#nessian fan fic

[wildlyglittering]

Illyrian Comfort Pie

I shared a post with some Christmas OTP prompts and asked if anyone wanted any for Nessian and @dustjacketmusings chose:

"Every country has different traditions for Christmas when it comes to food: trying something new when they have always eaten the same dishes for the holidays feels wrong at first. But when it’s cooked with love by their favourite person, it can sure taste like new traditions."

I don't know if this entirely fills the prompt and it's a lot rougher than I'd like but please enjoy!

Illyrian Comfort Pie

“Fuck you, Morrigan.” Nesta wiped her bare arm across her brow, spices and herbs transferring straight from her forehead onto her forearm, the little green and orange specks dusting her skin. “And fuck you Rhys come to that.”

The alarm on her phone screamed and Nesta whirled around in her small kitchen space. She’d put the device down earlier, stabbing at the timer with a flour covered fingertip whilst trying to shove her pie into the oven.

Where the hell had she put the damn thing?

On the counter stood an open cookbook entitled ‘Recipes from the Heartland of Illyria,’ a bottle of wine which doubled as a rolling pin and cooking motivation, and Nesta’s pathetic pastry attempts one, two, and three – each one slightly less gloopy than the last - until she finally made semi-successful attempt number four.

No phone.  

Nesta let out a noise halfway between a screech and a yell, her hands reaching either side of her head, ignoring whatever food stuff would end up in her hair.

“Shit!” At least she managed to remember what the phone alarm was for, swivelling behind her and yanking down the oven door, reaching for the mitts as she ducked a plume of smoke.

This one didn’t smell too bad. Nesta grabbed the pie and shoved it onto the trivet on the counter. The crust was a little singed on one side but, if she was careful, she’d be able to scrape that off.

Her movements jostled a reem of paper towels and as they fell to their side, they revealed the object of Nesta’s irritation. One phone.

“Thank you,” she muttered, her eyes drifting upwards to the ceiling as she turned off the alarm. Her thanks was to whatever cookery god was willing to listen and half to the smoke alarm not going off.

Three notifications waited for her. She took a breath in and hit open on the first one.

Hahaha. You agreed to what?! Even *I* run from making that dish. Pretty sure my *grandmother* ran from making that dish and she used to be a baker. Anyway, are you coming Thursday?

Emerie. Not providing the answers Nesta was so desperately hoping for, instead reminding Nesta she had yet to confirm drinks with her and Gwyn. Nesta typed out a quick response.

Yes to Thursday. Any chance your grandmother would attempt making this again if I paid her?

Sent. Nesta moved onto notification number two - Feyre.

Did you want me to see if the Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street will do a delivery? If you put it in the oven for a bit and burn the edges no one will know.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. The audacity of her sister to assume Nesta would need assistance and that she’d burn the pie. She had burnt the pie but still, the audacity.

She chose not to respond to that one and instead moved to the final notification. Cassian. Nesta took a deep breath and hit open.

Are you having as much fun as I am? Thinking I could do this as a side hustle.

There was a photo attached. Cassian had taken a selfie of himself standing in front of his obnoxiously large quartz kitchen counter. His dark hair was tied in a messy bun and he winked into the camera. He wore an apron Nesta had never seen before, deep red with candy cane striped ties and in Christmas style writing was embroidered ‘Kiss the Chef’ underneath a sprig of mistletoe.

Nesta squinted at the image, zooming past Cassian himself to the dishes behind him slightly out of frame. Was that a bowl of perfectly glazed parsnips? A tray of immaculate shortbreads?

She let out another noise and flung the phone back onto the counter so she could press her palms into her eyes. At this point she was covered in flour, meat juice, and soggy pastry pieces. Sweat gathered under her breasts and trickled down her back from the constant heat of the oven.

Nesta had been baking for over six hours now and though there was a small part of her which wanted to cry, she refused. Although she’d cursed Morrigan and Rhys the biggest ‘fuck you’ should have been delivered to Nesta herself.

She’d agreed to this when she should have declined, and now her pride would cause her to take a fall.

There had been five of them for drinks at Rita’s. Should have been two – only Nesta and Cassian for their quiet post theatre drinks, but Morrigan had been there with other friends who she swiftly abandoned as soon as she saw Cassian arrive.

Within minutes Morrigan had called Feyre and then before Nesta knew it, she was being squished into a booth, Cassian to her left and Feyre to her right, while she sipped her chilled white wine and counted the minutes until it was socially acceptable to say her goodbyes.

“Oh my god,” Morrigan had been saying. “That was the best dish I think I’d ever eaten. Do you remember it Rhys? The caramelised onions and gravy? What was it called again Cass?”

Cassian groaned and lolled his head back. “Illyrian Comfort Pie. My favourite.” He took a sip of his beer. “The Illyrian army did a version with off-cuts, almost ruined a perfect dish.”

“What’s this pie?” Feyre asked.

“Only the best pie in the world,” Cassian replied, his eyes misting over. “Imagine thick tender beef soaked in its own juices for hours, drowned in rich gravy and embedded with caramelised onions all under a cover of hot crust pastry.”

“You need a room, Cass?” Rhys laughed.

Cassian raised his middle finger to Rhys but joined him in the laughter.

“Cassian’s ex made the best version,” Morrigan said, her eyes sliding to Nesta. “Honestly no one would be able to top it. Bri wasn’t even Illyrian but it was spot on.” She took a long sip from her own glass of red wine. “I guess it doesn’t need to be your own tradition if you care enough to put in the effort.”

There was a heavy silence which would have lingered if not for the clearing of Feyre’s throat. “Who’s got who for Secret Santa?”

“Oh, I’m sure if Nesta put in the effort it would be just as good. Right?” Nesta looked up and met Rhys’ eyes as he ignored Feyre’s question. He smirked as he finished speaking, cocking his own beer bottle to his mouth.

Three more pairs of eyes looked her way. Nesta felt the slight, almost imperceptible tensing from Cassian but it was Feyre’s eyes which widened the most. There was a kick against Nesta’s shin under the table.

“I’m sure it would,” Nesta said, “if I had the time.”

“Cassian was telling us at the bar you’re now on vacation. All your gifts already wrapped and under the tree. Sounds like you have time.”

“Rhys...” Feyre began but Morrigan jumped in.

“I think that would be a lovely Christmas present for Cass. You can start your own tradition now you’re official. Illyrian food is so hearty.”

There was a part of Nesta which was too stubborn for her own good. Rhys’ smirk and Morrigan’s too-wide grin opposite her, the meeting of the cousin’s eyes like this was some in-joke they had just started. Feyre kept kicking her under the table, the jostling movement irritating Nesta further.

The flash of irritation was the problem. That, and the second glass of wine she’d drunk on a half empty stomach fuelling it. Her temperature rose and her skin prickled and instead of counting to twenty like she’d been practicing in her apartment Nesta opened her mouth.

“Fine,” she said, “this whole thing sounds great. One Illyrian Comfort Pie it is. When do you want it? Day after next?” Nesta quickly grabbed her glass to take a swig of her drink before she agreed to anything else.

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up but she didn’t want to meet his eyes, he was probably thinking how Nesta wasn’t implementing those ‘take a moment’ techniques. But his hand reached down to clasp her free one under the table, giving it a squeeze.

“You know what?” he said, looking at the group. “I want in on this. New traditions sound great. You’re making mine so how about yours. What’s the Archeron family dish of choice?” He asked this looking at Nesta but she still had the wine glass clamped to her lips. No longer drinking, just holding it there to feel the cold.

“Ooh,” Feyre said, clapping her hands and jiggling a little on her seat. “Roasted venison, but that’s quite tricky. We haven’t eaten that since Elain went vegetarian. We also had roast potatoes and honey glazed parsnips. Green beans. There was a cheesy mash and – oh, oh, the shortbread biscuits with a chocolate drizzle and the Prythian Pavlova. That’s Nesta’s favourite.”

Cassian laughed. “You want to take a breath there, Feyre?”

In response, Feyre’s stomach grumbled. “No, but I think I need some dinner.”

Aside from Nesta, the table laughed. Her wine glass was now empty and back on the table, her fingers toying with the stem, her mind too preoccupied with the thought of this pie and how the hell she’d even find the recipe.

As the chatter resumed, now about where Rhys and Feyre were going for dinner, Cassian’s weight shifted against her, his arm casually slinging around her shoulders.

“You ok?”

She glanced up at him, plastering a smile on her face. “Absolutely fine.”

“Hmm. Is that genuine fine or Nesta fine?”

Cassian was staring at her intently, concern swimming in his dark eyes. She knew if she immediately conceded he’d let it go, their friendship group knew Nesta wasn’t known for her domestic pursuits and Cassian could whip up a mean dish filled with flavour.

If she really wanted to, Nesta could cheat her way out of this. Getting Elain to bake the pie for her would have once been a consideration until Elain and Lucien’s diet change. No meat, no dairy, no sugar.

No flavour, Lucien had added, ignoring Elain’s frown.

Still, there was something else shining in Cassian’s eyes. Excitement. He was pleased she’d agreed, he relished competition in all its forms and he seemed eager to do this with her.

Nesta’s smile melted in a more genuine one and she squeezed his hand back. “Honestly, it’s good. Dare I say I may even find it fun?”

That was two days ago. Two long days.

“Ha!” She now shouted to her cramped kitchen. “Two drink Nesta has no concept of what the fuck fun is.”

Everything was a mess, even the edges of the cookbook were singed and Nesta cringed at the sight. Gwyn had managed to track down the edition on her behalf and Nesta hated to see a book suffer.

She looked at the clock. Two hours to go – plenty of time to shower, dress up and cart the pie to Cassian’s where they would have a grand unveiling in front of their friends. Her phone pinged and Nesta glanced down to see a reply from Emerie.

She says no chance.

“That’s not a problem,” Nesta said, wiping her hands on her thighs and staining her jeans further. “Because I now have a half decent pie.” She picked up the sharp knife. “Just scrape some of the black bits off and we are good to go.”

The knife slid through the crust and Nesta lifted some of the burnt pastry off using the blade. Odd. What was a deep and crispy brown on the surface seemed pale and soft underneath. Almost as though the pastry hadn’t fully cooked all the way through.

“It’s just this bit,” Nesta told herself. “I’m sure the rest is just fine.” But as she gently lifted the pie-top she could see the same pale colour underneath. Worse was the distinct lack of steam rising from the filling. “No, no, no, no. You’ve been in the oven for almost two hours.”

Grabbing a fork, she stuck it into the dish and scooped out a lump of meat. Juice, which looked far too oily for her liking, dripped off the prongs. Nesta placed the meat on the counter and cut through it with a knife.

She was met with resistance. The beef was still cold. A noise left her throat unbidden, something akin to a half sob. Nesta had researched the best meat cuts for the pie, she’d made sure to go to the best butcher and spent no less than forty-five minutes asking the rather exasperated man behind the counter questions from her list.

Her eyes flew up to the clock. Less than two hours to go. The time she’d budgeted to get ready and go to Cassian’s now shrivelled up. Just like my hopes for this pie.

She peered into the dish, the caramelized onions bobbing in the gravy like some apple bobbing contest gone wrong. “You’re mocking me,” she said and then groaned. They wouldn’t be the only ones.  

Nesta sank down onto her floor, ignoring the drip of gravy she sat on and put her head on her knees. She could imagine it all now; Feyre, Rhys, and Morrigan all dressed up, swanning around Cassian’s apartment waiting to be served their multiple courses.

Feyre’s eyes would go wide at Nesta’s attempt but she’d try and make Nesta feel better and yet somehow by trying, she’d only make Nesta feel worse. Cassian would likely tuck the monstrosity – if she even bothered bringing it – behind some extravaganza he’d made and perform an elaborate distraction.

Rhys and Morrigan would probably just snigger behind their drinks and tell her that ‘at least she tried.’ Patronising fuckers.

A tear dripped from the corner of her eye down her chin.

Nesta had tried. Had really tried. She’d memorised the recipe from back to front before she even started, she’d gone out into Velaris Market with a clipboard, she’d called Elain early for pastry tips ignoring Lucien joining the call to ask Nesta if she could describe what real food tasted like because the memory of butter was fading fast.

She wiped her eyes with her fingers, knowing she must look even more of a state than before. But wait – there was an option open to her. Hope flared yet.

Nesta grabbed her phone from the counter. What had Feyre said? The Illyrian restaurant down Sidra Street might be able to deliver. If anyone served an Illyrian Comfort Pie, it would be them. She scrolled through her favourites for the number. Her and Cassian had eaten there so often, she practically had them on speed dial.

The phone answered after the second ring.

“Hello? Hi. I know it’s late notice but I’m in a bit of a bind and hoping you could help.”

She explained the situation, confirming that yes, her pie request was for that Cassian, the one with the tattoos and arms.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Nesta said, eyeing up the clock and tapping her foot against the cupboard. “I’ll ask him. Some kind of protein shake, I think. Yeah, it’s really glossy hair. I’ll ask him that too. Anyway – the pie?”

They were regretful. Truly. Nesta could almost feel their sorrow down the phone. They didn’t have any pies pre-baked and they wouldn’t have one ready for the time she needed it by. They offered Nesta and Cassian a discount on their next visit and Nesta thanked them before hanging up.

“Well. Shit.”

Her eyes itched and she wanted to cry again but this wasn’t the Archeron way. She shook her shoulders and cleared her throat. There would be no pie but Nesta would be damned if she turned up without bringing anything and looking like a chaotic mess.

The kitchen horror show was a problem for future her, but in less than an hour, she had showered, dressed herself in her most confidence boosting little black dress and practiced her affirmations in front of the hallway mirror.

“You are a calm, confident, capable woman. You did not achieve the pie. Others have probably not achieved the pie. You have achieved other things. Like your best friends, two degrees, and this awesome looking pavlova.”

Nesta held the covered bowl to the mirror as though to show her reflection the cream and meringue evidence. Her lipstick red smile shook a little but the taxi driver was calling to say he was downstairs so there was no time for doubt to creep in.

On a usual night it took too long to get to Cassian’s. The drive was less than fifteen minutes from one end of the small city where Nesta lived to Cassian’s address and every second stretched out painfully slow.

Tonight, it was as though all roads had cleared especially for her just to say ‘look, you can get to your ritual humiliation even earlier.’

“It’s not like I’ve ever seen Rhys or Morrigan cook,” she mumbled to herself as she exited the cab and entered Cassian’s building. The porter nodded and buzzed her in and then Nesta was counting the too-quick numbers on the elevator.

Cassian’s apartment was one of two at the top of the building and though the sound-proofing was excellent, which they could attest to personally, Nesta was surprised at the distinct lack of any festivities sounding from behind his door when she approached.

He answered after one knock, hair freshly washed and dried. His white dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons were undone, swathes of black swirling tattoos on display.

Cassian let out a low whistle and grinned like a wolf when he saw her. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite lady, in my favourite dress of hers, with my favourite dish.”

He leant in to kiss her and Nesta winced at the mention of food. Cassian’s lips met hers in a chaste kiss but he must have noticed her response as he was frowning when he pulled away.

“Come in,” he said with a light tone. “Let me take that.” He held his hands out for the bowl she was carrying but she clutched it tighter to her body.

“That’s ok, let me find a space to put it.”

“Sure.”

Nesta stepped further into the apartment. Everything was chrome, quartz, or wood but Cassian couldn’t help himself when it came to Christmas. What was once an interior designers dream for a ‘bachelor living’ magazine spread was now a grotto fit for the dreams of any eight-year-old girl.

A smile lifted the corner of her lips. She’d never begrudge him this. Foster care and ten endless churn of care homes hadn’t left Cassian with any sense of home and the orphanage tried their best but lacked the funds.

Cassian had told her that his best Christmas eventually came in the Illyrian military and all that involved was eating dry turkey from paper plates and reading stupid jokes from cheap crackers. But he was with people that felt like family and that’s what mattered the most.

Now, garlands hung from the oversized windows, a tree larger than Cassian himself stood by the fireplace decked with shining ornaments. A range of presents piled up under the tree to the point where they spilled across his floor.

Stockings on the mantel, rugs everywhere, gingerbread houses which increased in number each time Nesta was over. Candles on every surface.

“Wine?” Cassian asked as Nesta slid the bowl onto his counter. She nodded while taking a breath in. Ham and apricot, honey, a distinct scent of rich chocolate. All the food laid out but under coverings to keep them fresh.

Her stomach stank. She’d failed him so miserably.

