#sapphic nesta

[hrizantemy]

Her name was Taryn.

Nesta had learned that much, though she hadn’t bothered to ask at first. It had just come to her one night, somewhere between the second drink and the steady hum of the music in the background. Taryn had introduced herself easily, but that was about all she gave. There were no stories, no explanations, just a quiet presence that seemed to stretch out into the space around them.

And Nesta hadn’t pressed. Not for details, not for more than what was offered. She wasn’t one to pry, especially into someone who had mastered the art of silence the way Taryn had. They didn’t need words to fill the gaps. The tavern’s music spoke enough for both of them, and in the stillness between their conversations, Nesta found an unspoken understanding.

Taryn didn’t talk much about herself either, and in that silence, Nesta had come to appreciate it. They both had their walls, their secrets. Neither of them seemed inclined to tear them down. Sometimes, when Nesta would glance over at Taryn, she would catch that glint of something behind her eyes—something old and knowing. But Taryn didn’t press either. She had her own past, a quiet one that Nesta had no interest in unraveling.

It was an odd sort of companionship, the two of them sharing the space without the need for constant conversation. Neither of them asked questions they weren’t prepared to answer, and in that, there was a strange comfort. They shared the same unspoken understanding: there were things you didn’t need to explain, not when you were already carrying so much.

So, they sat in silence often, watching the night unfold with the music as the only conversation between them. Neither of them bothered to ask why the other was there. Neither of them needed to.

Nesta had long since assumed that Taryn came to the tavern for one of two reasons: to drink or to go home with someone. It was what most people did, after all. The tavern was full of people seeking fleeting comfort, whether it came in the form of a drink or a companion for the night. Yet, Taryn didn’t fit into either of those molds.

She barely drank, always nursing her glass instead of downing it, a contrast to the usual faces that crowded the bar. Her movements were measured, calm, as though she had no real need to escape or forget, unlike many of the others who came to drown their troubles. Taryn’s consumption was almost ritualistic—an occasional sip, a slow swirl of the liquid in her glass, but never enough to abandon control. She was deliberate, thoughtful, as though she had no desire to lose herself in the haze that so many others craved.

And when the night ended, when the music faded and the crowd began to thin, Taryn always left alone. Nesta had watched this countless times—the quiet exit, her back straight and her steps sure, as if she was already on her way to something far more important than whatever was happening inside the tavern.

It was strange to Nesta, the way Taryn moved through the world with such purpose, yet seemed so… untethered. She had expected to see her approach someone, to watch her flirt with a stranger or get lost in a conversation that led to a bed. But it never happened. Taryn didn’t leave with anyone. She just went home by herself, night after night, no strings attached, no attempts at distraction.

Nesta didn’t quite understand it, not at first. It felt unnatural—everyone came to places like this for some kind of escape, didn’t they?

Nesta had long since figured out that Taryn preferred the company of women. It wasn’t something that had come to her immediately—it wasn’t like Taryn wore it on her sleeve—but as time passed, certain things became clear. The way her gaze lingered on women more than on men, the subtle shifts in her demeanor when a woman entered the tavern. It wasn’t overt, but Nesta could sense it, a quiet energy that surrounded Taryn when she spoke to them, an ease that never quite appeared with men. It was something that Nesta had noticed, and, after a while, she couldn’t deny it.

One night, after enough drinks had dulled the sharp edges of her thoughts, Nesta found herself asking the question that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for weeks. Her words slurred a little, but there was a certain curiosity behind them that couldn’t be ignored. She asked, almost without thinking, “You prefer women, don’t you?”

Taryn had raised an eyebrow at the question, but there was no hesitation in her response. She simply nodded, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “I do,” she said, her voice low and unbothered.

Nesta expected something—an uncomfortable pause, maybe, a feeling of rejection or some sort of judgment, but nothing came. There was no judgment in Taryn’s eyes, no moment of awkwardness that made Nesta feel small. It was just… a fact. Something simple, and Nesta had found herself surprisingly unaffected.

She thought she would be offended, that some part of her would react as if Taryn’s admission was something that needed to be dissected or questioned. But it wasn’t. There was no anger, no surprise, just a strange calmness that settled over her, as though Taryn’s truth didn’t change anything between them. It didn’t matter. Taryn didn’t owe her an explanation, and for once, Nesta didn’t feel the need to dissect every detail of it.

After Nesta had figured it out, something began to stir in her thoughts. Night after night, when the tavern was quiet and the music had faded into the background, her mind would return to Taryn and what she had said. Taryn preferred women.

It wasn’t something that Nesta had ever really thought about before, at least not with any depth. She hadn’t been around women like that, not in the way Taryn was. It wasn’t that she disapproved, or even felt disgusted—it was just… foreign to her. Nesta didn’t really understand how someone could love a woman the way Taryn loved them. She couldn’t grasp the feelings, the pull that must have existed there.

She had known attraction—men, their rough hands and demanding gazes—but women? It wasn’t something she had ever considered. How did it feel to want another woman the way she had wanted men, to feel that same fire, that same need? The question lingered in her mind like a dull ache, but Nesta didn’t know how to answer it. She hadn’t experienced it herself, hadn’t felt that longing for someone of the same sex. It made her wonder if there was something wrong with her, or if she was just missing some piece of the puzzle that Taryn had seemed to find so easily.

The confusion would wash over her in waves, late at night when she was alone with her thoughts and the empty glass in her hand. She didn’t understand it. How could someone fall for someone of the same sex, when everything in her had always told her it was supposed to be a man who sparked that desire?

But still, there was no judgment—just curiosity. She wasn’t offended by Taryn’s preferences, but a strange kind of distance remained. It was as though she were on the outside of something, unable to fully comprehend it, even though she wanted to.

Some part of her, deep inside, was disgusted—not with Taryn, but with herself. It wasn’t something she could admit, not even to herself at first, but it gnawed at her. The confusion, the curiosity, the questions—it all circled back to something darker, something deeper.

There was a part of her that felt a strange shame, not for Taryn’s preferences, but for her own inability to understand them. It made her feel… small, as if there was something wrong with her for not being able to accept this part of the world so easily. She wasn’t repulsed by Taryn, not at all. No, it was the way Taryn’s reality highlighted a flaw in her own. A flaw that she wasn’t ready to face.

Nesta had always prided herself on understanding things—on having a handle on what was right, what was wrong, what made sense. She had always known the rules, the roles, the expectations. But this? This was different. It made her feel as if she were somehow behind, unable to catch up with the rest of the world. There was nothing wrong with Taryn, but there was something wrong with her for not immediately understanding it. She hated that she couldn’t just accept it without questioning everything, without feeling like there was something missing inside her.

It wasn’t just confusion. It was shame, like she wasn’t enough—like she was the one who didn’t fit, who couldn’t keep up with what felt like an endless flow of new realities and experiences. She didn’t know if this was something that was wrong with her, or if she simply didn’t belong in this world where there were so many shades of gray she couldn’t even begin to color in.

And the worst part? She couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Not to anyone. Not even to herself in full honesty. So, she buried it, just as she buried so many other things. But it was there, lurking beneath the surface, and every time she saw Taryn, every time she thought of how easily Taryn moved through the world, it stung a little more.

Nesta found herself at the bar again, seated beside Taryn, a drink in hand. She wasn’t sure what brought her here this time. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the feeling of drowning in the chaos of her thoughts, or maybe it was something about Taryn that made her feel a bit safer, even when her mind was a tangle of contradictions.

The drink was strong, just like the last time, and as it burned down her throat, something in her cracked open. The questions that had been bubbling inside her for weeks, the confusion, the shame, the disgust—everything that had been building up inside her suddenly felt like too much to keep quiet. She couldn’t stop it. It tumbled out before she could even stop herself.

“How… how do you like women?” The words came out blunt, unrefined, as if she didn’t even care how they sounded. The alcohol had loosened her tongue, and now the question hung in the air between them, raw and uncomfortable.

Taryn turned to her slowly, her gaze steady. There was no judgment in her eyes, just a quiet kind of understanding, something that made Nesta feel exposed. She could feel the heat rising to her face, the vulnerability settling into her bones. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but now that it was out there, she couldn’t take it back.

Taryn didn’t immediately answer. She took a sip of her drink, her expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, she spoke, her voice soft, almost gentle.

“It’s not something that’s easy to explain,” Taryn said, her tone thoughtful. “It’s not about how you like someone, it’s just about who you’re drawn to. It’s not about logic or reason… it just is. And that’s enough.”

Nesta swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taryn’s words settle deep inside her. It didn’t quite answer her question. It didn’t give her the clarity she had been hoping for. But there was something about the simplicity of it that made her feel… lighter.

