#come find me when you wake up | thread | rita

[ofsovereign-archive]

Rita had just finished preparing a new workout routine for one of her clients, and she had tested it herself for the past hour to ensure its efficiency. She was on her way to have a shower when she noticed someone staring at her, and she didn’t bite her tongue. “Do I have something on my face?”

[akingdomofswordsandstories]

Unrequited

azriel (acotar) x reader

Summary: takes place during acofas, you and Azriel are mates but he doesn’t know it yet, angst, fluff, and everything in between

*Also this is my first imagine ever so I'm sorry if it sucks lol! There will be a part 2 to this, but I am still working on it!!

word count: 3927

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The winter solstice was in a few days and you weren’t sure what to get some of the inner circle. You walked briskly down the streets of the Rainbow, chilled to the bone due to the wind. You had made the dumb mistake of rushing out of the townhouse - to avoid any questions of where you were going - without taking your scarf. Your current outfit, which was a chunky knit blue sweater with leggings and boots, wasn’t enough to keep the chill away. But the cold wasn’t the most important thing on your mind. You had already bought presents for Rhys, Feyre, Amren, and Elain, but that left Cassian, Mor, and Azriel. Mor and Cass would be pretty easy to buy for, but you put it off knowing they would look through your room trying to find their solstice gift. But Azriel, that would be much harder.

Every waking hour, the shadowsinger haunted your thoughts. Something you had come to conclude was unrequited.

You had realized the mating bond between you two before he did.

It had clicked a few months ago while on a diplomatic mission. The aftermath of Hybern had left things chaotic, and if you were being honest, it still was. Rhys decided to send Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and you to travel to some of the other courts to bring back reports on the recovery after the war. However, traveling did have some dangers. While you were on your way back to Velaris from the Winter Court, your group was ambushed by a group of Hybern soldiers who had been hiding out in the mountains. Had it not been for Azriel’s wings shielding you from the initial arrows, you would’ve surely been dead, and that’s when it clicked for you. But like an idiot, you didn’t say anything.

You had thought if the bond had clicked for you, it would've clicked for Azriel too. You realized your mistake when Azriel hadn’t acknowledged any change between you two. You hoped that he would figure it out in the coming weeks, but he didn’t. You knew the same sort of situation happened with feyre and rhys so you still held out some hope. But as the months went by, and you realized the bond still hadn’t clicked for Azriel and it felt too late to tell him.

At least that was the excuse you made up. Truly, you were also afraid of the rejection that could have followed. You weren’t a fool, you knew him and Elain had some sort of connection, and that shattered your dreams even more. The possibility that he wouldn’t accept the mating bond to be with the fair skinned, doe eyed fae. Everytime Azriel was in the same room as Elain, she was the only thing he would pay attention to. During gatherings, you would plaster on a smile and act as if you were happy, but Cassian and Mor, your best friends, could sense your discomfort. They tried to ask you about it, but seeing as you would shut down anything they said, they decided not to pry too much. Amren ended up figuring out the source of your discomfort had to do with Azriel, but kept your secret until you would be ready to share it.

You came to the conclusion that distancing yourself from him would be the best option, so that's what you did.

You walked down the street till you got to one of the finest seamstresses is Velaris. Since you were an artist like Feyre, you decided to draw out a dress and have it made for Mor. The color was blood red, her signature. It was a silk slip dress that would come down to her mid-lower calf and it would be embroidered with a brilliant gold thread. You drew out a pattern of the sun, stars, and moon, which you hoped she would like. To go along with Mor’s dress, you got a jeweler to make a custom necklace and bracelet set to go with it. You designed more dainty jewelry that had gold stars with diamonds, since she was a dreamer.

You decided to design Cassian’s gift as well, creating a beautiful silver and black dagger with a moonstone on the hilt. It was a beautiful dagger, but you also made sure it was usable, because you would hate for it to go to waste. To add onto the combat theme, you also decided to buy him new fighting leathers with touches of red embroidery to match his siphons. Lastly, you bought Cassian a bottle of fae wine, which definitely wouldn't last long.

The last thing you got for all three of you was a friendship necklace. Although that sounds corny, the two of them had become such a positive force in your life and you couldn’t imagine life without them. Keeping with the celestial theme for the friendship necklaces, you bought a sun, a moon, and a star. The sun for Cassian, the moon for Mor, and the star for you. Although they are opposites in some ways, all three need each other, just like the three of you needed each other.

Now that you had gotten Mor’s and Cassian’s solstice gifts figured out, it was onto Azriel’s gift. You honestly had no clue what to get him. Due to distancing yourself, you weren’t sure if there was something that he wanted. You were positively stumped. Lucky for you though, you ended up spotting Mor in another shop a few stores down from where you were, most likely getting the rest of her solstice gifts. You decided to sneak up on her as a friendly prank. Grabbing her shoulders, you yelled in her ear, making her jump.

“Oh mother above, it’s just you, y/n! You scared the life out of me” Mor said.

“Doing some last minute shopping?” you asked. “I could ask you the same thing”. Giving her a playful smack on the arm, the corners of your mouth curled upward, even the simplest remark from her could make you smile.

The two of you were currently standing in front of a jewelry shop, looking at the collections of necklaces and earrings through the window. “Wow” you breathed out “These are all so beautiful”

“Indeed they are, although they’re quite pricey”

“How pricey is pricey?”

She whispered the amount in your ear and you stopped breathing for a second, “Holy Mother wow, that is quite the price tag. At least we can admire it from a far”, you laughed out. Even though you got a very generous salary from Rhys, you still felt guilty spending so much money on materialistic things.

After a moment you said, “Actually, since you’re here, I do need help finding a solstice gift for Azriel”, softening your voice at the end, “Any ideas?” you asked, drawing out the syllables.

“Well, I always get Azriel some cool towels, clothing, or a dagger!” Mor said. A small scoff came out of my mouth as I shook my head and raised my eyebrows. “Fine!” she exclaimed, “I may have overheard him needing a new leather sheath for Truth Teller.” grumbling towards the end. “Oh that sounds great, thank you for the help! Now let’s go off to the closest leather goods store and find a sheath!”.

“y/n! I still have shopping to do” a scowl appearing on her face. “Fine, I guess I’ll just call Cassian, cause his judgement might be better than yours, when it comes to knife related things of course” you said, baiting her.

“Ugh, I hate you y/n”

“I hate you too Mor”

“Fine, let's get going before I change my mind” she grumbled. Then we took off down the streets of the Rainbow to find a sheath.

The task was easier said than done, for you at least. Being indecisive and a major over thinker, you had looked through close to 100 sheaths, but none of them seemed good enough to hold the blade that Azriel never let anyone else touch. Except Elain.

While you were lost in your thoughts, you laid your y/c eyes on the perfect sheath. It had a bright cobalt blue stitching to match Az’s siphons. Along the tip and lining the top of the leather was a thin coat of silver plating with little sapphires embedded in the metal. You quickly snatched it up and paid a hefty price for it, but it was perfect.

“Thank god you finally picked one, it felt like we were in that store for centuries”. Mor sighed, probably a sigh of relief for getting out of the store, “But y/n, it’s perfect, I know Azriel will love it”

“Do you really think so? I just want it to be the perfect gift and I’m scared he won’t like it because what if it’s too simplistic and what if-”

“Hey! It's perfect! Don’t stress too much y/n. And for the record, I think that you’re an amazing gift giver - the amount of thought you put into gifts make it all the better.”

You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and mumbled a small thank you.

“Anyway while we’re here do you need to get anything to go with your solstice outfit?”

“Oh Actually, I was so stressed about getting everyone’s solstice gift that I forgot to buy my dress” your voice falling off at the end. You felt yourself being yanked to a harsh stop and the saw Mor’s face staring at yours, mouth gaping and eyes wide.

“Are you crazy?? Solstice is in 3 days and you still don’t have anything??? Oh honey, our shopping isn’t done yet.” And with that statement you found yourself being pulled into the nearest dress shop. After trying on nearly 20 dresses you finally found the perfect one, which Mor approved. It was a light blue silk dress that was more fitted at the top but flared down at your waist. It had a cowl neckline, a slit going up the side to the mid upper thigh, and accentuates your curves beautifully and has a slight shimmer to it. You looked ethereal in it

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After your exhausting day of shopping, you couldn’t wait to get out of the cold. You swiftly walked back to the townhouse. Once inside you made your way to your room to set down the gifts, change your clothes, and grab your book. Then you quietly headed down to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and sat on the couch to read. The house was quiet since all of the others decided to go to Rita’s tonight. You decided to stay home for some much needed relaxation. You opened your book and started reading. After a few hours, you felt your eyes drooping and eventually, sleep consumed you.

The loud noise of the front door caused you to stir and your eyes fluttered open. You were too exhausted to look so you just laid your head back down and tried to go to sleep. You could hear Mor whispering something and then felt yourself being lifted off the couch and being held close to a chest with your blanket still draped on you.

“Cass?” you whispered hoarsely along with a string of incoherent words

You heard a slight laugh “Not Cass but It’s ok, go back to sleep”. Then you felt yourself being gently placed on your bed and the sleep hit you before you could mutter a thank you.

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The sun was setting towards the sea as you sat in the sitting room of the town house. You were in your blue silk dress with a glass of wine in your hand. Rhys and Feyre were by the mantel, quietly talking while Mor and Amren were across the room. Near the window I saw Elain, and from the corner of my eye I could see Azriel making his way towards her. My face fell but I quickly plastered on a smile, not wanting to concern anyone. Especially since today was also Feyre’s birthday and we had planned a surprise for her. Feyre thought she could slip her birthday past us, but we hadn’t forgotten. After a few minutes, Cassian made his way from the kitchen with the enormous cake.

You floated towards Feyre and gave her arm a light squeeze. “Happy Birthday, make a wish before the candles melt!”

She blew out the candles and then we ate cake before opening up the presents.

---------------------------------

Rhys snapped his fingers and piles of brightly wrapped bags and boxes filled up the sitting room. Amren was the first to open her presents. Naturally, everyone got her something jewelry related. Amren opened mine and you saw a wide smile set across her face, she picked up the diamond necklace and nodded a ‘thank you’ your way. You returned the gesture back, a small smile forming on your face.

Next, Cassian handed Mor her present from him and she pulled out a-. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He bought her red lingerie. Your face turned slightly red, but the Mor said “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright. I gave him precise orders. For once in his life, he obeyed them.”

Then, you heard one sharp knock at the door.

Nesta.

You saw Cassian tense up a bit. Nesta walked in, linking arms with Elain. She got a glass of wine before heading to sit in a chair in the back of the room. The silence was deafening. Finally Varian started talking and the present opening resumed.

From Amren, you received a new calligraphy set. It was so beautiful and you loved it. From Rhys, you got some books. It was perfect since you loved to read, and they were ones that you had been wanting to read for a long time. From Feyre, you received a painting as well as a new paint brush kit.

Cassian made his way to you and set a gift down in your lap. You opened the dark blue box that Cassian had placed in your lap. He had gotten you a sky blue hardbound journal with a gold embossed star on it. You desperately needed a new one, and this was perfect. You walked over and gave him a hug, whispered “Thank you, I love it.”.

Next you opened Mor’s present. You nearly choked when you saw what she got you and your whole face heated up. She got you a matching navy blue lingerie set like the one Cassian bought her.

“Yeah, I wasn’t too sure what to get you so I thought we could twin”. You looked around the room and saw the others holding in their laughs. You could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of red on Azriel’s ears. You just smiled and mouthed a silent “I’m going to kill you, but thank you” at her.

There wasn’t anything from Azriel. Your heart twinged. Had you not been important enough? It was just a present you reminded yourself, fixing your composure before handing Cassian his present.

He ripped it open like an animal, squealing when he saw it. A promising reaction given the amount of thought you put into it.

“Did you design these? They look amazing!”

“Yeah, I’m glad you like it. It took a long time to figure out what to get for your dumb ass”

“You mean my cute ass”, you smacked his arm and then got up to give Mor her present.

You closely watched her reaction as she opened her dress and jewelry, a large smile spreading across her face.

“You really buy the perfect presents y/n, I love it”.

