#nessian au

[velidewrites]

When the Goddess of the Underworld grants a mortal General an extended stay in the land of the living, she doesn’t expect him to come back with another deal — one she has no idea will ruin her life forever.

Pairing: Hades!Nesta x Cassian

Word Count: 14k

Notes: This is Part I of my follower celebration project, Divinity! Thank you for being here <3

Warnings (please read before proceeding): Graphic depictions of blood, injury and death; 18+, explicit sexual content, return of the monsterfucking agenda, this means monster sex; monster cocks; yes cocks plural; Cassian has three of them let's just get that out of the way now; are you reading the tags?; let me just repeat it: there is monsterfucking in this fic; proceed at your own discretion

Beta'd by @melting-houses-of-gold <3

Read on AO3 || Check out this BEAUTIFUL art commissioned by @melphss inspired by this fic! 🥹💕

When Hades appears, the earth beneath her erupts in flames.

They are not the hot, blazing kind the mortals burn for the Gods kind in their temples. Their fire is passion, wild and impossible to tame. It molds the stone to its will and consumes everything in its path, threatening to blind and scorch and hurt anyone who crosses it. It is a living breath—a sign that one day, like everything else, its fervour will fade away, leaving nothing but ash as a reminder of its former glory. A fire that begins to die the moment it is born—the moment it dares to lick, to taste.

It is a mortal fire. A human fire.

It is nothing like hers.

The silver flames surrounding her are made to repel. A display of her power—of the risks involved in getting too close. They swirl around her like pets at all times but when she steps into the Overworld—it is too hot, too volatile to sustain their icy touch. When Hades enters, they slither up her form, the cold pleasant against flesh, and take their rest in the pits of her eyes, where they make her gaze burn with a reminder of what she truly is.

Death.

Thanatos smirks at it sometimes—at the fear reflected in the mortals’ eyes as they meet her own. He is the only one who seems to understand—understand that Hades is not the Harbinger of Death, but its Nurturer. The Underworld is where it thrives, devoid of the passions and distractions above, yet full of a different sort of beauty. Peace. Quiet.

But Hades is not mortal. And sometimes, Death gets too quiet to bear.

Today is that day, and, like always, she makes her way upward until sunlight seeps its roots deep into her bones.

There is a downside to the Overworld, though, one she has no idea how the others stand to endure. For to walk among the mortals, the Gods must become one of them—in flesh, if nothing else. Down in her kingdom, she is allowed to roam free, the same as Olympus—although even there, she is not entirely without restraints. Hades grimaces slightly at the thought, but discards it just as quickly. She did not come here without a purpose—she never does—and it would be foolish to slip into unnecessary distractions.

Besides, she thinks as the flames around her begin their ascent at last, this mortal body is not without a purpose. Right now, if she is to be completely honest, she can’t exactly remember why she despises it so. Today’s form is perhaps her favourite of all, every inch of it revealed to her as the silver flames trail up her legs, her breasts, her neck. Once they settle in her eyes, she can finally appreciate what she has become.

She likes the softness of her skin underneath the pads of her fingers, and the sensuous sway of her hips as she takes her first step. Her hair, a golden shade of brown, falls in part down her back with the rest of it draped over her shoulders, the cascading waves cupping the curve of her exposed breasts.

What pretty sight, she thinks, then smooths a hand over her thigh. Her power responds instantly, its gentle hum weaving the earth, wind and sun into a silky thread. It doesn’t stop until the gown is complete and hugging her body with a fabric of the darkest black. Hades’s mouth ticks up in a smile at that—it seems that no matter what body she chooses, the colour suits her every time. The gown is sleeveless, and she stretches her arm, admiring the contrast of her milky skin against the fabric. She is the paling moon hung over the midnight sky—a light that shines most beautifully in the darkness.

The rest of the garment gathers at her hips before falling loosely to the ground, covering what she thinks is too much of her supple form. She’ll have to amend that later—she may be a Goddess, but she still wants to make a good first impression.

A breathless sound somewhere behind her tells her she has nothing to worry about, and Hades smirks to herself before turning to its source. A mortal man gapes at her openly, his eyes holding nothing but pure, unrestrained awe. He is old, she thinks, taking in his hunched form and wrinkled skin with a raised brow. A part of her is glad her beauty is one of the last things he will see.

There is no hope for him left when his gaze moves up to meet her own. Only the strongest of mortal minds can withstand the deathly fire in her stare—and this man no longer possesses the resolve of his younger counterparts.

She says nothing—does not even move when he finally understands what kind of creature he stumbled upon in this forest. Not a lost, wandering maiden, but a Goddess.

The worst Goddess this world has to offer.

The awe in his gaze freezes into fear, and his jaw hangs open for the last time before his knees buckle and he falls to the mossy ground. The elderly fog in his eyes chills and becomes frost, a thin veil of cold death. Hades sighs at the scene.

This is inconvenient.

She does not wish to see Thanatos today—not when it means another, long lecture and a hundred reasons against her coming here again. He is perhaps the only one who even dares to contradict her, and she appreciates that at times, but with this—with this, she is certain. Thanatos will say she’d lost her senses, to be sure. It wouldn’t be the first time, and just like all the times before, she would deal with him later.

The barest tinge of guilt passes over her, and she silently curses this mortal flesh for submitting to such foolish, such human impulses. Thanatos, after all, is her most valued friend, even if everyone on Olympus believes him her servant. The truth is, Thanatos is no more than her guest in the Underworld, for his presence is undesired anywhere else.

It is why she does not mind when the less astute of the mortals mistake her for Thanatos—for the God of Death. He lives out his eternal life in the shadows, appearing only when situations like the man before her require it. She is content to take the blame, the hatred—she repays it tenfold when their souls arrive in her kingdom.

Thanatos may be Death, but Hades is its ruler. Its Queen.

Still, whatever compassion she holds for her companion in the Underworld is of no use to her now, and so she shoves it away and makes her way to the edge of the forest. Thanatos will know what caused the old human’s death, but Hades will not be there when he arrives.

The moss is soft beneath her feet, dampened by the rainy days succeeding the summertime. She despises the dry heat, the heavy air and the scorching rays of sunlight. It is why she only visits later in the year, when the climate is more welcoming. When there is…more to be seen.

Hades can see him now, in fact, as she looks out to the fields from behind the wide oak that borders the forest. Demeter keeps him hidden almost all year, like a secret she does not want known to the rest of the world—not even to the Gods. Especially not to the Gods, Hades thinks. Though, of course, there is no hiding from them no matter how hard she tries.

She’d been watching him long enough to understand why. Her son’s power is raw and untamed—it is unlike anything she’d ever seen. Hades can’t quite comprehend how a being so impressive in his skill had managed to come out of a woman so gentle as the Goddess of the Harvest. There’s no denying it, though—he is part of her, no matter how much his power differs from hers. Their auburn hair and russet eyes are one and the same, even the placement of freckles on his toned arms mirrors that of Demeter’s. He shines like the fire that burns under his gaze—bright and hungry and unstoppable. Perhaps that is why he intrigues her—his flames complement her own, their passion a balance to her peace. It is not the same kind of mortal passion that fills her with such distaste—he will never die out. He will burn alongside her for as long as she wants it.

He is a God, just as she is. Eternal. Demeter claims she’d crafted him from the autumn leaves that had once fallen over her crops, but Hades sees the lie for what it is. A man like him cannot be anything but the fruit of pleasure and the joining of flesh—though whose, Hades does not know. Another God, to be certain. One shameful enough for Demeter to remain in her cottage amongst humans—a place so pathetic that no self-respecting God would bother looking at it twice.

But not Hades. Hades comes every year.

Every year, she watches the God of Autumn and wonders if he feels her fire, too. If he does, he says nothing—and so Hades chooses to believe he is not aware of her presence at all. He leaves Demeter’s stead on the dawn of the first autumn day, and the season erupts around him in a symphony of bronze, crimson and gold, glistening even in the most rainy of days. He roams the lands then, admiring his work until Demeter appears at the doorstep again, urging him inside with a worried look on her face. He abides every time, and every time, Hades is too late to stop him.

She will not fail this year. This year, he will be hers at last. She will grab him before he returns to his mother’s side and take him to her kingdom with her—show him what true power means. What being a God means.

She has a few months before the time comes, but she had come today to admire him from afar. Eris. A beautiful name, she must admit, for a beautiful man.

Soon, you will be mine.

He will make a fine consort—he is exactly what she needs in the Underworld. A flicker of light, of fervour, a cackling fire to disturb the quiet. At last, she will—

Hades sucks in a sharp breath, her mortal lungs contracting violently in answer. She whirls on her feet, expecting to find someone behind her—another mortal, perhaps, who strayed too far on their evening hunt. But she finds the forest empty.

It is then that she realises the disturbance came from within her—that her power set every nerve in her body on alert, knocked the air from her chest, stirred by whatever dared to come near it. And since there is no one beside her…

A low snarl slips past her throat.

Someone entered one of her temples—and defiled it.

Hades takes one, final look at her betrothed before the earth beneath her cracks and the silver flames swallow her again.

***

The temple shakes as it signals her arrival, the pile of ruined marble a testament to her anger. Hades feels no remorse—she has hardly any worshippers here, if the spiderwebs draped over the large columns are any indication. This is a village of warriors, and fierce ones at that—they do not accept death even as they march bloodied into battle. She’s been seeing more and more of them in the Underworld lately, souls defeated by the neighbouring legion on the other side of the mountain. A pointless, petty war, Thanatos had told her, though Hades had no interest in hearing the rest of the details.

Through the fractured roof, she can make out the dusk slowly melting into a greyish night. The last remnant of daylight is the pale beam of the sun, illuminating one of her ruined statues. Hades recognises this face—it is one she took on ten years prior. One of her least favourites, but pretty nonetheless.

Pretty enough that the sight of blood on her marble cheek fills her with rage.

Defiled, the word thrums through her again. Degraded by mortal touch.

The crimson smudge gleams fresh, its iron scent brushing her nose without permission. She scrunches it in distaste—yet another violation of her divinity. Whoever did this would not leave her temple again. She would see to their punishment personally.

A gargled cough echoes through the stone, and Hades whips toward the sound.

There you are.

The man’s body is curled up on the floor, but no rubble surrounds him—whatever caused him pain, it happened before her arrival. Blood pools at his side, tainting the pristine marble and reeking of him. There is no doubt left in her mind—this is the man who did this.

And he is already dying.

It seems that her job here is done—perhaps Thanatos is already on his way. Hades turns her back to him and gathers her power again—if she hurries, she might still catch a glimpse of Eris before darkness breaks over the sky once more.

But then the cough reaches her again, and this time, it is followed by a strangled sound.

“Please…”

She halts, though she isn’t sure why.

“Please,” the man rasps again.

If he does not die on his own, her fiery gaze might hurry things along.

Hades turns.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself up to his knees despite the open slice across his navel. Whatever sword had caused this, it was no average one—this man is nearly severed in half, blood pouring out of his squelching flesh in a thick, ruthless current. He holds a large hand over his guts, and Hades wonders if it is the only thing still keeping them in place. This is no ordinary man, she realises, no ordinary warrior—he will not die until he’s exhausted every path, every resource, the very last resort he can think of.

His last resort appears to be her.

Interesting.

“What will you give me?” she asks him, her voice dropping an octave. He tilts his head up to meet her gaze, and Hades considers that perhaps she does not need anything in return at all.

He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. Breathtaking in every sense of the word. So breathtaking that she searches her mind for any Gods who might have sired him—she had never seen a mortal this exquisite. A son of Ares, perhaps, or Athena, even, but he has no resemblance to either of them—there is nothing polished about him that she’d seen up on Olympus, nothing refined into that sleek, eternal perfection her kind likes to boast of. No, he is as wild as the howling wind in the harshest of winters, as rough and hardened as the frozen earth at the foot of the mountain towering over her temple. 

His hazel eyes blaze with want, but it is not the hunger she so often sees in the eyes of her betrothed. He wants to survive, to live, but his reasons have nothing to do with him.

“Anything,” he says, and there is new strength in his voice, one Hades did not expect in a man on the threshold of Death. “I will give you anything.”

She doesn’t want to admit this, not out loud at least, but he intrigues her immensely. A man with the face and stare of a God—and yet still, just a mortal, dying man.

She realises then that he’s holding her own stare directly—that he’s taking in all that silver fire and his answering gaze holds not even a shred of fear.

“Your name,” Hades decides. “Your name in exchange for your life.”

His dark brows furrow, and she knows he is turning her words over in his mind until he finds the trap, the secret motive she surely plants underneath her request. A thought crosses her mind that whoever he is, he has been trained to deal with deception, to recognise threat before it even comes to life. But the only threat here is her curiosity, and so, when he looks up at her again, she already knows he has found nothing.

“Cassian,” he tells her, and Hades breathes again.

Somewhere deep inside her, she hears the fading voice of Thanatos, a final voice of reason before she succumbs into this bargain with no hopes of return. Forget his name. Go home. Do not think of him again—destroy the temple, if you must.

She does not have to. Hades is a Goddess, a Queen—she will be damned before she let this distraction ruin the plan she’s been crafting for decades.

Thanatos will honour this bargain—he will not come for this man, and will defy the Fates in doing so. The least Hades can do is listen.

“Do not seek me out again, mortal,” she warns.

And with that, she is gone forever.

***

Forever does not last long enough.

“Ignore it,” the shadows tell her, and she turns to meet their face.

Thanatos’s expression is grave, though that does little to stop her—he always looks this way, after all, pained and somber even in the quiet reprieve that the Underworld allows him.

“I cannot,” Hades says, and her friend’s lips only press tighter together.

She wonders if it is her friend trying to shield her, or the God of Death. Perhaps he is merely trying to spare her—to keep her from making the same mistake he had. Thanatos has never quite recovered from Athena’s rejection, or Aphrodite’s heartbreak, the romance brief as it was. But this—she—is different. This has nothing to with risk, or with romance—only curiosity, burning somewhere deep inside her chest, and brighter than the silver fire in her eyes.

Right now, that curiosity is fuelled by anger, because the man—Cassian—dared to disobey her command.

She felt him the moment he touched one of the statues in her temple, his touch roughened by the calloused skin of his open palm and tainted with battle yet again. To think that this man, this mortal, has now dared to summon her twice—it makes her want to rage for the rest of eternity.

“You ask too much of me,” Thanatos accuses, his words pulling her out of her thoughts yet again.

Hades waves a hand. “I do not ask of anything yet.”

His gaze narrows on her, and she can practically feel his scrutiny clawing at her skin. “Your temple reeks of his blood—surely you’ve felt it, too.” The shadows swirl around him eagerly, like a child mindlessly nodding along to its parent’s words. “You know where this path will lead you.”

“Precisely,” Hades hisses. “I forbade him from ever returning there again, and yet, not even a month later, he came back—no doubt with more demands.” Her anger simmers inside her again, but she manages to keep it contained. The time to unleash it will come later—soon, if Thanatos would just get over himself and let her pass.

The God of Death angles his head slightly. “You intend to punish him, then.”

“Of course,” Hades says, trying her hardest not to take offence at the disbelief in his tone. She knows Thanatos’s faith in her has been shaken, that he disapproves of her plans, her determination. That he disapproves of the Overworld, and of Eris, and—

“You’re wrong,” he interrupts. She didn’t realise she said the words out loud, though perhaps Thanatos could simply read them on her face. “I only want you to understand. This God of Autumn, and now this…this human—they will never be enough for you here.”

Her eyes flare silver. “You mean you will never be enough.”

Hades regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth, but it is already too late. She let her anger get the best of her—to strike where she knew would hurt him the most. She can tell she succeeded from the way his eyes darken, from the way his shadows curl at his sides like snakes ready to defend their master, to fight venom with venom.

Thanatos is not her master, though—and even though down here they may only have each other, she is still the Queen. His Queen, for as long as he chooses to remain in the Underworld. His opinions, his jealousy, she decides, are not welcome here.

Her body relaxes as the momentary guilt lifts from her shoulders, and when she speaks again, her voice is colder than the silver fire pooling at her feet. “I am leaving for the temple.”

Silence falls between them, and when she no longer believes Thanatos has anything of value left to say, she turns her back to him at last.

She’s about to disappear when she hears his voice again. “This will be the last favour, Hades,” he warns her.

Good. She will not need any more.

Still, the words echo in her head the entirety of her journey upward, fading only when the temple comes into view. The ground trembles under the weight of her fury, the stone walls crumbling inch by inch with her every step. She has no idea how the temple still stands, frankly. She was expecting it to collapse after her last visit.

She was also expecting to see Cassian amidst all that rubble, drenched in his own blood and his guts slowly spilling out of his body. Instead, she finds him in perfect health, his chin held up high as he meets her gaze from beneath her statue where he waits.

Kneeling.

Hades is not one to be easily taken by surprise, but the sight of him on his knees before her makes her breath hitch in her throat. He’s cloaked in a warrior’s leathers, traditional to his region, dark and ridged and tight, and Hades can’t help it when her traitorous eyes trail down to admire their work. She can make out the defined muscle of his thick thighs, wondering how they’d feel under the touch of her human hands. She wants to dig her nails into the golden-brown skin—wants to pierce those leathers and find out just how hard those muscles are.

She hears his breath turn ragged when her gaze settles on the bulge at their apex, and the thought crosses her mind that, perhaps, he’d be more than willing to answer all her questions had she only asked. Her form seems to please him as much as he pleases her—though that, at least, comes as no surprise.

The gown she’d selected would no doubt make Thanatos choke in disbelief. The black lace is sheer and hugs her body in all the right places, revealing her smooth skin from the collar at her neck down to the lean muscle of her calves. The thread forms intricate patterns over her nipples before descending to her navel in a V-like shape, covering just enough of her cunt beneath to make any God drop to his knees.

Any mortal, too, of course, she reminded herself as her gaze lifted to the male before her once again.

“I thought you’d like to see me this way,” Cassian says, his voice low and deep and reverberating through her in a slow, shuddering wave. “Hades.”

The moment shatters like glass.

Hades straightens, silently cursing Thanatos, the Fates and, above all, herself for giving into his beauty, to the temptations of this mortal flesh. She is Hades, the Goddess of the Underworld, and this pathetic, mortal male had nearly made her knees buckle at the sound of his sultry baritone. Her anger is renewed, a flame brought to life once again as it replaces the pleasant heat that has somehow managed to pool at her core. Hades reminds herself then that she has come here to exact punishment, not…whatever this is. Whatever he makes her feel.

After all, Hades has plans. In two months or so, she will finally be joined in the Underworld by her betrothed. Her consort. Her equal.

Cassian is none of those things.

“You disobeyed me, General,” she says, because she does not dare to say his name out loud. Besides, she is certain that’s exactly who Cassian is—a male of such strength, such size, cannot be anything lesser than. “I ordered you to never seek me out again.”

Their gazes lock and hold.

Cassian does not even flinch. “I’m afraid I’m in need of your favour once again, Goddess.”

The ground shakes again—then stops as Hades takes a levelling breath. “What makes you think you will have it?”

He shifts his weight from one leg to another, and Hades’s eyes dart to the movement, to this new, exciting position his muscles arranged themselves into. She can swear he kneels wider now, as though he knows, as though he smells the curiosity, the arousal on her.

Cassian shrugs. “I suppose I can only hope.”

“What is it you want?” Hades asks. “You don’t seem injured to me.”

His entire body tenses, and she catches a shadow passing through his features. “It’s not me,” he tells her, his shoulders rolling back and inch as he looks up to meet her eyes again. “It’s my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“She’s dying,” he says, and there is the smallest hint of strain in his voice now. She must be important to him, then, Hades realises. She never understood how humans feel so deeply.

So she tells him, “All things die eventually, General.”

Cassian’s jaw clenches hard. “It’s too soon,” he says. “She was taken by illness none of our healers understand.”

“It is the will of the Fates, then.”

Lightning flares in his hazel eyes at that. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Hades barks a laugh. “You?” she asks, “or me?”

A muscle juts in his jaw, and she wonders if he bit hard enough to draw blood. “I put myself at your mercy,” he says before adding quickly, “Your Majesty.”

Something about the title pleases her immensely, and so she doesn’t kill him right on the spot. “You would give yourself to me?” she asks instead. She can already hear Thanatos’s protests in her head, but her mind wanders anyway. Cassian in her kingdom like a pet she could keep at her disposal, curled by her lap and ready to serve. Pretty. Obedient.

Hers.

He would entertain her—her consort, too, perhaps, when he joined her side at last. A lovely sight to admire in the morning and play with at night.

Hades hums lowly, and Cassian’s eyes flare up again—with a different light, this time, and she swears she can see specks of gold in those endless pools of hazel.

“You propose a bargain, then,” she begins, surveying him head to toe once more.

So beautiful.

Cassian nods. “Save my mother’s life, and my life, my heart, my soul—is in your hands.”

Hades considers.

Kill him, the raging fire inside her says.

But the golden light staring back at her pleads, Take me.

Hades steps forward and reaches out a hand. “Come with me.”

***

They arrive at the Gates of the Underworld hand in hand.

“Am I…” Cassian starts, taking in the sight around him. “Dead?”

Hades smirks to herself.

“No,” she tells him. “You will live for as long as I need you to.”

His eyes widen, as if struggling to grasp the immortality she’s just laid out before him. “And my mother?” he asks.

“You will never see her again, if that is what you’re asking.”

Cassian releases a long, long breath. “Lead the way.”

The only way into the Underworld is through the Acheron river, and though Hades can come and go as she pleases without the unnecessary ordeal, she decides to accompany Cassian anyway—this time, at least. She tells herself she simply doesn’t want him to drown—after all, this is his first time in the Kingdom of the Dead, and it would be a shame to lose a pet she’d only just acquired.

Cassian sways as they step onto the small, wooden ferry, but Hades only looks ahead. “So,” she begins. “You survived.”

His confusion is almost palpable, rolling off of him in waves and leaving creases in the dark water. How strange it is to have someone in the Underworld feel so strongly, Hades thinks. There is only peace and quiet in these lands, and he is a disturbance—Thanatos would surely say so, at least. He might be a disturbance, yes—but to Hades, it is a welcome one.

A useful one, too.

“Oh,” he suddenly says, ripping Hades free from her racing mind as she thinks of all the ways her new guest could be used. “You mean the battle. The first time you saved me.”

Hades stills at that.

The first time?

She would hardly call their bargain saving. His companionship was his price, not…not some kind of gift. The General is chained to her now, to the Underworld—he belongs to her just as the darkness here does.

This is his punishment, and yet…and yet his words ring of salvation, and it makes Hades wonder.

And so she says, “Tell me more of this…battle.”

A step behind her, she hears him loose a breath. “We stood no chance. We…I lost almost all my men,” he says, and Hades feels the Underworld purr in delight at his words. It will feed on this guilt, this regret of a survivor until its endless hunger is appeased. “We defended our village in the end, but at a cost.” His voice breaks as he adds, “So many of us—gone. They took our women, our children…”

And, Hades realises, these fallen souls—they all belong to her now. They all rest here, roaming the quiet darkness—the warriors, the children…The women.

The question escapes her the moment it crosses her mind. “And you?” she asks. “Did you have a…a woman?”

There is only silence between them—silence and the Acheron’s gentle current as they make way toward Hades’s fortress.

When he answers, Cassian’s voice is hoarse. “No, Your Majesty,” he says. “I did not.”

And Hades…Hades no longer knows what to feel.

She shouldn’t feel, she reminds herself. She has spent too much time in this body, this mortal prison of emotion and softness and pain, its flesh strong enough to subdue that silver fire within her that’s used to killing everything that dares cross her path. Once they reach the shore, she will leave his side for a while—will find a place to unleash those flames, if only to remind herself of who she really is.

Of who she’s supposed to be .

But they’re still crammed on the ferry now, the shore nowhere in sight, and so, for the last time, Hades indulges in her curiosity. “Why me?” she asks, still not turning to meet his gaze. “Why not Thanatos, or Athena, or Ares, even?”

She feels his hazel gaze on her back, his presence stronger now, somehow—but this time, there is no confusion filling it, and she knows he understands exactly what she’s asking.

So Hades finally turns.

“Perhaps,” Cassian grins, “I thought you could use some company.”

For the first time in her eternal life, Hades laughs.

***

She returns the next day, deep from where she dwells in her fortress, and finds Cassian looking out to the dark waves washing up on shore.

She took on her human form once again, though for reasons she can’t exactly justify. She doesn’t need this body, not here—but this is how Cassian knows her, and she likes the hunger flickering in his eyes as they sweep over its every curve.

This is merely for her enjoyment, Hades tells herself. He is, after all, to be her entertainment—company, as he called it earlier. She doesn’t really care what he thinks of her—but an inflated sense of an ego is true to any God, and, mortal or not, he seems like the right person to stroke it.

Something heats deep inside her as she thinks of all the places he could stroke her, all the wet, sinful pleasure he could help her coax out of this flesh—

“You’re back,” Cassian says, turning to meet her silver gaze.

Compose yourself, the fire within her hisses.

“Not exactly,” she tells him, thankful for the coolness in her tone despite the heat still shooting through her body. “I was just about to leave.”

His brows knit over his eyes, and he tilts his head slightly, dark hair spilling over his shoulder. “Leave?” he asks. “What for?”

Hades crosses her arms. “Contrary to what you might think, I have pressing matters to attend to.”

“In the mortal lands?”

“Yes,” she says, then waves a hand to urge him closer. “I have something for you, General.”

Cassian’s eyes flash, a glimmer of light in the dim space of the Underworld, and he takes a step toward her. “Oh?”

Hades nods, and lays out her hand to reveal her gift.

“I…don’t understand,” Cassian says, but his gaze remains fixed on the seven crimson stones, gleaming gently in Hades’s palm.