Her face must have painted a picture because Cassian moved beside her. “Hey, what’s up.” His fingers tucked under her chin, tilting her face to his. Those deep eyes of his, again swimming in concern.

She hoped the best Christmas present she could get him was honesty.

“I fucked it.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“The pie, I completely fucked it up.”

His confused blank expression immediately melted and he laughed, his head thrown back and the column of his throat on display. His face in laughter was a delight, he was young and happy and in love with life. “Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“There is no pie. I botched it.”

He looked down at her, his expression softening, his smile gentle. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. That pie is an art only the devil knows how to get right. Did you know Emerie’s grandmother won’t even make one and she won Illyrian baker of the year for fifteen years?”

Nesta coughed and reached for the wine poured out for her. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Cassian moved round the counter to Nesta’s dish. “So, what did you bring?”

“The only thing that didn’t involve my oven. The meringue isn’t even home-made. I’m such a sellout.”

He peeked under the covering and exhaled. “Oh, thank the Mother.” He stepped back, his hand over his heart. “I fucked it.”

Now, Nesta blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“The meringue for the Prythian Pavlova. It was the one thing I wanted to get perfect but do you know how hard meringue is to make? I couldn’t even make it to the store.”

He shook his head, grabbing his own glass of wine. “I even rang Elain to ask her for tips but Lucien answered and begged me to tell him in great detail how the filo wrapped parcels were smelling. He said, and I quote ‘go low and take your time’. I’m not sure how comfortable I am having them over for New Year.”

Nesta laughed, shaking her own head, glancing around the apartment. It had taken her long enough but something finally dawned on her. “Am I early? When are the others arriving?”

Cassian paused, swirling his glass. “Yeah, about that... I thought ‘fuck ‘em.’”

Nesta’s eyes bulged. “I think I’m missing something.”

Cassian put his glass down and leant back against the far counter.

“You know Bri’s pie wasn’t all that great. Mor was being...” he trailed off, scratching his eyebrow the way he did when he was uncomfortable. “Mor was being difficult and it was unfair. Rhys too. But I liked the idea of you and I doing our own holiday tradition so I guess I thought I’d see where we ended up.”

He gestured to his apartment and the dishes before them. “So, we ended up here. Just you and I, a bottle of wine, lots of delicious food and a very comfy rug we’re fucking on after dinner.”

“Is that right?” Nesta said, putting her glass down. She walked over to him. “Have you seen what you’ve made? We are not fucking after dinner.” She placed her hand on his chest, his heart beating a rhythm against her palm as she ignored his disappointed face. “We’re fucking before dinner.”

That wolf grin was back on his face and he leant forward to kiss her but Nesta stopped him. “I feel bad, everything here is an Archeron dish. You didn’t get your pie.”

“Oh, I’ll get to eat my pie.”

“Cassian!”

He laughed again, his broad arms wrapping around her body. “The fact that you tried means everything. I promise. This is a great start to our forever tradition.”

Nesta looked up at him; the hours of failed baking, the constant smoke alarms, the mess she had to clear up tomorrow. Worth it. All of it. “Forever you say?”

“Forever.”

#nessian #nesta #fanfiction #fanfic #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #i wrote something #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian fan fiction #nessianfic #nesta archeron x cassian #nessian fan fic #illyrian comfort pie #writing request

[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

[talkfantasytome]

We're Not Monsters - I'm Not a Creep

Nesta agrees to take Cassian for a run.

Warnings: None | Word Count: 2,238 | Nessian Masterlist

Previous Part | We're Not Monsters Masterlist | Read on AO3

a/n: It's baaaaaaack...and let's all thank @nessianweek and AU Day for giving me the push I needed!

Nesta followed Gwyn into the room, looking like she was ready to go on a rampage. It had Cassian's heart beating as loud as a drum.

"Everything okay, Nes?"

"Don't call me that!" she snapped at him, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that emphasized her generous breasts. Cassian had to consciously keep himself from flicking his gaze down to them. She closed her eyes as she breathed deeply, and Cassian want to protest at her taking away his view of those brilliant, stormy irises. "I'm going to go for a run. Gwyn, are you okay here with them?"

Gwyn nodded, but Cassian barely noticed as his eyes widened. "Oh, can't I go with you? Please?!"

"We agreed you all would stay in the house."

"I know, but I'm dying," he groaned. "I need to do something and there's really not enough room here for much physical activity."

She pursed her lips. "I can't have you running away. We'll get in so much trouble if we let a demon loose."

"I can guarantee that won't happen. You really think I'm going to run away from you?" He flashed her a small half-smile, and he couldn't help but notice the way the corner of her lips twitched upward just a bit.

"Fine," she sighed, sounding more exasperated than she looked. "I think I have some clothes from an old boyfriend you can borrow. I'll just have to do a little magic to make them bigger. Stay here."

With that, Nesta floated upstairs as Cassian tried to balance his glee with the sinking feeling in his stomach at her words. It's not that he had any right to be jealous, but he definitely didn't like hearing about Nesta having an old boyfriend. Especially one whose clothes she still had.

Why did she keep them? Were they just extremely comfortable? Were they relics from a love she regretted losing? A trophy of sorts? Did she wear the clothes often? Bask in the scent this boyfriend left behind?

Were they forgotten at the back of her drawers? Or proof that her heart belonged to someone else?

He jumped at a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he found that Nesta had returned. Apparently he'd been pacing.

"Here, I meant to burn them, but never got around to it. Lucky you." She handed him the clothes, and Cassian let out a loud sigh. Burning was good. Well, good enough. Those words gave him the ability to admire Nesta's new outfit. The tight leggings and well fitted pullover, showing off every one of her curves in a way that practically had him salivating.

Taking the clothes, Cassian changed in the bathroom as Nesta instructed, only bothering to put on the shorts. Running would warm him up quickly enough. Plus, he wasn't disappointed by the lingering, rolling gaze Nesta gave him when he came back into the living room.

It took her a moment to collect herself, but she didn't say anything, probably not wanting to admit to whatever she was thinking. It didn’t stop Cassian from throwing her a crooked, cocky smile.

Nesta rolled her eyes and let out a huff. "We'll see you both in a bit," she offered to Gwyn and Az before beginning out the door, Cassian following her. But she didn't go far. Nesta stopped in the middle of the front yard.

He was about to ask when he saw Nesta pull one arm across her chest with the other and realized she was doing some warm up stretches. He joined her, stretching out the muscles in his legs and arms, following her lead and keeping his eyes down. It was an effort when he saw her doing toe touches, knowing what view those leggings would be providing. But he held strong. He'd wait to stare at her ass so blatantly until she gave him permission.

"All right, stay close, don't run ahead of me, and don't go chasing any squirrels," Nesta ordered.

Cassian couldn't help but laugh as they started to jog at an easy pace. "I'm not an actual dog, Nes."

"Call me that again and I'll turn around and end this jog." They turned down a street to a road that was much longer than the one Nesta lived on. It was lined with trees and brightly colored mailboxes that all stood at the end of identical driveways. Most of the houses were the same two-story structure as Nesta's, but many of them had been repainted and landscaped to show their own personality. One or two seemed to have been renovated with additions or entirely rebuilt.

It was…quaint. At least, Cassian thought that was the word. Nothing in the Underworld could be described that way, so it was hard for him to know. Everything down there was designed to look ominous or threatening. He wasn't sure why. They could easily do everything they did from nicer looking neighborhoods like this one.

At the end of this street was a large park. Nesta led Cassian across the road and onto a running path that seemed to go around the entire area.

"So, why don't you want to go back?"

Nesta's words cut through Cassian's mind, drawing his attention away from the little pond they were passing and the ducks swimming there. "Uh…what?"

Well, that was a great response. Definitely the type to show Nesta he wasn't just the idiot werewolf she seemed to think he was.

"The Underworld," she clarified. "You and Azriel seem pretty intent on staying as long as we'll let you. Why is that? Why don't you want to go home?"

"Everyone needs a vacation Nes…ta." He caught himself just before the scolding came. She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye, her eyebrows raised. Cassian loosed a sigh. "Honestly, down there, it's hell."

Nesta snorted softly. "Sorry," she breathed when Cassian gave her a questioning look. "But, you know that's literally what most humans call the Underworld, right?"

"Yes, Nesta, I'm aware," he chuckled. "And obviously I don't mean hell in that literal sense." He lifted his arm and flicked her cheek softly. The amusement in her eyes nearly sent his heart soaring. "Then again, on some levels it is a lot like that. Not the eternal punishment thing, but it still sucks. It's dark all the time, and we don't have any living plants. Just dead bushes and trees, and dirt. A lot of dirt. We have houses and technology, it is a whole other world, but it's not as varied. It's main function is for work."

"Yeah, Az mentioned something about that. About how you all can do your work remotely and don't have to come up here? How does that work?"

Cassian didn't really want to talk about the entire structure of the Underworld. But if it kept Nesta engaged and speaking to him, he'd do it for a week straight. "Mostly through magic. Most demons have some small amount of magic. That's always been how we do our work - we use that magic to implant temptations, negative thoughts, dangerous desires, and more. The reason we had to come to Earth was because we typically needed to see the human, know them, to use that magic. Once we knew a person, we never had to go back to find them. Now, we can watch you all from our computers, get to know you and see you through the screen, and then play with your mind from the Underworld."

"That's creepy," Nesta cringed. "You all watch us?"

"Pretty much," he admitted. "Well, I mean, I don't. Not all demons do that work. Most of the werewolves are part of the armies of the Underworld. There are seven different princes of Hell, each one has their own army and their own demons who work for them. And they each get a different part of the Earth. The prince Az and I work for has North America. I lead his armies, Az manages all the demons."

"So Az is the creepy one?"

"Yup, exactly, remember that. Not me. Definitely not a creep over here." He gave her an awkward grin that seemed to force a small laugh from her.

Nesta 'hmmmm'd' in disbelief and turned them down a path that took them through a large garden. "Is that why Az was the demon who showed up when Gwyn did her spell?"

"It's possible," Cassian replied, his nose feeling a bit itchy. "I'm not sure why he was the one who got summoned, versus a lower demon in his organization. But i-it-it's unsurprising it wa-a-A-CHOO!" Cassian felt himself spit and spray all over the air. "Whoa. That felt weird."

"What? The sneeze?"

"Is that what that was?" Interesting. Cassian had never sneezed before, but he'd heard of them. He was about to tell Nesta just that when another one came on, this one even stronger.

Nesta came to a stop. "Okay, first of all, cover your mouth when you do that. Also, what is going on with you?"

"I'm not sure," he sighed, scratching at his arm. And then the back of his neck. "But I feel kinda weird. I definitely think another sneeze is coming. And I'm itchy all over."

Those blue-grey eyes surveyed the area, and were then scrunching up with her nose. "You probably have hay fever."

"What's that?"

"Uh, basically, you're allergic to nature," she explained. "Your body reacts negatively to it."

Well, that sucks. Cassian was finally able to experience grass and trees and flowers, only to find out that he couldn't be around them.

It seemed Nesta could read his thoughts on his face, because she added, "It's not a big deal. I have it, too. But I take medication for it. I can give you some tonight, so that the effects don't last. But we should probably head back so they don't get worse. And we definitely should leave the garden."

"But the flowers are so pretty!"

"And they're the worst when it comes to hay fever." Cassian pouted and Nesta gave him a sympathetic look. "But, maybe, if you're good tonight and not so annoying, I can bring you back here tomorrow, heavily medicated so you're not so affected."

Cassian's eyes widened as he practically shouted, "Deal!" There was no way he was going to pass up on that opportunity.

Nesta chuckled softly and turned, leading him back out of the garden and toward her house. Cassian didn't know exactly what 'being good' would entail, but whatever it was, he would do it. He'd been having the best conversation with Nesta he'd had so far, and if getting out of the house with her was the only way to do that, he'd do it again in a heartbeat. With or without this medication.

It was an effort not to laugh.

Of course, Nesta felt for Cassian. Allergies were the worst. But seeing this literal beast of a man become slow, slouchy, and sniffly because of a few trees was slightly amusing.

She was a bit upset to have to cut the run short, as shocking as that was. Nesta had actually been enjoying their conversation. The Underworld had always been a mystery to witches. And she was enjoying this other side of Cassian, a guy who was surprisingly easy and enjoyable to talk to.

"So," Cassian sniffled as they walked back down her street, "you're a witch."

"I am," Nesta confirmed.

"What's that like?"

Nesta shrugged, "Hard to say. I've been one my whole life. It's just who I am. I mean, what's it like being a werewolf?"

"Touché," Cassian chuckled just as Nesta opened the door for them.

"We're home!"

Gwyn rushed into the small foyer, looked a bit flushed and winded. "That was fast! I was expecting you to be gone for at least another half hour."

"Apparently, demons can get allergies, too. And I wasn't going to run alongside a constantly sneezing werewolf," Nesta explained, flashing Cassian a smirk. He smiled back at her, a twinkle in his eye.

Gwyn nodded in understanding, tucking her hair behind an ear. It was a nervous habit of hers. Why Gwyn would be nervous, Nesta had no idea. But she was going to find out. After a shower.

"Could Cassian use your shower?" Nesta asked, removing her shoes on the mat by the door.

Cassian perked up even more at that comment. "Oh, there's no need for that. We can share." He sent her a hazel wink.

Easy come, easy go. Though, Nesta didn't really mind the comment like she had been earlier. That run must've tired her out more than she thought. Or maybe it's just all the chaos of the weekend finally catching up with her. Either way, she simply responded with a small roll of her eyes and then headed up to her own bathroom as Gwyn agreed to Cassian using hers.

As she washed herself, Nesta couldn't stop her mind from wandering to the other being using up their hot water. To dark, shoulder-length hair he was likely lathering with shampoo right at that moment, to the abs she'd spent the past hour trying not to stare at, the corded muscles in his arms that rippled with each move step he'd taken on their jog. That vee of muscles she'd seen leading to his shorts, and something else…

Fuck.

This was going to be a problem.

a/n: I know, I know, it's been a while. But I always planned to come back to this, and look! I did it! 😄 Yay me! Hopefully, with spooky season coming, I'll have motivation for more. Plus, I like some of the stuff I did in this. Like the actual world building. And that's definitely bringing this back to the Halloween fic feel it was supposed to have. So fingers crossed!

@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

#nessianweek2022 #nessian fic #nesta archeron #nessian #fan fiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #a court of silver flames #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #gwynriel fic #witch valkyries #witches #witch au #cassian #demons #werewolf #werewolf!cassian #witch!nesta

[frictionandfluff]

I'm easing back into writing so I would love some prompts for some quick fics for characters in ACOTAR and Crescent City. No prompt or ship will be denied! I'm not very well known in this fandom so a signal boost would be lovely.

I'm finally evicting my uterus on Feb 13 and need something to help keep me busy during my recovery.

#acotar #crescent city #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #hosab #hoeab #feysand #nessian #nessriel #elriel #elucian #azris #quinlar #ruhn danaan #daynight #sarah j maas #fics #fan fic

[the-lonelybarricade]

LB my dear dear! I have devoured all yours and MB's ao3 works till date ❤️🤌 and I am feeling pathetically ravenous for more 🫠. Although my question is- since I have seen people asking you for suggestions as to which blog and which writer to look to for more feysand/elucien content I would like to request the same only and only if you are comfortable and have the time for this pressing request. And thank you even if you couldn't for some reason im only scared since you are busy and wouldnt want to burden you with such an exigent task. . I'm sorry to bother you That would be it 🥺 👉👈

You want blog suggestions for Elucien/Feysand authors? And you think you're bothering me??? Anon, this happens to be my exact area of exertise and there is nothing love more than hyping up my friends!

To kick us off my lovely friend @velidewrites is an extraordinarily talented writer and artist, and also just an all-around ray of sunshine whose blog I cannot recommend enough.

There's also @writtenonreceipts who's every work is literal potery. Pick any of her stroies and you will come undone.

@belabellissima has a beautiful Feysand/Elucien series called the State of Grace and is also one of my favorite people 🥺💝

@azrielshadowssing also regularly feeds us with delciioiusly sinful Feysand and Elucien stories 🥰 hehehe definitely read the tags though!

