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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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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!

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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

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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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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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Sandcastles in the Sky

Summary: When Elain borrows her best friend's beach house after a tough breakup, she's ready for nothing but peace and quiet. What she doesn't expect is for her new neighbor to be such a giant pain in her ass.

Part 2 of ACOTAR Writing Circle organized by @azrielshadowssing! You can read Part 1 by @kingofsummer93 here

Oh god, it was Graysen, no doubt about it. How the hell did he manage to find Vassa’s beach house? The man couldn’t even find the clit on a good day.

“Elain? I know you’re in there. Can we just talk? Please? The storm is getting crazy out here.” That grating voice was begging loudly on the porch.

God, Elain hated being such a pushover. But better to deal with it now before Graysen became more desperate, right? Elain wrapped her cardigan around her shoulders tightly as she made her way through the door. Sure enough, Elain could make out her ex-fiance’s face in the twilight.

“What do you want?” she asked, opening the door just enough to let her face peek out.

He was a relic from another era of her life, so out of place in his gray suit on a rotting wood porch. Graysen breathed out a sigh of relief. “You’re safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Elain’s annoyance rose a smidge higher.

He gestured down the street of beach shacks. “You’re practically in the middle of nowhere, Elain. Something could have happened to you.” There was a vague undercurrent of patronizing in his tone, as if he didn’t quite believe in her ability to take care of herself.

“How did you find me?” Elain demanded, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. God, she should’ve just pretended she wasn’t home.

Graysen gave her a pointed look. “I still have your location on my phone.” Ah, shit. She forgot to get rid of that, too.

“Look, I know things haven’t been great between us these last few months. I shouldn’t have kicked you out, shouldn’t have been more focused on the wedding than on you. If you need to take a break, just tell me.”

“Graysen,” Elain sighed, feeling like she was trying to explain simple addition to a child. “I’m not trying to take a break.”

“Well, we should at least talk about what went wrong, Lainey,” Graysen protested.

“It’s just not going to work out,” Elain cried, exasperated. “We outgrew each other, okay? Our friends don’t align, our families don’t align, our values don’t align…it’s not going to happen. It’s over.”

Graysen’s face twisted in barely suppressed anger. How could she have once thought him handsome? It had only been a few weeks, but the man was a complete stranger to her now. He had been, for quite some time. “Something’s wrong, Lainey,” he gritted out. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

Elain’s mind flicked towards Lucien. So what if she already found other people attractive? She’d only met him today, so it was simply preposterous for Graysen to suggest she was cheating on him.

“There is no one else,” she snapped. “It’s over, Graysen. We. Are. Done. And stop calling me Lainey. I’m sick of it.” She pried off the diamond engagement ring, giving it back to him as an added measure.

Elain was expecting Graysen to yell, to beg on his knees, or to snatch the ring away and drive off. Elain did not expect Graysen to grab her wrist when she extended the ring out. And for him to yank her down the steps of the front porch, attempting to drag her back to his car.

Her scream was drowned out by the clap of thunder. Elain scrambled for a hold on the porch column, on the ground, anything to keep Graysen from hauling her into his car.

A wayward brick, spillover from Lucien’s messy front yard, was her salvation. It was heavy with the weight of the wasted years and countless memories as she swung it clumsily at the side of Graysen’s head. His eyes crossed as he slumped to the ground, iron fist loosening around her wrist.

The rain soaked into her hair, running down her face in little streams. Elain’s jeans had ripped at the knee, and there was even mud staining the front of her shirt.

Elain swore loudly when she noticed the red blood leaking down his temple. Fuck, what if she’d killed him? Her adrenaline abated slightly when her fingers found a fluttering pulse on the side of his neck. He was simply knocked out.

The rain stopped. No, it didn’t stop—it was being kept at bay thanks to Lucien holding a large umbrella over her. His red hair had been pulled back from his handsome face in a low ponytail, and his brows were creased with concern.

“That’s a strong arm you’ve got there, Elain,” he observed. “Are you alright?”

***Lucien***

Turns out the asshole who had practically tried to kidnap Elain Archeron was her ex-fiance, Graysen Nolan. With his gray suit and neatly trimmed hair, Graysen looked just like one of his half-brother Eris’s arrogant big-law coworkers.

While Elain was more than happy to leave Graysen lying there, Lucien had opted to call the ambulance. That would leave the prick several thousand dollars lighter and free of any liabilities. The paramedics checked Graysen’s vitals, strapped his still-unconscious form to the gurney, and drove away in a matter of minutes.

Elain was shivering as the frigid wind chilled her already dampened clothes. “What if Graysen tries to press charges when he wakes up?” she fretted through chattering teeth.

“Don’t worry, I was able to capture a video of him trying to drag you to his car,” Lucien assured Elain. “I can send them to Vassa—and you—once I have reception again.” He offered his phone to her.

“You’re telling me that you just stood there filming me and my ex in an argument?” Elain raised an eyebrow at him.

“You seem like a lady who can take care of herself.” Lucien rebutted smoothly, pointing to the very brick Elain had used to strike Graysen with. “My brother’s a lawyer, and he’s always emphasized the power of evidence in a case. Besides, if he managed to get you into his car, I would have hopped on my bike and chased him down for you.”

Like a modern day knight in shining armor. Lucien gave her a crooked smile and wink that hopefully softened Elain’s skepticism. His gleaming motorcycle was safely covered in the shed, but it had been proudly displayed when Elain pulled up to Vassa’s house.

“Alright then.” Elain’s cheeks turned pink as she added her number to Lucien’s contacts. Lucien’s heart was pitter-pattering like the rain on the ground, for once Elain finished typing her phone number, she would surely turn and leave.

“Say, how about you chill at my place until the power comes back on?” Lucien suggested, before she could say goodbye. “You can dry off and I can cook you dinner.”

Elain blinked. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly bother you,” she tried to say, but then stopped. “I suppose I didn’t have a chance to purchase many groceries…I can stay for a snack and then be out of your hair?”

“Nonsense,” Lucien chuckled. “Vassa would give me an earful if I offered you unhealthy snacks for dinner.”

“She would,” Elain smiled. “Alright, I’ll come over.”

“Any dietary restrictions?” Lucien asked as they started up the short path to his house next door. Elain shook her head. “Home sweet home.” Lucien flicked on the light. Oh god, he’d forgotten how much of a mess his house was. He had not expected Elain to come over so quickly.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Elain exclaimed as she took in the warm lighting in Lucien’s living room. “Vassa said you had a generator.”

Lucien gestured to the ceiling. “Solar panels and a battery, actually.” he replied.

“Very sustainable of you,” Elain observed appreciatively. Lucien’s sharp eyes noticed the small, satisfied smile she tried to hide from him. He suppressed the urge to point it out, and directed Elain to the upstairs bathroom, providing her with a hair dryer, fresh towels, and a soft baggy shirt and clean sweatpants instead.

Lucien did some hasty cleaning while Elain was freshening up: shelving books, rearranging cushions, and wiping down surfaces. He was almost done remodeling his beach house: two bedrooms, with wooden refurbished furniture; a spacious kitchen, complete with the latest gadgets; bathroom, with restored vintage hardware; a cozy living room; and a mini basement that had been converted into a wine cellar. The only thing left was the yard, which was in desperate need of a garden.

Mushrooms, garlic, and bell peppers were expertly chopped before sauteed on the stove. The vegetables would go nicely with the leftover cilantro-lime rice from last night. And Lucien had gone to the fishmonger today, purchasing fresh cod filets that would pair well with lemon and dijon mustard flavors.

Earlier that day, he had been organizing the bedroom on his second floor when a rental car rolled into Vassa’s driveway with a stunning woman in the driver’s seat. One of Vassa’s distant cousins, perhaps?

Lucien was nosy, so he’d turned off his music and listened to her hash it out with “Graysen” over the phone. Watched her struggle up the steps of Vassa’s beach house with a large pink suitcase. The lady was even more beautiful once she’d stepped out into the sun, with her golden brown loose curls fluttering in the wind, big brown eyes, and perfectly kissable mouth.

And then he’d promptly gotten a call from Vassa, saying her friend Elain Archeron had broken up with her good-for-nothing fiance three weeks ago. “She’s going to stay at the cottage for a few weeks. I think the two of you would get along very well,” Vassa had chirped. “And…if you want to take things a bit further, you have my approval!”

He could practically see Vassa kicking her feet and giggling once she’d hung up. Despite rolling his eyes, Lucien couldn’t help but grin. He’d just finished plating the food when Elain came down the stairs.

“That smells amazing,” she called out appreciatively.

Lucien turned around and immediately felt breathless. Elain looked positively beautiful with her hair freshly dry and loose. And though the shirt and sweatpants were far too baggy for her lithe form, seeing her wear his old clothes satisfied that primal male pride.

“I figured a hot meal on a cold night would be better than processed food. Please, have a seat.” Lucien watched anxiously as Elain took her first bite.

“Oh, it’s delicious,” she sighed. “Really, I didn’t even know how hungry I was until I started eating. Do you like to cook?”

“I do,” he replied, his heart swelling with pride at her praise.

“Do you bake?” she pressed.

“I don’t,” Lucien confessed. “Do you?”

“I like to bake.” Elain’s face brightened visibly. “Vassa failed to mention that her house didn’t have an oven. Can you believe it? No oven? I mean, I don’t want to sound ungrateful. But I just can’t believe a family could live without an oven!”

Lucien laughed. “You’re free to use my oven anytime,” he offered. “As long as I get to take a 25 percent cut of whatever you make.”

“Of course. Baked goods are always meant to be shared.” Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, causing some of the cutlery to rattle. The two shared a surprisingly comfortable silence for a couple bites. “What brings you to Long Island?”

“Soul-searching.” Lucien shrugged. “I’m from Montreal, actually. Last summer, I learned that my mom had an affair with her college sweetheart…and he’s my real father.”

“Oh my god. How do you feel about it? Are you okay?”

“Overall, it’s a good thing? The man who raised me was pretty abusive, and he passed away last year. And my mom got back together with Helion.” Lucien didn’t always dwell on the horrors Beron inflicted on him. On his family. He didn’t realize his hand was trembling until Elain laid her hand over it.

The softness of her hands grounded him, drawing away his fears. Elain’s brown eyes were wide, but she did not look at him with pity like so many others did.

“Helion treats her well, thankfully. But it’s been hard for me to wrap my mind around it…to view this stranger as my father. And to finally work through all the trauma. So I quit my corporate job, bought this place with the money Beron had left us, and took up contracting full time. Therapy, self-care, all that jazz.”

“That must be incredibly difficult.” Elain withdrew her hand, and Lucien’s fingers twitched slightly at the sudden emptiness. “I hope Long Island is to your liking?”

“I’ll be okay,” Lucien assured her. “Plenty of work to be found here, decent weather…comparatively,” he added with a smile, seeing the disbelieving look Elain gave at the storm lashing outside. “It’s a quaint town. Great people, though.”

“Yeah,” Elain smiled. “Are you remodeling this house for…?”

“Maybe a vacation home,” Lucien shrugged. “If I ever have a family of my own, it could be a nice place to stay at during the summer.”

“Oh? Are you...dating anybody?” Elain asked. Her voice was neutral, but there was an apprehensive look in her eyes. Like she was at the edge of her seat waiting for his answer.

“Nope,” Lucien leaned back in his chair. “Single for three years and counting.”