Taryn’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, and then she gave a soft, almost imperceptible shrug. “It’s not about having to explain it to anyone else, either. It’s about what feels right for you.”

Nesta took another drink, trying to process the words.

Nesta stared into her glass, swirling the drink as the silence stretched between them. The music in the background seemed to blur into a distant hum, and her thoughts ran wild, chaotic as always, trying to piece together what she couldn’t understand. There was still something gnawing at her, some question that had lingered in her mind ever since she had asked Taryn how she could like women. The question, so simple but so tangled, wouldn’t leave her.

She glanced at Taryn, her lips pressed into a thin line as the words formed in her mind. It wasn’t a question she’d ever thought she’d ask, but the weight of it was too heavy to ignore.

“Have you… ever wanted men?” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t know why she was asking. She didn’t know if she was prepared for the answer, but it was there, and she couldn’t push it back down.

Taryn didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem surprised. She just regarded Nesta with those steady green eyes, as if she had been expecting this question all along. Her fingers rested on the edge of her glass, her thumb tracing a pattern absentmindedly.

“Once,” Taryn said quietly, the word soft but lingering in the air. “A long time ago. But it was never the same, never what it should have been. I thought it was, but I was just trying to convince myself.” She paused, the briefest shadow crossing her face before her expression smoothed again. “It wasn’t real. Not for me.”

Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of her felt relief, but another part of her, the part that had been taught to look for logic, for reason, felt unsettled. How could it have been so clear to Taryn? How could she know so fully? Nesta hadn’t even started to figure herself out, let alone something like that. She couldn’t understand what it felt like to desire something different from the world she knew, from the expectations she had been raised with.

Nesta’s thoughts drifted back to the human lands, to the world she had come from. The world of strict rules, of things expected of her, of the roles she was supposed to fill, the people she was supposed to be. She thought of her mother, of the old traditions, of the whispers that ran through the halls of their estate. The idea of deviating from what was “right” had never really been a possibility for her—until now.

It wasn’t even about wanting to understand it. There was a part of her, deep down, that wanted to push it all away, to close her mind and shut off the curiosity. She couldn’t even explain why. The idea of being with another woman—the thought felt foreign, as if her mind recoiled at it instinctively, as if the concept itself was something wrong, something forbidden. It was so deeply ingrained in her, this fear of being different from what society expected, from what she had grown up knowing.

In the human lands, they had rules—rules that told you who to love, who to marry, who you were allowed to be. Her mother had made sure she understood that. “A woman’s place is with a man,” her mother had said, a reminder as harsh as the walls that had caged Nesta into her place, into the role she was supposed to fit. Her mother had always tried to push her toward the ideal match, toward the right kind of man, the one who would give her a future she didn’t even want. And the thought of anything else—anything different—had always been wrong.

Nesta’s chest tightened as she thought about it. It wasn’t about Taryn. It wasn’t about her at all. It was the world she had come from, the world that had shaped her. The idea that something other than a man could be right, could be enough, felt like betrayal. The weight of that shame pressed on her, and she found herself questioning: Was something wrong with her for even thinking about it?

The very thought made her feel small, like she was doing something dirty, something shameful. She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to acknowledge that there was a part of her—hidden, deeply buried—that felt that way, that recoiled against the idea of being with a woman. Her heart raced as if the very thought would tear apart everything she had ever known about herself.

She swallowed hard, trying to push the feelings away. She could never have said it aloud—not even to Taryn. It was too much. Too foreign, too uncomfortable. It felt like it would unravel her, like it would expose something broken in her, something twisted that shouldn’t exist.

Nesta’s mind spiraled back to her mother—the woman who had molded her, who had carved out her place in the world for her, a place that always involved a man. Her mother’s teachings, her expectations, had been so clear, so concrete. There had never been room for anything else. Nesta had been raised to believe that her worth, her purpose, lay in pleasing the men around her—whether it was her father, the suitors she’d been pushed toward, or, later, Cassian.

She thought of Cassian then. His strong, comforting presence, the way he seemed to always be there, as though he were the anchor to her storm. She’d felt something for him, or maybe it was just the relief of finally having someone who didn’t look at her with disdain. He’d taken her by force, claimed her as his own in every sense of the word, and for a long time, Nesta had convinced herself that that—him, his touch, his dominance—was the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t love, not really, but it was what she had come to expect. It was what she knew.

She thought about her mother’s words, about the unspoken pressure to marry, to produce heirs, to keep the line intact. Men, men, men. It was all men. Every lesson, every expectation. That’s what she had been raised to understand: that women were supposed to belong to men, to be shaped by them, molded by them, loved by them. But when Nesta thought about it now, all she could feel was the tightness in her chest, the frustration, the resentment. She wasn’t sure if it was the men or herself she hated more, because somehow she felt complicit in it all. She let them define her, let them use her, let them claim her, even when it made her feel empty inside.

And now, she sat here, with Taryn, who was the opposite of all those expectations, who didn’t want a man at all. It made Nesta’s mind spin. How could someone—someone like her—be different? How could a woman choose to love another woman? It felt like an intrusion on everything she had been taught, like a rejection of her very existence. The very idea of it, of choosing a woman, felt so foreign and wrong, even if Nesta knew in her heart that Taryn wasn’t broken, wasn’t flawed.

It was her mother’s voice in her head, the disapproving glare she’d have if she knew. It was the legacy of generations of women who had never been given a choice, whose only purpose was to serve men.

As the silence stretched between them, Nesta couldn’t shake the feeling that Taryn might be able to see right through her, to the ugly thoughts lurking beneath the surface. She felt a cold knot twist in her stomach. What if Taryn knew? What if she could somehow read Nesta’s mind, understand the internalized disgust, the way her brain rejected this idea of women loving women?

Would Taryn hate her for it? For the part of her that recoiled at the thought? For the way she had been taught to see things in such narrow, rigid lines—men, women, roles, rules? The part of her that had tried to bury everything she thought she knew about herself, to keep it locked away so no one could see just how deeply confused she was by this new world she was stumbling into.

The thought gnawed at her. Taryn had never pushed, never tried to make Nesta feel anything other than comfortable, but Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if Taryn would look at her differently if she knew what was really running through her mind. Could she still see her as someone worthy of her company, or would she see the disgust, the shame?

The last thing Nesta wanted was to lose the only person who hadn’t looked at her like she was broken—who hadn’t looked at her like she was someone to be fixed, or worse, to be discarded. Taryn had made no judgment, offered no expectations. But now, Nesta felt like a fraud. Was it even possible to be around someone like Taryn without being honest with herself? Would Taryn hate her for thinking she wasn’t even capable of understanding who she truly was?

The weight of it all settled in her chest, the fear and the shame wrapping around her, tightening with each passing moment. She had come here, night after night, trying to numb herself, to forget. But now, she had no choice but to wonder if, deep down, Taryn could see her for what she truly was: a woman who didn’t even know herself enough to trust her own thoughts, a woman scared of everything she felt, of everything she was.

The night she’d run, it had felt like everything had collapsed on her. She had been suffocating under the weight of her own thoughts, the fear, the shame, the uncertainty. The silence that had stretched between her and Taryn had felt suffocating, and for the first time in a long while, Nesta had wanted to scream, to lash out at something, at someone. But instead, she had done what she always did when things felt too much—she ran.

Her feet had carried her out of the tavern before she even knew what she was doing. She hadn’t said a word to Taryn, not a single syllable, even as she saw the confusion in her gaze. She had just turned and fled, not caring where she went, just needing to escape. Escape from herself, from the thoughts she couldn’t stop, from the feelings she couldn’t control.

After that night, she hadn’t returned. Not once. The thought of walking through the door again, of facing Taryn, of facing herself, had felt impossible. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself go back there. What if Taryn saw the truth? What if she knew how broken, how lost Nesta really was? What if she saw how much she hated herself, how much she despised everything she had come to believe about herself, her desires, her place in the world? It was easier to just avoid it all, to pretend she had never gone to the tavern in the first place.

So she ran. It was the only thing she knew how to do. When things got too hard, when the weight of it all became too heavy, she ran. She ran from the pain, from the thoughts she couldn’t escape, from the guilt that seemed to follow her everywhere. She ran from herself, because it was easier than facing the truth.

Each night, she found herself staying away from the places that once felt like a refuge, from the people who might see through her carefully constructed facade. The tavern had been a place of escape, a place where she could lose herself in drink and company, but now it was just another reminder of how far she had fallen, how much she was drowning in her own mind.

And so, Nesta kept running. From everything. From the woman who had never asked her for anything more than to be herself. From the very thing she was too scared to understand. And, most of all, from the person she might become if she ever stopped long enough to look.

