#snelbz x theladyofdeath collab

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {19}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Two more chapters! Thank you all for sticking along for the journey. Enjoy!

The weeks have passed by quickly and in less than twenty four hours I’ll be standing at the altar with my husband, renewing our vows.

Throwing a ceremony together so quickly has been exhausting, especially considering my book released last week, but I’ve actually enjoyed the chaos. My sisters have helped tremendously, even in the moments that I’ve insisted that I didn’t need their help. Nonetheless, tomorrow's success will go to them. We’ve all worked hard as hell, which is why the three of us are currently dressed in our finest and sitting on the rooftop of one of Velaris’ most prestigious restaurants. 

While Cassian, Azriel, and Rhysand are surely at some shithole bar, the three of us decided on a little class in celebration of tomorrow.

As the server fills our glasses and leaves the remainder of the bottle of wine in an ice-filled chiller, Feyre raises her glass in a salute. “I know toasts usually come at the end of the night, but we’ve never been the most conventional bunch. Nes, you and Cassian have been the pillar of strength for our group for so long. When shit gets hard, the two of you are the ones to step up and handle it. Your marriage is no different. Things may have gotten rough for a bit—” I roll my eyes at her understatement, but can’t pull the smile from my lips if I try. “But you didn’t let that break the two of you, you didn’t let that tear you apart like so many others would have. You never gave up on your love, on each other, and I’m so glad we get to celebrate that tomorrow.”

I clear my throat to push away the flood of emotion and we clink our glasses together. “Thank you. But the real toast should be for the two of you because if I had to plan this damn thing alone, I would have died.”

They laugh but it’s no joke.

I think it may have killed me.

Although tonight is supposed to be all fun and games, we go over our checklist one last time. We’ll have to get to the venue early tomorrow and finish decorating, but it shouldn’t be too bad.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” I ask, fiddling with the stem of my wine glass. “I mean, we’re already married, but this feels different.”

“I don’t think it's weird,” Elain says, cheeks already pink from the wine. “I think it’s nice. It just means that it means a lot to you.”

“I bet Cass is just as nervous,” Feyre says, chiming in. “And just wait until he sees you in your dress. I’ve never seen anything so sexy and elegant in my life.”

I grin. I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been dreaming about Cassian's reaction when he sees the dress I bought. “Having to make it through the entire ceremony and reception is going to be torture for him, and I can’t wait.”

“Sadist,” Feyre mumbles, and Elain chokes on her last drop of wine.

She’s not wrong. The sheath of lace fits me like a second skin, the only ornamentation the occasional pattern of intricate beading and the sweetheart neckline dips just low enough to be alluring without being obscene. The lingerie I’ll be wearing beneath it is another story entirely.

Reaching for the bottle, I refill each of our glasses, setting it down at the edge of the table when it’s empty. “Listen, if he isn’t feral by the time we get home, something has gone horribly wrong.”

Home, because we aren’t going on a second honeymoon. We aren’t taking a trip or going anywhere, that’s not what this renewal was about. Sure, we’re having the ceremony and the party afterwards, but it’s to celebrate us.

Home, because there’s nowhere else we’d rather go and no one else we’d rather be with.

The food is earth shattering. By the time we’re done eating, I’m so full that I can hardly move. Cassian will be jealous that I ate so luxuriously without him, but it was too delicious for me to care. I feel a slight buzz from the wine, but nothing too daunting. I feel carefree and completely excited. 

With our empty plates in front of us, Elain asks, “Any news on the adoption front? You haven’t mentioned it in a couple of weeks.”

“We have a meeting with an agency set up for next week, actually,” I say, almost hesitantly, which earns two sets of worried glances in my direction. I shake my head. “I just kinda wanted to see how it went before mentioning it, I guess. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

Mine included. I have learned through my struggles with infertility that nothing is to be expected.

Elain reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We only want to be there for you. We’re here with you both on this journey, Nesta.”

Knowing that was the point of telling our family about our past struggles, I nod. “I know, and we've been talking a lot about it for the last couple of weeks, Cass and I. I’m getting…excited.”

The agency we’ve been in touch with works mostly with young, unwed mothers in Velaris who aren’t ready for a child. They know that there are loving families, like us, who would do anything to find that missing piece and they help connect the mothers and families. There’s no guarantee we’d meet the mother, as some women opt for closed adoptions, but we don’t care either way.

We haven’t even been approved to work with the agency yet, so I try not to get ahead of myself.

“We’re meeting with them at their office and if that goes well, we’ll have a home visit a few days after that.”

“A home visit?” Feyre asks, eyebrows rising. “That seems a bit quick.”

“Oh, I’m sure it won’t be,” I reply, swirling the wine in my glass. “This is to see if we even get accepted into the program. I’m sure there are going to be plenty of things we run into in this process that are frustrating, but it’s all going to be worth it in the end.”

“I think it’s beautiful that you want to adopt,” Elain says, eyes misty once again from those mom-of-infant hormones. 

We leave soon after and take a walk around the city before I’m back in my car, driving home. I love spending time with my sisters and I’m thankful for all that they’ve done, but I can’t wait to get home, can’t wait to get in bed. The sooner I’m home, the sooner I’m asleep, the sooner tomorrow will be here. 

Once I’m home, the house is dark and quiet. Greg is sprawled out on the couch and hardly stirs as I pass him to head upstairs. I’m not sure what time Cassian will be home but hopefully it isn’t too late. If he’s drinking, which I have no doubt he is, he needs time to sleep it off before the morning.

We’re not twenty-one anymore.

I sneak a peek in my office where my dress is hanging on full display so that the wrinkles are all out. Cass has been banned from this room and he’s done very good at avoiding it like the plague. He won’t be seeing me in this beauty until tomorrow. 

After I shower, I throw on one of my favorite t-shirts, one of Cassian’s, and brush my teeth and hair before sinking into bed. I just open my newest read when the front door opens and closes. It’s not long after when I hear a bang, clatter, Greg’s pissed off noise, and Cassian’s string of filthiest curses.

Maybe I should’ve left a light on.

I hear noises from the kitchen, noises that sound suspiciously like pots and pans being pulled out. I wait, listening, my book open on my lap, waiting for him to come to bed. Then I hear the microwave open and close.

Sighing, I throw the blankets back and head downstairs, making sure he hears me as I descend into the living room.

I hear a cabinet slam followed by another barked curse. Entering the kitchen, I lean a hip against the table and cross my arms, taking in the carnage around me.

The perks of having a chef for a husband: he makes delicious food for every anniversary, birthday, party, you name it.

The cons of having a chef for a husband: he makes questionable food when he’s drunk.

There’s a pot on the stove, pasta boiling away, while a pan filled with an unknown brown sauce simmers nearby. His trusty colander is already in the sink, waiting to be used, while he’s on his hands and knees, digging through the cabinets, looking for something. The microwave beeps, letting us know its contents are ready to be removed. He doesn’t even hear it.

I cross my arms and wait, thinking he’ll realize I’m here eventually. After another minute, listening to the microwave beep as it reminds us it’s done, I ask, “What are you looking for?”