Elain’s jaw dropped. “No way,” she blurted out. “A guy like you?”

“Just waiting for the right lady to come around,” Lucien chuckled. He tilted his head slightly, regarding Elain with a level gaze that made her blush. It wasn’t like him to be so forward with a woman who had just gotten out of a long-term relationship, but there was something so undeniably compatible between him and Elain, he couldn’t help it. She seemed delicate at first glance with her soft smiles and blushing cheeks, but Elain clearly had some fire to her. And Lucien liked that.

“And you?” he asked. “What brings you here?”

“I’m sure Vassa already told you.” Elain grinned.

Lucien held his hands up in the air. “Guilty,” he laughed. “She said you’d be here after breaking off your engagement. But of all the places to go, why Long Island?”

“Graysen and I were living together, so of course when I broke up with him, he kicked me out,” Elain answered ruefully. “Vassa was probably too nice to sexile me, but Jurian’s roommates probably need a break.”

Lucien laughed. “Those two are definitely a handful whenever they’re together.”

“Yeah. My parents have passed away, so no family home to return to. My older sister is in law school in California. My younger sister is working in London right now.”

“Damn,” Lucien whistled. “How are you doing after the breakup?”

“Relieved, actually,” Elain confessed. “It’s one of those relationships where everything seemed perfect in the beginning, but it became clear Graysen didn’t truly see me…as me. I think having a girlfriend elevated his status, and he didn’t care enough to keep the relationship alive after the honeymoon phase was over.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Lucien grimaced. “He sounds like a real ass.”

Elain sighed and ran her hands through her loose curls. “Yeah, I should’ve left him earlier. But I’ll be here, working remotely for the foreseeable future. It’s nice to have a neighbor like you around.” Again, that delectable tell-tale blush creeping up the side of her neck.

“I can only hope I’m sufficiently good company.” Lucien reined in the urge to lay himself at her feet, to offer more than just friendship. “Well, here’s to new beginnings, for both of us.”

“To new beginnings,” Elain agreed with a knowing look that made his blood heat, as she clinked her glass against his. Just as he raised the glass to his lips, the light went out.

“Well, shit. The battery juices have run out,” Lucien groaned. “Sorry about that, Elain.”

A/N: Yes...the garden is incomplete but symbolically when Elain and Lucien get together, she'll create a lovely garden that completes his--their--home (home is where the heart is, amirite?)

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotarwritingcircle

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kingofsummer93 · 1 year

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Sandcastles in the Sky

This is part 1 of an Elucien fic for the writing circle organized by @azrielshadowssing. Part 2 and 3 will be posted on April 9th and April 23rd by other authors.

Summary:

When Elain borrows her best friend's beach house after a tough breakup, she's ready for nothing but peace and quiet.

What she doesn't expect is for her new neighbor to be such a giant pain in her ass.

Word count: 4.3K

CW: none for part 1

Elain rolled down her windows and took a deep breath of the ocean air. The shops lining Main Street were bustling with a mix of tourists and locals, all of them relaxed and arms laden with shopping bags. Bookstores, cafes, restaurants, clothing stores, all with their front doors and windows open to let in the mild spring breeze. The rich scent of baked goods and coffee drifted from the open doorways of a coffee shop, mixing with the salty ocean air.

It was all so blissfully different from her hectic day-to-day in Manhattan that Elain could feel the tension leaving her shoulders with every lungful of air. There were no homeless men taking a dump on the sidewalks, no impatient taxis honking at her, no pedestrians walking out in front of her car as if they owned the place, and the air did not reek of trash and car exhaust. And most importantly, when she arrived at her designation her ex-fiancé would not be waiting there for her.

It was, in other words, heaven.

As if the realization that her engagement was a mistake hadn’t been painful enough, Graysen’s stubborn refusal to let her go made the entire ordeal even more difficult than it had to be.

Elain still didn’t know exactly what it was that had made her snap. There had been no lightning-flash realization, no discovery of infidelity, no screaming match ending in tears and accusations. Somehow that was even more embarrassing. If he had cheated at least she would have a clear explanation to give people. But instead of an epiphany it had been more of a slow tear-down, uncertainty and doubt chipping away at her like erosion until she realized her only options were to end it, or give herself up entirely.

It was the realization that Graysen’s jokes irritated her instead of making her laugh, and that his obsession with work surpassed his dedication to their relationship. It was the fact that her friends hated him, and that he hated hers. It was the fact that she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life having mediocre sex with someone who treated her pleasure like a negligible side effect.

It was those things, and a million others, but most of all it was the blissful relief she had felt when she had finally sat him down and announced that she didn’t want to get married. His incomprehension had been almost comical, but instead of making her feel bad it had only served as a reminder that he could not have been more detached from this relationship if he had tried.

“But, Lainy,” he’d said with a wry smile, “we already put down a deposit. What am I supposed to tell my parents?” He had said this very slowly and patiently, as if he suspected she had lost her mind.

The fact that this was his primary concern had only strengthened her resolve. After the initial confusion had come the incredulity, and then the anger, made even more ugly by the undercurrent of shame that she could feel radiating from him. It wasn’t a general embarrassment at having a failed relationship, like she felt. No, Graysen was simply ashamed about getting dumped, as if such a thing was inconceivable to him.

She’s weathered it all like an old sailor weathering a storm, and when he’d finally turned his back on her and demanded that she “get the fuck out of this apartment!” she had felt nothing but relief.

After a week of crashing on her best friend’s couch, however, reality had started to set in. The unfortunate truth was that Vassa’s tiny one bedroom in Chelsea was not built for house-guests, and neither was the fact that her friend was in a very new and very enthusiastic relationship. Vassa would have argued her ears off to the contrary, but Elain knew she was in the way.

The problem was that she now had absolutely no idea what to do or where to go. The lease on her apartment with Graysen was in his parents’ name, and even if it hadn’t been she would have had no interest in going back there.

But the real kicker was that her shitty admin job had been at the same company where he worked. She knew it might have been cowardly, but she would rather have taken her chances on the street than walk back into that building and see his face every single day.

She had been on the verge of admitting defeat and returning home to her parent’s house in Connecticut with her tail between her legs when Vassa had presented her with a rusty house-key and a set of instructions. Her parents owned a house in a sleepy, forgotten corner of Long Island, an old beach-side cottage that had been passed down from her grandparents. It was drafty, with mildewy bathrooms and shitty wifi, but it would be empty until summer, if she wanted it. The rent was free with the caveat that she didn’t burn the house down and that she be prepared for Vassa to come visit every weekend.

Elain had pictured it for a moment- an old house right on the beach, with nobody to complain if she took up too much space or made too much noise. She could bake all day if she liked, and nobody would purse their lips and make comments about calories and cholesterol. And if and when she felt up to it, she could address the small issue of her aimless career in peace.

“I know it’s not quite Eat, Pray, Love,” Vassa had teased, “but if you need some space to figure things out…”

Elain had not let her finish before she burst into tears of gratitude.

An hour at the car rental place and two hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic later, Elain was easing her temperamental Honda off the main street and onto a winding, narrow lane. After a few miles her GPS screen went blank, confirming that she had now indeed arrived in the official Middle of Nowhere.

Recalculating, her gps croaked. Recalculating.

You and me both, sister, Elain thought.

She slowed the car to a snail pace as she peered at the peeling and rusting numbers on the mailboxes she passed. With every house she passed she felt more and more like this was the beginning of a slasher film, and she was the dim-witted victim borrowing the old house at the end of the lane.

The paved road eventually gave way to a dirt track, and she was just about to turn around, certain she must have turned down the wrong street, when she spotted the bright-pink mailbox.

#6, Ocean View Dr, it said in faded yellow paint that clashed horribly with the pink.

As she turned into the drive the first thing Elain noticed was that old and drafty might have been an understatement. The house looked like it might fall down if you looked at it the wrong way. The paint was peeling, the front steps were crooked, and several of the windows had been partly boarded up. Definitely a prime location for a murder, she decided.

The second thing she noticed, coincidentally, was that if she were to be murdered, then the next-door neighbor would definitely be a prime suspect. The neighboring yard was filled with construction materials and various machinery- stacks of wood, mounds of dirt, piles of mysterious materials covered in tarps. This, combined with the gleaming motorcycle in the driveway and the thumping music drifting from the windows, immediately sent Elain’s dreams of a peaceful getaway crashing around her.

This was her Eat, Pray, Love moment? A ramshackle dump in the ass-crack of nowhere with a murderer for a neighbor?

Her phone’s shrill ringtone suddenly broke the silence, and Elain jumped as if it had been a chainsaw at her window.

“Hello?” she squeaked, not bothering to check the caller ID.

“Elain.” The voice on the other end was little more than a relieved exhale. Shit. “You picked up. I wasn’t sure you would, you’ve been ignoring my calls…”

“Oh. Hi, Graysen.” Her tone couldn't have been more flat if she had tried.

“Where are you? I went to Vassa’s to see you but she said you weren’t there and slammed the door in my face.”

Elain stifled a laugh. Thank god for Vassa. “I’m out of town for a bit. Did you need something?”

Graysen sighed an all-suffering sigh. “Yes, Lainy. You. I need you to come home to me.”

A few months ago hearing his voice this soft and pleading would have tugged at her heartstrings, but now all she felt was drained. She pinched the bridge of her nose and pressed the phone to her ear as she wrestled her giant suitcase out of the trunk.

“Graysen, I can't keep having this conversation. I’m not coming home.”

“If it’s about the wedding, we can change it. We can do something small, if that’s what you’d prefer. Screw the deposit.” Again with the damn deposit. “My mother’s been on my back to get you to pay half, but you don’t worry about it. I told her we’d discuss it when you come home.”

“Graysen. Are you not listening to me? I’m not coming home.”

“Look, if you need some space-“

“I don’t want to be with you, Graysen!”

Her voice might have risen higher than she had meant it too, and Elain winced. With a jolt she realized the music coming from next door had been turned off.

Great. Just what she needed. Her murderous neighbor listening to her private conversations. Maybe he’d use it as leverage. Oh god- what if he kidnapped her and asked for ransom? Graysen’s parents certainly wouldn’t pay for her freedom.

Get a grip, Archeron! she scolded herself.

The silence stretched on at the other end of the phone. Soon the pleading would turn to anger and insults. It was the inevitable conclusion to all their phone calls since she’d called off the wedding, and it was the reason she shouldn’t have picked up the phone.

“When are you coming home?” Graysen asked, slightly petulantly. “I want to talk to you face to face. Just tell Vassa not to slam the door in my face.”

It was Elain’s turn to sigh as she jammed the rusty key in the lock and pushed. The door stayed firmly shut, as stubborn as the man on the other end of the phone.

“I’m not at Vassa’s. I went out of town for a bit.”

She jammed her hip into the door and it flew open, almost sending her flat on her ass.

“Where are you?” Graysen’s tone had turned suspicious, his unspoken subtext crystal clear- Where are you and who are you with? This was her cue to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“I’m at Vassa’s beach house on Long Island. I just needed to get away for a bit.”

“Long Island? Babe, if you wanted a vacation-”

Yes, she did want a vacation. A permanent one, from him.

“Graysen, I gotta go. Tell your mother to send me an invoice for my half of the deposit.” Even as she said it her stomach clenched uncomfortably. Half that deposit was more than she made in six months at the shitty job that she no longer had. She’d have to figure out a way to make money, and quickly.