One night, after weeks of running, Nesta had found herself standing at the edge of a decision. She had tried to convince herself it was time to stop hiding, to stop running. The pull of the tavern had been too strong, and there, amidst the warmth and the laughter, she had found herself looking at a woman, someone who seemed to gaze at her with an openness that stirred something deep inside her—a feeling she couldn’t name, something that felt raw and unguarded. It was tempting, too tempting to push away.

She had approached, hesitant but curious, the sharp edge of her emotions still cutting through her resolve. The woman had smiled, and they had shared a drink. The conversation had flowed easily, and Nesta felt a strange, fleeting connection. She had told herself it was just a drink, just a conversation, that it didn’t have to mean anything. But in the back of her mind, she knew it was more. She wanted it to be more.

When the woman leaned in, her breath warm against Nesta’s skin, she didn’t pull away. It had felt so easy, so natural in the moment, and she had thought for a second—just a second—that maybe, just maybe, this was how it could feel.

But when the woman’s hands had touched her skin, when their lips had met, everything had shattered.

It wasn’t the woman’s fault. It wasn’t even her fault. But as the kiss deepened, as the heat of her touch spread through Nesta, a wave of discomfort hit her, too strong to ignore. The hands on her body felt wrong—too familiar, too foreign at the same time. The lips, the warmth, the taste—it all blurred together into something unnatural. Her stomach twisted, her chest tightened, and her mind screamed for her to stop.

And then the voices came. The voices she’d tried so hard to push down, to ignore. You were never meant for this, they whispered, cold and harsh. This is wrong. You’re not supposed to want this. You’re not supposed to be like them. Her mind, once so clouded by drink, now seemed crystal clear, every word sharp, every fear magnified. She heard her mother’s voice, distant but unmistakable—You are a disappointment. A failure. Do you really think they’ll accept you? The voices of men from her past, from her childhood, echoed next—You were made for a man. You’ll never be enough for anything else.

Her chest tightened painfully as she shoved the woman away, her hands trembling as she backed off, unable to breathe through the storm of thoughts and shame that overtook her. She felt trapped in her own skin, like every part of her was screaming at her, telling her she had done something unforgivable. That she had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

Nesta didn’t even say anything. She just turned and ran.

She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself. The kiss hadn’t been bad—it wasn’t the woman’s fault. It was her own mind that had betrayed her. She could still feel the heat of the woman’s skin against hers, but all she could hear were the horrible things in her head, the accusations and judgment she had spent so long trying to bury.

The guilt felt suffocating, the rejection of herself complete. She had wanted to give in, to let herself feel something different, something that was hers. But the moment it became real, her mind spiraled into chaos. The whispers of everything she had been taught, of everything she was supposed to be, consumed her.

Nesta had retreated into the dark confines of her apartment, the world outside fading into a blur she no longer wanted to confront. She barely left anymore, choosing to stay in the silence of her own misery. Each day bled into the next, a cycle of self-loathing and numbness. She had stopped even pretending to care about the world beyond her door. It was easier this way. Easier to hide from everyone, from everything, from the part of herself she didn’t understand and feared.

The apartment had become her refuge, but also her prison. The walls closed in on her, suffocating, but it didn’t matter. It felt like the only place she belonged now, the only place she could hide from herself. She spent her days numbing the pain—drinking, sleeping, avoiding. It was a hollow existence, but it was all she had.

Some nights, as the darkness crept in, Nesta found herself wishing she could disappear entirely. If she stayed here long enough, isolated and buried under her own guilt, maybe the world would forget about her. Maybe the whispers in her head would finally fade.

She had no real desire to live anymore. The constant weight of everything—the shame, the confusion, the fear—felt too heavy to bear. If she was lucky, maybe she’d wake up one day and find that it was over. That she had disappeared without a trace, like she had never existed at all.

But she didn’t die. Not yet. So she kept hiding, kept suffocating in the quiet, hoping for something—anything—to end it. The thought of dying seemed almost comforting. It would be easy to slip away, to not have to feel anymore, to not have to face the parts of herself that made her want to run and hide.

The knock at the door came suddenly, breaking the silence that had swallowed her whole. Nesta froze for a moment, sitting on the edge of her couch, eyes fixed on the door. For a heartbeat, she convinced herself it was Cassian. Maybe he was finally here to tell her how horrible she looked—how pathetic she had become. He would taunt her with some sharp, sarcastic comment, maybe even drop some well-meaning remark about how Feyre had been concerned, about how her family was worried for her. He might mock her for staying holed up in her apartment, running away from everything, expecting a comeback from her, some biting response to make him feel justified in his judgment.

It would be just like him.

Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from the dread of facing him���of hearing him look down on her again. The thought of seeing his face made her stomach churn. What did it matter if he came? He wouldn’t understand. He never did.

But then the knock came again, louder this time, pulling her from her spiral. She gritted her teeth and stood, her legs shaky as she walked toward the door. Her breath hitched in her throat, and for a moment, she considered ignoring it. Let whoever it was think she wasn’t home. Let them go away.

But the knock persisted, and against her better judgment, she turned the handle.

When the door creaked open, it wasn’t Cassian standing there.

It was Taryn.

Nesta tensed, every muscle in her body tightening as she stood in the doorway, staring at Taryn. Her mind screamed at her to close the door, to retreat back into the safety of her isolation. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need anyone seeing the mess she had become, seeing how far she had fallen. But for some reason, her feet didn’t move, and she found herself staring into Taryn’s calm, unwavering gaze.

“What do you want?” Nesta asked, her voice harsher than she intended. Her stomach twisted with unease, but Taryn didn’t flinch.

Taryn tilted her head slightly, a faint, knowing smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Company,” she said simply. “I thought I’d come by, see how you’re doing.” She paused for a moment, as though weighing her words carefully. “If you don’t mind.”

Nesta’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt the walls of her apartment pressing in, felt the weight of every empty bottle, every wasted night, all of it hanging heavy in the air. She wanted to slam the door in Taryn’s face, tell her to leave, but she couldn’t. Something held her there.

Taryn didn’t look disgusted or appalled by the mess—she didn’t even flinch when her eyes scanned the room. Her expression remained the same: calm, open, unbothered. Nesta almost wished she would say something—anything—that would make this easier. But instead, she just waited, quiet and patient.

Nesta swallowed, her voice coming out almost a whisper. “How did you know where I lived?”

Taryn didn’t seem surprised by the question. She simply shrugged, her eyes never leaving Nesta’s. “You’re not as hard to find as you think,” she said, her tone light, teasing. “I pay attention.”

The words hung in the air, and Nesta felt a strange, uncomfortable shiver run down her spine. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was that made her so hesitant, so conflicted. Was it the fact that Taryn had found her so easily? Or was it the way she made Nesta feel—like someone cared, like someone was actually willing to step into her mess without turning away in disgust?

Nesta didn’t answer right away, her thoughts a tangle of confusion and something she couldn’t quite name. She should send Taryn away. She should shut the door, lock it, and forget this ever happened.

But then she felt herself step aside, the door opening just enough for Taryn to slip past her. A part of Nesta wanted to stop her, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“Fine,” Nesta muttered under her breath, almost to herself. “You can come in.”

Taryn gave a quiet nod, stepping into the dingy apartment with a grace that almost made it feel less suffocating. She didn’t comment on the state of the place, didn’t judge Nesta as she thought she would. Instead, she simply walked in, her presence calm, her eyes taking in the room without speaking. It was as though she had seen it all before.

Nesta closed the door behind them, the weight of the decision settling heavily in her chest, but she didn’t regret it. Not yet.

Taryn’s voice was soft but certain as she glanced around the cramped apartment, her eyes landing on Nesta. “Are you hungry?”

Nesta almost wanted to laugh at the question. Hunger felt like an impossible thing to focus on—so distant, so unimportant compared to everything else swirling in her head. She shook her head, her voice dismissive as she replied, “No.”

But as soon as the word left her mouth, her stomach growled—loud, unrelenting, betraying her in a way that made her wish she could disappear into the floor. She flushed, embarrassed, but tried to hide it by crossing her arms tightly over her chest, looking away.

Taryn didn’t miss it. Her gaze softened, a small, knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Alright then,” she said, as though it were no surprise. “I’ll make something. You look like you could use it.”

