enough for the sharpness to register, before he brushed his thumb across the wetness, and turned his head to the side to lave at the other breast with his lips and his tongue. He waited until she was writhing beneath him before releasing her.

He rested his chin in the space between her breasts, looking up at her from beneath his lashes, and grinned. With the way the light slanted in through the windows, the angles of his face became softer. The color in his eyes brilliant.

“Tell me, Gwyn,” he lilted. “Are you dreaming of me yet?”

She shook her head, and placed both hands on his shoulders, pushing him down towards where heat was coiling tightly at her center.

“Not yet,” she said. “Keep trying, though.”

His tongue trailed all the way down her abdomen, until it met the edge of her pants, where Gwyn attempted to try to tear her clothes off. But his hands caught her wrists easily, and tucked them both beneath her back. As if that would stop her from shoving his face into her.

“Keep them there,” Azriel said, somehow reading her mind. “Unless you want me to stop.”

She groaned, her back arching so that her aching breasts were exposed to the cool draft of the cabin, causing her to shiver. She curled her fingers into fists beneath her back, and then nodded.

“Fine, yeah,” she said, though she had no intention of keeping her promise. “Just take them off.”

Azriel looked at her, smiling in amusement, which only solidified Gwyn’s plan to slip her hands back out as soon as he was too distracted to admonish her. But he only hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants, and began to slowly slip them down her legs. She helped to kick them off, and allowed him to prop her legs up so that they were bent at the knees.

He knelt down before her, his hands on the outside of her thighs to guide them down onto the bed, and dipped his head forward to scrape his teeth against the inside of her thigh. Gwyn huffed out a gasp, as her hips jolted forward unbidden.

“You forgot something,” Gwyn said. He let his hands drift around her thighs until he pressed them down into the mattress, spreading her before them. He shifted down on the bed, putting his face that much closer to where she could already feel herself aching for him, and then pressed a chaste kiss right to the edge of her panties.

“You mean these,” he said. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Gwyn panted. “Take them off.”

“I kind of like them,” Azriel said absently. His nose brushed across the inside of her thigh, and then his tongue. She groaned. “I think I’ll keep them.”

She would have argued, truly, but then his tongue fell from her thigh and onto her center, licking at her clit through her panties. She gasped into the air, dots of stars blurring her vision, and then hurried to catch her breath before he did it again. And again. He sucked at her clit through her panties, both hands pressed to keep her legs still on the mattress, creating divots in her skin where the shadows in the room gathered.

Azriel sighed into her, and then lifted one hand to tug the panties aside. His tongue felt flat against her, and she felt the moan rise up from deep in his throat and then fall against her. Gwyn’s legs shook, and one hand slipped out from behind her back to grab onto his hair, pulling his face tighter against her.

Azriel immediately stopped, drawing his head back.

“What did I say?” Azriel said. “Should we keep going?”

Gwyn nodded her head, though with how heavily she was breathing, she couldn’t fathom how she managed anything at all.

“Then let’s try again,” Azriel said. “Let go, Gwyn.”

Gwyn let go of his hair, one finger at a time. Her hand hovered in the air for a moment, shaking, before one molten look from Azriel had her slipping it back beneath her.

“You’re a jerk,” she said.

“Among other things,” he said, clearly distracted as his gaze fell back onto her center.

He flicked his tongue across her clit, and before the moan had even left her mouth, his lips closed around it, sucking.

After that, Gwyn didn’t complain. She needed her hands behind her back to keep herself from scraping her nails across her skin, to keep from tearing at Azriel’s hair or at the sheets. Her entire body felt like it was shaking, like some celestial body had fractured away from the sky and pierced into her, and her bones were reverberating from the impact. She gasped up into the air, digging her heels into the mattress, and then into Azriel’s back as he let go of her thighs. He wrapped his arms around the backs of her legs instead, so that he could pull her forward and press her up against his face.

His tongue swirled around her clit, his lips dragging against her like some mimickry of a kiss. And then he let go of her with one hand, and brushed his fingers across her outer lip, and she had to bite on her cheek to hold back a scream.

“Oh my god, Azriel.”

He didn’t respond, except for a moan that seemed to rake up from his chest all the way to his throat. She lifted her head up from the pillow to watch him, to see how his hips ground into the mattress beneath him, and his fingers dug deep into the skin of her thigh.

His eyes met hers, flashing in the last of the setting sun, before he pressed his fingers inside of her.

Finally, Gwyn felt a bit of release from the pressure that had been building. Like a music box that had been wound all the way to its end, and had just reached the point where it could be spun no tighter. She sighed, allowing her head to drop back to the pillow, and simply let go.

Azriel’s fingers stroked inside of her as his tongue laved against her clit, his breaths seeming to rise and fall just as rapidly as hers. He curled his fingers, and then that coil inside of her broke, and all that was left was the melodic lullaby.

As she fell apart, she was distantly aware of Azriel’s hands on her wrists, pulling her hands out from where they had been pinned to allow them to comb through his hair, to caress his cheek and land across his back. She sighed, and might have said his name a thousand times before he finally crawled up over her.

Azriel pulled her up against his chest, and then rolled over so that she was tucked up beside him.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmured, before she felt his lips across hers. Lazy and indulgent.

Like a dream.

***

When Gwyn woke up, it was cold.

Her arm reached out, but she already knew before she felt the empty sheets beside her. He was gone.

Gwyn shot up in bed, throwing the blankets aside and glancing out the window to confirm that it was still early in the morning she could see some stars fading, blinking out. She grabbed the knife from where she had hidden it beneath the bed. Next to the door, she found a pair of boots obviously meant for her, and shoved them on.

When she opened the door, Cassian’s car was there, but Azriel’s car was missing.

Gwyn trudged up to the driver’s window and peered in, only to find the car empty. No people.

No keys.

Gwyn groaned, something raw and broken into the air, and then kicked the side of the tire before whipping around and storming back into the house. She went immediately to the bathroom, where she knelt down and yanked the toolbox out of the cabinet beneath the sink.

Fuckers, she thought. They left her here.

Gwyn stormed back outside, toolbox clanging against her hip.

But it wasn’t too difficult to hotwire a car, was it?

END PART TWO

#acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #acotar #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel #gwynriel fanfiction #acotar fanfic #gwynriel fanfic #azriel #gwyneth berdara

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hlizr50 · 1 year

Text

Better five days late than never, right?

First of all, sincerest apologies to @vulpes-fennec and @azrielshadowssing for being so late posting my part 3 for the ACOTAR Writing Circle. You can see all the fics and authors on the master list here! Thank you, @azrielshadowssing for organizing this, yet again!

Apologies, as well, to all the readers who have been waiting for the conclusion to Why Did It Have To Be Me!

Read the whole fic on AO3 here!

Read Part 3 here!

Or just continue below!

CW: This chapter is NSFW

TW: This chapter contains mild depictions of SA and attempted SA

“Cassian.”

It wasn’t a surprised squeak, though she had very much not expected to find the hulking, gorgeous man at her door. No, it was more of a… statement. An observation.

Cassian. He was there. In her doorway.

Nesta couldn’t allow herself to sound happy about it, not when she knew how easy it would be for her to fall for him. Not when she knew who she was. What she was. There was no way that she would be able to do anything more than break his gentle, loving heart. And, even though she was selfish and heartless, she wouldn’t do that. Not to him.

“Nesta.” His face was wholly serious, one eyebrow cocked in that arrogant, expectant way that was so sexy it infuriated her. When she didn’t respond he strode through the door – the door she hadn’t slammed in his face for some reason. And now he was staring down at her with those intense amber eyes.

“Close the door, Nes,” he whispered. And, goddamn it, she did, her body moving of its own accord. After the door snicked shut, a large, warm hand covered hers and pulled it away from the knob. The touch was like lightning, jolting her back into her own body. She blinked up at Cassian with a scowl.

“What do you want?” Nesta hissed. In a move that was far too smooth for such a behemoth of a man, he turned them and pressed her against the door, one hand cradling her nape as the other held her wrists above her. She could smell the shampoo from the soft strands of his loose ebony hair as he leaned in close enough for her to taste the spearmint on his breath.

“I told you, sweetheart,” he murmured, running the tip of his nose over her cheek until his mouth branded her ear with his searing declaration. “I owe you something.”

She didn’t fight back when his lips captured hers and his tongue speared into her mouth. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t stop the kiss, but the battle for dominance was obvious. Of course, Cassian won. His kisses made her drunk, made her brain fuzzy. And still his breathy words clattered around in her brain with startling clarity.

“Can I touch you, Nes?” Fuck, she could feel the rumble of his gruff, gravelly voice in her very marrow. And her mouth, that cursed thing, responded automatically between his kisses.

“Please.”

Nesta hated the desperation in that plea; loathed the way her lips betrayed her typically iron will and the way her body yearned for him. When his calloused fingertips scratched deliciously against her skin as they slid under her shirt, she tilted her head back on a gasp. Cassian’s mouth just slid down to her chin and continued licking and kissing down the line of her jaw.

And then his hand moved in the opposite direction, his palm sliding beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts, and Nesta burst into flames.

“No panties, sweetheart?” The behemoth of a man chuckled darkly against her throat, and she both loved and despised the way it made her stomach twist in anticipation. “Naughty girl.”