“But-”

“Bye, Graysen.” With that she ended the call and let the door slam behind her.

---

A bit drafty with mildewy bathrooms, it turned out, had been extreme understatement.

The house was a two bedroom cottage, and from the looks of it it had been built sometime in the 1950’s and sparsely renovated. The pipes groaned like a house of horrors whenever a tap was turned on or a toilet was flushed, the heating was spotty at best, and the insulation was so thin that she could hear the wind blowing in through cracks in the doors and windows.

One of the few renovations done by Vassa’s family, however, appeared to have been paint. The outside of the house had been painted a garish pepto-bismol pink (to match the mailbox, of course) and every room inside was painted its own bold shade. The kitchen, complete with ancient yellowed appliances and formica countertop, was a mustard yellow. The rest of the first floor, which was a combination living room and dining space, was painted what Elain could only describe as 70’s salmon. The master bedroom was painted sky blue and decorated with an alarming amount of lace doilies and ceramic figurines, while the guest bedroom (which boasted not one but two rickety bunk beds) featured olive-green walls and quilted bedspreads.

Thankfully the bathroom (the only one in the house, and, as advertised, quite mildewy) was an unassuming shade of lilac, with the requisite jars of shells and sea glass cluttering every surface.

The best part of the house by far was the fact that it was steps away from the beach. Wide sliding glass doors led to a back porch crammed with wicker furniture, and from there a set of rickety stairs led directly to the beach and the ocean beyond. The back porch was strung with fairy lights, and a large chest in a corner revealed cushions that seemed uncharacteristically new and (relatively) mold free.

It might have been an idyllic spot to curl up with a book, had it not been for the fact that she had an uninterrupted view of the house next door. The entire back facade of the neighboring house was covered with temporary siding, and the porch revealed as many piles of construction materials and tools as the front yard. To add insult to injury her new neighbor had turned his music back on, and the only interruption to the loud thumping bass was the high-pitched screech of his power tools.

Elain was uncorking a bottle of wine (having decided that it was the only way to deal with the ruckus next door) when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Graysen. Would she get no peace during this getaway? She might as well be back in the city, with all this noise and technology.

She took a deep breath, preparing to launch into another argument, when she whipped the phone from her pocket and saw Vassa’s cheerful face smiling at her from the lit up screen.

“Shit Vass thank god it’s you,” she said by way of greeting. “I thought you were Graysen again.”

“About that,” Vassa said, also not bothering with pleasantries, “Graysen just came by.”

Elain almost dropped the wineglass she was holding in shock. “What?”

“He said he talked to you and that you said you were at my parent’s beach house. He didn’t seem to believe it at first, but then he forced his way in and saw that a lot of your stuff was gone.”

“What?” Elain repeated. “That little shit-”

“And then he asked me for the address. He said he wouldn’t leave until I gave it to him.”

“You didn’t-” “No!” Vassa exclaimed, scoffing. “Do you have so little faith in me?”

“Oh god. I can’t believe he would do that, I’m so sorry…” Elain was mortified. Thank god. Thank god she had the good sense to dump him. “How did you get him to leave?”

Vassa’s laugh was low and wicked, and Elain winced on Graysen’s behalf. That laugh only meant trouble. “I tested out some new moves I learned at Judo last week. He practically tripped over himself on his way out.”

“No!” Elain clapped a hand to her mouth, shaking with laughter at the thought of Vassa unleashing herself on Graysen. He wouldn’t have stood a chance.

“Anyway,” her friend continued brightly, “Jurian saw him on his way up the stairs and he said the prick was mumbling to himself like a psychopath. If you ask me, I’d say you really dodged a bullet there, sis.”

“You and me both,” Elain said darkly. “Thanks for letting me stay here, Vassa, really. It’s…” She spun in a circle, taking in the yellow felt couch and the tv with antennas sticking out the back. “It’s…”

“I know,” Vassa said through a puff of laughter. “It’s a bit of a time capsule.”

“It’s perfect,” Elain said firmly. “Getting out of the city was exactly what I needed. Although…” She hesitated, not wanting to sound ungrateful. “Why does the neighbor’s house look like Dexter’s playhouse?”

Vassa barked with laughter. “Oh sorry, I should have warned you. He’s our new neighbor. He just moved in over the winter and he’s doing some major renovations. I think he inherited the house through a relative- it sounded a little complicated. Anyway, he’s a contractor. Mom said something about hiring him to do some upgrades on the house.”

“The amount of noise coming from his house makes it seem like he’s covering up an entire basement of screaming victims,” Elain grumbled.

Another bark of laughter. “I’ll text him to tone down the torture devices. Has he come over to say hello yet? He’s quite friendly. Jurian and I went into town for a couple beers with him last time we were at the house.” “You…” Elain didn’t even know where to start. Somehow she could not picture her friend sitting down for beers with the image she had in her mind of the beefy, bald, tattooed contractor next door. “What do you mean, has he come over to say hello?! I don’t want him to come over!” Her voice had risen an octave to what Vassa referred to as her glass-breaking dulcet tone.

“Relax, he’s not a serial killer. His name is Lucien. You know, just in case he does come over.”

“Vassa!”

“I’m kidding! I’ll tell him you’re shy.”

“I swear to god-” “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Let me know if you need anything, ok? Love you.” “Love you too, you giant pain in my-”

“Oh, before I forget to tell you. If you lose power just go next door to Lucien’s, he has a generator. You know, for all his torture tools.”

“WHAT?!”

“Ok bye!”

Before she could get in another word her friend had disconnected.

---

By the time Elain settled down on the porch with her wine and a book, the sun was starting to set and the neighbor (murderer or no- it remained to be seen) had finally turned off his music and power tools.

The wind had picked up slightly, smelling of ocean spray and the promise of summer. The sky was a pastel kaleidoscope of color, and for the first time since arriving on Ocean Lane, Elain finally relaxed.

She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and descended the steps to the beach. The sand felt cool under her bare feet, and she sat on the bottom step and sighed contentedly. From this vantage point she couldn’t even see the neighbor’s house. There wasn’t a single soul in sight.

That is- except for the figure she suddenly spotted carving his way through the waves in a strong breaststroke. She had to blink and look again to make sure she’d seen properly. Who in their right minds went swimming in the Long Island Sound in April?

Elain was about to snap a photo to send to Vassa when the person suddenly stopped mid-stroke, turned in her direction, and waved. She froze, phone lifted in midair. For some reason she felt the need to turn around and check if anyone was behind her. When she turned back around the mystery swimmer was still staring in her direction.

He lifted an arm (bare- how was he not freezing his balls off?) and waved enthusiastically again. Elain, feeling supremely idiotic, lifted a hand in the barest of waves.

She was just brushing it off as a local being friendly when the man started swimming towards the shore.

Great. Would she truly get no peace at all?

And then the man started walking out of the ocean towards her, and her mouth went slightly dry. His hair was long, past his shoulders, and it shone ruby-red in the glow of the setting sun. As he reached up to brush the wet strands out of his face the muscles in his arms flexed gloriously. He was wearing only a pair of short swim trunks that ended above his knees, and as he walked closer she noticed a tattoo running up the side of his right leg- watercolor licks of flame, starting at his ankle bone and disappearing under his swim trunks.

He was the most striking looking man she’d ever laid eyes on in real life, and as he came to a stop a few feet from her steps she forced herself to tear her gaze away from his ridiculously defined abs. Forget grating cheese- those abs were hard enough to grate salt.

“Hi there,” he greeted, a note of humor in his deep baritone. Of course he would have a voice like that.

Elain was gawking, and from the spark in his warm brown eyes he knew it, too. She dropped the hand that was still holding up the phone and sat up straighter.

“Hi.” She was suddenly sweating under her blanket. Maybe a swim in frigid waters wasn’t such a wild idea.

“You must be Elain.”

Her surprise must have shown on her face, and he smiled even more widely. “I’m Lucien, your new neighbor.”

“Oh!” This was her neighbor? She would kill Vassa for not warning her.

“Welcome to Ocean Lane.” He extended a hand, and Elain felt herself blush a shade similar to his hair as her tiny hand was engulfed by his massive one. She had a sudden, crystal-clear vision of those giants hands pawing all over her, flipping her over-

She shook herself and yanked her hand back as if he’d burned her. His grin turned wicked, as if he somehow knew exactly where her thoughts had strayed.

“So you’re the contractor?” she blurted. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she could have kicked herself.

Lucien chuckled. “Am I not what you pictured?”

“I didn’t…I don’t-“ She flushed again as he continued to grin at her. Damn him and that stupid grin.

“Sorry for all the noise earlier,” he continued. “I’m not used to having people next door. The house was empty most of the winter. I’ll try to keep the power tools to a minimum.”

She would definitely kill Vassa. “That’s ok! Don’t worry about it.”

The wind picked up, and Lucien shivered visibly. The sight of goosebumps erupting all over his muscular chest was absurdly erotic, and Elain once again had to force herself to look away.

“Aren’t you freezing?”

Lucien shrugged. “I’m hot blooded.” Elain nearly choked. “How long are you in town for?” he continued, unperturbed. “All Vassa said was that you were here for some peace and quiet.”

“I’m not sure,” Elain said truthfully. “I’m kind of in between jobs right now, so I wanted somewhere quiet to figure out my next move.” She didn’t bother adding that she was also in between apartments.

Lucien flashed her his crooked grin again. “Well, let me know if you want to hang out. It gets pretty lonely out here.”

Oh god, was he hitting on her? It had been so long since she’d flirted with someone that she couldn’t be sure.

“Oh! Sure. I mean, um. Maybe.” Wonderful. The absolute picture of eloquence.

“Sounds like a date.” Lucien winked as he started walking backwards away from her. “You should get inside before the downpour starts,” he said, nodding to the approaching storm clouds. “Looks like a storm is coming.”

Elain’s heart sank. Dark storm clouds were quickly rolling in, smothering the golden glow of the sunset. She silently sent up a quick prayer to whoever was listening that she wouldn’t lose power. “Right.”

“See you around, neighbor!” he called over his shoulder. And then, mercifully, he was gone.

Elain practically tripped on her way back up the steps and into the house, whipping her phone out of her pocket on her way inside.

VASSA!

Her friend’s response was suspiciously quick. Vassa was not someone who answered text messages instantly.

That’s my name!

Why did you not tell me your neighbor looks like some kind of Roman god?!

Oh, you mean Lucien?

Elain could practically hear Vassa’s faux-innocent tone.

You should have warned me! Guys like that should come with warning bells!

Has he asked you out yet?

Elain gaped at her phone before practically punching the call button.

“Excuse me?!” she demanded. “What does that mean?”

“It means nothing!” her friend answered in between puffs of laughter. “I was just asking you a question.” Vassa’s voice was muffled and disjointed. Great. If she got kidnapped she wouldn’t even have enough reception to call for help.

“You’re breaking up,” she complained. “What did you tell him about me?”

“I didn’t tell him anything!” Vassa said innocently. “All I said was that-” A rush of static. “Oh, and I might have hinted that you’re single and haven’t gotten laid in a while.”

“You did what?!”

Before Vassa could reply there was another muffled rush of static down the line, and then silence. Elain sighed, preparing to type out exactly what she thought of Vassa’s meddling, when a flash of lightning lit up the house, followed by a bone-rattling clap of thunder. Elain gasped, dropping her phone with a clatter. The lights in the main room blinked on and off valiantly, before turning off completely.