Nesta wanted to protest, wanted to tell her she didn’t need anything, but Taryn had already turned toward the kitchen before she could voice another word. Nesta stood frozen for a moment, watching her. She didn’t know why Taryn had decided to stay, why she seemed so determined to take care of her when Nesta had been doing nothing but pushing everyone away. The kitchen was barely big enough to be called a kitchen, just a small counter and a stove with cabinets that had seen better days. Nesta knew there wasn’t much in the cupboards. A few cans of vegetables, some dried pasta, maybe a bottle of sauce if she was lucky. She hadn’t made much of an effort to restock lately.

She rubbed her face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling on her shoulders. Why does she care?

Taryn, though, didn’t seem bothered by the small, threadbare apartment. She walked over to the counter with a calm, purposeful air, and as she started pulling out ingredients, her movements were fluid, practiced—like someone who had done this countless times before. It made Nesta feel awkward in contrast, as if her own existence in this space wasn’t enough. She had no idea why Taryn would want to be here, but a part of her was too tired to question it.

Nesta moved toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as she watched Taryn work. Her mouth felt dry, her stomach protesting as the scent of something delicious began to fill the air. It wasn’t much, just a simple meal, but the warmth of it felt like something she hadn’t experienced in far too long.

Taryn turned to Nesta, her hands steady and sure as she set a plate in front of her. The dish was simple—scrambled eggs with soft, buttery potatoes and a side of fresh herbs sprinkled over the top. There was something rustic about it, nothing extravagant, but the way the steam rose from the plate and the rich smell of the food made Nesta’s stomach growl again.

She looked at the plate, unsure how to react. It wasn’t much, but it was the kind of thing that someone would make for you because they cared, not because they were obligated. The warm yellow of the eggs, the golden crisp of the potatoes, and the fresh green herbs dotted on top—it all seemed so foreign to her now. She hadn’t felt like she deserved something like this in ages.

Taryn stood back, watching Nesta’s expression carefully, her eyes calm but knowing. “Eat,” she said quietly, her voice soft but firm. “You need it.”

Nesta hesitated for a moment, still unsure of what to make of it. She didn’t want to accept kindness. She didn’t want to let anyone see her weakness. But as she sat there, the hunger that had been gnawing at her for days surged forward, her body demanding attention. She slowly picked up the fork, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought a bite to her mouth.

The food was simple, yes, but the warmth of it was like a balm to the raw, hollow ache inside her. It was comforting, in a way she hadn’t realized she needed, and despite herself, she found herself taking another bite.

Taryn, who had sat across from her with her own plate in hand, simply watched her with a quiet understanding. There was no judgment in her gaze, only something that felt like patience, like she knew this was just a small step.

But it felt bigger to Nesta—like a crack in the wall she’d built around herself.

As Nesta set the fork down, her stomach full but still tight with an uncomfortable mix of hunger and unease, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The silence between them stretched for a moment, and just as she thought she might breathe easier, Taryn’s voice broke through it, soft but unyielding.

“I know what happened,” she said, her gaze unwavering, eyes steady on Nesta.

The words hit her like a blow to the chest, and immediately, Nesta’s stomach twisted. Her breath caught in her throat, the sudden rush of nausea threatening to push everything she’d just eaten right back up. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t breathe. Her pulse raced, her skin feeling too tight, too warm.

The last thing she wanted was to talk about it. She didn’t want to relive it, didn’t want anyone to know the ugly things she’d buried in her past, things she hadn’t even let herself acknowledge until now. She should have seen it coming—Taryn was perceptive, too observant for her own good. But hearing those words from her lips was like standing on the edge of a cliff, with the wind howling in her ears, ready to push her over.

Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nesta forced out, her voice strained, cracking under the weight of the lie.

But Taryn didn’t push her. Instead, she sat back in her chair, quiet, waiting for Nesta to meet her gaze, her expression calm, almost unreadable. The silence stretched, and Nesta felt her chest tighten, her heart pounding painfully. She couldn’t even look at her—couldn’t stand the thought of being seen so completely, so raw.

She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to disappear. Instead, all she could do was breathe, shallow and quick, as the room seemed to close in around her.

“I’m not going to force you to talk,” Taryn said softly, her voice gentle but firm, like she knew Nesta needed that space.

Taryn’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it felt like a lifeline in the thick, suffocating silence. “It’s okay,” she said, her tone steady and warm. “You don’t have to be okay right now.”

And then something cracked inside Nesta.

The words weren’t anything special—they didn’t offer a solution or make any promises. But the way Taryn said them, with such quiet understanding and no expectation, it was enough. It was enough to tear away the facade Nesta had been holding together for so long, enough to let the tears fall. She wasn’t ready for it, didn’t even know why it was happening, but suddenly there was no stopping it.

Her breath hitched, the dam inside her breaking, and before she could even think, the tears spilled over. She didn’t make a sound at first, just blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the feeling of weakness, of being so exposed. But it didn’t help. The tears kept coming, faster now, like a storm she couldn’t control.

And still, Taryn didn’t say anything more. She didn’t reach for Nesta or try to comfort her in some grand, overbearing way. She just sat there, still and patient, letting Nesta cry, letting her feel what she’d been holding inside for far too long. There was no judgment in her eyes, no pity. Just a quiet acceptance, like she understood, like she knew that sometimes, it wasn’t about fixing things—it was just about being there.

Nesta wiped at her eyes roughly, but the tears didn’t stop. She felt embarrassed, humiliated even, but something in her—some part that had been broken for so long—was unraveling. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t known she needed it, but the simple act of letting someone in, letting someone see the cracks, felt like a release. It felt like freedom.

Taryn didn’t rush her, didn’t try to say anything else. She just stayed silent, her gaze soft but unwavering, like she was giving Nesta the time she needed, even if Nesta didn’t know how much time that would be.

She just let her cry.

And Nesta didn’t stop.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites

[1800naveen]

Since it's said that Nesta was banging a bunch of people...

Imma assume a woman or two were thrown in there.

Amren did say she fucked anything that came her way so bets believe she got with a woman.

Probably felt more alive with a woman than with any man.

The Sapphic Nesta agenda will thrive👍🏾

[theothergal]

Nesta's treatment makes me so mad that I want to write a story were a young woman trapped into an abusive relationships within an abusive found family, who's also the Government, falls in love with a spy sent to help destroy said found family.

And the spy Is a woman, of course.

[motherrstorm]

sarah janet maas had no business making nesta archeron end up with a man. that girl is so obviously gay, that she broke my unbreakable gay-dar. and to make matters worse, she ended up with the straightest-most vanilla-gymbro-dick rides his homies-has no boundaries with his girl best friend-can't go one paragraph without thinking about her tits-emotional range of a toddler-man. no one can convince me that the author actually likes her.

[rosesncarnations]

The High Ladies of Autumn

[ladydeath-vanserra]

hello??? HELLO???????

art credit: inkfaeart

[glossamerfaerie]

Idk if this is wishful thinking, but the priestesses/Valkyries exude sapphic vibes. Roslin and Deidre?? Ananke?? Ilana?? ANYONE?!! 👩‍❤️‍👩 You’re telling me that this female fighting cohort doesn’t have a single romance yet. Not on my watch!

I know a couple of them sighed whenever Az walked by… maybe they’re bisexual! But I feel very strongly that someone is in a friends-to-lovers journey right now in the Library.** 🥹

Imagine if two priestesses have been in a relationship the whole time (like, DECADES) but haven’t advertised it because they want privacy. Then one day someone gets injured during training; her partner FREAKS OUT and rushes to help, peppering kisses everywhere. Cassian and Azriel are SHOOK, questioning their observation skills. Nesta is like, “okay, is there anyone else sleeping together who wants to tell us?” and TWO OTHER couples awkwardly raise their hands. Emerie is like 👀 and Gwyn just grins (she’s known the whole time, obviously, cuz of her superior sense of smell). 🧡🤍🩷

___

** obviously Gwynriel are in a friends-to-lovers journey, too!

[velarisnightsky444]

masterlist

Go to the updated masterlist, because this one is old and doesn't have everything.