“Are you going to keep talking or are you actually going to do something?” she hissed as she flexed her hands in his grip. With a growl he released her and hiked her knee up with his free hand. Delving further, his touch found where she needed him, though she would never admit it.

He ran a finger up her center, sending tremors through her muscles. With a nip to her neck – and a startled yelp from her panting mouth – Cassian plunged a finger deep inside her.

“I like to take my time, Nes.”

Fuck, this man.

Fuck this man.

With his perfect hair and powerful body and goddamn magic fingers.

Nesta cursed herself as her body quaked at his expert touch. Of course, she'd planned on letting Cassian get her off, but she'd planned on making sure he had to work for it. At this rate, she'd be a quivering puddle at his feet in a matter of moments.

Her will was broken when he lifted his head and once again claimed her mouth with his lips and tongue, his finger thrusting in and out as his thumb circled her clit. As he coaxed her closer and closer to the edge, her hands – which had fallen to his chest – skated over the soft fabric of his tee and buried themselves in his luxurious ebony locks.

With a sigh against her lips, Cassian slipped a second thick finger into her molten core. She barked a curse, clutching him tighter against her and earning a smug hum as his lips found her jaw again.

Fuck, she was close.

"That's it, sweetheart," he urged as he pistoned his fingers. "I can feel you clenching. You gonna come on my fingers, Nes?"

Stubbornness kept her from giving an answer. But it didn't matter when, only a moment later, his fingers curled against that most sensitive spot and she was sent into her climax on a guttural moan. Nesta clung to him, fingernails scratching over his shoulders and back, as she rode out her orgasm. It was so good – so staggeringly, infuriatingly good.

Her mind-numbing bliss shattered into a million pieces against a cold stone wall.

This was a mistake.

Nesta unhooked her leg from Cassian’s hip and supported herself on wobbly legs, her hands falling away from those massive shoulders. Her gaze hooked on a snag in her living room carpet, unable to meet his eyes as she straightened her shirt and shorts after he pulled away from her.

“Nesta–”

The honey-haired woman felt the cold wash over her, let the mask fall back into place. Indifference. Haughtiness. Ire. Everything that she was, and everything that would ruin him if he got too close.

The kissing and the touching and the orgasms had been a mistake. But this… what she was about to do, this was the right thing.

Lifting her chin she looked Cassian dead in the eye and said, “Now we’re even. Is that all?”

God, she hated the way his expression fell from that smug confidence to disbelief and hurt, and then twisted into frustration. But she could work with that.

“As a matter of fact, it’s–”

“I’m sorry, I should have been more clear,” Nesta interrupted. “That is all. You can leave now.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Amber eyes flashed as the hulking man’s anger rose. “It’s obvious that I want you. And it’s pretty fucking obvious that you want me, too. So what the fuck are we doing here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. “As for what we’re doing here, I’d say we’ve finally completed our little exchange and now the two of us can go on with our lives, moderately satisfied.”

Her thinly veiled insult seemed to miss its mark as Cassian stepped into her space again, forcing her back against the door.

“Look into my eyes, Nesta, and tell me that you don’t want me.”

Nesta stared back at him. His eyes were so beautiful and warm and swirling with such fire. And she felt her own light extinguish as she did exactly as he’d instructed.

“I don’t want you, Cassian. I never wanted you.” She could barely breathe as his eyes grew dark, but they didn’t cool into something dull and lifeless like hers would. No, there was something simmering there. Disdain? Disbelief?

Pity.

And, God, if that shadowed glare didn’t cut right through her.

“I know you think you have this frigid bitch thing down,” Cassian practically growled at her, and it grated against her very soul. “But it’s obvious you’re dealing with some shit. You can put on a show of telling me and whoever else that you want nothing to do with me. I might be some gym bro, but I’m not fucking stupid. I see it when I look at you and I feel it when we’re together.”

He stepped back, but Nesta still didn’t feel like she had enough room to breathe.

“But I’m not going to stand here and deal with your whole hot and cold routine if you’re going to continue to lie to yourself. If you’re going to continue using your words as weapons meant to wound.” Cassian’s voice grew quiet, and instead of curling in on herself, Nesta forced a scowl.

Because this was best. For both of them.

“I care about you, Nes. I really do. But I can’t prove that if you never allow me close enough to try.” And with that, he reached for the doorknob. Nesta stumbled out of the way to let him out. Then, without even looking at him again, she shut the door behind him. Pressing her ear against the wood, she listened to the heavy footsteps traveling further and further away. Until there was nothing more than suffocating silence.

It was only then that she allowed herself to slide down the door until she was a crumpled heap on the floor, bury her face in her hands, and allow all of her shame and self-loathing to consume her.

~~~

The spiral that followed was something intervention-worthy.

The look in Cassian’s typically smiling eyes, the exhaustion in his voice, the way his shoulders slumped – she saw all of it on a constant loop in her dreams, and woke up almost every morning with that shame souring her gut. She’d hurt him, had pushed him far enough that she was no longer worth fighting herself for.

But that had been the point, hadn’t it?

And so she soldiered on, thanks to the miracles of coffee and concealer for the daytime and the alcohol that sent her toppling into her bed at night. She’d started attending as many parties as she could find, desperate to escape the echoes of her mistakes in her mind and the yawning chasm of her soul. Nesta had made quite a name for herself on fraternity row, and between Elain’s and Emerie’s connections within the Greek community, it was a small wonder she hadn’t been on the receiving end of more than the one conversation with her friend.

“I’m not judging you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

What Emerie didn’t know was that safe was when her brain was too addled with booze to even remember that Cassian existed. When she was drunk she could be whatever she wanted; a bitch, a tease, a fucking queen if she saw fit.

She’d slept around more in the first few weeks, but nobody could even measure up to Cassian’s fucking hand. So she’d given up on trying to assuage her sexual frustration and had jumped straight to drinking enough to go blissfully blank.

Which was exactly what she was doing at Sig Eps on a Friday night, hand curled around a red plastic cup full of a punch that burned deliciously all the way down. That meant the night would probably end quickly, and that was good for two reasons:

Tomas Mandray seemed hellbent on getting into her pants

Cassian was there

Nesta sure hadn’t been nursing her drink long enough to deal with his presence, which was somehow even bigger and more overwhelming than his physical form. It was as if she could feel his stare on her skin like a caress, and no matter where she was in the house her gaze always seemed to snag on his intense amber eyes, that little half-up man-bun that shouldn’t be as devastatingly sexy as it was, and the way his long-sleeved tee stretched over his broad shoulders and chest, his huge biceps highlighted by the fact that he had his arms crossed like a disappointed parent.

She needed to get out of that house.

Cassian’s expression twisted into a scowl, and she nearly toppled back before a heavy arm landed across her shoulders.

“Not drinking tonight?” She didn’t need to look up to know it was Tomas. There was something about his voice that screamed rich and pretentious, with a unique, slightly-nasal quality that made him all-too-easy to identify. Nesta lifted her cup, along with her eyebrows, to show the idiot that she did, in fact, have a nearly-full beverage in her hand. To prove the point further, she downed a large gulp and savored the scorch of the alcohol. “That’s my girl.” He squeezed her into his side.

“I’m not your girl.” Nesta’s correction seemed to fall on deaf ears as the Sig Eps VP grinned like a moron. With a dramatic roll of her eyes she took another large sip, more ready than ever for the warmth of drink to take over.

But something was different. Her stomach roiled and her head suddenly felt too heavy, and she thought she might be sick. For a split second, she wanted to lift her head to find the man whose attention had followed her every minute she’d been in this house. She’d much rather Cassian comfort her while she vomited than Tomas. But she didn’t even have the strength to look.

“You okay, baby?” Tomas’s voice seemed far away… muffled. Blinking her eyes, her vision came into focus for a moment, finding his brown eyes focused on her face. Nesta couldn’t identify what she saw there, but also she was drunk and apparently getting sick.

“I think I’m just tired. But I also feel like I might get sick.” She felt the arm around her shoulders pull her closer, and her balance and vision were so off that she nearly fell into him. She’d never felt like this before, and something deep in the back of her mind screamed that it wasn’t right.

But Tomas just ran his palm up and down her bare arm and led her toward the stairs. “I’ll take you to the bathroom and then you can nap in my room.”

And, though Nesta wanted to protest, her tongue was thick and useless in her mouth. The frat boy practically dragged her up to the second floor, and it was only marginally better once they reached flat ground again. Her legs could barely hold her weight and she couldn’t seem to figure out how to place one foot in front of the other.

When she was pulled through an open door that was quickly shut behind her, all of her senses went on alert.

This wasn’t the bathroom.

“Wh-what?” her voice slurred, though she could barely hear it over the heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Shhh just relax, baby.”

And then she was horizontal, splayed across something soft that had to be the twin bed with Tomas hoving above her, eyes hungry. When he reached for the hem of her shirt she made to smack his hand away.

But her arm felt like it weighed 100 pounds. It was sluggish and weak and did nothing as Tomas pushed it away.

With a furrowed brow she tried again, tried to get any limb to obey as grubby little hands crawled under her blouse and squeezed at her.

Dear God, this couldn’t be happening.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she somehow managed to push the word “no” past her lips. Over and over in a continuous, slurred string. But Tomas wasn’t listening, his gaze intent on his prize. His touch was violating and rough as he pinched and kneaded.

“God, I’ve been waiting so long to spend some time with these.”

Nesta could feel the burning twin trails of angry, helpless tears on either side of her face. “No. No no no.” Her shirt was pushed up over her chest to give him a better view, and she couldn’t see much because of it. But when she felt his hands fiddling with the button on her jeans, she used every last ounce of will and strength and bodily control to release what could only be described as something between a moan and a scream. And as her body shook, she resigned herself to the fact that nobody was coming to save her.