Shit. Elain struggled to turn on the flashlight on her phone to light the darkening room, when another booming noise made her drop her phone again. Except this time it wasn’t a clap of thunder. The walls rattled as whoever was outside the house pounded on the front door again.

“Elain?” someone called through the door.

Her heart sank. She knew that voice.

#acotarwritingcircle #elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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sideralwriting · 8 months

Text

Sailing Ships - Summer ACOTAR Writing Circle

I want to say sorry both to the previous writers and to @azrielshadowssing, who organized the event. Thank you so much for your patience waiting for my update. I hope you enjoy the ending!

Part 1 here by @foreverinelysian

Part 2 here by @writtenonreceipts

Words: 1700 for this part, around 7k in total. Cassian curses once, so warning for cursing.

° - ° - ° - ° - ° - °

The cruise had been a complete disaster, as everything in the most recent period of her life. Nesta’s only sure point in her world was now her studies. It’s not that she wanted so, quite the opposite. She had loved the time where she had both her exams to excel in and a loving family to return to. A lovely hug to return to. She just hated that for others one of the two things had always to come first, that only because her priorities weren’t the same as someone else’s, then they had to be wrong. And what she hated even more was that Cassian gave up.

He had given up on her, on their future, without even looking back. Without even letting her go through the hell of a period that has been that session in peace and listening to her when her head would have been clearer. Because Nesta wanted to share her life with Cassian. He was fit for her, he made her feel alive and burning with passion and supported. And she felt like she had ruined her life compass. Seeing him on the cruise tilted her view once more. Why did they fight? Why could he see her focus on her studies and accept it? Maybe she was the one in the wrong? But what wrong could she do when she was cooped up in her room most of the time? As if summoning him with just a thought, there he is, standing in line to get off the cruise boat. After leaving her once again in the middle of the night. Their eyes met while Nesta reached the end of the line, far behind Cassian.

° - ° - ° - ° - ° - °

He left her. Cassian knew that if he had stayed she would have been mad for coming and going as he pleased, of always doing as he pleased. Of taking advantage of a situation in which she was weaker and in need of attentions. She was sick, for goodness’s sake. Witnessing to last night made him question if she suffered alone all those days. She probably had, as he knew her and how good she was putting up a wall in front of others. Rhys and Feyre had been particularly eager at the idea of the cruise: could it be that they organized it all? If it was so, he couldn’t think if he wanted to shout at them for making Nesta sick or thanking them for the opportunity to see her once again. He missed her so much that the moment their eyes met as she arrived for landing, he felt a spark in his head, a missed beat in his chest. Did he do the right thing leaving everything, leaving her, behind? Of course, so he couldn’t let her down anymore, so she could focus more on what she loved and less on… well, him. Proud was also a peculiarity of their nature. He wasn’t always right, but if he was someone’s boyfriend he wanted at least some respect on their part. Mother above, why was it so difficult to show your point of view without hurting the person you loved?

° - ° - ° - ° - ° - °

The landing was slow and chaotic, hugs and shouts and a slow-moving crowd made a chill crawl up her skin. She was still recovering from the previous night and wanted peace and quiet. As soon as possible. She walked toward the taxi rank and was met with an even bigger crowd of suitcases and crying children. Elain and Feyre sent her a message informing her that they couldn’t be there due to a quite strong hangover from the night before —Feyre at least, Elain wanted to stay by her side— and suggested she took a taxi. She pulled out her phone and started filming a short video of the crowd, before sending it to them with a “thanks for the suggestion” message attached to it.

She had just put the phone away when a dark-haired guy approached her. “Hey there” he started with a grin forming on his lips. She vaguely remembered him from the cruise. “You are the one who was soaked in alfredo sauce, last night”. Yes, he was definitely on the cruise.

Embarrassment started creeping up on her: what if someone filmed it? What if someone recognized her? What— “So what?” she was buying time to understand why he was in front of her. Was there a way to get out of the situation?

“What do you think of going on a date?” the guy asked handing her a black paper that looked suspiciously like a calling card.

Luckily she was spared from the stalling situation thanks to a broad hand snatching the card away from the guy. “Who the fuck uses a calling card to give a girl his phone number?” Cassian’s voice was impossible to forget, as it was the cool amusement and the feral grin she found on his face. He was at her left, bringing the card to his face. “Bellius, huh? What a name” Cassian commented before pocketing the paper, putting the other arm around her shoulders, ”anyway, I’ll keep this one. If I find you around my girlfriend again, it will be the first thing I’ll hand to the cops”. His fingers twitched as the guy made for a run cursing them.

“Your girlfriend?” Nesta asked as soon as they were alone and moving to the head of the crowd.

“What? He didn’t need details about us. Even if we broke up, I can still care for your well-being, you know?” She stayed silent until they reached a lone taxi and run for it.

Cassian wanted to take a different one even if the wait for the next one was around fourty minutes, but Nesta refused. It was futile to do so as he could continue with the taxi for wherever he lived now and that they could split up the payment. So, they loaded their suitcases into the car and sat behind.

° - ° - ° - ° - ° - °

They were isolated from the driver thanks to a glass panel, and that was the only encouragement Nesta needed as she sat straight, looking out of the car window. The sea was full of boats and glistening under the morning sun. “You broke up with me” she mumbled.

“What?” Cassian asked, and she could have sworn that she felt him whipping his head.

She took two breath before repeating raising her voice a bit more: “You broke up with me. Not we. You.” There it was again, her treacherous heart, racing and skipping beats. “You told me you wanted a break,” she couldn’t stop now, the words flowing towards the window instead of their true recipient, “then the next thing I see is an apartment half empty, my gifts and pictures for you in a box, your keys at the entrance.” She still had issues remembering everything of those nights a little more than a month ago. Panic was rising again.

He didn’t say anything. Of course not, they were facts, not questions. So she went on with the facts. “I was doing something I like and which required all my attention in order to become the best out there, where the only thing that matters is what I know and how I apply it. Am I too absorbed in it? Maybe.” She stopped to breath, pulling down the car window. “And so are you in your job, that I know you care about as much as I care about mine. We took our relationship for granted. But what I couldn’t change was what happened next. You vanished.” She turned towards him, her cold mask in place to avoid breaking down in front of the driver.

Cassian sat against the seat, leaning his head against it. His eyes locked on hers as soon as she turned and complete devastation was in them. “You vanished and I don’t like it. You vanished,” his pressed-together lips trembled but he never broke the stare, “you vanished, and I missed you. I still do.” A tear broke from them at the same time, and Nesta felt her proud go silent. As he was. Do you miss me?, she wanted to ask. But she didn’t.

° - ° - ° - ° - ° - °

As soon as they reached her apartment, she paid her share and went to unload her suitcase. As she turned at the car’s back, she was met by Cassian with both their luggages waiting on the sidewalk. The taxi went away and they were on her doorsteps.

“I do,” he said.

“You do what, exactly?”

“I do miss you.” How could he know what she was thinking? “I know you, Nes. I know it was difficult for you saying those things. We made mistakes. And I do miss you.”

He advanced toward her, and she felt her heart feeling at rest. This was right, so why did they do it wrong the first time? The sun was high in the midmorning blue sky and the light made him glow. Or maybe was the aftermath of the last five days.

“I just ask you to be more present,” he started again, “Give me some cuddles and similar” he lifted a hand and pulled some hair behind Nesta’s ear and the burning started anew, “you can even read me whatever book you have in your hands and explain things to me. I just ask not to be left outside a closed door. On my part, I’ll do anything I can to come home earlier and give you all the attentions and support you need.”

Nesta stood on her toes, and he bowed so she could rested her brow against his. “I’m ready to put a stop to my break, Nes. Would you accept me again?” Tears streamed down her face, even if she tried to keep the mask on. She could feel the need to always be by his side, to share her life with him, to laugh and love again. She nodded. “I need to hear your voice to be sure this is what you truly want, Nes.”

Nesta took a long breath and declared “I accept you”.

Trembling, Cassian kissed her and for once, she didn’t care if they had audience or not.

Once again, her world was right.

Once again, his world was complete.

— — —

I hope you enjoyed reading! Cassian and Nesta are characters so interesting that when @azrielshadowssing told be I had to write the last chapter for them my head went blank! How to write complex characters? How to make them make up? I hope I made the characters justice in that regard.

#acotarwritingcircle #nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfiction #nessian fanfiction

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shadowisles-writes · 1 year

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Double Blind (Part 3) [Gwynriel]

A/N: Hi! I’m so excited to finally finish this fic started by @hlizr50 and continued by @foundress0fnothing for the ACOTAR Writing Circle. You can read part 1 of the fic here and part 2 here. It’s been such a pleasure to collaborate with all the writers involved in this project and you can find the masterlist for the 9 complete fics written between 9 people right here.

Word count: 1672

“So your friends set you up?” Rita raised an eyebrow as she filled Gwyn’s glass of wine.

“And they thought they were really smart with it, too,” Azriel sighed in the private booth, away from the rest of the dancing crowd where the music was louder.

Gwyn had seemed worried when they walked in, as if he would bring her to such a busy place where strangers were all touching each other and expect her to be comfortable, but she had visibly relaxed when he greeted Rita and herded her to the back.

“Cassian is going to be way too proud of himself when we get home,” Gwyn said before she tasted the wine.

“Stay here and let him stew for a while,” Rita instructed, familiar enough with Cassian that she could make those comments.

She walked away to serve the rest of her patrons soon enough, and the shadowsinger looked at Gwyn in a way that meant no good. “How do you feel about some harmless payback?”

Gwyn grinned and placed her elbows on the wooden table to rest her chin on her interlaced hands. “I’m listening.”

“You mother hen,” Azriel muttered as he walked into the House of Wind and immediately saw Cassian. “You should have told me if I had a curfew.”

Nesta and Emerie were undoubtedly waiting somewhere close to see the result of their little plan.

“I was just curious,” the male shrugged and glanced behind Azriel, tilting his head to search for Gwyn. “Where’s your date?”

“She went home,” Azriel removed his jacket and stretched his wings slightly. “You were right, we had a nice time.”

“Uh uh,” Cassian nodded. “And where uh, where does she live?”

“Close to the Rainbow,” the lie rolled off Azriel’s tongue. “I saw Gwyn and her date as I walked her home.”

“You… oh, that’s uh…” The war general stammered, his eyes wide for a moment before he coughed and found his words again. “That’s fun, was she having a good time?”

“Apparently, since it looked like she’s not planning on spending the night here.” The shadowsinger smirked as he said it and watched Cassian nearly liquefy into his seat.

“Oh gods,” he said, “don’t you think that’s a little fast?”

“She’s a grown female, what’s wrong with her wanting to have fun?”

“She’s with a stranger!” Cassian practically shrieked, and Azriel gave him a weird look.

“The girls set it up, he’s not a stranger to them.”

“No, right, sure,” he kept up his lie. “Have a good night then,” he let Azriel walk away and to his room, too panicked to notice the shadow that trailed him when he rushed to Nesta.

Azriel sat on a chair in his bedroom, his shadows curling around his hands around him as they told him what was going down word for word. He was struggling not to laugh too loudly, but the occasional chuckle still escaped him.

“Emerie she’s with a damn stranger!” Cassian whisper yelled in the library, as if that’d stop Azriel from eavesdropping.