Among a host of other incredible fics, @damedechance has an onlyfans series that will make you feral - Playgirl (Elucien) and darling.exe (Feysand) 👀👀 Come back to me once you finish losing your mind

@xtaketwox and @itsthedoodle come as Feysand/Elucien pair hehe. @xtaketwox has treated us to lots of goodies, but I wanted to highlight her modern soulmate AU which has a dedicated work for Feysand, Elucien, and Nessian! @itsthedoodle has written so many beautiful feysand oneshots and is the sweetest, most unhinged person you'll ever have the pleasure of knowing.

@asnowfern is so talented and writes for a lot of different pairings, including Feysand and Elucien! Right now she's working on a stunning Feysand AU inspired by a chinese legend called Till Forever Falls Apart

if you're a fan of next-gen, @areyoudreaminof has lots of adorable fics and headcanons centering around Elucien and Feysand as parents!

@witch-and-her-witcher again writes for many couples, including Feysand and Elucien! She recently wrote a Feysand and Nyx oneshot, The Little Tiger, that completely fractured my heart and put it back together.

@thegloweringcastle is another extremely talented writer who has a wealth of feysand and elucien fics! One I really love is the The Law of the Land which is a Feysand western AU with background Elucien 🤠

@darling-archeron has been in this fandom since 2016 and in that time has blessed us with so much wonderful Feysand and Elucien content!! (One day you really need to sit us all down and tell us the fandom lore we all missed out on from the acomaf/acowar releases 👀)

@iambutmortal has a lot of delicious Feysand and Elucien stories! For Elucienweek last year she wrote a really addicting story called The Honeymooners

@labellefleur-sauvage has written so many incredible Elucien fics! As well as a very delicious monster!Feyre fic called Meet Me In the Woods hehehe 👀

@foundress0fnothing always blows me away with her writing. For Elucienweek last year she wrote an Elucien sex cult fic titled Both Forever and Rather Die that lives in my head rent free.

@howlingcaptaincommando is working on a really amazing pirate AU, Never Shall I Die, centering around Elucien, Nessian, and Feysand!

@vulpes-fennec has so many lovely stories, including her Prythian Fantasia WIP which centers on the Archeron sisters and their mates 😍

@popjunkie42 has yet to dip her toes into writing Elucien but maybe one day we can convince her 👀👀 That said she has so many amazing Feysand works such as Hate Me Instead and her current WIP Blossoming In Winter.

Likewise my dearest friend @wilde-knight has only written Elucien and Nessian, but I can't recommend her works and blog enough!! She's working on an amazing Princess Bride AU called Burnished Gold

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship is a die-hard Feysand, Elucien, Gwynriel, and Nessian! Currently they're working on a Feysand fic Five Minutes to Midnight which also features background Elucien!

@octobers-veryown creates so many wonderful moodboards for variuos ships and characters! I cannot recommend following them enough💕

And finally @rosanna-writer, @reverie-tales, @thesistersarcheron, and @starfall-spirit are my multishipping queens 🥰 On their blogs you'll find wonderful content for Feysand, Elriel, Elucien, and other ships as well!

#Oh god if I'm missing someone I'm so sorry #I got distracted so many times while making this #And now I'm just ready to yeet this task into the sun lmaooo #fic recs #elucien fic #feysand fic #elucien #feysand

[thesistersarcheron]

Plagiarism in the ACOTAR Fandom

If you write Nessian, Nezriel, or Cazriel and ACOSF fics, take note.

On Thursday, June 29, I learned that my fic, viciousness & intelligence, was plagiarized by A03 user amaliea25 in her story titled Fall from Grace. Since alerting her that I was aware of her plagiarism, she edited the scenes she stole from my fic, but she has not removed them entirely from her story.

This plagiarism came to my attention when amaliea25 commented on my short V&I outtake, promises & punishments. This was the first time she contacted me on AO3, and I was curious about what drew someone to such a minor fic. I clicked onto her page and found that she was also a Nesta/Azriel/Cassian writer. Previously, I ignored Fall from Grace because, as a canon-divergent ACOSF story in which Nesta has an unexpected dual mating bond with Cassian and Azriel, the premise was similar enough to V&I that I did not want to step on her toes by accident.

However, I shouldn't have worried about that. Because when I decided to check out a random page in her fic anyway to decide whether or not I should bookmark it to read after I finish V&I, I discovered she was already plagiarizing my work.

Screenshots below the cut.

The Plagiarized Content

To my knowledge, three scenes from V&I were stolen from Chapters 2, 3, and 6. However, amaliea25 is in the habit of paraphrasing the scenes she steals, and I haven't read V&I in over 6 months, so I have suspicions about at least half a dozen more passages and plot points. I will highlight the two most obvious offenses here.

These screenshots were taken on June 29th.

viciousness & intelligence Chapters 2 and 6 (published 5/10/22 and 6/21/22) vs. Fall from Grace Chapter 22 (published 5/31/23)

viciousness & intelligence Chapter 3 (published 5/19/22) vs. Fall from Grace Chapter 23 (published 6/2/23)

The Reddit Tip-off

I have since read the entirety of Fall from Grace to check for more plagiarism, and while doing so I realized that the title of Fall from Grace and the sentiment in the comment on promises & punishments sounded familiar to me. I used to advertise my fics on r/ACOTAR, and in May I received email notifications about several comments on my old post about V&I... the most recent of which advertised another Nessriel story entirely.

I was appalled that someone promoted another fic on my post, but ignored it at the time and muted the user - I thought it was just a fan of the Nesta/Cassian/Azriel ship being unknowingly rude.

But when I went back and confirmed that the story in this comment was the one that plagiarized my fic, I did get a little heated and jump the gun. I replied, "Considering that fic has plagiarized mine, do not do that." The next morning, the comment advertising Fall from Grace on my post was gone.

But even though that one instance of this user promoting Fall from Grace was deleted, it is strange that it is the only fic u/Embarrassed_Room1347 promotes, isn’t it?

So I suspect that u/Embarrassed_Room1347 and AO3 user amaliea25 are the same person, and that my comment about plagiarism on June 29th tipped her off that I was aware and that she needed to cover up her tracks...

The Alteration

...which she tried to do. Poorly. Here is a screenshot of the same portion of Chapter 22 of Fall from Grace taken today, July 1st, proving that amaliea25 is aware that she committed plagiarism, that it is not okay, and that I am unhappy that she did. This is the only edit she has made to my knowledge, since as of this post, Chapter 23 remains untouched.

Despite amaliea25's attempts to edit away her plagiarism, I also downloaded a copy of Fall from Grace as an EPUB from AO3 on June 29th before she had the chance. This fic was first published on May 8, 2023, and the extreme length and patchwork quality of the writing and plot indicates to me that much of it was taken from outside sources.

If you are a fellow ACOTAR author and you are concerned amaliea25 may have plagiarized your work and is now attempting to cover it up, please DM me. I'll send you the file so you can check for yourself.

She may have altered what she stole from your work even further since June 29th, but it is likely still in her fic.

I only check AO3 for fics. If you are aware of Fall from Grace on any other platforms, I would appreciate it if you told me so I can report it.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of silver flames #acosf #nesta archeron #azriel #cassian #nessriel #nessianriel #nezriel #cazriel #a court of thorns and roses fic

[labellefleur-sauvage]

I Need a Big Boy

Nesta had been a fan of her city’s rugby team, The Velaris Fighters, for years, all because of one man: Cassian Smith, the team’s captain.

Tonight, she was finally going to show Cassian why she was his biggest fan.

A very short and smutty Nessian fic. Inspired by a few influential tiktoks featuring some very handsome and big rugby men in short shorts and tight jerseys that instantly made me think that Cassian would be an excellent rugby player. No other plot, just sexy vibes.

Word Count: 2600

Rating: E

Read on AO3

XXX

“Yes! Just like that! Just a little bit more, just like that - yes!”

Nesta threw her arms in the air and cheered along with the thousands of other people in the crowd as the Velaris Fighters scored five final points before the sirens that signaled the end of the game blasted through the air. Besides her, her friend Gwyn threw her arms around her neck in a hug, while their other friend Emerie blew into a bright blue plastic stadium horn.

“What a game!” Gwyn exclaimed, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “I thought for sure they wouldn’t be able to come back!”

“That was the best scrum of the season. How Rhys managed to hook the ball after the other team nearly had it -“

“And then Azriel managing to grab the ball when Rhys got tackled -“

“But we all know who was really responsible for their comeback win,” Emerie said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, eyeing Nesta. 

Nesta only hummed, too distracted by watching the man of the hour: Cassian Smith, front row prop and team captain of the Velaris Fighters. He had gone through two shirts over the course of the game to her delight, and had abandoned his latest shirt, choosing to go topless while he gave a media interview on the field.

She sighed wistfully, watching the overhead lights dance across his golden brown skin. This man was the only reason she got into rugby several years ago, when she saw an ad at a bus stop for the local rugby team with Cassian front and center. 

Luckily she found rugby genuinely interesting, and enjoyed going to the games. Even better, she got to ogle the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Cassian was a tall brick house of a man, nearly 6’5” of pure muscle. His upper body - shoulders, arms, back, even his neck - was a mess of highly developed muscles. Each rippling ab was defined, and his thighs were thicker than tree trunks. Most of his glorious body was covered in dark, swirling tattoos that contrasted against his golden brown skin. His shoulder length wavy hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and Nesta watched, enraptured, as he slowly took the ponytail out of his hair and raked his fingers through his sweaty locks. 

She licked her lips. It felt like a personal show, just for her. If all went according to plan, then she’d be putting on a show for him soon. 

“Come on, let’s go.” Gwyn bumped Nesta out of her daydream. Shaking herself, she gathered her bag and followed her friends out of the stands, joining the throng of people waiting to exit the stadium.

“You still going to go to the player’s entrance and try to get an autograph?” asked Gwyn.

“She’s going to try to get a lot more than that,” quipped Emerie.

“Be safe!” Gwyn said. “Let us know if you need a ride home or anything! Keep us updated -“

“She’s not going to have time to give us play by play updates when she’s getting railed -“

“OK, bye!” Nesta called, turning away from her laughing friends to walk towards the side player entrance where the players entered and exited the stadium. A small crowd had already assembled outside the doors, people anxiously waiting for a chance to see their favorite players.

Nesta forced her way up to the front railing separating the crowd from the door. She didn’t have to wait long - soon, players from both teams began filling out, some stopping to sign autographs. Craning her neck and standing on her tiptoes, Nesta kept her eyes trained on the door, hoping she didn’t miss him. 

Finally, the door swung open and Cassian emerged. He was even more beautiful up close: his hair was damp around his face, his form fitting t-shirt clung to his body and the fading sunlight highlighted his rugged face.

Nesta lost her breath as she watched Cassian briefly look around the crowd before his eyes met hers. He looked her up and down, head to toe, before sauntering over.

“That’s a great shirt you have on. Did it come pre-ripped like that?”

Nesta grinned. She was wearing a replica of one of his jerseys, with several rips along the shoulders and sides to mimic how his uniform often looked after a particularly rough game. She had also cut a deep V-neck into the shirt to show off her impressive cleavage. 

“No, I had to cut it myself. Wanted it to look more like the real thing.”

Cassian gave her a one sided grin. “Like the rest of my jerseys, it would look better shredded on the ground.”

Nesta snorted, dragging her eyes down his toned chest and lingering on the junction on his thick jean covered thighs. She lazily brought her gaze back to Cassian’s face, noting the slight blush grazing his cheeks. 

“This shirt has a lot of sentimental value to me, so I don’t think I’d be willing to risk having it destroyed. I think I’ll keep this one… unless you can give me something special in return.”

She could have sworn she saw him shudder. “I can think of a few things I could give you,” he said huskily. “How about you come back to the team locker room with me? I can give you a personalized jersey, a private tour of the facilities…”

“That’s so generous of you,” Nesta purred. “I think I’d be more interested in a private tour of you , though.”

Cassian cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you can take that? Most people can’t quite handle… all of me, like that.”

Nesta stared up at him and licked her lips. “How about we go somewhere private and I can prove to you that I’m more than capable of handling a big boy like yourself?” she shot back.

He smiled. “That can be arranged. Come on.” He single-handedly moved the heavy metal barrier out of the way, letting Nesta slip through. “My friend and I are going to the locker rooms,” he told the security guard at the door. The man nodded lazily, letting them back inside the building. 

He quickly led them to the back of the stadium and into a large locker room. It was much nicer than Nesta expected - each player had their own personalized locker lined around the room, with a wide, wooden sitting bench in front of each cubby.

Cassian spun her out of her observations and took her face in his hands for a claiming kiss. Nesta sighed as his tongue swept inside her mouth. He broke away from her suddenly, a cocky grin on his face.

“How long were you waiting outside?” Cassian asked, sitting down in front of his locker and spreading his legs.

“Not long,” Nesta shrugged, her lips still tingling from his intense kiss. “I’m your biggest fan, so I was willing to wait a while for you.”

He smirked. “My biggest fan, huh? What else are you willing to do for me?”

Nesta hummed, then went to her knees between his spread thighs. “If you take your pants off I can show you.”

Cassian grinned, standing up to his full height so he towered above her. “I’ve already worked so hard today - how about you put in a little work and show me how much my biggest fan truly appreciates me.”

Grinning, Nesta reached up and undid the button of his jeans and slowly pulled the zipper down. A considerable bulge had already formed between his thighs, and it only grew larger as her deft hands dragged Cassian’s skin tight pants down his legs. She took her time undressing him, letting her hands wander over the hard muscles in his quads and hamstrings and calves. He kicked his pants away when they bunched around his ankles. 

“My, my,” Nesta murmured appreciatively, staring at the outline of his cock straining against his underwear. “What a big cock you have. I can’t wait to see it dripping for me.” She pressed a series of delicate kisses along his clothed cock, kissing up his shaft. Cassian’s abs and legs tensed in anticipation as Nesta’s mouth drew nearer and nearer to his tip.

“I can’t wait to see it stuffed down your throat,” he gritted, tearing off his shirt and tossing it by his discarded jeans. “You’ll do that for me, right? Take my fat cock down your throat? Prove to me that you really are my biggest fan?”

“Anything,” Nesta said, lightly sucking the fat head of him through his underwear. She tasted a bit of his salty precome and had to close her eyes as her desire nearly toppled her, Cassian’s deep groan reverberating through her entire body. Her center throbbed and Nesta felt wetness gathering in her underwear. 

She was tired of teasing him. Yanking down his underwear, Nesta lightly pushed Cassian back so he sat down heavily on the wooden bench in front of his locker and spread his legs. She groaned. His cock was long and thick and heavy, leaning towards his stomach. Nesta took him in her small hand and gave him a few pumps.

“You did such a good job today,” Nesta said. “Let me show you what you deserve.” She dragged the flat of her tongue up from the base of his cock to his tip, then took his head into her mouth and sucked. 

Cassian groaned as Nesta bobbed her head over his dick. A thrill went through her. She was really doing this. She had flirted and teased the most handsome man she had ever seen, whom she’d been lusting over for ages, and now she was sucking his cock with more determination than anything she’d ever done in her life. Nesta had reduced one of the strongest men she’d ever seen to his knees with a few licks of her tongue, and she’d never felt stronger in her life.

Her hand stroked what she couldn’t fit in her mouth - his was the largest cock she’d ever sucked, and she briefly wondered if she would have to eat her earlier words of proving she could handle someone as large as him. Nesta took half of his length in her mouth and sucked hard. 

“Fuck Nesta, you’re so fucking good at this.” A large hand pressed against the back of her head, forcing her down on his cock. “Just like that, I know you can take all of me.”

Eyes watering, Nesta relaxed her throat as much as she could as Cassian gently pressed her head down until her nose met the wiry curls between his legs. Breathing through her nose, she looked up at Cassian.

“You’re so fucking pretty right now,” he moaned, watching her struggle to keep his length within her throat. “Didn’t think seeing you cry while you take my cock would be so hot but fuck, it is.”

Nesta’s pussy throbbed at the praise. A few tears gathered in her eyelashes and she blinked up at Cassian, begging him for anything: to let her move her head, to continue praising her, to touch her, anything.

He seemed to understand how desperate she was. Guiding her off his length, Cassian pulled Nesta up and pressed his lips to hers. His tongue tangling with hers, Nesta relaxed in his arms and against his body. His big hands made quick work of her underwear and jean shorts before he trailed his fingers longingly over the rips and tears of her shirt. 

“I really want to tear this off you - it’s already ripped, it’d take so little for me to destroy it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Nesta snapped. “I told you, this shirt is special to me!”

“I can get you a dozen just like it.”

“Are you going to argue with me about a shirt or are you going to fuck me?”