“Oh Cass, Mor. One more thing.” You pulled out the small boxes with the friendship necklaces and bracelets handing it to them. “This was just a little something extra I thought of, I hope you like it”. You knew you would have started stuttering and crying if you had said the meaning to them, so you just handed them notes instead. They read over them, eyes glossing over, and pulled you into a hug.

“This is the only time I’ll wear jewelry” Cass stated, causing you to chuckle

Then Mor said, “I am never taking this off” causing you to laugh again.

Finally, Azriel opened up his presents. He had opened up all the others. All that was left was yours and Elain’s gift to him. He found his way to your present first, opening it.

“A new sheath for Truth Teller. I heard you needed a new one” you quietly said.

He held your gaze and smiled, “Thank you, it's great”. Suddenly feeling exposed, you quickly gave him a nod.

Then he went to open Elain’s gift. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.” she said.

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

You hadn’t heard him laugh before, and mother above it was gorgeous. You had never heard a sound so deep and joyous, a sound which made your heart clench. A part of you wished you were the reason he was laughing. You forced on a smile and spent the rest of the night drinking away the slight pain in your chest.

You were exhausted by the end of the night, sitting on the couch with Cassian and Mor, Azriel and Rhys seated on the opposite side of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement towards the door, and craned your head to see what was going on. It was Nesta making her way to the door. You felt the couch lift next to you.

Cassian. He had swiftly pushed past Feyre and went after Nesta. This wouldn’t end well.

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Cassian had come back quiet and brooding, walking straight to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of liquor. You got up off the couch and followed him straight into the kitchen.

“Cass, let’s take a walk, yeah?”

“I just took a walk”

“It wasn’t a question”. You grabbed a white shawl and his hand and led him outside. “What happened?”

“What’s there to talk about? It was like all the other times. Why did I have to fall in love with someone who doesn't even love me back. Who looks at me like the Illyrian born bastard I am. Who hates the idea of being in the same room as me.”

You grabbed Cass’ hand, lightly squeezing it. “Don’t say that. Nesta, she,” your voice stopping for a second “She’s different. The way she handles pain and copes is different. Give her time. She just needs time. I know how much that may pain you, but you can’t rush healing”

You pulled him into a hug

“And for the record, I know the feeling more than you know” you quietly said “unrequited love”, head pointed at the ground.

Cassian tilted his head down to look at you, his face painted with confusion. You could tell he wanted to know more, but didn’t want to pry too much.

You hesitated before continuing, not sure if you wanted to reveal your closely guarded secret. “I-“ your voice faltering, “I found my mate”. The words seemed to have rushed out of your mouth and tears pricked your eyes as you said that. After months of hiding it, you had finally gotten it off your chest.

Cassian stood shocked, staring at you. “You found your mate? And you didn’t think to tell any of us? How long ago was this”

“I-, I found out who he was around the same time Rhys sent us on that diplomatic mission. And I didn’t tell anyone because he doesn’t even know yet.”

“That was almost 6 months ago, and you didn’t say anything?”.

The tears had started flowing at this point, “I thought he would figure it out. But by the time I realized he wasn’t going to figure it out, it was too late. He had already set his eyes on someone else. And I know I could never compete with Elain, even if I am his mate.” the last part slipped out without you realizing.

“Elain? What does she-“ his eyes widening “Does that mean Az is-“

You slowly nodded, tears welled up, threatening to spill out.

“Oh, mother…”, he pulled you into a tighter hug and that’s when the gates broke. You couldn’t hold back your tears as you sobbed into Cassian's chest, his hand stroking your back.

you must have been there for 15 minutes before you realized the other might start getting suspicious. Regaining your composure, you dried your tears and tried, to the best of your ability, to hide that you had been crying.

Looking back at Cassian, you gave him a slight smile before muttering, “Thank you. I’m sorry for dumping that on you, but please promise me you won’t tell anyone. Please.”

“Of course y/n, and don’t apologize, if it makes you feel better, it helped to take my mind off of Nesta and my own problems, which I desperately needed” he chuckled out.

With the smile still on your face, you linked arms with Cassian before saying, “Oh mother above it’s freezing, let’s get back inside before we turn into popsicles!”

He let out another laugh before the two of you made your way back into the house.

---------------------------------

You walked into the house and your sliver of happiness was crushed as you saw Az and Elain sitting at the table smiling and laughing quietly to themselves. Elain had her sketchbook out, showing Az her plans for the garden.

Your distraught had been clear to anyone who saw your face, and you were too tired to realize you weren’t able to hide it fast enough. Not being able to view the scene anymore, you quickly got up, muttered happy solstice, and grabbed your coat and purse before heading out the door to your apartment.

While walking home, you were consumed by your thoughts. You hated the pangs of jealousy that coursed through you. You often found yourself jealous of her soft spokenness and kindness. You also found yourself jealous of her effortless beauty. It was something that kept you up at night. She was so likeable and easily approachable, something you wished you were.

You were so drowned in your own thoughts that you hadn’t noticed a male following you till it was too late. One of his hands clamped on your mouth while the other grabbed your waist and pushed you into the nearest alleyway.

The male pulled out a knife and your tears started to fall. You were terrified about what he would do to you. This could be the last time you would have seen your family. You were struggling and kicking against him but it was no use. Your senses were groggy from the alcohol and drowsiness.

You had been so stupid to walk home alone at 2 in the morning. No matter how angry you were, you should’ve just stayed at the town house.

Before you could realize what was happening, you felt a sharp pain shoot through your side.

The sound of a clatter.

Receding footsteps.

A crimson stain blooming.

Your body crumpled to the ground and your vision started blacked out. This was it. Nobody could hear you and nobody could save you.

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Five

Summary: College is kicking Nesta’s ass, so she goes to her T.A., Tomas, for some extra help. Note: Read it on AO3 here! Bittersweet Masterlist  Warnings: N/A

October

It was only a couple weeks into the fall semester, and it was already hell.

Nesta was drowning in schoolwork, whether it be essays or presentations or hour-long projects. She had exams every damn week, so she was at the campus library nearly every day – typically until the sun set and the stars emerged. But even then, her night was far from over. Nesta returned home only to catch up on the work she’d put off for her paid internship. Elain got in the habit of making Nesta tea and cookies when she returned from the library on those ruthless nights. And every damn time, Nesta would wrap her arms around her sister with thanks.

This was her routine for at least four days of the week. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Needless to say, she was fucking exhausted.

The worst part, though? Nesta’s grades were precariously low despite the countless hours she’d been putting in. And she knew exactly what was causing it.

It had been a month since her father’s death, yet Nesta was still waking up in her own sweat every morning after a nightmare involving him. Of him hanging on the edge of a cliff, begging Nesta to save him. Of her dad screaming at her to kill herself. Of her mother dragging Nesta into the other room as he watches idly by.  

Nesta had cursed herself for letting her father’s death affect her in this way. She’d never been one to grieve, especially not for so long. She preferred leaving it in the past. It was easier that way.

Thanks to her merciless professors, Nesta was forced to dedicate nearly all of her time to school, which forced her to neglect her internship. They required she edit ten pieces of work every week, whether it be self-published books, college publications, or online articles. Even though the internship was entirely online – a convenient bonus – she still didn’t have enough time to fulfill the weekly goals. Instead of editing ten works, she was barely scrapping by with five. She’d already received several angry emails from her boss threatening to fire her if she didn’t get her shit together.

And, well… Nesta didn’t get her shit together. On the last day of September, she received that fateful email.

Nesta Archeron,

I regret to inform you that we’ve made the difficult decision of letting you go from Scribner Editorial. While I understand you’re in the midst of earning your Master’s degree, we are looking for editors who can reach – or exceed – the necessary requirements. Unfortunately, you have been lacking in the past few weeks. It has caused other editors to pick up your slack and do more than what we ask for. We are sorry to see you go.

Sincerely,

Ressina Laurent Scribner Editorial

Nesta read and reread the email dozens of times before closing her laptop. Her head fell in her hands, her shoulders trembling with the weight she carried.

She stared out the window, the world a flurry of red, orange, and yellow. Nesta had worked so hard for this, and all for nothing. She couldn’t believe she’d fucked up such a prestigious internship. It’d paid surprisingly well, and that had been the only income she was receiving. Even with the paychecks from Scribner Editorial, Nesta’s financial situation was holding on by a thread. She had used the money her father had passed down to her to pay off the remaining student loans she owned. Her family never had much money and when it was split in three, it didn’t make much of a difference.

Just like that, Nesta no longer had a job.

Fuck.

Within ten minutes of receiving that email, she was already browsing online for job opportunities. Nesta didn’t care what it was, as long as it put steady income in her pocket. There was no way she would be able to finish school without a job.

But unfortunately, after an hour of job hunting, Nesta came up empty handed. The only person who was hiring was the large grocery store downtown. They were looking for a cashier. And there was no way in hell Nesta would even consider working there. She’d seen the crowds they got on weekends. The work were incessantly forced to talk with rude, invasive customers. Nesta was far from the realm of customer service.

Nesta was down to her last resort. She didn't give herself another second to overthink it as she picked up her phone from her desk and texted Feyre.

I was just fired. You know of any job openings in the area?

Nesta sat by her phone for a couple minutes until Feyre deigned to respond.

The only one I know if is Rita’s, the local bar. They’re looking for a bartender, have been for months.

Nesta nearly snorted out her coffee when she read the text. Feyre had to be kidding. Nesta, bartending? There was no way in hell she could be a halfway decent bartender – anyone who’s ever met Nesta knew that. She didn’t possess the charm nor the patience, and she certainly couldn’t deal with drunken men who leered at her all night. In Massachusetts, she'd had her fair share of hook-ups, men and women alike. It was night after night of mindless, drunken sex. But then she'd grown up.

Nesta looked back at the soft glow of her computer screen. There had to be something, right?

----------------------------------

Wrong.

After scrolling through hundreds of websites with job opportunities (or lack thereof), Nesta collapsed on her bed. She checked the time to find that it was nearly one in the morning. Rubbing her face, she let out a low groan. Tomorrow was Monday. Gods, why did tomorrow have to be Monday? She was so exhausted that she was feeling physically ill: sore throat, cough, stuffy nose. The urge to skip classes tomorrow was tempting.

But Nesta knew she wouldn't skip. What would she do? A whole day to herself and a head full of intrusive thoughts. The perfect ingredients for a panic attack or two.

Her gaze fell to the small stack of bills she had yet to pay – that she couldn’t pay. Bills that would only grow.

With that thought in mind, Nesta cursed Scribner Editorial as she grabbed her laptop and searched ‘Rita’s’ on an open browser.

Then, she composed an email.

----------------------------------------

The next day, Nesta finally got around to contacting her Fictional Techniques teaching assistant. It was by far her most challenging class, and she despised the professor. A big chunk of her studying was dedicated to that course alone. And since she no longer had a job – for now – she finally had the time to meet with him for extra help.

His name was Tomas. He was notoriously known as the “Hardass T.A.” Nesta had heard her peers complaining about his grading on more than one occasion. It was common knowledge that he rarely gave students any feedback on their essays but when he did, it was brutal. It was practically unheard of to receive higher than a C from Tomas.

Nesta never got below a B+, though. And though she’d never spoken with him, Tomas always gave her detailed feedback on her papers, more so than any student.

So that afternoon, she emailed him.

Tomas –

           My name is Nesta Archeron and I am a student in a class you T.A. in, ENG-403 Section 003. I have a couple questions regarding the paper that was assigned on September 28th. Are you available to meet after class? It would be much appreciated.

Nesta –

           Thank you for contacting me. I would love to help you one-on-one. I’ve noticed the work you hand in, and it is spectacular. Your writing is sophisticated, and you have such potential. Coming from someone who has been in the publishing business for years now, I know several companies who would publish your work. Perhaps I can mention your name the next time I meet with them. How does tomorrow work? We can walk to the library together, maybe grab a cup of coffee (on me). Let me know.

Tomas –

           Thank you. That works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.

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“Don’t forget to finish up those essays! They’re due on October sixth, and I won’t be accepting anything that’s turned in late. Yes, Mr. Vanserra, I’m looking at you.”