~~~

Cassian couldn’t have taken his eyes off her for more than a handful of seconds. Hell, he knew it because he hadn’t been able to look away all damn night. But, somehow, she had disappeared.

And maybe that was fine. If she wanted to avoid him so badly that she’d decide to hook up with Tomas fucking Mandray, then that was none of his business. But something didn’t feel right. Nesta hadn’t looked uncomfortable when Tomas had slung his arm across her shoulders, but she sure hadn’t looked thrilled, either.

And now they both were gone, and that knowledge settled like a dead weight in his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and Cassian was never one to ignore his instincts. That’s what had prompted him to try to get close with Nesta – he felt something when he was with her, deep in his soul. Something he wasn’t willing to ignore.

Something she was.

The towering man made a lap around the main floor of the house, finding no sign of the beautiful, icy-eyed woman who had tried to break his heart.

And so he headed up the stairs into the residential part of the fraternity, more quickly than was probably warranted. If Nesta wanted to sleep with other guys then that was her right and her prerogative. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that her disappearance wasn’t quite as straightforward.

And then he heard it: a cry that was so soft for all the devastation it carried.

Cassian knew it was her. He just knew.

In seconds he’d burst through a door with a snarl, finding Mandray straddling long, denim-clad legs. His fingers were still on the waistband of those perfect jeans. Time was frozen in that moment as Cassian took in the scene, horrified. Nesta’s beautiful eyes overflowing with tears, her top pulled up to reveal her chest. Her bra was still on, but Tomas had clearly been doing something. And then there he was, a dumb, piece of shit guy with a dumb, piece of shit look on his face.

“Take your hands off her.”

Tomas lifted his hands as if he’d just had a gun pointed at him. Hell, if Cassian only had one. “Hey, man. She said she felt sick. I was just helping her out. She’s the one that wanted to come to my room.” Cassian’s gaze flicked to Nesta’s tear-stained face and then back to Tomas.

“If you don’t get away from her right fucking now, I’ll fucking kill you.” He had half a mind to do it anyway, but his first and only priority was getting Nesta out of this situation. Tomas slowly moved to the edge of the mattress and set his feet on the floor, backing away with his hands still up.

Before Mandray could react, Cassian clocked him across the left side of his face, sending the trash human sprawling. He glowered down at the small man for a moment, then made his way back to the bed. With gentle hands he pulled her blouse back down, covering Nesta’s chest and stomach. Then he cupped her cheeks, wiping away the dampness with his thumbs.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay. I’m going to take you home, alright?” Nesta’s answer was less a nod and more just her chin falling forward.

“Itsssshard… to… move,” she whispered, and Cassian’s vision swam in shades of red. The fucking bastard had clearly slipped something in her drink, and the urge to kill Mandray returned with a vengeance. He gathered Nesta against his chest, helping her wind her arms around his neck, and started toward the door.

“If you even think about trying to come after me for punching you, I will destroy you,” Cassian seethed. Then he stalked forward with lethal purpose, his vision tunneled toward one singular goal: getting Nesta out. And he didn’t stop until he reached his Jeep and buckled her into the passenger’s seat.

In the oppressive quiet of his truck, Cassian was caught between cursing himself for living so far off campus and thanking the stars above that he had half an hour to rein himself in and deal with the furious storm of thoughts and emotions screaming through his head.

Thank God I made it in time.

Should I have killed the bastard?

What if I hadn’t been there?

I almost didn’t go after her…

Guilt washed over him in a cold wave. He’d known that she was struggling. All those weeks ago, when he’d left her dorm room he’d thought it was for the best. Cassian fancied himself good with people, good at pushing others to be better and great at making them smile. But it didn’t matter how much he cared for a person or believed in a person; he couldn’t make them believe in themselves.

Perhaps he’d been too arrogant, presuming he was enough of a catch for Nesta to want him enough to want to figure things out. But it had, apparently, backfired spectacularly. Instead of blooming, she’d spiraled. Cassian had watched, just out of sight and heart cracking, as she drowned her sorrows and self-loathing in cheap beer and jungle juice.

What Cassian hadn’t done was step in. The lovely ice queen had drawn a very clear line in the sand, and he’d done everything in his power to respect it. It had been pure coincidence that he’d ended up at the party that night. He’d begrudgingly accepted an invite from one of the counselors at camp, since he’d promised the guy over the summer to come hang with him and his brothers.

And thank fuck he’d said yes. If he hadn’t, Nesta would still be in that bed, trying to fight off that piece of shit Mandray and–

“I lied.”

Cassian nearly jumped out of his skin, even though Nesta had barely whispered the words. When he glanced over at her, she was hunched over and leaning her head against the window.

“What?”

“I lied. When I said I didn’t want you,” she mumbled, and the hulking student couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh, I know that, sweetheart.” The snort he received in response brought a small grin to his face.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Cassian waited for her to say more, but only silence followed.

For another minute or so.

“You’re too fucking perfect.”

Well that sent his brows straight into his hairline.

“Um… Thank you?” He dared another glance her way to try to get a read on exactly where the hell this was going, but she still faced the window, seemingly fascinated by the trees whizzing by. But she groaned.

“You don’t get it. That’s why I said I didn’t want you. You’re perfect and I’m… God, whatever the fuck this is. I had to scare you away so I wouldn’t crush your sweet, beautiful soul.” Nesta’s voice sounded so tired and sad. Didn’t she realize that it was that forlorn tone that crushed him? And not whatever she thought she would do to him?

“I dunno, Nes. I’ve always thought you were pretty damned great,” he started, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

“Oh, please. I don’t deserve you,” she slurred, a reminder that she was still under the influence of alcohol and whatever drug Tomas had fed her. “You said it, yourself. I’m a frigid bitch.”

Cassian winced.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first to say that. I’m sure you won’t be the last. Just ask my sisters. Just ask… anyone. I don’t give a fuck about anyone except for myself,” she spat bitterly, and he knew he had to choose his words carefully.

“So… you told me you didn’t want me because you’re selfish and frigid and didn’t want to hurt me?”

“Clearly.”

“But,” Cassian answered, “wouldn’t you not wanting to hurt me imply that you maybe aren’t that selfish?”

Nesta groaned again, the eye-roll apparent. “Stop making sense. I’m too drunk for that.” That simple statement brought him back into reality real fucking quick, and the warmth that had been spreading through him dissipated.

“Yeah. You probably won’t remember any of this in the morning.” Cassian didn’t want to go back to that distance and loneliness and watching this beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman destroy herself.

“Maybe that’s for the best, considering…” Her voice trailed off, quiet and small as she undoubtedly fell into reminiscing about the events of the evening. “I’m glad you were there, Cass. I… you had no reason to come looking for me, but you did it anyway. And I–”

“Hey,” he interrupted, not wanting her to keep thinking about how close she was to things being drastically different. “I’ll always be close, reaching for you. My hand will be there when you need it. You just have to take it.”