“They are called siphons,” she explains, then waves a hand again. The stones are now edged in his leather armour, the two largest ones resting proudly atop the strong muscles of his arms, and Hades smiles at the sight. They look as thought they’ve always belonged here, as though they’ve been part of him forever. “They’re meant to amplify your power—your speed, your strength, your precision. You may be a formidable warrior in the Overworld, General, but down here, you will need these to keep the more…defiant souls at bay.”

Cassian’s fingers brush over the siphon at the back of his palm, its bleeding light reflected in his marvelling stare. “So…” he begins quietly, then clenches his fist—as if testing the newfound power of his grip, “I’m to be your…guard?”

Hades’s smile curls into a smirk. “Think of yourself as more of a helpful guest, General.”

His eyes finally lift to meet her own. “And are your guests allowed to ever return home?”

The Goddess’s smile sours. “This is your home now.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“If you so wish,” she continues, not really wanting to hear the rest of it, “You are welcome to wander to the Overworld whenever I’m…otherwise occupied.” Then, she adds, “As long as you remember that no matter where you are, you belong to me.”

She half expects him to cower—even Thanatos gives in to the icy bite in her tone from time to time—but Cassian appears relaxed, his siphons still glistening quietly atop his armour. “I am yours to command, Goddess.”

“We’ll see,” Hades only says, then brushes past him and toward the river.

He moves so fast she does not even see his hand dart for hers—and when his fingers lace with her own, Hades is so stunned she freezes entirely in her trail.

She has never been touched like this—not by a mortal, at least. She had taken lovers before, Gods—those of a grand status and those of lesser significance—but they felt nothing like this, and this has nothing to do with the trap of her mortal flesh. His golden-brown hand is warm, and every roughened bit of his calloused skin tells her of him—the battles he’d won and the battles he’d lost, the spirit they crafted like the strongest steel. It sinks into her, as if searching for her own, hidden so deep within her she’d never thought it existed until this very moment.

In a land of eternal dreams, Hades feels awake.

“I’ve offended you,” Cassian says quietly.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Hades replies, but her voice is distant now, still buried with the soul she didn’t know she possessed.

“I have not forgotten what you’ve done for me,” he continues, as though unaware that the world has just tilted beneath their feet. “You saved me—before I met you, I knew only of war and bloodshed and pain.”

“What makes you think you’ll find anything better here?” she asks, the question no more than a breath. “What are you hoping to find?”

The peace, the quiet darkness of the Underworld…Hades knows better than anyone that it will never be enough, not unless the passing soul is already dead—and Cassian’s soul practically sings with life, like the wind ruffling the snow-capped trees, like the gallop of hooves cracking the rocky earth. 

But when his fingers wrap tighter around her own, she realises Cassian doesn’t seek peace. 

“Understanding,” he tells her softly. “I think you seek it, too.”

Hades’s gaze drops to where their hands are joined, life and death, and she is no longer sure where one ends and the other begins.

“I do not wish to return,” Cassian continues when she stays quiet, “My place is here.” His thumb brushes over her knuckles, and the thin hairs on her arms rise at the barest touch. “My place is here with you, Hades.”

Hades blinks.

You know where this path will lead you, Thanatos’s voice practically screams in her head, and finally, finally, Hades realises—this is all wrong. 

Cassian’s place may be at her side as the bargain deemed it—but her place is nowhere near him at all.

Suddenly, Hades is grateful Thanatos, or any of the Gods for that matter, weren’t here to witness this—whatever this thing between them is. She is Hades, after all, a Goddess and a Queen, and Cassian—this man—has no say in where she belongs.

Besides, Hades has already decided—she belongs here, with Eris. With the God of Autumn, the season where everything dies—the perfect consort to the Queen of Death itself. They are going to live in her kingdom exactly as she planned, burning together for all eternity. Death and Decay.

Hades frees herself from Cassian’s eyes, and if there is any hurt in his eyes, she does not stay long enough to see it.

“I’ll return soon,” she says as she once again makes way toward the river. “I must hurry if I am to catch my consort before the dusk breaks.”

Every soul in the Underworld goes utterly still.

Hades smiles to herself.

That ought to keep him at bay.

But when Cassian speaks again, his voice dips so low she swears it makes the ground shake. “Your what?”

He takes a step toward her, the crimson light of his siphons blazing on the river’s surface. Hades doesn’t grace him with a look, her back straight to him as she explains, “My betrothed—the God of Autumn. He will join us once the season ends—at the sight of the first snowfall.”

“You didn’t tell me,” he says, and it’s almost an accusation.

Hades’s smile becomes cruel, and she turns to face him at last. “This matter does not concern you,” she answers, and watches his siphons flare even brighter.

“The God of Autumn.” Cassian chews the words as if the taste is not to his liking. “And you love this man?”

Hades almost laughs. “Love has nothing to do with it, General—he is my consort. My equal in every way that matters.”

“Is power all that matters to you?”

“Yes.” A half-lie, since power is the only thing that matters to Hades.

Cassian hums, mulling over her words. “And if…” he starts, and Hades only keeps listening because this is the entertainment she has been hoping for. His confusion, his anger—they were expected. Jealousy, on the other hand…

“And if there was someone more powerful than him?” he finally asks. “More powerful than your God?”

Hades scoffs. “I have no interest in concerning myself with Olympus ever again.”

“I don’t—”

“Enough,” Hades says, because as entertaining as this is, she knows the sun has already begun to set in the Overworld. “I expect to see you at the Gates upon my return.” She turns her back to him again. “You are to remain here until then.”

How utterly lovely it feels to see the warrior ignite within him again. He is once again reminded of their bargain, of the Goddess standing before him, and the flames inside her purr at the control she’s regained. He’d thrown her off, she can admit that, with the warmth of his skin and the softness of his touch—but this anger, this roughness…This is a language Hades understands. Her immortal skin tingles deliciously under his gaze, under the fury burning underneath. She’d never met a human so…defiant.

It is no matter. One way or another, he will be tamed by her hand. By her cunt, if that does not work. Gods or men, males always seem particularly susceptible to those.

She steps to the edge of the shore, surveying her reflection in the murky water. The black silk clings to her body like the thickest shadows, exposing her bare skin in places she’d carefully selected in her quarters earlier. The curve of her breasts is revealed by a deep cut in the top of her gown—another slit in the fabric teases her bare thigh, all the way down to where it pools at her feet. With each passing day, she enjoys the curves of this body more—human, yet so deliciously divine.

A low, guttural sound somewhere behind her tells her the General shares the sentiment.

A flicker of her power places something heavy atop her neatly braided hair, and gaze moves to admire the onyx jewels when she hears his voice again, his large frame appearing on the river’s surface.

“I will not.”

Her smile fades, but she does not grace him with a look. “You dare disobey me again, General?”

“I am coming with you,” he says, that anger creeping into his tone again.

She scoffs again. “You will do no such thing. Your presence would only disturb me.”

He moves in closer, the warmth of his chest nearly sinking into her back now. “Oh?” he muses, his eyes fixed on their reflection as he leans over her shoulder. “Do you find me distracting, Majesty?”

Cassian’s breath is hot on her neck, teasing her skin, the sensitive spot below her ear. Hades fights the urge to shudder, forbids her body from reacting to the emotion rolling off him without restraint.

His powerful arms come around her then, hands resting heavily on her waist, and her body leans instantly into the touch. Hades gasps out in protest, a small, exasperated sound at the blatant display of the effect he has on her. This body keeps betraying her, keeps answering his call with a song of its own, one Hades isn’t sure she ever wants to hear.

Cassian brushes his thumb over her skin—somehow, she can feel the warmth of his touch beneath the silk—and their gazes meet in the reflection of the Acheron, his eyes shining brighter than the flames in her own. The message is clear.

Don’t you see it? Don’t you see how good we look together?

“Stay,” Cassian murmurs, his soft mouth brushing the shell of her ear. Hades watches the movement in the water, and she’s not entirely sure she’s even breathing as he says again, “Stay here—stay with me.”

Hades closes her eyes, and, for just a moment, she lets herself imagine what would happen if she obliged. She wonders how those hands, that mouth would worship her—the way a Goddess deserves to be worshipped. Maybe his tongue would trail a path down her neck—place wet kisses on her exposed skin until it reached her breasts, already heavy and aching for his touch. Maybe she’d let him flick one of her nipples—trace lazy circles over the pebbled spot as he took it into his hungry mouth. Maybe…maybe she’d let his hands slide downwards, let them feel the slickness they’ve already begun to coax from her. Maybe she’d let his tongue taste it, too.

And then Cassian’s fingers brush her waist again. “You don’t need him.”

Hades opens her eyes.

She whirls to face him again, to face the man who was meant to be no more than a momentary distraction, the man who now thought it acceptable to touch her, tease her as though she belonged to him.

No, Hades thinks. He belongs to her.

“You,” she tells him, “have no idea what I need.”

When he opens his mouth to protest, Hades is already gone.

***

The island is warm and filled with sunlight.

It is so unlike the Underworld that Hades finds herself blinking a couple times before her immortal gaze adjusts to the sight. The sea is bright and turquoise, and its waves foam into a pearly white as they crash against the shore. Even the sand glimmers under the light like dusted gold.

It is exactly the kind of place Hades expected to find her.

She knows Aphrodite is staying over at the palace, towering over the water in an opalescent kind of stone. The small kingdom seems untouched by autumn’s decay, not yet at least, and Hades suspects one of the Gods must hold it in their favour—Helios, perhaps, judging by the sun hanging high up in the sky despite the late hour of the evening.

The island is a beautiful place, though Hades has little interest in staying—she’s here with a purpose, one pressing enough that it cannot wait for her to fully take her surroundings in. Besides, she knows Aphrodite has sensed her arrival from the way the seafoam stiffened as it washed up on shore. It makes Hades smirk—she wonders what, exactly, her presence here has interrupted.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another month.”

The voice behind her is like fresh, sweet honey dripping over her skin, and the first instinct of her human body is to take her fingers into her mouth and lick them just to get a taste. Hades hisses sharply in response—Aphrodite’s always set her traps well. She could only pity whatever mortals she’d chosen to ensnare this time.

Hades turns, the sand molding itself to her feet. “You know I hate leaving things until the last minute,” she says, the words enough of a greeting as the two Goddesses face each other at last.

Aphrodite chuckles. “Of course you do.”

Hades knows she should have expected perfection from the Goddess of Love and Beauty, but seeing Aphrodite’s face makes that fire inside her stir with jealousy anyway. Her face is so impeccable it almost hurts—the mortals, no doubt, fall to their knees at a mere glimpse of it. Full, rosy lips and eyes of a fawn’s coat, gazing upon her from beneath long, dark lashes—the portrait of innocence hiding an ancient, cruel soul.

Aphrodite smirks, as though she can tell exactly what Hades is thinking, and brushes a loose curl off her shoulder. The colour mirrors that of Hades’s, but Aphrodite’s hair is even lovelier, somehow, with a luminescence to it that seems to rival the very sun itself. She’s woven pearls into the small braids tied at the crown of her hair—her preferred symbol of her divinity. Except, of course, for the brief period of time when she’d opted for sapphires as her favourite jewellery. Hades’s scowl deepens even more at the thought.

“Thanatos sends his regards,” she says, if only to wipe that stupid smirk off her pretty face.

Instead, her golden brows shoot up with amusement. “No, I don’t think he does.”

Hades rolls her eyes before they flicker to the grand structure ahead. The palace nearly beams with Aphrodite’s presence—even the wind here seems to carry her scent. Jasmine and honey—a poison too many to count had mistaken for nectar.

Perhaps that is why Hades can’t help herself again. “So,” she muses, “the rumours are true, then.” She looks at Aphrodite again. “Will I be invited to the wedding this time?”

Hades is more than certain Aphrodite hadn’t come to this island for a holiday. The beautiful Goddess never does anything without purpose—that, at least, the two of them have in common. If she resides here, at the palace, Hades can guess well enough who her next victim is.

So she adds, her lip curling slightly, “A coronation, perhaps?”

Finally, that grimace Hades knows all too well blooms upon Aphrodite’s perfect features. For something to rattle her enough to drop her sultry mask…Hades can’t help but be impressed.

“There might not be either,” Aphrodite says, crossing her arms over her pearly white dress. “He’s proving…especially difficult.”

Now that piques Hades’s interest. A mortal immune to Aphrodite’s charms? It seems impossible—Hades had seen the Gods themselves trip over their feet for as much as a shred of Aphrodite’s attention. That whoever this prince was hasn’t yet made her his wife was…

Intriguing.

Still, Hades isn’t here to gossip about Aphrodite’s latest conquest. She’s got her own mission on her hands, and one far too important to indulge in irrelevant chitchat.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Did you bring what I asked you?”

Aphrodite reaches out a hand. “You doubt me, Hades?”

“Always.”

She laughs, the sound weaving into the soft whoosh of the sea. “So mistrustful,” she scolds playfully. “How will you keep your loved one, my dear Hades, with your heart guarded so closely?”

“That’s what I have you for,” Hades says, then takes the seeds from Aphrodite’s open palm.

Aphrodite only hums.

Hades takes that moment to examine what she’d come here for. Four, singular seeds—pomegranate, she realises—shining a gentle ruby in the slowly dying sunlight. An untrained eye would mistake them for merely that—but Hades feels the power thrumming inside. Wicked. Forbidden.

She looks up to meet those brown eyes again. “How does it work?”

“The power contained within the seeds shall bind your lover to your side—simply feed him one of them at the beginning of each season for the spell to be renewed.”

Hades’s eyes narrow. “You only gave me four seeds.” They would only last a year—a year to keep Eris in the Underworld.

Aphrodite smirks again. “Perhaps you’ll have to consider opening your heart then.”

A low snarl slips past Hades’s teeth. “This was not our deal—”

And then she feels it.

A shift in the wind—and a fire blown out.

The same fire she thought would burn until the end of time—the same fire she thought would burn with her.

Aphrodite’s brows furrow as she, too, feels it—and her sneer returns when realisation dawns upon her. “Or perhaps you won’t,” she says, and with that, she’s gone.

Hades allows herself one breath as she stands alone at the beach.

Then her flames erupt, and her fury is unleashed.

***

Divine blood has many forms.

Thanatos’s blood, for example, is the darkest shade of black, thick and viscous and reminding her of tar. Once it slithers down his body, upon its first contact with the ground, its still into obsidian—there are still remnants of it scattered atop Olympus, glinting ominously even in the most starless of nights. They serve as Thanatos’s personal reminder: Don’t ever return. You are not welcome here.

Hades had never seen Aphrodite’s blood—she’s not even sure the Goddess has ever bled—but she imagines it as a thousand pearls liquified, a shimmering silk exuding an opalescent kind of light. It tastes of the endless sea, wrapped up in fragrant jasmine to disguise the salt.

She’d never thought she’d ever see Eris’s blood, either. And yet it pools right before her, seeping into the drying crops.

It gleams a bright crimson and fills the air with a tinge of metal that Hades knows she’s tasted before—it starts off bitter before it sours on her tongue. Iron.

Human.

Hades’s eyes flicker to the cottage ahead where Demeter rests, still blissfully unaware. Not a God then, she thinks to herself, but a mortal—a mortal man has sired her betrothed, and left his blood in Eris’s veins as proof.

It made Eris vulnerable. It made him killable.

Her gaze returns to his body, already chilling as Autumn slowly slips out of his grasp.

Hades’s blood is the silver fire that flows in her veins. Cold. Restless. Unforgiving. An excellent aide in exacting revenge. She cannot use it here, in the Overworld—so Hades waits, letting her burning eyes promise the vengeance she’s already begun plotting.

Fortunately, her prey already waits in the Underworld.

“You know who did this,” Thanatos says behind her.

Hades does not turn to face him. “You don’t have to sound so pleased.”

“I did tell you not to go down this path,” he reminds her. “This—all of it—is on you.”

Hades whirls on her feet. “Save him,” she breathes. “You have to—”

“No.” The word slams into her like a wall of ice. “No more favours, Nesta.”

Hades goes completely, lethally still. Even her blood falters in its tracks, the flames too stunned to keep on raging. 

Her warning comes as a whisper. “You dare?”

Thanatos crosses his tattooed arms over chest, the dark swirls shifting with his golden-brown skin. She’d never asked, she realises in that moment, what the meaning behind them is—she also finds that she doesn’t care.

“I dare,” Thanatos says.

No one—no one in her divine, eternal existence—had ever used her name. Her true name. Too powerful, too sacred to be spoken by anyone but her. Even Olympus doesn’t know—and if they do, they never dared to so much as think it. She’d only told Thanatos, centuries ago—a mistake, she now understands—and Aphrodite, her price for the now useless pomegranate.

For Eris is no good to her dead. In the Underworld, he’d be all but a shred of a soul he was here—powerless. Empty.

Unworthy.

Nesta rages again.

And then leaves to exact her revenge.

***

The Underworld is quiet when she returns—as if the fallen souls themselves have decided to stay out of her way. Even the Acheron seems to have stilled, its gloomy current frozen into place.

They all feel it—the anger, the fury rolling off their Queen. They’re wise to know crossing her now is a fate much worse than death.

Like an obedient pet, Cassian waits for his mistress at the shore. He holds his chin high, his hair swept back in dark waves as he watches the silver flames reveal her inch by inch. He looks every bit the General that he is.

Expect that Generals are meant to obey their masters—to follow their every command without question. And yet this one stands before her with blood on his hands that isn’t his own, the crimson siphons illuminating the proof of his defiance.

Worst of all, his hazel eyes show no remorse—only intense, absolute determination.

He’s proud of what he did, Nesta realises. She’s comforted by the thought that, after she’s done with him, he will no longer be anything.

She lets her flames swallow the ground beneath her, lets them lick up her legs as she steps toward him. It feels liberating to have them to live and breathe her rage outside her eyes—now, every bit of her is that cold, unforgiving fire.

Still, Cassian meets her blazing gaze and doesn’t even flinch.

It angers her even more.

“You,” she breathes, the sound dry and hoarse on her tongue, “ruined everything.”

Cassian crosses his powerful arms. For a moment, he reminds her of Thanatos—his red siphons mirror the sapphires she’d given her friend all those centuries ago. Had she not been so utterly foolish and given them to Cassian, Eris might still have been alive now. Sitting on the throne she’d prepared for him, Aphrodite’s magic coursing through his veins.

But Eris is dead now, his soul likely travelling down to the Underworld right this moment. All because of—

Of her.

She should’ve left him for dead the first time—should’ve heeded Thanatos’s warning and allowed Cassian to die a warrior’s death.

Instead, she created a monster.

“If it’s forgiveness you seek,” Cassian almost scoffs, “You’re in for a disappointment, Your Majesty.”

“Not forgiveness.” Her lips twist in a cruel smile. “Punishment.”

She expects it then—that flash of fear in his gaze, that final realisation that, like him, she is a monster too.

Instead, Cassian lights up with excitement—as though punishment is exactly what he’s been hoping to hear.

Perhaps that’s why she asks, “Why?”

She doesn’t need to elaborate—he understands well enough.

“You deserve someone better than him,” he says, his chin dipping as his gaze sweeps over the fire slowly travelling up her skin. She ignores the heat it stirs within her, tells herself it’s the silver touch of her flames—except that her power is cold as ice, ice that now slowly melts under the burning hunger in his stare.

Still, she schools her features into disdain. “And I suppose that someone is you?”

Hazel eyes flicker back to hers. “It could be.” He takes a step toward her. “If you want it—if you want me.”

Nesta grits her teeth—if only to keep herself still. “What I wanted,” she says tightly, “is gone now. Because of you.”

Cassian’s voice drops an octave. “Good.”

Her fingers curl into fists. “How dare you,” she hisses, channelling that useless heat into anger. “How dare you kill a God.”

Another step in her direction has her mortal body shaking. “You would give yourself to him.” His eyes darken, the black of his pupils drowning out their colour. “You would give yourself to a God who fell at the hand of a human.” Disgust laces his words—a General unimpressed with his opponent, a General who wished for battle only for his enemy to yield before it even truly began. “I killed him in two strikes,” Cassian says. “I challenge you, I said. For the hand of the one who commands us both. Would you like to know what your precious consort told me?” 

She squeezed her fists harder, the circle of fire around her raging up to her waist now.

Cassian takes a final step—another inch, and he’d be swallowed by the flames. “He said he doesn’t know you,” he seethes, “but even if he did, you’d never be worthy of him.”

Nesta’s flames die out—fade into the dark earth beneath her feet.

It wouldn’t have mattered. She’d expected defiance—that’s why she’d arranged for the pomegranate as a precaution. Willingly or not, Eris would have come to the Underworld eventually. It was not up to Cassian to—

“I defended your honour,” Cassian continues. “You would punish me for that, Goddess?”

There is no reverence in the way he speaks her title—as if her status, her kingdom, as if Hades means nothing to him at all.

As if he only cares about her.

As if he only cares about Nesta.

“Tell me your name,” Cassian breathes.

The entire Underworld freezes.

Slowly, she tells him, “You know my name.” A final warning.

“No—your real name. Not the one they carve into temples, not the one they chant before their dead,” he says. “I want to know you.” His eyes are desperate. “Tell me your name, Hades, and I’m yours—the way I was always meant to be.”

“You,” she starts lowly, “already belong to me.”

Cassian’s eyes flash in surprise.

Nesta goes on, “I brought you here at your own request. I could’ve left you, your mother, everything you hold dear—I could’ve left it all to die.” She points a finger to his chest, her long, sharp nail digging into the hard muscle—and Cassian’s gaze darts to the touch. “But I brought you here instead, and I was planning to give you everything. I would have made you mine—my most prized pet, always at my side.”

His breath turns ragged, and he’s so close that she can almost feel it on her neck.

“But you are no pet,” Nesta says quietly. “I see that now.”

Cassian stills entirely.

Nesta smiles. “You are a beast.”

Silver sizzles beneath her finger, tasting his golden-brown skin, and Cassian’s eyes widen at the sight.

He can do nothing when her magic purrs, and his body bursts into flames.

His screams echo through the Underworld, the ground shuddering beneath his pain, the Acheron quivering at its sheer force. She knows it isn’t their cold touch that pours anguish into his soul, but the transformation itself. The steel-sharp claws that tear his skin apart as his limbs shift into large, heavy paws. The sharp needles piercing at his body before they turn into short, roughened fur, dark and gleaming the way his hair once did. The vocal cords twisting and contracting as they turn his smooth, deep voice into a low, primal rumble.

It’s working.

Cassian was already tall as a human, but his form must have grown threefold now—the four-legged beast that now stands before her is massive, towering over her so that she can hardly reach its torso, let alone face him at an eye level. His eyes…

Nesta swallows. Hard.

What have you become?

Three large heads now blink at her, their pointed ears twitching in what appears to be confusion. He almost resembles a wolf, Nesta thinks to herself, though his fur is shorter, and his shape and size is no match for the creatures she’d seen in the Overworld’s forests. Cassian is now a creature of his own might, no longer needing siphons to amplify his power. No, this beast could crush Eris with as little as a swing of his long, dark tail.

Those three pairs of eyes blink again, and Nesta makes herself face the middle, wolf-like head. And when his stare shines a familiar hazel, she finally, finally smiles.

He belongs to her now, and there is no going back.

His gaze shifts into something like understanding—and a deep huff sounds from the big, wet snout, as though he’s trying to tell her, I was yours all along, Goddess.

She angles her head slightly. “Perhaps I simply like you better in this form, General,” she answers.

Another huff—a scoff, almost—and Nesta can’t help but chuckle.

“You have no idea,” she tells him.

Slowly, Cassian makes his way past her, toward the island’s shore, the ground grunting heavily under the weight of his new form. He stops at the river’s edge, and she knows he’s taking it all in—the beast that has always lurked from deep within his soul, waiting to be released.

Yes, Nesta realises. She does like this form very much.

When the beast turns to her at last, there is a question hiding in his stare.

“Your humanity isn’t gone—well, not entirely, at least,” Nesta explains. “I can change you back as I please.” A sly smile creeps onto her lips once more. “As long as you please me.”

A low growl slips past his teeth—sharper than any sword he’s ever held, no doubt—and Nesta begins to wonder if he even wants to be changed at all. He likes this—this strength, this might she’d given him. As if whatever she says, whatever she does, will never be true punishment—as long as it means he gets to remain by her side.

Perhaps, Nesta considers as she eyes his brutal form, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

He must see the thought in her stare, because, as though in emphasis, Cassian shifts his weight to the back and rests on the stony shore. His powerful middle is revealed, every bit of muscle strong and hard before it leads—

Nesta sucks in a sharp breath.

Hanging between his legs are three, thick cocks, already throbbing and out for her taking.

Her mouth goes dry, and she sways forward a step. He’s large, larger than she’d thought he’d be, larger than any mortal she’d ever seen. His dark fur gathers at the base—one, hard shaft at the top, with two others placed just below it. His cocks mimic the positioning of his heads—the prime watching proudly from the middle, and the other two resting at its sides.

“Impressive,” Nesta hums absently, focused on the erection growing before her.

She takes another step, so close now to where the beast is waiting—so close that she can see the need gleaming at the blunt tips—

Her breathing comes faster. She needs him, too, she realises, that familiar rush of heat returning to her core. She needs to feel him throb under her touch, needs to taste him in her mouth, needs to be filled by all of him until the Underworld collapses under the force of her pleasure.

Nesta tries to ground herself, to steady her breath as she reminds herself to take it slow—he belongs to her now, wholly and eternally, and there is no need to rush to chase her want.

After all, this is supposed to be his punishment. And if there is one thing Hades has always known, it’s how to make the males suffer. 

She can feel his eyes on her, focused on her every move. Good.

Nesta leans forward and reaches out a hand. The next breath dies in every last one of the beast’s throats as she gently drags her finger over the middle shaft.