Students snickered as they filed out of the lecture hall. Nesta grabbed her backpack and made her way down the stairs to the front of the room. Tomas had his own desk in the corner where he chimed in during class discussions.

He was already smiling at her when she approached.

“Hi, Nesta,” he greeted her. He was in the midst of packing his things. “Are you ready to head out?” She nodded.

Tomas had the charm of the boy next door. His dirty blonde hair was cropped short, eyes crystal blue, and he wore an easy smile. It was hard to imagine that this was the guy who gave students Fs for not having a cover page for their essay.

"Did you want to grab a cup of coffee?" Tomas asked her as they made their way out of the classroom. He shot her a smirk "Like I said, I'll pay."

Is he flirting with me?

Nesta prayed to the gods he wasn't. Sure, he was cute and all, but she had no interest in a relationship of any kind. Including a one night stand.

Perhaps I can use that to my advantage...

Nesta dismissed the thought immediately. There was no way in hell she would flirt with her T.A. to ensure a high GPA. She wasn't going to sleep her way to the top. That's not how Nesta did things.

A little flirting never hurt anyone.

She groaned inwardly and shut out that train of thoughts.

Tomas and Nesta chatted while they trudged to the library, backpacks full of textbooks in tow. Much to Nesta’s dismay, he fired question after question at her. Tomas asked about her family to which she miraculously deflected, about her journey to become a writer, and her ambitions. Luckily, Nesta was a pro at this sort of thing, so she simply responded to every question with a question of her own. Not the most subtle approach, but it worked.

The library was teeming with students when they pushed through the doors. Pryth U’s library was a sight to behold. Its foyer was ornate with hand-painted murals, the ceiling stretching far above them. They hopped on the elevator to the third floor. When the doors opened, Nesta inhaled the sweet scent of old books. The bookcases reached the ceiling, thus requiring a rolling ladder in every stack. When Nesta and Elain had toured the campus before the semester began, Elain was quick to jump on the ladder and sing “Be Our Guest.” Her voice was horribly off key. They both burst into laughter, clutching their stomachs until the librarian found and scolded them.

Nesta was pretty sure Elain hadn't stepped foot in the library since.

“Okay,” Tomas said, setting his belongings on a corner desk. He grinned at her. “Ready to be tortured?”

Nesta offered a less than enthusiastic smile. “Let’s do it.”

---------------------------------

After a couple hours of grueling studying, Nesta hurried to the coffee shop on campus. It was five o’clock and she hadn’t had a cup of coffee since the morning. If she didn’t get caffeine in the next ten minutes, Nesta wouldn’t function properly.

The meeting with Tomas went well; he was certainly a helpful resource to have. He'd even offered to meet with Nesta again to prepare for the next big assignment, to which she graciously accepted. There may have been batting of the lashes involved.

Nesta pulled her wool scarf tighter around her neck. Even with a peacoat and a hat, she was still freezing. She let out a sigh of relief when she entered the coffee shop, grateful for the inviting warmth.

That gratefulness disappeared when she looked at the line.

It was at least a dozen people long. Nesta let out a frustrated groan, managing to put a tamper on her anger and hauled her ass to the back of the line.

After a couple minutes of drooling over the scent of fresh coffee beans, she felt a tap on her shoulder from behind.

“Nesta?” a sultry voice asked. The familiar husk in her words had Nesta turning around to see Amren standing behind her. She was staring up at Nesta through her long lashes, a smirk playing on her face. Nesta couldn’t help but admire her feral beauty: chin length hair, angular face, dark and smooth skin, and exquisite makeup.

“Hi, Amren,” Nesta said blandly. “I didn’t know you attended Pryth U.”

“I don’t,” she snorted. “I wouldn’t last one week in college. This is the best coffee around, and I don’t mind driving twenty minutes out of my way.”

Another coffee snob. Interesting.

“I’m impressed that you even remember my name. I thought you always zoned out during the dinners.”

Nesta huffed out a laugh, and a hint of surprise flashed on Amren’s face. It was gone a second later.

“It’s tempting whenever Rhysand opens his mouth, trust me,” Nesta replied dryly. “But I have my ways.”

Amren’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Oh, I’m going to like you.”

--------------------------------

That evening, Nesta strolled back to her apartment with a steaming cup of coffee and Amren’s phone number.

It was quiet when she unlocked the door, but the living room light was on. As Nesta dropped her heaving backpack and padded to the kitchen, she noticed Elain sprawled out on the couch, her nose buried in her phone.

“Did you eat already?” Nesta called out as she rummaged through the cabinets. She dug through a shelf for pasta, which was buried under Elain’s many baking ingredients.

When Elain didn’t answer after a couple seconds, Nesta poked her head into the living room. She was still scrolling through her phone, the faintest smile on her rosy face.

“Hello? Earth to Elain?”

Silence. Nesta groaned in frustration. Rounding the overstuffed sofa, she assaulted Elain’s feet with her hands.

Elain’s entire body jerked as Nesta tickled her, pained laughs escaping her mouth. Elain was easily the most ticklish person Nesta had ever met. It made it easy to get information out of her.

“Stop!” Elain gasped breathlessly, laughing all the same. “Please!”

Nesta ceded and raised her hands up in surrender. Elain scrambled off the couch and narrowed her eyes.

"What the hell, Nesta?”

“I was calling your name for a good five minutes,” Nesta crossed her arms. She nodded her head at Elain’s phone. “Anything interesting?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, and Nesta gasped.

“Is it a guy?” Her voice was threatening. Nesta had always been protective over Elain.

“A guy? No! That’s… that’s just ludicrous. Why would a guy… I mean -"

Nesta let her sister stumble over her words with amusement. She raised a brow. “Show me what you were looking at then.”

“That’s none of your business!”

Nesta gave her no warning as she leaped at Elain.

Elain squealed in surprise, trying her best to deflect Nesta's tickling. They wrestled on the couch, Elain trying desperately to get her phone out of Nesta's reach. But Nesta was taller and stronger.

“Gerroffme -"

“Just gimme -"

“Argh!”

"Ha!" Nesta stood up and held Elain’s phone in her hand triumphantly. Elain was glaring at her from the couch, her hair sticking every which way.

Nesta looked down at the screen to see the Instagram app open. Then, she read the name of the account.

“You’re stalking Azriel?”

“No! I was just following him.”

All Nesta had to do was give her a stern look.

“Okay, fine," Elain threw her hands up. "I think he’s cute. Are you happy now?”

“No,” Nesta glowered, “I’m not happy. He’s basically Rhysand’s brother. I'm not letting another one of those boys seduce my sister.”

“Seduce?!" Elain choked. She shook her head. "They’re best friends! And what does it matter anyway?”

Nesta shot her a leveled stare. “Rhysand’s an asshole.”

“He’s just protective over Feyre,” Elain explained incredulously. “Like you are of me.”

Nesta considered that for a moment. “Touché. But if Azriel hurts you -"

“Nesta!” Elain exclaimed, an exasperated laugh leaving her lips. “We’ve barely talked. I just think he’s handsome.”

“Does Feyre know?”

That got Elain's attention.

“You can’t tell Feyre.” Elain broke out her puppy face: wide eyes, pouty lips, knitted brows. No one in history had been able to resist her puppy face. Including Nesta.

She huffed out a laugh. “I may be a bitch, but I’m not that cruel.”

Elain threw herself at her sister and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you!"

After promising Elain she wouldn't tell Feyre about her crush for the tenth time, Nesta retreated to her room. She was just about to pull out her notes when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

I’m supposed to go on a date with this guy tonight, but I just met a hotter guy on my way home. Will you judge me if I ditch the first one?

Nesta looked at the phone number.

Amren.

She could help but let out a small laugh.                              

When in doubt, pick both.

Both?                                                                                        

Both.

Damn, Nesta, I didn’t realize how savage you are.

A couple moments later, another text came in.

Both is good.

---------------------------------

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[the-amazing-spider-bi]

the college au nobody asked for I leta lestrange/newt scamander I 4k I ao3

The roommate AU in which otters hold paws while they sleep, Leta didn’t think she would ever fall in love with someone who can’t even handle his coffee without milk, Credence collects crushes on all of his male teachers like they’re Pokemons, and Dumbledore finds endless amusement in his students’ antics.

Read on ao3 or under the cut!

“Hi,” Leta says. “I heard your group was still missing a member for the Sociology of Fashion project, so I was wondering if I could join you?”

The gaggle of girls in front of her startles, but when Leta smiles, they smile back. She tries to be as friendly as she can - which is difficult since she is more used to projecting a bitch resting face than acting innocent - until they end up exchanging numbers and agreeing to meet at the library on Monday to write their outline.

They go their separate ways when the other girls, who are obviously a group of friends, go see a movie, and Leta pretexts a previous engagement so they don’t have to invite her out of pity. They still wave goodbye, and Leta smiles one last time before she turns around. She tightens her grey and green scarf around her neck and walks away in a flurry of fallen leaves. She is going to get coffee, by herself, and then barricade herself in the coffee shop until she finishes her Power and Privilege essay - for a seminar, it sure involved an enormous amount of work.

Leta isn’t the type of girl people like. According to her classmates, she is posh and weird and standoffish, all of which are true. She doesn’t talk or smile or try enough to please people. She knows she could, really - she just doesn’t care to. It is alright with her, though. She would rather be alone most of the time than go back to the endless string of dinners and playdates her parents used to make her attend back when she was a girl.

So she is surprised when her phone lights up with a notification, thinking these girls are really fast to text.

Newt Dorkmander: did you know otters hold paws when they sleep?

Newt Dorkmander: actually it is to avoid drifting off of course but still

Newt Dorkmander: the thought is lovely

She tries not to smile at her phone as she types, you do know just because it’s a text doesn’t mean this won’t be deduced from your daily animal facts quota, don’t you? - she has to take off her gloves to type, and then when she comes into the shop the sting from the cold metal handle surprises her.

Newt Dorkmander: i do my best to lighten a cold november day and this is how you thank me

Newt Dorkmander: i cannot believe it

“Well someone is uncharacteristically perky today.”

She pockets her phone and does her best impression of her grandmother’s dignified stare. In front of her, Credence the coffeehouse guy is grinning in his green apron, already preparing her cup. Credence the coffeehouse guy is exactly Leta’s type of man, by which she means he is quiet, doesn’t bother her any more than he has to, and brings her coffee.

“I’m not perky,” Leta states. “Take it back.”

“Nah, it’s too late, your reputation is ruined forever,” Nagini, who is almost always to be found wherever Credence is, says from that seat in front of the counter she claimed as hers at the beginning of the year.

Leta rolls her eyes at them. “You freshmen are growing more annoying every year.”

“You’re barely one year older than us,” Nagini points out.

“College years are like dog years,” Leta informs them. “As such, I am fifteen years wiser than you.”

Credence the coffeehouse guy smiles and says, “Americano?”

“Americano,” Leta confirms, and if she refrains from making a terrible The Fault in our Starsjoke, then she will carry this secret to the grave. But still. A genuine John Green reference. She spends way too much time with Newt.

Of course, this isn’t like it’s a recent development - they have known each other since they were thirteen and Newt quite literally stumbled in her life with freckled cheeks and messy hair, then through their teens when he tiptoed around awkwardly with a lanky, ridiculously tall figure and she rushed through everything with the dedicated anger of a rebellious posh girl.

Then Newt had been expelled, and everything in her life went bonkers, but this is the part she tries not to think about.

Credence hands her her coffee and doesn’t make any more comments about who she was texting or how happy she looked, because he doesn’t make it a habit to comment on people - or talk to them - and he really is one of her favorite persons on campus.  

She spends the rest of the afternoon hunched over getting five thousands more words done, and when she leaves, Credence the coffeehouse guy has been replaced by Rita the coffeehouse girl, who she likes a lot less. She takes care to avoid eye contact and pulls out her phone, scrolling through social media feed without really reading anything until a headline catches her eye. She reopens her conversation with Newt, whose last message was an apocalyptic string of texts about being out of tea.

Leta Lestrange: you know netflix just uploaded the new planet earth season

“I know,” he says.