A loud thump carries through the kitchen as Cassian bangs his head on the underside of the shelf he was searching through. He scrambles backward, which is honestly comical, before getting to his feet and facing me.

He freezes as his eyes rove over my body, taking in the t-shirt and the fact that I’m wearing nothing underneath it. “Mother’s tits, you’re so fucking hot. I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet.”

I smirk, welcoming the praise, but just then the microwave beeps again and he gasps. “Cheese toast.”

Blinking, I wait, making sure I heard him right.

Sure enough, he pulls a plate out of the microwave, consisting of two pieces of sandwich bread with cheese melted over it.

“Hungry?” I ask, chuckling as he tears into the cheese toast.

“Carbs,” he replies around a mouth full of cheese and bread, pointing a flailing arm at the pasta boiling on the stove, as if that explains it all. “Need carbs so I’m not hungover tomorrow.”

“You know another way not to be hungover?” I tease, sauntering over to him. “Don't drink your weight in liquor.”

“Baby, if I drank my weight in liquor I’d be dead,” he says, shoving the rest of the toast that’s not really toast in his mouth. “Have you seen me? I’m gigantic.” 

“Mhmm.” I’m close enough to him now that I brush his hair out of his face. “Where did those idiots take you?”

“The bar.”

I laugh, quietly. “I can tell that much. Which one?”

“Rita’s,” he croons. “They told her I’m renewing my vows tomorrow, and she gave us a free round of shots…multiple…multiple free rounds of shots.”

“Explains the whiskey on your breath,” I chuckle. “Well, I’m glad you had fun. Eat your noodles and come to bed.”

“You’re not staying?” He frowns. “Stay. Eat.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s after midnight. I’m old. I’m tired.”

“You’re not old, you’re…sexy in my shirt.” He grabs the old, thinned fabric and pulls me back towards him, but before he can make his move, the water boils over on the stove.

The words that come out of this man…I married a sailor. 

Despite being three sheets to the wind, Cassian is able to clean up quickly and salvage his meal. He plates his pasta and pours his sauce over it, which is a mix of barbecue sauce, honey, and orange marmalade, and smells much better than it has a right to. Just as I’m about to head upstairs, I pause to drop a kiss to the top of his head, telling him to hurry up, but his arms snake around my waist, pulling me down into his lap.

“Stay with me,” he grumbles, pressing his lips to my neck. “Please?”

“Eight o’clock is going to come super early,” I grumble, leaning back into his embrace.

With his free arm, he twirls the pasta on a fork and takes a big bite. “Sure as fuck is.”

We stay like that until he finishes eating, clearing his plate. I stand to take it to the sink, but as soon as I’m on my feet, he’s sweeping me into his arms.

It’s romantic, but with how much he’s had to drink, likely ill-advised.

“You better not fall down the stairs while you’re carrying me,” I threaten as he heads up to our room.

For a moment, he wavers, but just as I gasp he starts to laugh and straightens himself.

“Just kidding.”

I smack him on the arm which only seems to bring him more joy as he reaches the second floor landing and pads down the hall and into our room. He doesn’t drop me on the bed but brings me into the bathroom with him instead. He sets me on the vanity before pulling his shirt over his head and taking off his belt, giving me one hell of a show.

He knows I’m watching and he loves it, both of us shameless. 

After brushing his teeth and washing up, he kicks off the remainder of his jeans and scoops me up, yet again.

“Your hair is still a mess,” I grumble, my lips pressing against his shoulder.

“Sexy mess or disgusting mess?” He asks, and now that the alcohol is beginning to wear off, I can tell he’s exhausted. 

“Somewhere in the middle,” I say, and he chuckles as he lays me down in bed and crawls up behind me, wrapping me in his arms.

His body is warm, safe, my own personal haven. I don’t even think he realizes it, don’t even think he knows the magnitude of what his arms around me brings. I melt into him and close my eyes, sighing contentedly.

“Remember the night before our wedding?” He whispers into the darkness.

Laughing softly, I nod. “Yes, but I’m surprised you do.”

If I thought Cassian was drunk now, it was nothing compared to the state he was in when showed up on my doorstep at three in the morning. More specifically, the doorstep of my father’s house, where I was staying with my sisters that night. Feyre and Elain were both still in high school and I was never the best at making friends, so rather than going out and getting drunk the night before I got married, I hung out at home with my sisters.

Cassian, on the other hand, hung out with his brothers in our brand new apartment off campus and got trashed, thanks to one of the older guys in his fraternity buying them whatever they wanted as a wedding gift.

Rhys and Az had passed out in the living room and Cass decided it would be a good idea to come see me. So he called a cab and then he was there, drunk and stumbling and making so much noise that I’m sure my father heard him sneaking in. We fell asleep, just like this, in each other’s arms, just like we did every night. We didn’t care about any old wives tales about staying apart the night before. We wanted to be together, so that's what we did.

My father was not thrilled the next morning when he woke up and found Cassian sitting at the breakfast table.

“Dad was pissed.” I can’t help but laugh. “I knew without a doubt at that moment that I was making the right decision, marrying you.”

He hums. “Were you doubting it before my drunken escapade?”

“No,” I say, and run my fingers across the arm that’s slung around my waist. “But that just proved my feelings right. Validation.” 

He kisses the back of my neck. “I didn’t think I could love you more than I did back then. Didn’t think it was possible. But I do. I love you more now than I did then, and I’ll love you more tomorrow than I do today.”

I swallow as my eyes line with tears. “Save it for your vows.”

He huffs a laugh. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. My vows are way more romantic than that.”

I can’t wait to hear them, can’t wait to stand with him hand in hand and celebrate our marriage after all that we have overcome. As I drift off into a deep sleep, I once again know, without a doubt, that Cassian is my one and only, the other half of my soul, my lifelong partner and my best friend. 

I don’t know what I did to be this damn lucky.

#nessian #nesta #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #modern au #marriage au #fanfic #fanfiction #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #sjm

[snelbz]

Better or Worse {8}

Nessian. Angst. Modern au.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Warnings: language.

Every session with Gwyn is easier.

I’m still tense as hell when we arrive, but as Cassian and I leave our most recent appointment with her, I actually feel like we might actually be getting back on the right track.

His hand is in mine, which has been a much more common occurrence in the past few days than it had in the last year.

Gwyn knows what she’s talking about, that’s for sure. As a relationship therapist, I would really hope she’s good at what she does, but I didn’t realize just how much I missed Cassian’s touch, the feel of his rough hands on my skin.

Nothing past PG has happened, but every time he tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear or takes my hand in his, my stomach does a little flip and I feel like a teenager with a crush.

Except this isn’t just a silly crush.

He’s the love of my life. I knew it, even in my darkest hour, even when we rarely spoke, even when it felt like we did not exist within the same space. I have never doubted that Cassian is the one and only man I am meant to be with, which is somehow even more terrifying than having a simple teenage crush. I wasn’t even this scared when we were engaged, when we were about to be married. Then, I felt like I had nothing to lose, there was no question about it, about us. Now, I feel like I have everything to lose. Even though things are getting better, we aren’t back to being us, and even though I feel like we’ll get there, that we’re on the right track, the fact that we’re not still leaves me scared shitless. 