“But she’s having a good time,” Nesta intervened. “And it’s not that late, why ruin it?”

“You’re not worried at all?” He was close to exploding. “We should tell Az the truth and go get her.”

“No! She’s down in the city, meeting people and having fun, it was the whole point,” Nesta stopped her mate from immediately putting an end to things.

“Nesta’s right,” Emerie added. “I thought Velaris was safe? And Azriel isn’t stupid, he clearly checked on her when she was walking with that male, which means the male had to recognize him. Do you think anyone would mess with her knowing she’s close to Rhysand’s spymaster?”

“Obviously not,” Cassian said through gritted teeth. “But what about her and Az?”

The females exchanged a look before Nesta spoke. “We did ask her several times if she was interested in him, and she denied it every single time.”

“Oh come on, you’ve seen them look at each other, she was clearly lying,”

“I thought so too,” Nesta shrugged. “But what if she wasn’t? We can’t just mess up a fun date for her because of what we think.”

“Fine, whatever,” Cassian’s wings rustled with exasperation, and he strode out of the library, past Azriel’s room and onto the roof to sulk.

Azriel snickered quietly as his shadows reported Cassian sitting on the ground, his arms around his knees as he muttered to himself. The words were so mumbled he couldn’t get them transcribed, but the shadows got whispers of insane, not safe, and random asshole that nearly had the shadowsinger doubling over with laughter. He couldn’t wait to see Gwyn and tell her everything that went down.

Cassian made to get up and sat down immediately with a sigh. He was restless, and he’d never sleep until he knew Gwyn was home safe and sound. Nesta’s words still rang through him though, if she was having a good time he didn’t want to ruin it, but the idea of her not being safe was driving him mad. Cassian, who was trained for highly stressful situations, couldn’t stop fidgeting as he thought of his friend, his sister, on a date with a stranger.

What if the male wasn’t nice? What if he expected Gwyn to spend the night with him and pressured her? What if she was scared and didn’t react the way he had trained her to keep herself safe?

Cassian growled with frustration, wings tight behind him as he ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the strands. He’d pull his hair out at this rate, but he needed to do something. Would Gwyn truly be mad if he showed up and she was having a nice time? Surely she’d understand and go home with him.

Not matter how many times he repeated Nesta and Emerie’s arguments to himself, he couldn’t agree with what they said. There was no way in hell his Gwyn would spend the night with a male she didn’t know. She’d been skittish enough around him and Azriel when they met and sure she had made progress and grown comfortable around other people, but to sleep with a stranger?

Cassian couldn’t believe it, and it was that thought that brought him back to his feet, leaping off the edge of the roof in an instant to go find her. He’d have to track her scent through the city, but he had used his senses for tracking in far worse conditions.

Azriel took that as his cue to jump out of his own window, his shadows hiding him from Cassian’s sight until he was out of the wards and could winnow to Gwyn.

“How did it go?” She turned on her seat at the bar to face him and Azriel took her hand to bring her back to their booth.

Rita, who had been keeping her company while she was alone, nodded at them with a smile.

“Cassian is losing his mind, but Nesta and Emerie wanted you to have fun.” He summed up knowing he’d have to tell her the details later as Cassian would likely arrive before he could finish the story.

“He’s too sweet,” Gwyn sat on the same side as Azriel and held her dress as she placed her legs over his lap. “Do we look cozy enough?” She smiled up at him, her teal eyes bright enough that Azriel nearly forgot about the male that was about to interrupt them.

“Come here,” he said, his voice lower than usual. His arm wrapped around her back to pull her closer, and Gwyn placed a soft kiss on his jaw while his other hand came to rest on her knee to tuck her into his body.

“You fucking asshole!” Cassian seethed as he got to the booth moments later. “I’m going to kill you for this.” He stood with all his might in his scaled armor, as if he’d really been prepared to fight a male.

“Hi Cassian,” Gwyn said sweetly. “How was your night?”

“How was my night?” He glared at her and Azriel. “I was worried sick you fucking idiots!” His voice rose to a yell. “Did you really think letting me believe Gwyn was alone with a stranger would be funny? I mean how could you—”

His rant stopped the moment Gwyn tilted her head up and kissed Azriel. The shadowsinger paid Cassian no mind, cupping her cheek and humming at the sweet taste of wine on her lips.

“Sorry,” Gwyn smiled once they parted and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You were saying?”

“I hate you guys,” he whispered, clenching his fists as he fought to keep the smile of his face.

“And I hate you being such a busybody,” Azriel shrugged and earned an eyeroll.

“If it helps Cass,” Gwyn said before he could get mad at Azriel again. “Your reaction is really sweet, and things like you showing up here is the reason all the priestesses feel safe training with you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, closed it and tried again before taking a deep breath. “Goodnight.” Was all the general said through gritted teeth before turning on his heels and striding out of the restaurant.

Gwyn giggled just as Azriel laughed, his shadows curling around his ear to relay Cassian’s reaction out of the bar. He was stomping home, his footsteps so loud on the street someone glanced out of their window to see what was happening. For a second, Azriel worried that he was actually mad, but a moment later his shadows reported Cassian wiping at his eyes, as if he were crying over his friends finally getting together.

“He’s such a sweetheart, I feel bad,” Gwyn rested her head on Azriel’s shoulder as he repeated everything his shadows told him.

“He’ll be fine,” the shadowsinger brushed his lips over her forehead. “He’s flying home now.”

“Should we go too?”

Azriel grinned. “Eager to get into my bed, Berdara?”

“Absolutely.”

#acotarwritingcircle #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel #gwynriel fic #pro gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #acotar azriel #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel fluff #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel fanfic

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aldbooks · 10 months

Text

Part 2 of the wonderful story started by @captain-of-the-gwynriel-shipas part of the ACOTAR Writing Circle hosted by @azrielshadowssing

Warnings: NSFW and BDSM themes

Find on AO3

Part 1 | Part 3

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.

Ch 2 - 3995 words

NSFW warning 🌶🌶🌶

“Son of a-” Gwyn swore viciously as Eris-fucking-Vanserra sauntered into Rhysand’s office and leaned against the side of the desk, smirking at her.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Berdara,” he crooned. Beside her, Azriel growled. Actually growled. It was a fight not to look at him.

Quickly gathering herself, Gwyn leaned back in her chair, and returned Eris’ smirk with one of her own. “Daddy finally finished yelling at you?”

Something dark flashed in his eyes and for a moment she was struck by how much like his father he looked. Were it not for the red hair he inherited from his mother, Eris could have been Beron, twenty years younger.

“Were you worried about me?” Eris asked with a little condescending pout. Gwyn rolled her eyes and Eris’ expression turned cold. “I’ve been dealing with my father for longer than you’ve been alive. Don’t cry for me. Besides, if you’ve done your job right and not just been parading around my father’s office in short skirts for the last month, no one will be dealing with him any longer after tomorrow night.”

Gwyn tensed, her lip curling at the insinuation she was incompetent at her job. She could feel Azriel preparing to lash out but, before either of them could respond to Eris’ taunting, Rhys stepped in.

“Azriel was just assuring us we have what we need. Our teams have been coordinating the plans for tomorrow night, and you are all here to discuss your roles in those plans.” Rhys gestured to a third chair beside his desk that she had failed to notice earlier and Eris sat, smoothly reaching up to unbutton his suit jacket as he did so. Crossing one leg elegantly over the opposite knee, his elbows rested on the chair's arms, chin propped on the knuckles of one hand. The picture of arrogance.

She hated him.

Waving a hand lazily, Rhys said, “You have the floor, Eris.”

Amber eyes glided over Gwyn from head to toe in a clinical sort of assessment that set her teeth on edge. “If I know my father at all, he’ll have arranged for you to attend the gala in a dress he hand picked for his own pleasure. You can decide if you actually want to wear it or not,” he shrugged. “He’s equally as likely to either get you alone at the first opportunity to rage about it, as he is to ignore you entirely, as his own warped form of punishment for not capitulating to his commands.”

His voice was casual but there was something in his tone, a subtle edge of bitterness that made Gwyn think Eris had likely been subjected to the same sort of bullshit psychological games his whole life. Again, she felt a pang of sympathy for the man for having to put up with Beron as a father… if only just a little one.

“However,” Eris continued. “Invariably, the easiest way to rile him up and thus make more likely to make a mistake, is to piss him off as much as possible. To that end, I’ll be escorting you to the ball rather than sending you alone. Father never much cared for sharing his toys.”

Azriel shifted in his chair beside her, his entire body vibrating with tension. She would have been more inclined to be insulted by the insinuation that she was some sort of possession of Beron’s had Eris’ curling lip not made it obvious how distasteful he found the notion. If there was one good thing that could be said about the Vanserra brothers, among the cesspit that was their reputation, it was that they all loved their mother and she imagined seeing their father constantly disrespecting her with his various mistresses would disgust any of them.

Rhys must have recognized that Az was about one more vague insult away from tearing the man to shreds as he once again stepped in. “Eris,” he sighed. “We could do without the colorful commentary. Please just explain the plan.”

Eris’ brow twitched challengingly at Azriel, and Gwyn had to resist the urge to reach out and grab his hand to calm him down. They just needed to get through this meeting and then she’d find an excuse for them both to go home early so she could help him release his anger in a more… fun manner.

Luckily, Eris seemed to understand how close he was to getting his ass beat and adopted a more professional demeanor. “Once we arrive, I’ll take you about the room a bit to give my father a good look at you with me, which should hopefully get him good and angry. I’ll then leave you at the bar or one of the tables to speak with some acquaintance or other, at which point, Beron will most likely abandon my mother to go after you.”

“This is the part where your… expertise, will be needed. He’ll try to get you alone somewhere out of the way where you’re not likely to make a scene, or draw attention- we’re hoping he’ll choose one of the exhibit halls near the back of the museum. From there just keep him distracted and focused and on you, to give the team time to get in place and, once they ambush you, you can play the innocent victim.” He gave her a condescending smirk. “I’d recommend lots of tears, if you can manage it, maybe some hysterical screaming. He has a thing for weak females-”

“We’ll take care of the rest from there, as usual,” Rhys said, cutting Eris off. “Once Beron is in custody, the information you gathered will be shared with our contact in the feds that will begin the public investigations and media coverage while we… take care of Beron. In whatever manner you choose,” he waved a hand at Eris who smiled coldly.

Gwyn was quite sure that once Rhys’ team had a hold of Beron he would not be long for this world.

—

After fleshing out a few more details both with and without Eris, Rhys allowed them both to take the rest of the day off to make their respective preparations. Probably, he too was sensing the dark mood Azriel was in and knew he’d be of little use to him in such a state. They made a show of avoiding each other as they left Rhys’ office and left the building separately. Gwyn made a quick run by her apartment where, sure enough, a hideously revealing (and hideously expensive) red dress had been delivered about an hour before, and packing a small bag of items she’d need for the night.

Knowing Azriel as she did, she knew he’d likely have her up half the night, most likely on her knees, and planned accordingly. By the time she finally circled around to his apartment, she had refreshed her hair and makeup and was wearing his favorite lingerie- a strappy number made of black leather, sans underwear since Azriel had a tendency to rip off any she wore (and honestly, given the ungodly prices companies charge for a four inch scrap of fabric, it was an annoying habit). As expected, he was already waiting for her on the couch, knees spread wide as he slumped against the leather and his shirt was already half unbuttoned.