She looks up, startled. “What are you doing here?”

Newt is standing up in his usual blue overcoat and a faded yellow Hufflepuff scarf she gave him for Christmas when they were sixteen. (They had a price limit that time, so she had to knit him the scarf and ended up buying one anyway after a few unsuccessful hours. It’s not like he noticed anyway.) He is so outrageously tall she has to tilt her head to see his face, just so that he can avoid her gaze.

He shrugs and smiles at the ground. “I was on my way from the library, and it’s nicer to go home together.”

She frowns. “And how did you know I was there? Mister Scamander, are you stalking me? Should I check for hidden cameras? Do you keep pictures of me under your pillows?”

“Don’t be silly,” Newt says placidly. “I sleep in the next room. I can just come over to watch you sleep the normal way.”

She laughs. “Always good to know you have a lot of opinions on the best way to stalk me.”

“Well, one can never be too prepared, can they? I could always end up as a handsome brooding vampire if my zoologist plan doesn’t work out. I think I have the smoulder.”

“You certainly dress like you’re from 1910,” she says.

“You’re just jealous you can’t pull off the trench coat detective aesthetic as well as I do.”

She opens her mouth to tell him he has never pulled off anything, ever, in his life, but feels a shiver crawling up the back of her spine and changes her mind. “Just a second,” she says as she whips around to glare at Rita the coffeehouse girl who watching them raptly from behind the class. She scrambles to pretend she is not.

“Being noisy is an understandable flaw, but there is nothing worse than being noisy and bad at it,” she says conversationally.

“If you’ve sufficiently scarred her, can we go now?” Newt asks. “I’m freezing.”

“Bossy,” she complains under her breath.

They walk home together.

Around them, the atmosphere is wet and chilly, and not quite snowy either, which is the worst type of weather, according to her. It feels like the cold slips into her clothes in between the threads to stick to her skin in a damp layer that feels like sweat, only much worse. She doesn’t think twice about leaning close to Newt to protect herself from it, and he doesn’t think twice about wrapping his scarf around her shoulders, still talking about the cool things he learned in Introduction to Zoology module. For the entirety of the trip home she drifts in and out of focus, sometimes picking a specific topic he brought up and asking for more details or an explanation, sometimes daydreaming when he explains some technical part of Neurology he doesn’t quite understand yet himself. By the time they get to their flat, he has moved on to complaining about his Introduction to Physiology, Pharmacology and Neuroscience course, by which he is clearly bored to tears and that he still wants to attend anyway. She doesn’t press him about it but she is pretty sure his scholarship involves perfect attendance.

They walk up three sets of stairs - the place is right outside campus in this tiny brick building, rent as cheap as any flat with three rooms can be, which means no elevators, to Leta’s great despair. Without having to ask she gets in front of him to open the door herself, because Newt always loses his keys inside the holes in his ancient coat pockets, so it is just faster this way.

Immediately as she opens the door a dash of brown fur bounces into the hallway, climbs the sleeve of Newt’s coat, settles his shoulder where its nibbles at his ears.

“Hello you,” she hears Newt coo at Pickett. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly as she goes to take off her coat inside. There is a hot shower she has been dreaming of ever since she woke up this morning waiting for her, and then undercooked pasta in front of an animal documentary.

Whoever said college students weren’t living the dream?

When she wakes up the next morning, Newt is hunched over on their couch, copper hair messed up beyond repair, eyes half closed. She takes in the sight of his plaid pajamas and the squirrel burrowed in his hair, because he keeps spoiling Pickett then being surprised when he doesn’t want to join his siblings in the great wild outdoors, the moron. He looks utterly miserable.

He started up the coffee maker, though, so she can work with this.

“We’re buying tea this afternoon,” she says, before adding, more gently: “Hey, do you want me to do that hot chocolatey coffee you like to survive your morning classes?”

“Yes, please,” Newt says in a tiny voice.

She presses her hand against his shoulder as she goes behind the counter to make him a mocha and make herself an entire Thermos of black coffee. He gets dressed while she pours them their drinks, by which she means puts on the first wool sweater he found and jeans. She does the same while he sips his cup and checks on all his rescued animals of the moment - Niffler the magpie with the broken wing who keeps escaping his hen coop to steal their shiny cutlery or her silver earrings, Pickett who resolutely doesn’t want to leave, and an enormous Maine coon Newt insists on calling Zouwu despite how ridiculous it sounds. When she leaves in a hurry of perfume and long trench coat with her Thermos in hand, Newt looks considerably perkier.

A few hours later, she is considering the pros and cons of the infamous Veggie Salad versus Caesarean Salad case. Since Newt’s class finishes in one hour when her afternoon ones begin, and, well, she doesn’t really have any other friend nor a lunch break long enough to go home, she is planning to get some food from the cafeteria before she goes to her classroom and eats in front of her book. It sounds sad, but it’s actually a very good book, Jane Austen’s Emma, which she had somehow never read before, her high school curriculum consisting only of Pride and Prejudice again and again and again. She is usually more of a gothic, Byronic hero kind of gal, with a bit of sci-fi thrown in when Newt recommends one of his nerdy books to her, but well, it’s Jane Austen.

She looks forward to that lunch alone watching Emma and Mr. Knightly fall in love. The universe doesn’t care about that.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Nagini says behind her.

She turns around slowly. The younger girl isn’t quite smiling, as she rarely ever does, but she looks as friendly as she can be with eyes surrounded by eyeliner and black lipstick, black clothes, black boots, black eye, black everything.

“Freshmen have lunch breaks now? Back in my time-” Leta starts teasing.

“You ate on the floor some gruel right out of the bowl before your Latin class started?” Nagini guesses.

Leta chuckles. “Close enough.”

“Wanna sit with us, or will it ruin your street cred?” Nagini asks, eyes shining with curiosity, or maybe just hunger.

Leta shrugs and pays for her salad at the counter. “If you promise never to use the words street cred ever again, sure.”

At Nagini’s left, Credence smiles shyly. She has never seen him out of his coffee shop uniform, and he is definitely not what she imagined, with a tiny silver cross hanging from a chain on his neck, a rainbow lapel pin on his jean jacket and an undercut.  They move from the cafeteria’s blinding artificial lights to the tables outside - they are already in winter and it is cold out, but Leta is used to avoiding loud, busy rooms, what with Newt’s condition, so it doesn’t bother her all that much. As for the two kids, tables are almost empty by this time of the year, so it doesn’t take a genius to get what their appeal can represent.

Nagini kicks up her feet on the table and leans sideways on Credence’s side while Leta has a wooden bench all to herself.

“So, about your ruined reputation,” Nagini starts. “What was up with you yesterday?”

“Did you see Professor Grindelwald falling down in the street?” Credence asks and takes a tiny bite of his apple.

“I wish,” Leta says, because if there is one thing that unites Nagini and her it is their mutual hatred for Grindelwald. He still teaches one of her classes today and she had him twice last year, once in her Introduction to Political Science class and another time in an Advanced Rhetorics option she picked up and gave up on soon afterward. The university is divided into two camps, really. There are those who think Grindelwald is like a white-haired, mole-rat-looking reincarnation of Jesus Christ or Martin Luther King or whoever teens idolize these days. Then there are people with common sense who see him for what he is, like Leta.

“The other day he took Credence’s phone in class and when he gave it back he changed his lock screen to a picture of him,” Nagini recalls. “Not even a funny picture, just this close up on his face, staring at the camera, Big Brother style. Credence still hasn’t changed it either.”

“What do you want?” Credence says with a self-aware smile. “I have terrible taste in men and daddy issues.”

“Gross,” Nagini whines.

“That’s not the problem,” Leta says. “The problem is out of all the silver fox material in this college - we have Dumbledore and Graves teaching - you went ahead and got a crush on him.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t also have a crush on Dumbledore and Graves,” Credence says.

They laugh about it. Before an awkward pause can settle, Leta says, picking at her plate with suspicion, “Anyway, no, my roommate just sent me something funny.”

“What was it?”

Leta knows about retelling past jokes and that only waste, you just really had to be there, you know? and fake laughs this way come, so she says, allusively, “Just a fun fact about otters. He’s really into animals. He’s a bit of a dork about it, eats vegan, picks up every stray cat that crosses his path, the whole deal. Zoology students and all that.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Nagini says. “This school has one of the best programmes in the country, don’t they?”

“Yes, that’s why we chose to come here,” Leta shrugs off, scrunching her nose at her salad, poking it around. It even smells weird. “This is way more disgusting than I remember it to be, isn’t it?”

There’s a silence. When she looks up, the two freaky twins are both raising their eyebrows the exact same way. It’s uncanny.

“That’s nice,” Credence drawls out.

“That my salad tastes like rotten grass?” Leta asks, raising an eyebrow as she grins at him.

“No, though it always tastes like cold garbage, so you only have yourself to blame,” Credence says. “You chose your college depending on your friend?”

Leta is uncomfortable. “He was - is my best friend. We met in boarding school when we were kids, with all the rich posh kids running around. It was hell, so, that makes friendship very intense.” They still look at her weirdly, and she is good with words, but even she doesn’t know how to convey the harshness of boarding schools when you are a bit different, a bit weird , so she adds: “Anyway, he was expelled in the middle of high school, and it was even worse without him here, so we decided we would stick together through college at least.”

She doesn’t talk about being the only black girl in her year, or Newt being diagnosed at thirteen, or how cruel children can be. Sometimes when she thought about it too long she felt so angry, almost as angry as she used to be in these years where she would talk back to the other kids when they mocked her and end up in detentions more weekends than not. She is quieter now, almost free of all of that teenage angst, better, but sometimes she feels like she is only pretending to be tamed, to be something she is not, like Pickett the domesticated squirrel.

“That’s actually very cool,” Credence says. “I can’t imagine living with my old middle school friends. Well, I didn’t have friends in middle school, probably because they were scared by my raw coolness, but even if I did, I guess I just changed a lot since then.”

“I don’t know. I never really thought about that,” Leta surprises herself by saying.

In the end, they move on from the subject to discuss Credence’s thing for every forty-something male teacher he meets, the revelations about a Moscow Trump tower, and salad that tastes like cardboard. When she gets to class, though, she keeps thinking over and over about growing up. She has always prided herself on being more perceptive than others - not even considering that Newt might be a different person as an adult than as a freckled thirteen-year-old is blindsiding her in a way she doesn’t care for.

She tries to forget about it and focuses on getting her degree.

But the thought planted by Credence sticks in the back of her mind, feeling so very foreign to her. It is relentless and invading and points its ugly, alien head at the most inappropriate moments throughout the week, and she can’t help but wonder.

She is the one who picks her roommate up at the end of his classes on Fridays, waiting with a coffee in hand for her and a chai for him. It is part of their routine. She watches the first wave of bouncing, impatient Bio students leave the building, then a second one, even bigger and noisier somehow, until Newt emerges from the lot and walks towards her. For the first time since they were fifteen, she appraises him. He looks like, well, Newt. So ridiculously tall he has to hunch over a little to pass doorsteps, shy smile, hands in his pockets. Then her gaze stays on him just a second too long, and he has the same wiry, messy-haired, freckled figure than when he was a kid, but maybe it looks less lanky now, somewhat. He doesn’t stare at the ground quite as much when he is out, his eyes darting from one point to the other in wonder, and suddenly she wishes she could know about the patterns he sees when he stares at the world like that.  

She still smiles in the same way she always does when she offers him his cup and his fingers brush against her gloved hand.

“Thank you so much,” he says, smiling. “Not to be dramatic, but I think if I have to listen to one more Neurology class, I might gouge out my own brain.”

“Lovely,” she comments. “You talk to Professor Dumbledore with that mouth?”

“Indeed, Mister Scamander,” an older man butts in with an amused expression and sparkling eyes behind half-moon glasses. “If you feel that strongly about my classes, I am always pleased to hear my students’ feedback during office hours.”

He trips over his own feet and stammers his excuses as Albus Dumbledore laughs at him in polite silences, and Leta tries not to be too amused by his misfortunes. If warmth oozes in her stomach, it must be either laughter or the hot coffee she is gulping down. It burns her tongue and her throat and keeps her hands busy not fixing Newt’s half-bent collar.