Cassian shudders violently, and from the corner of her eye, she can make out the claws, digging into the solid ground. She smiles to herself—and strokes the large girth again, swiping her thumb over the pearly want beading at the tip.

She studies each appendage again, the way they pulse with his lust, the picture of her next move already coming to life in her wicked mind. Slowly, she straightens, her hand leaving the throbbing heat of his skin.

A small noise sounds above her—a strained whimper of protest as she parts with his desire.

Nesta clicks her tongue. “So impatient,” she scolds, as if she herself had not just had to restrain herself from straddling him.

His eyes don’t leave her for a second, fixed on the hand that had just stroked his aching cock, and she knows it’s taking everything in the beastly General not to pin her to the ground and take her as she is. A part of her wishes it—for him to lose control, to mount her with all its power, to make a mess of her right here, at the gates to her onyx fortress.

But Nesta has a plan—as she always does.

This time, she will not let him ruin it.

“Look at you,” she hums again, smearing the evidence of his arousal between her two fingers. Cassian’s eyes dart to the movement, the jaws of his three heads clenched tight. “The beast has come out at last.”

He makes a low, guttural sound.

“Don’t worry,” Nesta says, “I still find you pretty.”

The rock cracks beneath the strength of his claws.

He wants her—she can feel the heaviness of his lust in the air between them. He wants to tell her just how badly he wants her impaled on his cocks, how badly he wishes to know the taste of her hot cunt. Too bad. 

She offers him a smile she knows is edged with cruelty. “Be a good boy for me, and I will let you speak again.”

And with that, Nesta kneels.

His desire calls out to her, and she wonders if he’ll taste as wild and untamed as she’d imagined—if she’ll taste the howling wind on her tongue, the hunger for battle and bloodshed. Suddenly, this is no longer about punishment—it’s about claiming him as hers, about knowing every part of him as though it were her own. Deeply. Intimately.

Cassian’s heavy pant fills the Underworld as she strokes the middle cock again, letting her hand slide down to its base before returning to tease the gleaming tip once more. She only smirks as she feels him harden in her hold, and takes him into her mouth at last.

The ground rumbles slightly with Cassian’s stuttered growl, and it only incites that heat within her. Her tongue swirls around the thick head, and she knows she won’t be able to take him all in, too large to ever fit wholly in her mouth. She also knows he expects her hand to aid her, to close around the base in tandem with her mouth—but Nesta has other plans.

His cock hits the back of her throat as she braces her hands on the two cocks beneath.

Cassian jerks almost violently at the touch, the two, throbbing shafts twitching in response to the feel of her on the sensitive skin, and she can’t help but smile slightly against him. He’s heavy and solid in her hands, and she pumps him up and down, rhythmically to her mouth as her tongue reaches out to lap at his length. She watches his muscles tighten and his hips jerk up—he’s close, she realises, something like satisfaction purring deep inside her chest at the reactions she’s elicited from him. Something determined to please him, to make him addicted to her touch.

His next growl is deeper, raspier, and he arches fully into her mouth. Nesta’s vision blurs, her moan a garbled sound as his tip bumps against her throat again—and Cassian pulls back, as though not wanting to strain her.

As if he ever could.

She curls her fingers around his shafts—too thick for them to truly ever meet at the base—and she squeezes him gently as her tongue darts out once more to graze along the underside.

Then she opens her eyes and meets his gaze.

Cassian comes in a wave.

His roar reverberates straight into her core, already wet and crying out for his heat, and Nesta delights in the feel of his throbbing cock on her tongue, in her hands. He comes down her throat as she swallows him, hands still pumping him in a slowing pace until he finally slumps, panting as though in disbelief.

Her mouth slides off him smoothly then, and she smirks at the mess she’d made of him—of the release still spilling out of the two cocks she’d made a mess of. Nesta rises to her feet and, unable to help herself, flashes him a triumphant smile.

Cassian steadies himself weakly, all four of his powerful legs now holding him up as his breath settles. He looks at her as though he’d never seen her before—as though now, he finally understands that it is a Goddess standing before him, that what she’d just done is a sacrament he’d fall to his knees before for the rest of his life.

All three pairs of eyes sweep down her form now until they meet her centre—and she wonders if he can somehow smell the arousal pooling at her core.

His low growl confirms her suspicions—and Cassian takes a step forward.

The image flashes in her mind, then—this beast between her thighs, licking hungrily at the heat dripping down her cunt, pressing its heavy tongue to her clit—

Cassian takes another step.

“You,” Nesta breathes, “are in no position to make demands.”

She is supposed to be the one in charge here, she reminds herself, but the words fade immediately into the daze of her weakening mind as she watches his hazel eyes darken. Cassian huffs, and it’s almost like a laugh—as if he, too, knows that right now, the Goddess is utterly at his mercy.

As if he likes it.

His eyes flicker to her again, a silent plea—he will not touch her until she grants it.

Nesta looses one, final breath before she yields the one thing that has always been only hers to wield.

Control.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she warns, even though she already knows he’d die before he let that happen.

Cassian pounces.

She’s pinned to the ground before she can blink, the dark stone smooth and cool against the exposed skin of her back. Cassian’s massive body hovers over her, blocking out the dim light as he leans further down.

Before she can use her magic, his teeth already flash, and the sound of the ripping fabric fills the air between them. Her gown now lays shredded around them, and the soft breeze sweeps over her naked body, chill against her hot, aching cunt. She arches off the ground an inch, her human body already desperate for his touch, for the delicious fullness of him inside her, thrusting in and out until she can no longer sustain her breath. Nesta wants him—wants all of him like she’s never wanted before, rough and without restraint.

But then Cassian’s monstrous heads lower further down, and do not stop until—

Until one of his snouts presses against her abdomen and he sniffs, a low growl slipping past his sharp teeth.

His eyes burn dark, intoxicated by the scent of her, spread open and utterly, obscenely wet.

Nesta knows he’s begging for a taste.

She knows what’s coming now, knows he’ll feast on her until she comes again and again and again, until he gets to feel that fire on his tongue and deem it sweeter than ambrosia itself. Two of his heads lower, then, as they lick up her inner thighs, their tongues hot and heavy and wet, stopping an inch from where she needs them most.

She makes an exasperated sound as her walls clench around nothing, only more of that slickness coating them, urging for friction. Cassian huffs a laugh and looks up to face her, an infuriating sight when his head should be where it belongs—right between her legs.

She swears that beastly mouth curls into a smile before his middle head dips and drags its tongue clean up her centre.

Nesta moans then, low and wretched, her head falling back against the ground. The crown of her golden hair is like beams of sunlight against the onyx stone, but she doesn’t care—doesn’t care about the looks of this body anymore—only the way it twists and tightens at the rough tongue swiping over its sensitive cunt.

Cassian licks her like a creature starved, like he’d just crossed a desert and she’s the only fountain in sight. His tongue is heavy and large as it drags itself against her walls, and she wonders just how, exactly, she’ll be able to take any of his cocks when his tongue already sends hot bolts of lightning through her veins.

His other two heads resume their journey up her thighs again, and she writhes at the overstimulation—at the wet trails he’s leaving all over her like an animal marking its territory. I might belong to you, he seems to say, but you belong to me now, too.

Somehow, Nesta doesn’t mind.

The realisation is like the first breaking of light in the darkness, like the first birdsong at the end of a silent night. Nesta—Hades—has always only claimed, for herself, for her power, for her kingdom. No one’s ever claimed her—no one has lived long enough to even try.

No one except Cassian.

He doesn’t want her power or her kingdom—he doesn’t even want Hades. He only wants to be Nesta’s, and for Nesta to be his in return. 

Perhaps this—all of it—has not been some twisted curse from the Fates. No, she can almost see their thread now, bright and golden and tied between the two of their souls.

And what a beautiful sight it is.

She speaks, but her words come out quiet, strained.

Cassian pauses.

“Nesta,” she repeats, the word no more than a breath.

He looks up then, his tongue parting with her cunt just barely, and she moans in protest, rolling her hips higher up into him again.

But Cassian doesn’t move—only stares at her, something golden shining in the darkness of his eyes.

So she explains, “You wanted to know my name.” 

His gaze holds nothing but revelation��he looks like a beast waking from a long-suffering dream.

“My name is Nesta,” she says again, a desperate urgency in her tone.

Her name is the last snap before he unleashes himself.

She can practically hear how wet she is as he licks her, the sounds of her pleasure loud and depraved and stirring something deep within her gut. Her breath becomes short, uneven as he sinks deeper and deeper with every thrust. Her fingers sink into the ground, her power slipping out of her and into the stone, pressing thin cracks beneath the pads of her digits. Her eyes flutter shut, no longer able to register anything but the tongues exploring every inch of where she aches the most—until the middle one slips out of her at last to circle around her clit.

It’s everything Nesta needs to fall apart.

Release tears through her, hot and white and shuddering every last crumbling bit of her world. She comes with a low, strangled cry, and her body falls flat against the ground, swirling with heat despite its cool, welcoming surface. Her human heart thumps loudly in her chest, and she opens her mouth to say something—anything—but words fail her entirely as Cassian continues to sweep at her in a smoother, slower pace, coaxing her through her climax.

Only when her breath finally returns, pouring enough air back into her lungs to speak, does she wave her hand weakly, her power flickering between them.

Cassian blinks, as though something shifted inside him—and understanding dawns upon his features as he finds the change at last.

The look he gives her takes her breath away all over again.

“General—” she starts, a pulse of that familiar heat shooting through her once more as he rises to wedge his powerful middle between her thighs. 

He growls—but this time, the sound is different—changed as it shifts into a voice. Into words. “No more,” he says in a deep, guttural rumble. “No more titles. Speak my name, Nesta.”

His paws rest heavily beside her arms, bracing themselves as he leans over her.

Nesta’s eyes dart to the thick cocks inches away from her core. “Cassian,” she breathes.

Another rumble—lighter, this time, one she can only take for a chuckle. “So impatient,” he mocks, parroting her words from before.

“Give me everything,” she gasps as his middle cock grinds against her sopping folds.

Cassian chuckles again. “You wouldn’t survive everything.” Nesta shudders. “I need to prepare you,” he says, one of his heads lowering to nuzzle at her neck. “Trust me.”

Anticipation coils inside her belly as he guides himself to her entrance—and she gasps out in protest as the tip of his cock pauses right before it.

She knows why he does it—knows exactly what he wants to hear.

“Cassian,” she calls him again, his name like a plea on her lips.

Cassian slides in, and all the worlds collide.

He bottoms out in a deep, rough thrust that rips a wanton cry free from her throat. She jolts against him, his two hard cocks pressed against her thighs, the tingle of his short, black fur on her naked skin setting every last one of her nerves on alert. Nesta’s chest heaves for a breath as he knocks all the air from her body, as she adjusts to the large girth of him in the tightness of her cunt.

His cock stretches her deliciously, reaching a place inside of her no one has ever reached before—and she rolls her hips against him, begging for more friction, begging to feel him stroke it over and over again until there is no more space between them to close. Until they become one.

When he doesn’t make a move, Nesta wiggles again, her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to focus on pushing the air back into her body. But no movement comes—only the low rumbling of his voice again.

“Nesta,” he says, and it’s like a prayer. “Look at me.”

She does.

When her gaze locks onto his, she realises she can see her eyes in the reflection of his—or so she thinks, at least. For her eyes always burn with that deathly, silver fire—they have been from the moment she was born.

But the eyes she sees in his own are a light, lovely shade of blue—like the paling winter sky, calm and gleaming like fresh snow under an arctic sun.

It’s the first time she ever sees them, but the sight is familiar as though she’s been seeing it every day in the mirror—they’re Nesta’s eyes, the ones hidden beneath Hades’s wrath.

She likes them.

She wonders if, this whole time, Cassian has been seeing them, too.

“Mate,” Cassian whispers.

And then, he starts moving.

Slowly, he drags himself in and out, his pace easing into a melting rhythm. He stretches her, watching her face contort in pleasure, groaning as looks down to watch her split open on his cock. Nesta quivers around him, she, too, mesmerised by the sight—by how perfectly he feels inside her, by how perfectly his cock slides in and out of her body.

With every thrust, he reaches deeper, pushing the head of his cock until it fills her so thoroughly that she flutters wildly around his thick length. Her breath turns ragged again, quickening after every stroke of his cock against the spongy roof of her walls.

Cassian growls, throbbing harder inside her, his own pace rushing to match her panting gasps. He drives into her, in and out and in again, the wet sounds of their pleasure mixing with the heavy air. She moans his name, matching him stroke for stroke, hips urging him closer, urging to him to push deeper into her, to find their peak together the way they were always meant to do.

Her walls grip him tighter, and he starts rutting into her frantically, giving into some wild, primal urge to claim her fully, openly, with everything he’s got. He isn’t holding back anymore, he doesn’t care for a steady pace—only the wails of her pleasure and the heat of her cunt welcoming the monster all the way in. 

Nesta nearly chokes as she actually sees his cock puff out her lower body, its perfect curve hitting that spot inside her that made everything but him completely, utterly insignificant. She’s close now, so tight around him that he clenches his jaws to keep himself moving, to hit the back of her cunt with his thrusts.

“Nesta,” he pants, and the sound is her undoing.

They erupt together, the hot slick of her climax coating the length of him as she shakes with the force of her pleasure. Cassian’s cock twitches, and the pumping stutters before he roars and buries himself deep.

His orgasm slams into her, the hot rush of his seed throbbing up his shaft and coating her insides. There is only him, now—only the chase they take on together, the rest of the Underworld fading away. She might be chanting his name, might be gripping the muscled paws she’s nestled between—the only thing she knows is that Cassian is filling her as they ride out their release.

Slowly, the world falls back into place—enough for her to catch a breath, at least. Enough to open her eyes once more and look at the one who’s ruined her life to build a better one anew.

“Mate,” he breathes again, understanding clear in his hazel stare.

As if in answer, something thrums deep within her chest, something warm and golden and not at all like the darkness she’d been used to her whole life. Something that fills the silence—one word, beautiful and unending.

Mate.

Taglist: @melting-houses-of-gold @fieldofdaisiies @octobers-veryown @sunshinebingo @autumndreaming7 @augustinerose @demarogue @helhjertet @jmoonjones @madgirlnesta @areyoudreaminof

#divinity series #tw monsterfucking #nessian #nessian au #nessian smut #nessian fic #pro nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #nesta acosf #cassian acotar #cassian acosf #acotar au #acotar fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[theladyofdeath]

Nesta comes home drunk and horny, but Cassian just puts her to bed. 🖤

Warnings: language, drunkeness A/N: Thank you for the prompt! Enjoy. :)

Cassian was lying on the couch with five minutes left in the season finale of Vikings Valhalla when the front door burst open and Nesta ungracefully stepped across the threshold.

He'd had a peaceful night at home alone, which he rarely had, and he knew Nesta would be pissed that he started...and finished...the new season without her, but he was hoping her sisters got her too drunk to notice.

Which it seemed they did.

She tried to close the door twice before succeeding as Cassian paused the show and looked at his wife, suppressing his grin. "Hey, sweetheart."

Nesta yelped, nearly jumping a foot in the air as if she hadn't even noticed he was laying there in plain sight. She started laughing as she dropped her purse and keys on the floor. "H-hi. I thought you'd be sleeping."

Supposing it was after one, Cassian shook his head. "Can't sleep when you're not here. I thought I'd wait up."

She looked up at him and frowned. "You can't sleep without me? That's...that's so sweet. You're so sweet."

Cassian pushed himself off the couch as he shook his head. "You've passed sassy drunk and have made it to sappy drunk, which means your morning is going to be hell. Come on. Bed time."

"I don't wanna," she whined, kicking off her shoes and dropping her coat on top of her bag. "I wanna...let's have a glass of wine."

"Let's go to bed."

"Can we drink wine in bed?" she asked, just as he stopped in front of her and kissed her forehead. "Shit, you're tall."

Cassian, unable to help himself, laughed. "And you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk." Her brows furrowed as she crossed her arms. "You're an ass."

"Yeah, yeah." He held out his hand. "Come on."

With a dramatic sigh, Nesta took her husband's hand and let him drag her down the hall, through the master bedroom and into their bathroom.

After starting the hot water, he dropped a towel outside the shower door and said, "Get in. Be quick. I'm gonna get you a glass of water."

He thought she mumbled something along the lines of okay, dad as he shut the door behind him and made his way to the kitchen. After filling up a glass of water, he made sure that the house was locked up before returning to their bedroom. The water was still running and he could hear Nesta fumbling around, so he settled himself on the bed and put her water on her nightstand.

He was starting to doze off when the water finally turned off, and a moment later, Nesta entered the bedroom, hair dripping wet and gloriously nude.

Cassian raised a brow, even as his eyes scanned her body. "Didn't feel like drying off?"

She hiccuped as she fell onto the bed and started crawling towards him. "I did dry off, you ass."

"Doesn't look like it," he mumbled, and she straddled his waist. He kept his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles.

Nesta wasn't as modest. She ran her hands down his chest before trying to slip them up his shirt. "Let's make...fuck. Let's fuck."

"We only drunk fuck when we're both drunk and I, unfortunately, am one hundred percent sober." He took her hands and kissed each of her palms. "Get a brush. I'll brush your hair."

Nesta frowned. "You don't find me attractive anymore?"

Cassian sighed, unsure of how she got that from what he'd just said. "You're gorgeous. And I love the fact that your boobs are in my face right now, but it's late and your breath smells like you inhaled half the bar."

Nesta's frown deepened as her hips began to rock, grinding into him beneath his sweatpants. "Pleeeaaaaase. Real quick, then I promise...bed."

Each of her words were slurred and Cassian couldn't wait to remind her in the morning of this very moment. With a sigh, Cassian took Nesta by the hips and rolled her over. She clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, but Cassian only gave her a quick kiss then pushed himself off the bed and made his way to her dresser. He took out a pair of panties and one of her nightshirts, and tossed them onto the bed, where Nesta was yawning.

After going to fetch a brush, he came back and helped her dress before starting to brush her hair. As he worked the brush, her eyes closed and she sighed, contentedly.

"Cass," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I don't feel so good." The words were barely audible and she swayed, falling back against Cassian. He set the brush aside before wrapping his arms around her and leaning back against the pillows with her nestled between his legs.

"Get some rest," he whispered, and kissed the top of her head as he ran his fingers through her hair, again and again. It was only a minute before her breathing evened out and she was sound asleep against his chest.

After turning off the lamp on the nightstand, Cassian pulled them both beneath the blankets and wrapped his body around hers. She snuggled into him without a thought, snoring softly.

Cassian was almost asleep when he remembered that he never finished the damn season finale.

Maybe he'd rewatch the whole thing tomorrow while Nesta nursed a killer hangover.

#nessian #nesta #cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #fanfic #fanfiction #drabble #dabble #oneshot #sjm #modern au #fluff #drunk au #nessian au #nessian fluff #prompts #from the drafts #tara answers prompts

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Semper Eadem (i) (ao3)

Presenting, for @nestaarcheronweek free day, the single most self indulgent fic I have literally ever written: an Elizabethan Nessian AU! This began as a one-shot but I got carried away and now there's going to be four chapters. My historian's heart is really, really, really excited about this one and I really hope you'll all enjoy it as much as I do. It’s 1575, and Nesta Archeron, lady-in-waiting and favourite of Queen Elizabeth I is trying incredibly hard to forget about the bastard nobleman who, eight months ago, stole her heart before leaving to be a pirate privateer. Now, at the Kenilworth pageant thrown in the queen’s honour, Cassian is back and trying to win Nesta round all over again— but there’s no way she’s going to let him off easy.

Kenilworth Castle, 1575

Nesta watched him, her wayward explorer.

It had been eight months since she last glimpsed his face, but she had not yet forgotten the sweep of his jaw. Every one of her letters had gone unanswered whilst he sailed the seven seas on Master Raleigh’s ship, and still it hadn’t been enough to drive from her mind the memory of his face, the curve of his lips or the scar by his eyebrow— a remnant from an old joust, an accident, three autumns past. 

Perhaps eight more, she thought as he stood at the bottom of the small wooden dais. Perhaps eight more months would do it.

Gilden beneath a hundred candles, Cassian was clothed in an expensive velvet doublet the colour of deep red wine, sleeves slashed to reveal the finery of the shirt beneath. His hair had grown longer, a tangled mess of curls barely contained by a leather hair tie, and a touch of stubble graced his jaw. From his left ear, a single pearl dangled. 

Write to me when I’m gone, he had asked when he last came to court.

And Nesta had— every week for the first three months, until she realised no reply was coming and she was wasting her time, her ink, and her paper. 

And now, as though her unanswered letters were not insult enough… He was late. 

So late that she had thought he wasn’t coming at all, had all but given up hope and deemed him lost at sea forevermore, requiescat in pace. But here he was— bowing low and throwing his arms wide in an exaggerated display of deference, very much alive.

Nesta scowled.

Outside, the summer night was deep and dark, the sky littered with stars that she could see through the tall windows lining the great hall of Kenilworth castle. The Earl of Leicester’s elaborate pageant had begun hours ago, and as the sound of the lute grew louder, Nesta straightened her shoulders and waited for the queen to scold the man that stood at the foot of her dais. 

But Elizabeth Tudor only smiled, her painted lips parting as this nobleman-turned-rogue straightened, folding his arms behind his back with a flourish.

“Ah,” the queen said grandly, her voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. “I had begun to wonder when my Bat would come flying back.”

The nickname rolled easily off her tongue and, with its utterance, Cassian grinned. A wolfish flash of teeth, an irreverent curving of his lips, and emboldened, the queen’s Bat took another step forward. Elizabeth only ever gave nicknames to her most favoured of courtiers, and somehow, even though Cassian was a bastard-born northerner, he’d charmed his way into the queen’s good graces.

Into Nesta’s too. 

Bastard.

His nickname had been inspired by the creatures that seemed to flock to the lands owned by Cassian’s father in the north, and Nesta thought it was fitting, now. After all, she’d never seen a bat in the daylight, and come morning she was certain that Cassian would be gone again, boarding a ship with the wind in his hair and salt on his tongue.

Write to me, he had said, all those months ago. The night before he had abandoned court in favour of privateering, he had passed her in a darkened hallway, brushed a hand against her wrist and said, send your letters to the shipyard in Plymouth— we make port there every few weeks. Write to me and tell me of everything I miss whilst I am gone, from the most salacious to the most trivial. Tell me of the new dresses you buy, the new jewels the queen gifts you. Tell me of my brothers— tell me how Rhysand annoys the queen so that I may tease him when I return. Most importantly, tell me of you. Tell me how much you miss me, so that I may think of you as the waves rock me to sleep.

Tell me, and every time I make land I’ll think of you. Every time the sea storms and the weather rages, I’ll keep that ship steady because I’ll be thinking of you, of your letters waiting for me. 

From her place beside Elizabeth, so close to the sovereign that she could smell the rose oil pressed into her skin, Nesta looked down, fighting a frown as she remembered all those honeyed words, as sweet as the sugar the queen adored so much. Sweet— and yet rotten to the core too, melting beneath the candle-heat as he stood there boldly, his grin yet to fade. 

Nesta was the eldest daughter of a duke, the jewel of the Elizabethan court, and the favourite of Queen Elizabeth I, by the grace of God sovereign of England, Ireland, and France. 

Who was he but a man a single step removed from piracy, a rogue dressed in velvet? If he had decided not to answer her letters then— so be it.

She wasn't going to lose sleep over it.

Not anymore, anyway.

“It is a travesty that I was away so long, your majesty,” Cassian drawled. “My heart ached with every wave that carried me further from these beautiful shores.”

“Pretty poetry sir,” Elizabeth crooned, crooking a finger to bring him closer. His fine leather boots climbed the three small steps of the dais, but Nesta found herself looking away— looking across to the hall behind him, to the courtiers and politicians draining goblets of malmsey wine. The entire glittering court— assembled for the pageant Leicester was throwing in the queen’s honour. 

A pageant she had written to Cassian of in several of her unanswered and ignored letters. A bitter taste coated her tongue as she surveyed the hall, remembering the night she’d dragged her quill across the parchment, the candle burning low. 

I trust I will be seeing you at Kenilworth, if the sea can spare you. 

Another frown settled deep between her brows, and Nesta half wanted to find a barrel of malmsey and drown him in it. 

“Ah, but there are so many things of exquisite beauty in this court,” Cassian countered the queen grandly, gesturing at the hall around them with an outstretched arm. His eyes alighted - for half a moment - on Nesta, taking in the cut of her gown and the jewels at her neck. His voice dropped an octave as he tilted his head, the pearl in his ear gold-limned by the candlelight. “They warrant such verses do they not, my queen?”

Elizabeth hummed, reclining in her seat - her travelling throne - and bracing her forearms on the wooden arm rests. The movement set her extravagant ruff trembling, the layers of intricate, starched lace shaking. 

“I confess, sir, that I like your company much better than that of your compatriot,” she said dryly, inclining her head to her other side, where members of her privy council sat in seats of honour. Elizabeth nodded pointedly to Rhysand, one of her youngest councillors, who blinked mildly as he turned his head. Not without reason, either. Only last week, he had earned himself a shoe thrown towards his head after suggesting the queen marry a Dutch nobleman. 

How fortunate for his pretty face, Nesta thought wryly, that the queen’s slippers were made of silk. The mark on his cheek had faded after only an hour.

Dressed in fine black satin, Rhysand brushed his thumb over his lip now, looking at Cassian with eyes so blue they were almost violet. 

With a soft tsk, Cassian took a step closer to the queen. “Has he been plaguing you, your majesty, whilst I have been away?” He tilted his head, and let his voice affect the air of a whisper. “Would you like me to take him with me ere I leave? We are always in need of good hands to scrub the decks.”

Rhysand rolled those deep blue eyes. “Welcome home, brother,” he said dryly. “It is, as ever, an unparalleled delight to have you with us at court.”