“You’re quiet,” Cassian says, as he pulls us out of the parking lot. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I say, and it’s an honest response, even though he looks unsure. “Just reflecting.”

He nods, looking both ways before pulling out onto the main street. “I get that.” There’s a beat of silence, then he says, “I think we should go out tonight.”

I look at him, brow raised, instantly thinking about the last time we tried to go out a few weeks ago. “Really?”

He shrugs, fingers dancing on the steering wheel. “Yeah, I’d kind of like to erase the last date we had. Thought we should try again.” Another beat of silence passes. “But, if you’re not ready, that’s fine—”

“I think that sounds nice,” I interrupt, afraid I was giving off the wrong vibes. I’m more surprised that he wanted to try date night again after I messed the last one up so badly, but he gives me a smile that I know is genuine, and slightly full of mischief, which reminds me of the old him, the one that didn’t want to leave me.

I miss him.

And even though I see glimpses of that old Cassian lately, I know he’s still holding back. 

“Good,” he says, and we spend the rest of the way home in a comfortable silence. 

We agreed we’d leave at six-thirty, which allows me two hours to respond to some emails before I have to start getting ready. While I’m in my office, Cassian’s downstairs going over a few new menu items for the restaurant. Half of my inbox is nasty emails from Eris, which tries to dampen my mood but I won’t let it. If I got pissed and upset everytime Eris told me something I don’t want to hear, I’d never feel a single ounce of joy. I send him one email as a response to all, letting him know that everything is on track and I’ll send him an update at the end of the day tomorrow. 

It’s just after five-thirty when a soft knock comes to the office door and Cassian peeks in. He’s shirtless, yet again, and I’m starting to think that he’s coming around shirtless more and more just to watch me ogle, which I do, with no shame. Especially when he’s sweating, looking like he’s just conquered a thousand pushups. “Red or blue?”

I lift a brow. “What?”

He smiles. “Red or blue?”

I snort. “Blue?” 

“Seafood or steak?”

I cock my head to the side. “Is this how you're planning our night? Twenty questions?”

His grin widens. My eyes fall to his chest, his abs, back up to his lips, then his eyes as he asks, “Seafood or steak?”

I think about it for a second. “Steak.” 

“Inside or outside?”

Thinking about the warm, clear day we’ve had, I say, “Outside.”

“I’m getting in the shower.” With a wink, he’s gone.

I decide I should probably start getting ready too and close my laptop, deciding to ignore all work related bullshit for the rest of the night. Tonight is about me and Cassian, and everything else officially doesn’t exist. 

When I enter our bedroom, the bathroom door is cracked and I can see the inside getting steamy from the shower. Gray pants and a navy blue button down are sitting on the bed. 

I’m glad I went with blue.

I grab a brush from my nightstand before sitting at my vanity and setting out what makeup I’m going to use. I need to wash my face first, and glance towards the bathroom door that’s slightly ajar. Surely if he left it open, he doesn’t mind if I go in.

Right?

After debating it for far too long, I walk to the bathroom door and softly knock, nudging it open an inch or two more as I do so.

“Yeah?”

“I need to wash my face,” I say, peeking my head in.

The shower door opens just a bit and out pops his arm, my bottle of face wash in his hand.

I take the bottle, doing my best not to look at the expanse of toned skin and dark ink on display, but failing miserably.

Gods, he’s mouthwatering.

Heading straight for the sink, I turn it on and wet my face. As I squeeze a good amount of the product onto my fingers and form a lather, I clear my throat. “So is our game of twenty questions over or will there be more?”

Cassian chuckles and the sound makes my nipples tighten. A husky laugh shouldn’t undo me so easily, but gods, it’s been so long. “There are a few more,” he says, as I scrub. “But I was going to wait until we were on the way to ask.”

After rinsing my face and drying it off with a hand towel, I turn to lean against the bathroom counter. “And if I have one for you?”

The water shuts off and the bathroom becomes unnervingly quiet for a moment as Cassian towels off. The shower door opens and he’s once again wearing nothing but that towel slung low on his hips. The well defined muscles leading down into the towel may as well be an arrow pointing at his cock because it’s all I can focus on.

“Nesta?”

Right, I said I was going to ask him a question.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Legs or breasts?”

The only sound is the shower head slowly dripping water onto the tile floor. Cassian blinks, likely making sure he heard me right. “What?”

“Legs or breasts,” I repeat, heading for my closet.

“Are we going to KFC on the way home?” He asks, shaking his head.

I can’t help my own laugh as I look at him. “Just pick one, you ass.”

“Breasts.” His eyes are focused on my face, trying his hardest not to let his gaze dip to the aforementioned part of my body.

“Okay,” I smirk, stepping into my closet.

I can still feel him watching me as I disappear into my chaos of clothing, searching for a dress that shows off my best assets. A few come to mind, but there’s one in particular that I’m hoping to dig out for tonight’s occasion. It takes me a minute to find it, and when I take it out of the closet, my face now clean, Cassian’s still standing there in the bathroom, that fucking towel still barely hiding all that’s beneath. 

I wonder what he would do if I kissed him. Without warning, if I just grabbed his face and kissed him, I wonder how he would react. It’s ridiculous, being nervous to kiss your own husband, but I am. His eyes dart to the dress that’s hanging on the hanger in my hand. His eyes darken. He knows exactly what dress this is. 

“Give me half an hour, and I’ll be ready,” I say, as I go by him, into the bedroom. When I look over my shoulder, his eyes are on my ass.

They snap up to mine and he clears his throat. I try to ignore the fact that I can see something happening beneath that towel of his, even though it causes a longing throughout my body that I haven’t felt in a long, long time. “Sounds good. Yeah, me too.”

I leave him in the bathroom and sit at my vanity, getting to work on my appearance. Cassian’s voice comes from the bathroom. “Twenty questions — clean shave or no?”

I laugh quietly to myself. I like this little game we’re playing. As I dab on my foundation, I say, “Keep the scruff.” 

He comes out a few minutes later, his long, wavy hair brushed and dried and loose above his shoulders. He notices me looking and smiles as he takes his clothes off the bed and goes back to the bathroom. I suddenly realize how much I wanted him to drop that towel, right here, right now.

I focus on my eyeshadow. 

Once I’m done with my makeup, I brush through my hair and add a few more curls since some had fallen loose before spraying it. 

I’m halfway into my dress when the bathroom door opens again, and Cassian is dressed to perfection. He smells phenomenal, like my favorite cologne. When he sees me, he stops.

“Perfect timing,” I say, although I find it hard to find my voice. “Help me zip?”

I turn around and move my hair out of the way. For a moment, he doesn’t come, but then he’s moving toward me, silently. 

He finds the zipper that’s just above my waist, and my breath catches as his fingertips brush the bare skin of my lower back. He takes his time, and every time his fingers make contact with my skin, an ache that’s newly been awakened throbs between my thighs. 

I never thought zipping up my dress would be erotic. I was wrong.

“Ready?” He asks, hands still lingering on my waist.