Cassian shrugged. “Have it your way.” Bending down, he grabbed Nesta under her ass and lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the wall so her back was against the surface.

Nesta gasped. It was hot, his casual display of strength. She felt the tip of his cock brush her soaking folds and she shifted her hips, trying to bring him even closer to her.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Cassian hissed. “Did sucking my cock make you this wet?”

“And watching you play,” Nesta admitted, a slight blush staining her cheeks.

“You poor thing,” he crooned, shifting his arms so Nesta’s legs settled in the crook of his elbows, “you’re been a desperate, wet mess for hours, haven’t you?”

“Yes!” Nesta gasped. “I’ve been so desperate for you! Please, fuck me!”

“So needy you’ll let me fuck your pussy raw, hm?” Cassian mumbled, leaning down to kiss her as he pushed his length into her tight cunt. 

Nesta sighed, gripping Cassian’s huge biceps as he worked himself into her. She slumped down a bit against the wall, securely held by Cassian’s hands under her ass and his arms supporting her legs.

“How lucky I am, for my biggest fan to have the tightest pussy I’ve ever felt,” he said, withdrawing then pushing back into her. “Like you were made for me.”

She smirked at him. “Told you I could take it.”

Leaning her head against the wall, Nesta lost herself with the feel of Cassian’s big, strong body around her and his thick cock pistoning within her. He hit places she’d never felt before, and she knew she’d never be able to take anything except his glorious length.

The only sounds filling the locker room were their moans and the wet slap of his cock slamming into her pussy. Nesta felt herself getting even wetter the rougher he got. Reaching down, she furiously circled her clit. 

“You feel so good,” Nesta gasped. “So perfect.”

“And you’re such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this,” Cassian groaned. 

Nesta looked up at him with wide eyes. “Since I’m your biggest fan, I’ll let you come in me. Just for you.”

Cassian cursed. “You want me to come in you?”

“Yeah, want you to fill me up.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he moaned, thrusting so hard and deep inside her Nesta knew she’d be sore later. It was wonderful and everything she’d ever wanted. 

“Cass, yes, right there!” She gave her clit one final brutal rub and she was coming, quaking in Cassian’s strong arms as he chased his own release.

“Fuck Nes,” Cassian groaned, emptying himself within her tight cunt. He gave her a few more weak thrusts before he stopped, resting his head in the hollow of her throat. Giving her a quick peck on the lips, he withdrew his cock from her body. 

“I was worried you were actually going to destroy my shirt, you big oaf,” Nesta said as Cassian carefully set her down on shaky legs. 

“I’d never destroy the first jersey I ever gave you,” he replied, gathering their clothes. “I know how much you love that thing.”

“Not as much as I love you,” Nesta said, leaning up to kiss him. 

“I love you too. I don’t want to kink shame you, but when you asked me to roleplay with you as my biggest fan for some dirty locker room sex -“

“Oh, don’t say you weren’t into it right away!”

“I just thought it was a bit weird, considering my girlfriend should already be my biggest fan. Do you know the logistics I had to figure out to make sure we’d have the locker room to ourselves?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “This just means you have a pretty big leeway for what you want the next time we roleplay.”

“Oh I’ve already decided what I want. Maybe some sweaty post-workout sex, with leathers and chains, stuff like that.”

Nesta grinned. “I can’t wait.”

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar #my fics #my fic #rugby!cassian #rugby au #cassian is big and hot #and nesta is into it #who can blame her #a court of thorns and roses

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxi, ao3)

Chapter twenty-one: The human queens arrive for their second meeting with the inner circle. (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

(AN: I'll be taking a teensy break from this fic for the next few weeks to focus on Nessian Week stuff! But when we get back... shits about to hit the fan)

The first time Nesta Archeron had found fae beneath her father’s roof, there had been ice on the roads.

Snow had lain thick on the ground, and the night had been dark and depthless— the height of winter. Such a stark contrast, she thought now, as she glanced out of the receiving room window and found the trees bordering the Archeron estate blooming. Fallen pink flowers littered the lawn, scattered across the meticulously clipped grass, and the air outside was laden with the promise of spring, balmy and fresh. 

How much had changed with the seasons, she thought as she Elain waited in silence.

From winter to spring— how much had changed.

That first time, that first night, she had taken a seat at her father’s dining table and felt her blood run cold— had beheld Feyre’s newly pointed ears and felt her heart stop dead in her chest. Nesta had been empty, then. Hollow, like there was no space inside her for anything but anger and grief and bitterness. But when Feyre had gone out into the forest the morning after and been attacked by a creature from above the wall…

He’d seen her.

Cassian had seen her, cut through all of the lies to find the truth beneath, and even as they spat and scowled at one another… Nesta had stood by those same windows, looking out to that same tree line, and found herself asking for his name. And against all her better judgement, against everything she knew was proper, she had let him in. Let him ease his way into her heart. 

How much had changed, indeed. 

Wryly now, she smiled to herself, smoothing a hand down her skirts as she waited for the knock at the door. It came soon after - a brisk knock, Feyre’s knock, echoing through the halls - and as Elain departed in a whisper of silk and perfume to see their sister and her friends inside, Nesta looked once more to the blossom trees swaying gently in the breeze outside. When those branches were bare again, she mused, how much more would have changed? Would war have been and gone, by the time autumn ran its fingers through the forest? Would she watch the seasons change from above the wall, with Cassian by her side? Or would the winter snow settle over nothing but the ruins war left behind, ash and dust in the soil? 

“Nesta!”

Feyre’s voice shattered the silence, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as she stepped into the receiving room ahead of the rest. Nesta turned from the window to find her youngest sister standing before her, a glint in her eyes that hadn’t been there the last time they had met. There was a quiet joy in her voice, and something… different about her. Something that seemed… new, like some patina had fallen away to reveal something shiny beneath. She was practically glowing with contentment, a crown of golden feathers sitting atop her gently curling hair. 

“It’s good to see you,” she continued softly, her voice smooth, assured in a way Nesta hadn’t heard before— like Feyre was suddenly more certain of her place in this world. “You’re well?”

Nesta blinked, masking her surprise as she nodded. Rhysand appeared beside her sister, an easy kind of smile on his face as his fingers intertwined with Feyre’s, the tattoos swirling over her fingers so similar to the ones that peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his jacket, cuffed at his wrists. His violet eyes were sparkling, and atop his raven hair sat his own crown, the twin to her sister’s, and as Nesta looked to Feyre once more—

She knew about the bond, Nesta realised. 

The High Lord had told her at last, it seemed, and as Feyre smiled brightly at the Lord of Night, she dipped her head before taking a step back, letting him lead her to the circle of chairs Elain had set out before the fireplace. Nesta looked at the way Rhysand held Feyre’s hand, the way he saw her into her own chair before sinking into his own. The way their hands separated for just a moment as they settled, before he reached back across the space between them and linked their fingers together again. 

Some kind of envy flickered in Nesta’s gut, but she forced it down as she remained in her spot by the window, the exact same spot she’d occupied the last time the queens had visited.

Azriel entered next, giving her a brief hello, Nesta before scanning the room and checking the windows. The blue-siphoned warrior nodded once to Rhysand - some kind of confirmation, she supposed - before immediately taking up the same place by the door he’d had last time, too. Morrigan was close on his heels, the blonde slipping through the door with a box in her hands. Her grip was tight around its base, and dimly Nesta wondered if that box contained the proof that queens had asked for, if that was why Rhysand’s cousin carried it so carefully, but it didn’t matter— ruby siphons gleamed in the doorway, and Nesta’s thoughts were cut short, abandoned entirely as an all too familiar silhouette appeared from the hallway. 

In the distance Nesta heard the sound of Elain locking the front door, the slide of the deadbolt across, but it was quiet, muted, as if every one of Nesta’s senses had shut down. Her heart had simply given up and stopped beating— but when Cassian’s gaze snapped to hers across the room, when he canted his head an inch to the side and gave her a small, crooked smile… 

The air between them went taut, damn near trembling, and she wondered if the others could sense it— if it felt that way for them, too. Did they feel the way the space between them seemed to vibrate? Or was it just her world that had stopped spinning the moment he’d crossed that threshold?

The late morning sun drifted lazily across his face, dancing across the scar cutting through his eyebrow and glinting off the earring he wore, and Nesta worked to keep her face blank, even as her eyes dropped to his mouth, remembering the feel of his lips at her neck. Her heartbeat kicked, ratcheted, drawn to him like something fundamental, some base instinct that had her feeling comforted by the sight of those wings, tucked close to his spine as he stepped through the receiving room door.

She’d been horrified by those wings, once.

Now she looked at them and remembered only the way he’d shuddered when she’d dragged her finger along the membrane, soft and smooth beneath her touch. 

Illyrians don’t let just anybody touch their wings.

With effort she took a breath, blinking away the memory of that night, the way the lightning had lit the stable up in silver as she lay pressed against his bare chest, her hands wandering, tracing his tattoos as his palms skated over her waist, his touch a brand as she gave him a piece of her soul and he gave her a piece of his in return. 

It speaks to trust and devotion.

Gods— she had missed him. Every second they’d been apart had felt protracted, indeterminable, and now he was here, striding into her father’s largest sitting room so easily, so casually, like he hadn’t called her his the last time they’d been together. Like they hadn’t danced on an abandoned dock beneath a sky littered with falling stars.

She glanced to the space opposite Azriel, on the other side of that door. It was where Cassian had stood last time, and the spot she expected him to fill now, but he didn’t even look in that direction. No— he only strode purposefully across the floor and took up a spot right beside her, so close they could almost touch. 

“Hello, Nes,” Cassian whispered.

In his habitual leathers, he turned his face an inch to the side, just enough to give her an irreverent, entirely disarming grin. Nesta blinked. Whilst she didn’t think there was anybody left in that damned room that didn’t have at least a suspicion that there was something going on between them, it hadn’t ever been acknowledged out loud. She wasn’t sure she wanted it to be, either, and yet here he was, standing right next to her as though this were the only place in the world that made sense. His arms hung at his sides, fingers inches from the hilt of the dagger at his thigh. He faced forwards, casting an assessing eye over the Archeron sitting room, but Nesta caught the sidelong glance he gave her, dragging his eyes from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes and all the way back up again. It burned— her skin burned beneath his gaze, and as his bottom lip found a home between his teeth, as his eyes still roamed, blatant, over every inch of her, Nesta felt every single nerve she possessed suddenly ignite, like she was nothing but touchpaper beneath his flame. 

When she hissed, Cassian smirked.

“What are you looking at?” she demanded, and oh, how different those words sounded now.

It had been the first thing she had ever said to him, a question spat over a dining table, and it felt distant now, so long ago it might as well have been another life. She hadn’t known his touch then, or his smile, or his laugh. She felt a blush crawl over her throat, rising to her cheeks as she held his attention, rapt. His eyes darkened as he took in that spread of colour, a muscle feathering in his jaw as his gaze turned languid.

“Nothing princess,” he hummed in answer, his voice dipping low, a brush of velvet against her skin. “Just admiring…”

His eyes wandered to her neck, following the curve of her collarbone before sliding to her chest. Lower— he dragged his eyes over every single inch of her, pausing at her waist, her hips. Nesta felt her heartbeat stutter and climb, and a smirk tugged at the edges of his lips - those damned lips - as if he could hear the way it pounded, for him and him alone. His teeth sunk once more into his bottom lip, and Nesta tried hard not to think about those teeth grazing her neck, how it felt when he bit into her lip instead of his own. She hissed again, and his eyes danced as they flicked up to her face, lingering on her mouth for far too long, as if he were thinking the same damn thing.

“…the scenery,” he finished, his voice a low murmur.

He nodded to the window at her back, to the trees in bloom along the edges of the estate. Nesta scowled, but Cassian seemed to be suppressing a laugh, his lips pressed tight together as his eyes glittered with mirth. 

“Stupid bat,” she muttered, and his expression turned to one of unparalleled delight, unfettered joy lighting up his entire stupid face as that stupid smirk grew even wider. Nesta huffed. 

“Is that all you’ve got, sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You like it when I call you sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what gave you that impression, but—“

“You did, princess.” Cassian smirked, folding his arms casually across his chest. “You can’t lie to me. I can hear the way your heart skips.”

Nesta turned her head to look at him, eyes wide. He smirked still, and even though they spoke in whispers, her eyes went to Elain standing only a few feet away, to Feyre sitting by the fireplace, speaking in quiet murmurs with Rhysand, Mor beside them, dark box still held  tight in her hands. Cassian quirked an eyebrow, his head tilting to the side. 

“I hate you,” Nesta murmured.

Cassian grinned. “No, you don’t.”

Across the room, Rhysand cleared his throat. He shot Cassian a sharp look, an almost imperceptible shake of the head. It had Cassian lifting his chin and straightening his shoulders, settling back into his role as General rather than the rake who seemed to enjoy flirting with her more than anything in the world. He turned his attention back to the room at large, one hand coming to rest idly on the hilt of his dagger, his wrist at the pommel. 

But he spared her one last glance, one last look, and his hazel eyes were soft when he met hers, filled with a kind of affection Nesta had never found anywhere else. 

“Later,” he whispered softly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

Before she could answer the clock chimed noon, and on the other side of the room, Azriel’s stance mirrored Cassian’s, his hand resting on the hilt of a dagger too. But before his fingers had finished curling around it in preparation…

The queens arrived. 

***

Only two this time— only two of them had bothered to turn up.

The eldest queen and the youngest, one with skin like aged paper and one with hair like spun gold, stood in the middle of her father’s sitting room, two guards each flanking them. Rhysand rose from his chair.

“We appreciate you taking the time to see us again,” he began, his voice smooth, courteous. 

The eldest queen only sneered and turned her eyes to the window, finding Nesta standing before it. Just as Cassian had, the queen raked her gaze over Nesta’s entire form, but where Cassian had had a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips, the queen’s face held only disdain.

“After the insult we received last time,” she said, her lip curling, “we debated for many days about whether or not we should return.” Her eyes narrowed. “Three of us found the insult to be unforgivable.”

She waved a hand to the empty space at her side, at the absence of the others. Nesta glowered, and at her side Cassian shifted closer, the edge of his wing brushing her shoulder as he adjusted his stance, so slowly, so smoothly, it was almost imperceptible. His hand wasn’t just brushing his dagger now. His fingers had closed definitively around the hilt, his eyes no longer straying or alight with mischief. He was focused now, all terrifying force and brutal strength.

“If that is the worst insult any of you have ever received in your lives, I’d say you’re all in for quite a shock when war comes,” Feyre said mildly.

The eldest queen huffed, indignant, and it was the golden queen who tilted her head, sending waves tumbling over her shoulder. Her eyes had fixed on Feyre’s hand joined with Rhysand’s.

“So he won your heart after all, Cursebreaker,” she said idly.

Feyre’s expression flattened, her eyes shuttering. “I don’t think it was mere coincidence that the Cauldron let us find each other on the eve of war returning between our peoples.”

“Our people?” the queen asked, raising a brow. “Our people do not invoke a Cauldron. Our people do not have magic.” She shrugged. “The way I see it, there is your people— and ours. You are little better than the Children of the Blessed.” She waved a hand, lowering herself into one of the chairs Elain had set out. Her eyes moved over Rhysand, from the crown balanced on his brow and over to Azriel by the door. She took in the spread of him, his wings, before blinking mildly and looking, finally, to Cassian. She noted the way his wings spread, the way he seemed to be drawn to Nesta as if pulled by an invisible thread. Her eyes dropped to his fingers, still tight around his blade. 

“What does happen to them when they cross the wall?” she asked slowly, her voice soft but in no way gentle. “Are they prey? Or are they used and discarded, left to grow old and infirm while you remain young forever?”

Cassian snarled softly, a low rumble in his chest as he drew another half-inch closer to Nesta. She didn’t know whether it was something deliberate or some innate draw that kept him drifting towards her, because he didn’t look at her. He kept his brutal gaze locked on the queen who pursed her lips in distaste. 

The eldest queen rolled her eyes. She nodded at Mor, seated in the chair beside Rhysand, golden hair shining and her dress a deep red. The queen nodded to the black box Mor carried.

“Is that the proof we asked for?” the queen asked. 

Mor’s face was unreadable, the nod she gave so small it seemed she resented it. Nesta looked to Feyre, whose face had turned ashen, fraught, all trace of her earlier happiness vanished. Her eyes were wide, and as she leaned forward in her chair, her hand slipped free of Rhysand’s. 