Cassian merely grinned. 

They had been raised together, the queen’s councillor and her privateer. 

Right here, in these very halls, they had spent their youth. It was custom to entrust the education and upbringing of high-born boys to another noble household, sending them off as soon as they were old enough to receive instruction in the arts of both war and diplomacy. They were taught to hunt, to dance, to joust and to fight. To speak Latin, to read and to write, and in the case of Rhysand and Cassian - and a handful of other boys - the Earl of Leicester had the honour. Kenilworth had shaped them both.

Nesta still wasn’t entirely sure how Cassian’s father had managed it.

Rhysand’s father was a duke, and a distant relative of the queen through her father’s line. It made sense that his son would win a place in the household of the queen’s most treasured favourite, Leicester. After all, in the distant, far-reaching branches of Rhysand’s family tree, he shared a grandparent with the queen. 

But Cassian— well, Nesta thought as she watched him look across to his childhood friend now, his grin turning wicked as he dared to wink at his sovereign. He was a bastard. The only son of a rich northern baron, yes, but a bastard nonetheless. A bastard that, apparently, felt comfortable enough to wink at the queen of England. 

Thirty years ago, he’d have lost his head for the presumption. 

Nesta felt her breath catch at the audacity, at the daring, and wondered whether the queen would throw a slipper at him, too. But Elizabeth only seemed to revel in Cassian’s attentions, her elaborate ruff trembling anew as a deep laugh reverberated in her throat.

“Oh,” she said as her laughter made her voice lilt and swell. “My privy councillor may have such lovely eyes, but I much prefer your handsome smile. I have half a mind to forbid you to ever leave my side again.”

Cassian bowed again, his chin almost touching his broad chest as he dipped his head. Broader than before, Nesta noted with a twist to her gut. His arms were corded with even more muscle than when she’d seen him last, far more than the velvet could disguise. Being at sea suited him, and yet as he raised his eyes again, he smiled effortlessly at the queen.

A courtier’s smile.

A fox’s smile. Exactly the kind that had snared Nesta in the first place, that had her writing letters to him as he sailed across the horizon, like little more than a lovesick girl— like some kind of Penelope waiting for her Odysseus. 

“Your majesty, I have travelled across land and sea and have yet to find a court that shines as brightly as yours,” Cassian declared. “Give me the order and I shall stay forever.”

Liar, Nesta thought.

He liked the wind in his hair too much, enjoyed the freedom of being away from court. She knew that all too well. Knew, too, how skilled he was at this game of politicking, how much he knew the queen valued flattery. There wasn’t a single word falling from his silver tongue that Nesta would believe, and yet— Elizabeth hummed again, the jewels in her ears shifting and catching the light as she looked at Rhysand with a tilted head. With the sharp eyes she had inherited from her father, Elizabeth Tudor tapped her fingers on the arm of her throne, entertained and appeased in equal measure.

“I would not be so cruel to keep you forever,” she said airily. “But perhaps for a while longer.”

Cassian nodded. And then— a glint in hazel eyes, a fire burning beneath the candlelight. His eyes slid to Nesta once more as he lifted his chin with purpose. Grown long, his dark hair brushed the velvet covering his powerful shoulders.

“I know I cannot take a turn around the floor with your gentle hand in mine, your majesty, so I would ask for the nearest thing.” He paused, and Nesta could have sworn she heard Rhysand curse below his breath. “Perhaps I could ask one of your ladies for a dance?”

Elizabeth waved a heavy-ringed hand to grant his request, and Nesta felt her scowl deepen. There was only one the queen would choose in her stead, only one she would appoint, and by the expectant gleam in Cassian’s eyes… he knew it.

Bastard.

“Misstress Archeron,” the queen said proudly, her dark eyes turning and finding Nesta at her side. Approval glittered there, and a feline grin split the queen’s painted lips as she gestured for Nesta to step forward. As an aside she added, “I do hope you remember, sir, how she has made lesser men tremble in the past.”

Cassian’s smile grew. “Ah. The Venetian ambassador.”

“Indeed,” the queen hummed in bemusement, even as Rhysand muttered darkly under his breath about how it had been a diplomatic disaster. He drank deeply from his cup, fixing his friend with a wry stare as a cupbearer replenished his wine.

“A dance with Mistress Archeron is a risky thing,” Rhysand trilled. “Do try not to plunge us into civil war, Cass.”

Nesta bristled, but kept her chin high and her spine as straight as an arrow as those violet eyes rolled across her, slid across her form like water. The queen clucked her tongue, and her councillor had the good sense to look chastened, colour rising in his cheeks as Cassian took a step forward and offered her his forearm. 

It had been years ago now— when the Venetian ambassador had asked her to dance.

He had been an aged man, yet self-important and narcissistic, and though he had been eager enough at first, he had stumbled in an effort to keep up once the music had begun. His face had turned puce, sweat shining on his brow, and when the music died he had asked, in a voice loud and bitter, if the English had turned wild in the years they had been separated from the Catholic Church. The queen’s face had turned stony, and when he made to lead Nesta back to her station at Elizabeth’s side, she had pulled from his hold.

Perhaps, she had said, in a voice that was polite and yet not at all meek, if the most gracious ambassador cannot keep up, the Doge of Venice should send us another, one more suited to English ways.

Elizabeth’s laugh had rang out through her hall at Westminster, clapping her hands with delight as the ambassador bowed curtly and took his leave. As Nesta reclaimed her place at her side, Elizabeth’s slender fingers had darted out to tap Nesta’s wrist. Well done little dove, she had said, dark eyes gleaming. 

And ever since, Nesta had been one of the queen’s favourite ladies, always at her side— diplomatic disasters only a small matter in comparison to making Elizabeth laugh.

Nesta placed her hand lightly on Cassian’s extended arm now, feeling the firmness of the muscle beneath her hand. Try as she might, it was impossible to ignore, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many hours he had spent labouring on a ship these past eight months. How many he had spent training with sword and shield. He had always been formidable on horseback, winning almost every tournament he entered, but now… months at sea had honed him, sharpened him into different kind of blade.

As the minstrels struck up a new song, Cassian covered her hand with his own and together they descended the three steps of the dais slowly. They moved backwards, never turning their backs to their queen, and as Elizabeth nodded in approval, Nesta tried hard not to relish the feel of his arm beneath her fingers, the warmth of him she’d almost forgotten in the long months they had been parted.

It was a feeling that only intensified with every step they took, every one that brought them closer to the wide floor of the hall where the long tables had been pushed aside for dancing. And then Cassian was bowing to her, his lips alighting on the back of her hand as her fingers curled around his, drawn to the warmth of him, and her heart was fluttering in her chest, flickering like a candle flame. Like the past eight months had been nothing but a fevered dream, like she hadn’t spent days on end anticipating the arrival of a messenger only to end up disappointed, crestfallen—

“I missed you,” Cassian whispered.

Dropping her hand, he rose to his full height. He stood a full head and shoulders above her, but though his bulk made him far from the most elegant of dance partners… He drew her into the music easily as it began, the steps practiced and well-rehearsed, familiar to them both.

“And yet,” Nesta said as the dance brought them closer together, “You didn’t answer my letters.”

“It’s difficult to post correspondence whilst on a ship,” he said easily. “A storm blew us off course. We couldn’t make port in Plymouth as often as planned— or at all, actually. I didn’t get any of those letters until we alighted a week ago.” He gave her a daring grin, a flash of a smile. “But trust that I penned a reply to each and every one as soon as I was able, and I brought them here with me— along with every letter that I wrote whilst at sea, every one I couldn’t send, because yes, sweetheart, I spent every day of that voyage thinking of you.”

Damnable bastard, Nesta thought as she kept her face blank, watching the candlelight dance across his skin, limning the stubble on his jaw that belied his hasty journey from port to castle. A rouge— he looked like a bloody rogue, despite the velvet and the gold and the pearls. And God save her, Nesta couldn’t help but adore it.

Damnable charming bastard. 

“They’re in the chest in my chambers,” he continued lightly, lifting his arm to let her spin beneath, twining his fingers with her own to make a bridge of their arms. “I will have them delivered to you as soon as I find a squire.”

He made a show of glancing around the hall, as if searching out a boy to fetch the letters right here, right now. She wouldn’t put it past him, and she didn’t know if that made him more charming or more bloody infuriating.

“Maybe if I grow bored enough I shall read them,” she shrugged, her heart skipping even as she damned it— even as she cursed herself for falling prey to that dazzling smile. Cassian spun her away and brought her back again, a hand snaking around her waist as she raised her eyebrows. 

He let out a breath. “Oh, so cruel.” A smirk curved his lips, and the pearl in his ear shone bright in the candlelight. “Were you always so, my lady? Or was it the bitterness you found in my absence that sharpened your tongue?”

“The only thing I found in your absence, sir, was peace.”

The music swelled, and as the steps demanded, Cassian pulled away, the distance between them stretching. He smirked, and Nesta felt an answering smile of her own pulling, unbidden, at her own lips. Heaven help her, she thought as he flattened his palm and held it up and out, facing her. Nesta placed hers flat against his, feeling the chill of his golden rings against her skin, mingling with the heat of his hand. Her heart kicked, traitorous in her chest. She was supposed to be angry, supposed to be indignant and yet—

The dance ended, and with her palm still pressed against his, sure and steadying, she dipped into a deep bow. He bent low too, and from beneath his eyelashes, he dared to look at her and take his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I will tell you one thing, Mistress Archeron,” he murmured as she rose in a rustle of embroidered silk and heavy brocade. “Your beauty has grown boundless whilst I was away. There were times when I would think of you at night, watching the moonlight gild the waves, and I sometimes worried that, in my desperation for you, I may have exaggerated your fairness.” His eyes darkened, dipped appreciatively to her collarbone, to the low cut of her dress. “If anything, the memory pales in comparison.”

Nesta straightened, her hand fluttering to her neck as her fingers traced the jewels at her throat. 

“And still,” she said dryly. “You ignored my letters.”

He barked a laugh, as deep and rich as the finest wine. “I told you. We didn’t make port.”

“Too busy attacking Spanish ships in the Atlantic?” Nesta asked with a raised eyebrow. Oh, word had reached court of Master Raleigh’s ships, of the enemy vessels they raided and seized. The court had taken to calling them the queen’s Sea Dogs, and the only thing saving Cassian and his captain from piracy was the queen’s approval— but he seemed to care little, an irreverent grin on his face as he shrugged with an air of ease and arrogance.

“For queen and country, sweetheart.”

And even though she knew she should leave, knew she should return to the queen, Nesta let him lead her from the dance floor, strung along by that godforsaken smirk. Cassian took up a spot by the wall, leaning against it and bracing a booted foot against the stone. He tipped his head back, his smile turning effortless as Nesta lingered by his side, knowing she should leave, longing to stay.

The lute began again, and she watched the queen’s court move around her. Watched the courtiers dance, listened to the laughter and the revelry. Cassian hardly seemed to notice, too intent on watching her, studying her like a map that would yield some hidden treasure. 

“I meant it, you know,” he said idly, folding his arms across the broad span of his chest. “When I said I missed you.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

She kept her eyes forward, on the circles of ladies dancing with earls and dukes and lords. And as she watched the Earl of Oxford stepping forward, eyeing her across the room like a fox might a deer, Cassian followed her gaze and scoffed. He rounded her, blocking the Earl of Oxford from view as he held out his hand again.

“Then let me prove it,” he said. “The queen returns to London in nineteen days. Let me spend each day from now until then winning back your favour.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, to where the Earl of Oxford still approached. “I’ll start by rescuing you, my lady.”

“So gallant,” Nesta said dryly. “Saving me from a dance with an earl.”

“The Earl of Oxford,” Cassian said with a wicked smirk. He huffed a laugh as his eyes danced across the earl’s elaborate ruff, the gaudy cut of his doublet. “He would bore you with talk of poetry and Shakespeare’s latest.”

“Perhaps I’d like to hear about Shakespeare’s latest,” Nesta shrugged. 

Cassian smirked again. “Or I could show you the gardens, and save your feet from being stamped on by an ingrate like the Earl of fucking Oxford.”

“An ingrate? Rich coming from a pirate.”

“Privateer, sweetheart.” His eyes went to the dais, to the queen that was now deep in conversation with the Earl of Leicester. “Our most gracious majesty knows all about our exploits in the channel.”

“Semantics.”

“If you’d like to talk semantics, maybe I should leave you to the Earl of Oxford.”

Nesta bit back a laugh as she wrapped her fingers around his forearms. “Show me the gardens, sir. You can tell me about your travels whilst you do.”

“And then?” he asked with a raised brow.

“And then you have nineteen days to win me round.”

#nessian #nestaweek2023 #there is also a very lengthy authors note on ao3 full of historical detail and addendums #nessian au #nessian fic

[fieldofdaisiies]

Ultima Ex Nobis | prol.

-all rights reserved-

Nessian AU word count: 430 words warnings: none summary: Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity  is unknown but they can make an antidote.

A cool wind blows across the landscape, harsh and rough. They are standing on a hill, overlooking the large suburban area below them.

This is the place he has chosen for her, for her to spend her forever. Locks of dark hair are blown into his face and Cassian brings his hand up, brushing it over his forehead. Dread coils in his stomach, his soul empty, his heart shattered, still aching from the loss.

He sniffs once, his gaze moving to his brother standing next to him. “She was my world.”

Azriel’s expression is stoic, eyes empty and focused on the headstone in front of them, on the engraving: 

Tanwyn Cadell. 1987-2018. In loving memory of our beloved daughter, sister, wife. May her soul rest in peace. 

Azriel parts his lips to say some comforting words to his brother, but he gets no chance to do so. The sirens start howling somewhere in the city nearby. The sounds are so high-pitched, they pierce through the men’s ear drums amd make them grimace.

“They are searching again,” the former government spy says in a low voice, his eyes tracking the area below them. A car that looks a lot like an ambulance dashes through the streets, in search of…infected.

One month ago it has started, the numbers are increasing by the minute, the government slowly collapsing.

“It is spreading rapidly,” Cassian mumbled, his hand on its own accord moving to the gun strapped to his hips. “Soon it will be the whole country.” “The whole continent.”

“You heard what they did in Sangravah?” Azriel looks back to the grave, his temples aching fiercely when memories of what he has been met with when arriving there flood his brain. 

“No survivors?” “Only a handful.”

Azriel shoves his hands into his pockets, the cold wind harsh on his scarred skin. He takes a step backwards, eyes narrowing in on a movement in the distance. “How fast the fungus spreads still needs to be discovered, but we are making some progress. Also in the chemistry laboratories they are getting closer to solutions and maybe even antidotes,” the former government employee explains. 

It all sounds too good, he knows this and Azriel is not one to dwell on hope, so these are all just some beliefs that might never come true.

And neither is Cassian one to be specifically positive about that kind of things, especially not about the Cordyceps virus. “We can only hope for now,” he says, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “And survive. First and foremost all, we need to survive.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @helhjertet @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @crushedcloudsx @brekkershadowsinger  @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me @swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan @burningsnowleopard @headcanonheadcase

#nessian #nessian au #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #acotar #acosf

[hlizr50]

Better five days late than never, right?

First of all, sincerest apologies to @vulpes-fennec and @azrielshadowssing for being so late posting my part 3 for the ACOTAR Writing Circle. You can see all the fics and authors on the master list here! Thank you, @azrielshadowssing for organizing this, yet again!

Apologies, as well, to all the readers who have been waiting for the conclusion to Why Did It Have To Be Me!

Read the whole fic on AO3 here!

Read Part 3 here!

Or just continue below!

CW: This chapter is NSFW

TW: This chapter contains mild depictions of SA and attempted SA

“Cassian.”

It wasn’t a surprised squeak, though she had very much not expected to find the hulking, gorgeous man at her door. No, it was more of a… statement. An observation.

Cassian. He was there. In her doorway.

Nesta couldn’t allow herself to sound happy about it, not when she knew how easy it would be for her to fall for him. Not when she knew who she was. What she was. There was no way that she would be able to do anything more than break his gentle, loving heart. And, even though she was selfish and heartless, she wouldn’t do that. Not to him.

“Nesta.” His face was wholly serious, one eyebrow cocked in that arrogant, expectant way that was so sexy it infuriated her. When she didn’t respond he strode through the door – the door she hadn’t slammed in his face for some reason. And now he was staring down at her with those intense amber eyes.

“Close the door, Nes,” he whispered. And, goddamn it, she did, her body moving of its own accord. After the door snicked shut, a large, warm hand covered hers and pulled it away from the knob. The touch was like lightning, jolting her back into her own body. She blinked up at Cassian with a scowl.

“What do you want?” Nesta hissed. In a move that was far too smooth for such a behemoth of a man, he turned them and pressed her against the door, one hand cradling her nape as the other held her wrists above her. She could smell the shampoo from the soft strands of his loose ebony hair as he leaned in close enough for her to taste the spearmint on his breath.

“I told you, sweetheart,” he murmured, running the tip of his nose over her cheek until his mouth branded her ear with his searing declaration. “I owe you something.”

She didn’t fight back when his lips captured hers and his tongue speared into her mouth. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t stop the kiss, but the battle for dominance was obvious. Of course, Cassian won. His kisses made her drunk, made her brain fuzzy. And still his breathy words clattered around in her brain with startling clarity.

“Can I touch you, Nes?” Fuck, she could feel the rumble of his gruff, gravelly voice in her very marrow. And her mouth, that cursed thing, responded automatically between his kisses.

“Please.”

Nesta hated the desperation in that plea; loathed the way her lips betrayed her typically iron will and the way her body yearned for him. When his calloused fingertips scratched deliciously against her skin as they slid under her shirt, she tilted her head back on a gasp. Cassian’s mouth just slid down to her chin and continued licking and kissing down the line of her jaw.

And then his hand moved in the opposite direction, his palm sliding beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts, and Nesta burst into flames.

“No panties, sweetheart?” The behemoth of a man chuckled darkly against her throat, and she both loved and despised the way it made her stomach twist in anticipation. “Naughty girl.”

“Are you going to keep talking or are you actually going to do something?” she hissed as she flexed her hands in his grip. With a growl he released her and hiked her knee up with his free hand. Delving further, his touch found where she needed him, though she would never admit it.

He ran a finger up her center, sending tremors through her muscles. With a nip to her neck – and a startled yelp from her panting mouth – Cassian plunged a finger deep inside her.

“I like to take my time, Nes.”

Fuck, this man.

Fuck this man.

With his perfect hair and powerful body and goddamn magic fingers.

Nesta cursed herself as her body quaked at his expert touch. Of course, she'd planned on letting Cassian get her off, but she'd planned on making sure he had to work for it. At this rate, she'd be a quivering puddle at his feet in a matter of moments. 

Her will was broken when he lifted his head and once again claimed her mouth with his lips and tongue, his finger thrusting in and out as his thumb circled her clit. As he coaxed her closer and closer to the edge, her hands – which had fallen to his chest – skated over the soft fabric of his tee and buried themselves in his luxurious ebony locks. 

With a sigh against her lips, Cassian slipped a second thick finger into her molten core. She barked a curse, clutching him tighter against her and earning a smug hum as his lips found her jaw again.

Fuck, she was close.

"That's it, sweetheart," he urged as he pistoned his fingers. "I can feel you clenching. You gonna come on my fingers, Nes?"

Stubbornness kept her from giving an answer. But it didn't matter when, only a moment later, his fingers curled against that most sensitive spot and she was sent into her climax on a guttural moan. Nesta clung to him, fingernails scratching over his shoulders and back, as she rode out her orgasm. It was so good – so staggeringly, infuriatingly good.

Her mind-numbing bliss shattered into a million pieces against a cold stone wall.

This was a mistake.

Nesta unhooked her leg from Cassian’s hip and supported herself on wobbly legs, her hands falling away from those massive shoulders. Her gaze hooked on a snag in her living room carpet, unable to meet his eyes as she straightened her shirt and shorts after he pulled away from her.

“Nesta–”

The honey-haired woman felt the cold wash over her, let the mask fall back into place. Indifference. Haughtiness. Ire. Everything that she was, and everything that would ruin him if he got too close.

The kissing and the touching and the orgasms had been a mistake. But this… what she was about to do, this was the right thing.

Lifting her chin she looked Cassian dead in the eye and said, “Now we’re even. Is that all?”

God, she hated the way his expression fell from that smug confidence to disbelief and hurt, and then twisted into frustration. But she could work with that.

“As a matter of fact, it’s–”

“I’m sorry, I should have been more clear,” Nesta interrupted. “That is all. You can leave now.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Amber eyes flashed as the hulking man’s anger rose. “It’s obvious that I want you. And it’s pretty fucking obvious that you want me, too. So what the fuck are we doing here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. “As for what we’re doing here, I’d say we’ve finally completed our little exchange and now the two of us can go on with our lives, moderately satisfied.”

Her thinly veiled insult seemed to miss its mark as Cassian stepped into her space again, forcing her back against the door.

“Look into my eyes, Nesta, and tell me that you don’t want me.”

Nesta stared back at him. His eyes were so beautiful and warm and swirling with such fire. And she felt her own light extinguish as she did exactly as he’d instructed.

“I don’t want you, Cassian. I never wanted you.” She could barely breathe as his eyes grew dark, but they didn’t cool into something dull and lifeless like hers would. No, there was something simmering there. Disdain? Disbelief?

Pity.

And, God, if that shadowed glare didn’t cut right through her.

“I know you think you have this frigid bitch thing down,” Cassian practically growled at her, and it grated against her very soul. “But it’s obvious you’re dealing with some shit. You can put on a show of telling me and whoever else that you want nothing to do with me. I might be some gym bro, but I’m not fucking stupid. I see it when I look at you and I feel it when we’re together.”

He stepped back, but Nesta still didn’t feel like she had enough room to breathe.

“But I’m not going to stand here and deal with your whole hot and cold routine if you’re going to continue to lie to yourself. If you’re going to continue using your words as weapons meant to wound.” Cassian’s voice grew quiet, and instead of curling in on herself, Nesta forced a scowl.

Because this was best. For both of them.

��I care about you, Nes. I really do. But I can’t prove that if you never allow me close enough to try.” And with that, he reached for the doorknob. Nesta stumbled out of the way to let him out. Then, without even looking at him again, she shut the door behind him. Pressing her ear against the wood, she listened to the heavy footsteps traveling further and further away. Until there was nothing more than suffocating silence.

It was only then that she allowed herself to slide down the door until she was a crumpled heap on the floor, bury her face in her hands, and allow all of her shame and self-loathing to consume her.

~~~

The spiral that followed was something intervention-worthy.

The look in Cassian’s typically smiling eyes, the exhaustion in his voice, the way his shoulders slumped – she saw all of it on a constant loop in her dreams, and woke up almost every morning with that shame souring her gut. She’d hurt him, had pushed him far enough that she was no longer worth fighting herself for.

But that had been the point, hadn’t it?

And so she soldiered on, thanks to the miracles of coffee and concealer for the daytime and the alcohol that sent her toppling into her bed at night. She’d started attending as many parties as she could find, desperate to escape the echoes of her mistakes in her mind and the yawning chasm of her soul. Nesta had made quite a name for herself on fraternity row, and between Elain’s and Emerie’s connections within the Greek community, it was a small wonder she hadn’t been on the receiving end of more than the one conversation with her friend.

“I’m not judging you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

What Emerie didn’t know was that safe was when her brain was too addled with booze to even remember that Cassian existed. When she was drunk she could be whatever she wanted; a bitch, a tease, a fucking queen if she saw fit.

She’d slept around more in the first few weeks, but nobody could even measure up to Cassian’s fucking hand. So she’d given up on trying to assuage her sexual frustration and had jumped straight to drinking enough to go blissfully blank.

Which was exactly what she was doing at Sig Eps on a Friday night, hand curled around a red plastic cup full of a punch that burned deliciously all the way down. That meant the night would probably end quickly, and that was good for two reasons:

Tomas Mandray seemed hellbent on getting into her pants

Cassian was there

Nesta sure hadn’t been nursing her drink long enough to deal with his presence, which was somehow even bigger and more overwhelming than his physical form. It was as if she could feel his stare on her skin like a caress, and no matter where she was in the house her gaze always seemed to snag on his intense amber eyes, that little half-up man-bun that shouldn’t be as devastatingly sexy as it was, and the way his long-sleeved tee stretched over his broad shoulders and chest, his huge biceps highlighted by the fact that he had his arms crossed like a disappointed parent.

She needed to get out of that house.

Cassian’s expression twisted into a scowl, and she nearly toppled back before a heavy arm landed across her shoulders.

“Not drinking tonight?” She didn’t need to look up to know it was Tomas. There was something about his voice that screamed rich and pretentious, with a unique, slightly-nasal quality that made him all-too-easy to identify. Nesta lifted her cup, along with her eyebrows, to show the idiot that she did, in fact, have a nearly-full beverage in her hand. To prove the point further, she downed a large gulp and savored the scorch of the alcohol. “That’s my girl.” He squeezed her into his side.

“I’m not your girl.” Nesta’s correction seemed to fall on deaf ears as the Sig Eps VP grinned like a moron. With a dramatic roll of her eyes she took another large sip, more ready than ever for the warmth of drink to take over.

But something was different. Her stomach roiled and her head suddenly felt too heavy, and she thought she might be sick. For a split second, she wanted to lift her head to find the man whose attention had followed her every minute she’d been in this house. She’d much rather Cassian comfort her while she vomited than Tomas. But she didn’t even have the strength to look.

“You okay, baby?” Tomas’s voice seemed far away… muffled. Blinking her eyes, her vision came into focus for a moment, finding his brown eyes focused on her face. Nesta couldn’t identify what she saw there, but also she was drunk and apparently getting sick.

“I think I’m just tired. But I also feel like I might get sick.” She felt the arm around her shoulders pull her closer, and her balance and vision were so off that she nearly fell into him. She’d never felt like this before, and something deep in the back of her mind screamed that it wasn’t right. 

But Tomas just ran his palm up and down her bare arm and led her toward the stairs. “I’ll take you to the bathroom and then you can nap in my room.”

And, though Nesta wanted to protest, her tongue was thick and useless in her mouth. The frat boy practically dragged her up to the second floor, and it was only marginally better once they reached flat ground again. Her legs could barely hold her weight and she couldn’t seem to figure out how to place one foot in front of the other.

When she was pulled through an open door that was quickly shut behind her, all of her senses went on alert.

This wasn’t the bathroom.

“Wh-what?” her voice slurred, though she could barely hear it over the heartbeat pounding in her ears. 

“Shhh just relax, baby.”

And then she was horizontal, splayed across something soft that had to be the twin bed with Tomas hoving above her, eyes hungry. When he reached for the hem of her shirt she made to smack his hand away.

But her arm felt like it weighed 100 pounds. It was sluggish and weak and did nothing as Tomas pushed it away.

With a furrowed brow she tried again, tried to get any limb to obey as grubby little hands crawled under her blouse and squeezed at her.

Dear God, this couldn’t be happening.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she somehow managed to push the word “no” past her lips. Over and over in a continuous, slurred string. But Tomas wasn’t listening, his gaze intent on his prize. His touch was violating and rough as he pinched and kneaded.

“God, I’ve been waiting so long to spend some time with these.”

Nesta could feel the burning twin trails of angry, helpless tears on either side of her face. “No. No no no.” Her shirt was pushed up over her chest to give him a better view, and she couldn’t see much because of it. But when she felt his hands fiddling with the button on her jeans, she used every last ounce of will and strength and bodily control to release what could only be described as something between a moan and a scream. And as her body shook, she resigned herself to the fact that nobody was coming to save her.