Ready to throw you down on the bed and say to hell with our date.

I smile at him in the mirror and shake my head. “Almost.”

He steps back, letting me cross the room to my jewelry box. I retrieve a necklace he gave me for our anniversary a few years back. I don’t wear it often, despite loving it, because of the length of the chain. The diamond pendant fell right between breast and as I fluff my hair out around me, I turn and face my husband.

“Now I’m ready,” I say and I don’t know why I sound so breathless.

Okay, I do. If Cassian’s gaze could set something on fire, my dress would be ashes.

Silently, he holds out his hand. I take it, loving the feel of his rough callouses against my skin. I don’t let myself think about how those hands feel on other parts of my body, despite it having been months since I felt them.

Once downstairs, he swipes his keys and wallet, and then we’re headed to the restaurant.

He takes me to one of the best steakhouses in Velaris and we sit on the roof, where string lights and live music surrounds our candlelit table. The conversation is easy, nothing is forced, and it’s like a breath of fresh air.

We talk about our most memorable dates, once Cassian mentioned that one time we skipped a group date because we saw a new taco stand on the way and ate there instead, just the two of us. We sat on the steps of the art museum, dressed in some of our finest, eating a heap of messy tacos. That had been about eight years ago, and I hadn’t realized just how much time has passed between the two of us.

Nearly ten years of marriage.

A decade since we swore our lives to one another.

And I almost let it all go. Looking at my husband across the table, I don’t know how I could have ever been so foolish, so selfish.

He sees me watching him and smiles, setting his fork down, his plate now cleared. I take a sip of my wine. He refills it once it’s almost empty, until the bottle that the waiter left us is almost gone.

After calling for the check, Cassian looks up at me. “Should we head home or walk around for a bit?”

I set down my empty wine glass. “Is this a part of twenty questions?”

He chuckles. “I haven’t exceeded twenty questions yet?”

I shake my head.

“Then yes,” he says, quietly, the toe of his boot nudging the toe of my stiletto. 

“A little walk sounds nice,” I say, afraid that when we get back home we’ll fall back into our polite small talk. Small talk isn’t bad, but this easy conversation we’ve had between us today… I like it.

We walk along the Sidra, the warm, clear day making way for a beautiful night, and I listen as Cassian regales me with tales of a new chef at the restaurant. She’s young and has never had an official kitchen job before, only graduating from culinary school the year before. I glance over at him, with lips pursed. He usually isn’t willing to put his restaurant’s reputation on the line like that. His chefs and sous chefs all have long lists of accomplishments and recognition, upholding the notoriety he’s earned.

We walk on, pausing at an ice cream stand to get to two cones.

“What?”

I look over at him and he’s already watching me as we walk.

I repeat his question. “What?”

He reached out and skims a thumb over my brow. “You’re thinking too hard about something.”

I push him away, rolling my eyes, but he catches my hand and we’re heading back towards the car.

“What’s on your mind, Nes?” He pushes, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of my hand.

For a brief second, I consider lying to him. I could tell him it’s nothing, tell him there really isn’t anything on my mind. But we haven’t gone through four weeks of marriage counseling for nothing.

“I just… This new girl, Emerie,” I start, hoping he doesn’t see my question as a sign of jealousy. “What exactly made you bring her on? She’s pretty green, as far as your assistant chefs go.”

I don’t think there’s any nefarious reasoning behind his hiring her. I just don’t understand his sudden change in pace.

He’s quiet a minute, which only makes my nerves ratchet higher. When he finally speaks, his words are low, almost too soft to hear over the sound of the city around us. “She’s from the same small town as I am. Similar upbringing, no dad, single mom that worked way too much.”

My heart fractured a bit inside my chest.

I stop, tugging on his hand to make him stop, too. I look at him. Really look at him. My husband is a damn good man. I’ve always known it, and I know that he’s proud of his past, although a lot of it is tragic. He loved his mother, before she passed, considering she had raised him on her own and fought tooth and nail for everything they had. It would make sense he would be sympathetic for someone of a very similar life. 

When it’s clear I’m not saying anything, because I truly cannot find the words, his brows furrow. Before he can ask me what’s wrong, I lean up on my toes and press my lips to his cheek. He inhales, as if he’s shocked, and I let the kiss linger against his warm, stubbled cheek. Our hands remain clasped together and when I lean back, his eyes are searching mine.

“You’re a good man,” I say, my voice hoarse. “And a good boss.”

He swallows, but he nods as he brushes his thumb over the back of my hand. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. 

I want to yank his mouth down to mine, but this moment is cherished and I don’t want to overstep, don’t want to ruin what we’ve built here. I give him a smile and we resume our walk. 

I make a note to stop by the restaurant this week and meet Emerie as we find our way back to the truck. Cassian helps me inside the cab and his hand lingers on mine, even after I’ve sat, before he closes the door and finds his way behind the wheel. 

We listen to music on the way home and he makes me laugh when he sings along to some nineties R&B song that definitely should’ve been left in the nineties. He catches me watching him on more than one occasion, and his smile softens every time he does. 

When we’ve made it home and witnessed Greg sprawled out next to the fruit bowl on the island, Cassian says, “I had a really good time tonight.”

“Yeah,” I say, setting my clutch on the counter. “It was a good night.”

He nods, and for a moment we just stand in the silence, staring at one another. He’s the one to break it.

“I have to be at the restaurant early tomorrow,” he says, but he’s stepped closer to me. “I should get ready for bed.”

“Right.” I clear my throat, not sure what to say, as I edge around the island, closer to him. “I have to go in early, too.”

Meetings with my manager and the publishing company start tomorrow. I have no idea where the future of my books are with this company, but they have to understand that I can’t keep putting out the same volume of content out. Not if I have any hope of salvaging my marriage.

He sets his keys in the center of the island, which puts him right in front of me. Staring up at him, I watch as his eyes dip down to my lips and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Can I…kiss you?”

I nod, not trusting my voice, holding my breath. He leans in and my eyes fall closed.

After a second, his lips press against mine and I’m lost. It’s been so long since he’s kissed me. I’d forgotten how soft his lips were, how heady his cologne made me feel, the feel of his arm wrapping around my waist and pulling me close.

I melt into him, losing myself in the feel of his kiss, clinging to his shirt with both hands.

It’s over as quickly as it began.

When he pulls back, his hazel eyes are bright and he’s breathing heavily. I want to pull his face back to mine, want to grab him and drag him upstairs with me.

But Gwyn told us to hold off on sex.

Reaching up, I caress his stubbled cheek. “We should get to bed.”

He nods and swallows, not making a move to let me go any more than I’m making a move to let him go. I can tell his self control is on a short leash, just as mine is. So I step back and make my way upstairs.

He’s just behind me.

When we’ve reached our bedroom, Cassian quickly brushes his teeth before getting a pair of sweatpants. I’m watching him on the bed the entire time, suddenly not trusting myself to be too close to him. Before he leaves to go downstairs, he kisses my forehead, quickly. “Night, Nes.”

“Goodnight,” I say, but barely anything is audible as the word leaves my mouth. He leaves, and I feel empty once I’m alone. 