When she didn’t answer, Cassian heaved a sigh and leaned further back into his seat. They were only a couple minutes away from the house, and he was relieved that he would be able to get Nesta into bed so she could rest. But then he felt cool fingers sliding into his palm, and when his gaze flicked over to the seat next to him he found her curling her arms around his much larger one, her cheek falling against his bicep. When her fingers wove between his, something sparked and flickered in his chest. Cassian gave her hand a gentle squeeze and set his sights down the road ahead.

~~~

Nesta’s head was pounding and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. And the morning sun needed the calm the fuck down. With a groan she rolled over, pulling the comforter over her eyes and sucking in a deep, satisfied breath in the sweet, comfortable darkness. The scent that she pulled in was distinctly male, studded with amber and cedar and spice, and Nesta wanted to burrow into that warmth. But then her eyes flew open as the realization struck her.

She was not in her own bed.

In an instant she threw off the covers and sat up, back rigid and tense as her frantic gaze searched the room. Fuzzy glimpses of the night before returning to her mind in blurry snapshots.

"Hey, hey, hey, you're okay." The soft rumble of a deep, comforting voice instantly put her at ease. And the smell of the blankets suddenly made sense. Her vision focused on a hulking form that settled next to the bed, amber eyes shining with concern.

"Cassian?"

"How are you feeling?" Nesta's eyes wandered over his hoodie and sweats as he reached toward the nightstand. When his hand returned it held a water bottle toward her. She took it, and then he reached over again to grab a couple little pills. “Do you have a headache? You can take these, but either way you’ll want to drink the whole bottle.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded, as she took the medicine from him. Tossing them in her mouth, she started chugging on the water, realizing again how parched she really was. Finishing off the bottle was an easy feat, and Cassian smirked.

“I’ll go get you another one.”

When he returned he was holding another bottle of water out in front of him, and he placed yet another on the nightstand when he sat down beside the bed. Nesta downed about half of her new water before setting the bottle next to its full companion. Then she rubbed at her eyes, trying to soothe the throbbing in her head. The pain was twofold - the obvious hangover from the alcohol and whatever she’d been dosed with, and the frantic collision of thoughts and questions banging around in her brain.

“You brought me to your place?” Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at herself. Probably wasn’t the best lead-off question, and definitely not the most important part of the previous evening. But she didn’t really want to dwell on Tomas’s assault, and on what almost happened.

“You fell asleep in the car before we got here. And I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get into the dorm if I took you back there,” he explained, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. His expression grew sheepish. “I’m sorry if my bringing you here makes you uncomfortable. I.. wasn’t really thinking straight.”

Nesta couldn’t stifle her huff. “Yeah, you and me both.”

And then it was quiet. It wasn’t pleasant, or comfortable. It felt heavy and full of dread. Grim anticipation. And Nesta was afraid, as the seconds ticked by, that she would explode. And she wasn’t sure if it would come out as anger or terror or devastation.

But Cassian spared them both, at least for the moment.

“You.. uh… you said some interesting things on the ride back.”

Oh, fuck me.

“What did I say?” Regardless of whether or not she wanted to know – she hadn’t decided if she did – she needed to know what she’d said to him. And the snapshots that had invaded her mind were all of Tomas’s wandering hands and Cassian bursting in, face twisted with ire, an avenging angel. But even as she wondered, her drunken and drugged ramblings began coming back to her.

“You said you lied when you said you didn’t want me, and that you only said that because I was too perfect and you didn’t want to crush my sweet, beautiful soul,” he answered, the corner of his lips tilting up. “Those were your exact words, too: my sweet, beautiful soul.” With a groan Nesta buried her face in her hands, but a strong, warm grip circled her wrists and pulled her palms away from her face. Cassian was leaning in, his eyes serious even as that little smirk remained. “It was the most genuine conversation I’ve had with you.”

Immediately on the defensive, Nesta sputtered, “Well, I didn’t have a filter. You know what they say; drunk words and all that.” She pulled her wrists away, but Cassian’s broad hands found another home as they cupped her face. His eyes were blazing with passion and hope, and she couldn’t look away.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me, Nes,” he breathed. His minty breath scorched her lips, just inches away from kissing him. And, God, she wanted to. She wanted to be done with the games and the ice and the cruelty, even though she didn’t know how.

“I can’t,” she whispered in return.

His mouth was ecstasy as it claimed her, somehow both rough and tender. The kiss was a brand upon her very soul. This was a line crossed, an admission given. Nesta had trusted him with her vulnerable truth, and he responded with acceptance and patience and need. She could feel him sigh against her lips as the kiss calmed and cooled, and then he pulled back, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks.

“You should rest some more, sweetheart.” As if on cue, the pounding in her head became almost dizzying, and she gave a reluctant nod. But she dared one more vulnerability, before she lost her nerve.

“Stay with me?”

Though Cassian didn’t give a verbal answer, his face beamed. He practically leapt into the bed, burrowed beneath the covers, and pulled her back into his chest. She even let out a little giggle, which only made him squeeze her tighter. And then she drifted away, warm and safe.

When Nesta’s eyes fluttered open again, they were met with soft amber, all the while gentle fingers stroked through her hair. She was struck, then, by how handsome he was. Rugged and purely male, but with a tenderness that made him so much more than just sex appeal and muscles. Not that he didn’t have those things in spades.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled. Cassian’s answering grin was mischievous as his caresses moved from her hair to her cheek.

“Ogling you.”

Nesta scowled playfully. “While I was sleeping?”

“Well,” he looked thoughtful for a moment, “now I’m ogling you while you’re awake.” Cassian dipped down and placed a chaste kiss to her lips. “I can’t help myself.” Before he could pull too far away, Nesta hooked her hand around his neck and brought him back down to her. This time it was she who claimed him. Another line crossed, the pursuit of freedom from all she believed she was and into what she could be.

“Nes–”

“I don’t know how to do this, Cass,” she admitted quietly. It took every ounce of strength she had to hold his stare. “I don’t know how to be good. I don’t know how to be loving and warm. I don’t know if I can become the woman you want.”

“You’re already the woman I want, Nesta. And you’re already good. There’s nothing not good about you,” he answered. And, God, the sincerity in his gaze threatened to leave her in tears. “Give me your ice and your fire. Spar with me with your sharp wit and sharper words. But don’t hide your smiles or your laughter or your tears. I want all of you: your good, your bad, your ugly. Your honesty and vulnerability and trust. You don’t need to worry about my sweet, beautiful soul, Nes, so long as you’re next to me at the end of the day.”

Nesta pulled him down again, and she was awash in flames. Every part of her craved him: her body, her mind, her heart, her soul. Cassian’s mammoth form was a welcome weight above her, a shield from the rest of the world, and she wanted nothing more to be joined with him until they were so tangled that there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

As their mouths battled and tongues warred, Nesta tugged up on his sweatshirt. He was quick on the uptake, lifting himself up to pull it over his head in one fluid motion. Fuck, he was built, with well defined shoulders, pecs, and abs. Everything about him was massive and masculine and sexy as hell. As much as she wanted to continue her… appreciation… for his form, Nesta took the opportunity to pull her own blouse over her head and unclasp her bra. After Tomas, she felt more in control if she did the removing, and she knew that Cass wouldn’t want to push or make her uncomfortable.

If baring her chest to him by her own free will wasn’t enough of a sign that she was in this, then she wasn’t sure what else she’d be able to do.

A bright, flashing neon sign.

“Fuck, Nes,” he groaned, coming back down on top of her. She could feel his hardness against her thigh as he kissed her again, and her stomach twisted with delight.

Message clearly received.

He breathed in her gasps as one of his enormous hands palmed her breast, kneading and squeezing. Another experience with those hands came to mind, when he’d used his fingers on her until she’d nearly drowned in pleasure. Those hands were rough, and yet somehow he knew just how to use them to wring every drop of ecstasy out of her.

Cassian teased and tweaked her nipples, pulling little moans and grunts from her throat as he played her body like a fucking violin. Nesta’s hands moved from where she’d buried them in his luscious mane to her pants, unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down as far as she could. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“More,” she breathed, gripping his wrist and guiding his touch down and down and down. “I need… more.”

Boy, was he intent on delivering.

His fingers drifted into her heat, lightly caressing her clit before he buried two inside her at the same time he sucked a nipple between his teeth. Nesta’s fingers found his hair, again, digging in as if she were holding on for dear life. She cried out in a hoarse voice as her blood sang, those magic fingers doing their blessed work, just like she remembered.

“You’re so wet for me, Nes,” Cassian rasped against her flesh. “God, so wet and hot and ready.” His words were like sin, sinking into her pores and anchoring deep in her belly. There was hardly a thing he could say that would turn her off, though, if she were being completely honest. He was breaking down her walls, word by word and stroke by stroke, and she wanted to be completely bare to him, even if that thought scared the shit out of her.

It only took a few more extra pumps and curls of his fingers for her to come undone, his name on her lips like a prayer. And then they were helping each other rid themselves of the remainder of their clothing.

Cassian’s cock was proportionate to the rest of him: huge. And she wanted to feel it inside of her, stretching her in all the best ways.

Nesta gave him one languid stroke, from base to tip. Then she hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him back down onto the bed.

“I want you, Cassian,” she whispered.

That was all he needed to hear.

When Cassian thrust into her, it was like nothing she’d ever felt. It was delicious and despicable and took her breath away.

“Oh, fuck.” Her head fell back as she gripped the bedsheets. This man filled her in ways that weren’t just physical, but good fucking God was the physical fullness a fucking revelation. He pulled out, until just the head remained inside, and then he thrust in again, forcing a groan from her lips.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he hissed, leaning in to plunge his tongue between her teeth. Cassian consumed her, and she could only hold on as his tempo increased and his mouth became more demanding and filthy. He nibbled and licked up her jaw and suckled on that sensitive place right below her ear. “You take my cock so beautifully, Nesta. I can feel you squeezing me as I fuck you and its the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking experienced.”

“Fuck, Cass!” was all she could manage to say. Her breath came out in stutters and gasps as he buried himself so deep inside her she thought she might split in two. And, still, she needed more. She needed everything, and so she locked her legs around his pistoning hips and dug her fingernails into the firm muscles of his back. “Please.”

Cassian snarled as his hips bucked, hammering into her harder and deeper, until she could no longer contain the cries of pleasure that he inspired. This was feral and raw and soul-deep, and that understanding sent her straight to the edge.

“Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he crooned between panting breaths as sweat dotted his brow in little drops of glitter. Nesta squealed in answer, ratcheting higher and higher.

And somehow this towering man had snuck his hand between them, just to press his thumb against the swollen and needy bud at her apex. She shattered on a scream of overwhelming pleasure, her thighs trembling and she fought to regain her vision beyond the stars that had invaded. Keeping his thumb on her clit, pushing her orgasm to a height she never realized was possible, Cassian came with a roar. Then he fell, half on top of her, his broad shoulders heaving.

For a few moments the only things in the world were Nesta and Cassian, the sounds of their breathing, and the pounding of their hearts. Nesta carded her fingers lazily through his ebony waves, while his hand idly stroked up and down the outside of her thigh.

“How are you feeling?” Cassian’s deep voice was like a purr, vibrating through her entire being. She knew he was probably asking about how she felt after last night and this morning; if her headache was gone and if she was well-rested. Or maybe he was asking if the sex had been too much. On the contrary, she already had plans for more.

“Ready to do it again,” she replied, and his answering growl set her aflame once more. Cassian’s tongue traced the line of her jaw before his lips landed at her ear again.

“Put your hands on the headboard, sweetheart.”

Tag List: @headcanonheadcase @vikingmagic33 @damedechance @daevastanner @mystical-blaise @booknerd87 @foreverinelysian @shadowsxgwynriel @sunshinebingo @mercarimari

#acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #acotar #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian au #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #smut #nessian smut #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #sjm #sarah j maas #my first nessian fic ever

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foundress0fnothing · 1 year

Text

Happy April 9th! I’m thrilled to be able to bring you the second installment of Double Blind for the ACOTAR Writing Circle, organized by @azrielshadowssing. The fic was a delight to continue—I hope you like it!

The story was originated by the incomparable @hlizr50 (who also designed this beautiful header) 💕 You can read Part 1 here. Stay tuned for the third and final part of the story on April 23rd.

Many thanks to UBC for their suggestions for Azriel’s go-to bar drink, and for @ofduskanddreams for hitting the nail on the head with a simple, classic G&T.

Bonus points if you can spot the line I lifted from Pirates of the Caribbean 👀

Read here on AO3!

——————————————————————

GWYN

Gwyn felt her blush heighten at Azriel’s words. What was she supposed to say in response to that? Thank goodness, because I was wishing this date was with you anyway? Or No, Azriel, nothing would make me happier? Or Yes, let’s get out of here right now and go somewhere quiet to see just how happy we can make each other?

No. All of that was too serious, too soon. Especially that last one. And anyway, perhaps Azriel was just relieved at the promise of an easy evening spent with a friend. Nothing more—no flirting, no romance, no intimacy. Just friends.

Even if the sight of him standing there in a black jacket was almost enough to make her blurt all of those foolish thoughts out anyway. Had she ever seen him out of his leathers before? He was magnificent in them, certainly—all muscle and cold, breathtaking brutality. But out of them, in normal clothes? His beauty was brutal in a wholly new way, both more terrifying and more inviting all at once. She wondered what it would be like to slip the coat off of his well-muscled shoulders, tracing the strength in his arms, undressing him bit by bit until he stood bare before her.

And had he ever seen her out of her priestess robes or her leathers? Gwyn was suddenly aware of the neckline of her dress and the way the velvet clung to every curve, remembering with no small amount of mortification that she had announced to him that she was “ready to explore intimacy with a male.” And here she was with him. On their date. While he looked like that.

Cauldron boil her.

Caught in a lusty daze, she only slowly realized that his eyes were watching hers almost … expectantly?

Right. She had to say—had to do—something. They had their bargain after all, and Gwyn was determined to uphold her end of it, even if just platonically.

Hoping that Azriel hadn’t noticed the reddening of her cheeks and her too-long silence, she gestured for him to sit in the chair across from her at the table and decided a teasing response would be best. Safe, even. Familiar territory for them and all that. “Nothing? Nothing at all would make you happier?” She challenged, offering him a grin as he took his seat.

Azriel paused for a second, blinking at her and furrowing his brow. Then, easing off his coat to reveal a forest green shirt that Gwyn was definitely, positively not staring at, he simply said, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not … I don’t know, new training leathers? A good night’s sleep? Finally beating Cassian in an arm wrestling contest?”

The Shadowsinger only scoffed and arched an eyebrow at her suggestions, silently asking if she was done.

Was she? The teasing had helped her feel more like herself around him, and the adrenaline rush she had felt at the surprise of seeing him as her date had mostly dissipated. She could be normal, friendly Gwyn to normal, friendly Azriel.

But still … she wanted something from him, something just to confirm her suspicions that they were there as friends, and only friends. Even if they had both expected romance tonight—even if the alcove where they were seated was candlelit and cozy, and the sunset off the river behind them glinted in a way that made the gold in Azriel’s hazel eyes shine more brightly, and the wine she had been drinking—bubbly and sweet—made her want to see if kissing Azriel would make her feel the same way. And even if Gwyn had to admit to herself that she wouldn’t mind it overly much if this actually was a date—a real date—with Azriel. And that she sort of hoped it still could be, if he wanted it to be real too.

So, not letting it go, she asked, “What about world peace? Lasting peace in Prythian and the Continent. That would have to make you happier than dinner with me. And,” she continued, taking a sip of her wine to give herself something to do with her hands, “if you disagree, then I think you might just be a terrible male, much as I would hate to say it.” She arched her brow in question, watching his eyes glint at her mock seriousness.

Rather than returning her jest like she expected, however, his eyes grew serious, and he said, “Then I suppose I will be terrible, Gwyneth, if it means I get to have you tonight.”

Gwyn felt her blush, which had finally faded, return with a vengeance as she looked away, her mind filling with thoughts about what Azriel having her tonight might mean—his hands tangled in her hair as he kissed her, or cupping her breasts as he licked his way down her stomach, or palming her ass as he dropped his head to taste between her thighs. She was on fire, heat pooling in her stomach as she prayed to the Mother that her scent wouldn’t shift. That was certainly not a conversation Gwyn wanted to have with Azriel. Not yet, at any rate.

She dared to glance up at him only to see that he too was blushing, having realized the innuendo in his declaration. Was he embarrassed? Did he regret what he said? Or only its implications? Or … neither? Not for the first time, Gwyn found herself wishing that his hazel eyes were slightly less inscrutable.

Before either of them could say anything, however, a female Gwyn didn’t know chose that moment to come over to their table.

“Well, Shadowsinger,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “I never thought I’d see the day that you finally decided to grace my humble restaurant with one of your dates.”

Gwyn giggled at Azriel’s scowl, and the female—who must have been Sevenda—smiled back sweetly at him. Gwyn could read the fondness, the familiarity in the gesture. “You two are close,” she remarked, more a statement than a question.

When Azriel didn’t answer and only continued scowling, Sevenda huffed a laugh. “Yes. Old friends. And he’s one of my best customers, even if he has no manners to speak of.”

At that, Azriel’s scowl deepened. “My manners are perfectly fine, Sevenda. Cassian is the one without any, as you know.”

“Then why haven’t you introduced me to your lovely date, hmm?”

“When have I had a chance?" Azriel grumbled.

Gwyn, barely holding in her laughter at the banter, decided that it was time for her to jump in. “Gwyneth Berdara,” she said, smiling up at Sevenda, “although most people just call me Gwyn. I’m a priestess in the library.”

“And a Valkyrie. And a Carynthian.” Azriel supplied her other two titles, pride and something Gwyn couldn’t quite name in his voice.

“Well, Gwyneth Berdara—priestess, Valkyrie, Carynthian—I am honored to meet you,” Sevenda said with a wink. “And to feed you! You already have a drink, yes?”

Gwyn held up her half-full wine glass.

“And your usual for you, Shadowsinger?”

He nodded. “Thank you, Sevenda.”

“I’ll be back in a minute to get your food orders, then.” Looking at the two of them sitting together, she declared, “Good,” and then turned to walk back to the bar at the front of the restaurant.

“What did she mean by that?” Gwyn asked Azriel as soon as Sevenda was out of earshot. “What does ‘good’ mean?”

Azriel hummed noncommittally. “Probably nothing.”

Gwyn narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think that’s true.”

She wanted to know what Sevenda meant—and what it meant to Azriel to hear it, if it meant anything at all. Although the tension of the moment before Sevenda appeared had passed, Gwyn couldn’t get Azriel’s serious look out of her mind, couldn’t stop hearing the bass of voice rumble as he declared he’d pick having her over anything else.

Azriel sighed, breaking Gwyn’s train of thought, and then said, “Sevenda’s known me for a long time. If her ‘good’ meant anything, it’s just that she’s happy to see me here. With you.”

“With me?”

“With someone who makes me happy,” he amended, the grin from when he first saw her at the table shyly sliding over his face again.

“And do I … do I make you happy?” Gwyn knew the answer, she hoped, but she wanted to hear it anyway.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Berdara?”

“At least once more, Azriel.”

Gwyn watched him close his eyes briefly as she said his name, and she wondered how it sounded to him, if hearing his name fall from her lips warmed him as much as hearing him utter hers warmed her.

Opening his eyes, he reached out and took her hand. Gwyn’s teal eyes met his hazel ones as her breath caught in her throat. She found she could finally read what he was thinking, could finally make out the feeling that lay behind the impenetrable mask. But he voiced it anyway. “Yes, Gwyneth Berdara—priestess, Valkyrie, Carynthian—you make me very happy.”

Gwyn blushed, and then decided that she too could be brave. “You make me very happy as well, Shadowsinger.”

“Oh, do I?” If possible, his smile grew larger, and Gwyn thought she had never seen a more breathtaking sight. Still holding her hand in his, fingers skirting the bargain tattoo inked on her wrist, he asked, “You know what else would make me happy?”

“What’s that?” Gwyn’s answer slipped out a little breathier than she would have liked, but his fingers on her wrists were driving her to distraction, teasing and tempting all at once.

“If I knew if this was a real date for us. Or if it’s just two friends helping each other fulfill a bargain.”

Gwyn felt her heart stutter to a stop. “Do you want it to be real?”

Azriel only hummed, fingers still moving over the tattoo. “I asked first.”

She didn’t allow herself time to overthink, to worry about what might happen to their friendship if she got this wrong. Gwyn only said, “Yes.”

And without breaking eye contact, Azriel lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently, chastely, but that didn’t stop Gwyn from feeling the heat of his lips travel up and across her body, suffusing her with warmth. “It’s been real for me since the moment I saw you at that table.”

AZRIEL

As Gwyn polished off the plate of Sevenda’s food in front of her—dill yogurt pasta topped with spiced lamb, currants, and nuts—Azriel wondered what he had done to get so lucky.

Because Gwyn was here with him. As his date. And not just to fulfill a bargain. He could have whooped with joy, had he been the whooping type, when she said yes to the feelings between them being real, when she let him kiss her hand.