~~~

Cassian couldn’t have taken his eyes off her for more than a handful of seconds. Hell, he knew it because he hadn’t been able to look away all damn night. But, somehow, she had disappeared.

And maybe that was fine. If she wanted to avoid him so badly that she’d decide to hook up with Tomas fucking Mandray, then that was none of his business. But something didn’t feel right. Nesta hadn’t looked uncomfortable when Tomas had slung his arm across her shoulders, but she sure hadn’t looked thrilled, either. 

And now they both were gone, and that knowledge settled like a dead weight in his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and Cassian was never one to ignore his instincts. That’s what had prompted him to try to get close with Nesta – he felt something when he was with her, deep in his soul. Something he wasn’t willing to ignore.

Something she was.

The towering man made a lap around the main floor of the house, finding no sign of the beautiful, icy-eyed woman who had tried to break his heart.

And so he headed up the stairs into the residential part of the fraternity, more quickly than was probably warranted. If Nesta wanted to sleep with other guys then that was her right and her prerogative. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that her disappearance wasn’t quite as straightforward.

And then he heard it: a cry that was so soft for all the devastation it carried.

Cassian knew it was her. He just knew.

In seconds he’d burst through a door with a snarl, finding Mandray straddling long, denim-clad legs. His fingers were still on the waistband of those perfect jeans. Time was frozen in that moment as Cassian took in the scene, horrified. Nesta’s beautiful eyes overflowing with tears, her top pulled up to reveal her chest. Her bra was still on, but Tomas had clearly been doing something. And then there he was, a dumb, piece of shit guy with a dumb, piece of shit look on his face.

“Take your hands off her.”

Tomas lifted his hands as if he’d just had a gun pointed at him. Hell, if Cassian only had one. “Hey, man. She said she felt sick. I was just helping her out. She’s the one that wanted to come to my room.” Cassian’s gaze flicked to Nesta’s tear-stained face and then back to Tomas.

“If you don’t get away from her right fucking now, I’ll fucking kill you.” He had half a mind to do it anyway, but his first and only priority was getting Nesta out of this situation. Tomas slowly moved to the edge of the mattress and set his feet on the floor, backing away with his hands still up.

Before Mandray could react, Cassian clocked him across the left side of his face, sending the trash human sprawling. He glowered down at the small man for a moment, then made his way back to the bed. With gentle hands he pulled her blouse back down, covering Nesta’s chest and stomach. Then he cupped her cheeks, wiping away the dampness with his thumbs.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay. I’m going to take you home, alright?” Nesta’s answer was less a nod and more just her chin falling forward.

“Itsssshard… to… move,” she whispered, and Cassian’s vision swam in shades of red. The fucking bastard had clearly slipped something in her drink, and the urge to kill Mandray returned with a vengeance. He gathered Nesta against his chest, helping her wind her arms around his neck, and started toward the door.

“If you even think about trying to come after me for punching you, I will destroy you,” Cassian seethed. Then he stalked forward with lethal purpose, his vision tunneled toward one singular goal: getting Nesta out. And he didn’t stop until he reached his Jeep and buckled her into the passenger’s seat.

In the oppressive quiet of his truck, Cassian was caught between cursing himself for living so far off campus and thanking the stars above that he had half an hour to rein himself in and deal with the furious storm of thoughts and emotions screaming through his head.

Thank God I made it in time.

Should I have killed the bastard?

What if I hadn’t been there?

I almost didn’t go after her…

Guilt washed over him in a cold wave. He’d known that she was struggling. All those weeks ago, when he’d left her dorm room he’d thought it was for the best. Cassian fancied himself good with people, good at pushing others to be better and great at making them smile. But it didn’t matter how much he cared for a person or believed in a person; he couldn’t make them believe in themselves.

Perhaps he’d been too arrogant, presuming he was enough of a catch for Nesta to want him enough to want to figure things out. But it had, apparently, backfired spectacularly. Instead of blooming, she’d spiraled. Cassian had watched, just out of sight and heart cracking, as she drowned her sorrows and self-loathing in cheap beer and jungle juice.

What Cassian hadn’t done was step in. The lovely ice queen had drawn a very clear line in the sand, and he’d done everything in his power to respect it. It had been pure coincidence that he’d ended up at the party that night. He’d begrudgingly accepted an invite from one of the counselors at camp, since he’d promised the guy over the summer to come hang with him and his brothers.

And thank fuck he’d said yes. If he hadn’t, Nesta would still be in that bed, trying to fight off that piece of shit Mandray and–

“I lied.”

Cassian nearly jumped out of his skin, even though Nesta had barely whispered the words. When he glanced over at her, she was hunched over and leaning her head against the window.

“What?”

“I lied. When I said I didn’t want you,” she mumbled, and the hulking student couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh, I know that, sweetheart.” The snort he received in response brought a small grin to his face.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Cassian waited for her to say more, but only silence followed.

For another minute or so.

“You’re too fucking perfect.”

Well that sent his brows straight into his hairline.

“Um… Thank you?” He dared another glance her way to try to get a read on exactly where the hell this was going, but she still faced the window, seemingly fascinated by the trees whizzing by. But she groaned.

“You don’t get it. That’s why I said I didn’t want you. You’re perfect and I’m… God, whatever the fuck this is. I had to scare you away so I wouldn’t crush your sweet, beautiful soul.” Nesta’s voice sounded so tired and sad. Didn’t she realize that it was that forlorn tone that crushed him? And not whatever she thought she would do to him?

“I dunno, Nes. I’ve always thought you were pretty damned great,” he started, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

“Oh, please. I don’t deserve you,” she slurred, a reminder that she was still under the influence of alcohol and whatever drug Tomas had fed her. “You said it, yourself. I’m a frigid bitch.”

Cassian winced.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first to say that. I’m sure you won’t be the last. Just ask my sisters. Just ask… anyone. I don’t give a fuck about anyone except for myself,” she spat bitterly, and he knew he had to choose his words carefully.

“So… you told me you didn’t want me because you’re selfish and frigid and didn’t want to hurt me?”

“Clearly.”

“But,” Cassian answered, “wouldn’t you not wanting to hurt me imply that you maybe aren’t that selfish?”

Nesta groaned again, the eye-roll apparent. “Stop making sense. I’m too drunk for that.” That simple statement brought him back into reality real fucking quick, and the warmth that had been spreading through him dissipated.

“Yeah. You probably won’t remember any of this in the morning.” Cassian didn’t want to go back to that distance and loneliness and watching this beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman destroy herself.

“Maybe that’s for the best, considering…” Her voice trailed off, quiet and small as she undoubtedly fell into reminiscing about the events of the evening. “I’m glad you were there, Cass. I… you had no reason to come looking for me, but you did it anyway. And I–”

“Hey,” he interrupted, not wanting her to keep thinking about how close she was to things being drastically different. “I’ll always be close, reaching for you. My hand will be there when you need it. You just have to take it.”