UPDATED MASTERLIST

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Full Length Fanfics

Dark Paradise(ACOTAR) (nesta x azriel's sister) Stargirl(ACOTAR) (azriel x rhys's sister) Cherry Blossom(ACOTAR)(feysand x tamlin's siser) Where The Spirit Meets The Bone(FOTA)(nicasia x cardan's sister) Not All Glass Shatters(Shatter Me) Diamonds Can Kill(The Hunger Games) Violets for Roses(The Society) It’s A Scream Baby(Scream)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Azriel:

smut: So Close Mating Frenzy

fluff The First Taste

angst Spoiled Little Princess

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Eris

series: Scorched Shadows

smut: Little Fawn

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

headcannons: none yet

random: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Nesta

smut: Look At Yourself

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Feyre

smut: Good Girl

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Elain

smut: Pretty Little Thing

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Lucien

smut: Greedy Little Fox Love

fluff: none yet

angst none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Morrigan

smut: Stay Still The Birchin

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Cassian

smut: The Headboard

fluff: none yet

angst: The 1

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Rhysand

smut: The Mess You Caused

fluff: none yet

angst:

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

POLY/SHIP FICS

if it says “x reader” its a poly fic, if it doesnt, its just the two characters. (feyre x rhys, nesta x cassian, ect)

Feysand:

smut: Punishment(Feysand x Reader) Caught In Between(Feysand x Reader)

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Nessian:

smut: Pathetic(Nessian x Reader)

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Gwynriel:

smut: Shut Her Up(Gwynriel x Reader)

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Elucien

smut: Teatime

fluff:

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Emorie:

smut: Somewhere More Private(Emorie x Reader) Desperate(Emorie x Reader)

fluff: none yet

angst: none yet

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[goddessofwisdom18]

I ship Amren and Merrill 🤭 Just two bitches who love history. They definitely already know each other and had a fling a couple centuries ago. Or they hate each other (and there’s sexual tension underneath that). I’m betting on it.

[safirefire]

“Marigold laughed then—what is so wrong about being a bitch? It is the closest a girl can be to a wolf”

-Sydney J. Shields, The Honey Witch

[potatoplace]

Omg okay so listening to Welcome To The Family by Watsky and omg. Thoughts. Incoherent. Fic idea.

Obviously an ACOTAR x reader just not sure whoooo be like reader would have been orphaned at a young age/ not had family in a looong time

Omg omg

NESTA X READER YESSSS

Okay reader and Nesta meet and have a whirlwind romance, like falling in love within a few weeks, they run off and get married and then present themselves to the inner circle regardless of what they say and just have a nice cute happy lil life

Also yes this is just my thought process in text form lol

Yes yes yes I really like this I've been thinking about a sweet sapphic Nesta story all night (thank you @ravenclawvioletevergraden 🫶) and now I rlly wanna write this in the new year yesssss Nesta deserves LOVE. AND ROMANCE. AND A PARTNER WHO ACTUALLY GIVES A DAMN (I'm glaring at YOU acosf Cassian)

But yeah like cute lil dates going to the bookstore omg it could be like Rory and Dean in Gilmore Girls aweee

And picnics where they bring books and sit by the sidra

And cooking together even when they're both kinda uncertain about how to cook, maybe lil cooking classesssss aweee

Reader helping Nesta through some of her trauma, getting her in to see a THERAPIST DAMMIT, actually listens to herrrr

Reader learns to dance for Nesta, and surprises her on one of their dates or maybe right after their private wedding

Nesta takes to embroidering the cuffs of readers shirts with little flowers, or their initials, just little things to remind her of Nesta

Reader stands up for Nesta during the family dinners that they do end up going to, and doesn't let her take shit over how she reacted to her trauma- and lets the IC know how incompetent they were in helping Nesta. (Pre acosf stuff cause fuck that I'm not reading the book anytime soon lol)

And yeah just like. Lots of cute fluffy fluffy cuteness. And Nesta sweetness. Cause she deserves it

[hrizantemy]

Weeks turned into months, and somehow, against all odds, Nesta was… good. The word itself felt foreign, strange even, as if it didn’t belong in the same breath as her name. Good. She whispered it in her mind sometimes, testing its weight, its truth. It wasn’t perfection—far from it—but it was solid, steady. It was enough.

She found herself waking up without that familiar pit in her stomach, the one that had made every morning feel like a battle before it even began. The days no longer dragged her down into the darkness she’d come to know so intimately. She didn’t dread every hour that stretched ahead of her. Instead, she lived. She moved through her days with something she had almost forgotten—purpose.

It wasn’t some grand transformation. There were still bad days, moments where the shadows crept back in, whispering doubts and regrets into her ear. But they didn’t consume her anymore. She didn’t let them. On those days, she let herself feel the weight, but she also let herself move through it, knowing it would pass.

And, much to her own astonishment, she was happy. That word felt even stranger than good. Happy had always seemed like something meant for other people, for Elain with her gardens or Feyre with her perfect little family. But now it belonged to Nesta too. It was small, quiet happiness—found in the warmth of sunlight through her window, in the pages of a book that drew her into another world, in the sound of laughter shared with someone who didn’t expect her to be anything but herself.

Taryn had a way of appearing just when Nesta needed her most, though she would never admit it out loud. She didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t pry or prod, but her presence was grounding. They had developed an unspoken rhythm, a comfortable give and take. Taryn would knock on her door with a knowing smile and a bottle of that smooth liquid Nesta had come to enjoy, or drag her out to hear music at the tavern, or simply sit with her in the quiet of her small apartment.

Nesta found herself smiling more often, laughing even. It still caught her off guard sometimes, how natural it felt. It didn’t feel like she was pretending or forcing it, like she had in the past. This happiness was real, strange and fragile as it seemed. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself hold onto it. She let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she deserved it.

Nesta had found a job, though she wouldn’t have called it that at first. It was more out of spite than anything else, but spite was a good motivator, perhaps the best one she had. The idea had come to her in the middle of a tense conversation with Cassian during one of his visits—if they could even be called that. He’d offhandedly suggested that maybe she ought to “find something to do with herself” instead of wallowing. The words had stung, as they always did, but instead of snapping back, Nesta had steeled herself. Fine. She’d show him. She’d do something, if only to shut him up.

The bookstore was small, tucked away on a quiet street she hadn’t even noticed until she’d been wandering aimlessly one afternoon. The bell above the door jingled when she stepped inside, and the air smelled of old paper and faint lavender. Shelves were crammed into every corner, some leaning precariously under the weight of too many books. A frazzled-looking woman, with hair coming loose from its bun, had glanced up from the counter with a harried expression.

“Looking for something specific?” the woman had asked, though she didn’t sound like she had the time or patience for small talk.

Nesta, on impulse, had said, “I’m looking for work.”

The woman blinked, clearly taken aback. “You want to work here?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” Her tone had been sharper than she intended, but she didn’t backtrack.

The woman had studied her for a long moment, her gaze sweeping over Nesta as if measuring her worth. Then, with a sigh that sounded like reluctant relief, she’d muttered, “Fine. You’re hired. I need the help, and you’ve got the look of someone who won’t run off after a week.”

Nesta hadn’t known whether to be flattered or insulted, but she’d nodded and accepted anyway.

Now, she found herself standing behind the counter most days, the faint hum of activity from the street filtering through the windows. It wasn’t glamorous, and it certainly wasn’t a grand calling, but it was something. She sorted through piles of books, rearranged shelves, and rang up the occasional customer. The work was simple but steady, and that steadiness was a strange comfort.

The woman, Amina, didn’t ask questions. She didn’t hover or pry, which Nesta appreciated more than she could say. In return, Nesta found herself working harder than she thought she would. She’d never imagined herself in a place like this—surrounded by books, of all things—but the quiet was nice. It gave her something to focus on, something to do with her hands and her mind.

And though Nesta would never admit it, there was a certain satisfaction in it. Spite had gotten her in the door, but something else—something softer, more hesitant—was keeping her there. Amina had trusted her, even when Nesta hadn’t trusted herself, and that was a kind of kindness she hadn’t been expecting.

There was one other worker at the bookstore, a girl who looked younger than Nesta—probably in her early twenties. Her name was Elia, and she was pretty in a way that seemed effortless: soft brown curls that always framed her face perfectly, warm brown eyes that sparkled with every smile, and an energy that seemed boundless. Nesta had taken one look at her on her first day and decided she wouldn’t like her.

People who smiled that much, who carried themselves as though the world was something to embrace rather than endure, always grated on her nerves. Elia was the type of person Nesta would have avoided entirely in another life, too bright, too cheerful, too… good.

But Elia had taken a liking to her almost immediately. From the moment Nesta stepped behind the counter, Elia was there, talking.

“So, you’re the new help,” Elia had said with a teasing grin. “You don’t look like the bookish type, but hey, I’m not here to judge.”

Nesta had scowled at her, crossing her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Elia had just laughed, like Nesta’s irritation was amusing rather than intimidating. “Nothing bad! Just that you seem… sharp. You know, like you’re more likely to tell someone off than recommend a good romance novel.”

Nesta had bristled but didn’t respond. To her annoyance, Elia had stayed, leaning on the counter as though determined to peel back her layers. Over time, Nesta realized Elia wasn’t just talkative—she was genuinely kind, with a knack for finding the good in everyone.

“Want to grab lunch?” Elia would ask during their shifts, despite Nesta’s clipped responses.