Without a word, Gwyn dropped her shoes, bag and coat at the door, silently padding over to him and dropping to her knees at his feet. His gaze followed her the entire way, hazel eyes drinking her in from head to toe. She leaned forward, resting her head against his thigh and was rewarded with the back of his fingers skimming over her cheek. She leaned into the touch.

“Are you up for playing tonight, Angel,” he asked, just as he did every time they played like this. Azriel was always naturally dominant in the bedroom but, during those times he craved more than a rough and dirty fuck, he always checked in with her first to make sure she could handle it.

Gwyn nodded and Azriel’s fingers curled around her chin, his thumb pulling her lips apart. “Use your words, Angel.”

“Yes, sir,” she purred softly, sucking his thumb into her mouth. He made a little sound of approval, his eyes riveted to the smear of lipstick she left on his skin.

“Hmm. What shall I do with you tonight?” he mused.

“What do you need?” She wouldn’t play the part of his brat until she knew what he needed from her, and how she needed to pace herself and push his buttons.

He thought about it for a moment, studying her. “Can I have your ass?”

She winced. “Not tonight.”

Nodding slowly, he rubbed his thumb over her lower lip again, smudging the deep red over her pale skin. When he was in moods like this, she made sure her makeup was easy to take off as he enjoyed making a mess of her. She could already tell she’d been washing mascara and lipstick off her cheeks later tonight.

“Your mouth then?” She gave her consent and his hand slipped around her neck. “Throat?”

“Yes,” she breathed, already anticipating. Azriel was not a selfish lover. For every orgasm she gave him, he returned the favor in triplicate.

Groaning softly, Azriel leaned down to kiss her, pushing his tongue between her lips to dance with hers for a long moment. “Wait here,” he instructed, disappearing into his bedroom.

She waited as instructed, taking the moment alone to prepare herself. Even though she knew she would end the night very happy, she also knew he would make her work hard for it. By the time he returned with a handful of black objects, she had focused her mind and relaxed her body.

Taking up his previous position once more, Azriel hooked a thin collar around her neck and soft, cushioned cuffs around her wrists, linked together in front of her body. Tugging gently on the ring of the collar, he pulled her up to lay across his lap, his fingers prodding softly at her already soaked pussy before inserting a toy that rested against both her clit and her gspot when fully inside her before guiding her back to her knees. He picked up his phone, fiddling with something on the screen for a moment. Gwyn gasped and straightened when rather intense vibrations suddenly shot through her before dulling to a low, steady rhythm designed to keep her on edge.

Azriel smirked. “Ready?”

When she nodded, his palm smacked lightly against her cheek a few times. “Words, Gwyn.”

“Yes, sir,” she panted.

“Good girl,” he crooned. Leaning back, he draped his arms lazy across the back of the couch and said, “Take my cock out.”

She did as told, reaching forward to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, pushing fabric aside to reveal his hard, pierced length, her movements a bit hampered by the cuffs. She licked her lips, remembering how the studs feel sliding against her tongue and leaned forward to lick along his shaft, flicking her tongue over each piercing.

Hissing a breath, Azriel quickly gripped her hair to pull her away from him, fisting his cock so the tip hovered in front of her. “I don’t have the patience for you to play with my cock tonight, brat. I need you to suck it. Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she said in a simpering voice, grinning at him. He growled softly, smacking his cock against her lips before pushing himself between them until she gagged. He guided her for a moment, showing her exactly what he wanted from her before releasing her to continue on her own.

A few minutes later, after idly playing with the vibration controls while she obediently sucked his cock until she was so close to cumming she thought she might burst, Azriel again grabbed her hair and pulled her off of him, dropping the vibrations so low they were almost nonexistent. She whimpered at the loss.

“Up,” he commanded, helping her to her feet. Standing with her, he turned her towards the bedroom with a sharp slap of her ass. “On the bed, on your back.”

Scurrying to the bedroom, she climbed onto his massive bed, scooting her body around until she lay on her back, her head hanging off the edge like she knew he wanted. Aching for release, she began to reach for her clit when Azriel stopped her with a soft tsk. “Do not touch yourself,” he ordered. “You come when I say you do. And tonight, you’re not coming before me.”

She pouted, though he ignored her as she watched him retrieve another item from his box of toys. Returning to her, he wasted no time pushing himself back into her mouth, this time pushing down her throat as well, until he was fully buried. Closing her eyes, Gwyn focused on her breathing to control the urge to gag, as she felt two sharp pinches on her nipples where Azriel attached weighted clamps. Fuck, he was really testing her tonight.

Taking her hands and holding them against her chest between her breasts so she couldn’t reach for her clit again, he began to fuck her mouth. His movements were slow, rocking slightly when he bottomed out and she knew he was watching the way his cock stretched her throat with each thrust. He began playing with the vibration controls once more and in no time, she was a sobbing, moaning mess as he brought her to the edge over and over before finally spilling himself down her throat.

She actually did sob when he pulled out of her mouth and turned off the vibrator, pulling it out of her as well and tossing it aside. Before she could complain, however, Azriel had spun her around so her legs hung off the bed and thrust his still hard cock into her throbbing pussy, pinning her to the mattress by her throat. She came as soon as she felt the glide of his piercings inside her, her scream hoarse from the rough treatment of her throat.

He fucked her hard through a second and third orgasm before he came again and finally let her go. “Fuck,” he groaned, cupping her face and rubbing his thumbs through her ruined makeup. “Such a good girl, my angel,” he praised, kissing her languidly.

She lay boneless on the edge of the mattress, sated and exhausted and let him tend to her as he unhooked her restraints, stripped her down and gently cleaned her up before tucking her into bed with him. “Better?” she whispered as his body wrapped around hers.

“Better,” he agreed, cuddling her against his chest and kissing her cheek.

For a long moment, there was no sound but their soft breathing before Azriel said quietly, “we’ll tell him after this mission if finished. Rhys and the others.”

Gwyn’s breath caught. Just that morning they had been discussing the possibility of telling their friends, contemplating both the idea of no longer having to hide their relationship and the potential consequences if they made it known.

“I’ll deal with Rhys- we’ll deal with it together. If they want to separate us and not let us work together anymore…. We’ll make it work… I- I want them to know. I don’t want to pretend you mean nothing to me anymore…”

Gwyn felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as much at the idea of being removed from him as for the words he did not say. I love you too, she thought silently, tightening her grip on his arms that were wrapped around her and turned her face slightly to kiss the arm braced under her.

Nothing else was said as they quietly drifted off to sleep.

—

Checking her lipstick one last time, Gwyn snapped her compact shut and stuffed it back into her bag as the car pulled up to the red carpet that had been set up outside of the museum. There wasn’t a ton of press as the most prominent guests tonight were just the local business owners, for which Gwyn was very grateful. She was always careful to avoid having her picture taken in public in case she accidentally blew one of her covers.

Eris, who had been silent the entire ride since picking her up, luckily seemed to understand this as he exited the car and strategically positioned himself to shield her from view as he helped her out of the vehicle and strode straight to the door without stopping for a single photo. Inside the lobby, they had to wait in a short line as tickets were checked and she took a moment to readjust her dress.

She’d decided to play it safe and wear the damned dress Beron had sent over, figuring showing up on his son’s arm would piss him off enough. It barely covered her breasts as it plunged low in the front and exposed her entire back, with slits clear up her thigh that made it very hard to successfully hide many weapons on her, though she still managed to strap one of her favorite small knives on the inside of her thigh.

Beside her, Eris watched her with a bored expression as she ensured her breasts wouldn’t spill out of her top. “Finished?” he drawled when she’d stopped fidgeting.

Her answer was a silent scowl.

“I’m inside,” Azriel’s voice murmured through the discreet earpiece hidden behind her hair.

“Us too,” Gwyn said without moving her lips.

Once their names had been verified, Gwyn took Eris’ proffered arm, pasting a smile on her face as they entered the gallery hall where the gala was being hosted. Her eyes scanned the room for Beron, spotting him in the far corner, his wife on his arm, as he spoke with a councilman, while her expression remained open and curious as though she were being awed by her surroundings and not searching for someone..

“I have visual on you,” Azriel confirmed as they moved sedately through the room, greeting various acquaintance of Eris who introduced her as his father’s “right hand woman”, and she played along smiling brightly at each person she met, all of whose names and faces were familiar to her either from previous events or research for cases.

She clocked the moment Beron spotted her at the same time Azriel did, murmuring as much into her ear. She quietly informed Eris and they stepped up their performance, for Beron’s sake.

Once she’d been paraded around nearly the entire room, Eris seemed to recognize his father’s patience was near its breaking point and he left her at one of the tables scattered throughout the space, ostensibly to fetch her a drink. He hadn’t been gone thirty seconds before a hand latched roughly onto her arm and Beron was hauling her through the nearest exit into one of the exhibit rooms, just as they planned.

Azriel confirmed he’d seen her leave and suddenly she was on her own.

The way Gwyn stumbled as Beron swung her around in front of him, slamming her into a wall wasn’t entirely feigned. He was a lot stronger than he looked and her heels were just a little bit too tall. Luckily, she’d worn a pair that could be easily discarded if she needed to run and she braced herself to do just that as he boxed her in against the wall, his face full of cold fury.

“Did you enjoy showing up tonight in the dress I bought, with the ticket I paid for, while on my miserable son’s arm?” he sneered, not even trying to hide the way he attempted to visually undress her. Gwyn swallowed her gag and stuttered incoherently, as though she were scared of him.

Cool fingers brushed along the exposed skin between her breasts as he leaned close enough for her to almost taste his whiskey heavy breath. “Have you fucked him yet? Or were you fucking him this whole time while teasing me? Hedging your bets against the bigger prey?”

She refrained from scoffing at the idea that he was possibly a better catch than his much younger son and shook her head vehemently, allowing her eyes to turn glassy and her lip to tremble. “No!” she protested. “No, I swear, I didn’t- I didn’t do anything with E-Eris. He- he just asked to give me a ride. I didn’t know-”

She broke off with a whimper and a heavy flinch as Beron slammed his fist against the wall beside her head. “Don’t lie to me!” he roared.

Cringing back against the wall, Gwyn lowered her eyes from his gaze as she continued to play the trembling fawn he wanted to see. His tone immediately softened. “I’m sorry, forgive me,” he said smoothly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you…”

A glass of champagne appeared in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. “Here, sweetheart. Have a drink to calm yourself down.”

Gwyn took the glass with trembling fingers and held it up to her lips without actually swallowing anything. She wasn’t stupid enough to trust anything he gave her. Unfortunately, that did not mean she was smart…

Cold fingers once again brushed over her skin, this time along her neck before she felt a sharp pinch that made her gasp as heat flooded her veins from the spot. Fuck. He had a fucking syringe! How had she missed it?

She immediately dropped the glass of champagne, letting it shatter at her feet as she lashed out but whatever he’d given her worked fast. Her movements were already turning sluggish and it took no effort at all for him to catch her wrists and trap them against the wall above her head.

Gwyn’s entire body went numb as he began checking her over for weapons in the few places she could have hidden them with a cool efficiency that scared her a little. She tried to call out, to warn Azriel what was happening, even though it would have blown her cover more than it already seemed to be but she couldn’t make her mouth move. Her tongue felt swollen and heavy and it was starting to get a bit difficult to breathe, especially as the strength in her legs finally gave up and her body collapsed, the only thing holding her upright was her hands still pinned against the wall overhead.