After stripping out of my dress and pulling on an old t-shirt, I wash my face and brush my teeth, and bury myself beneath the blankets of our bed. I miss Cassian sleeping next to me. Tonight, more than ever, the bed feels lonely. 

My heart is racing and I’m not tired in the slightest, despite the fact that I know I need to go to bed. I need to be well rested to deal with Eris’ shit in the morning.

But I can’t stop thinking about my husband, sleeping on the couch downstairs. I wonder if he wants to come up here, wants to climb into bed with me, wants to hold me until the sun comes up tomorrow morning.

I want his body pressed up against me.

I want to feel his skin on mine.

Fuck, the throbbing between my thighs is unbearable. I don’t want to touch myself, I want to run downstairs and have him touch me, taste me, fuck me until I can’t think straight. I’m not thinking straight now, I’m too horny, too needy.

It’s been too damn long.

But Gwyn is right. Nothing should be rushed. We need to wait until we’re good again, until we’re back to being Nesta and Cassian.

That doesn’t mean that he can’t sleep in his own bed, though.

Sex may be off the table, at least for now, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t share the same bed.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed before I can think better of it. The house is quiet as I make my way to the door and push it open. Everything’s dark, and I try to be as quiet as possible as I make my way down the hall. At the top of the stairs, I stop, making out Cassian’s massive figure on the couch. There’s no way he’s comfortable. Half of him is nearly hanging off of it. 

But he’s asleep.

At least, I think he’s asleep. The living room is dark, silent. He’s not moving. I think about walking down the stairs anyway, to brush his hair off his face and ask if he wants to join me, but I can’t seem to convince my feet to move. If he’s already asleep, he’s apparently not having the same internal crisis that I am. 

Silently, I turn around and go back to bed, careful not to make any noise, careful not to wake him. 

When I’m back beneath the blankets, I slip my hand beneath my panties and rub one out until that throbbing ache between my thighs is no more. 

#better or worse #nessian #nessian bow #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #snacmc collabs #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sjm fanfic

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {7}

Nessian. Angst. Modern au.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading! We hope you continue to enjoy! I'm sorry there was no new chapter last week - I was on vacation! x

Warnings: language.

“You like Gwyn?”

I’m laying on the bench, lifting, while Azriel spots me and Rhys stands near my feet, downing half a bottle of water.

“Seems nice enough,” I say, through clenched teeth. “Genuine.” 

Azriel grabs the bar and guides it back to its resting place. It’s Rhysand that asks, “How’ve things been at home?”

I sit up, running a hand through my sweaty hair before pulling it back. “Weird. Not bad, but different, I guess. It feels like we’re just tiptoeing around each other all the time.”

“You need to fuck,” Rhys says, and Azriel snorts but Rhys is dead serious as he completely contradicts Gwyn’s earlier words. 

Although I understand where Gwyn is coming from, I don’t think Rhys is wrong. Trying not to think of my wife’s naked body, I get a towel to clean off the bench before heading to one of the many treadmills for a run. I figure I’d get a mile in before joining my brothers in the steam room, then it’s home to make dinner for Nesta.

Hopefully we can find something substantial to talk about while we eat. I’m tired of smalltalk, it feels forced and I hate it. Not that it’s bad, it’s just…empty. I miss joking around and not being afraid to say exactly what’s on my mind, but I don’t feel like I can do that now. We’re not there yet. 

“Hey, Cass.”

I look up from the treadmill I’ve just stepped onto to find a familiar face. I give her a lazy smile. “Hey.”

I’ve known Justine for a couple months now, since she’s joined the gym. We’re often here at the same time, both on similar schedules. She’s nice enough, although Rhys and Az think that her showing up when I’m here is no coincidence.

Maybe they’re not wrong.

“Haven’t seen you much this week,” she says, leaning against the equipment. 

“Been busy.” I shrug. “Why? Miss me?”

She rolls her eyes in that way that girls have always rolled their eyes at me, that tells me they’re not really annoyed by anything I say or do. The only woman that’s ever truly been annoyed by me is the one that I married. Maybe that’s one of the things that drew me to Nesta, the fact that I could get under her skin. The tension it created that led to life altering sex.

“Just starting to think that you’re ignoring me,” she says, sweetly, leaning a little closer on the arm of the treadmill. Yeah, I know that move. Her breasts are suddenly a little more on display for only me to see. 

I keep my eyes on hers. Try to, anyway. I mostly succeed. “I would never.”

The smile she gives me is sensual, and it’s all playful fun until she slides a finger up my forearm. I should ask her to stop, but it’s nice to be touched like that. It’s a simple touch, nothing too forward, but behind that touch lies a promise of something more. Rhys is right. I need to fuck. I’m a man, and I’m horny as hell, and my hand has only gotten me so far.

“You almost done here?” Justine asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Why don’t we…get some dinner?”

Her hand is on mine. The reality of what’s before me finally hits me. She doesn’t want dinner. I know what she wants. It’s obvious that food is the last thing on her mind. I pull my hand away and step off the treadmill, despite the fact that I never turned it on. 

“I can’t,” I say, as politely as I can. “I’m sorry.”

She grabs my arm to stop me so I face her, and there’s hardly any room to breathe between us. “Can’t?”

“I’m married,” I say, as if that explains it all.

She looks down at the hand she was just holding. “I’ve never seen a ring.”

“I don’t wear it when I workout,” I say, simply, “but I can go get it from my bag and you can watch me put it back on, if you want.”

The words come out a little hostile and Justine’s eyes narrow. I blame it on the sexual frustration. 

She says, “You’ve been married all this time and flirting with me for months? That’s a dick move, Cass.”

“I haven’t been flirting with you.” I know the words are a lie before they even leave my mouth. 

She knows. “Liar,” she croons, and lays a hand against my chest. “I know you want me, Cass, married or not, I don’t care. Come on. Dinner. At my place.”

I take her hand and push it away, back down to her side. “No, thank you. I—”

I don’t get another word out before an obnoxiously loud smack sounds and my cheek starts stinging.

She fucking slaps me.

People around us all turn to stare as Justine says cocky jackass and storms off. 

My brothers are nowhere to be found, so they must already be hiding in the steam room, which I’m glad of. Otherwise they would never let me live this not-so-proud moment down. 

I send a text to our group chat, letting them know that I’m going to go ahead and go home. In the locker room mirror, there’s a red splotch on my cheek, barely seen beneath my scruff, but I’m hoping it fades quickly. 

No, I don’t want to sleep with Justine.

I would never cheat on my wife, I never have, even at our worst.

But it was really fucking nice to be wanted.

By the time I walk into the house, I have been in my own head for far too long. The house is quiet as I walk in, only setting my nerves on edge. Greg is asleep on the couch in a shaft of late afternoon sun. I scratch his head as I walk by, but he doesn’t even stir and I chuckle under my breath.

Spoiled little shit.

As I ascend the stairs, I see the door to Nesta’s office is closed. For a second, I hesitate as I reach the top stair.