And, oh, he wanted to kiss more—so much more—than just her hand. He hadn’t realized how thoroughly the feeling of her skin beneath his lips would wreck him, how much it would make him burn with the need to know exactly how the rest of her tasted. Her cheeks and her chest were flushed from the heat of the restaurant and the wine, and Azriel wondered how far down that blush extended past the maddening neckline of her dress.

He hoped he would get to find out.

Gwyn cleared her throat, and Azriel simultaneously realized that he had been staring too long and that his shadows—the meddling, disloyal assholes—had decided they no longer needed to mask his scent.

“See something you like, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn asked, grinning wickedly.

Azriel flushed, thanking the Mother that Gwyn seemed pleased at the development rather than repulsed.

Deciding that no verbal answer would rescue his dignity, he settled for grabbing his drink, polishing off what was left in one final gulp.

She laughed and said, “It’s still so predictable that your drink of choice is a gin and tonic.”

He scowled. “How is it predictable?”

“It just …” she paused, looking for the right words. “It just fits what I’d expect you to look for in a drink. Simple, easy to make.” Gwyn’s eyes took on that playful glint that Azriel knew meant she was about to start baiting him. “Dare I say … safe?” She grinned at him, waiting for his reaction.

And he took the bait, as he always did. “Like fruity wine is that adventurous.”

Gwyn sniffed primly. “It had bubbles, at least.”

But her eyes crinkled at the corners, and Azriel found himself rolling his eyes fondly. “You’ll come to love gin and tonics eventually, Berdara.”

“I think I just might, Azriel.”

And he didn’t think she was just talking about drinks anymore.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked.

Gwyn looked at him, suddenly serious.

“There’s no pressure for this date to be any more than what it’s been already, Gwyn. But if you’d like—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “I would like.”

Azriel thought he might die right there. Whatever else the night became, this moment was perfect, untouchably perfect.

“But I don’t want to go back to the House. I’m not ready to face those busybodies and have to admit they were right.” She wrinkled her nose.

Laughing at how scrunched her face was, utterly smitten, he stood and held out a hand to her. “Come on. I know a place close by.”

#gwynriel #gwynriel fanfic #gwyn berdara #azriel shadowsinger #acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #gwynriel blind date #do they finally figure it out?#I had all these plans for shenanigans #and then the two of them just kinda wanted to be sweet

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captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship · 10 months

Text

Azriel Singer's profile intrigues her, with a smile that never shines in his eyes and a delectable body. But will his attitude get in the way of any future potential?

I am so fortunate to be chosen to write Ch.2 of this fic for the ACOTAR Writing Circle 3 that has been coordinated by the amazing @azrielshadowssing

Part 1 was written by the incredible @hlizr50 and I hope I did this work justice!

Here is the link to Part 2, or read below!

TW: mentions of SA

ONE MONTH LATER

This had been a month from Hell. Gwyn was all but dying as she turned in her final assignment of the semester, thankful that she had somehow found the time to study and work a few extra nights of the week.

Gwyn had met with Tarquin the day after the disastrous meeting with Azriel. He was sweet and her saving grace over the last month. He didn’t want anything more than what she was used to offering - just a few weekends of fun. She made her rent with some cash to spare just from him alone.

It was all fine, but Gwyn couldn’t stop herself from venturing to Azriel’s profile, perplexed at what kind of bullshit someone had to go through in order to be such a massive asshole. He was hot, sure, and the kind of rich that would make paying off her college tuition look like a drop in the bucket. Had he been even a little less of dick, she might have milked him for all he was worth.

So fuck him.

But still… she couldn’t delete his profile off of her contact list. Couldn’t break that single connection to the man who equally perplexed and infuriated her.

Gwyn’s phone pinged, bringing her out of her stupor and back to reality. Her group chat with Nesta and Emerie consisted of funny memes, gossip, and the only source of true fun Gwyn had had in ages.

Nesta:

Let's go out tonight to celebrate!

Gwyn:

I am exhausted, Nesta. Maybe next time?

Gwyn entered her apartment and collapsed on the couch, ready to pass out and allow herself the bliss of sleep. Her phone went off again, and she silently cursed as she read the next message.

Emerie:

Take a nap and then join us! It isn’t everyday that you finish your second year of Law School, let alone in the top five of your class. You are a shoe in for any internship in the country. Take the evening off and just live a little!

Gwyn thought about it. When was the last time she really spent time with her best friends? Her weekends were filled with being whisked away on private jets to sunny beaches with Tarquin and her week days were jammed with studying and writing paper after paper. She had some money left over, and with this break coming up she could take on more clients than usual to get ahead of her bills.

Gwyn:

Fine, you win. Now you guys leave me be for the next 6 hours and then we can meet at Rita’s at 9pm?

Nesta:

YES! Finally!!!! First shot’s on me ;)

Emerie:

WOOOOOOO!

Emerie:

Ok, love. Get some sleep, because tonight we PARTY!

Gwyn chuckled at their enthusiasm, and it wasn’t long before she set her alarm and passed out- content and excited for the night to come.

----

Gwyn, Nesta and Emerie strode into the club and headed straight for the bar opposite the dancefloor.

“Three tequila shots and lime, thanks.” Nesta said, gesturing to the male bartender, Balthazar. She had taken a martial arts class with him when they all attended Velaris University and he always hooked the girls up when they came in. He just smiled and brought them right over, ignoring the guys who seemed to be attempting to flag him down to bring them some beers. Nesta just gave them one of her cold smiles and they shut right up.

“Here you go ladies.” Balthazar crooned as he dropped 4 shots of tequila and a small bowl of limes down in front of them. He smiled at Gwyn kindly and she was alway happy to see a friendly, male face whenever she was here. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Gwyn. Finally crawling out of your den to join us in the land of the drunk and living?”

“If only you knew the half of it. I’m literally bending over backwards to finish this degree. You try finding the time to make the dean’s honors list in Law School, work your ass off, and still look this good in heels after a final’s week from hell.” Gwyn retorted back.

His gaze dropped to said heels appreciatively. Perhaps it took a moment longer than necessary for his eyes to crawl back up her legs to her smirking features, but Gwyn wasn’t complaining. He just put his hands up in silent surrender and passed out the shots to all of us.

Nesta held her glass out in a toast. “To the shit we have seen, and the shit to come. At least the booze and company are worth it all.” They all grabbed a lime slice, clinked their shots together, and knocked them back. Gwyn savored the heat of the tequila running down her throat.

As she slammed her glass down on the bar victoriously, Gwyn could feel someone watching her. Her neck tingled as a gaze- hard and determined- bore into her back. Turning towards the dancefloor, she scanned the room until her eyes landed on a pair of familiar hazel ones. Ones that she had ogled in fascination all month behind the comfort of her phone screen.

Azriel was standing there and staring directly at her. No trepidation. No hint of shyness about him all.

She couldn’t read his expression from so far away, but she could feel his eyes raking down her body - noticing her tight cobalt outfit. The skirt barely covered her most intimate areas and her crop top wrapped around the curve of her body as though it were tailored just for her. The fabric shimmered under the club lights, giving the illusion of moonlight on an ocean wave.

His gaze sent electricity sparking up Gwyn’s spine. For the first time in a long time, she felt exposed under his attention. Once Azriel’s eyes met hers again, she remembered the reason they were in this predicament and turned her back to him - deciding to ignore the source of her current vexation for the rest of the night.

Despite her best efforts to ignore him, Gwyn couldn’t help but feel Azriel’s piercing gaze on her back the entire time.

She just ordered another round of shots from Balthazar, whose doting attention was not unnoticed. When the shot glasses of vodka arrived, she turned around to see Azriel sitting in a booth on the other side of the club with two people she hadn’t taken notice of before. The man was as large as a tank. His long hair was tied up in a messy bun and Gwyn could spot some black swirling tattoos peeking out from the open buttons of his black dress shirt.

The woman, sitting on the other side of the long-haired man, was one of the most stunning women Gwyn had ever seen. Surely a model, her golden blonde hair fell in waves around her face and down her back. She was wearing a deep gold top that just barely covered her chest, with chains at the neck and back leaving her tanned skin utterly exposed. Her matching skirt had her shining like a gilded sunset.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer, Gwyn.” Nesta teased from beside her.

Gwyn scowled in reply, content to follow out her plans to have fun and not think about work for a night. Or for that matter, a pair of hazel eyes that saw entirely too much and a broad muscular form that appeared as though it were carved by a Renaissance artist. Why did he have to be such an asshole? Gwyn hated him for it.

“His friends aren’t so bad to look at, either,” Emerie said. I turned to look at her and found her eying Azriel’s blonde friend with predatory intent. She smiled a little to herself. Although Gwyn was determined not to get any tonight, she wouldn’t stop her friends if they wished to partake in a one-night stand.

Perhaps it was reckless, but Gwyn couldn’t help but stare Azriel in the eye as she took her shot, not bothering with a chaser. He leaned forward in his seat - his eyes tracking the small drop that seemed to escape Gwyn’s lips and ran down the side of her mouth. She wiped it with her thumb and sucked it off- refusing to let her gaze fall from his. Gwyn just winked at him and turned back to her friends.

She hoped he felt the same lick of fire creep up her depths and ricochet through her spine. She wondered if the air had gone thick with heat and tension for him as well. But Gwyn didn’t chance another glance over to him.

This was war, and she was determined to win.

“Let's go dance.” Was all she said, and her friends followed in tow.

-----

The dance floor was packed tonight. Rita’s was only a few blocks away from the university, so everyone was trying to make the most of their end of semester celebrations. The girls found their way to the middle of the dance floor and started jumping and swaying with the music. For a while, Gwyn forgot about the pair of hazel eyes that had been watching her all night.

At some point, Nesta had spotted the man who had come with Azriel, and she left without a further glance at them.

He was exactly her type: bold, dominant, and from the way he laughed, he was definitely a teddy bear at heart. Gwyn and Emerie started laughing to themselves at how the man’s jaw seemed to drop when he saw Nesta approaching him. When they approached each other, drifting as though attached to some magnetic force, the gaze they shared was so intimate, Gwyn almost looked away - but the liquor in her system had robbed her of that courtesy.

“How much do you want to bet that Nesta will be waking up in his bed in the morning?” Emerie joked, yelling slightly over the loud music.

“They are either going to hate each other or be inseparable. Time to start writing the wedding invitations now.” Gwyn yelled back. Both girls fell into a fit of giggles as they casually watched Nesta and man start dancing with each other at the edge of the dancefloor.

A few more songs passed by, and Gwyn was fully entranced by the music and tequila. She hadn’t had enough to be drunk, but she did have just enough to loosen her inhibitions. Maybe that was why she had teased Azriel relentlessly at the bar. Gwyn looked over to Emerie who seemed to be distracted, continuously staring at the blonde woman who had come with Azriel. It seemed the woman was staring at her right back.