“Is my love for the High Lord not proof enough of our good intentions?” she said, and Nesta wondered if anybody else caught the desperation in her tone. “Does my sisters’ presence here not speak to you? There is an iron engagement ring on my sister’s finger, and yet she stands with us.”

Elain shifted on her feet, the iron ring on her finger dark against her pale skin, but she kept her head high as the gaze of both queens shifted to her, studying her as though she were a curiosity to be leered at. It made Nesta bristle, the way they cast their eyes over her sister, faces lined with disdain. 

“I would say that it is proof only of her idiocy,” the golden one said flatly, “to be engaged to a fae-hating man… and to risk the match by associating with you.”

Her lip curled with contempt, her voice dripping with condescension, and as the queen’s eyes drifted back to the ring on Elain’s finger, Nesta felt the last fragile thread of her patience simply… snap. 

“Do not,” she spat, “judge what you know nothing about.”

The golden one looked like she was about to laugh. “The viper speaks again.” She shifted her eyes to Feyre, tsking lightly. “Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out.”

Cassian snarled— and there he was, her fearsome general, the man who had ended lives with his bare hands, staring down a queen like he’d love nothing more than to feel her blood dripping through his fingers. He angled himself in front of Nesta, using an arm to push her behind him. Nesta scowled, and looking around the edge of his wing she saw the eldest queen frown, saw the golden one raise an eyebrow, and saw Feyre turn her eyes to Rhysand in barely disguised shock.

But if Cassian noticed - if he cared - he gave no indication.

“She has more of a right than any to be here,” he said darkly, his voice a low, menacing thrum, every word clipped. “This is her father’s house, and she has risked far more for this war than you.”

Nesta took a step to the side, rounding his wings in order to see his face, but Cassian didn’t look at her. He only glared at the queens, coldly furious, and Nesta had never seen him so incensed. Fury burned behind those eyes, and it was as though she could hear his heartbeat hammering, as though she felt every single pulse of his anger. 

“You’ll speak to her with the respect she deserves, or you won’t speak at all.”

His words rang with a threat, stone-cold and not at all idle, and it didn’t scare her. Perhaps it should have, but it didn’t. Rhysand only looked at Cassian sharply, violet eyes alight with warning. 

The golden queen glared right back, but before she could say another word, the eldest queen huffed loudly.

“We came here for one thing and one thing only,” she said, cutting through it all. She waved at the box in Mor’s hand. “Show us the proof we asked for before we change our minds entirely.”

Rhys nodded, and Mor flipped the silver latch on the box she carried. Inside was a glimmering silver orb, glittering like starlight had been trapped inside. Nestled in black velvet it shone, and Nesta might have thought it beautiful had Mor’s face not been so grave. Had Rhysand and Feyre not gone utterly quiet. Cassian was silent too as he took a step to the side, back to his original spot, but tension still lined every inch of him, agitation laid thick on his frame. It was almost as if he didn’t trust himself not to reach for that blade and cut out the queen’s tongue. His lips were pressed tight together, his fists were clenched, and it was for her, Nesta knew. All of it— for her. 

It was a feeling so foreign, so unfamiliar, that she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

For her, he’d damn any hope of diplomacy, risk Rhysand’s wrath. All for her.

At last his eyes slid to her, and Nesta watched as all that tension simply… melted. He let out a breath that soothed all those jagged edges, and his fists unclenched. He offered her a tiny smile, the barest tip of his lips, as Mor lifted the orb from its wrappings, her eyes turning distant and chilled, thrumming with a kind of power Nesta didn’t know how to name. It made her hair stand on end, a shiver running down her spine as the blonde waved a hand over the shining surface of the orb before setting it down on the floor. 

A cloud of light and colour seeped from it like a dense fog before settling an inch above the fibres of the rug their father had imported from the continent. Nesta watched in disbelief as a river materialised on the ground— the river where she’d watched the stars be mirrored as they fell to earth. She gasped, and Elain did too, rocking back on her heels as the scene continued to emerge. Suddenly Nesta could see the mountains that surrounded the city in the distance, and a cloudless sky above a line of brightly coloured shops on the riverfront. The sun was shining, and it was a place of colour and life, exactly as Cassian had once described.

Nesta tore her eyes away from the magic hanging thick in the air, her gaze flitting to the warrior by her side. He was facing forward, eyes on the queens, not on the cityscape on the floor, but he shifted just a little, just enough to let his little finger brush the side of her hand. Elain took a step forward, eyes wide, entranced, and all eyes were on that city conjured from light and mist, a mirage on the receiving room floor.

In the silence, Cassian brushed the side of her hand once more, more determined this time. With the rest of the room distracted he took her hand, fingers weaving through hers as his palm slid home, holding her tightly as that foreign city sprawled across her father’s carpet. An inexplicable feeling of rightness spread through her at that stolen touch, and her grip tightened as the city on the rug shifted, the vantage point turning to the mountains that cradled the city. She watched a distant sun shine lazily over distant streets, and she squeezed his hand so hard she might have worried he’d bruise, but—

He only squeezed back, a silent display of comfort. Of support and solidarity. 

Then the illusion on the rug shattered— and Cassian’s hand slipped from hers as Nesta pulled away. Her heart ached, but as Elain took a step back, as Feyre raised her eyes and Mor returned the orb to its box and fastened the lid, Nesta clasped her hands before her, like Cassian’s touch hadn’t been there at all. 

“That is Velaris,” Rhysand said. “For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from outsiders. And now you know. That is what I protect with the rumours, the whispers, the fear. Why I fought for your people in the war— only to begin my own supposed reign of terror once I ascended my throne.” 

Nesta could think of nothing else except that Cassian hadn’t kept it a secret from her, even when he should have.

The queens shared a look, and for one moment - one achingly hopeful moment - Nesta was certain they would grant them the aid they needed. Just one moment— one that seemed to hold the fate of them all suspended.

And then the eldest queen’s eyes turned cold.

“We will consider,” she said mildly.

“There is no time to consider,” Mor retorted, her voice tight, surprised.

Even Rhysand blinked. “Do you not understand the risks you’re taking?” he asked, his brows furrowing over violet eyes. “This alliance is for the good of all of us—”

The queen let out a derisive snort. “Did you think we would be moved by your letter? Your plea?” 

A cruel kind of smile curved her lips, and when she nodded to one of the guards at her back, he moved to pull something from his pocket. In a heartbeat Cassian had half-drawn his dagger. But it was a letter— a small square of paper, a dark Night Court seal broken on the edge. Cassian didn’t remove his fingers from the hilt, though, and the tension only continued to mount, becoming suffocating. Nesta knew she wasn’t the only one caught between fury and shock.

“I write to you,” the queen read, her tone grimly gleeful, “not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human. I  write to you to beg you to act quickly. To save her people—to help save my own…” She tossed the letter onto the table sitting between the chairs. “Who is to say this is not all some grand manipulation?”

The breath left Nesta in a sharp, aching gasp as the queen with the golden hair lifted her shoulders and let them fall in an idle, laconic shrug. The silence was thick and suffocating, a shroud, and Nesta knew every ounce of shock and anger that was storming through her veins was replicated within every one of them in that room. Mor’s face had gone white, and Feyre’s lips were parted in an expression of bleak, despairing surprise. Even Rhysand didn’t bother to mask his shock, and he too was silent as if he didn’t know what to say. Nesta looked across the room and found Azriel’s eyes hard and cold, and by her side Cassian was gripping his dagger so hard his knuckles had turned white. His wings twitched, and she could swear she could hear his heart hammering— or was that just hers?

“What?” Mor said at last, aghast.

The golden queen sneered. “Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe—”

“Fools,” Nesta spat, interrupting the queen in a voice that burst from her chest, strained and trembling. “Arrogant, stupid fools.”

Without thought, she took a step forward.

Elain reached for her, grasping, her fingers grazing the back of Nesta’s hand— but Nesta pulled herself free, her eyes widening as she kept her gaze fixed on those two queens, content to sentence them all to death. She took another step forward, slow and purposeful, and this time Cassian moved too. But unlike Elain, Cassian didn’t pull Nesta back. No— he took that step with her. 

Nesta clenched her teeth, curled her hands into fists by her sides. “Give them the book.”

Her voice echoed in the silence, and in the quiet she could hear the clock ticking in the corner, every second a brutal reminder that time was of the essence, and without that book they were all of them doomed. The steady swing of the pendulum had her heart thundering, every infinitesimal shift of the minute hand her fear deepening. There was no time— no second option, no other hope.

“Give them the book.”

The eldest queen leaned forward in her seat. “No.”

Nesta felt Cassian beside her, knew without looking that his eyes were on the guards, hand on his blade lest any of them - any of them - take so much as a step towards her. 

“There are innocent people here,” Nesta said, trying to keep her voice steady and failing when she thought of the destruction waiting for them— when she thought of the harm that could come to Elain, to all the people she’d ever met. “Give us a fighting chance— give my sister the book.”

The queen sighed, but the look she sent Nesta’s way was filled with contempt. Her dark eyes were unforgiving, the slant to her mouth almost cruel as, warily, she waved a hand. 

“An evacuation might be possible—”

“You would need ten thousand ships,” Nesta interjected, her voice, her strength beginning to waver. “I calculated the numbers— you’d need an armada, and you expect me to believe that whilst you’re readying for war, you will spare us so many?” She shook her head. “No— you’d leave us stranded here.”

The queen blinked passively, and then shifted that dark gaze to Cassian, standing so close to Nesta that she could feel his warmth. The queen looked at that barely-there gap between them and raised an eyebrow.

“Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea.”

Cassian snarled again, the sound of it low and vicious and rumbling through Nesta’s chest. His teeth were bared, eyes alight with fury, and as one of the human guards lifted his blade half from its sheath, Cassian smiled— a terrifying, coldly violent and ferocious grin that had the blood draining from the guard’s face. Cassian’s wings flared, the siphon on his chest pulsing and casting crimson light across his leathers, and Nesta could almost feel his rage, that absolute unending fury as the queen turned her gaze back to her, looking at her as though her life were nothing— meant nothing.

“Please,” Nesta said at last, the word sticking in her throat. Across the room, Feyre’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t let us face this alone.”

Tears burned in her eyes, and she wanted to be mortified— but she was too angry, too terrified of what would happen once those queens left. She didn’t let her eyes stray from those two sovereigns sitting in her father’s chairs, wondering how cold they must be, how heartless, to so willingly leave them to die. Her breath shook, her tears threatening to fall, and—

A warm hand suddenly encased hers, and her view of the queens was cut off by large, membranous wings as Cassian rounded her, stepping before her.

A single tear slid down her cheek.

“I told you once before that I’d find a way to keep you safe,” he said, and his voice wasn’t quiet. It was as though he’d forgotten where they were— who surrounded them. When he looked at her like that - like she was the only thing in the world that mattered - Nesta found herself almost forgetting too. “I’ll protect this house and your people with everything I have,” he vowed.

Another tear fell, and Cassian reached up to wipe it away. His fingers didn’t leave her face— he cupped her cheek, his thumb drifting across her cheekbone. Her heart was beating so hard it almost hurt, and her ribs were aching as though something was squeezing, constricting them. Cassian dipped his head, the tip of his nose brushing her forehead, and his voice slipped lower, deeper, weighted with an absolute kind of conviction.

“If anybody touches you,” he swore, ��I’ll be the one to start this fucking war.”

Nesta was silent, feeling his thumb brushing across her skin as the heel of his palm rested against the corner of her mouth. His fingertips curled around her jaw, and for a long moment they stood there, neither speaking nor moving. Nesta looked into his hazel eyes and found certainty there, bald honesty and raw emotion that had her wanting to sob, to fall to her knees. He held her there, his promise lingering in the air and stretching between them.

It was Mor who broke the silence.

“Is it money you’re after?” she demanded of the queens. “Name your price, then.”

Her voice shattered something, breaking whatever spell Nesta had been under, and Cassian’s hand fell away from her face. Her cheek was cold in the wake of his touch, and Nesta cleared her throat and took a step back, but Cassian didn’t step away. He stood closer now, closer than before, his wing extending behind her shoulder and curling slightly around her arm. 

It was a touch Nesta would never have allowed before— one she would have scorned and pushed away, but—

She needed him. More than ever, she needed him.

“We will return to deliberate,” the golden queen said as Nesta felt her heart sink.

Mor practically snarled. “You’re already going to say no.”

The queen shrugged. “Perhaps.”

And then— in a moment they were gone, just like that. Nesta felt the little kernel of hope she’d harboured crumble, and as her eyes remained fixed on the empty spot where the queens had stood, she willed herself not to cry— not to fall apart.

But when Rhysand rose from his chair, there was curiosity in his eyes, not disappointment. His violet gaze was trained on the chair that the golden queen had sat in, and his lips parted as he ducked, picking up a box that had been hidden, tucked away behind the queen’s skirts. Feyre’s eyes widened as he retrieved it, a soft gasp leaving her as Rhysand lifted the lid.

“Is that—“ Feyre began, her words cut off as Rhysand lifted a book out of the box. It was old, bound in leather, with a bronze clasp, and with the sigh of relief that came from Mor - with the way Feyre reached for the box with her mouth hanging open - Nesta supposed this was the book, the one they needed. Her mouth went dry, and even though she realised that perhaps they weren’t doomed just yet after all, something about the book in Rhysand’s hand made her skin erupt in goosebumps, a chill crawling down her spine.

There was something wrong with it, something unnatural.

Rhysand laid the book back in the box, closing the lid with a snap. When he looked up, he turned to Elain and met her eye before looking to Nesta. 

“It’s your choice,” he said, “whether you wish to remain here or come with us. Should you wish to come with us, I’d suggest packing now.”

Nesta looked to Elain. Her sister twisted the ring on her finger, her eyes cast downwards, and as Cassian’s wing remained spread at her back, Nesta said, quietly, “It’s up to you.”

Elain brushed a thumb over her engagement ring. “I can’t,” she whispered. She looked up— first to Nesta, then to Feyre, her widened eyes containing a multitude of emotions, all of them akin to sorrow. “I can’t.”

Nesta nodded. She didn’t look to see Cassian's face, but she didn’t need to. She could practically feel the tension in every line of his body, so close it was to hers. He was wound as tight as a bow string, ready to snap.

“I’ll have men stationed here,” he said firmly, and this time Nesta did look to him, finding his eyes fixed on Rhysand— calculating and methodical, a General’s stare. “They can be here within the hour to protect both this house and—“ he paused, eyes flicking down to Nesta, “—your husband’s.”

His voice dipped as he said the word husband, his lip curling incrementally. 

“They’ll be glamoured. You won’t see them, but I’ll have them at the perimeter at all hours. If you change your mind,” he continued, face tightening as though he hoped more than anything that she would change her mind, “all you need to do is announce that you want to cross the wall. They’ll hear you.”

Elain’s eyes hadn’t moved from her wedding ring, but she murmured a soft, “Thank you.” 

Nesta said nothing.

There was nothing left for her to say, anyway.

Rhysand cleared his throat. “We should get back,” he said, just a shade too gently. He looked to Feyre, extending a hand before turning to her sisters. “My home is your home,” he added, eyes moving over Elain and shifting to Nesta as Feyre’s fingers settled between his. “Its doors are always open to you.”

His fingers squeezed Feyre’s, and Nesta’s eyes tracked the movement. Her heart tugged painfully, and all she could think was—

“That’s why you painted stars on your drawer.”

Feyre nodded, giving Nesta a smile that seemed far too melancholy, far too close to tears.

“I wish we had more time,” she said, her voice swollen with regret. “I wish I could—“

“Go,” Elain said, lifting her head at last and stepping forward. She reached out to clasp Feyre’s free hand between both of her palms and, bravely, Elain smiled. “Go. It’s alright. We’ll be fine.”

Feyre loosed a breath, and Nesta wondered whether she had seen the way Elain’s hands trembled just a little, if she noticed the shadows beneath their sister’s eyes. She must have, Nesta thought, because suddenly Feyre pulled away from Rhysand completely, drawing nearer to Elain and keeping her hand firmly in Elain’s grasp.

“Come and find me,” Feyre said softly. “If it gets too much, if you don’t feel safe— come and find me.”