Before I left for the gym, we agreed that we’d have dinner and spend the evening together. Her edits would be done before I got home. She’s been better about limiting the amount of time she spends on her computer, whether that’s writing, editing, planning, or responding to her overflowing inbox. I’ve tried to be more open with my thoughts and feelings. It’s been an awkward few days, but we’re trying. It actually feels like we’re making progress, even after our disaster of a date.

Seeing her office door shut feels like a slap in the face and this one hurts a hell of a lot worse than Justine’s physical one.

My jaw is locked and I’m doing my best not to grit my teeth as I walk by, heading for the shower when I hear her voice through the door.

“They didn’t exactly give me the easiest turn around. They wanted rewrites on multiple chapters in days, Eris. I’ve got a lot going on right now and—”

She was cut off as her absolute dickwad of a manager interrupted her.

I have no clue what he says, but I know it must be bad when Nesta says, “I’m. Trying.”

I know that tone.

People fear that tone. 

Another few seconds of silence goes by, then she says, “I’ll have it done. Alright?...Yeah. Yeah, no, I know, Eris, for fuck’s sake.” Her chair scoots back, and I take that as my cue to keep walking. Yeah, I want to know what’s going on, but if Nesta opens the door to find me while she’s already pissed, I don’t think she’ll like my prying. If she wants to talk about it, she’ll talk about it. 

I take my time in the shower, but by the time I’m down in the kitchen, taking ingredients out of the fridge in my sweatpants, Nesta’s still on the damn phone. I can hear her pacing upstairs. 

After cleaning a heap of green beans, I toss them with salt, olive oil, garlic powder, and parmesan before dropping them into a pan to roast alongside my marinated chicken. I’ve just opened a beer when I hear her office door open and she comes downstairs.

I don’t know what to say in greeting, so I raise my brow. She gives me an apologetic look, that quickly turns into her eyes wandering my body. Yeah, I didn’t wear a shirt for a reason. I want to know if my wife still finds me attractive, and it seems she does.

And I get hot when I cook.

Shirts are irrelevant. 

“I thought I heard you come in.” Her eyes come back to mine. “Sorry, I know I said I’d be done—”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, saving her the trouble of explaining herself. 

“Just, Eris…” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll just get pissed. How was the gym?”

Well, I got slapped in the face. “Good. I think I went a little too hard, though. A little sore. You sure you don’t want to talk about Eris?”

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth but shakes her head. “I don’t want to ruin the night with my work issues.”

I set my beer down on the table and walk towards her. She doesn’t move. Even in leggings and an oversized tee, she’s stunning. “Nes, it’s okay to talk to me about your work, especially if that asshole’s being a dick to you.” 

I want to hug her but I don’t.

I want to touch her, to kiss her, but I won’t. 

Gwyn suggested we start with touches, physical contact, anything as long as it isn’t sex, of course, but Nesta hasn’t indicated she’s ready for that.

Hearing that your wife doesn’t want to have sex with you because she’s terrified to get pregnant and miscarry again is hard to hear. I don’t want to push her into anything she isn’t ready for, even if I’m desperate for her touch.

She swallows, looking at my chest, but I’m not sure she’s actually aware that she’s staring at me. “The publishing company asked for two chapters to be completely re-written for one book and four for another. Meanwhile, I’ve got edits I’m still working on for previous submissions and I just…” Shaking her head, she finally meets my gaze. “The timelines they give me aren’t realistic for one woman.”

I don’t hesitate before I speak, knowing my words could set her off, but needing to voice my thoughts.

Time to see if therapy really has taught us anything.

“To be fair, Nes, you set yourself up with some unrealistic expectations. You’ve released what? Three books already this year? And you’ve got how many in the editing process?”

It wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t meant to point out that it was her own fault. It was the truth.

Something I would have said to her before everything went to shit.

With a sigh, Nesta closes her eyes and drops her forehead to my chest. “I know. That’s what he and I have been fighting about. I told him I can’t keep up with this kind of demand and he told me I did it to myself.”

I'm frozen in place. I heard what she said, but I’m floored by the feel of her skin on mine, by the contact that she initiated. I wrap my arms around her before I can second guess myself and rub a hand up and down her back.

“You have to do what’s best for you,” I say, processing what she said. “If he can’t understand that, if he can’t get the publishing company to understand, then fuck him.”

It’s the shittiest advice I’ve ever given, but honestly? My brain is shorting out, feeling Nesta’s body pressed against mine. She fits so perfectly against me, like she was made just for me.

“Easier said than done,” she murmurs, and looks up at me.

I could easily close the distance between us, could easily lean down and kiss her, and I really fucking want to but I contain myself.

At least until her hand comes up to rest on my chest. I brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear and rub my thumb along her cheek. It feels so good to touch her but I’m nervous, worried that I’ll go too far, that I’ll do something wrong and mess up this progress we’ve seemed to make.

I remember now that we’ve been having a conversation but I can hardly remember what it was about much less how to respond. All I can focus on is her hand against my chest. Her being this close is driving me insane to the point that it’s nearly unbearable. I hope she doesn’t look down, doesn’t come closer, doesn’t feel how much such simple contact is affecting me.

Her eyes never leave mine.

Her lips part.

And I open my mouth to say her name, but then the smoke alarm is going off and I’m spewing every foul word in the English language. 

I have no idea how long the food has been in the oven. At this point, I don’t even remember putting it in there.

I turn the oven off, clear the smoke, and reset the smoke alarm while standing on a chair in the kitchen.

And while I do this, Nesta is leaning against the counter, laughing hysterically. I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard her laugh, but hearing it now makes every ounce of anger and embarrassment at ruining dinner disappear.

She’s laughing.

She’s happy.

Even if it’s all while making fun of me, the chef that nearly set the kitchen on fire.

Once her laughter finally dies down, she orders takeout, and we sit on the couch and eat it together, side by side. 

#nessia #better or worse #bow #a snacmc collab #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #fanfic #acotar #fanfiction #nessian #acowar #acomaf #sjm #tog #angst #fluff #romance #nessian fanfiction #modern au #snacmc collabs

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {6}

Nessian. Angst. Modern au.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading! We hope you continue to enjoy! Please note this chapter's warning. x

Warnings: child loss.

We sit in Gwyn’s office in nothing but silence. I had high expectations for our date, but since then, things have been…tense. 

Cassian left me on the streets outside of Sea and Vine, which is exactly what I wanted. I made it two blocks before calling an Uber to drive me around the city before dropping me off at home. Cassian had been waiting up, but didn’t say a word to me once I had gotten home and climbed into bed. He simply made his way to the couch for the night after locking up.

I know I have to talk about what happened, but I wasn’t ready in that first session and I didn’t want to be shamed for not being ready. As I sit here now, however, I know that I’m going to have to face it sooner rather than later.

Especially when she starts the session by asking, “How did your date go?”

Cassian snorts beside me. I want to smack him. Gwyn just lifts a brow.

“Nesta wanted to leave halfway through because she didn’t like our topic of conversation, then decided to Uber home instead of getting in the car with me,” Cassian says, bitterly. I don’t blame him. Even though we’ve continued our small talk around the house for the last few days, I know that he’s still pissed about our date gone wrong. 