“Go shoot your shot, Em. I will be fine. I was hoping to leave in a few songs anyways.” Gwyn said with teasing encouragement.

Emerie looked nervous, chewing on her lip as her eyes scanned Gwyn. “Are you sure? What if she isn’t into girls?”

Gwyn just squeezed her arm in gentle encouragement, “You will never know unless you go up to her and ask.”

Emerie stayed until the end of the song, trying to dance away her nerves. When one song flowed into another, she said, “Ok. I’m going. Are you sure you are gonna get home safe?” Gwyn knew Emerie was just trying to stall the inevitable, so she just laughed in return. “I’ll be fine, Em. Go. I will text you and Nesta when I get home.” It was always their unspoken rule. Every time they went out, they would text the group where they were headed after the club. It also helped that the girls shared their phone locations with each other - just in case.

Emerie took a deep breath and turned towards the booth where the blonde was sitting, only to find it empty now. Looking around confused, Gwyn couldn’t help but feel bad for Emerie when all of a sudden her friend turned behind her to find the blonde tapping her shoulder.

“Want to dance?” The blonde said, a warm smile washing over her face as she held out her hand.

Emerie took it without hesitation, “I would like that.”

Gwyn waved them off as she continued to dance by herself, just enjoying the flow of the music through her veins.

She told herself she would stay for two more songs, make sure her friends were ok, and then head home to change into sweats, eat ice cream, and stream Grey’s on Netflix thanks to Nesta sharing her account with Gwyn.

Midway through the penultimate song, a pair of hands gripped onto Gwyn’s waist. They were rough and felt wrong. The man pulled himself close, trying to dance with Gwyn but she was not in the mood to be manhandled today.

She tried to turn out of the man’s grip, to shuffle away with a swift turn to the beat, but the guy just squeezed her waist tighter and tighter until she was being pulled against her will.

Memories flashed through Gwyn’s mind.

Dancing at a freshman year frat party. Another man’s hands on her waist. Her saying no as he brought her into a spare bedroom and took what he wanted from her.

Gwyn stood frozen in fear, unable to say anything. She knew self-defense, of course. She had met Nesta and Emerie at a self defense course for women who had been through trauma. But there were too many people around her and she didn’t want to risk hurting anyone else.

She tried to pry the dude’s fingers off of her waist, but he just leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Want to go home with me tonight, princess? That pretty outfit would look even better on the floor of my bedroom.”

Gwyn shuddered in absolute disgust. What kind of douche just asks if you want to sleep with him without even introducing himself?

“I’m good, thanks. I was actually just heading out. Have a good night.” Gwyn tried to escape his grasp again, but he just held tighter and started roaming his hands down her sides.

“Come on, Princess. It will be fun. What do you say?” he said in her other ear. His beer breath bombarded her nose and all but made her gag. Gwyn just about had it with him and was about to damn the consequences, but suddenly those hands were jerked off of her.

In a startled haze, Gwyn turned only to find Azriel pulling the man off of her by the collar of his shirt. “The lady said she isn’t interested.” Azriel all but growled at the guy.

The guy stared up at Azriel and balked. Azriel stood a whole head taller than him, and the look on his face would send most people running in the opposite direction.

Gwyn couldn’t help but think that that look was kinda hot. Couldn’t help but bite her lip as heat swam through her depths, replacing the icy nausea that had made a home there just moments ago.

The guy just stared between Azriel and Gwyn in shock. He didn’t wait around, sparing her a scoff and leaving. Azriel turned to Gwyn, his dark gaze roaming over her. Looking to see if she was hurt, she realized.

“Are you ok?” He asked, taking a step towards her.

That set Gwyn into motion. She took a step back, flicked her hair over her shoulder in fake bravado, and said cooly, “I’m fine. Thanks for the help.”

She turned over her shoulder and walked right out of the club and into the cool summer breeze.

----

She was in the middle of texting the girls and calling an uber when the club doors swung open beside her. Azriel walked out the doors in a frantic huff. He turned frantically in place until he noticed her leaning against the brick storefront, then all but ran towards her in a frenzy.

“What the hell!?” He said in a panicked voice. “Why did you leave? I was looking everywhere for you.”

Something tickled Gwyn’s nerves. On the one hand, it was sweet that he was looking for her. So at odds with the asshole she had interviewed with last month. On the other hand… “Why? Just cause I am an escort doesn’t mean that you are entitled to my time.”

“I know, but-”

She cut him off before he could give some bullshit excuse. “You made it perfectly clear the last time we met that you wanted nothing to do with me. So what the fuck was all that inside?” She crossed her arms over her chest in frustration.

Azriel cringed at her comment. He loosed a sigh and looked down. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took in a shaky breath before he opened them to meet hers. “I’m sorry for how I treated you that day. I’ve been going through a rough time. My friends set me up and although their intentions are good, I wasn’t in the right headspace. Would you let me take you somewhere so I can explain?” His eyes were pleading. He actually looked sincere.

This emotional rollercoaster was taking Gwyn for a loop. She shook her head and scoffed. “I was just groped by a random dude in the club. What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you right now?”

Azriel’s eyes darkened with rage. He kept it bottled in as he said, “At least let me take you home. Maybe grab some food on the way? I just want to explain. Start over.”

Gwyn didn’t want to deal with this right now. She was at her wits end and just wanted to go home. “Why do you even care, Azriel? We met once, you were an ass, and life moved on. Just leave me be.”

Gwyn was done.

She was done with men who thought they were entitled to her because she sold her time and body. But there were still hers.

Hers to choose who to spend her time with.

Hers to choose when to give it.

But always her choice.

Gwyn started to turn to walk down the street and put some distance between her and Azriel, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. His grip was light and she could easily shake him off if she wanted to but something inside her was telling her to stay. To listen.

“Please, Gwyn. Just give me a chance to explain. If I can’t convince you to give me a second chance by the time I drop you off at home, you will never hear from me again. You can have anything you want, just- please.”

Gwyn stared at his eyes, and whatever she saw there made her sigh in resignation. She could ask for anything. A lot of her problems could be fixed with that kind of offer. She pulled out her phone and texted Nesta and Emerie.

Gwyn:

Taking a detour on my way home. Be safe!

She clicked off her phone and looked Azriel in the eyes, “Lead the way then, Singer.”

#gwynriel #acotar #gwynriel supremacy #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #azriel x gwyn #azriel #nessian #emorie #gwyn is making azriel crawl for her #he will eat out of the palm of her hand #Gwyn is so hot and azriel is so hot #acotar writing circle 3 #acotar writing circle #this was so fun to write

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thegloweringcastle · 10 months

Text

On the Edge of Losing You

Thank you @azrielshadowssing for organizing this lovely event! It is so much fun to be creative and get to work with the lovely people in the fandom!

I had the absolute honor of continuing On the Edge of Losing You by the wonderfully talented @starfall-spirit!! My dear, I hope you like this chapter and that it does justice for the beginning you created. I adore this story with every bit of my being and was so excited (and somewhat nervous) to be continuing it!!

If you haven’t read the first chapter, what are you doing?!? It’s amazing. You can find it (and more delightful fics) here on @azrielshadowssing‘s masterlist for the summer writing circle.

Now, let’s pick up where we left off...

CW: None

Chapter 2: On the Edge of Losing you, We Tipped Over the Brink

“Feyre, what are you doing?” He knew what she was doing. Her hands cupped his face, and his heart leapt at the contact. He groaned, her name on his lips a benediction. “Feyre.”

Finally, she kissed him.

There had been dozens of instances where Rhys had nearly given into every last temptation. Dozens of instances where he had nearly met her halfway in the space between. Dozens of instances where he had fantasized about her lips on his, her hands tangling in his hair, her body covering his own.

One moment he remembered distinctly; a single memory that has ruined him over and over again with everything he wished he had done.

They had been strolling through the woods enjoying the cool of the night in quiet company. Of course they lingered at the back of their group, eventually staking out seats on old stumps to watch the night sky come to life. One by one, the stars winked into existence until they formed a river from sky to earth. Feyre would make up her own constellations, cackling as Rhys grew more and more distressed. Her smile was bold, her eyes sparked with mischief and life. The stars had never been so bright; Feyre had never looked so beautiful.

She paused her antics to face him while he did the same. They were so near, their noses brushed on accident. That was the closest Rhys had ever gotten to kissing Feyre, to simply letting go and discovering every hidden and forbidden bit of her. To finally letting himself have a chance at one joy he craved the most.

Until now.

He wasn’t sure how, or when, but she had made her way onto his lap, now straddling him in the sand. It was just as he had imagined - better.

But then reality snuck up and ruined everything, as it was prone to do.

“Feyre,” His voice was hushed between kisses. “Feyre darling, you’re still engaged. To someone else.”

She broke the kiss, gasping for air. They sat and breathed, fire draining from veins and stars fading from eyes. The weight of what she had done seemed to crush Feyre in an instant, even if Rhys wasn’t complaining.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Rhys. Gods,” She dropped her head to his chest, her weight on his lap a comfort to both. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Rhys spoke slowly, treading carefully on uneven terrain. “Feyre, you need to do what you want to do.” He leaned back on his palms, fingers slipping through sand he wished were her hair. “You need some time to think about what you want, no one influencing your thoughts. But Feyre…” The confession came out with hesitance. “I can’t walk you down the aisle to Tamlin.” I love you too much to let you go, was the hidden side of the coin.

The look in her eyes - it killed him. She was so infinitely sad, utterly alone in the secluded world Tamlin had constructed around her. Feyre broke their staring match, slipping back onto the cool damp sand. Rhys shivered at the loss of contact.

Time and time again, Feyre had asked him why he didn’t like Tamlin. How he could possibly know what type of man he was. What led him to believe Tamlin wasn’t good enough for. Every time Rhys brought it up, Feyre would, without fail, interrogate him to no avail.

The truth? He recognized Tamlin for who he was because of his own father. Rhys was under no illusions, he knew what type of situation his mother found herself in. And while she was fortunate - a safe marriage, even if it was loveless, and a calm ending that left her and her family well off - many women were not. He couldn’t live with himself if Feyre ended up like that and he had done nothing to stop it.

Her voice was thin, stretched taut between all that had transpired in mere hours. “I am very sorry, Rhys.” His chest tightened as he watched her stand, brushing sand from her clothes. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Feyre, wait a minute,” Her wrist. His panic. Their kiss. “Don’t-”

She slipped back into her flipflops. “I understand. Thank you for- thank you. I’ll see you when we get back.”

The sight of Feyre walking away had never hurt so damn much.