When she didn’t answer, Cassian heaved a sigh and leaned further back into his seat. They were only a couple minutes away from the house, and he was relieved that he would be able to get Nesta into bed so she could rest. But then he felt cool fingers sliding into his palm, and when his gaze flicked over to the seat next to him he found her curling her arms around his much larger one, her cheek falling against his bicep. When her fingers wove between his, something sparked and flickered in his chest. Cassian gave her hand a gentle squeeze and set his sights down the road ahead.

~~~

Nesta’s head was pounding and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. And the morning sun needed the calm the fuck down. With a groan she rolled over, pulling the comforter over her eyes and sucking in a deep, satisfied breath in the sweet, comfortable darkness. The scent that she pulled in was distinctly male, studded with amber and cedar and spice, and Nesta wanted to burrow into that warmth. But then her eyes flew open as the realization struck her.

She was not in her own bed. 

In an instant she threw off the covers and sat up, back rigid and tense as her frantic gaze searched the room. Fuzzy glimpses of the night before returning to her mind in blurry snapshots.

"Hey, hey, hey, you're okay." The soft rumble of a deep, comforting voice instantly put her at ease. And the smell of the blankets suddenly made sense. Her vision focused on a hulking form that settled next to the bed, amber eyes shining with concern. 

"Cassian?"

"How are you feeling?" Nesta's eyes wandered over his hoodie and sweats as he reached toward the nightstand. When his hand returned it held a water bottle toward her. She took it, and then he reached over again to grab a couple little pills. “Do you have a headache? You can take these, but either way you’ll want to drink the whole bottle.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded, as she took the medicine from him. Tossing them in her mouth, she started chugging on the water, realizing again how parched she really was. Finishing off the bottle was an easy feat, and Cassian smirked.

“I’ll go get you another one.”

When he returned he was holding another bottle of water out in front of him, and he placed yet another on the nightstand when he sat down beside the bed. Nesta downed about half of her new water before setting the bottle next to its full companion. Then she rubbed at her eyes, trying to soothe the throbbing in her head. The pain was twofold - the obvious hangover from the alcohol and whatever she’d been dosed with, and the frantic collision of thoughts and questions banging around in her brain.

“You brought me to your place?” Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at herself. Probably wasn’t the best lead-off question, and definitely not the most important part of the previous evening. But she didn’t really want to dwell on Tomas’s assault, and on what almost happened. 

“You fell asleep in the car before we got here. And I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get into the dorm if I took you back there,” he explained, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. His expression grew sheepish. “I’m sorry if my bringing you here makes you uncomfortable. I.. wasn’t really thinking straight.”

Nesta couldn’t stifle her huff. “Yeah, you and me both.”

And then it was quiet. It wasn’t pleasant, or comfortable. It felt heavy and full of dread. Grim anticipation. And Nesta was afraid, as the seconds ticked by, that she would explode. And she wasn’t sure if it would come out as anger or terror or devastation.

But Cassian spared them both, at least for the moment.

“You.. uh… you said some interesting things on the ride back.”

Oh, fuck me.

“What did I say?” Regardless of whether or not she wanted to know – she hadn’t decided if she did – she needed to know what she’d said to him. And the snapshots that had invaded her mind were all of Tomas’s wandering hands and Cassian bursting in, face twisted with ire, an avenging angel. But even as she wondered, her drunken and drugged ramblings began coming back to her.

“You said you lied when you said you didn’t want me, and that you only said that because I was too perfect and you didn’t want to crush my sweet, beautiful soul,” he answered, the corner of his lips tilting up. “Those were your exact words, too: my sweet, beautiful soul.” With a groan Nesta buried her face in her hands, but a strong, warm grip circled her wrists and pulled her palms away from her face. Cassian was leaning in, his eyes serious even as that little smirk remained. “It was the most genuine conversation I’ve had with you.”

Immediately on the defensive, Nesta sputtered, “Well, I didn’t have a filter. You know what they say; drunk words and all that.” She pulled her wrists away, but Cassian’s broad hands found another home as they cupped her face. His eyes were blazing with passion and hope, and she couldn’t look away.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me, Nes,” he breathed. His minty breath scorched her lips, just inches away from kissing him. And, God, she wanted to. She wanted to be done with the games and the ice and the cruelty, even though she didn’t know how.

“I can’t,” she whispered in return.

His mouth was ecstasy as it claimed her, somehow both rough and tender. The kiss was a brand upon her very soul. This was a line crossed, an admission given. Nesta had trusted him with her vulnerable truth, and he responded with acceptance and patience and need. She could feel him sigh against her lips as the kiss calmed and cooled, and then he pulled back, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks.

“You should rest some more, sweetheart.” As if on cue, the pounding in her head became almost dizzying, and she gave a reluctant nod. But she dared one more vulnerability, before she lost her nerve.

“Stay with me?”

Though Cassian didn’t give a verbal answer, his face beamed. He practically leapt into the bed, burrowed beneath the covers, and pulled her back into his chest. She even let out a little giggle, which only made him squeeze her tighter. And then she drifted away, warm and safe.

When Nesta’s eyes fluttered open again, they were met with soft amber, all the while gentle fingers stroked through her hair. She was struck, then, by how handsome he was. Rugged and purely male, but with a tenderness that made him so much more than just sex appeal and muscles. Not that he didn’t have those things in spades. 

“What are you doing?” she mumbled. Cassian’s answering grin was mischievous as his caresses moved from her hair to her cheek.

“Ogling you.”

Nesta scowled playfully. “While I was sleeping?”

“Well,” he looked thoughtful for a moment, “now I’m ogling you while you’re awake.” Cassian dipped down and placed a chaste kiss to her lips. “I can’t help myself.” Before he could pull too far away, Nesta hooked her hand around his neck and brought him back down to her. This time it was she who claimed him. Another line crossed, the pursuit of freedom from all she believed she was and into what she could be.

“Nes–”

“I don’t know how to do this, Cass,” she admitted quietly. It took every ounce of strength she had to hold his stare. “I don’t know how to be good. I don’t know how to be loving and warm. I don’t know if I can become the woman you want.”

“You’re already the woman I want, Nesta. And you’re already good. There’s nothing not good about you,” he answered. And, God, the sincerity in his gaze threatened to leave her in tears. “Give me your ice and your fire. Spar with me with your sharp wit and sharper words. But don’t hide your smiles or your laughter or your tears. I want all of you: your good, your bad, your ugly. Your honesty and vulnerability and trust. You don’t need to worry about my sweet, beautiful soul, Nes, so long as you’re next to me at the end of the day.”

Nesta pulled him down again, and she was awash in flames. Every part of her craved him: her body, her mind, her heart, her soul. Cassian’s mammoth form was a welcome weight above her, a shield from the rest of the world, and she wanted nothing more to be joined with him until they were so tangled that there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

As their mouths battled and tongues warred, Nesta tugged up on his sweatshirt. He was quick on the uptake, lifting himself up to pull it over his head in one fluid motion. Fuck, he was built, with well defined shoulders, pecs, and abs. Everything about him was massive and masculine and sexy as hell. As much as she wanted to continue her… appreciation… for his form, Nesta took the opportunity to pull her own blouse over her head and unclasp her bra. After Tomas, she felt more in control if she did the removing, and she knew that Cass wouldn’t want to push or make her uncomfortable.

If baring her chest to him by her own free will wasn’t enough of a sign that she was in this, then she wasn’t sure what else she’d be able to do.

A bright, flashing neon sign.

“Fuck, Nes,” he groaned, coming back down on top of her. She could feel his hardness against her thigh as he kissed her again, and her stomach twisted with delight.

Message clearly received.

He breathed in her gasps as one of his enormous hands palmed her breast, kneading and squeezing. Another experience with those hands came to mind, when he’d used his fingers on her until she’d nearly drowned in pleasure. Those hands were rough, and yet somehow he knew just how to use them to wring every drop of ecstasy out of her.

Cassian teased and tweaked her nipples, pulling little moans and grunts from her throat as he played her body like a fucking violin. Nesta’s hands moved from where she’d buried them in his luscious mane to her pants, unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down as far as she could. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“More,” she breathed, gripping his wrist and guiding his touch down and down and down. “I need… more.”

Boy, was he intent on delivering.

His fingers drifted into her heat, lightly caressing her clit before he buried two inside her at the same time he sucked a nipple between his teeth. Nesta’s fingers found his hair, again, digging in as if she were holding on for dear life. She cried out in a hoarse voice as her blood sang, those magic fingers doing their blessed work, just like she remembered. 

“You’re so wet for me, Nes,” Cassian rasped against her flesh. “God, so wet and hot and ready.” His words were like sin, sinking into her pores and anchoring deep in her belly. There was hardly a thing he could say that would turn her off, though, if she were being completely honest. He was breaking down her walls, word by word and stroke by stroke, and she wanted to be completely bare to him, even if that thought scared the shit out of her.

It only took a few more extra pumps and curls of his fingers for her to come undone, his name on her lips like a prayer. And then they were helping each other rid themselves of the remainder of their clothing.

Cassian’s cock was proportionate to the rest of him: huge. And she wanted to feel it inside of her, stretching her in all the best ways.

Nesta gave him one languid stroke, from base to tip. Then she hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him back down onto the bed. 

“I want you, Cassian,” she whispered.

That was all he needed to hear.

When Cassian thrust into her, it was like nothing she’d ever felt. It was delicious and despicable and took her breath away.

“Oh, fuck.” Her head fell back as she gripped the bedsheets. This man filled her in ways that weren’t just physical, but good fucking God was the physical fullness a fucking revelation. He pulled out, until just the head remained inside, and then he thrust in again, forcing a groan from her lips.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he hissed, leaning in to plunge his tongue between her teeth. Cassian consumed her, and she could only hold on as his tempo increased and his mouth became more demanding and filthy. He nibbled and licked up her jaw and suckled on that sensitive place right below her ear. “You take my cock so beautifully, Nesta. I can feel you squeezing me as I fuck you and its the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking experienced.”

“Fuck, Cass!” was all she could manage to say. Her breath came out in stutters and gasps as he buried himself so deep inside her she thought she might split in two. And, still, she needed more. She needed everything, and so she locked her legs around his pistoning hips and dug her fingernails into the firm muscles of his back. “Please.”

Cassian snarled as his hips bucked, hammering into her harder and deeper, until she could no longer contain the cries of pleasure that he inspired. This was feral and raw and soul-deep, and that understanding sent her straight to the edge.

“Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he crooned between panting breaths as sweat dotted his brow in little drops of glitter. Nesta squealed in answer, ratcheting higher and higher.

And somehow this towering man had snuck his hand between them, just to press his thumb against the swollen and needy bud at her apex. She shattered on a scream of overwhelming pleasure, her thighs trembling and she fought to regain her vision beyond the stars that had invaded. Keeping his thumb on her clit, pushing her orgasm to a height she never realized was possible, Cassian came with a roar. Then he fell, half on top of her, his broad shoulders heaving.

For a few moments the only things in the world were Nesta and Cassian, the sounds of their breathing, and the pounding of their hearts. Nesta carded her fingers lazily through his ebony waves, while his hand idly stroked up and down the outside of her thigh.

“How are you feeling?” Cassian’s deep voice was like a purr, vibrating through her entire being. She knew he was probably asking about how she felt after last night and this morning; if her headache was gone and if she was well-rested. Or maybe he was asking if the sex had been too much. On the contrary, she already had plans for more.

“Ready to do it again,” she replied, and his answering growl set her aflame once more. Cassian’s tongue traced the line of her jaw before his lips landed at her ear again.

“Put your hands on the headboard, sweetheart.”

Tag List: @headcanonheadcase @vikingmagic33 @damedechance @daevastanner @mystical-blaise @booknerd87 @foreverinelysian @shadowsxgwynriel @sunshinebingo @mercarimari

#acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #acotar #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian au #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #smut #nessian smut #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #sjm #sarah j maas #my first nessian fic ever

[shadowisles-writes]

Watch Me Fall Apart (Part 1) [Nessian]

A/N: Here is my contribution to the ACOTAR Writing Circle! I know I know, being late posting for my own event is bad but hopefully the spice in here makes up for it. Enjoy this Nessian doctors AU, which will have two more parts written by two other people in the writing circle <3 I’m excited to see where this story gets taken.

Word count: 3549

Warnings: smut

.

“I need one of you to assist me on the valve replacement,” Doctor Odell said as she checked the patient’s blood test results one last time.

“I’ll do it!” Nesta jumped in before Cassian had a chance to speak. He glared at her in response.

“Alright, Cassian go to the ER. You can jump in on a case there,” Odell ordered, and a smirk grew on his face just as Nesta’s smile turned into a frown.

Sure, she was going to be in surgery to replace that valve, but she had assisted on that procedure before. Being in the emergency room meant getting the craziest, weirdest and usually best cases. Cassian smiled sweetly at Nesta and raised his eyebrows in victory before he turned away to find himself some patient who had a crazy accident.

It wasn’t that they wished for people to be hurt, of course. There was nothing worse than losing a patient, but since people were going to get hurt anyway, everyone just hoped that there would be interesting cases to work on.

Nesta’s rivalry with Cassian started on the day they met at the hospital. Both were first to arrive, and they had barely exchanged greetings before the rest of the interns showed up. The chief of surgery gave them a tour and asked dozens of questions that Nesta and Cassian fought to answer.

It was a competitive field. Even as students in the safety of a university, only the best made it. They had to be at the top of their class to pick their internship, and now that they were in, remaining at the top was essential for the rest of their career. Nesta and Cassian were first in their respective classes, they were used to being the best and a bit of a teacher’s pet, but it was stubbornness that ultimately brought them to where they were.

When she met him, Nesta thought the rivalry might be playful. She wanted to be first, but there were plenty of fields to specialize into. She had kept a positive attitude until she found out he wanted to be a neurosurgeon. That had been her goal before she even started medical school, and she wouldn’t let him win. His pretty face might have allowed him to bat his lashes at anyone to get what he wanted so far in his life, but not anymore.

Being the best, Nesta and Cassian got the most cases. They were first to be allowed to perform risky procedures, first to be considered to assist in any interesting case. They had enough of an attitude to make sure no one would step on their toes, but every time Nesta was proud of herself for improving, Cassian fought his way to the same level.

It was infuriating.

“How was the replacement?” He asked, walking past her locker to get to his own.

“It went great,” Nesta grumbled. He was far too happy, which meant he was going to boast.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I did today? That’s not very polite,”

“What did you do today Cassian?” Nesta played into his game without looking at him.  She removed her scrubs and quickly replaced them with her clothes.

“I,” Cassian grinned. “Got an injured cyclist with a massive brain hemorrhage, and I was lead surgeon.” He had a proud smirk on his face, Nesta couldn’t believe he got a solo brain surgery but she knew he wouldn’t lie about it.

“And what state is he in now?” She slammed her locker closed and watched him zip up his jeans, still shirtless. The whole thing made frustration bubble inside of her, why did it always seem that anything he wanted fell right into his hands?

She was too furious to even focus on his naked chest. Usually she got a little flustered at the sight of him and his tattoos, but any red on her cheeks today was from irritation.

“He’s awake, got his full cognitive abilities and still moves his toes,” He pulled his shirt over his head, and when he got to look at Nesta again, her confident look had fallen for one of shock. “See you tomorrow, honey,” He walked past her close enough to let her feel his body heat, and she fell down to sit on one of the benches as soon as he was gone.

He was winning this, but Nesta was far from done fighting.

She got back at him the next day when he remained with Doctor Odell in cardiology and she scored the rest of the week with Rayer in neurology. Nesta gave him a little wave and a wink when she walked past him, the neurosurgeon she was working with a couple of steps ahead of her. Cassian’s glare in response gave Nesta the most satisfying feeling.

Nesta got her first solo surgery in neurology too. Since Cassian had gotten his and they were both the best, Doctor Rayer had decided she could get one too. It was exciting and stressful, but she didn’t let any of her satisfaction break her away from her concentration.

“Good job, you’re clipping an aneurysm on your own tomorrow,” He told Nesta as soon as she was out of the OR.

“Really?” She tried not to sound too excited, but her grin gave her away.

“Unless you don’t want to, I’m sure Cassian can take over,” He teased her a little but she knew he was serious. The second either of them messed up the other would win first place.

“No! No I’ll do it,” Nesta nodded quickly, already itching to get another brain surgery.

Nesta was beaming that evening in the locker room, everyone was getting ready to go home and a few were grabbing some drinks in the bar across the hospital. Her rivalry with Cassian didn’t stop them both from being friends with the rest of the interns—when they weren’t working they could almost get along.

The rivalry was a joke to the rest of their close group. Two of them were guys who hit it off on the first day when they decided they wanted to do completely different things. It was the opposite of Nesta and Cassian, except they were fine with being considered average while the two sucked up all of the attention. Emerie was the only girl Nesta was close with, women were a minority in the middle of the other interns and she was the only one who didn’t look at Nesta with disdain because she was always putting herself first.

She understood it was the only way for Nesta to fight her way to the top—it didn’t mean she was inconsiderate to others—Nesta would never want to cause harm to anyone, but the way she managed to get every case and cool surgery made the others jealous. Successful women always annoyed people. It was the same with the men, but they kept underestimating her and were too convinced Cassian would win.

That was the one thing she did like about Cassian. He respected her. He saw her worth. He played their little games knowing he might very well lose at the end of it all.

It was lonely at times. Nesta had friends outside of the hospital but none that could understand the amount of pressure she was under. Her little group of five was good enough, Cassian was insufferable at work but he was an alright person outside of it. He was a mirror of herself, and he understood her too well.

“You got a solo surgery?” Jurian’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. He got to do more than just assist but he was never the one leading the entire surgery. None of the interns were.

“I got one yesterday,” Cassian took a swig of his beer, acting like it wasn’t a huge deal because he was obviously jealous of Nesta. He didn’t even get to tell everyone he was first before she caught up to him.

“Yeah, it was really cool,” Nesta was still on a high from it, it was her first taste of what she wanted to achieve. “I’m getting another one tomorrow,”

“What?” Cassian almost spat out his drink. “With Rayer?”

“Yes, I’m on his service for the rest of the week at least,” Nesta revealed the extent of it and his jaw clenched.

“I’m in pediatrics for the next three days,” Emerie knew she wouldn’t see them as much because that area was a little more secluded so that the kids wouldn’t run around every service.

“Yeah, I’m with you,” Cassian’s eyes were dark when he looked at Nesta but she knew better than to be scared of his attitude. Instead, she smiled.

“Have fun,”

“You two need to fuck this out of your systems,” Lucien shook his head, tired of watching them both like this. It was playful when it started but as it went the sexual tension between the two grew so much that everyone could feel it.

Nesta dismissed it and Cassian scoffed, as if the idea disgusted them both.

They stole glances at each other through the whole night, thinking of every ‘what if?’ that could make them both end up in a bed together. Nesta didn’t want her friends to win but she had to admit there was pent up sexual tension, especially since they were both far too busy fighting their way to the top to have time for other people.

The whole group sat at the bar for a while to have a beer, but as they all got hungry they decided to move to a booth for a burger and some fries. Everyone was too lazy to go home and cook. Jurian used Nesta’s first solo surgery as an excuse to celebrate while Cassian grumbled a reminder that he got his yesterday too.

Nesta ended up squeezing in first, him following right after her while the other three sat across. It was a tight fit for them, even Cassian was close to Nesta so the three of them ended up a little squished. Nesta tried to hide her surprise when Cassian’s fingers brushed her thigh. His legs were spread open just enough for his knee to touch hers, and he let the tips of his fingers run along her skin over her jeans.

Nesta shivered in delight, glancing down at his hand for a second. It was so big compared to hers, a large warm palm that she didn’t doubt would feel like heaven holding her hip and long talented fingers she knew could work absolute wonders. Cassian turned his head to look at her for a moment when he let them trail closer to her inner thigh, he watched the way Nesta bit the inside of her lip and spread her legs a little wider for him.

He took the invitation, his teasing growing bolder while she gave him a daring look to see how far he would take it. Casual conversation continued with the rest of the group, Nesta wasn’t bothered enough for it to be visible yet although her cheeks were growing redder by the second.

Cassian traced circles on her inner thigh and gradually came closer to her center, going slow to frustrate her but also to make sure she knew what his intentions were before he made any move. Nesta caught his hand in hers before he made it all the way to her core, she was already dripping but she spotted the waiter coming over with the burgers she was sure were for their table.

He licked his lips and turned his palm up to squeeze her hand for a second, signaling that he was far from done with her before he brought both hands up over the table to eat. Nesta did the same thing, all they could do while they ate was have their legs touch, and it was far from enough for either of them.

At some point during the meal Cassian eased back into his seat, taking a drink of his water while his hand fell back down on her inner thigh. This time he didn’t hesitate to press his finger right against her to rub her pussy over her jeans. Nesta jolted in her seat and passed it off as a cough, closing her legs to get rid of his hand while a cocky smirk spread on his lip.

Bastard.

She waited for him to pick up the half of the burger he had left and bite into it to bring her hand to his cock, cupping him firmly and feeling him hardening under her touch. Cassian choked on his food, getting worried looks from all of their friends.

“Dude, you okay?” Jurian chuckled at the way he had to cough.

“Yeah, just swallowed that wrong,” Cassian made up an excuse and Nesta patted his shoulder condescendingly.

“Don’t worry, you’re in a bar full of doctors, we all know the heimlich,” she teased him and went back to her food, proud of the effect she had.

It was all fun and games until the plates were gone from the table and Cassian’s hand was free to roam underneath it. He popped the button of her jeans open and slid his hand underneath them, the zipper sliding open as he went. He decided to go straight past her panties when he saw her spread her legs far apart to make it easier for him, and his cock twitched when he got to feel how wet she was. He did that to her.

Nesta tried to erase herself from the conversation so that she wouldn’t have to struggle to reply, she had a hard enough time holding back noises from the way Cassian was swirling his fingers over her clit. He wished he could push his hands further down to get to push his fingers inside of her, and Nesta cursed himself for wearing jeans that tight.

She felt feverish, her whole body was heating up and she knew she’d be too far gone soon. She held Cassian’s wrist once more, the warmth of his skin against hers sending a shiver down her spine. He froze his movements, waiting to see what she wanted, and he pulled his hand out of her jeans when she tugged on it.

He wished he could suck the wetness off his fingers to find out how sweet she tasted, but they were still in public, so he wiped his hand over his leg instead.

“I should probably head home,” Nesta closed her jeans and ran her clammy hands over her thighs. “I want to take some time to go over tomorrow’s surgery,”

“Yeah makes sense,” Jurian nodded. “We should probably all go,”

They  all set enough money on the table to cover their meals and leave a generous tip before Cassian got up, letting Nesta out as the others slid out of the booth and finally got some space.

“Bye guys,” she waved at them when they all separated to go to their cars, Cassian was the only one still walking with her because they had parked close to each other when they arrived this morning.

“Do you really need to study that surgery?” He asked, spotting his car a few steps away.

“Not really, no,” Nesta admitted, gasping a second later when he seized her arm and pulled her until her back was against his car. His hand was set right by her head, and his face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her skin.

“You know,” He lodged his knee between her legs, satisfaction coursing through him when she parted them to let him come closer. “They’re not wrong when they say we should probably fuck this out of our systems,”

“And you’re planning on doing that in a parking lot against your car?” Nesta cocked her head to the side, a daring look in her eyes.

“I was thinking inside the car,” He chuckled his free hand traveling down her side to grip her hip. “I’m feeling a little impatient, but I guess I can drive back to my place,”

“How about both?”

A minute later Cassian was in the driver’s seat, moving it all the way back to make space for Nesta. She climbed on top of him a little awkwardly until she was settled straddling him.

“Lean back,” she asked, already out of breath, and he inched the seat backwards so that she’d have room not to hit her head every time she moved.

“Wait,” He grunted as he pushed himself up to open the glove compartment. He grabbed a condom out of it and put it down in the passenger seat.

“You done?” Nesta asked, rolling her hips to rub herself against him, and a pleasured groan was all she got in response.

“Take them off,” He tugged at her jeans, and she tried to figure out how to do that best.

Nesta ended up rolling off him to sit in the passenger seat, grabbing the condom and handing it to him so that he could take care of it. She got rid of her jeans and panties completely, leaving them on the floor while he pushed his clothes down his legs.

The sight of his hard cock made her mouth water. If she weren’t so desperate to feel him inside of her she’d love nothing more than to suck him off. Nesta let him roll the condom all the way down his length before she came back on his lap, her wet pussy rubbing right against him for a couple of rolls of her hips.

“Fuck,” He lifted her shirt to hold her waist, panting slightly when she reached down to place him at her entrance.

Nesta sank down on him slowly, biting her lip to quiet a whine while she stared right into his eyes. Cassian’s cheeks were flushed, he was completely gone before it even started. She leaned forward with her hands on his shoulders to bounce on him, struggling with the limited space of the car.

“Let me,” Cassian held her hips still after she had moved up, his feet were firmly planted on the floor and he thrusted up to fill her.

Nesta moaned quietly as he settled into a rhythm, picking a fast pace but still taking the time to keep his thrusts long and hard. The blissful expression on her face made him twitch deep inside of her. She looked completely fucked, any hint of an attitude erased from her eyes and replaced with pleasure. Cassian was aware he probably didn’t look any different.

Nesta was dripping on his cock, the coil in her stomach tightening quickly. The anticipation through the night had gotten her worked up to a point where she knew she’d come embarrassingly fast, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Cassian’s cock was throbbing, he could feel every clench of her pussy when he hit that spot that made her see stars, and his eyes dipped down to her lips for a second. They still hadn’t kissed. He could easily do it, Nesta’s face was just an inch from his and they were panting against each other. Would that be too intimate?

He didn’t have to make the decision when she pressed her lips to his to hide a moan. Cassian’s rhythm faltered for a second before he whimpered into her mouth, parting his lips to tease her tongue. Everything about Nesta felt fucking perfect and he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

She couldn’t hold back a noise when his hand snuck between their bodies to rub tight circles on her clit, and Cassian kissed her harder. Nesta bit his lip in response, pulling a deep groan out of him that vibrated through her whole body before she came all over his cock.

Her body went tight under his touch and she buried her face in his neck while he gave her a few more hard thrusts, snapping his hips faster to get himself to finish right after her. Cassian emptied himself in the condom, panting as he fell back into his seat before Nesta lifted herself off him.

“Fuck, that was long overdue.” He grunted, his hands still on her ass. “That good enough to keep you waiting until we’re at mine?”

“Actually,” Nesta slid into the passenger seat and reached for her clothes, trying not to think of the way she immediately missed his warmth. “I’ve got my own place to get to.”

Cassian was silent as she pulled her panties up her legs and then struggled to get back into her jeans. There was nothing for him to say, and Nesta was too busy trying to get out of his car to say a word. She fixed her hair quickly, double checked that her clothes were on properly and opened the door to leave.

“Wait Nes,” Cassian made her stop just before she was about to slam the door shut behind her. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“I don’t need luck,” was all Nesta said before the door fell shut and she walked away towards her own car.

She was already out of sight by the time Cassian huffed out a breath and muttered to himself, “I know.”

.

Taglist:  @dealfea​ @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens​  @dwnofav​   @shisingh​ @ruthieluvsbooks​   @sydney-fae25​ 

#acotar writing circle #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian smut #nessian AU #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar smut #acotar nessian

[hyacinthoideshispanica]

An idea for a Nessian au.

Nesta is a world-renowned prima ballerina who is being stalked by Tomas Mandray, an abusive ex-boyfriend who's turned obsessive. In her free time, she reads and takes self-defense lessons with her friends Gwyn and Emerie.

One night, she gets home and finds her door kicked in and a very vulgar/threatening note from Tomas beside a bouquet of fresh roses on the table.

For her safety, Rhys and Feyre set her up at their more remote house built into the side of a mountain, and Rhys also hires two of his friends, Cassian and Azriel, to be her bodyguards.

Cassian and Nesta obviously do not get along. Cassian tells her she needs to stop dancing for a bit as it draws too much attention, and Nesta refuses, making them take her to the studio every single day.

"I can't believe she's making us come here every day. Doesn't she realize how dangerous it is? He could be watching her right now!"

"I think it shows how brave she is. I mean, yes, she's scared, but she's also refusing to let him control her life.

"....Fine, I'll admit she's brave for going on with her life as normally as possible, but it's still really stupid that she's making us stand out in the hall like this. How are we supposed to protect her if we can't even see her?"

"Well, what did you expect, Cassian? After you spent the last two classes glaring daggers at Eris and making the entire room feel uncomfortable, I'm surprised she let you come along at all."

"Eris... I don't trust that guy. Don't like the look of him."

"You don't like the look of him, or you don't like the way he looks at her?"

"What's that supposed to mean, Az?"

"He's her dance partner, Cassian. It's perfectly natural that they have a certain level of chemistry, and if we were guarding any other woman, you'd be more than capable of making the distinction between a dance partner and an actual threat. When it comes to Nesta Archeron, you let your personal feelings get in the way and that can be dangerous..."

One night at the house, Cassian can't sleep and goes to the home gym but finds Nesta already there, warming up.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine. You?"

"I'm good, I just couldn't sleep."

"So, what? You figured a workout would help?"

"Well, I usually go for a drive, but I can't leave you."

"I don't need you to babysit me. I don't even know why Rhys hired you, I can take care of myself."

Cassian challenges her to a sparing match to test her self-defense technique, and a whole lot of tension happens. He tells her she has promise, but he can train her to be better.

A few months go by, and Nesta is preparing to dance the lead role in an upcoming performance. Cassian and Azriel are teaching her how to handle weapons, and she and Cassian have also started sleeping together.

The performance is only a day away, and Nesta is in her dressing room when a bouquet of roses gets delivered. There's been no sign of Tomas since he broke into her house months ago, so she thinks the flowers are from Cassian until she sees the note that's attached.

"I can't wait for tomorrow night. Love, Tomas."

She drops the vase, glass and water spilling everywhere, and Cassian and Azriel rush in. They immediately take her back to the house, and Cassian tells her she's not leaving again until they find Tomas. Nesta is furious, the performance is tomorrow, she can't just quit.

"Maybe we should let her dance, Cassian. I mean, if she's there, he will be too. It'd be easier to catch him that way."

"No! There's no way in hell we're using her as bait!"

"I agree with Azriel. I made a commitment to the company-"

"And I made a commitment to keep you safe!"

"I have dedicated my life to dancing, Cassian! I refuse to sacrifice that because of him!

"If you go on that stage tomorrow, you'll be risking your life!"