Beron’s hands took far too many liberties as he stripped the dagger off her thigh and tossed it aside- not that she could feel much anymore as the drug pumped through her system. When he was apparently satisfied she’d been disarmed, Beron’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her limp body against him. Thankfully she was too numb now to feel the erection she was sure now pressed against her hip. She fought a gag as horror ripped through her mind that she desperately tried to wrestle into submission enough for her to think.

Azriel had seen her come in here with Beron. Depending on where Rhys’ team had been set up initially, it could take a few minutes to get them in position to storm this particular room, but there was still enough time for Beron to do so many terrible things to her before they did, especially now that she couldn’t fight back.

All she could do now was pray that Azriel was paying attention to the fact that her end had gone silent for a few minutes now and recognized something was wrong.

She almost fainted in relief when she heard footsteps approaching before realizing it was more than one set, but not enough to be Rhys’ team. She couldn’t turn her head to see what was coming but she heard a deep voice murmur “boss”, before something heavy and suffocating was thrown over her head and she lost the battle to remain conscious.

#acotarwritingcircle #gwynriel #gwynriel au #gwyn x azriel #gwyn and azriel #azriel x gwyn #azriel and gwyn #gwyneth x azriel

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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!

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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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thegloweringcastle · 11 months

Text

First off, I want to give the BIGGEST thank you to @azrielshadowssing for organizing this lovely event! Truly, I cannot thank her enough for her patience and kindness. This is my first time participating and I have so thoroughly enjoyed it!

This is also my first time writing nessian, so I apologize in advance if they are somewhat out of character. If you see any typos, no you didn't.

Summary: After agreeing to do a favor for her youngest sister, Nesta and Cassian reconnect after three years of no contact. Will this roadtrip be enough to salvage the ragged threads of their history, or will they return to be being complete strangers when all is said and done?

Warnings: None

Part 2 | Part 3

~2.2k words

...

The road ahead was gilded in sunlight, rays filtered down through the towering trees. The air was hot but the view was magnificent. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, and Nesta had never been more miserable.

If Cassian spat one more sunflower seed shell out the window, Nesta was going to pull her car over and make him walk the next few hundred miles. Her car, a Cadillac CTS Sport Wagon in Opulent Metallic Blue with a custom expanded panorama sunroof, was her pride and joy and Nesta would be damned if the unsophisticated ass got spit and other crap all over it.

She said as much.

“Aww, c’mon Nes. Your car is fine, I’m not spitting inside, am I? Sunflower seeds are a staple snack; we can’t have our epic summer road trip without them.”

She took a deep, cleansing breath. “We are hurtling down the freeway at eighty miles an hour. Every time you open and close that window my ears pop and the air conditioning escapes, and it’s too damn hot out for that.” The steering wheel creaked under her iron grip. “I am doing Feyre a very, very generous favor in driving you, but I will not hesitate to kick you out. I don’t give a rat's ass about an ‘epic summer road trip’.”

“Ouch. Those are some harsh words, Nesta.” He slumped back in his seat, resealing the plastic baggie of snacks. “If you kick me out and make me hitch-hike, it will be your fault when I get snatched.”

“It will be my fault either way,” she grumbled. “At least I know how to hide evidence.”

He grinned. “What was that, Nes?”

It was all she could do to reign in her snarl. “My car, my rules. Tread carefully, you brute. I didn’t even want to drive you in the first place.”

If things between her and Feyre hadn’t been going so well, Nesta really wouldn’t have gone along with the plan. He was the one who ruined his bike, he was the one that could suffer the consequences; he could get his own sorry ass down south to Feyre & Rhys’s wedding, or, better yet, not attend at all.

“It’s good to see you too, Nes.” He winked at her, before slipping on a pair of headphones and finally leaving Nesta to her precious, blissful silence.

***

“Wake up,” Nesta slammed her car door shut behind her, but Cassian didn’t even budge. She went around to open the passenger door, pulling the headphones from his ears and startling him awake. “Wake up, we’re here.” Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if he had been sleeping to the sound of people shouting and smashing guitars against the ground.

He swiped one hand down his face, clambering out and jogging to catch up with Nesta even as sleep still pulled at his eyes.

“Hey Nes, tomorrow–”

“Nesta.” She said, not even looking over at him. “It’s Nesta, not Nes.”

“You never minded when we were together-”

She sighed, turning and placing her hands on her hips. “Well we’re not together now, are we?”

“I mean…” He trailed off, looked between them, looked back at her. “We are, technically, currently together.”

She huffed and kept walking towards the motel. “If you don’t want me to leave you behind tomorrow morning then I recommend you not be a smartass.” Nesta reached for the handle to the front office, pausing and looking over her shoulder to Cassian. “I’ll get the room keys, you take care of the luggage. I will see you at five in the morning. If you’re even one minute late, you’re stuck here.” And with that, she stepped out of the heat and into the cool front office, leaving Cassian to haul their baggage to the rooms.

The next morning he was thirty minutes early, greeting Nesta with a shit-eating grin as she emerged from her motel room a quarter past five.

***

Nesta was meticulous in unfolding and refolding the map. Always careful to not tear the creases, always careful to make the folds line up, always careful to not crinkle the paper. If Cassian drove how she navigated, she would not be so worried about her precious Cadillac. As it was, Nesta was preparing to hold a memorial service for her beloved car by the time they made it to the venue, if they ever did.

She gestured with one perfectly manicured hand to the roaring motorway ahead of them. “To get onto the next highway you’ll want to turn at this intersection right up here.”

He tugged his headphones - again with the stupid headphones - to hang around his neck. “Huh?” They whizzed past the turn.

“Hey, whoa, where are you going? Pull a u-turn, that’s where we needed to be.” He put the pedal to the metal; the pitstop town was fading in the distance, fast. “If you hadn’t had your music blasting your brains out you would have heard me the first time.”

He shrugged, mouth twitching. “Mmmm… I know a detour. There’s less traffic and it’s much prettier. It’s the one we took when we came here a few summers ago, and it was just fine then.”

Nesta was sorely regretting her decision to trade places with Cassian after their pitstop for coffee and breakfast, but her leg was too cramped and her foot was too numb for her to officially be the safer option.

She shut her eyes, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Cassian, we’re practically in the middle of nowhere. It would be easier to just go back and turn there - don’t you remember how twisty this road is? It goes all along the coast.”

“That’s exactly the point.” He stared straight ahead, stoic and unmoving. When

She sighed, crinkling the map as her hands turned to fists. ”Oh please, you could at least try to not be an obnoxious bastard for the whole trip-”

He cut her off, his voice rising. “See, but that’s the thing, Nesta, you’re the one being difficult. We’ve been on the road for three days now and so far I would say I’ve tried pretty damn hard to not get on your nerves. Yeah, I know I have annoying habits, and yeah, I know it’s been a while and we’re not used to each other anymore.” Now he was really shouting. “But by the Mother, you could work on having some human decency too.”

He braked hard and turned into a ‘scenic overlook’, which was really just a parking lot at the edge of a rocky beach. Silence hung between them thick like fog, the soft click of the turn indicator echoing through it. Cassian backed into a spot, diligently checking the mirrors. He still refused to use the backup camera.

“Come sit with me. Please.” He got out without a second glance, opening the hatch and rearranging the junk they stowed in the back.

Nesta stood, the muggy morning causing her clothes to cling to her skin. The tide may have been far out, but thick clouds of fog lingered close to the mainland, shrouding their view of the horizon. Cassian handed her a blanket and waited for her to get comfortable in the trunk before taking his place beside her. The car dipped under his weight, and for a moment Nesta missed feeling that sturdiness. She eyed his muscled shoulders and broad hands, let her eyes creep to his torso, then lower… She snapped her gaze to the ocean where waves crashed into rocks and birds circled above and fog began to dissipate. They were totally and utterly alone, which made it all the more jarring when Cassian began to speak.

“For two and a half years, Nesta, I had no idea where you were. Things were going so well, and then all of a sudden, ‘things’ were completely nonexistent. And I couldn’t reach you.” He looked at her then, and Nesta saw the hollow loneliness in his hazel eyes.

That just wasn’t fair. “I gave you warning, Cassian.” Her voice was strong, but it lacked her usual edges and angles. “I told you I had to help my sister. Feyre was so… It was so bad, Cass. You wouldn’t have even recognized her as the girl you knew in high school.” Her voice, now soft, quickly returned to hard ice and sharp steel. “I needed to take care of her; I told you as much. I have no idea why you were so shocked.”

He engaged the rocky shore in a staring contest, mulling over her words. “I understood she needed you. But I didn’t understand why you had fallen off the face of the earth. I couldn’t contact you at the law firm you worked at, you disappeared from all social media, your phone number was disabled.” He smacked his palm to his forehead, eyes going wide as he stared at the ground. “Hell, I even wrote letters that were returned to me within the week I mailed them.” Cassian heaved a sigh, the blanket he had draped around his shoulder slipping off. Nesta fought hard to not readjust it.

It was just the guilt. She was just tired from driving for so long. She didn’t actually care. So what if she was unreachable? It was her choice. It didn’t matter anymore. It was so long ago.

“And so I’m sure you can imagine my surprise,” He continued. “When I heard from Morrigan - Morrigan, Rhys’s cousin, the one you despise - that Feyre and Rhys had just begun dating, and that you had started your own wildly successful law firm.”

Now he looked back at Nesta and caught her staring. She couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“I went for another year after that hoping to find you, Nesta. I hoped to every deity that I don’t even believe in for you to come back into my life. I didn’t think it would even be that unlikely, what with your sister dating my best friend. But it took them getting married, and your sister forcing your hand, for me to see you again. And even still, I don’t have an explanation. I don’t know if I did something wrong or if… I don’t even know.” He huffed a laugh, weak and humorless. “But in all honesty, Nes, I thought we were worth more than that.” And then, quietly, “I kind of hoped I was worth more than that.”

He leaned back, keeping his gaze locked with hers and gripping the blanket edge in two fists. “Now it’s your turn. I’m not leaving until you say something, anything, about what happened or why or how or whatever.”

“You can’t do that, Cassian. We have a schedule to stick to. We can talk about this later.”

He shook his head. “No can do, Nes. I’ve been waiting three and a half years –”

“Exactly,” She stood, refolding her blanket and tossing it back into the trunk. “You’ve waited that long, another few hours won’t kill you.” She put her hand out, palm up, and made a grabbing motion. “Now give me the keys. I’ll drive the rest of today.”

He stood, rising to his full height. “No, Nesta. I do not want to go anywhere with you until I have something, even just an inkling of an understanding.” Because you hurt me.

He didn’t need to say it, Nesta saw it in his expression. She pretended she didn’t.

“You can’t keep me here against my will,” She swiped for the fob, missing when he brought it up above her head.

“I will swallow the key if I need to. Do not test me, Nesta.”

“You disgusting brute, just give me the key-”

He opened his mouth wide.

“You will choke yourself! You’re absolutely insane! By the mother,” Nesta gripped her hair, clawing at it as if she wanted to rip it out. “This is why I left! This is why I don't want to have anything to do with you! Because you’re a mess! You’re a child! You are literally a man child.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Ah, see? Now we’re getting somewhere.” He resumed his seat in the trunk, keeping the car fob in a tight fist. “Please, continue, Nesta.”