“Need help with that stack?” she’d offer, even when Nesta was clearly managing fine on her own.

Elia didn’t seem deterred by Nesta’s cold demeanor. If anything, her persistence only grew, like she’d decided befriending Nesta was some kind of challenge. And though Nesta wouldn’t admit it, there was something disarming about the girl’s sunny attitude.

Elia was always smiling, always humming under her breath as she shelved books or rang up customers. She seemed to carry a little light with her wherever she went, and though it was irritating at first, Nesta couldn’t help but notice how it made the small bookstore feel a little less suffocating.

Sometimes, Nesta would catch herself watching Elia out of the corner of her eye, marveling at how someone could be so unguarded, so at ease in the world. It was baffling. And though she hated to admit it, maybe even a little enviable.

Despite Nesta’s sharp tone and pointed glares, Elia hadn’t been scared away. If anything, the girl’s persistence seemed to double with every cold response Nesta gave. For a while, Nesta thought she’d crack under the weight of Elia’s relentless cheerfulness, but the girl never wavered, always meeting Nesta’s barbs with that same easy smile.

So, begrudgingly, Nesta had decided to let her in—not fully, but enough to stop snapping at her during their shifts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, not really. It just… happened.

It started small: lunch on their breaks. Elia would nudge Nesta toward the staff room with a playful, “Come on, you have to eat,” and despite herself, Nesta would follow. At first, they ate in near silence, with Elia doing most of the talking as Nesta focused on her food. But slowly, the silences became less frequent, filled instead with quiet conversation about books they liked, customers they couldn’t stand, or the day-to-day monotony of work.

Then came the book recommendations.

“You should read this one,” Elia had said one afternoon, sliding a worn copy of The Secret Garden across the counter.

Nesta had raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a children’s book.”

“It’s more than that,” Elia insisted. “Trust me, you’ll like it. It’s about finding beauty in the unexpected. You’re into that sort of thing, right?”

Nesta had scoffed but took the book home anyway. And to her surprise, she read it.

Before long, their camaraderie spilled out of the bookstore. Soon after their shifts, they were walking together through the city, stopping at cafes for coffee or tea. It wasn’t anything formal or planned—just an unspoken routine that grew between them.

“Do you ever stop smiling?” Nesta had asked one evening as they sat in a small, bustling cafe.

“Nope,” Elia had said with a grin, sipping her tea. “But I’ll tone it down if it bothers you.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes but didn’t ask her to stop.

There was something disarming about the way Elia moved through life—bright and open, like she hadn’t learned to build walls the way Nesta had. It made Nesta feel a little lighter, even if she’d never admit it. Elia had a way of drawing her out, of coaxing her into moments of warmth she didn’t think she had left.

And though it was slow, almost imperceptible, Nesta began to realize that maybe letting someone in didn’t have to be as terrible as she’d always thought.

Nesta had never thought she’d make friends again. After everything that had happened, after the pain, the isolation, the walls she’d built around herself, she’d come to believe that the people she could trust were few and far between. She had her sisters, and that was enough. Friends were something people like her didn’t need.

But, somehow, Elia had slipped past those walls she thought were impenetrable. It wasn’t something Nesta had expected to happen, nor something she had planned for. At first, it was just… convenient. Elia was there, and she didn’t give up on her, no matter how much Nesta tried to push her away. Slowly, though, the exchanges had turned into something more. Something Nesta hadn’t realized she was missing.

It was the little things—those walks through the city, the spontaneous visits to the small cafes, the gentle teasing and the quiet moments where they simply existed in each other’s company. It wasn’t like anything Nesta had had before, not the toxic friendships of her youth or the false camaraderie she’d tried to form after her fall from grace. This was different, somehow softer, without strings attached.

But Nesta had never told Elia that. She hadn’t told her how much she appreciated the quiet persistence, the way Elia had never given up on her when most people would have. She hadn’t told her that she hadn’t expected to ever feel this way again.

Instead, she kept it locked away, hidden beneath layers of her sharp tongue and her guarded exterior. Because admitting it felt too vulnerable, too real. There was always that part of her, deep down, that feared being seen. Being cared for, in a way that mattered.

So, she kept her thoughts to herself, allowing the friendship to unfold without fully acknowledging it for what it was. The idea of opening up again, of letting someone in that much, was terrifying. But she couldn’t deny that she felt something—something more than she’d felt in a long time—and that scared her too.

And yet, every time Elia smiled at her, every time she made some quiet, offhand remark, it felt… right.

Nesta worked tirelessly, every day at the bookstore, taking on extra hours, and pushing herself harder than she thought she could. It was a quiet sort of determination that took root in her, born from a mixture of pride and the need to prove to herself that she could stand on her own. She didn’t need anyone’s help—especially not Cassian’s, especially not the weight of Rhysand’s favor hanging over her head.

The debts she’d owed, both in the form of alcohol she’d binged on to numb herself and the money she’d borrowed from Rhysand to cover it, were finally paid off. She did it slowly, scraping together enough to make the first payment, then the next, until she was free of it. It felt strange to be clear of that particular burden, but there was something else weighing on her now—a freedom that came with being independent. She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped resenting that debt and started using it as fuel, but now it was gone, and she didn’t have to owe anyone anything.

And then came the apartment. The cramped, dim space that had served as her sanctuary for months, but now felt more like a prison. It had never really been home—not after everything. It had been a place to hide, a place to fall apart. So, she left. She didn’t tell her sisters, not even Feyre. She knew they would worry, maybe try to convince her to stay close, try to check in on her, to keep an eye on her. And Cassian? Well, she certainly didn’t want him knocking on her door again, with that knowing look in his eyes, and that infuriating tone as he tried to “help” her, as though she couldn’t take care of herself. She didn’t want to deal with it, didn’t want him barging in, assuming that he had the right to manage her life when he couldn’t even handle his own.

Instead, Nesta rented a small, private flat. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. And she was damn proud of it. No more debts hanging over her head. No more constantly worrying about when someone would come to remind her of how she’d fallen. It was a place where she could breathe, even if the air still felt a little too thin. She didn’t expect anyone to understand, and she certainly didn’t want anyone to ask questions. She had no answers for them anyway.

The move had been easy—just a few things in a small suitcase and the most essential items. The books she’d been collecting over the months, the things she’d started to care about again, they went with her. She didn’t need the reminders of her past life, the way it felt to live under the same roof as people who had never truly seen her, never truly understood her. This was her new beginning. Even if it was only small, even if it was only for her.

And she didn’t say a word to her sisters. They’d find out eventually, when she was ready to let them in again. But for now, she needed the silence, the space to keep working, to keep pushing forward without anyone interfering. Without Cassian barging in.

She wasn’t sure if she was running from them, from her past, or from the very part of herself that she wasn’t ready to face again. But that night, as she locked the door behind her for the last time, she didn’t look back.

Taryn had helped her in more ways than Nesta had initially expected, though she didn’t admit it to herself at the time. When she’d found a new apartment, it had been bare, just like the one she’d left behind. The walls were empty, the floors felt too large and too cold, and there was only a mattress in the middle of the room—a grim reminder of how little she had. She hadn’t even realized how much it bothered her until Taryn casually suggested one evening that it was time to buy furniture.

“I’m coming with you,” Taryn had said. “No more living like you’re in a damn hotel.”

At first, Nesta had balked at the idea. She didn’t need help, she could manage it herself. She had no interest in filling the space with things she didn’t need. But Taryn had been persistent. Eventually, Nesta had given in. And, oddly enough, it hadn’t been as awful as she expected.

The two of them had ventured into the city one afternoon, and as they browsed through small furniture shops, Taryn had somehow made the experience feel lighter. She made the process bearable, even as Nesta couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable in the bustling stores. Her head kept spinning with all the choices, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this would really make her feel better or just create another false sense of comfort.

When they reached the second-hand shop, Taryn had spotted a small couch and immediately suggested it. “It’s perfect for you. Cozy and practical, just like you need,” she had said, grinning. But Nesta had hesitated, unsure if this was really what she wanted.

It had been Elia, of all people, who came to the rescue. Taryn admitted, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that her own apartment was sparse, that she didn’t know much about decorating, and that she needed help picking things out for Nesta. Elia, who always had a bright and energetic way of looking at things, had volunteered immediately. The two of them had met up at the store, and Elia had taken the reins without hesitation.