~~~

Her steps on the stone pathway were the tick of a clock, the sound her flip flops made echoing through the night. Somewhere in the distance was music, cheers, and the sound of beer bottles shattering.

Her thoughts wandered back to Rhys. For the first time in six months, Feyre had truly seen her friend. She had looked into his violet eyes and found the maps of years gone by; the marks left by those he loved, the marks left by those he didn’t. Like glass: inevitably broken and worn, beautiful in every state.

She had nobody to blame but herself for the most jagged crack that now ran through him.

Around the bend in the path, the cottage Nesta and Elain shared came into view. Lights shone through the windows - a beacon in the night. She couldn’t reach the door fast enough, her fist raised to knock a few steps too soon.

Elain opened the door, her gaze snagging on Feyre’s tearstained face and bruising wrist before pulling her in without a single word.

Silence was a thick blanket over the three sisters. Elain puttered around in the kitchen, steeping tea and arranging sweet treats on a plate. Nesta kept busy with organizing the disarray of books that had taken over every horizontal surface in the few days since arrival. What they were really doing: dancing around the events leading to this moment.

Feyre sat on the couch, staring into space while the world carried on around her. Now that she was finally away from the frenzy with Rhys and the upheaval with Tamlin, she found the idea of going over it all again too dizzying. Her eyelids tugged downwards with exhaustion; maybe it wouldn’t have been the worst thing to just flop over and fall asleep. Sleep through the next two decades.

Elain foiled her plan with the clink of ceramics and a pointed look. Though Feyre’s sisters sat on either side, they were anything but her jailers.

Feyre sunk back into the cushions, tea in hand. Despite the humid heat, she wished desperately for long sleeves, if only to cover the bruise beginning to form on her wrist.

Nesta sighed, forging ahead through the tangled vines. “The way I see it is, you’re not happy.” She eyed Feyre’s wrist. “Perhaps not safe, either. Am I correct to assume that?”

Feyre opened her mouth to find the answer choking her.

Nesta remained unruffled. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. But I think it would benefit all of us to go through it. Step by step.” Clever Nesta. Logical, steadfast Nesta.

So Feyre told them. She began with Rhys’s aversion to Tamlin, listing some of the choice words he used to describe him - which both Elain and Nesta chuckled at - and carried on through asking Rhys to walk her down the aisle. This led to the most distasteful part, and Feyre’s voice sank when she brushed over Tamlin’s aggression mere hours ago, providing the minimum scraps of their altercation and quickly proceeding to meeting Rhys on the beach.

Now, she set her tea down and dropped her head to her hands. “And then I ruined it all. I kissed Rhys,” Her voice was muffled. “And now he won’t walk me down the aisle. And I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do, Feyre?” Though Elain’s voice was soft, she did not coddle her little sister. They had all been through too much to be so delicate.

“I don’t want to marry Tamlin,” Her lip quivered with the admission. “But I have to.”

Nesta’s quirked a brow, her expression discordant. “Um, I think the fuck not. You don’t have to do anything, Feyre.”

“Have you forgotten how he helped us? I am literally indebted to him.

My student loans, our inherited debt, my car, the wedding, our house… all of it he helped to pay for.” Her eyes welled with unshed tears, overwhelmed just mentioning it all. “It’s too late.”

Nesta’s glare spelled danger. “Is it really too late? Or are you too scared?” It came out an assault. Abrupt. Harsh. Feyre flinched as if struck.

The entire situation - a minefield. Nesta had just stepped through it ruthlessly. “Shit. Feyre, I- that’s not- I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… it’s easy to believe something that’s not true when the reality is so intimidating.”

“Is there something else, Feyre?” Elain set her mug down, placing a calloused hand on Feyre’s shaking shoulder. “If you…” She cleared her throat. Tried again. Even still, her voice was timid. “If you really do love Tamlin, Feyre, then we can’t stop you, but-”

“No.” Feyre wailed, quivering with the confession. “No, I don’t love Tamlin. I love Rhysand.”

Silence smothered the world, seeming to stretch out beyond their small cottage. Feyre could feel The Look her sisters passed over her shoulder, but still, they were patient while she caught her breath.

She straightened, wiping her face and gathering her control. “No. I don’t love Tamlin, and Tamlin clearly doesn’t love me. I’m in love with Rhys - have been for so long. But I don’t think that he loves me either.”

Feyre held her breath, and then -

Elain and Nesta burst into laughter. Not deep, full-bellied laughs, but laughs all the same. It just made Feyre more upset.

“I call bullshit,” Elain gasped out.

Nesta scoffed, a smirk playing on her lips. “I’m with Elain.” She slapped her hands to her thighs, standing from the couch and offering a hand to each of her sisters. “Feyre, I think we should sleep. We’ll hatch a plan over breakfast, we’ll do whatever you want. But you look dead on your feet, and I need to rest before kicking ass. Whaddya say?”

Eyes swollen and sticky with tears and exhaustion, Feyre was struggling to stay awake. She let her sisters guide her to bed, and the three of them huddled up in the dark just as they used to.

She was just drifting to sleep when Elain whispered, “You could always elope with Rhysand while you’re here. It could be so romantic, like in the movies.” That was Elain, always thinking with her heart.

“Or you could dump Tamlin, sue him, take his money, and buy a secluded island where you won’t have to worry about anyone bothering you - man or woman.”

…and that was Nesta. Using her head.

Feyre smiled in the dark, too tired to think too much about it but happy to have her sisters by her side. “I think those ideas both have potential; different aspects of charm. But… we’ll see, I guess.” She could find equilibrium again, maybe this time with the person she wanted the most with her head and her heart.

Thanks again for reading! Hope you liked it <3

#acotarwritingcircle #Feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acotar fanfic #collab fic #writing challenge #acotar writing circle

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