“I see,” Gwyn says, and looks at me. “What was this conversation that you didn’t like?”

I open my mouth to respond, but it’s Cassian that says, “I told her that we need to be truthful when we’re here. We need to get everything out in the open.”

Gwyn is still looking at me. “I will agree that honesty is key when in counseling. It’s usually the parts of us that we are afraid to face head on that are the things that need to be discussed. Even if it’s difficult.”

Cassian looks at me as he leans his forearms on his thighs. He’s a little too big for this tiny couch. That’s what I’m focusing on as he says, “I want to talk about it.”

I know what it he’s referring to. I don’t have to ask. “I don’t.”

“We need to.”

“I’m not ready.”

“You’re never going to be ready.” This time, his tone changes. It makes me look at him. His eyes are pleading and something within me sways and breaks. “I need to talk about it. I need for us to talk about it.”

I’ve been ignoring his needs for a long time. Ignoring them for so long that it led us here, to this, to him wanting to leave me. I know I need to grant him this, to open up, to talk about it, but the thought already has me in tears and I haven’t even said the words out loud yet. 

But then he turns to me and takes my hand. He brushes his thumb over mine, and it comforts me, if only a little. 

I find a place on the carpet and stare at it, cling to it, as I say, “Last time you had asked if anything had happened a year ago, when we started growing distant with one another, and I said no.” Cassian’s thumb continues to soothe me. “I lied, and asked Cassian to lie, too. There was no cheating, nothing like that, but…” I swallow and wipe my eyes with my free hand. “Cass and I tried starting a family about two years after we were married, once we had graduated and found jobs. It took a while, but I finally got pregnant and then I miscarried. The same thing happened about a year later, so we waited a few years before trying again. When we did try again, I got pregnant right away.” I look up at Gwyn, who is watching me patiently. I’m not sure if therapists are supposed to show any emotion, but I see the sorrow in her eyes that mirror my own. “I made it about halfway through my pregnancy, thinking that this would finally happen for me, for us, but then we lost her.” Her. There they were. The words laid bare. The words I have not spoken or confessed in a year, since the night that it happened, when I cried and screamed as my husband held me in the hospital. “That was about a year ago now.” I take a minute to try and compose myself, to overcome the sob that snuck its way out. Cassian's hand on mine is tight, and when I glance at him, he’s crying too, but his tears are silent. He says nothing, but he watches me, he comforts me, he grounds me. “I know that that’s when I started becoming distant. I wanted to mourn alone. That alone time eventually just became a wall that I had built up too high that I’m still having trouble tearing down. I started working more because it distracted me, and now it’s what everyone expects of me, to get out new content quickly. And I didn’t want to have any sort of intimacy because I didn’t want to go through that again.” I look at Cassian. “I don’t want to go through that again. I can’t go through that again.”

“First of all, Nesta, I want to thank you for trusting me — and Cassian — enough to open up about that.” The notepad is open before her, but for once, her pen isn’t in her hand. Her eyes are on me, on both of us, as she regards us with sympathy. “I had a feeling there was something you weren’t being completely forthright about when we spoke last, but I will never push you into speaking about something you haven’t begun to come to terms with yourself. Infertility can often be a silent battle, one that you feel like you’re going through alone, but I can assure you that you two are not the only ones fighting it.” She turned her attention on Cassian and I tensed. “Cassian, if I may, you lied for Nesta when we talked last, yet it seems like this is something you’re needing to talk about, too. Why is that?”

He released a breath, his fingers tightening in mine. “Because…no one knew. No one knows.” My eyes shut before I could see Cassian’s fresh tears, but I’m unable to stop my own tears that continue to fall. “We kept the pregnancy a secret, after the two miscarriages before. Nesta wanted to wait to tell our family and friends. We didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, to get our hopes up, if something went wrong. And then it did.” His voice was quiet and broken. “My brothers never even knew that I was going to be a dad. And then she was just gone, before we even got to hold her. To know her. To love her.”

Suddenly, I can only see the blood. I see blood on our sheets and hear the beeps of machines at the hospital, meant to read her heart rate and mine. I remember the emptiness I felt, empty from the shock until the reality hit me, that my baby was gone. Again. Everything after that was a blur but that emptiness had returned, had remained. The bloodstained sheets and the steady beeping of the heart monitor remained in my mind, in my memory. The monitor only picked up one heartbeat, and it wasn’t the one I had wanted to hear.

Guilt consumes me, yet again. I had never asked Cassian how he was after that. I had never wanted to talk about it. He had to heal, all alone. I want to apologize, but I can’t seem to open my mouth and form the words, so I reach up and wipe his tears with my free hand. 

Our eyes meet and hold, and a wordless conversation passes between us. Gwyn remains quiet, letting a moment pass, then another. 

“I encourage you both to talk about this beyond these walls.” Gwyn spoke quietly. “And when you’re mourning this loss, let the other know so that they can be there for you and comfort you. We are not meant to grieve alone and it seems that the two of you have been grieving alone for far too long.” 

I nod, as does Cassian. 

“Is that honest communication something you can vow to work on?”

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat, and Cassian repeats my answer. 

Gwyn smiles kindly, and I have to admit that I'm feeling lighter. At least until she asks, “Was it before this experience that the two of you were last intimate?”

Ah. The other topic I’ve been dreading.

“No,” Cassian begins, slowly. His grip on mine has lessened, but he keeps holding my hand. “There was a time about six months ago, but that’s been it.”

The time when he came into the shower with me. It had been good, amazing, as it always had been. But that was it. One time in a year. I’m embarrassed. I look at the floor to try and hide it.

Gwyn jots something down. “And how do you feel about that lack of intimacy?”

“I understand it,” he said, calmly. “Especially now that she’s told me why…but, I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t bother me.”

“How would you describe your sex life, before everything happened?” She asks, as if it’s a totally normal thing to ask about. Which, in this instance, I guess it is.

“Very healthy,” I admit, clearing my throat. I’ve never been uncomfortable talking about my sexuality, but intimacy is a very different case.

She writes down something else. “And how often were you having sex to consider it very healthy? A few times a week?”

Meeting Cassian’s gaze, it feels like my face is on fire. Beneath the tears that are still drying on his face is a smirk. A hint of the man I married.

I roll my eyes, trying to hide my smile, and he takes the lead. “At least once a day, sometimes more.”

Gwyn’s eyebrows raise, just enough that I know his words shocked her, and hums. “Very healthy, indeed.” She scribbles something down before looking between us. “How often do you touch?”

Again, my cheeks hea for no reason. “We just told you, it’s been a while.”

“I don’t mean intimately. I mean, how often do you physically touch?” She gestures to Cassian. “When she touched your face a few moments ago, were you aware that you moved closer to her?”

Trying not to be obvious, I look down to where we’re sitting on the small couch. When we first sat down, we were both leaning against our respective sides, but now…

Our thighs are pressed against each other, Cassian’s hand resting on his own lap, but poised to take mine again at any time.

“I hadn’t, no.” His voice is low and I can’t sense the emotion there.