Newt is still talking with his hands to Dumbledore about his Zoology project when they leave campus. She has never had him in class, and never will, but even if she had never met him before, she would like him for the encouraging way he smiles as Newt talks to him about slugs’ brains or whatever he is explaining right now. Despite teaching one of Newt’s least liked courses - too many human examples, not enough slugs - he is still by far his favourite professor. It is enough for her.

Dumbledore goes home on a scooter, of all things, a Vespa, and Newt doesn’t get how funny it is when she tries to explain.

“I’m sure it’s very practical,” he tells her as they climb up the stairs.

“This is clearly not my point,” Leta says. “You’re just willfully blind because you have a crush on him.”

“What? I-I do not. He’s my teacher .”

Leta raises her eyebrows. Oh, really now. “And?”

“This is- wrong, and ridiculous, is what it is, and I will not talk to you about it any further.”

She stays silent as she opens the door. He gets even more flustered. His entire face is blushing all over, his skin like a sunset from his neck to the tip of his ears, and he fidgets with his sleeves, and it is sort of adorable, really.

“I don’t have a crush on Dumbledore!” he says, too loudly.

Then they go in and Niffler has gotten loose somehow and all of their spoons are in his cage, so he has reasons to get busy, but as soon as they’re sitting on their old couch again with a cup of hot cocoa, she raises her eyebrows again and he almost throws his cup at her. She breaks out laughing.

When she opens her eyes again, he is looking pointedly at his computer screen. This is when it happens. She can only witness in horror Newt’s profile rearrange itself in her head, move away from chubby cheeks and bitten lips, and this is when, as if she has never seen him before, she realizes he is handsome.

In some abstract way, she knew this before. She had noticed defined cheekbones, jawline, eyes with ever-changing colors, pushed him towards a girl or a boy or anyone and told him to just try his luck. It was only theoretical, though. It is like - she knows gravity exists, knows Earth rotates around the sun drawn by its sheer weight, but she also doesn’t know it, doesn’t understand it or feel the push of the sun’s attraction. This is like being in the reach of a supernova.

“Why are you still looking at me,” Newt complains, frowning at his screen.

Shit.

“No reason,” she says, not averting her eyes.

“Alright, so maybe I have a tiny crush on him. Just a smidge. It’s just- I- he’s so nice,” Newt says, turning around to look at her with wide, earnest eyes that look green today. “And a role model. Sort of.”

This is not the crush she is worried about.

[rhodesmystery]

‘95, just before the second task. idk. an attempt at interaction between that cursed vault kid and the boy who lived.

Natasha gets nearly a third of the way into her toast when a shadow blocks her light.

Around her, the heated conversations between her students stop, and she can feel the idle curiosity in how they all seem to turn. Looking up, ignoring her toast for the sake of interest, she’s quite surprised to see who stood before her.

“Harry Potter? Well, if this isn’t a surprise.” 

To say that the students had a polite reaction was a stretch. Myshkin missed his mouth three times in the process, while Dragovic dropped the jam. Swatting some crumbs off of her paper from Lindholm’s own serving of toast, does Natasha finally look back up. 

“Can I help you with something?”

No doubt this looked just out of character for those who were brave enough to venture in for an early breakfast. Over Harry’s shoulder, she could see more than one nosey student whispering and pointing. To be fair, it didn’t look at all good for the other Hogwarts Champion to talk to the Durmstrang students, right before the Second Task.

Harry was uncomfortable. Not visibly, but she could see it in his eyes, his thoughts. Rolling off him in waves, not quite giving a perfect image, but enough of one that Natasha could only thread her fingers together and wait. “Do you have a minute?”

Eyes suddenly turned to her, from the five brave students willing to wake so early. Natasha only reaches over to tuck the tag of Kohler’s robes in, before she stands. Bosko almost looked like he wanted to say something, before deciding against it. Giving Harry a once over, she lets her eyes drop to her students. Doesn’t hesitate to switch to German, and ignores how she was critiquing their manners only moments before, and now she did this. “I’ll return soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

A few nods, a chorus of ‘yes, professor’. With a wave, she motions for Harry to lead. Somewhere hopefully out of the way, from prying eyes and ears. Although, when she clasps her hands behind her back, Natasha knew it was going to look bad either way. Karkaroff would have a field day, no matter if she refused Harry’s request or not.

“I must remind you, I cannot talk about the Tournament.” 

They had made it to the Clock Tower, up one of the windier staircases that wrapped around it. Natasha speaks as she looks up. She wondered if it was still possible to climb up the way she used to. Not like anyone but her had attempted it at the time. Ah, memories. 

“I know. That’s not what I was going to ask.”

Natasha smiles, trying to ease him a little. “I just had to say it out loud for anyone listening in.”

Harry makes an inaudible ‘oh’, before turning to look out the carved stone windows. Over the courtyard, where many a student were practically skipping around. With the Second Task so close, it didn’t surprise her that their attention was taken away from study. 

Settling on one of the steps, she rests her chin in her palm. “So, what did you want to ask?”

She’d put him on the spot, but with how he was staring, how his thoughts were muddled, Harry had almost talked himself out of it. Switches his weight from foot to foot, as if that would help him sort out whatever he was worried about. And his refusal to meet her eye was just making her work that fraction harder. “Harry, what is it?”

Not that she had much of a leg on herself. Hardly knew the boy, when it came down to it. Sure, she’d heard the stories — but who hadn’t? Charlie had mentioned bits and pieces here and there, that was second or third (or fourth) hand information. Just like how the Daily Prophet had been detailing the current Tournament, Natasha had taken everything with a grain of salt. Even their brief meeting at the World Cup would barely count for a wealth of information on who he was. After all, she’d been admittedly far too distracted by Charlie, and everything else that followed.

“How did you do it?” Finally he turns to look at her, a little more steady. Still not awfully confident, but it was a step forward in conversation at least.

“Do what?”

“Deal with this.”

Natasha could guess at what he was talking about, quite easily. Rita Skeeter’s newest piece was quite scathing and incredibly wrong. But Natasha knew Rita, and she knew her readers. They would eat up anything the woman put on paper. With a sigh, it’s her turn to be distracted. Looking up again, seeing the great pendulum swing through the carved stone, she thinks on her answer. Has to, really, as there were a lot of ways to go about it.

“Harry… to be fair, I didn’t start my schooling with having been responsible for the death of the Dark Lord.” Tries to keep her tone light, airy. A smile that picks up the corners of her mouth. “So I don’t know if we can really compare.”

She would almost call him skittish, with how he paces in the small amount of space they have. “Ron told me about ‘vaults’, or something like that. Said Bill mentioned them being around in his years at school.”

“Mm, they were around. Not anymore, I don’t believe.” Natasha doesn’t want to pat herself on the back for that one. Doesn’t want to think about the vaults anymore. Can’t say that.

“I’m not asking about what happened in them.” Harry is snappy, but it’s not an attack. Like a reflexively quick response, as if he understood. Don’t want to talk about it, don’t bring it up. Out of everyone in the world, this fourteen year old might be the only one. Natasha finds herself appreciating that, even if it means he taps his foot three times. “You probably heard about—”

“A Chamber, Third Floor and… Dementors in a forest? From lots of places, really. Even Durmstrang has heard of your exploits. They admire you,” she adds as an afterthought, because it was true. Especially after his performance in the First Task. They hadn’t stopped talking about it for the rest of the night. 

Harry smiles, if a little ruefully. Natasha finds herself continuing anyway. “Getting up to crazy, death-defying things has to happen to someone. Comes a bit more naturally to some more than others, I suppose.”

With a hand pushing the hair out of his face, Natasha gets a quick second look at the scar that burned across his forehead. “It’s just how you’re able to deal with the aftermath that really matters. After the… vaults.” Swallows a little harder than she should’ve, but he didn’t seem to pick up on it, “it just wasn’t the same, not really. Always something there, to remind me of what I had done, and what I was going to do.”

She hears a very quiet: “Why didn’t you stop?” Harry was looking at her, curiously. Like he was perhaps seeing another side. The one she didn’t show very often. Made her wonder just how those who knew her talked about her, or how unaware of the magical world Harry truly was. 

Natasha shrugs. “I couldn’t. There were times I wanted to — I really did. But I just felt compelled to finish them. Even with people talking about it, in papers and magazines and even just in the library. I had to do it.

“Even if the reason why I was doing it got lost along the way, I kept going.”

Harry falls quiet, and Natasha can finally hear his thoughts clearly. He was running over many different things, and unaware of her intrusion. Many things to do with the publicity, the effect on his friendships, what people thought of him. Itty bitty things, that build up over time. Natasha knew, of course she did, just what happened when it all started to finally break.

“To answer your question: I didn’t do anything. Especially not alone.” Let’s her words sink in, as she pushes herself to stand. “I had friends with me the entire time, even if the public forgets about them. I had teachers who trained me, cared for and protected me when it was needed. I even fell in love.” At that, Harry’s face visibly twists at her comment, and Natasha has to laugh. “What I’m saying, that I didn’t ‘do it’ alone. It’s too hard to.”

As she makes her way down, Harry does too, two steps behind. A silence falls over them, tender and understanding. Like they’d made some headway. Natasha doesn’t think about how she suddenly feels remarkably older than she should at that thought. 

Just outside the Great Hall once more, Natasha can see her students scanning the area, until they see her. Poliakoff and Thorn had joined them, apparently. Only a handful left and then they could return to their classes. 

Harry drags his feet, not quite entering. With a quick scan, not noticing anyone particularly nearby, Natasha gives him a soft look. “It’s not something that’s going to happen overnight.”

“I know.” At least he’d managed to raise his head, and Natasha would dare to say he actually looked a bit brighter. Like a small amount of colour had returned.

But there were more questions. Overlapping ones now, all too loud for him to decide on. Things about Karkaroff, Vaults, Weasleys, Second Task. Nothing that he could decide on just yet, all batted away and ignored, never to be brought up again. 

“Thanks.” Short, sharp, shiny. And here she had been lead to believe Harry was full of conversation.

Natasha pulls a face, a half shrug, a wave of her hand. “I didn’t give you the secret to dealing with success, sadly.”

Except she apparently still had the power to draw a fine laugh out of him. “No, it’s okay. I think I got what you were saying.”

With another round of thanks, Harry turns to walk away. And, just as he does, Natasha remembers one last thing. “Oh, Harry?”

Several other heads turn, as his does. A deep frown set between his brows. “Yeah?” Hyper aware of how others had slowed down in their tracks to listen in. The last of her students were walking through the entry hall too, looking between her and Harry.

“Tell Skeeter, that if she bothers you again, Natasha Rhodes will eat her alive.”

[hellas-himself]

Where There Are Shadows Pt13

I’ve been sick and not sleeping much lately. 

But I finally had a chance to get to this. 

warning, fluff ahead. 

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-Rhys-

 I watched as Feyre bid Lucien goodnight, their kiss nothing like the wildfire I had felt through our bond. But it was warm, promising. Everything a budding romance should be.

“Are you sure?” Feyre asked Lucien once more.

The fox pressed another kiss to her lips. “In time, love.”

“Alright… well, good night, Lucien.”

“Good night, Feyre.” He looked at me, smiling. “High Lord.”

I grinned. “Fox.”

Feyre was blushing as I walked her to our bedroom. She had wanted him to join us in bed, if only to sleep. To get used to it. But Lucien was still in shock that Feyre had accepted him, that I had accepted him. But I also knew that Elain was home, and Lucien was far more kind and considerate than anyone in his situation would be. 

Feyre threw herself back on the bed, giggling like a child. I closed the door and leaned back, just looking at her. The joy that radiated from her was enough to light the entire night sky.

“What?” She had propped herself up on her elbows and was looking at me.

“You’re happy.”

I didn’t think anyone could blush deeper.

“Was it obvious?”

I had to laugh.

“We should bring him with us tomorrow.”

I raised a brow, making my way towards her. She let me pull her to her feet and turn her around. She laughed as I began to undo the buttons that Lucien had done up for her earlier.