To Nesta’s surprise, Elia had a keen eye for interior design. She picked out colors that suited the space, offered suggestions for arranging the furniture, and even found a few small decorations that added life to the room. It was strange—she had never expected Elia to be the one to turn this mundane task into something almost enjoyable. The way Elia had seamlessly fit into the process, giving advice and showing her how to make the place her own, made the experience feel less foreign, less like a duty, and more like something that could actually be done.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Nesta had allowed herself to truly feel at ease. There was no judgment in the air. The stress that had lingered in the back of her mind started to melt away, replaced by something unexpected—gratitude, maybe even comfort. Taryn’s presence had always been a quiet support, and Elia’s unexpected skill at decorating had helped guide them both in a way that Nesta could appreciate. It had been a reminder that not everything needed to feel like a battle.

By the end of the day, Nesta had a couch, a small dining table, a few chairs, and a rug to soften the floor. The space didn’t feel so hollow anymore. It didn’t feel like she was just passing through; it felt like hers. It felt like something she had created.

Later, after they’d loaded everything into her apartment, Taryn had sat on the couch with her, and Elia had been the one to break the silence, offering an unexpected compliment.

“You’re really good at making a space feel like a home, Nesta,” Elia had said.

For a moment, Nesta had felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. She hadn’t been sure if she was capable of that, if she even deserved to make a home for herself. But in that moment, she allowed herself to believe it.

It had felt strange to open up, to offer even a small part of herself. Nesta had spent so long guarding her secrets, holding everything inside, never giving anything away. She had been terrified that if she shared too much, she would be exposed, vulnerable, and it would only lead to more rejection, more pain.

But there, sitting on her new couch with Taryn and Elia, something shifted. It wasn’t the same as it had been with her family—there was no pressure, no expectation. They weren’t looking at her like she was a broken thing that needed fixing, and they weren’t judging her for the things she couldn’t control. Taryn, always quiet and steady, had never pushed, and Elia had simply been there, warm and understanding, in her own way.

It had started with something small, something easy—a fragment of her past, a single memory she had buried deep inside. She had told them about the Cauldron, how it had changed her, how it had made her into something else, something that didn’t fit in anywhere. About being made Fae, about the pain it had caused her, and how it had left her with scars that no one could see.

She had even told them about the bathtubs, something that had never quite felt right after the change. She had tried to avoid it, to force herself, but the discomfort still lingered, a constant reminder of what she’d lost.

It had been a small piece of herself, just a fragment of her past, but it had felt different when she said it aloud. There was no judgment in Taryn’s eyes, no disbelief in Elia’s. For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t felt like the world was collapsing around her, like she was carrying a burden that no one else could understand.

It had been strange, letting them in, but somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Nesta had realized that maybe, just maybe, this was what it felt like to have friends. To feel seen without being judged. To share something of herself without the fear of it being used against her.

And as she sat there, letting the words settle between them, she knew she had given them something important. A piece of her that she had never shared with anyone else. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Taryn had been the one to bring it up, a quiet suggestion one evening after they had finished dinner together. “I know someone who could help,” she had said, a flicker of hesitation in her voice. “He does this kind of work. A friend of mine. It might be easier than you think.”

Nesta had hesitated, as always. The idea of someone else seeing her, seeing the scars she carried from the Cauldron, felt wrong. She had lived with the discomfort for so long, had forced herself to manage, to adapt. But Taryn’s persistence had eventually worn her down, and after a few more gentle nudges, Nesta had agreed—though reluctantly.

The next day, they met with Taryn’s friend, a man who was quiet and kind. There was no judgment in his gaze, no probing questions. He didn’t need an explanation. That was the most important thing. He simply saw her as a person, someone who needed help, and that was all. No further inquiries, no unwelcome sympathy.

Instead of a bathtub, he had suggested a shower. Something simpler, more manageable for Nesta, something that wouldn’t bring the same sense of unease that had haunted her. The space was clean, comfortable, and the man had worked quickly, efficiently.

When the work was done, Taryn’s friend hadn’t asked for anything extravagant. Instead, he gave her a discount, offering it with such casual kindness that Nesta found herself slightly taken aback. It wasn’t something she was used to. People usually wanted something in return, whether it was money or gratitude, but he had simply nodded and said, “It’s no trouble. You’re welcome.”

It had been an easy thing, a small task that turned out to be a surprisingly freeing experience. But more than that, it had reminded Nesta of how, sometimes, help could come in the most unexpected ways. And for the first time in a long time, she realized she hadn’t had to prove anything to anyone. There were no expectations, no ulterior motives—just simple kindness. It had felt… normal.

Nesta had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, a routine that felt surprisingly stable considering everything that had come before. She and Taryn still frequented the tavern, a place that now held a different kind of warmth for her. The music was still beautiful, the sounds of the violins and voices weaving through the air like threads of a tapestry. And the atmosphere no longer made her feel on edge. It was a place where she could exist without expectations, without judgment.

She had limited herself to a drink or two, something she didn’t do out of obligation, but because she could. It was a subtle form of control that felt empowering, even if it was something small. She had learned to be cautious with alcohol, with herself, and the way it had once loosened her inhibitions now served as a reminder of how far she’d come. No more drinking until she couldn’t remember the night, no more finding herself in the arms of someone she didn’t know, someone who never saw her.

She had stopped going home with strangers, the kind of action that had once felt like a way to fill the emptiness, to drown out the voices in her head. It was a choice she had made, a silent vow to herself. She wasn’t ready to touch anyone, to allow herself to be vulnerable with anyone in that way. Not after everything that had happened. Not after the years of conditioning herself to think that her worth was tied to the touch of others.

She didn’t know when or if she’d be ready to open up like that again, or even if she wanted to. Her mind was still a maze, full of questions she didn’t have answers to. What did she want? Was it men? Women? Both? Her attraction to Taryn, the gentle way the other woman’s presence calmed her, made her feel seen without having to explain herself, left Nesta feeling confused. She had never allowed herself to think about this before. It was as if she’d been too busy surviving, too focused on just getting by.

One night, as they sat side by side at their usual corner in the tavern, Nesta had turned to Taryn, the question bubbling up before she could stop it. “Is it possible?” she asked quietly, unsure whether she even wanted the answer.

Taryn had looked at her for a long moment, her gaze steady and understanding. There was no hesitation in her reply. “Yes,” she said simply. “It’s possible to want both. Or neither. Or anything in between. It’s your choice, Nesta. And it’s okay not to have it all figured out.”

Taryn’s words had settled deep inside her, not offering clarity, but permission. Permission to explore, to ask questions, to take her time. There was no rush. No need for certainty. Taryn had never pushed her to define herself or to make sense of feelings that felt out of place. She had simply allowed Nesta to exist, to sit in her own confusion, and that was the most freeing thing Nesta had ever experienced.

So, she kept going to the tavern, kept listening to the music, kept letting herself feel the warmth of Taryn’s quiet understanding. For the first time in a long time, Nesta wasn’t in a rush. She didn’t need to have everything figured out right now. She could be confused, she could be uncertain, and that was enough. She had the space to figure it out on her own time.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Nesta began to feel… regular. Not extraordinary, not broken, but just ordinary. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one she didn’t quite know how to define, but it was there, creeping into her life in little ways. She was becoming a regular at a small coffee shop that sat on the corner of a quiet street. The kind of place with mismatched chairs and the comforting smell of roasted beans hanging in the air.

The owner, a woman named Mira, had quickly learned her name and her order. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a plain black coffee with a dash of cinnamon, but there was something so grounding in the routine. Every time Nesta walked in, Mira would smile, nod in acknowledgment, and immediately start preparing her drink without asking. It was simple, but it felt like belonging in the best way.

At first, Nesta had been hesitant, unsure of how she would be received, how she could possibly fit into a place like this. But over time, the warmth of the coffee shop, the quiet hum of the barista working in the background, and the lack of expectations had drawn her in. It wasn’t a bustling place like the tavern; it was quieter, calmer, a space that allowed her to just be, without feeling scrutinized.

Elia had been the one to push her, inviting Nesta along for lunch one afternoon and introducing her to some of her own friends. At first, Nesta had felt like an outsider, like she was intruding on a scene that didn’t belong to her. But her fears were quickly washed away by the gentle humor and kindness of Elia’s friends. They were welcoming in the way that felt natural, not forced, and that made all the difference.

It hadn’t been a sudden shift, but over time, she had found herself becoming a part of something that wasn’t broken or tainted. She could walk into the coffee shop now without the usual knot of anxiety in her stomach, and the faces that greeted her were ones she recognized. People who knew her by name, who asked about her day with genuine curiosity. It was simple, but it was everything.

She didn’t feel like Nesta Archeron, the broken sister or the haunted soul, here. She was just Nesta—someone who liked coffee, someone who sometimes talked with Elia about books, who sometimes just sat in silence, sipping her drink and watching the world go by. And for the first time, she didn’t feel the need to be anything more.