"And if I don't, I'll be risking my career! My passion!"

"I'd much rather my girlfriend lose her career than her life!"

Nesta stares at him for a moment, stunned that he called her his girlfriend, and then her eyes go cold.

"Let me make something perfectly clear to you, Cassian. I am not your girlfriend. I'm fucking you, I'm not with you. You can't tell me what to do!"

The next night, Nesta takes the stage, and Cassian and Azriel watch from the wings. Nesta hasn't spoken a word to Cassian since the previous night, and he's upset but also can't take his eyes off her. He's completely mesmerized by her. After the performance, Azriel goes to check the perimeter again and give Cassian a chance to talk to Nesta alone, but when Nesta sees him, she turns in the other direction and finds Gwyn and Emerie waiting for her with flowers.

Cassian decides to give her a moment alone with her friends, but Nesta uses that as an opportunity to sneak away. The girls celebrate by stopping by a late night cafe, buying all the cakes and pastries they can carry and driving a few hours away to Emerie's cabin for the weekend.

Cassian and Azriel are losing their minds trying to figure out where Nesta went, but then Cassian gets a text from a blocked number that shows a picture of Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie gagged and bound.

"If you really cared about her like I do, you never would have let her out of your sight."

Tomas followed the girls to Emerie's cabin and is now holding them hostage.

"I wanted to sweep you off your feet directly after your performance, but those two guard dogs got in the way. It all worked out, though, just as I knew it would. We were always meant to be together, Nesta."

Nesta starts cussing him out as best she can with the gag still in place. And Tomas starts laughing.

"Now don't start that up, Nesta. You'll give your friends the wrong impression of us."

He leans down and removes the gag long enough to kiss her, and she bits his lip so bad he starts bleeding. Tomas, completely unconcerned, makes a comment about how he's always loved her fire. Then says he has to go into town for a bit for extra supplies since he didn't plan on he and Nesta entertaining guests so soon.

As soon as he's gone, Gwyn jumps up, free of her restraints. This entire time, she's been slowly working herself free with a knife she always has on hand, and she immediately cuts the other girls loose.

"We have to get out of here."

"How? He took the car and our phones."

"We could walk to the town, but it's two hours away by car and even longer on foot. He'd probably find us before we got anywhere safe."

"My family's owned this cabin my entire life, I feel comfortable enough in the woods that I think we could hide out there for a while."

"OK. The woods, then. We'll be safe there until Cassian can find us."

The girls hide out in the forest for a day or two. In that time, Tomas started hunting them, and Cassian and Azriel have tracked the location from the blocked number so they show up and also take to the woods.

Gwyn hurts her leg, and Tomas is nearby.

"Oh, Nesta! Come on out, sweetheart! You know we're supposed to be together, so stop fighting it!

Nesta realizes they won't get away before he finds them, so she urges Emerie and Gwyn to go without her.

"We're not leaving you alone! That guy's psycho!"

Nesta continues to push them to leave, saying Gwyn needs a doctor and that as long as she's with them, Tomas won't stop.

"It's me he wants. You two go, get to safety. Find Cassian. I'll hold him off in the meantime."

They agree, and Gwyn hands Nesta her small knife before she and Emerie shuffle off into the trees.

Nesta waits in a nearby clearing, knife in hand, waiting for Tomas to show himself.

"I found you."

Meanwhile, Emerie and Gwyn are rushing back to the cabin as fast as they can and run into Azriel and Cassian. They explain where Nesta is in the woods and that Tomas wasn't far behind. Cassian bolts into the trees, and Azriel checks on the girls.

"...it doesn't seem like the bone is broken."

"Great! Now let's go help Nesta."

"You can barely walk."

"You and Emerie will help me. Besides, I don't need a working leg in order to punch that creep right in his creepy face!"

Cassian is running through the trees like his life depends on it, while Nesta stares down Tomas, who is circling around her like a hunting predator.

"If you touch me, I'll castrate you and shove your pathetic excuse for a dick down your throat."

"Oh, Nesta, always teasing. You know you won't do anything to me, sweetheart, you love me too much."

"I don't love you, Tomas. I never did, and I never will!"

Tomas hesitates, his eyes, previously filled with deranged affection, flash with deadly rage.

"And who do you love Nesta? That pathetic guard dog you've been screwing?"

He takes a step towards her, and she raises the knife.

"Take another step, and I will kill you."

Tomas laughs mockingly, "Do you really think that you, a sweet little ballerina, can actually hurt me?"

"Yes. Because my boyfriend taught me well."

Nesta lunges forward and stabs Tomas in the stomach right as Cassian comes bursting through the trees and screams her name.

They run to each other

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, but Emerie and Gwyn are-"

"We're right here!"

Gwyn comes through the trees a moment later being supported on each side by Azriel and Emerie.

"What are you doing? I told you to run."

"We did run. And then we came back."

Nesta wraps her arms around herself, the shock and stress of everything finally getting to her. Cassian puts an arm around her, drawing her close, and suggests they head back to the cabin. Once their there, the girls shower, eat, and rest, then Azriel drives Gwyn into town to see a doctor. Once they return to the cabin, an ambulance is called for Tomas.

Tomas is sent to the hospital under police supervision, but it's very unlikely he'll survive considering his stab wound was left unattended for a few hours and may be infected due to someone, Emerie and Gwyn, poking it repeatedly with muddy sticks.

Azriel, Emerie, and Gwyn are asleep, but Cassian and Nesta have stayed up and are talking in front of the fire.

"You were incredibly brave today, Nesta. I'm just sorry he ever got that close to you."

"It's not your fault, Cassian. You tried to keep me home, and I wouldn't listen. Then, at the show, I snuck away and-"

"It's not your fault either. No one is to blame but him, and he's never going to bother you ever again. You made sure of that."

"Thank you, by the way, for teaching me how to wield a knife."

"You're welcome.... So, your boyfriend taught you well?"

"Shut up, Cass."

"Make me, Nes."

They kiss.

As always, if anyone wants to use this as a prompt, please feel free. I don't have the talent to write out an actual fic.

#acotar #nesta and cassian #nesta archeron #Cassian #nessian #nessian au #fic prompt

[pinkrasberryfish]

New chapter of the Pointe of Love is up! Chapter 15 — ‘Have You Ever Been Loved?’ — https://archiveofourown.org/works/43076520/chapters/121852741

#all I do is work and write #elriel #elriel forever #elain archeron #pro elriel #elriel supremacy #pro elain #elain x azriel #elain #elriel trash #elriel fanfiction #nessian fanfic #nessian fan fiction #nessian au #nessian fan fic #acotar au nessian #nessian #pro nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic

[romanticatheartt]

Ok hear me out... Has anyone read twisted series by Ana Huang? because I was thinking an ACoTaR x Twisted crossover... but not like a full fanfiction just a description (?) of what it can be cuz I can't write for the life of me (I can't write in my mother language let alone in another one!)

Twisted Love x Elucien Twisted Game x Gwynriel Twisted Hate x Nessian Twisted Lies x Feysand

What do we think?

I mean Twisted Love is my least favorite of all the books (like very least) so I have to change many things of it to fit Elain and Lucien. Lucien is going to be so sassy and cocky (not like Alex who has a personality of a rock) and Elain is still a florist but ALSO a photographer. I'm pretty sure a modern AU Elain would be a great photographer as well!!

Twisted Games is my favorite out of all of them if I'm being honest. So Gwyn is a princess who likes to sing sometimes. She has a sister who's is about to be the future queen but is she? (yeah we're not killing Catrin in fact we give her a wife!!) and Azriel is her bodyguard.

Twisted Hate is my second Favorite and also the first book I read from this series (don't ask why I did that lmao). I always see Nesta in a modern au as lawyer!! She's studying and getting ready to become a lawyer. And Cassian is a sports massage therapist and a gym owner and happens to be her colleague and her trainer... he's a menace of course!!

Twisted Lies... well let me tell you the only reason I didn't liked this book as much as I wanted to, is Christian being so much like Alex but I liked the story in general and you can't tell me Stella and Christian doesn't give of Feysand vibes... Feyre has a art therapy degree and her dream is to open an studio but she's also a blogger on social media and tries to save money from their earnings but she has difficulty to reach a decent engagement. She also has a crazy stalker of an ex boyfriend that she still hasn't manged to get rid of (which is Tam/in). Rhysand is her landlord of the most secure apartment (she used to share it with Ressina, but now she's alone), and he's accepting the payment of her rent, which is way lower than the original price because she happens to be Nesta's sister who is his SIL and also Cassian's and Mor's BFF and you have to believe him that these are his only reasons... He has a security company and does other things as well... (and it's not illegal at all)

I mean as I go I'll defiantly add to the plot of each couple. But I'll start with Gwynriel because Twisted game was almost without any connection to the other books (and I love that book the most... and Gwynriel week is near) and from what I have in mind each one is going to be long lol

Lucien is a billionaire... cuz why not? Bat boys are adoptive brothers (Rhys' mother adopted Cass and Az) Azriel works for Rhysand but Cassian took a different road as you can see. Archeron sisters have a shaky relationship specially after their mother's death. Valkyries are bffs and went to collage together. Feyre, my baby, will go through it here as well. I'm not sure if I should keep Rhys' sister and mother alive and kill his father or kill them all... we'll see hehe

#this idea came to me last night #I was like I need to do something for Gwynriel week #and my mind went to a spiral and this happened... #it was out of my hands tbh #feysand #feysand au #gwynriel #gwynriel au #elucien #elucien au #nessian #nessian au #acotar x twisted series crossover #pro gwynriel #pro elucien

[thewayshedreamed]

"Shut up and hold me"

for nessian please

Surprise, love! I've been working on this one on and off and finally got it where I wanted it I think. Hope you enjoy some sweet Nessian period fluff from yours truly.

Shout-out to @duskandstarlight for brainstorming this with me many moons ago!

Word count: ~1k

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

Cassian hated to see Nesta in pain. It wasn't exactly a vacation to be the one in said pain, but Nesta was used to the monthly ritual. She resented the first couple of days of her period, knowing they would forever be the worst of it.

Her boyfriend never habituated to it; when she curled in on herself, clutching a hot water bottle to her abdomen. For the most part, she wasn't one to moan or whine; not until Cassian fussed over her so much that he reminded her of a bird locked in a small room.

She had a threshold for his fussing, and she learned long ago that he’d figured her out. After so many years together, one typically channeled in on the other's patterns, and Cassian knew that Nesta tolerated about three acts of caregiving before she was snapping at him to sit nearby. He was mission-oriented, and the blunt order was enough to have him parked on the sofa with her.

Sometimes, he sat as close as he could manage and rubbed soothing circles over her stomach or lower back. Other times, he wedged his hulking frame between Nesta and the back of the couch to press his warmth into her. Either that, or he was trying to take her pain away, if the way he clutched her against him was any indication. As effective as he was in reducing her misery, a large part of the whole production was a comfort to Cassian. When he was presented with a loved one in pain, he needed to know he was of use just as much as the other needed the care.

It was one of those days that leveled her, and she braced herself for their ritual when she heard Cassian's key slide into the lock. Nesta clutched the throw pillow tighter to her stomach, stifling a groan at the growing tenderness.

"Hey Nes," Cassian called out, shaking the snow from his coat and hanging it on the hook. "How was your—"

His voice stopped suddenly, and his heavy footsteps approached where she lay on the couch. "Nesta, are you okay?"

She opened her eyes to find him kneeling before her, his perceptive gaze fixed on her face. They moved briefly to scan over her body and understanding washed over his features. To Nesta’s surprise, he pulled his phone from his pocket to glance at the date. His lips pressed into a firm line, and he offered a subtle, confirmatory nod to the screen. His hunch was confirmed, apparently.

"What can I get you?"

Nesta groaned. "A swift death?"

Warmth spread through her at the sound of his laugh, and the familiar comfort of it nearly brought a tear to her eye. "I'm vetoing that one. What about a heating pad?"

"Fine."

His steps thudded away, only for them to be retraced moments later. Cassian muttered a curse at the outlet being out of reach behind the couch. Without warning, he lifted the corner to move it away from the wall by several inches. Tension lined each of Nesta’s muscles at the sudden jostling, soothed by Cassian’s deep, quiet voice.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. The cord wouldn’t reach anywhere else. I’ll get you comfortable, okay?”

Nesta nodded, her irritation mounting. Part of it was due to his fussing, no matter how well she predicted it. The other part of it was with herself in realizing she was the one who desperately craved Cassian’s physical affection, his warmth and his doting. She had artfully convinced herself that she humored Cassian by allowing him to be a true mother hen that it disoriented her to rely so heavily on his comfort.

That didn’t mean she planned to deviate from their usual routine, if only to preserve some shred of dignity.

Cassian moved with practiced ease in rearranging the couch cushions to Nesta’s usual specifications. His hands were gentle when they turned to the button of her jeans, just barely easing the heating pad up her abdomen for better access. Shimmying her out of them, he tossed them on the chair nearby and grabbed a soft throw blanket from the basket nearby of Nesta’s favorites.

She groaned, shifting the heating pad back into its home for the foreseeable future. Cassian draped the blanket over her legs and stood to his full height.

“I’ll get you some water, maybe a snack. I’ll be right—”

Nesta took the offer for the opportunity it was. She’d officially held up her end of their little charade, and her patience waned with a savage quickness.

“Stop fussing,” she ordered, her tone firm but with less of a bite than usual. She didn’t have it in her. “Just— shut up and hold me.”

Cassian’s eyes softened, his sharp features morphing into unfiltered adoration. Nesta reminded herself of her blessings that such a man read between her harsh lines and saw the nuance beneath— that a man like Cassian loved her to madness.

“Alright,” he conceded, toeing off his shoes and removing his belt.

He stripped down to his boxer-briefs and his black undershirt, and Nesta took a moment to take him in. There was no heat behind the look, only a pure, objective appreciation of beauty. And the solid mass that was about to serve as her own personal furnace.

“Make some room for me,” he murmured.

Nesta wiggled pitifully toward the edge to make room for Cassian to slide onto the couch behind her. He was careful not to disturb her position as much as possible, and in return, Nesta bit her tongue when he failed. His effort was admirable enough.

Cassian settled his weight and tucked his arm beneath her neck, using it to cradle her head with his bicep and forearm. The other angled over her waist to pull her flush against him. Nesta melted against him, taking his scent into her lungs and allowing his body heat to ease her tension.

He tucked his fingers between her hip and the couch to keep his hold as stable and snug as possible. The likelihood that they slept that way was high, and he didn’t dare risk her rolling to the carpet. Nesta could only imagine how insufferable he’d become as a result.

No matter how entwined they were, it never felt close enough. Nesta moved her legs to lace with his, and in response, Cassian tucked his cheek against the crown of her head. Coccooned properly against him, she timed her breaths with his until blissful oblivion took them both.

#nessian #nessian fluff #nessian au #nesta x cassian #acotar fic #nessian prompt #800 followers celebration #late but here it is #twsd writes #twsd fics

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Since you are open for Halloween prompts, how about dialogue prompt #5: “I may or may not have stayed up to watch a horror movie and now I can’t sleep - don’t laugh at me! - can you please come over?” for Nessian! Bonus points if it's Cassian being the scaredy cat lol 😉

Scared, Sweetheart?

Nesta Archeron x Cassian

“I may or may not have stayed up to watch a horror movie and now I can’t sleep - don’t laugh at me! - can you please come over?”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

767 words

*******

She answered on the first ring.

“I’ve been gone less than three hours,” Nesta rolled her eyes and closed her book, making sure to mark her page before placing it on her lap. “You can’t tell me you miss me already.”

Cassian’s voice rang out clear from her speaker, as did his scoff. “Sweetheart, you should know by now that I always miss you.”

She hummed in affirmation and despite herself felt the corner of her mouth twitch up. “Did you call just to hear my voice, or did you have an actual reason?”

“Do I have to have a reason to call my girlfriend?” He asked almost indignantly, but she noticed that he avoided her question.

“No.” She shuffled to put her book on her coffee table and leaned against the arm of her sofa, glancing briefly into her kitchen to spot the flashing clock on her stove. It was late. Both she and Cassian had to work the next morning, hence why she’d opted not to stay the night at his place. She really should have gone to bed an hour ago but one minute she was picking up her book and the next she was a hundred pages deep. She should be asleep right now – so should Cassian. And while neither were strangers to the occasional late-night phone call, they generally respected each other’s schedules when it came to work. Meaning, she decided to push again for a straight answer. “But…”

He sighed. “I may or may not have stayed up to watch a horror movie and now I can’t sleep – don’t laugh.”

Her first snort was involuntary. The second one wasn’t.

He went on, serious but with a hint of pleading that only made her more amused. “Come over. Please.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he sounded offended. “Why do I want you to—”

“No, I mean why did you watch a horror movie?” She corrected with an eye roll. “You hate horror movies. You only tolerate them with me because I like them, and even then, you can’t go two seconds without holding onto me.”

“Yeah, well, I’d be holding onto you, horror movie or not. And don’t act like you don’t love it because I know you do.” He was right. “And I know that right now you’re rolling your eyes at me, but if I could see you then I’d see you biting your lip trying your best not to smile.”

Damn him. She released her lip from her teeth and doubled down on her questions. “Can we get back to the reason you decided to watch a film that you hate?”

“I don’t hate them,” he argued again. “No, I love ‘em. The scarier, the better. All those creepy-ass demons, deranged serial killers, and bloody massacres, what’s not to love?”

Nesta huffed a laugh and shook her head as she stood from the sofa and stretched, groaning as her stiff joints cracked. “And yet, you watch gory war movies without a problem.”

He sputtered for only a moment. “That gore is historical and generally accurate. If I’m watching one of those and someone’s bleeding out it's not because an undead, satanical, nightmare-inducing creature is making a meal out of them.”

“Mhm, so you admit horror movies give you nightmares?”

Nesta waited as she searched for a clean pair of dress pants she could wear into the office tomorrow, carefully folding them and placing them in a bag before aiming for her bathroom to collect her small go-bag of toiletries.

“Irrelevant,” Cassian finally answered, and she could hear rustling in the background as if he was settling into bed. “Are you coming over or not?”

They both knew she was.

So instead of answering, she asked another question, still not understanding why he would not only choose a horror movie but then watch it all the way through. “You did know what movie you were playing, right?”

More rustling.

“Yes, and?”

She thought she heard the faintest trace of a smile in his voice which stopped her in her tracks as she neared the front door.

“Did you watch that movie just to have a reason to call me back over there tonight?”

“Yes, and?”

She absolutely heard the grin in his words this time. Leaning her forehead against her door and loosing a long-suffering sigh, she tried and failed to hold back a smile.

“You’re an idiot.” Nesta stepped out of her apartment and locked the door behind her.

“Your idiot.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, half grumbling half chuckling, with another roll of her eyes as she walked towards her car, “my idiot.”

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @rowaelinrambling @morganofthewildfire @nerdperson524 @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @elentiyawhitethorn @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111 @the-lonelybarricade

#Nessian #Nesta #cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #nesta and cassian #cassian and nesta #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta archeron #nessian au #nessian fic #nessian fluff #Halloween #halloween fics #halloween prompts #asks #c e d dreamer

[velidewrites]

Summary: Nesta is having the worst time on her vacation—until she spots a handsome stranger in a restaurant. Lucky for her, he's determined to show her a good time.

Pairing: Nesta x Cassian

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: Smut, mature language, Mrs Archeron

Read on AO3

The only source of light in the restaurant were the candles, laid atop each table and flickering whenever the evening breeze dared to gently whoosh inside. There were no windows in the space—the climate here was warm enough to not have to bother with such things—so instead, someone had opted to carve rounded, open archways into the sandstone walls. Every now and then, the wind would find its way in, prompting the small flames into a dance that threatened to smother their enthusiasm for good.

Such cruel fate had been suffered by the fire burning over at Nesta’s table, its only remnant the thin swirl of smoke that was now slowly trailing upwards. Nesta’s eyes, however, remained fixed on the blackened wick, as if she could still feel the soft flame casting shadows over her face.

It had only been seconds, and yet the wax had already begun freezing into place as it dripped down the candle’s ivory length. To Nesta, though, the moment had somehow managed to extend into eternity—a fate even more cruel than the flame’s unfortunate death. Right now, she would do just about anything to simply evaporate into the nightly air.

A light click sounded somewhere near her side, and time resumed in an instant. A symphony of voices poured into her ears—conversations in too many languages to discern, tangled between the music playing quietly from the speakers hung in the gap between the back wall and the ceiling. Everything became too loud, too rushed, like an impending wave of the sea, the same kind that was now crashing into the shore overlooked by the restaurant. With a will of their own, Nesta’s eyes squeezed shut, as though shutting off one of her senses could somehow ease the fervour of the other, and she quickly blinked, realising there were too many gazes on her to allow an escape into her own head.

When her eyes opened again, her candle was burning anew. The fire rose from from the spent wick, resuming its dance as if never interrupted at all.

Nesta blinked one more time before finally looking up.

The waiter stood over their table, a sleek, electric lighter in his hand. He flashed her a smile, his perfect set of white teeth nearly brighter than the flame itself.

“Are you ready to order?” he asked in a thick accent. Nesta thought it made his question sound like a song. Rich and lovely—each word enunciated, each syllable important.

She opened her mouth when another movement caught her eye—a glimpse of lustrous silk, reflecting the light softly. Pink.

Nesta’s mouth closed with a flat exhale. Elain always managed to select the perfect fabric for the occasion—as if she could somehow predict how the setting would best compliment her outfit. Indeed, her own pencil skirt and a sleeveless top were no match for her sister’s dress, which could probably challenge the very sun with its own gleam. Nesta’s all-black ensemble, on the other hand, seemed to suck in all the light.

Seated to her left, Elain’s brown eyes narrowed as she scanned the menu carefully. “Do you have any vegetarian options?” she asked, brows creasing in worry.

Another movement—opposite from Nesta, this time. Her eyes darted to its source, just in time to catch the wave of their mother’s dismissive hand.

“She’ll have the octopus,” she told the waiter, whose own frown mimicked Elain’s before he quickly jotted down the order. “We’re at the seaside, after all.”

Elain’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“My eldest will have the calamari,” their mother continued, gesturing to Nesta. “Grilled, not fried. And the mussels for me.” And with that, she returned her gaze to the menu.

Elain cleared her throat pointedly, though the sound was hardly acknowledged as the woman flipped onto the last page, already examining the restaurant’s wine selection. Their mother did not deign to look up as Feyre spoke.

“I’ll have the salmon, please,” she said quietly, something strained in the back of her throat.

All the numbness Nesta had carefully cultivated in her chest prior to this evening vanished at the sound, a fire much more angry than the candle’s filling her instead. A ruthless, icy flame.

Her fury must have been evident in her eyes, because before Nesta even managed to make her feelings about mother’s obvious dismissal perfectly clear, Feyre’s slender hand wrapped around her wrist.

Nesta’s head snapped toward her little sister.

It’s not worth it, blue-grey eyes told her, even as their mother continued to question the waiter about the bitterness of the local wine.

Nesta swallowed. Hard.

Then, she looked to Elain—who shook her head quickly, honey-brown curls shifting over her shoulder.

Fine, then.

Nesta let out a deep, deep breath, and did not stop until all the fire was out and that familiar numbness filled her again.

She never thought she’d say this, but Nesta missed New York. Missed her apartment, however small, and the peace and quiet it offered on days like these—days when she felt forced to exist in the moment, to flow with its relentless current. She would give just about anything right now to be able to curl up on the grey couch in her living room and disappear under her favourite, plush blanket. She’d left a book on the coffee table beside it—she meant to bring it along for the journey, but it seemed that her mind had been too preoccupied with the destination to remember. The story—four hundred pages of her favourite romance—would have been the perfect escape for this occasion.

Frankly, Nesta had wanted to turn back and go home the moment she’d stepped on the plane. Her mood had only darkened when she discovered a raging six-year old was seated right behind her. The child had been intent on making her life even more miserable, opting to spend over half of the ten-hour flight frantically kicking her seat until his legs finally gave out about two hours before landing. The insufferable kid had been carried out by his mother, sleeping soundly in her arms and no longer resembling the devil’s spawn that he was—until they’d reached baggage claim, of course, where he’d taken the carousel for his personal playground, jumping right over her suitcase before Nesta had managed to fish it out.

The air had been warm and humid from the minute she’d left the airport, and it had only grown heavier since then. Not even the occasional breeze seemed to lift it as it swept over her face—as if mocking the beads of sweat that had begun to gather under her hairline. The climate didn’t bother her that much, to be honest—the island was beautiful, after all. The golden sand sparkling in the beaches, the turquoise water surrounding it. The palm trees growing on both sides of every stone-clad alley. Perhaps, in different company, she’d even be able to appreciate this place.

But alas, this trip was not the case. She and her sisters had been putting off this trip for two months now, though none of them had ever voiced their lack of enthusiasm aloud. Feyre would always cite her classes as an excuse, Elain was quite literally elbows-deep in work, and Nesta…after her fifteenth job interview, she was practically losing her mind.

Now, though, with the semester over and summer quickly approaching, the three of them found themselves with a lot of free time and too many missed calls from their mother. And so, when Nesta suggested they get on the plane and get the whole thing over with, neither one of her sisters even tried to protest.

It wasn’t that Nesta didn’t love her mother—they all did, truly. But love was a complicated thing, almost as complicated as the woman herself, and sometimes…sometimes it overwhelmed her.

She did feel guilty, of course. Mother’s health had been deteriorating over the past few years until finally reaching its critical point in early January. Her doctors strongly recommended a change of climate—a place where chaos didn’t thrive as wildly as it did in New York. Somewhere warm—somewhere quiet, where she could live out the rest of her days undisturbed by other worldly afflictions.

All of it was merely delaying the inevitable—even their mother knew that too well. Still, Nesta supposed, a remote island far away from the rest of the world did not seem like the worst place to turn to for comfort. She would have probably done the same had she found herself in a smilier predicament.

Except that comfort seemed to elude Mrs Archeron no matter where she fled—in fact, Nesta was starting to believe there wasn’t a single place on Earth that the woman could truly be satisfied. Even here, surrounded by nature’s radiant beauty, there was something missing. Sometimes, it was her favourite boutique in New York. Other times, the friends she’d left behind there, the weekly card games they always held at the Plaza. And lately, it was her three daughters, who, after all had not visited her in six months.

She’d seemingly forgotten that it had been Feyre who’d helped her move all the way across the world—who’d taken care of all the planning and paperwork until their mother had set foot in her new, beachfront suite. Her youngest sister had missed an entire week of lectures because of that trip, and would later sacrifice her sleep to catch up on the material overnight.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Nesta blinked, the question snapping her focus back into the present. The waiter was long gone—instead, mother had now seemed to engage Elain in a conversation, from the exasperated flush on her sister’s cheeks.

“Nesta,” Feyre murmured.

God, she needed to get it together.

“I’m sorry,” Nesta said carefully. “I got distracted for a minute. You were saying?”

The woman let out a long-suffering sighed. “You spend too much time in your own head, Nesta, and I know very well why.” Nesta’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I’ve always told you should read less—or at least, read something more productive than those silly rom-coms I’ve seen on your shelf.”

Suddenly, Nesta regretted ever inviting her mother to her apartment. She’d only come over for tea once—and apparently, it had been enough for her to restock her ammunition for later.

Forcing a smile which came out a bit crooked, Nesta met the woman’s gaze. Blue-grey eyes, the same exact shade as hers and Feyre’s, stared back, adorned by wrinkles not yet smoothed out by botox. “What was your question, mother?” she asked.

Another sigh, aimed to make her disappointment clear. “I was saying you should perhaps speak to your boss about Elain,” she suggested.

Nesta angled her head slightly. “Whatever for?”

“Mother,” Elain cut in, “I told you it’s not—”

“A job, of course,” she said, dismissing her daughter completely. “You work for a high-profile company.” It was the closest to a compliment Nesta had ever heard fall from her lips. “Surely they could find something for Elain, too.”

“Elain already has a job,” Nesta reminded.

Her mouth twisted in distaste. “A different job.”

“There is nothing wrong with what I do now,” Elain spoke again, her tone sharper now, colder.

Their mother raised a hand, the golden rings on her fingers glistening under the candlelight. “Of course there isn’t, dear. You misunderstand me again.” She turned to Nesta. “I’m only saying you could ask your boss if there are any opportunities. I’m sure Elain could use the extra money.”

“I’m doing perfectly fine where I am, mother. But,” Elain added through gritted teeth, “thank you for your concern.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I take it business is going well, then?” She never called Elain’s bakery by what it was—as if the mere thought of her daughter spending her days dabbling in flour already filled her with some unimaginable horror.

“Yes,” Elain said tightly. “Perfectly well.”

Mother shrugged. “If you say so. Still,” she looked to Nesta again. “It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

Elain’s face practically burned red.

“Fine, mother,” Nesta quickly said, making sure to squeeze Elain’s hand under the table. “I will.”

She sure as hell wasn’t asking Tomas Mandray for anything. As of Monday, she’d never have to see him again.

Her mother didn’t have to know about the resignation latter, saved on her laptop and waiting to be sent out the second she returned. If she found out Nesta was planning to quit her stable, corporate job…not even the island’s lovely climate would save her.

Mrs Archeron nodded. “Good. You should ask him about your promotion, too,” she added. “I keep hearing about it, and yet nothing ever happens.”

Nesta tried not to cringe at the displeasure in her voice.

“A fine man, that Mandray,” she mused innocently. “Good looks…good social standing.”

Dread began to build in her stomach. Please, don’t, she begged her silently. I hate him.

Something twinkled in her mother’s eyes, and she opened her mouth.

“Greysen and I broke up,” Elain announced loudly.

Mother’s face whipped to her middle daughter, and Nesta’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Why?”

A one-shouldered shrug, so similar to the one mother had given her only a minute ago. Thank you, Nesta wanted to shout across the table, though she suspected Elain hardly needed her gratitude. She was clearly enjoying this—especially as she added, “He wasn’t good for me.”

Mother was practically seething. “Greysen Nolan is a good match,” she said, as though unaware they were living in the twenty-first century. “His father and I are friends.”

“Just how good of a friend is he?” Elain shot back.

Nesta stilled.

Beside her, Feyre’s eyes widened.

Slowly, their mother leaned back in her seat.

“Ladies,” a deep voice sounded. “Your drinks.”

The waiter appeared as if out of nowhere, leaning to set their wine atop the table. Nesta had never reached for her glass quicker, urging the crimson liquid to flush down the heart lodged in her throat. Feyre, it seemed, had opted to do the same.

Only when the man pulled back, moving to approach another table, did Elain finally sway the wine in her hand, her gaze still levelled on her opponent. While mother had taken Nesta under her wing from a very young age, and completely dismissed Feyre as anything other than a tiresome presence in her house, she’d never seen Elain as anything beyond her looks—it was no surprise that she’d quickly become their father’s daughter—calm and unyielding, unafraid to face her head on and risk her disapproval. Mother had always underestimated her.

She seemed to realise that at last, as lightning seemed to rage in her blue-grey eyes, just barely restrained—an ancient storm ready to ravage a blooming land.

Not good.

So Nesta spoke, “Mother, did you know Feyre passed all of her finals with an A this year?” Feyre’s head snapped to her at that, even the freckles on her face paling. “Tell her about your post-colonialism class, Feyre.” And when Feyre didn’t manage to utter a single word, Nesta turned back to their mother, explaining, “It was the most difficult one, and she got the best grade out of her entire cohort. At NYU.”

Feyre released a breath. “It’s nothing,” she murmured.

Those icy flames licked at Nesta’s chest again. Acknowledge her, she wanted to scream. Praise her.

“It’s not nothing,” she told her sister. “You’ve been brilliant, I—Mother?” Nesta frowned, realising the woman had already risen from her seat.