“I want him to see you the way I see you. How everyone in Velaris sees you.”

“Which is?” I passed my hand over the skin of her back. The way she inhaled sharply made me smile.

“You’re full of yourself, Rhys.”

I turned her to look at me again. “Feyre, I meant it.”

With a tender look on her face, she placed her hands on my chest.  

“You’re kind, and just. You listen to everyone, no matter who they are. No matter how small their grievance. And you never mistreat them.” No, outside of the Hewn City, I could be myself. And that Feyre had ever understood it-

I gave her a small smile. I could see it in her eyes, the ghost of a memory. Her first example of how High Lords behaved. And a terrible one, at that.

“Lucien knows nothing else but… Beron. And Tamlin… Personally, I mean.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“He can sit with Mor. And then afterwards, we can all go check on the house together.”

I chuckled, bringing my hands to her face. Gods, she was perfect.

“Whatever you desire, darling.”

“I like the sound of that,” she said, getting on her tip toes to kiss me.

Morning found me trying to hide my face under a pillow that was being pulled away from me.

“Not yet,” I grumbled. I had just closed my eyes, or so it seemed.

I heard Feyre laugh, the sound of someone being shoved and then-

“I woke up earlier than I wanted, High Lord. Count yourself lucky it was Feyre who pulled me from sleep.”

My retort was incoherent as I got up, sitting back against the headboard. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes to find Feyre as giddy as a child on Winter Solstice- Cassian, she looked like Cassian.

And then there was Lucien, doing his best to look at my face as he held a tray of breakfast in his hands. Feyre cleared her throat.

“Oh.” I pulled the bedsheet up over my lap.

Lucien rolled his eyes and Feyre took the tray from him.

“Good morning,” she said as she set the tray down on the bed before she climbed on to sit across from me.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” I asked as I accepted the coffee Feyre handed me.

To my surprise, Lucien sat beside me, leaning back on the headboard as well. Feyre eyed us both as she drank her coffee, and I suddenly wondered what exactly my mate was up to.

“Feyre tells me you two have some matters to attend to with your Court.”

I nodded. “Do you wish to come with us?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You’re our emissary, fox. You’ve a right to be there as much as any of us.”

Feyre was still grinning like a devil, especially when I excused myself to get dressed, taking the bedsheet with me. Lucien watched me the whole way, even when I couldn’t see him. I just felt it. And then of course, I heard Feyre giggling as Lucien snapped at her.

“A lovely view indeed,” she said and I couldn’t help but laugh.  

Lucien did join us as we held court, even going as far as being able to answer questions pertaining to the Mortal Realm. Nothing that wasn’t common knowledge to myself and the others, but nonetheless he answered so graciously that those who asked left pleased. He spoke to my people, Feyre’s people, as if they were his.

Are those butterflies I’m feeling? Feyre gave me a glance and I merely smirked. But she was entirely right. She took my hand. I don’t blame you, she said, mimicking me. I truly smiled then, keeping my eyes on Lucien as he held the room’s attention.  

I brought them both to see the house, nearly finished. Feyre was almost in tears at the sight of it; a house with a nursery, I had said. I stole a glance at Lucien. For him, there would be a place for him, too.

I noticed Lucien tense a bit as he looked at our future home. I did not need to read his mind to know that doubt of where or how he would fit in once we were settled was threatening to take hold. And that would not do.

I threw an arm around his shoulder.

“You and Feyre will be able to go on hunts together,” I said, looking at the expanse of trees beyond the house. “Something I was told she enjoyed with you.”

“I hope there are no Bogge out there,” Lucien said with a sly smile. She pinched his side, eliciting a laugh from him. Much better.  

“No,” I replied, trying not to laugh, “But Feyre might return claiming you died of a terrible accident.”

It was my turn to get pinched by Feyre, leaving Lucien and I in a fit of laughter.

Everyone was at Rita’s after dinner, winding down after a long, long day. Lucien and Feyre took turns giving us a very drunk retelling of the Bogge they’d sent after those gods forsaken daemati twins. Feyre did a terrible job of imitating Lucien, leaving us all in hysterics.

After another round of drinks, Mor pulled Cassian out of his chair to dance. Feyre snorted, and then yelped as Lucien went to do the same. He spun her around until they were dancing beside my cousin and Cas.

Azriel watched quietly, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“You have lovely taste,” Amren said, not taking her eyes off Lucien.

I took a drink of my wine. “Hm… I suppose I do.”

“She’s happy.”

I gave her a nod, my eyes now on Feyre who gave me a smile.

“Are you happy?” The question surprised me. And not only because it came from Amren.

“Come on, Rhys!” Feyre shouted.

“Yes, Rhysie!” Cas yelled, “Come dance with us!”

Another drink, and I set my glass down smiling as a very giggly Feyre struggled to keep step with the music. “Very,” was my reply, leaving our tiny ancient one grinning.

“I had no idea you were such a good dancer,” I said to Lucien as I placed a hand on his waist, pulling him, and Feyre, to me. The fox wasted no time in letting go of her hand for mine, Feyre giggling between us. She rested her head on Lucien’s chest and we three managed to somehow move in sync together.

“I could say the same of you,” Lucien replied, but there was no bite, no teasing. He was content.

After another song, Feyre tugged on Lucien’s shirt.

“I’m going to go make Azriel smile,” Feyre slurred and squeezed herself between us. I chuckled when I saw the pair dancing in the shadows, slowly.

“You’re still dancing with me,” Lucien mused, making me look at him.

“Shall I stop?” I grinned and he rolled his eyes.

“Everyone is watching,” he whispered.

I leaned forward a bit, and whispered in his ear. I enjoyed the way his heart raced.

“I can’t blame them.”

The fox was blushing when I straightened, and we continued to dance together until Mor stole him away. Cassian lifted me off the ground, making me laugh. All the while, Amren watched us, her eyes alight.

Azriel returned Feyre to me, my brother rather flushed. She pressed a kiss to his cheek before coming into my arms.

“What did you do to him?” I whispered as we danced, slowly.

“I told him… you know. About what you said.”

I merely nodded.

“And I told him that he didn’t have to worry about Lucien anymore.”

“No?”

She looked up at me, her eyes glazed over. But she was smiling.

“I told him he was ours.”

At the townhouse, Azriel was half asleep on the bed in the room he shared with Cassian. Feyre and Mor were fussing over Cassian’s hair.

“You should grow it out as long as Lucien’s,” Mor said.

“That’s not wise for a warrior,” he said, but still smiled as they brushed his hair. I was nearly asleep beside Az, just watching Feyre. She and Mor had taken turns dancing with Lucien and I, and then with each other.

“What is taking him so long to get a drink of water?” Mor asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Who?” Feyre replied. She was heavily focused on braiding Cassian’s hair.

“Your pretty fox,” Azriel said and we all looked at him in shock. He rolled over, giving us his back. Cassian howled, and Mor smacked him. But Az was done for the night, not even Cassian’s booming laughter would wake him up.

“I’ll go find him,” I offered, Feyre visibly relieved.

He was in his room, Nuala and Cerridwen had put up the midnight blue curtains Mor and Feyre had purchased. It boasted silver and gold thread fashioned into stars. He was lying on his back, the bed covered in the same dark blue fabric with far more detail than the curtains. His hair looked like living flame against all the blue. I finally remembered why I was standing there.

I knocked on the open doorway.

“Your absence has been noticed.”

“I am far more drunk than anticipated,” he said. I smiled.

“I believe we all are.”

He chuckled and made great effort to look at me from where he was.

“Tell Feyre I meant to join you all, but this bed…”

“May I?”

He nodded, closing his eyes. I walked right over and let out a sigh as I sat down.

“She will surely understand. I wouldn’t get up from here either.”

He rolled onto his side.

“You don’t have to.”

The fox was blushing, but he still met my gaze. Without a word, I removed my shoes, setting them on the floor quietly. I undid a few of the buttons of my shirt, rolled up my sleeves and lay down beside him. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I still reached out and brushed some of his hair from his face.

“You’re not what I imagined,” he said quietly.

“And what did you imagine?”

“I thought you to be far more…” The apprehension in his gaze made my heart sink.

“Cruel?”

“Gods no, Rhysand. Why would I think that?”

I couldn’t answer that. Not with liquor in my system, making me feel more exposed. Lucien didn’t push it. He let out a soft laugh, and I felt my heart do leaps.

“I don’t think you cruel. Far from it, in fact. You’re rather soft.”

“Soft?”

“Whereas I… I’m not.”

I was not sure what he meant. Not at first. Until he reached out to touch my face, and I stilled. When his hand found my neck, I could already see it. There was a spark in that russet eye, as if he knew where my mind had gone. Lucien moved closer, his hand finding its way to my hair, and he pulled. Hard. All my nerves burned away, and were replaced with white hot desire.

“I would very much like to kiss you, Rhysand.”

“Rhys,” I said quietly, afraid of speaking any louder. “You can call me Rhys.”

Lucien chuckled.

“I would very much like to kiss you, Rhys. But I’m drunk. I would prefer to have my wits about me the first time.”

“Another time then,” I said and he nodded, letting go of my hair. He massaged my scalp, making me laugh.

“Are you truly going to stay?” he asked, draping an arm over me.

I chuckled. “Not even Nesta could make me leave this bed.”

His laughter made me smile. I reached out to caress his face, and relished in the way he leaned into my touch. The smile when I leaned over to press a kiss to his temple.

“Sleep well, Lucien.”

“I’m certain I will,” he said and before I could say anything else, he was fast asleep.

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@readingismycopingmechanism @fuzdog

If anyone would like to be tagged, let me know <3  

[okmeamithinknow]

Fae Male Instincts

Rating: T for mild cursing.

Word Count: 5,724

Likes and reblogs welcome

It may be my birthday, but I got ya’ll a present.

Something's wrong.

Which is ridiculous because nothing could be better. Nesta's home, the one they’ve made together and is literally in his arms, snuggled beneath a mountain of blankets.

By all rights Cassian should have passed out ages ago, exhausted from the long flight back to Velaris from the Illyrian Steppes and their enthusiastic reunion. The Mother knows she is. Gentle sighs that are just shy of being considered soft snores escape her lips as she nestles into his side, forever leeching his body heat, not that he minds. Her golden brown hair is mussed, the stray fly away strands tickling his skin, and Cassian wonders if that's what's keeping him awake.

Because something is most definitely wrong.

There's an unmistakeable nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he just can’t shake that grows stronger with each passing minute. Maybe it's the lingering wisps of longing. The missing of her, his mate. The phantom ache in his heart, as though a piece of it is gone when she’s gone, taken it with her.

An unfortunate series of scheduling conflicts has kept them apart. Nesta’s spent a fortnight visiting Elain and Lucian in the Spring Court, and though he’d wanted to be there with her, the yearly summit between Camp Lords demanded his attention. Then afterwards, some inconsequential emergency that amounted to a four day stint in the snow and ice on the Steppes for nothing and Cassian was near desperate to see his wife again. One ill-timed joke from his High Lord or his brother might have sent him over the edge, but fortune it seemed was on his side when he’d left the camp early that morning.

Tonight is the first night they've been together in any sense of the word in just over a month, the longest the two of them have been apart since they've mated and married. Cassian wonders if it's the residual tendrils of feeling that are causing this, this panic, even after an evening tangled in sheets. A night filled with laughter and good food and catching up on trivial events, and worshiping Nesta’s body.

It’s something he’s missing. Something critical that has his instincts roaring at him to protect his mate. It strikes him then, almost as strongly as when she’d first accepted the mating bond, this viperous feeling, this need to hide her away from the world.

He bites back a groan, knowing how much of a light sleeper Nesta is because there’s no reason he should be feeling this. There's no danger, no war. Not even the Camp Lords are making trouble. Prythian is the most at peace it’s been in Cassian’s five hundred years. The seven courts seeking to maintain peace in the wake of Hybern’s attacks. Hell, even the human realms are silent, enjoying the mildest winter in a hundred years.

Yet something’s keeping him awake.