Elain only nodded, and Feyre’s gaze shifted to Nesta. Gods, there was so much that was fraught between them, so much that was frayed and so much that still hurt, but... They were sisters, and none of it much mattered now, not as Feyre gave Nesta a weak smile, and Nesta dipped her chin in a small nod. Perhaps she might have stepped forward. Perhaps she might have pulled the pair of them into an embrace. She couldn’t remember the last time they had shared a hug, the three of them, and Nesta might remedied that then and there, but… Rhysand placed a hand on Feyre’s shoulder, and for the first time Nesta saw him hesitate.

“We need to get back,” he said slowly, and Nesta didn’t think she imagined the way his voice had dropped lower, turning apologetic, almost sorrowful. Feyre turned to him, and the way he looked at her...

It made Nesta’s heart ache.

He looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky, like she was the reason the sun broke over the horizon every morning. Rhysand looked at Feyre the way Cassian looked at her, and suddenly Nesta couldn’t bear the thought of them leaving. Nesta wanted to grab Cassian’s hand and never let go, wanted to ask him to stay, to not go where she couldn’t follow.

But…

Feyre pulled away from Elain, one last rueful smile playing across her lips. After a murmured command and a sharp nod from Rhysand, Azriel disappeared into his shadows. He didn’t offer them a goodbye, but the Shadowsinger gave Nesta a brief nod before darkness claimed him, engulfed him entirely. 

After the last meeting,  Elain had insisted that they stay for tea, but there was none of that now, only movement as Feyre took the box containing the book they had needed from Rhysand’s smooth hands, looking down at it with a stony expression flitting across her face. 

Mor made a start for the front door— to be polite, Nesta supposed. They would exit through the door rather than vanishing into nothing like Azriel and the queens. Rhysand gripped Feyre’s hand once more, and as they made their goodbyes, Nesta remained rooted to the spot, and Elain stood in her place before the window, hands clasped before her. Mor was waiting already by the front door, and as Rhysand and Feyre departed, Nesta turned to look over her shoulder, looking at the warrior who seemed unable to move, unable to step away, as if aware, somehow, that the moment he did - the second he left this room - there was no going back.

It was the point of no return, some final threshold being crossed.

A shiver ran down Nesta’s spine. As soon as Cassian left this house, she knew he would be going to prepare for war. She’d known it before, of course. Known for weeks - months - that war was coming, but it had only ever been an abstract concept before, and now it felt more real than ever— closer than ever.

Cassian rounded her, just as he had when she’d stood up to the queens, and reached for her, grasping for her hand. 

“Nes,” he began, breathing her name as his eyes searched her face, roaming across her jaw, her cheekbones, the tip of her nose. He met her gaze, that burning hazel pinning her in place. He opened his mouth, but the words seemed to get stuck on his tongue, tangled in his throat. He swallowed, fingers twining around hers as he tried again. “I—“

“Cass,” Rhys called from the hallway. “We need to go.”

Cassian’s eyes turned fraught, and he looked more torn than Nesta had ever seen. She wasn’t used to it, seeing him like this. He was so confident, so arrogant, that when he stumbled over his words and looked at her like he couldn’t find a way to express whatever it was he wanted to say… Nesta felt her heart swell, straining uncomfortably behind her ribs as her hand gripped his to the point of pain.

Don’t leave, she wanted to say.

His other hand went to her wrist, lightly tracing the string of the bracelet he’d given her, the pad of his finger gliding across her pulse. He offered her a small smile, a gentle curve of his lips. 

“I have to tell you,” he said softly, and Nesta’s heart thumped. “Before I go, I have to tell you.”

She wasn’t breathing, wasn’t thinking. His thumb still circled her wrist, his other hand still gripping her so tightly it was like he resented letting her go. And Nesta knew what it was he was about to say, felt the words because they were lingering on her own tongue, swelling in her own chest.

“I—“

“Cass.”

In the doorway, Rhysand scowled. Cassian swore soundly as he whipped his head to face his High Lord, and Rhys had the good grace to cringe a little, to look somewhat chastened, but he didn’t back away. 

“We need to go,” he said again, but there was softness there that hadn’t been there before, that Nesta hadn’t ever heard from him before.

Cassian’s fingers unwound from hers, his hand rising to lay a palm flat against her cheek. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger as he eked it out, as though trying to wring from this moment every single second he could. Nesta’s heart hammered against her ribs, rioting in her chest, and as her eyes closed she laid a palm flat against Cassian’s chest, his lips still at her brow. She could feel his heart— felt every lurching beat of it as they stood there, neither of them able to pull away.

“I’ll see you soon princess,” he said at last, lifting his face from hers, and Nesta knew with certainty that that wasn’t what he’d planned to say at all.

It wasn’t a goodbye— but gods, it felt like one. It felt like she was at the edge of a cliff, a breath from tumbling over, and the only thing in the world that could save her was him, those hazel eyes and that arrogant smile, and he was pulling back, pulling away, leaving her to tip over that edge and come crashing down alone.

With Rhysand waiting at the door, Cassian dragged himself away, leaving Nesta standing there, with nothing but the fading warmth left behind from his hand on her cheek. 

Come back, she wanted to say. Come back and tell me that you love me.

He didn’t.

He reached Rhysand and looked back, a thousand things left unsaid. It hurt— Nesta couldn’t understand why, but it hurt, watching him leave without knowing when she would see him again. 

“Soon,” he whispered— and then he was gone, down the hallway and out of the door, winnowed away before Nesta could so much as take another breath. 

Suddenly she felt cold.

“Please stay,” Elain said quickly, and when Nesta turned to her, she found her sister still standing in the same spot by the window, practically shaking, like she’d only just been holding it together, and with Feyre had departed all the strength she’d had left.

“Please,” she said, lurching forwards and gripping Nesta’s wrist, her fingers closing right over Cassian’s bracelet. “Please. I don’t— I don’t want to be alone.”

Nesta nodded. “Of course—“

“I’m still dreaming of her Nesta,” Elain cut in, her voice strained. “Clare, poor Clare. Every night, I see her in my dreams and I—“

“It’s alright,” Nesta said, before Elain could devolve any further into hysteria. “I’ll stay. I’ll tell Tomas that you’re ill and need me with you.” She felt Elain’s hand tremble, but didn’t pull back. All she could do was repeat herself, hoping it might ease the worst of Elain’s fears.

“I’ll stay,” Nesta said again. “I’ll stay.”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

[arson-09]

obviously the main focus of my fic is Tamlin, the spring court, and the characters i have there but the more i think the more i want to add the background chaos of elucien and honestly neris. Ive grown to be quite the elucien fan and i cant fucking stand nessian and i need my girl nesta back so what if while tamlin and co are sitting and having breakfast together and reading out the gossip from prythian and its just “lucien and elain are visiting the day court and having a great time!” and “nesta has reappeared after months in the autumn court and she may have had a hand in eris becoming high lord” idk im already going nuts with MY fic what if. what if.

#pro tamlin #pro elucien #pro neris #i know it wont happen in canon but neris is such an interesting ship. #like i cant stand cassian and how the whole ic just bullied nesta into ‘getting better’ #sjm wrote a character then made the character out if character y know #i know nesta better than sjm i swear

[velarisvalkyrie]

I have made the mistake of reading a Nesta and Eris fic and now I'm mourning what we could have had ......

I sit neutral on Nesta and Cassian's relationship and I have a draft I'm working on to go into detail about what I do and don't like about them as a couple and why I've gone from a Nessian fan to a neutral party.

However, when I sit here and think deeper about what potential plots we could have gotten from a Nesta and Eris pairing .... damn

#acotar #nesta archeron #eris vanserra

[duskandstarlight]

Dinner conversation (Nessian, one-shot)

Notes: This fic is for my dear @bookstantrash as a very belated Secret Santa gift. I hope you enjoy this future Nessian one-shot. Sorry about the angst, but I hope there's enough Nessian goodness to make you happy <3 (sorry for any typos!)

Dinner conversation

“Your hair looks nice.” 

The compliment was squeezed out around a mouthful of dinner and Nesta caught an eyeful of chicken and potatoes and something green, which if Nesta had to hazard a guess, might be the peas garnished with the fresh mint from Elain’s garden.

Setting her glass neatly down at the top of her plate, Nesta watched Amren wrinkle her nose in disgust.

It was, if Nesta was being honest, right on cue. 

It didn’t matter how much time passed. Nesta knew these gatherings like the back of her hand - better than the most predictable storyline of her romance novels. The wine would be free-flowing, Mor would predictably showcase bad dining room manners, Amren would get haughty and pick at her food, Cassian would usually say something uncouth just to fan the flames and Elain would try to diffuse the situation—

“It does looks lovely,” Elain piped up unsurprisingly from beside Nesta - just as Cassian opened his mouth. 

“It does,” Feyre agreed readily from across the table. Blue-grey eyes that were identical to Nesta’s twinkled at the affronted look on Cassian’s face. “The looser style suits you.”

It was for the first time in a while that they had all come together at Feyre and Rhys’s river estate. The past few months had been busy: December might have been closing in, the festive lights strung and twinkling around the city of Velaris, but their duties remained—and they were more pressing than ever. 

But Mor had finally arrived back from overseas, Azriel was in Velaris rather than spying on territories, and Nesta and Cassian were back from Illyria after a month long stretch that had consisted of whipping winds, snow-capped mountains and frost-kissed pine trees.

So, here they all were, around the large wooden dining table, platters of simple food laid out courtesy of Nuala, Cerridwen and Elain: saffron roast chicken, herb potatoes, minted peas, green beans with a garlic bread crumb and other simple fare that was either grown in Elain’s generous vegetable patch or sourced locally elsewhere. 

And, as always, everything was running exactly to schedule.

Picking up her cutlery, Nesta cut into her chicken with slow, well-practiced deliberation. “Thank you,” she said simply.

This time, Mor had the audacity to swallow before she spoke - but as ever, she never knew when to cease talking. “It’s the looser style,” she explained animatedly, gesturing with her fork around her own head despite her loose blonde tresses. “Much more…”

Mor trailed off with an abruptness at the sight of Nesta’s arched eyebrow.

“Relaxed,” Mor finished with a sheepish smile and the sight of it had a smile of Nesta’s own threatening to tick at the corner of her lips. “You look more relaxed. Less ready for battle.”

It was not a lie. Rather than her usual tight coronet, Nesta’s hair was swept back in a simple braid which weaved from her hairline all the way over her shoulder. It was not a hairstyle that Nesta adorned in the sparring ring - or in everyday life - but she had found that she was rather taken with it. And given that Nesta could no longer find it in herself to tackle the stairs that climbed to the training grounds atop the House of Wind - nor attempt to squeeze into her tight-fitting leathers - Nesta supposed it really didn’t matter that she wasn’t ready to clash swords with Gwyn or Emerie or a certain General of the Night Court’s armies. 

The thought of Nesta’s mate was surely some sort of summoning, because a plate of potatoes materialised in front of her, balanced by a familiar scar-flecked hand encased in leather.

Black hair wild from the wind tearing around the mountain peaks during their fly down to the river estate and hazel eyes that glinted with a shard of a shared secret, Cassian blessed Nesta with a grin that was so wide his canines flashed.

And it was a rare thing to see a true smile from him these days, that Nesta found herself playing along.

“Stop,” she ordered him shortly, because she knew how much it delighted him when she bit at him. She snatched the plate of potatoes from him without further comment and ignored the way Cassian smirked at her, at the way his eyes had begun to glow at the presence of her fire.

Slowly, she piled some potatoes onto her plate. Patiently, she waited. Because just like Nesta knew how these gatherings played out, she also knew her mate.

“I did it.” 

The words spilled out of Cassian as if he couldn’t stop them—and Nesta largely suspected that he couldn’t.

She rolled her eyes, but the gesture was fond, a front of long suffering rather than the truth of one. A smile finally escaped her grasp and Nesta let it lie across her face, let it linger so everyone could see it rather than tucking it away. She had long said goodbye to her reputation as a heartless ice queen. Nesta was still fierce, still fire made flesh with power at her fingertips and a sword strapped down her spine, but she could be something other than that, too. In the years that had passed since Nyx had dramatically arrived into the world, Nesta had slowly unpicked the habits of a lifetime, until she could show happiness without fearing the repercussions for revealing the chink in her armour. Here, she was not being judged. Here, she had learned to simply be. 

Nesta watched Mor’s jaw drop. Her disbelieving chocolate brown eyes flitted from her friend to Nesta and back again. “You did not.”

Cassian leant back into his chair and crossed his arms smugly across his chest: the picture of self-congratulated arrogance. “I certainly did.”

At Mor’s long look, Cassian’s bravado slipped slightly and his eyes cut to Nesta’s for validation in tandem with everyone else. “Tell them, sweetheart.”

Nesta took her time helping herself to an extra portion of lemon and thyme roast chicken, but in the end, she couldn’t deny the truth. “He did,” she admitted, but Nesta was too intent in tucking into her food to actually observe the expectant faces. Her bump might be big, their unborn babe pressing into her stomach and limiting the amount she could eat, but she was determined to damn well try.

“It’s good practice,” Cassian continued, and Nesta did look up then because she could sense in the careful way he spoke—with such pride and reserved excitement—that his smile would be a blessing—a ray of sunshine piercing through storm clouds. It made Nesta’s heart clench into a fist when she saw it, squeezing, squeezing—

“For?” Mor asked obliviously, but Feyre was already looking at Nesta, her eyes wide and shining. Elain grappled for Nesta’s hand under the table, her slim fingers vice in their grip as they fastened around her own.

“For when I need to plait our little girl’s hair.”

A high pitched squeak sounded. Wine sloshed out of Mor’s wine glass as she brought it down onto the table with a delighted clatter. Azriel’s shadows completely cleared from his body and he was so light Nesta thought his skin looked porcelain.

Rhys clapped a hand hard on his son’s shoulder, but he was grinning and so was Nyx. Nesta’s nephew’s violet eyes were bright, his dark hair ruffled as he asked softly, “A girl?” 

“I’m going to have two Valkyries,” Cassian confirmed. He was still beaming as he leant back even further into his chair. The wing that was always curled protectively around Nesta’s back brushed her shoulder as he leant over to press a kiss to her cheek. And he was so happy in that moment—and Nesta was so happy, too—that she returned it in full.

“It’s a girl,” Nesta confirmed, before she gestured in the direction of her head. “And this buffoon is resolute on learning to plait hair before she comes out of the womb.”

Cassian’s laugh was dark, like the delicious scrape of stubble against bare skin. “That and you’re too tired to braid your hair in the mirror.”

“It might also be that,” Nesta admitted. 

Recently, she’d barely had the energy to do anything. During their time in Windhaven, Nesta had spent her time curled up with Emerie and Gwyn in their cosy bungalow: a book in hand, a fire crackling in the hearth and a cup of herbal tea. 

Amren leant forwards, her smoky irises alive with what Nesta knew to be genuine and wicked delight. “Congratulations girl. We could do with more females in our cohort.” She looked pointedly at Cassian and back again. “Perhaps it might even out the egos of these dogs.”

Rhys let out a cough that Nesta was certain disguised a laugh but Cassian just tossed Amren a grin that bared all of his teeth. 

“So, you decided to find out the sex,” Elain asked softly, expertly refocussing the conversation.

“Yes,” Nesta replied simply.

“And you’re both healthy?” Feyre pressed.

Beside Nesta, Cassian tensed. Nesta felt it not just in her mate’s body, but in the air around them. In the way that the bond between them pulled taut before it froze.

She sent a heat-kissed wave of her fire magic in an attempt to thaw it. Internally, nothing happened. The only response was Cassian’s wing. It curved tighter around her shoulder, instinctively drawing her into his body.

Nesta couldn’t find it in herself to snap at him. Instead, she ignored the iron stature of her mate - and the way she was all but crushed uncomfortably into his side - and commanded her body to weave the illusion of calm.

“Madja says she’s growing nicely,” Nesta replied as she subtly shifted in her chair until Cassian loosened his hold. She set herself back to the task of primly spearing some green beans onto her fork. 

“I’m so pleased,” Feyre told Nesta earnestly and Nesta dipped her chin in acknowledgement, because she knew it to be true. Nobody was going to forget Feyre’s birth in a hurry. Even now, just the thought of it transported Nesta there, to that moment she watched her sister die, the sharp metallic tang of blood all around them. 

“Me too,” Nesta agreed. And then, because she wanted nothing more than to rope Cassian back into the conversation, she added, “Madja says her wings are bigger than average.”

There was an expectant pause in which everyone looked to Cassian - waiting for him to boast about his daughter’s wingspan - but nothing came. He just smiled so tightly it became a grimace and clasped a rough-skinned palm around the nape of Nesta’s neck. It seemed that the subject of the healer - and the reminder of his daughter’s wings - had muted Cassian’s momentary joy.