Her life was slowly becoming a mosaic of small, quiet moments. There was no grand change, no sudden burst of revelation. It was just… regular. And that, Nesta realized, was what she had needed all along.

As the months passed, a quiet shift began to take place inside of Nesta. She had spent so much of her life locked away in confusion, shame, and fear, unable to understand or accept herself fully. But now, there was a budding clarity that came with time and reflection, a soft assurance that crept into her bones. She had begun to realize, with no small amount of surprise, that she wasn’t simply attracted to one or the other. She was attracted to both—men and women. And for the first time, she allowed herself to sit with that truth.

It hadn’t been easy. There were moments when the weight of it felt too heavy, moments when she questioned everything she had known about herself. Her upbringing, her family, the way she had been taught to see the world—they had all wrapped her in an armor of expectations and judgment. Even now, when she thought about the whispers of her past, the lessons she had been taught about what was right and what was wrong, there was still a flicker of shame that tried to settle in her chest.

But it was different now. The shame was quieter, less able to consume her. She didn’t want to hide it, not anymore. She knew she shouldn’t feel ashamed, and yet, in the stillness of her apartment or when she was alone with her thoughts, it would sometimes creep in. Still, the fear that once held her captive was gone. She was no longer afraid of what she was discovering about herself, of the people she might be drawn to or the complexities of her desires.

In fact, there was a certain peace in embracing this part of herself. It wasn’t a choice, but a realization—a recognition of something that had always been there, quietly waiting for her to acknowledge it. She had spent so many years afraid to explore this side of herself, to even consider that she might be different from what she had once imagined. But now, she was beginning to understand that there was no right or wrong, no singular path she was supposed to follow.

She had met people along the way who didn’t bat an eye at her evolving self, people like Elia who never questioned or judged, who simply accepted. Taryn, too, had shown her a kind of unspoken understanding, never pushing her to be something she wasn’t, but always offering her space to explore. It was in those moments, in the warmth of these new relationships, that Nesta found the courage to let herself be. She didn’t have to choose between one or the other. She could simply be who she was, without explanation.

Though she still struggled with the remnants of societal expectations and the weight of her past, the fear of what might happen, of how she might be viewed, was slowly becoming irrelevant. For the first time in a long time, Nesta realized that she didn’t need to hide, to force herself into any box. She could like who she liked. She could be attracted to men and women, and that was okay.

It wasn’t perfect, not yet. There were days when the shadows of old thoughts threatened to take over, moments when her mind was clouded with doubt. But they didn’t have the power they once did. Slowly, with each passing day, she was allowing herself the freedom to be who she truly was, and it felt like an immense weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

It had been a quiet evening, the soft hum of music filling the air as Nesta sat beside Taryn at the tavern. The lively crowd around them, swaying and laughing, seemed distant as the familiar melody reached her ears. It was one of those songs that had an almost tangible pull, and Nesta felt herself swaying to the rhythm of it, her feet tapping gently beneath the table.

Taryn sat beside her, a little too still, her gaze lost in the distant flickering of candlelight. Nesta studied her for a moment, her heart beating just a bit faster than usual. The feeling was there again—the same flutter she’d felt when she’d first met her, the same uncertainty and desire tangled together.

The music wove through the space, thick and sweet, like it had a life of its own. Something inside Nesta stirred—a desire to step into it, to take a risk she’d never allowed herself before.

Before she could second-guess herself, the words were already tumbling out, surprising her just as much as they might surprise Taryn.

“Will you dance with me?”

Taryn turned to her, blinking as if she hadn’t quite processed the request. Her eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise, the corner of her lips curling up just slightly, like she couldn’t quite decide if she was being teased or if Nesta was serious. The tension between them seemed to shift, a brief moment of hesitation hanging in the air.

“You… want to dance?” Taryn asked, her voice laced with a touch of amusement.

Nesta nodded, her expression determined, though her stomach churned with a mixture of excitement and nerves. She didn’t know why she’d asked. Maybe it was the music, or the way the night felt alive with possibility. Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t afraid to act on something that felt right in the moment.

Taryn’s surprise softened into something else—a curiosity, maybe a hint of something more. After a brief pause, she stood, holding out a hand to Nesta. “Well, then,” she said, her tone light. “I suppose I can’t say no.”

Nesta’s heart raced in her chest as she stood up, her breath catching in her throat. The tavern had fallen into a low hum as she and Taryn moved toward the floor, the crowd parting for them like a tide around rocks. The music, that ever-present rhythm, wrapped around them, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

When they were finally standing together, close enough that Nesta could feel the warmth of Taryn’s presence, she felt a surge of self-consciousness, her hands unsure of where to rest.

Taryn, though, seemed unbothered, her hand finding Nesta’s, guiding her gently into the flow of the dance. The movement was fluid, effortless, the music a gentle current that pulled them along. They moved together in a way that felt natural, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. For once, Nesta didn’t feel out of sync, didn’t feel as though her steps were forced or awkward.

It was… comfortable. And for the first time in so long, she allowed herself to simply enjoy it.

The world around them became a blur—there was no judgment, no past, no expectations. Just the steady rhythm of their feet on the floor, the soft whisper of Taryn’s breath in time with the music. Taryn’s touch, her hand holding Nesta’s firmly, seemed to steady something within her, like she wasn’t just moving through the motions, but actually present, in this moment, in this dance.

The world outside might have continued to turn, but in this little corner of the tavern, Nesta had found something—someone—that made her feel like she wasn’t alone in the storm of it all.

And when the song ended, neither of them moved right away, the connection between them still lingering, the silence comfortable rather than awkward. It was a quiet understanding between them, something Nesta had never expected, but was grateful for nonetheless.

Taryn’s smile was gentle, a hint of warmth in it, and Nesta couldn’t help but return it. She didn’t need to say anything. The dance had spoken for her, more than words ever could.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites

[zoyaofthegardvn]

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Hi everyone! Welcome to Zoyaofthegardvn's 2023 Kinktober masterlist :) I'm getting a pretty late start to this, so this will surely extend past October. But here's what you can look forward to this year... <3

Links will be added as they are written and posted :)

Day 1 - Face Sitting: Mor x reader

Day 2 - Spanking: Elain Archeron x reader

Day 3 - Praise: Zoya Nazyalensky x reader

Day 4 - Somnophilia: Nesta Archeron x reader

Day 5 - Brat Taming: Manon Blackbeak x reader

Day 6 - Overstimulation: Nesta Archeron x reader

Day 7 - Thigh Riding: Elide Lochan x reader

Day 8 - Pussy Eating: Elain Archeron x reader

Day 9 - Virginity: Manon Blackbeak x reader

Day 10 - Mommy Kink: Mor x reader

Day 11 - Edging: Nesta Archeron x reader

Day 12 - Make Up Sex: Elain Archeron x reader

Day 13 - Anal: Manon Blackbeak x reader

Day 14 - Toys: Elide Lochan x reader

Day 15 - Brat Taming: Elain Archeron x reader

Day 16 - Hate Sex: Manon Blackbeak x reader

Day 17 - Double Penetration: Zoya Nazyalensky x reader x Alina Starkov

Day 18 - Strap on: Zoya Nazyalensky x reader

Day 19 - Knife Play: Manon Blackbeak x reader

Day 20 - Shower Sex: Elain Archeron x reader

Day 21 - Scissoring: Alina Starkov x reader

Day 22 - 69'ing: Mor x reader

Day 23 - Semi-Public: Elain Archeron x reader

Day 24 - Period Sex: Manon Blackbeak x reader

Day 25 - Threesome: Manon Blackbeak x reader x Elide Lochan

Day 26 - Bondage: Mor x reader

Day 27 - Choking: Nesta Archeron x reader

Day 28 - Exhibitionism/Voyeurism: Manon Blackbeak x reader

Day 29 - Virginity: Elain Archeron x reader

Day 30 - Breast Worship: Elide Lochan x reader

Day 31 - Outdoor Sex: Zoya Nazyalensky x reader

Please be patient as I make my way through this very long list! I'm really looking forward to getting started, but I am a slow writer <3 I am also imagining these fics will be on the short side as I'd like to be able to get through everything! Thanks everyone for your enthusiasm :)

[midnightmasterpiece]

I have 2 pages of this idea, I’m almost done with my sapphic genderbent elucien F1 au fic, should I write this one next?

Cause like I can think about this in my head for free, but like bestie or anyone else, would it be worth to write a Neris F1 au? Any interest?

[motherrstorm]

SPOT THE DIFFERENCE CHALLENGE!

LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE

[rosesncarnations]

Sapphic neris has me in a chokehold