Nesta sighs, a much deeper labored breath, and shifts in her sleep. Her hair freed from its normal plait spreads across the pillow next to him, and the great gossamer strands that glint in the moonlight move with her, obscuring half her face. She looks much younger like this. Sleep softening her face to make her look like the young girl he’d met all those years ago. He brushes back the sheet of hair and she shifts again, snuggling closer to his body until her head rests on his shoulder.

"I can feel you staring, Commander,” she says, eyes cracking open to meet his gaze in the star flecked darkness of their bedroom. She breathes heavily through her nose, hot air caressing the bare skin of his chest.

“Sorry, Sweetheart,” he apologizes, voice rough with exhaustion. Cassian brushes a finger down her cheek. “It's nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay," she mutters through a jaw cracking yawn that brings tears to the corners of her eyes. “‘m too tired to go again.”

Cassian chuckles, a low rumbling noise that's caught midway between a laugh and a hum, and presses a kiss onto the top of her head. Her face is serene, gentle in the soft moonlight.

Nesta senses his agitation and Cassian knows she won't let herself sleep until he's settled. It's a long standing unspoken agreement that neither will rest while the other is as keyed up as Cassian is right now. It makes for sleepless nights when nightmares of the cauldron and drowning and the shredding of membranous wings inevitably wakes one of them.

She sends tender waves of peace and contentment down the crystalline thread that connects them, and it soothes the beast inside him just enough that he feels himself drift off. He hangs there in the fuzzy space of almost asleep, where he loses track of time and space and the only reason he knew he’d actually fallen asleep is because he dreamt of impossible things.

Nesta’s shaking in her sleep. The dawn’s first light has started to creep through the windows, and Nesta’s trembling hard enough to indicate she’s having another nightmare. They come less frequently, but never falter in their intensity.

He’s awake in an instant. Instincts flaring with a nauseating sense of urgency that has him launching himself from the bed.  Stumbling like a foal's first steps, he narrowly misses clipping a wing on the small table next to their bed. The sudden motion wakes Nesta, startling her right out of whatever dream she’d been having, and Cassian in his deprived state can’t clamp down on the feeling fast enough.

The wine and the late night and the rich food and the anxiety down the bond and the nightmare have Nesta rushing to the bathing room where she empties the contents of her stomach, slamming the door behind her. The nightmares don’t always induce vomiting, but then again, Nesta’s never been able to hold her drink, even in her new immortal body. Never had the drive to build up a tolerance to the stuff. The times Mor drags the two of them out to Rita’s with the rest of the Inner Circle, she’s spent the evening sipping a single glass of wine. Cassian can only recall a couple times she’d had much more than that, last night’s celebration included.

Cassian doesn’t follow, knowing that Nesta will come to him when she’s done, when she’s ready to talk to him. She needs her space, doesn’t like the vulnerability of being sick around someone, even if that someone is her partner, her equal. She’ll talk to him about it though, once she’s had the opportunity to collect herself. To gather her thoughts. Nesta doesn’t hide herself from him behind her walls with him anymore, but she does ask for a moment to herself.

He’d tried it once, chasing after her when she was newly made and his wings were barely healed. Before they were officially mated, and the tenuous bond between them was nothing more than a flicker of feeling now and then. A particularly bad nightmare had him careening to her room down the hall in the House of Wind and then promptly fleeing when she’d used her gifts from the Cauldron to light his favorite pair of sleep pants aflame.

Instead Cassian paces outside, wings twitching in time with his heartbeat, and instincts bellowing at him to go to her. He ignores them, in favor of clamping down on his end of the bond, lest his anxiety aggravate her further.

The door sweeps open, and Cassian stops mid-stride to face her. Worried hazel eyes scrape over her frame, inspecting her for injury. She's pale, and a little shaky, hair now bound in it’s usual plait. The thin muslin shift she's donned doesn’t do much to keep her warm, but she greets him with a weak smile.

“I’m ok,” Nesta says in response to the question in his gaze, voice hushed but firm in the early dawn light. She waves a hand at the way his eyebrows pinch in concern and the half formed questions she can read on his lips. “I’m fine.”

And she is. He can tell by the way she traipses back over to the bed and how her shaking slowly subsides until it's just the chill that sending shivers through her body.

She's always cold.  Even in the heat of summer, Nesta is always freezing and while Cassian more than appreciates the aesthetic and the ease of removal of the clothes she wears to bed, he'd much rather have his mate comfortable and warm. They've had too many arguments about her choice in nightgown to count, but the blanket hog insists on barely there slips of silk and cotton or nothing at all. Nesta admitted once that she likes curling up under Cassian’s wing, leeching heat from him, and the lack of clothing encourages his cuddling, so she doesn’t have to ask. A sentiment she promptly rescinded at the teasing look Cassian shot her immediately after, citing a momentary lapse in judgement.

“I am fine,” she insists again, and its then that he realizes he’s been staring, inspecting her for any concealed twinge of pain or fleeting flicker of distress down their bond. “But you are not.”

There’s a distinct lack of teasing in her tone as Nesta tucks her feet underneath herself and settles onto the end of the bed. Cocking her head to the side, she blinks up at him, deceptively sweet. The look has fooled more than one Camp Lord, and normally the look would make him chuckle, but not now.

“Out with it.”

Cassian takes a ragged breath and runs a hand through his hair, fingers snagging on the knots that have formed in his sleep. He starts pacing again, the movement bleeding off some of the agitation coursing through him.

“I…” he starts and then hesitates, unable to find the words to describe the writhing sense of uneasy that’s slithered its way up his spine.

“Cassian,” she says, and that single word, with its commanding tone has him wondering why Rhys hasn’t given her his job as Commander of his armies. It grounds him, making him stop in his tracks. His eyes snap back to hers, wings flaring wide. When he’d looked away he doesn’t know.

“Something’s wrong and I don’t know what it is. My instincts are telling me to take you and run. It hasn’t been this bad since…” he says all at once, stopping to pull on his hair again in frustration. “Shit, Nesta. Sweetheart, I can’t remember.”

"Worse than after we accepted the bond? Or faced down Hybern for the last time?" she asks, but she doesn’t wait for an answer before rising from the bed.

She can feel it roiling down the bond, his iron clad grip on containing his emotions failing him. Waves of unease and distress crash into her like a tempest storm over rocks and she steels herself against the feeling. Whatever this feeling is, it’s bad. Bad enough to steal her breath. The frenzy that’d accompanied their bonding pales in comparison to this… this need. She’s never seen him so distraught before, and even if she couldn’t feel it so keenly, she trusts him implicitly. If he says there's something wrong, then there is.

But instead of moving to comfort her distressed mate, Nesta heads over to the armoire, pulling out a set of his flying leathers. Only years of dodging blows save Cassian from being hit in the face when she tosses them over her shoulder, before pulling open another drawer. Nesta grabs a thick sweater and a pair of warm leggings for herself, and slips the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders.

Cassian’s breath hitches as the garment pools at her feet. She turns just in time to catch him raking his eyes over her bare body. Nesta’s face blooms into a smug smirk and she considers calling him an idiot for good measure, but he’s still far too troubled for her liking. There’s a hunger in his eye now, the primal lust of seeing his mate bare before him that threatens to take over the feelings of unease. Threatens, but doesn't completely mask it.

She does chuckle when he lets out a low whine as she slips into a pair of red underclothes, settling the scrap of lace over her hips, and starts to pull the sweater over her head.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Getting dressed,” she says with a cheeky roll of her eyes. Her teasing tone an attempt try to coax him to join her in their usual banter. “I thought that was obvious.”

It doesn’t work though. She can still feel it bubbling beneath the surface. Can hear it in the rustling of his wings, that great membranous wingspan spread wide, not to show dominance, but in preparation to fly, to steal her away from any potential threat or harm that would come their way. Can see it in the twitch and flex of his corded muscles, tense and waiting to spring into action, the itch to fight, to protect.

“I can see that," he says through gritted teeth as though the clenching of his jaw somehow controls the rest of his body. "But why?"

“Because,” Nesta says, tone serious once more as she recognizes that her normal distraction tactics aren't going to work in this scenario. Fully dressed, she pads up to him. Slow, cautious almost, as though not to further grate his raw nerves. She braces her hand on his thick bicep, a familiar gesture and sensing her intent behind the touch, he scoops her up into his arms. "We are going to pay our High Lord and Lady a visit."

It’s a flustered Nuala who opens the door to Rhys and Feyre’s townhouse, ushering the pair, along with the early morning chill, into one of the sitting rooms. It’s not often that Cassian calls on his High Lord this early, at least not during peace time.

Feyre appears first, almost stumbling through the door in a shirt that has to be Rhys’, judging by the size of it, and a pair of leggings that seem hastily thrown on. It’s obvious that neither the High Lady nor her mate were expecting company so early.

“Morning,” Feyre yawns.

She plops down onto one of the overstuffed chairs, indicating that Cassian and Nesta join her. Nesta does, sitting on the settee across from Feyre with more decorum than her sister. Cassian remains standing however, unable to relax his guard, even in a place as heavily warded against intruders as his High Lord and Lady's townhouse. A snap of Feyre's fingers and the table between them fills with trays of tea and refreshments. She pours Nesta a cup and offers one to Cassian who declines with a sharp jerk of his head.

"It's a little early for house calls, don't you think?" calls a voice from down the hall.

Seconds later Rhys appears in the doorway, impeccably dressed. He entrance is accompanied by a low rumbling noise, like thunder in the distance, and Nesta lets out an exasperated sigh, used to Rhys’ flair for dramatics, and slightly annoyed that he’d waste his powers on just her and Cassian. But when Cassian suddenly appears before her, throwing himself between her and his High Lord, she realizes the sound is coming from him.

The growling subsides as Rhys freezes and for a moment the High Lord’s mask drops entirely, replaced by confusion and concern. Rhys studies his brother, reading the anxiety that rolls off of him in great torrents. He inclines his head to make eye contact with Nesta, and Cassian lets out a scathing hiss. The temperature of the room skyrockets, the siphons he’d insisted on strapping on glowing a threatening red.

"Excuse him," Nesta says with a dark look at her mate when the sound of her voice startles him and hazel eyes lock onto hers. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

Guilt and shame rake through him and down their bond as Cassian realizes he’d almost lost control. Lost control in front of her, his mate. A blistering retort sits on Nesta’s lips, but she can’t bring herself to let it loose. Not when Cassian looks so lost, not when he’s barely keeping himself together; he’s her mate, her equal, and she can't bring herself to tear him down. He stalks over to the window at one end of the settee, close enough to shield her if the need arises.

Nesta turns back to see Feyre and Rhys exchanging a look as the High Lord settles onto the arm of her chair. She resists the urge to growl at them, knowing that Cassian is barely keeping it together and one of them has to remain calm. They’d agreed on the flight over that Nesta would be the one to explain things; Cassian unsure of whether or not he could control the urge to protect Nesta from other males, and whether or not Rhys would be included in that, even if he was already mated and married.

“Somethings wrong,” she says, nodding to Cassian, who’s pacing, stuck between eyeing Rhys warily, and glaring at some unnamed threat that lay out the window in the city.

Rhys raises a brow and gives her a look that says, "What was your first clue?” and Nesta does glare at him then. It’s bad enough that Rhys still holds a grudge against the oldest Archeron sister, regardless of how much Feyre insists the two get along and the work Nesta does on behalf of the Night Court. But she’s not going to engage in some juvenile battle of wills.

“He said it has something to do with the mating bond. Cassian’s been feeling…" she pauses looking for the most diplomatic word. "...unsettled since last night. More territorial apparently.”

She goes on to explain about the lack of sleep and the feeling that’s been screaming at him that Nesta’s in danger, that his mate is somehow in harms way, that he needs to get her out of here, away from the city, and other males.

“Do you think it has anything to do with being Made?” Feyre asks, concern filling in her eyes.

“It could be,” Nesta says. The possibility of it having to do with her Making had occurred to her, but she’d dismissed it. “But Elain never mentioned anything while I was there.”

And Feyre takes Nesta’s word for it; if she thinks Elain is fine in Spring then there’s no doubt in her mind that their middle sister is well taken care of where she is. Mated and married and on their third of their small gaggle of children well on his or her way.  