Whilst Nesta had experienced first-hand the anamatical change in her body that allowed her to accommodate Illyrian wings, Cassian had not. And Nesta knew that it was a worry that didn’t just plague him but terrorise him. In the first six months of her pregnancy, Nesta would turn over in the middle of the night, her hips aching, her back stiff, to find Cassian lying awake, watching her. 

It had taken months for Cassian to admit what he was terrified of.

So, Nesta had taken to visiting Madja with Cassian more frequently than her pregnancy required. The old wispy haired healer was always thorough, happy to answer any of their questions. She never seemed to mind that Cassian needed reassuring every visit that everything was looking good. That the wings wouldn’t cause any complications. 

Today, Cassian’s anxieties had been particularly bad. Nesta had known it the moment they’d woken. Could tell by the bruised shadows beneath his eyes, the way he’d insisted that the House let him make Nesta a cup of peppermint tea, rather than the other way around. 

Madja had sensed it, too, and had instructed Cassian on how to use one of her instruments until they could hear their youngling’s heartbeat in their ears.

It had been slow and steady—reassuring and so beautifully full of life. But Nesta knew that no amount of reassuring would stop Cassian worrying that something might happen to her. And Nesta couldn’t blame her mate for that, because if things were the other way around, she’d be the exact same.

“I felt the change in my body after you Made me,” Feyre said quietly in lieu of the silence that had fallen around the dining table. “I felt… so new and certain. Like my body had been widened and reformed—just slightly. I could feel the imprint of the magic—this silver kiss. A gift from you and the Mother.”

Her sister’s eyes were discerning. She had been looking at Cassian rather than Nesta, but now Feyre’s eyes slid to Nesta’s. As they always were when they spoke of her birth, they were brimming with gratitude. 

Nesta knew if Nyx had still been little, Feyre would have pulled him into her lap and held him tight. Would have kissed the crown of his dark haired head. But her son was a hundred and fifty years old and was well past the age of being coddled.

But Nyx seemed to know what his mother needed. He reached for his mother’s hand and squeezed.

The touch of Elain’s palm resting lightly against Nesta’s stomach snagged her focus away from Feyre’s watery smile. At the beginning of Nesta’s pregnancy, Nesta would have wanted nothing more than to bat her sister away. But now she recognised the gesture as love and affection for their unborn, so she only leant back to give Elain better access. 

“What are you going to call her?” Elain asked, her voice slightly hushed by the veil of honey brown hair that had fallen across her face. "Do you have any ideas?”

“Yes,” Nesta said - at the same time that Cassian answered, “Maybe.”

Mor straightened hopefully and the gesture was a little too much, a little too staged as she asked brightly, “Is it Morrigan?”

It worked. Cassian screwed up his face over a mouthful of wine. “A dreadful name.”

Mor simply stuck her red-stained tongue out at him.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Cassian supplied after a too long pause.

It was a lie. In the heart of Windhaven, with the wind battering at the windows of their bungalow bedroom, they had both been in agreement - unanimous agreement. 

“Well, I’m sure whatever you choose will suit the babe wonderfully,” Elain reassured them. 

“I’m curious,” Azriel intoned, pitching in for the first time that night and Nesta knew that it was because the Shadowsinger’s shadows were whispering in his ear about the posture of his brother - the tension. “How many names are there for the word terror?”

Amren’s cackle sounded like the continual crack of a whip. “The two of you look so indignant, but with Nesta’s fire and this dog’s mischievous arrogance that youngling is going to be the equivalent of satan.”

“Ohh,” Mor cooed delightedly as she clapped her hands together. “Is that the name? I love it.”

“Ha ha,” Cassian drawled, but Nesta noticed his wings were no longer drawn in tight. The tautness in his shoulder had unspooled. “We intended for the lot of you to be guardians but now you can think twice.”

“I didn’t say the babe would be satan,” Nyx informed Nesta with his usual calm sobriety as everyone else broke out in argument. He drummed a long finger on the the leather-bound book that lay beside his empty plate. “Do I still get to be a guardian?”

“Of course,” Nesta told her nephew brusquely. She nudged her plate towards him. She was suddenly obscenely full, the babe clearly having shifted to press against her stomach, and Nyx took after his uncle in the way that he ate every meal as if it was his last. “You were my first choice anyway.”

One corner of Nyx’s mouth inched upwards. Beneath the stubble, Nesta could still find the trace of the impish dimple that Nesta had so loved when he was a youngling. Feyre and Rhys’ son might technically be an adult now, but to Nesta, he would always be the nephew that had curled up in her lap, a blanket in hand, a thumb in mouth, as Nesta read him a bedtime story.

“Well,” Rhys announced, “satan or not, I think a toast is in order.” 

When the High Lord of the Night Court raised his glass, the red wine in it deeper than the rubies on the backs of Cassian’s hands, everyone did the same.

“To Cassian’s braiding skills,” he announced and a mixture of laughter and protestation followed.

***

“You still like the name?” 

The deep rumble of Cassian’s voice tickled Nesta’s ear. They had retired back to the House swiftly after dinner - most likely, Nesta suspected, because Cassian had detected the warm lap of exhaustion that had travelled down her end of the bond.

So, they’d left their friends and family around the living room fire and braved the short flight in the chilling wind. Below them, the Sidra had been a winding ribbon and above them, the brightest star in the sky had guided them back to the House.

Now, in their bedroom, Nesta lifted her eyes to study her mate’s reflection in the vanity mirror. 

In the soft faelight, his features were darker then ever; his hair pitch black, his eyes not only drawing in the shadows around him, but anything he looked at - as if he were a magnet and the world gravitated towards him, Nesta included.

Slowly, Nesta set down the hairbrush she’d been waiting to use. “I suggested it, didn’t I?”

The fingers that were gently combing through her hair didn’t cease. Instead, they continued to blindly untangle her braid as his eyes fastened on hers. “You did.”

For a few heartbeats, neither of them spoke. They simply stared at one another and Nesta let her entire being tunnel towards the depths of his stare - where Nesta knew a name existed, as precious as a pearl.

“I love the name,” Nesta assured Cassian, her voice dropping into a hushed whisper that was only for them. “Would you rather we chose something different?”

Cassian swallowed and Nesta tracked the movement. Catalogued the way his throat bobbed. “No. It’s precious to me.”

“I know,” she replied simply and stood so she could cup Cassian’s face in her hands. His stubble scratched against her calloused palms and her belly pressed too tightly against his muscled one, but Nesta revelled in the warmth of him - the sensation of being home. “It’s precious to me, too.”

In truth, picking a name for their unborn youngling had been one of the easiest choices Nesta had ever made. And in a life whose early years had been dictated by a complete lack of control, it had felt like soaring to feel both so free and so aligned with her mate’s thoughts.

When Nesta had suggested it, Cassian’s eyes had rippled and shone so fiercely Nesta’s eyes had burned. Beloved - that was what the name meant. But it was also the Illyrian name for the brightest star in the sky.

“Carina,” Cassian said aloud, speaking the name that he rarely allowed the world to hear, but one Nesta knew he thought of every day.

To him, Nesta knew that the name evoked memories of his childhood. Of meagre campfires and a lilting voice. Of dark hair brushing over his shoulder as his mother pressed her chapped lips against his cheek. 

They were bittersweet and incomplete memories. Cassian had once told Nesta that trying to remember his mother was like trying to close a fist around fog: when you tried to clench it, it only scattered like dust, disembodied. 

And it seemed right to Nesta - when they had never found Cassian’s mother’s body to give her a proper burial - that they could remember her this way. In a way that was both physical and so full of life.

When Nesta ran a thumb over her mate’s cheek, Nesta felt the comfort of her gesture down the bond. Cassian’s large palm came to rest over her hand, holding her to him as he leant into her touch. 

His breath was hot but steady, whispering over her skin, and as Nesta smiled up at him she watched his features slowly relax - until his expression was hopeful, calm, happy.

“It’s decided then,” she announced, reaching up on tiptoes as she spoke. 

Cassian’s quiet laugh whispered between them at her feeble attempt to raise herself to his height.

Large hands settled on her hips, anchoring her to him. 

“Carina,” Nesta said - rolling the weight of the name around her tongue, the promise of it - before she threaded her fingers through the tangles of her mate’s hair and sealed the name with a kiss.  

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#duskandstarlightwrites #acotar fanfic #acotar #nessian #nessianfic #nessianfanfic #nesta archeron #cassian #acosf #acosf fanfic #nesta and cassian #feysand #nyx #azriel acotar

[wildlyglittering]

Silver In Her Eyes - Part 4

Happy Saturday!

Silver In Her Eyes part 4 is up on Ao3 here and also below the cut!

Please show it some love ❤❤❤

Lucien appeared well.

His long, russet hair flowed to his waist and he smiled more, laughed more. Rhys had interrupted raucous noise when he entered the drawing room, Lucien and his new friends throwing grapes into each other’s mouths.

Rhys' visit was unexpected but also apparently unwelcome. Jurian and Vassa excused themselves to the garden while Lucien stood and watched them leave. When he turned to face his guest his eyes, both the good and the golden, pierced straight through as though he could see Rhys’ very soul.

Rhys turned his agitation into resentment.

Resentment that Lucien was well while Amren made herself ill, resentment that Lucien greeted him as cooly as Varian now did. Resentment that Lucien found delight in the world when Feyre bloomed and grew like a rose before the sharp snap of winter claimed her.

There was the looming issue of allies. Varian’s growing coolness might influence Tarquin and Kallias was fretting like some old crone. Rumours persisted that Keir was whispering promises in Tamlin’s ear and Eris seemed extremely displeased at the lack of negotiated terms between himself and Night.

Even Helion had spoken to Rhys. About how worried he was over Rhys, how Rhys wasn't himself. Rhys had gritted his teeth. Now Helion thought him weak and it just wouldn’t do.

Rhys knew if he secured Lucien, Helion would remain an ally and Lucien could be used to convince Eris to drop his request regarding Nesta and potentially get Tamlin to choose Night. The trick was to secure Lucien in the right way.

Rhys joined Lucien by the window as Jurian and Vassa now lounged on the grass continuing their game. Vassa laughed when one grape missed and hit her in the eye.

“Is this what you were doing before I arrived?” Rhys asked. “How...puerile.”

Lucien scoffed as he moved away to lean against a bookcase. “We were having fun. It’s what friends do with each other. You’d know if you had any left.”

Rhys snarled, more beast than High Lord. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I have friends.”

The golden eye whirred as an eyebrow raised. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Detached, disinterested, bored.

“If you think you’re intimidating, you’re not.” Lucien looked back to Rhys. “You forget I lived with Tamlin for centuries and stood in front of Amarantha myself.” He gestured to the very gold eye Rhys was glaring into. “For my troubles.”

Rhys took a breath. This was not securing Lucien the right way. Rhys wouldn't benefit in losing his temper and giving Lucien a reason to slam the door in his face – not until Rhys had dangled his carrot.

“Apologies. I am... tense. Keir is making a power grab. He seems to think now is his chance to strike. He’s wrong of course but he has some invested parties and I’m now forced to try and find the same.”

“I’ve heard.” Lucien paused, his face falling into a frown. “What I don’t understand is why now? When Feyre is having your son, doesn’t that weaken his position?”

Rhys closed his eyes. He’d been able to contain the truth to the Inner Circle and Madja. Keir was an unfortunate slip up, one that wouldn’t be repeated once Azriel found the fae who shared that piece of information.

“Who knows what Keir is thinking,” Rhys said, opening his eyes, “but you can probably guess why I’m here.”

“Influence Tamlin? Beron?”

“No, not him.”

Lucien tilted his head and Rhys decided honesty would be the approach.

“Eris has promised to ally to me in exchange for certain conditions. One of those is that he marries an Archeron. For his sins, he’s chosen Nesta.”

A wry smile emerged on Lucien’s face.

“I have to dissuade Eris. Cassian and Nesta are together. I’m hoping you can appeal to Eris’ better nature as his brother, his love for you means you’d have his ear. I’d so hate for mates to be torn apart. Wouldn’t you?”

Half honesty then. Lucien didn’t need to know about the blades Nesta Made.

Lucien exhaled, facing towards the window, his pulse thundering in his neck before he relaxed as though something swept in and whisked his upset away.

“Ah yes,” he said, “the glory of Eris’ brotherly love. If Nesta hasn’t chosen him in return, why not tell him no? She doesn’t seem the type to be shy on how she feels.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. No. This reluctance of Lucien to be involved wouldn’t do.

Rhys conjured images, of Eris turning his head from the eldest Archeron to the one that tended the thorns. He constructed an image of Elain amongst her roses, being swept up by Eris and dragged to the Forest House where she walked the hallways, wailing like she did now.

Rhys fluttered them across to Lucien’s mind like butterflies where they should have landed so delicately that Lucien wouldn’t have realised they were not his own fears.

Instead, they caught on a torrent in the outer reaches of Lucien’s mind and tore into pieces, their fragile wings shredded and gone. Rhys kept his face neutral as his heart raced. Power had built within Lucien, the natural resistance of a High Lord against a High Lord but without trying, without even knowing.

The second approach then. Rhys’ back up plan. He snapped his fingers behind his back, a cry of surprise echoed out from the garden beyond.

“Elain’s here,” Rhys said, inspecting his fingernails. “I’ve winnowed her into the grounds. Take a look.”

Lucien’s face snapped to Rhys’ but he lifted himself from where he leant against the bookcase to move nearer to the window, Rhys joining him.

Elain now stood in the garden, glancing about her at the trees in confusion as a shocked Vassa and Jurian went to greet her. Rhys had promised her a visit to the Mortal Lands, a great garden for her to view and she seemed eager to accept the invitation.

Her fingers curled into the pale pink fabric of her dress, colour blooming to her cheeks which Rhys had yet to see in Night.

Lucien drank her in like he’d been deprived of water for years.

“It is a tragedy, isn’t it? When mates are torn apart,” Rhys said by Lucien’s shoulder. Some small guilt spun down Rhys’ web, knowing he dangled a mate in front of a male when Rhys himself was on the precipice of losing his own.

But it wasn’t the same. Elain and Lucien were nothing in comparison to he and Feyre.

“She looks well enough,” Lucien said, “but she’s sad, lonely. All the pieces of her life are falling away.”

“Night is good for her,” Rhys said, noting how Lucien placed a hand against the pane of the glass. “I think it would do her good to remain. I don’t know how she would fare though if she lost Nesta to Autumn. Another piece taken away I suppose.”

She’d fare fine, Rhys thought. Considering as the sisters could scarcely exist in the same space.

Lucien blinked, his palm dropping from the window and he turned to face Rhys, their bodies too close for his comfort. That damned golden eye whirred again.

“Rhysand, you speak of Eris wanting to marry Nesta to ally with you, of your concern over Cassian and their bond, of Elain’s wellbeing. Surely you can tell Eris no and be done with it. Or perhaps ask Nesta what she wants. That isn’t what you think of those under your protection is it? That they are merely pieces of furniture in your Court without will of their own.”

Rhys’ teeth pressed together. An impulse to dash out that damned eye rose within him, an impulse he quashed. Instead, he turned towards the window where Vassa was now offering Elain grapes but Elain was ignoring her, instead staring through the window back at Rhys, her brown eyes watchful.

“Of course not,” Rhys said, and with a click of his fingers, Elain was gone.

***

Rhys had been fouler than usual.

Where others saw confidence, Nesta saw arrogance. Where they saw charm, she saw manipulation. She never had love in her heart for him and though she tried to find a slither of affection for Feyre’s sake and Cassian’s, Nesta felt that she had always been looking at a different person.

She knew he’d travelled to the Mortal Lands to visit Lucien and had taken Elain with him. She’d not learnt that from Elain but from Feyre, the only sister still willing to speak with her. A simple note landing on her desk; Feyre was busy planning the nursery, the baby was kicking and keeping her awake, Elain had gone to the Mortal Lands.

Nesta guessed that Rhys’ interaction with Lucien had been far from pleasant based on the way Rhys stormed into the House of Wind.

She hid her smile behind her hand, a smile which didn’t linger long as Rhys checked over the blades she forged, chastising her for producing less.

“Three,” he said, a dark mist swirling around his feet. “Last week, the number was five.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired,” she told him. “These three are what you get.”

He’d slammed the door on his way out while Nesta rolled her eyes at his retreating back.