She could feel her cheeks growing red, she knew there would be crescent indents on her palm from clenching her fists. Honestly, it was amazing her jaw didn’t snap under pressure. If she could tackle him - which wouldn’t be difficult, what with her body fueled by coffee, anger, and adrenaline - she could steal back the key and ditch his sorry ass.

She made a show of giving in; hanging her head, unfolding and shaking out the blanket, and grumbling under her breath. And just when Cassian fell for it, Nesta lunged.

Everything happened so fast that she barely saw it. Cassian leapt from the trunk, Nesta pulled him to the ground, they wrestled in the sand, rocks and driftwood, and the key went flying, lost to the void of damp, gray rocks.

Nesta stared with wide eyes where she had last seen it before slowly looking back to Cassian, who now was frozen beneath her. In any other situation Nesta would be thrilled by the fear in his eyes, but rage clouded her mind; she wanted to shake him until his head rolled off. Her voice was feral as the next words tore free from her throat.

“You. Idiot.”

#nessian #acotar #my fic #nesta archeron #cassian #acotarwritingcircle #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses #nesta x cassian #acotar fic

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damedechance · 1 year

Text

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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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

Text

Sunny one so true, I love you

first chapter of an Elucien story for the ACOTAR writing circle ship: Elucien word count: 2k words warnings: none, just a little suggestive thank you so much @azrielshadowssing for organising this writing circle, it was sooo lovely writing this and I am very happy to take part if it💛 this is now the first part of a story of an Elucien AU, the other parts you will find on the masterlist, they will be written by two other authors.

An amused smile on his lips, Lucien leans his shoulder against the doorframe, giving Elain, who has not yet noticed him, a once over. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, watching the Archeron sister’s concentrated expression, her beautiful fawn eyes trained on the tablet in front of her, a cup of coffee tipped to her full and rosy lips. God, she is so gorgeous, Lucien thinks, but can also be such a feisty little thing.

The early morning sunlight casts the room and Elain in a beautiful glow. Her skin looks so soft, Lucien thinks. Her hair shines like golden threads have been spun into it. He loves when Elain has her hair open, she looks like a princess, like a faery–a forest faery. Lucien’s eyes trail a little lower, to the stupid green dress she is wearing. It is not stupid actually. It is just so…distracting.

On the radio soft music is playing, something from the 70s, 80s?

Sunny, yesterday my life was filled with rain

Sunny, you smiled at me and really eased the pain

It fits, Lucien thinks and when finally being done with regarding her silently, he pushes off the wall, making himself known.

“Morning.” Drawling, Lucien stretches out the word, his low and raspy morning voice brushing over Elain’s skin like a cat’s tail—a fox’s tail. Choking on her coffee, she spits half of the sip she has just taken back into the cup, knuckles turning white from how tightly she holds the mug. Elain brings a hand up and brushes her thumb over the corner of her lips, the movement not going unnoticed by Lucien.

And talking about Lucien…It is amazing living with him, brilliant, Elain thinks. So brilliant. It has been such a brilliant idea that her best friend Vassa has had.

Elain had been offered the last empty room in the shared flat of Vassa, Lucien and Jurian after her not so wonderful relationship with the economy student Graysen went downhill and ended in an over-dramatic break up (from Graysen’s side).

Vassa still thinks this to be perfect — she could finally live together with her best friend, her other best friend and her boyfriend.

Elain likes living with her best friend as well, there is no doubt about that. And also Jurian is a nice companion, but one person is a problem.

Lucien. Lucien Vanserra. Even his name on her lips does things to her. Things she does not like. Similar things to what his voice does to her and her toes that are still curled in her socks.

“Morning,” she grumbles, lips still placed on the edge of the coffee mug, eyes still focused on the IPad in front of her where she is reading through the newest article on winter blooming plants, trying to figure out which ones she could keep on the balcony and which ones would have to move into her room. She does not want to look at him yet. She knows he will look gorgeous with is ruffled morning hair, sleep written over his face, he is most definitely shirtless as usual and wears his idiotic grey sweatpants.

“Why so grumpy, sunshine?” Lucien chuckles, strolling past her. His arm softly brushes her when he passes her and Elain is fully convinced that this was not on accident.

He loves to tease her. Great gods, it seems sometimes that it is Lucien’s only purpose in life to tease and taunt her any chance he gets to do so.

And god, his scent. It still lingers in the air from when he passed her. Spicy, rich, lush and sweet at once—delicious.

“Breakfast?”

A crease appears on her forehead, her brow raising when she reluctantly lifts her gaze and then her mug, waving it in front of Lucien’s vision. “I am having breakfast right here, right now, Lucien.”

She loves pronouncing his name wrong, teasing him, and a grin appears on her lips.

“It is Lucien, sweetheart.” He wants to add that she should remember it for when she has to moan it in the bedroom, but keeps his mouth shut as it seems out of place somehow.

Elain continues grinning, eyes glowing brightly with mischief. “And yes, sunny, you are having a coffee. I was talking about proper breakfast. What do you want?”

You to leave me alone, Elain thinks, already feeling warmth creep into her cheeks. Not only warmth. She is sure there is a deep red staining to her skin at his words. He offered her breakfast? Lucien offered her breakfast!

And actually….he should not leave her alone. She wants him to stay. But he needs to stop teasing her, it makes her blush and feel hot and she knows that Lucien enjoys this a little too much. Oh, and there it is–this silly smile that breaks out every time he does something like that. It is different to the grin. There is this smile that somehow seems to be reserved for Lucien, this smile that is much more honest.

Sunny, thank you for the smile upon your face

Sunny, thank you for the gleam that shows its grace

This silly smile that Elain always tries to avoid from spreading over her face by either biting the insides of her cheeks or her lower lip. But this time she fails and is now sitting here, smiling at the male with the fiery red her and gods!

It is the first time she truly allows her to take in his figure this morning. And damn her — Elain has been right about everything she thought earlier.

Lucien he—The breath gets knocked from her lungs, her lips parting when her eyes slowly start exploring. Trailing over the gentle features of his face, his lean nose, the high cheek bones, the sharp jawline, she finds herself glancing lower. Her eyes trail over his strong muscles, his pecs that…did he just flex them?

Lucien chuckles low in his throat, his chest rumbling, the sound so raw and whole-hearted, it has Elain’s toes curling once again. She knows her cheeks are a beetroot red when she finally snatches her eyes back up to meet his gaze. Only for a split second has she allowed herself to move her gaze even lower. To the solid muscles of his torso, the V disappearing behind those lose sweatpants that really leave nothing to imagination.

He is stunning, alright?

Elain accepts her defeat, her gaze still locked with Lucien’s. The early morning sunlight falls perfectly into the room. It is early autumn, the faint orange light making Lucien’s skin glow. Elain inhales a breath, her dreamy eyes trying hard to stay focused on Lucien’s face. How dare he be so handsome? It should be forbidden. It should also be forbidden to go without shirt most of the time? What would he say if she did that?

Something like mischief is etched into his features, his eyes of russet aglow, sparkling with all sorts of emotions when Lucien tilts his head to the side. His lips curl in a feline, almost cruel way when he crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing. “When you are done checking me out, sunshine, do you mind answering my question?” “Stop calling me sunshine!” Elain protests and once again avoids his question. Lucien’s lips form a dramatic pout and he pushes of the counter, strolling towards the table Elain sits at. “You are a sunshine,” he argues, his hands coming down on the table, bracing them on there which makes the muscles in his arms ripple.

Elain rolls her eyes, snorting. Her heart beats in her throat, her cleavage prickling and definitely turning a shade darker, also her neck and her already red cheeks. “Am not.” “You totally are. Look at you, lighting up every room you walk into with just your smile. And the flowers you grow on our balcony? You must have some sunshine inside of you otherwise this would not be possible,” Lucien hums, the genuine and kind side of him reaching the surface, making an incredibly beautiful smile appear on his face.

You are a sunshine, Elain thinks and cocks her head, laughing softly. She regards him silently for a moment, their gazes meeting. Lucien is smiling, his heartbeat increasing, a faster but steady beat in his chest,

Tapping two fingers on the table, Lucien straightens up and lets his gaze trail over Elain once. Yeah, she is stunning and what he has said about her being a sunshine that could light up every room she walked it no, has been 100% the truth. She truly is like the sun. Bright, stunning, warm, incredibly. Lighting up his life with just living in this flat. But she is definitely too good for him, so…

Elain smiles, a little sheepishly, when the butterflies break loose in her belly.

“That’s it!” Lucien expresses and points at her. “Sunshine smile. See, I am sure the room just got brighter.” He wiggles his brows, watching Elain shake her head, chuckling softly at his foolishness.

“I am getting impatient now. So?” Lucien once again stretches out the word, lips curling, his eyes glowing so very brightly when they fully focus on Elain. “Breakfast?”

Elain wiggles her foot on the floor and parts her lips— “Did I hear breakfast, brother?” With that, and with Vassa in tow Jurian marches into the kitchen, drawing an almost annoyed growl from Lucien. Oh, has he wished to be alone with Elain just a little longer. But no, obviously those two idiots have to destroy their moment once again. Well, Lucien is incredibly happy that Vassa even brought Elain here so he cannot really be mad at her, but still, she interrupted their moment.

Back then when Elain was first here in this flat, she still was with the idiot Grayson and he always had to watch her from afar. But now she is here and he can talk to her, tease and taunt her and watch her blush so very much. He loves it. Loves seeing her blush, seeing her grin, hearing her laugh. Her laugh–the most beautiful sound in the entire world, to his mind.

“Yes, breaky!” Jassa cheers, plopping down on the chair next to Elain and places her hand on the Archeron sister’s.

The girl with the fiery red hair wiggles her brows, a viscous grin plastering her face. “Or were you just enjoying some alone time?”

In unison and quick like a shot, both Elain and Lucien say, “No!”

Vassa roars a whole-hearted laugh, tipping her head back. “So cute you two. Now, what do we get for breakfast?”

Actually, Lucien has planned to make Elain her favourite breakfast – waffles, pancakes, fruits–things she loves. Things she eats on weekends because during the week she has not enough time, as Lucien has noticed. Now he has wanted to make her those things, so she does not have to waste her time but still gets her favourite things also on a weekday. But well…

“Whatever you want,” Lucien mumbles, hand reaching for the pan, flipping it into the air and catching it with an ease that is beyond Elain. A soft, silent gasp leaves her, eyes going wide. A calm cackle slips through Vassa’s lips and she squeezes her best friend’s hand. “Wondering if he is also as skilled at other things as he is at flipping pans?”

Elain turns her hand and pinches her best friend, rolling her eyes. Nevertheless a dark shade of red fills her burning cheeks, her skin prickling just once again because she is no pondering about what Vassa has suggested.

“Then I want–“ Lucien points the pan at Jurian and squints his eyes. “Not you.” He grins, turning on his heel, now the pan pointed at Elain. “I need to rephrase it. Whatever you want, sunny.”

Her breathing stops for a split second, her eyes widening when Elain glances back up at Lucien. His grin reaches from one ear to the other.

“Pancakes? And a fruit salad to round everything up?”

The Archeron sister’s lips part but no words leave her mouth. “Perfect. That’s it, Jurian, get up, help chop the fruits.”

~~~~~~~~

tags: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger

#elucien #elain x lucien #acotarwritingcircle

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