“I suggest you start doing research,” Nesta adds, “Consult your Suriel. Message Elain just in case Lucian is exhibiting any of the same signs of aggression." Cassian snarls at the word.

"And where will you be whilst your High Lady and I do all the hard work?" Rhys asks.

"Away," Nesta answers abruptly. "Somewhere far enough away from everyone else that might be considered a threat. Unless you feel like unleashing him on your pretty city or want to send him to one of those camps where everyone is a threat. That might not sit too well with their Camp Lords. Unless you think the Hewn City is in need of a regime change.”

Nesta shrugs flippantly, and Rhys laughs outright.

"How do you know you'll be safe?" Feyre asks.

"Because I'm his mate, and whatever this is, is hightening his instinct to protect me at all costs, and if nothing else I can handle whatever this brute dishes out.”

Flames engulf the hand she uses to gesture to Cassian once again and her mate smirks at her. As if he’d harm a single hair on her head. He’d vowed to protect her and her people from harm that day in her father’s living room; vowed it again on their wedding night, the silly human tradition that he’d insisted she stick with, to embrace what was left of her humanity. He’d been one of the few with enough power and skill— and patience, though that’s still entirely up for debate—to train her, test her newly Made powers to see what the Cauldron had given her.

Nesta stands, halting further discussion, not missing the casual way Rhys’ eyes rake over her body another time, not a lecherous movement, more calculated and thoughtful. He merely nods, agreeing to her plan. Feyre follows them into the entryway, stopping Nesta to embrace her before they leave. It’s stiff and awkward, but sweet that her youngest sister would care.

“Go back to bed.” Nesta gives a derisive sniff. “You obviously got as much sleep as we did.”

The implied innuendo hits home, and Feyre blushes, stammering out a denial, that she'd spent the evening painting by fae-light and that Rhys had to drag her to bed so she could get some rest. The two males share a chuckle at the flustered High Lady's response and Nesta feels some of the tension bleed out of Cassian. She fixes her mouth into a knowing smirk and bids her sister and brother-in-law farewell.

"So you want to tell me why you're not more worried about them?" Feyre turns to her mate as the front door to the townhouse closes behind their Army Commander and his mate.

"You didn't sense it?" Rhys lets out a wicked chuckle that slides along her bones. "Your sister will be fine. Cassian on the other hand…"

They barely make it ten paces out the door, which is more than Nesta expected in the first place, when Cassian scoops her up and launches them into the morning sky. She'd had him pegged around five, and was prepared for the abrupt take off.

"That went well," he says, voice rough like sandpaper.

“Almost too well," Nesta replies and she's right.

She'd expected some sort of protest, some argument that one or both of them was too important to spare for the indefinite time they'd asked for, and she'd come prepared. The two of them have been working hard lately. Nesta as ambassador to both the human realms and the Seasonal Courts. Autumn is terrified of her, which delights both of her brother-in-laws to no end. Tarquin and Cresseida find her ability to distract Cassian long enough to prevent him from further destroying their cities invaluable.

Newly brokered peace means finding worthwhile endeavors for the Illyrians before upstarts and rabble rousers cause internal issues. A poorly occupied army makes for rebellion and Cassian has been putting them to good use to prevent the army from growing bored and making trouble within the Night Court.

They glide along in the chill morning air and Nesta wonders what's keeping Cassian from winnowing out of the city. Before she can ask though Cassian breaks the silence.

"Need anything from home before we go?" he asks.  

"Just you," she says, placing a hand on his cheek, and even though she knows better than to steal his focus away from the terrain below them, she takes the time— knowing the sky above Velaris is one of the safest in all of Prythian— to make him meet her eye. "Are you going to be alright?"

Cassian leans his forehead against hers and inhales deeply. The cold air bites his lungs but the scent of her, the peace she's radiating down their bond to him, and that he's finally able to steal her away, get her to safety away from any and all potential danger does well to soothe his soul.

“Yeah,” he says and Nesta releases her hold on his face.

She loops her arms around his neck, settling herself more snugly into his arms. Already the late night and early morning catch up to Nesta and she closes her eyes, burying her face into the crook of his neck. She presses a kiss against the strip of bare skin she finds there, atop the edge of one of his spiraling tattoos and then relaxes in his arms.

She hasn’t even asked him where they’re headed, just that Cassian must have some place in mind, that sense of home and safety that he's been longing to drag her to. The scent of pine and leather and winter skies fills her senses, and she’s home. No matter where she is, if he’s there, it’s home.

“Are we going to fly the whole way there?” Nesta asks, shivering despite the warm clothes. Cassian must sense her discomfort, because his siphons glow red again. This time far less menacing, and the air around them warms to an acceptable degree.

“Just some,” he says. “It’ll help burn off the… stress. Break around lunch time, and winnow us the rest of the way.”

She hums in response, drifting off, knowing he'll wake her when the time comes, trusting Cassian to keep them safe.

Nesta dozes gently for the next few hours, drifting in and out of consciousness. It’s nearly afternoon when she wakes. Snow dappled trees and a mountain range she doesn't recognize replaces the city skyline she’s grown so used to seeing. The trees are old and reach up as though they could pull the sky down with their thick branches.

"Good morning Sweetheart. I didn't think I'd exhausted you that much," Cassian chuckles. "I guess we'll have to work on your stamina while we're away."

He gives her a wolffish grin, and she shakes her head at the boyish glint that twinkles in his eyes. Relief washes through her, that her mate is back. Back to the teasing overly flirtatious male she’d fallen in love with. That the sense of foreboding is easing the further they travel from civilization.

They glide low over the trees, Cassian’s great booming wings blowing the snow from the treetops. A wide clearing appears on the horizon, plenty wide enough to accommodate Illyrian wings. Cassian drops into a steep dive with an elated shout and Nesta shrieks. Shrieks that turn to great peals of laughter that only Cassian seems to be able to draw out. She should be used to this. The swoop and rush of landing and how he pulls up only at the last minute, as though Cassian’s challenging the ground, daring it to stand in his way.

Unexpected tears form in her eyes. She could have missed this. If his wings hadn't healed properly. If she hadn't accepted their bond. If one or both of them died in the war. Not wanting Cassian to worry, Nesta wipes them away, pretending that it's just the wind from the free fall that's caused them.

The landing is smooth, feet crunching into the snow, and Cassian sets Nesta downs on the ground, hands braced on her hips until he knows she's steady enough to stand on her own. He beams down at her, not really wanting to let her go. The smile is so contagious that Nesta can't help but return the gesture.

Nesta takes a monument to explore, finding early spring blossoms pushing through the patches of snow near the edges of the clearing. The buds are white with the barest hints of purple at the center.  

The scent of food calls her back to her mate and she finds that he's pulled a blanket and what looks to be a feast of all of her favorite foods from a pocket realm. It's then that she realizes she's had nothing to eat since leaving Rhys and Feyre's that morning and that she's ravenous. Cassian laughs when she reaches for one of the crusty rolls, digging in without waiting for him. She stuffs herself, finishing off the plate he's dished up for her like she hasn't eaten in weeks, faster than when they were starving, trapped in that hovel they’d called home with her sisters and useless father, relying on Feyre’s hunting to provide them with whatever meager scraps she could scrounge up. She's sucking the juice of the out of season berries that she saved for dessert when she meets Cassian’s assessing eye.

“What?” she asks, wondering if there's stains on her lips or cheeks, but then she feels his hunger coursing down the bond.

“We need to go,” he says, food and blanket disappearing as they stand. “It's much too cold out here for what I have planned for you.”

Shivers of delight course through her body as he scoops her up and takes to the sky once again.

The arrive at the cabin, the one Rhys sequestered the two oldest Archeron sisters in upon their arrival into the Night Court, the one that’s littered with paintings by her youngest sister and while it isn’t filled with the happiest of memories for Nesta, she figures it makes sense. Mor assured her that no one, save the members of the Inner Circle knew of this place and while now that extends to Lucian and Elain, no one else would know where to come looking for them. Rhys and Feyre will be sure to warn the rest of the Inner Circle to give them a wide berth while they figure out what’s ailing their Army Commander.

Once they’re to the porch, Cassian can no longer contain himself. He pushes her up against the door, lips colliding into hers. He’s a dichotomy of gentleness and feral savagery. His hands cup her cheeks with such reverence as he sucks on her lower lip, drawing its into his mouth, and Nesta moans. Her legs wrap around his waist, grinding against him. One hand grips his back, nails digging delightfully into his leathers. The other hand goes to his hair, clutching him closer, deepening the kiss.

His tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers with soft languid strokes. He’d missed this. Missed her and having all the time in the world to be with her, and now that he’s gotten her alone he’s going to take his time.  

He breaks the kiss, sucking down the side of her neck. Nipping his way down to her collarbone. Leaving small marks. Reclaiming her as his. One hand slips underneath her oversized sweater and latches onto one of her breasts and Nesta answers him with a keening whine for more.

There’s a noise in the the clearing behind them and another growl, a far more feral growl rips through him. It’s probably nothing more than the shifting of snow in the branches, but Cassian will take no chances.

Making sure that Nesta crosses safely over the threshold, Cassian takes to the sky to perform a perfunctory perimeter check. The door closing behind her, Nesta quickly sheds her outer layers, leaving a neat trail of clothing for Cassian to find on his return.

He chuckles, picking up each item on the way, planning to scold her playfully for leaving her clothes strewn about the cabin until he comes to a scrap of red lace, and all thoughts of scolding go out of his head. Cassian refrains from running down the hall, not wanting to seem as eager as he’s feeling.

When Cassian arrives at the door to the bedroom, he expects to find her in some sort of scandalous position. Instead she’s face down in the pile of pillows, bundled in a thick blanket, sound asleep. He can’t bring himself to wake her just yet. Not when she’s snoring gently and looks so at peace. So he prowls out the door, and sets about checking the provisions they have at the cabin.

He wakes her slowly hours later with soft languid kisses and they make love as the sun sets over the surrounding woods.  

They’ve been in the cabin for two weeks, when early one afternoon Cassian stumbles in from the cold. He’s taken to patrolling the area around the cabin at various times of the day. ‘To stretch his wings’ he says, and to 'keep a look out for predators that lurk in the forest that surrounds the cabin’ while she reads or bathes or takes a nap, but they both know it’s mostly when Nesta gets sick of his fussing. His eyes bright with tears, and the roiling cacophony of emotions traveling down the bond has Nesta panicking. Scanning him for injury, she rushes to his side, possibly the least composed she’s been ever.

“Cassian, what’s wrong?” she asks, the foreign edge of hysteria creeping into her voice.

He drops to his knees, wings snapping around her back to engulf the both of them, cloaking them in darkness. Her hands bury themselves in his hair as he presses his face into the soft flesh of her stomach. He inhales deeply, taking in her scent, and Nesta runs her fingers down his cheekbones and reaches to cup his jaw, attempting to get him to look at her. To meet her eye, to reassure her that he’s alright.

“You’re pregnant,” he says, voice cracking on the words as the tears slip down his face.

“I’m what?!” But his words hit her like ash arrow with a sudden certainty.

She's pregnant.

And everything makes sense.

The fatigue she’s been experiencing, that set in while she'd visited Elain and Lucian, that even now, with no set schedule and no need wake early, she still finds herself napping in the afternoon.

Her overall moodiness that she’d attributed to boredom.

Cassian’s territorial aggressiveness against Rhys. His stupid fae male instincts driving him mad with the urge to hide her away to keep her and their growing family safe.

Even the mild nausea she’d been hiding from him for the last couple weeks in the hopes of keeping him from worrying.

And Rhys. Mother. That prick probably knew, probably guessed the moment Cassian launched himself between the two of them and was back in Velaris waiting for them to figure it out.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers, and the rightness, the sureness of it rings through her.

“When?” Cassian asks, but they both know.

She’d been so busy, so distracted with Elain and Lucian and work that Rhys had given her so that she could won’t focus on the missing of her mate that she’d ignored the signs. He picks her up, spinning her in a circle with a whoop.

“You’re pregnant,” he breathes again, and like that, everything is right in the world again.

fin

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