“Oh, please, keep going,” she waved a hand. “Don’t let me disturb you—I’m just going to go find the restroom. I need to freshen up.”

And with that, she was gone, the light click of her heels on the stone floor following her to the back of the restaurant.

Nesta eyed the movement, willing that inner fire to stifle its rage—until her eyes settled on something else entirely.

“You broke up with Greysen?” Feyre spoke beside her, but her voice was distant now, as if sounding from miles away. “When?”

“Last month,” Elain answered. “But he had it coming long before that, really,” she added quickly.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Feyre. You were dealing with your finals, I—I didn’t want to add more onto your plate.”

A sigh. “I get it. Just—please know you can always talk to me?”

“Of course. Besides, Nesta was—Nesta?”

But Nesta had long stopped participating in the conversation.

For sitting at the table a few away was the most ridiculously beautiful man she’d ever seen.

She would’ve spotted him right away had it not been for her mother’s seat shielding him from view the entire night. It was impossible not to take notice of him—and not simply due to his size, the broad chest, the strong, golden-brown arms, their muscles practically glistening under the soft light. He looked like he’d spent the entire day on the beach, his dark, windswept hair loosening a few strands over his forehead—over his hazel eyes, bright with amusement as he listened to his companion.

And his companion…of course he’d come with a date. A woman so beautiful she seemed as though the sun itself had crafted her, her golden hair cascading down the red silks of her dress, down her exposed back. What the hell did they put in the wine in this place?

From the corner of her eye, Nesta could just barely make out Elain following her gaze.

“Go talk to him,” she urged.

At that, Nesta turned, schooling her features into cool indifference. “Who?”

Elain’s brown eyes narrowed. “Don’t act stupid now, Nesta. You were practically drooling.”

“Is it a crime to appreciate a good looking man?” she asked innocently.

“It’s a crime not to do anything about it.”

Feyre huffed a laugh. Nesta shot her a glare.

“Just do it, Nesta,” she told her.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s clearly here with a date.”

“Could be his sister,” Elain supplied helpfully, though there was little confidence in her tone.

“They look nothing alike.”

Feyre sighed deeply. “Nesta, just go talk to the guy.”

“She’s right, you know.” Elain’s head tilted slightly to the side. “When was the last time you’ve been on a date?”

Nesta’s jaw clenched. “I’ve been busy.”

“Exactly,” Feyre said. “And now you’re on vacation—you deserve to…let off some steam.”

Elain chuckled.

“Is that so funny?” Nesta challenged. “Maybe you should go talk to him, Elain—a little rebound’s never hurt anybody.”

Elain sipped from her glass. “Normally, I would,” she started, a small twinkle appearing in her gaze. “But I don’t think Lucien would appreciate it.”

Feyre’s jaw practically hung open. “Lucien? NYU Engineering Lucien?” She shook her head. “No, scratch that—my friend Lucien?”

Pink bloomed on Elain’s cheeks, and Nesta suspected it had little to do with the wine. “He came by the bakery a few days after your party.” That’s right, Feyre’s end-of-exams party—the one she’d quite literally begged her to show up to. The one she’d told Tomas about when she requested a day off—and so naturally, he’d made her work overtime well into the early hours of the night. “We’re going on a date next week.”

Feyre’s arms folded over her chest. “I can’t believe that asshole didn’t tell me,” she grumbled. Lucien may have been two years above Feyre—but he was still a good friend. At least, that was Nesta’s understanding from the one time she’d met him.

“I know what would lift your mood right up, Feyre,” Nesta suggested, a sly smirk curling up the corner of her mouth. “Go talk to the guy.”

Her eyes gleamed with challenge. “I will if you don’t do it first.”

She gestured towards his table. “Be my guest.”

Feyre groaned loudly.

“Nesta, would you please stop being so stubborn?” Elain begged.

“I’m not going to make a fool of myself,” she huffed.

“We’re literally on the other side of the world,” Feyre argued. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

What indeed?

Nesta considered—they were leaving after the weekend. If the golden woman really was his date, and Nesta was about to face a blatant rejection—she’d never have to see him again. She would probably have to avoid every beach on this island for the next two days, but now that she thought of it, she’d always been more of a winter person, anyway. And then, she’d simply go home and never think of him again.

If he was single, on the other hand… 

Nesta sighed. “Fine.”

Elain squealed in delight.

“Ask him what he ordered—it’s good small talk,” Feyre advised.

“I can see what he ordered from here,” Nesta protested. “Besides, his plate looks horrible. Who orders steak in a place like this?”

“You’re starting to sound like mother,” Feyre cautioned.

Oh, god.

“Do it your way, then, Nesta,” Elain hurried. “Just go.”

Alright then.

Nesta set her glass, rising from the table carefully. She did not nearly have enough wine for this, she realised. Her body felt warm—but not warm enough to untangle the knots that had managed to form in her stomach. It wasn’t like her to put herself out there so…publicly. Honestly, she’d never had to work this hard to catch a man’s attention before.

“Have fun.” Feyre smirked. “We’ll be watching.”

Nesta hissed, “Don’t you dare.”

The sound of her sisters’ quiet giggles carried her through the space. She didn’t think she’d ever walked more slowly in her life, each step determined to drag this out for as long as possible. God, did she at least bother to check her hair beforehand? What if she’d smudged her mascara by accident?

Too late—she was so close now that she could make out just how perfectly the man’s stubble shaped his sharp jaw. Could see how large his hands were as he clasped them together, seemingly in excitement at whatever the woman had just told him.

She could see the perfect fullness of his lips as he leaned over the table and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Well, shit.

Nesta practically lunged for the bathroom, making a turn so sharp she almost slipped on the polished stone floor. Damn her and her stupid heels—everyone wore sandals in this place, anyway. What devilish forces pushed her to leave all of her flat shoes back home, she did not know. She could only pray no one saw her obvious escape—or the heat that was no doubt burning her face red.

The restaurant had been booming with conversation and music all night, and despite this, the only sound she was convinced everybody could hear now was her heels, loudly carrying her away as she disappeared into the corridor that led to the restrooms.

The door swung open before she’d even managed to reach for the handle.

“Ah, Nesta,” Mrs Archeron said, and Nesta almost stumbled back a step. Her mother reached for something in her handbag as she continued “Here, use this.” She fished out a small packet of tissues and pressed them into Nesta’s palm. “Public restrooms are an atrocity.”

And just like that, she left.

Nesta stared at the packet for a few seconds before finally entering the quiet room.

It was a cozy space, with golden-framed mirrors, hanging from an old mural of the sea, and marble sinks. She placed the tissues atop one of them and faced her reflection at last.

Well. She did not look half bad, at least.

Her makeup was still intact—by some miracle, even the dark wings of her eyeliner remained sharp. She’d braided her hair into an updo earlier, and though a few loose strands had fallen out to frame her face, the entire ensemble looked somewhat presentable. Nesta reached for one of the tissues, dabbing it lightly over her face in places where the heat of her embarrassment melted her foundation slightly, and sighed. What was she thinking?

She made herself count to ten before going back into the dining area, her mind already crafting a pathway back that did not involve walking past the guy’s table. There was a staircase on her left, in the corridor right by the bathroom door, that she hadn’t noticed before. The sign next to it had been written in a language she did not understand, though the message seemed pretty obvious—no entry. Shame. Nesta would have done just about anything to hide upstairs for the remainder of the night.

“I was wondering where you went,” a voice appeared beside her.

Nesta stilled. He sounded exactly as she’d imagined.

Please, let this be a dream, she begged silently. A hallucination from the humidity.

If only.

Slowly, she turned from the stairs and faced him.

Up close, he was almost criminally beautiful. He knew it, too, there was no doubt in her mind about that—not as he folded his golden-brown arms over a powerful chest, leaning against the wall with a smirk. He was so ridiculously large that he shielded most of the restaurant from view—barely, just barely, she could make out her sisters’ forms, sure to be watching them intently.

The idea made her thoughts sharpen, like a fog lifting from her gaze—pretty or not, he was still a man, and Nesta was hardly one to fall at their feet at first glance.

And so, schooling her features into what she hoped was cool indifference, she asked “Excuse me?

A chuckle.“When you left your table, I was hoping you were coming over the say hello,” he mused, his voice like a melody sang by the darkest night—low and smooth over her skin, penetrating every fibre of her being. Nesta nearly gritted her teeth as a new fire awoke inside her—hot, teasing and wet.

He’d sought her out.

“I don’t think your date would share the sentiment,” she said, careful to keep her tone aloof.

His brows knitted over hazel eyes—from up close, she could see the speckles of green dancing around his pupils. “My…” he paused, a shadow of confusion clouding his face as he took in her words. “Oh.” A smirk curled the corner of his lips. “Mor is a friend.”

“You have very pretty friends.”

He hummed. “Wouldn’t hurt to have one more.”

She couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at her own lips. “You’re very cocky for a…” A what? With a face like that, she couldn’t really blame him.

He flashed her a grin, as if he knew exactly what was going on in her mind—and enjoyed every last bit of it. “What’s your name?” he asked. God, she liked his voice. She liked everything about him.“Nesta,” she said, extending a hand.

He lifted himself off the wall, stepping in close enough to take her hand into his. That delicious heat stirred in her again at the contact—at the warmth of his skin, the slightly calloused fingers. She began wondering what he did for a living—until all thoughts evaporated from her head as he leaned to brush his mouth over her knuckles in a light kiss.

“Cassian,” he said, and the liquid fire descended down to the deepest, most aching part of her.

“Cassian,” Nesta repeated, testing out the name on her tongue. It did not sound nearly as nice on her tongue as it did on his—though Cassian hardly seemed to agree, from the way his eyes darkened at the sound.

He released her hand much too soon for Nesta’s liking. “I was about to have some dessert. Would you like to join me, Nesta?” he asked, motioning to the stairs and up.

Nesta’s brows furrowed. “Upstairs?” she questioned. “Isn’t it a private area?”

Cassian smiled at her again, and suddenly, she stopped caring about signs altogether. “Oh, it is,” he said. “Lucky for us, my brother owns this place.”

Lucky indeed.

“What of your date?”

He snorted. “I told you—not a date.”

“You know what I mean.”

Cassian jerked his chin to his table, a secretive twinkle in his eyes. “She was waiting for somebody else.”

Nesta followed his gaze—to where the beautiful woman, Mor, now smiled openly as she took the hand of her new companion. The woman who had taken Cassian’s seat returned her expression, her dark eyes shining brightly.

“Oh,” Nesta simply noted.

“Yes,” Cassian agreed, something like amusement creeping into his tone. “What’s your final verdict, then?”

Nesta shot a quick glance at another table—where Feyre was now giving her what seemed like a thumbs up. 

“Lead the way,” she told him.

Cassian, it seemed, did not need to be told twice.

The room upstairs was a lovely studio, the interior similar to that of the restaurant. A small but well-equipped kitchen made up the corner on the left side of the entrance, divided from the rest of the space by a dining table of dark, polished wood. A couch stood by the windows toward the back wall, overlooking the village beneath. Nesta moved closer to the sight—it only took her a few steps to reach the other end of the apartment—as though unable to help herself, to admire the soft lights glinting from inside every household. The sea laid on the other side of the building, but she could still hear the gentle rustle of waves docking ashore. Now, with a peaceful view and a change in company, she felt her appreciation for this place grow.

“It’s beautiful.”

Somewhere behind her, Cassian hummed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Nesta turned on her feet to meet his gaze—only to find it occupied. Cassian’s eyes surveyed her closely, sweeping over the curve of her hips, her waist, her breasts—until they finally settled on her mouth, something bobbing in his throat at the sight.

For some reason, Nesta’s mouth felt dry. “Do you stay here often?” she asked, but her words felt distant, absent even as she spoke them.

Cassian shook his head, his gaze reluctantly moving to meet hers again. “Only sometimes. My other brother usually watches the place.”

“You have two?”

He nodded.

“I have two sisters,” she said.

He took a step towards her. “I saw.”

“You were watching me?” she asked, the question no more than a breath. He was so close to her now—she could wrap her hands around his neck if she wanted to.

His voice was hoarse as he admitted, “I was.”

Nesta went molten, all the heat he’d rallied inside her fluttering in her belly and swirling down to her core. She needed him to touch her now—anywhere, everywhere, all at once. She wanted to know how those fingers would feel as they traced the curve of her breasts, how they’d stroke that aching place deep inside her that thrummed under his stare.

He saw her—had spotted a stranger in the sea of candlelight and decided to wait for her move. The thought sent a shiver down her spine—she fascinated him just as he did her. 

Perhaps this trip had not been such a bad idea after all.

Feeling bold, Nesta closed the distance between them and laid a hand on his broad chest. She tried not to gasp at the hard muscle she felt underneath—at the heartbeat that began to race under her touch. She couldn’t help but smirk.

A large palm covered her own. “So, Nesta,” Cassian said, the low rasp of his voice caressing that desperate tightness inside her. “Tell me what brought you here tonight.”

She had a feeling he didn’t mean the restaurant. “I wanted to have some fun.”

Something twinkled in his gaze as he asked, “Not enjoying your time on the island so far?”

She slid her hand up to his neck, her thumb reaching to brush the roughness of his stubble. She could’ve sworn he shuddered slightly at the touch. “Could be better,” Nesta teased.

His eyes darkened. “Let me show you, then,” he pleaded. “Let me show you a good time.”

“Yes,” Nesta breathed.

In a quick and definitely practiced move, Cassian grasped both her hands in one of his palms, lifting them above her head. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as he pinned them to the wall behind her, his grip on her deliciously firm. Nesta’s exposed shoulders brushed the stone, its cold touch instantly smothered by Cassian’s hot breath on her skin as he leaned down to crash his lips into hers.

He tasted like fire and the richest of wines, the feel of him nearly dizzying, consuming. His other hand rested heavily on her waist, trailing upward as if wanting to explore every last inch of her. Nesta’s lips parted slightly when he cupped the side of her breast, and his tongue slipped forward to meet her own like a hungry flame.

His body pressed in closer, and Nesta arched into him, desperate for more friction. Like a bolt of lightning, pleasure rocked through her she felt the hardness bulging under his trousers, digging into her stomach in repressed need.

“Take this off,” she commanded between breaths. Cassian chuckled.

As he pulled away, sliding his shirt off in one, swift motion, Nesta allowed herself a moment to admire the man before her. With his chest laid bare to her, he looked like one of the marble sculptures that decorated the space downstairs—like some kind of ancient warrior, crafted from iron and flame. He was intoxicating.

With her hands freed, she moved to trace the cords of carved muscle with her fingers, delighting in the sight of his chest falling in uneven rhythm. “I was right,” she mused, more to herself than him.

“About what?” Cassian asked, his question no more than a rasp.

Nesta flashed him a smile. “This is going to be fun.”

His lips found hers again at that, the kiss deeper now, more desperate, as if he wanted to ingrain the feel of her into his memory forever. A rustle of fabric signalled his hands on the hems of her shirt, and Nesta raised her hands, suddenly feeling very smug about her decision not to wear a bra for the evening.

A low, feral noise escaped Cassian’s throat as he took in the sight. Nesta shivered, and it had little to do with the breeze that made its way in through the open windows she was nestled between.

His hands slid down her body, and Nesta stopped breathing entirely as he circled the tip of a finger around her pebbled nipple. Her nails dug into his arms, the sensation of his touch on her sensitive skin tantalising. She needed more of him—and she needed it now.

Then, Cassian flicked her nipple, and a wretched moan ripped free from her throat. Cassian snickered in delight and flicked again, the touch drawing just enough pain this time to spur another, clawing ache that dripped between her thighs.

“Cassian,” Nesta pulled away, panting. “Wait.”

He stopped immediately, moving back an inch to meet her frantic stare. “What is it?”

“The windows.”

Cassian frowned slightly. “What about them?”

“They’re open,” Nesta said, her breath still uneven. “There are guests downstairs—”

A very satisfied smile curved his lips upwards. “Well,” he teased, his hand on her side moving to wrap under her thigh. “I guess you’ll just have to be very quiet, then.”

And with that, he lifted her up.

A thrill shot down Nesta’s spine as he pinned her to the wall again, and she hooked her legs around his waist, pulling him in to settle between them.

“Just like that,” he praised, his other hand sliding down to grip her ass. There was a feral edge to her smile as she looked up at him, and a low rumble reverberated through his chest. “Nesta—”

She let her name drown in his mouth as she brought her lips to his, her legs wrapping tighter around him. The core between her thighs throbbed with her need, her anticipation, begging to be filled—to be given what she so badly wished. Keeping one of her hands on his neck, she slid the other down to the buttons of his trousers, working them quickly until another, grey fabric appeared.

Cassian groaned into her mouth as she skimmed her hand down his length.

“Who’s quiet now,” she mocked, her fingers teasing him again.

“Bossy,” he panted, his own hand moving to spring himself free at last. Any smug retorts her mind began crafting died on her tongue as she took in his cock, the breath in her chest hitching at its size, at the velvety shaft promising to completely and utterly wreck her.

He pulled her own, black skirt up to her hips before she’d even realised, as desperate for her as she was for him. Cassian’s hand moved to cup her ass again, fingers digging into the pliant flesh deliciously, as the other reached down to guide himself to her entrance.

His cock brushed the thin layer of her underwear, practically soaked with the pleasure he’d coaxed from her. “You’re killing me,” Cassian breathed, feeling the wet heat welcoming him, urging him in. She could not longer endure it—the feel of the blunt tip of his cock so achingly close, and yet not nearly close enough.

He seemed incline to agree as the sound of a ripping fabric filled the space between them. Cassian discarded her underwear to the floor before Nesta managed to open her mouth in protest, the darkness in his eyes drowning out the hazel.

“You won’t be needing it anymore,” he told her simply, his hand returning between her legs.

Her gaze followed the movement. “Is that so?”

The asshole had the audacity to wink. “I promised you a good time, did I not?” he asked, another wide smirk blooming on his beautiful face as he lazily teased a finger at her entrance, her aching cunt coating him in her slick. “Seems to me like you are,” he hummed, crooning his digit inside her.

Nesta gasped, her walls immediately clenching around him, pulsing with need. He hissed at the sensation, his cock twitching impatiently beside his hand, begging to take its place. Nesta could not agree more—she needed more, needed to feel the fullness of him inside her, to find out just how deeply she could take him. Her vision glazed with lust as she watched him add another finger, stretching her with ease.

“Cassian,” she urged, her voice tight now, strained as those fingers retreated and dipped into her again, stroking in a slow, steady rhythm that threatened to push her over the edge. Too soon—she had to find out now, had to get her craving satisfied, had to have him fill her entirely before she exploded. “Cassian,” she said again, louder, this time as her thighs shook slightly around him. It felt so fucking good and he knew it, from the smile she felt on her neck as his mouth lowered to nip at the exposed skin.

“So impatient,” he purred, his breath hot beneath her ear and shooting that familiar lightning through her again, setting every nerve in her body on high alert, tingling. His pace quickened, pulling in and out of her increasingly tightening centre, and she rolled her hips into his hand, pushing him deeper, her efforts messy, needy. “I want you to come for me, Nesta,” he told her, his lips descending on her neck again as he added, “Before the real fun begins.”

Release crashed into her without warning, her inner muscles clenching him tight as she moaned loudly, unable to contain her the sweet, white-hot fire inside her any linger. Cassian’s mouth found her own again, the kiss muffling out the sounds of her pleasure from any unwanted spectators as his fingers continued to ride her through it. Nesta’s tongue darted into him, scraping over his teeth, not nearly satiated enough—she wasn’t sure she would ever get enough of him. 

He did not break apart from her as he wrapped both arms around her again, taking them to the couch a feet away. She straddled him the moment his back rested against the cushions, the feel of his hardness against her now dripping core rekindling that greedy fire inside her. She rolled her hips once, twice, relishing in the feel of him, in the guttural sounds he was making in return. His palms rested on her sides, lifting her slightly before flashing her a wicked smile.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he teased, the broad tip of his cock nudging at her entrance again.

God, she was in such deep shit.

Without another thought, Nesta slid her hands to his neck and drew him inside her.

All the air was sucked from her lungs at the stretch of him, of every aching inch as she lowered herself on his cock. Cassian hissed sharply, his grip on her hips tighter now, as though he needed to restrain himself from thrusting deep inside her, to give her a moment to adjust to the thickness of him.

But Nesta was done waiting.

She grasped a hand at his shoulder, urging him to move closer, deeper, to move with her until she could no longer see anything but stars. She could practically hear how wet she was as his strokes grew steadier and devastatingly precise, each one of them reaching further into her core, each one making her breaths go shorter and her legs grow weaker.

“Nesta,” Cassian panted, his head dipping to the crook of her neck, “You feel incredible.”

Maybe it was the way he spoke her name, low with a flash of possessiveness in his dark eyes, or the praise he’d thrown at her, but she shuddered with delight as she sunk fully onto his length, her walls gripping him tighter. Cassian swore loudly, the curse in that language she didn’t understand yet still shooting jolts of pleasure through her body. She looked down to where they joined, to where she was split open around his cock, where he dragged himself up and down the slick folds of her cunt.

Her pace quickened at the sight, something in it breaking the last shred of composure within her.

Nesta mewled as he pushed in deeper than ever before, his cock hitting the back of her cunt, stroking that sensitive spot inside her that made her melt entirely. She moaned his name, no longer caring for whoever might hear—there was only the fire erupting inside her as he filled her, the sound of his heavy breaths as he matched her pace, the wildness in his eyes as she moved on him, deeper and deeper.

She felt the inevitable tug of another climax, creeping in closer and closer with every thrust, every flutter of her cunt around him. Her legs trembled, threatening to give in the next time his cock found that secret spot inside her, her breasts bouncing with her movements.

“Cassian,” she choked, throwing her head back as his hands slid up to cup them.

Cassian’s mouth closed around one of her nipples, and she exploded.

Her walls clenched around him hard as she came, Cassian following swiftly after as his thrusts became messier, more chaotic until he finally gave in. His groan reverberated into her body, settling deep beneath her skin, caressing every shuddering inch of her as she rode them both through their joint release. They recovered together, their heaving breaths syncing into one, and it felt so good and so right that she never wanted to leave.

When Cassian’s eyes searched her own again, flickering brightly, Nesta couldn’t help but grin.

“I believe you promised me dessert,” she told him.

His gaze swept over her body, over the mess she’d made of him, and when it returned to hers at last, it was filled with a new hunger that sent heat into her once more. “Yes,” he hummed. “I believe I did.”

Taglist: @sv0430 @queercontrarian @asnowfern @helhjertet @isterofimias @octobers-veryown @fieldofdaisiies @teamazris @a-frog-with-a-laptop @jmoonjones

#aka the time nesta saw cassian in a restaurant and went insane #based on real life events with (unfortunately) a very different ending #god this is so self indulgent #but you can read it too #nessian #nessian au #nessian smut #nessian fic #pro nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #nesta acosf #cassian acotar #cassian acosf #feyre archeron #elain archeron #acotar au #acotar fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[talkfantasytome]

Autumn Leaves

Nesta watches leaves from her favorite spot in the cabin as she and Cassian settle in for their weekend away.

Warnings: None | Word Count: 713 | Nessian Masterlist

The Cabin Masterlist | Read on AO3

a/n: I wrote three drabbles in a notebook while I was concussed. Idk if I'll write more in this AU, or when, after those first three. But it was a nice little escape, and a way to not just be bored and twiddling my thumbs while I was supposed to avoid "stimulating my brain".

The forest was on fire.

Not in a dangerous, smoking, terrifying way. It was a calming, comforting fire. The kind that only appeared in the height of autumn, before death extinguished it with the cold of winter.

Treetops blazed in hues of crimson, mustard, and amber. They surrounded Nesta on all visible sides, alternating chaotically. No pattern or symmetry could be seen, yet it was perfect.

Green was a foreign concept here, in the valley below the mountains. Nesta knew that, above the cabin, evergreens flourished, leading you up to the mountain's very peak. But below them, it was all fire.

She held her mug of warm cider in both hands, close to her chest. It heated her skin as much as a sip did her organs. Necessary on a day like today, a nip in the air that followed them inside. She inhaled the steam, savoring the sweet scent of apples and cinnamon.

It was a treat from their favorite orchard. Always their first stop when they came up to the cabin. An hour of apple picking to stock up for the weekend, and then they'd add a half-gallon of spiced cider and a case of apple cider donuts to round out the purchase. Calories didn't count in the cabin.

That's what Nesta told Cassian, that first time she added donuts to their little cart. He gave her a toothy grin and agreed wholeheartedly. The next year he even surprised her with a sign, painted by her artist-sister, with the saying on it. The sign now hung above the entrance to the cabin's kitchen.

Taking a sip, she let the warmth of the drink flow through her as she continued to stare out the window. In the light of the afternoon, the view was so clear through the glass she could barely make out her own reflection. She couldn't see the oversized, burnt sienna sweater she was wearing, or the mahogany and ginger flannel blanket her legs were curled under. It was just trees and leaves as far as the eye could see.

It was her favorite spot in the house. The large window jutted out a bit, leaving enough room for a cushioned bench seat. She'd added some throw pillows for aesthetic and comfort when Cassian started bringing her up here, which she now leaned on, propped up against the wall.

It maybe her favorite spot in the whole world. It was impossible for the serenity of the trees to not take her over when she sat there. All of her worries and anxieties, her stresses and disappointments just faded away when she was there. Whether by some magic in the cabin or a natural effect of nature, Nesta was at peace. And she always savored the feeling.

"Got it!"

Her husband's voice flowed through the air, followed by the soft crackling of a flame recently born.

"Give it a few minutes and we'll have quite the roaring fire," he added, walking backwards toward her. His eyes remained on the fireplace, as if even a blink could destroy his work.

Nesta sighed softly, "It will be perfect."

Finally turning, Cassian beamed at her. He closed the gap between them and then lifted Nesta slightly, moving her so he could slide into the seat behind her. Once he was situated, she leaned back again, this time against his chest. Nesta adjusted the blanket to cover the legs that were now stretched across the seat on either side of her.

"It always is, with you here," he breathed. Cassian pressed a gentle kiss to her head before grabbing his own mug from the end table by them. "How are the leaves this year?"

Nesta's gaze followed a particularly bright red leaf as it fluttered to the ground. "Wonderful." She rested her head against his shoulder. "Even better now that you've joined me."

He was the true magic of the cabin. And not just because it was his long before they'd ever met.

Cassian smiled against her temple as his free arm wrapped around her waist, pulling Nesta closer to him.

No. The magic was Cassian himself - his strength, his confidence, his unfailing optimism - that brought peace to Nesta's life. It was his very essence in the cabin that enveloped her with it here.

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @lady-winter-sunrise @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @clemidansleschoux @meher-sumedha @labetenoir @vinylcryes @shinya-hiiragi @starryblueskies7 @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @superspiritfestival @aks18 @thewayshedreamed @lunabean @xstarlightsupremex @mis-lil-red

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list! 😄

#nessian #nessian fluff #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #nessian au #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acosf #a court of silver flames #acotar fic #modern au #autumn vibes #autumn fluff

[nestasgalpal]

Not even his [Nessian smut]

Cassian Week - Day 2: The lover

Nesta’s Gal Pal masterlist | AO3

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

A/N: It's been a long time since I last posted anything, but I'll ue the last tagging list I had. If anyone has changed theur username, wants to be added or removed from it, let me know!!

Tagging: @zoyaslai @champanheandluxxury @pataytayo @nessiantrashh @dustjacketmusings @saltydreamcollector @generalpeachyboots @simpingfornestaarcheron @arinbelle @a-court-of-valkyries @azrielsgirl@swoopingoccamy @vasudharaghavan @vidalinav @sv0430 @nessianforlife @claralady @sayosdreams @malluzia @dealfea @kylosmomm @generalcassianweek

She was wearing an anklet bracelet that hadn't been gifted by him. The charm on it tinkled next to his ear with each thrust he gave. The metallic chime was making it impossible for him to enjoy this last time like he needed to. Like only long time lovers knew how.

It was a metallic clinc, and it was about to drive him insane.

Clinc, clinc, clinc.

It was like a clock. A countdown. And it was torturing him, for it took extra effort ignoring it and focusing on what really mattered.

Nesta.

She was under him, the pale skin of her thighs reddening where his fingers dug into her flesh, his grip tightening as Cassian fucked his lover for all he was worth.

And she moaned. She whimpered for him to make her come. She begged, and no silly tinkle could ever distract him from that sweet melody of pleas escaping her lips. Through glassy eyes, Nesta looked at him and begged him to take her over the edge.

It didn't matter that everything they had built was about to be over. A pact was a pact. Proud and haughty Nesta Archeron got lost in the pleasure and let go of her need for control. And so he now had to oblige.

Cassian felt her tighten around him and answered her moans with some of his own. He didn't hold back, he pounded her with force. Quickly. Desperately. Again. Once more. He was close, and so was she.

"I love you" He whispered. A foolish, desperate attempt to… what exactly? Useless, wasted words, for there was nothing he could say at this point that the tearful Nesta under him didn't know already.

She didn't answer, and it was probably for the best. Cassian restrained himself from wiping that silent, single tear running down her face. She was quick enough to get rid of it before he did.

That was the last sign of emotion he got from her that night, as she pushed his chest and freed her body from his.

Cassian didn't even get to see her face again.

Nesta got out of the bed and walked past him, and the soldier stood there, powerless. He saw her honey colored hair, unbraided by his calloused fingers hours ago. He painted in his head a perfect map of how each lock of hair fell on her shoulders and back, how they were wavy and slightly frizzy. He mapped her hair and then her back, and then told himself that no matter what, nobody else would ever get this view. This version of his Nesta, bare in every way.

As Nesta picked up her nightgown from the floor and put it on with a swift, practiced movement, Cassian realized he would never again be allowed to call her his.

The honor would be soon someone else's.

The quiet princess walked past the unlit torches, opened the fly of the General's tent and walked straight into the darkness of the night. And although his lover left and disappeared from his sight, the metallic charm's tinkling decided to remain in the inside of his head, likely to stay there and torture him forever.

#nessian #nessian fic #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #nessian au #medieval au #nesta #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #cassian #cassian acotar #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #nessian smut #cassianweek2022

[fieldofdaisiies]

summary: Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity  is unknown but they can make an antidote.

warnings: blood, gore, death, explicit descriptions (rating E) other ships mentioned: Azris, Feysand,…..

book cover aesthetics: Nesta • Cassian • Azriel • Eris • Nessian • Azris • Setting

chapter overview: Prologue • Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 • Chapter 17 • Chapter 18 • Chapter 19 • Chapter 20 • Epilogue

link ao3

#tomorrow #nessian #nesta archeron #nessian au #cassian #acotar #acosf #azris #azriel x eris #azriel

[acourtofladydeath]

Nessian Week List

Hello Loves!!! @nessianweek is less than one week away! I'm excited to present a brief snapshot into the fics that I'll be posting. Stay tuned for more sneak peaks!

Day 1 - What Happened Next?: "In Due Time" Let's just say it's mostly in the title.

Day 3 - Song Association: Can't spill the song title, because it'll spoil the whole post! But I've got one coming at you!

Day 4 - AU: "What Happens in the Night" A Shifter Cassian/Vampire Nesta AU set within the universe of "The Mate Games" books by K. Loraine and Meg Anne.

Day 6 - Warriors: "Complications Arose, Ensued, Were Overcome" A POTC inspired fic featuring our favorite Valkyries.

Day 7 - Free Day: The much anticipated 6th chapter to my ongoing fic "3 Jewels in the Hewn City" titled "Resolution Part 2: Cassian & Nesta". Filthy, raucous smut will ensue. Headboards are involved.

I can't guarantee I'll be able to get fics done for days 2 or 5 given my busy school schedule and the fact that I'm also writing for Eris Vanserra week right after, but if I get to it there will be more! Can't wait to hear all of your feedback and to read all of your new works celebrating these two.

#super excited to share these all with you! #some of these have been stewing for literal months #nessianweek2023 #nessian #nesta x cassian #acosf #acowar #acotar #acotar fics #nessian fics #ao3 writer #nessian au #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #lady death #cassian #lord of bloodshed #nesta archeron x cassian