It was no lie. She was exhausted. The time it took for her to forge a single blade had increased. Her back hurt and her head throbbed, her fingers slipped when she held the tools and she’d almost dropped a dagger on her foot.

The clash of hammer on metal was still a song but now each blade joined a screaming chorus in the room and Nesta couldn’t recall when there had last been silence.

She loved the blades but she knew, as she had always known, these were not ordinary. That she had poured a part of herself into their being.

The pile was growing but it wasn’t enough and deciding that Rhys would never be happy if she produced two or twenty, Nesta left the House, the hood of her cape pulled over her face and she stepped out into the fresh Velaris air.

Her desperate, clandestine walk along the cobbled fae-lit streets was not to meet a lover but the two friends she had made on her own. The café was small and squashed between two shabby buildings that would be overlooked by any of the Inner Circle if they tried to find her.

Hours were spent tucked in an alcove, the three of them; Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, so close Nesta had to push down the pang of sadness at remembering when she, Feyre and Elain had to share the same bed.

This time there was nothing but joy. They consumed cups of hot tea and thick slabs of cake with chocolate so rich Nesta smelt it as it left the kitchen. All she wanted was this. A home, friends, someone who loved her.

Nesta returned to the House drunk on excitement. When she approached the first steps, she considered turning and fleeing into the darkness of the wilderness. Yes, the House gave her everything she required but a gilded cage was still a cage.

That excitement soon died when she reached the top. At first Nesta thought exhaustion had overtaken the adrenaline but she realised what she was hearing – or rather what she wasn’t.

Silence.

The blades that spent their time calling to her no longer did. Her stomach squirmed as she ran, her heart racing.

The door to the blacksmith was open, the blades gone. Only Rhys stood in the darkness, the moonlight highlighting his form.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

“Am I a prisoner?”

He ignored her. “I thought you were tired, Nesta. Isn’t that why only three blades were made this week?”

Her laugh was brittle. “Have you not heard of rest? I asked if I was a prisoner but let me re-phrase; I am not a prisoner. Nor am I your slave. It seems the fae struggle to let old habits die out.”

The growl was low and strong that Nesta first thought it was thunder. But Rhys’ eyes were now blacker rather than violet, the mists swimming about his fingers.

Ice grew within her, her bones hardening, her blood freezing. Nesta’s teeth chattered together as her skin turned grey. He’d freeze her from inside out and then she’d shatter into pieces on the ground.

“You are worthless,” he said. “Letting your baby sister risk her life to keep you fed and clothed, allowing her to come close to starvation. Even the first blow against Hybern wasn’t yours. You benefit from the success of others while doing nothing of note. Your family doesn’t want to see you and Cassian is with you because he has to be. You are no one’s choice, Nesta, no one’s. I am gracious enough to give you a gift to make you more than useless and this is how you repay me.”

The heat she’d felt before burned in her, the flames licking the inside of her skin. A voice spoke into her ear. Do not let him see. Stay as you are, as hard as it may be.

Nesta shivered and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth lest her teeth bite through it.

“You leave this House without permission again and I won’t be so forgiving. Agree to it. Agree.”

Nesta’s words were forced. “Agree.”

He moved away, dropping his power as he did, walking past her without a backward glance as Nesta sagged on the floor like a puppet whose master had cut the strings.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. The effort of pushing down whatever rose within her had exhausted her and the fire which burned inside her had turned any tears to steam.

Nesta made it to her room. She was alone in the House again, no Cassian, no Azriel. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had demands held against them but unlike the others, she wasn’t acting through love.

Her arms and legs were heavy as she crawled into bed, barely removing her cape, not even removing her dress. An ache started in her chest and she pushed her hand against it. This wasn’t an ache for Cassian, it was for something else.

“Where are you?” she said aloud. She could never reach Ataraxia although she knew where the sword was housed. She thought of Betrayer who had been mounted in the blacksmiths, of the other swords surrounding it.

Nothing. But she was starting too large - she was weak and unpractised so why did she think calling to a broad sword would gain an answer.

Nesta thought of the small, unassuming dagger which had been sheathed in the corner, its snake like handle twisting into an open jaw, sharp fangs protruding. That had been a blade which called to her with clarity, an image of Nesta slicing through Rhys’ cheek to draw first blood.

Viper. She spoke its name. This time not aloud but inside her mind, imagining the colours of the metal, the shimmer of subtle green along the metal, the sting of its point.

Nesta envisioned pulling; her teeth grinding, sweat dripping down her neck and back. A reverse birthing. No expulsion of life but a calling of it back. She dug her heels into her bed and pressed down, grabbed at the sheets with her fists tearing into the cloth.

Then the pull snapped and her eyes opened. There it was, lying on her stomach, blade pointing towards her heart, as though an invisible midwife had lain it upon her.

Nesta sobbed, even if she couldn’t form tears, sitting up and grasping Viper in her hands. Somehow it was warm and cold to the touch, shivering with anticipation, overjoyed to be back with Nesta.

Rhys had the blades hidden someplace Nesta couldn't reach but for now she had this one, her one. Viper.

It whispered to her, soft and slow, a much-wanted breeze on a too hot day. Mother.

***

“I will not forge.”

Cassian’s presence at the House was a rarity these days and she was loathe to spend their time together in any state of argument. After their fight regarding children, they hadn’t spoken before he’d once again left for Illyria.

Now he was home and while their old argument was cast aside, they were on the precipice of a new one. But this was one she meant.

Cassian had paused by the bed redressing, shirt half on, expanses of tattooed skin still on display while Nesta stood in front of the fireplace. The flames flickered across the wood but she’d been long adept at making them soundless. All that existed was the heat.

She refused to continue forging, not until she learnt what the blades could do or who they were for - or who they would be used against. She also didn’t want Rhys to lay claim to any more, not like he’d done with her first three and the rest he’d stolen since.

Cassian’s shirt rustled as he continued dressing, movement finally returned to his body but she noted his fingers were stiff, fumbling as he worked the buttons.

“Have you said this to Rhys?”

“Not yet.”

Cassian stared at her and Nesta braced herself for the onslaught of his irritation, the protestations of how could Nesta do this to Rhys, his most beloved High Lord and friend.

Instead, he walked to her, placing large, warm hands on her shoulders as his eyes searched her face. A war waged within him; guilt, shame, worry. No, not worry, something stronger and with a more potent flavour – fear.

“Don’t tell him,” Cassian said, “let me be the one to speak to him.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of him.” Furious yes, but not fearful.

“Because he’ll say no to you. He might not say no to me.”

Nesta clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t care if he says no. He doesn’t get to make that choice. I want to stop, so I am stopping.”

Heat flooded her hands, fuelled by the pit of rage stoking in her belly, and rushed up her arms and over her chest. For a moment Nesta felt like her face was on fire, that her eyes were burning.

Cassian reared back, dropping his hands from her shoulders and stepped away, his palms singed.

“Nesta-” he begun

“I don’t know what that was,” she said, stepping backwards herself, groping at the wall behind her. “I don’t-”

“Tell no one,” Cassian said, the smoke already dissipating from his hands as he held them up, imploring her. “And don’t speak to Rhys.”

“Fine,” she said, pressing a shaking finger against her newly pounding temple. "Speak to him yourself if you think that will sweeten the blow but I will not sit in that room for him anymore.”

Cassian’s chest rose and fell, his eyes wide, his hand now rubbing his brow. A stab of sadness hit Nesta’s chest and she felt his confusion, his torn allegiance.

Part of him remained a little boy, a child forced to be a soldier rather than play at one. He wanted comfort, a mother to hold him, a mate to love him. Cassian had stood for centuries; fighting and commanding, garnering respect and loyalty, dragging numbers of creatures into a prison and here he was, subservient and scared.

The ice-cold shimmer of his fear was not directed at her but towards the male he called brother.

She walked towards him, pulling his hand from his face, before tilting his face down so she could press a kiss, sweet and chaste, upon his cheek.

Even as she did, Cassian leaning towards her, his chin on the crown of her head, pulling her tighter into his embrace she knew part of him was too far away.

#nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #nesta and cassian #nessian fanfiction #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #I wrote something #nessian fic #nessian fan fiction #nessian fan fic #anti rhysand #sjm critical #neris #nesta x eris #eris vanserra #silver in her eyes

[pinkrasberryfish]

👀 new chapter out! https://archiveofourown.org/works/43076520/chapters/120523804

#pointeoflove #elriel #elriel forever #elain archeron #pro elriel #elriel supremacy #pro elain #elain x azriel #elriel trash #elriel fanfiction #Nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian au #nessian fan fic #nessian fan fiction #pro Nessian #Elriel au

[shedoessoshedoes]

i'll sing her my songs, i'll stay through the night.

HAPPY NESSIAN WEEK!!!!!!!!!!! I didn't think I was going to have anything to post (and I haven't posted fic in like a year oops) but I hope you like this one for Song Association! Inspired by Taylor Swift's surprise songs and Peter Sun's song "First of July." Enjoy, and let me know what you think!!

@nessianweek

also, I have an ao3 now (YAY) sooo read on ao3

warnings: some language

word count: 1.3k

“Alright, alright,” Cassian chuckles as he works to calm the crowd down. It’s a packed house tonight, and they’ve been rowdy since the boys took the stage. “Welcome to our acoustic set!” The crowd goes wild at this: the Bat Boys have been adding in surprise songs to their set since they started performing, and it’s become a major draw for concerts. They rotate picking a song each show, and there are no rules on what that song has to be.

Azriel tends to pick slower, indie songs, and their fans adored his version of ‘Next to You’ by John Vincent III so much they ended up releasing it as a single. Rhys picks classic rock more often than not, and Cassian has the most variety: everything from ‘Let’s Talk About Sex,’ to Hozier’s ’NFWMB.’

They’ve played unreleased music, fan favorites that don’t fit into the typical set, covers of nearly everything, and, most memorably, have dedicated some of their favorite songs to their girls. Rhys’s picks are always overly sappy songs for Feyre: his performance of Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes off You’ was particularly iconic as he reenacted Heath Leger’s 10 Things I Hate About You dance. Azriel brought Elain out one night and perched her on a stool next to him while he covered Gregory Alan Isakov’s ‘Big Black Car’ for her. Cassian’s dedicated songs to Nesta, of course, but since they decided to keep their relationship private, he’s never acknowledged her officially before playing a song. Until tonight.

“So, y’all are especially lucky because it’s my turn to pick the surprise song for you tonight, and we have something extra special for you.” He sits down on the stool the stagehand brings out and slings an electric guitar over his shoulder as he sits. “I don’t know if any of you saw, but I actually got engaged last week.” They’d announced it with a picture of Nesta’s ring on his Instagram, the only caption a white heart. No tag. The public knew Cassian was seeing someone, but they didn’t know who she was. Didn’t know she was Feyre and Elain’s sister, and had no idea she was in the crowd tonight. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to play a song I wrote for her.” The crowd goes wild, and Cassian grins.

“It’s the first time we’re playing it, and she hasn’t even heard it yet,” he chuckles. “She doesn’t know I wrote it, either.” The crowd oooohs in response. “It’ll be out at midnight tonight, so you can listen to it again, if you’d like. It’s called ‘First of July,’ and I hope you like it. Nes, sweetheart, I hope you like it, too.”

He starts playing, simple chords on the guitar filling the venue.

I know that she loves me. I know that she loves the mountains more. Sun on her shoulders. First of July.

In the crowd near the stage, Nesta is standing, awestruck. She had no idea he was planning this. No idea he was even writing a song, much less one named for the day they met, and to spring it on her like this, well. She was probably going to cry. He did that to her. Made her express how she felt a little more honestly than she ever had. She stares up at him as he continues to sing, hand over her mouth.

You can’t tell her one thing to do She pushes your limits, she makes her own rules She’ll lift you up just to let you down, But she’s honest, she’s kind, she’s like no one around.

I’ll sing her my songs, I’ll stay through the night, With her in my arms, with her at my side So tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll make it right.

”Fuck,” she whispers, reaching blindly out for Elain or Gwyn’s hand. “I didn’t know he was doing this.”

Feyre laughs. “Rhys says he’s been planning it since you met.”

“Shit, Feyre, don’t tell me that. I’m already a mess.” Gwyn wraps Nesta up into a hug. Emerie gives the group of them a knowing look from where she plays with the boys on stage. Cassian is looking determinedly down at his guitar, and Nesta knows he’s nervous about what she thinks of this.

I know that she’s happy. I know ‘cause she’s humming while she eats At the counter Twelve o’clock noon

I know that she’s happy. I know ‘cause she’s reading me her stories. That she writes They’re not the ones she hides.

Nesta laughs wetly as Cass launches back into the refrain. It really was about her. About her schedule when she was on a deadline, and the songs she would hum when they wiggled their way into her brain and she couldn’t get them out. About the stories she read to him, and the scenes she hid because they may have been inspired by certain activities and she didn’t want Cassian getting too much of an ego, even if he was sure to read them once the books came out.

I’ll sing her my songs, I’ll stay through the night, Dear honeybear, love bug, sweetheart of mine.

She starts crying, then, because he hasn’t called her any of those names since they first started dating and determined ‘sweetheart’ was the only pet name she could stand. He really had been thinking about this for the whole time, then.

I know that I love her. I know ‘cause there’s nothing else I want.

Cassian finishes the song to raucous applause, and Nesta’s already sure it’s going to top the charts by the end of the week. He starts to get up and adjust for the next song, but she needs him to know she loved his gesture. That she was okay with it. “Cassian!” she shouts.

His head whips up, attuned to her at all times, even in a space as loud and chaotic as this one. When he sees her smiling despite the tears running down her face, his expression softens into a smile she knows is just for her. She waves him over, and he turns to gesture at a security guard. He looks back at her his face clearly asking if she’s doing what he thinks she is. She nods, and then follows a security guard up to the stage.

Cassian meets her at the top of the stairs. “You sure, sweetheart?” Nesta nods. He laughs, once, a joyous, hopeful sound, and kisses her. The crowd goes wild, and he’s sure the his brothers and the rest of his band are cheering too, but all he can see is Nesta. He pulls away from her to bury his head into the crook of her shoulder, and presses a kiss to her neck. “Love you, love you, love you.” He mumbles, and Nesta pushes him up and away so she can look at him.

“I love you too, you idiot. Go finish your show.” He laughs and pecks her nose.

“Nesta Archeron, everyone!” he shouts into the microphone, holding her left hand up so the camera can zoom in on her ring. “Also known as the love of my life.”

Nesta laughs, and he kisses her one more time. “See you after?” he asks.

“You always do. Break a leg. Don’t bring anyone else up here.”

“Never. It’s just you, Nes.”

“I love you, too, Cassian.”

He goes back to his set and Nesta watches the rest of the concert from off-stage. They finish and bow, and Nesta already knows there won’t be another show like this any time soon. She takes a picture of Cassian running back to her as he comes off stage, takes a deep breath, and posts it on Instagram. The caption reads: ‘@batcassian i guess the secret’s out. i love you.’

Cassian changes his Instagram handle to @cassianarcheron the next day.

#nessian #nessian week 2023 #nesta archeron #cassian

[ae-neon]

This isn't hate to any authors, any fics or any fans. This is personal. I'm just too petty.

I can't read Nessian fanfics cause fanon Cassian is gonna turn around and start crying, having revelations and arguing with the IC the second Nesta leaves the Night Court

as if canon Cassian didn't watch her starve, see her threatened, see her hurt, personally physically punish her all the while only thinking of how great her tits and ass look

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

So when we switch from the canon to the fanon in 2 chapters I can only laugh

#anti nessian #to my core #anti sjm #anti acosf #nesta archeron #pro nesta #acotar #nesta deserves better

[theladyofbloodshed]

i wasn’t a nessian fan before i read acosf, but i loved nesta and hoped for cassian to get his act together. after i read that shitstorm that was acosf i’d firmly put nessian into the trashcan, but wanted to read fics where nesta was treated the way she deserves. your neris/nelucian (?) and nezriel fics give me so much life. i love your neris fics, but nezriel might be my favourite pairing ever and ive read your story about them at least five times by now! thank you so much for writing them and i hope that you’ll eventually write another nezriel fanfic, because i just…hold them so very dear to my heart and there are almost no good ones out there(or ones without cassian) (i know you published your own works as well and i cant wait to read them on my kindle!)

Thank you so much for the lovely message <3

There are Nezriel plans in the pipeline, whenever I get the time for it!

#anon asks