“Ultimately, our sessions are to get the two of you back where you started, yes? This is a journey I take with couples all the time, but no one reaches the destination the same way.” She closes her notepad, indicating our time today is almost over. “For some, sex is a hurdle that needs to be crossed. For some, it’s a crutch and there are even others that use it as a weapon against their significant other. For you two, I think sex is a wall.”

Cassian hesitated, his brows furrowed.

“For this wall to come down, I think you should take things slowly,” Gwyn suggested, carefully. “Start small. Little gestures of intimacy. Hold hands. Try a hug. Even just a little, random touch, like when you touched Cassian’s face, Nesta, or when you, Cassian, were rubbing Nesta’s hand. These little touches will serve as a foundation for everything else. Before jumping into sex, I recommend that you rebuild your foundation. What do you think about that?”

“I think that sounds nice,” I say, honestly. 

“I agree,” Cassian says, quietly.

“Good.” Gwyn smiles, and before we are dismissed, we set up our next session for two weeks from now. After we say our goodbyes, me and Cassian make our way to the truck.

The ride home is quiet but not uncomfortable. We spend our time absorbing, reflecting. We’re about halfway there before he takes my hand. He doesn’t let go until we’re parked in the garage.

“Dinner tonight?” he asks, once we’re in the kitchen and Greg greets us.

“What’re you thinking?”

He opens the fridge and takes a look around. “Roasted chicken? I can make it with corn or asparagus, maybe some rice.”

“That sounds good.” 

When he turns back around, he sees that I’m watching him and gives me a small smile. “So, uh, how do you feel?”

“Overwhelmed,” I say, honestly, “but relieved, if that makes sense.”

He nods. “It does. I feel about the same.” He rubs the back of his neck, which serves as a sign that he’s nervous or uncomfortable with whatever he’s about to say next. “I’m glad you wanted to do this. Counseling. I think it’s going to be good for us.”

We have a long way to go.

I know this, he knows this, it can be felt in the air between us. To get back to the people we were, the people so madly in love that such a love shouldn’t exist, it would be no easy journey, but that was okay, because we were working towards it.

I had to believe that we could make it back to that place again. 

#nessian #fanfic #fanfiction #snacmc collab #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #nesta #cassian #modern au

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {9}

Nessian. Angst. Modern au.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Warnings: language.

“Shit, bud. Calm down.”

Nyx is flailing around recklessly in his booster seat, his seatbelt stuck. As soon as the words leave my mouth, he gasps.

“That’s naughty, uncle Cass,” he says, as I lean over him and rattle the seatbelt for a second, getting it unstuck and breaking him free. He hops out of the truck and I grab his backpack.

“What’s naughty?”

“Bad words.” He leads us into the kitchen from the garage and Greg instantly greets him. Nyx is the only human that Greg truly likes. “Hi, Greggy.”

“They’re only naughty if you say them,” I assure him, dropping his backpack onto the kitchen table.

“Aunt Nesta!” Nyx’s little voice rings through the house.

“She’s not home, buddy,” I say, throwing him over my shoulder and carrying him into the living room.

He repeatedly hits me in the back as he giggles. “Where is she?”

“Yoga,” I say, and Nyx repeats the word with confusion. “Exercising,” I simplify. “Aunt Elain dragged her to a yoga class to help her with her body aches from carrying your new cousin.”

“Does having a baby hurt, uncle Cass?”

“I don’t think it feels too good, bud.”

“How did Aunt Lainy get a baby in her belly?”

I drop Nyx on the couch and cross my arms, trying not to laugh at his curiosity. Answering that question is beyond my pay grade. “Ask your dad.”

“But—”

“Ask your dad.” 

He sighs. “Fine. I’m hungry.”

Of course he is. He’s always hungry. “Chicken nuggets or mac and cheese?” 

He frowns. “Why can’t I have both?”

Both it is. 

I may be a critically acclaimed chef, but even I can’t help but heed the call of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

“Uncle Cass?” Nyx asks, while I’m walking toward the kitchen.

“Hmm?”

“Why is your pillow on the couch?” His question makes me stop to look back at him. Sure enough, he has my pillow on his lap and is beating the shit out of it. “That’s a bed pillow. It goes on your bed.”

It should be on my bed.

For the last few nights, since our date, I’ve debated on going up to bed. Every night, I’m tempted, and every night I think that it’s the night I’m finally going to take that step, but Nesta has never mentioned it and she’s the one that said one of us should be sleeping on the couch once I came back home.

Things have been going so well between us that I’m scared I’m going to do something to ruin it, like climb into bed with her in the middle of the night when she doesn’t want me there. 

“I slept on the couch last night,” I say, slowly, “because aunt Nesta was snoring too loud.”

Nyx giggles and starts fake snoring loudly and obnoxiously. “Like that?”

“Exactly. She was keeping me awake.”

As I walk into the kitchen and get a pot out the cupboard, Nyx says, “Is sleeping on the couch comfy? You’re too big to sleep on the couch.”

I snort and the pain in my lower back seems to be agreeing with my nephew. I remember being twenty and able to sleep in whatever position, wherever, and not feeling a damn thing. Now, after sleeping on the narrow as fuck couch, I wake up every morning with aches and pains I didn’t think were possible after an eight hour sleep. 

Half an hour later, Nesta walks through the door as me and Nyx are downing chicken nuggets and macaroni, and she barely says hi before Nyx says, “Uncle Cass is too old and big to be sleeping on the couch, Aunt Nesta, so you need to stop snoring.”

Her eyes go wide and she looks from him to me and I hope she can still read my face as well as she used to. 

She turns back to our nephew, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow, and asks, “Is that why he said he was sleeping on the couch?”

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding animatedly. I’m fairly sure that the last bite he had was more ketchup than it was nugget, based on the amount on his face. “He said it was cause you were snoring like this.”

He then replicates his fake snore from earlier, embellishing his snorts just as well as he had before.

Her eyebrows raise and for a moment, I forget to breathe. Her jaw clenches and I think every bit of progress we’ve made is about to be gone in an instant.

But then her lips twitch.

I exhale, the relieved breath I’ve been holding whooshing out quietly as Nesta hums. “That’s funny, because I recall making him sleep on the couch because he was the one snoring.”

With the most dramatic of gasps, Nyx turns to face me. “You were the one snoring, Uncle Cass?”

My wince is fake, but he can’t tell that. “Only a little bit. Hers were louder.”

Scooping up a bite of macaroni, he says, “Mama snores, but daddy said I’m not allowed to say anything about it.”

I watch in wonderment as Nesta throws her head back and laughs. “Your mama does snore, and your daddy is very smart for keeping that to himself.”

Nyx grins as if he had just said the world’s best joke.

Nesta catches me watching her and her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. 

“How was yoga?”

“Good,” she says, setting her back down next to the island. “I haven’t done it in so long, but I feel amazing.” 

I’m about to say good, that I’m glad she had such a nice time, but then she reaches down to my plate and grabs a chicken nugget before popping it into her mouth. I gasp and turn to the toddler stuffing his face beside me. “Did she just steal one of my nuggets?”

Nyx shakes his head and says, ��You better get her, Uncle Cass.” He shoves a spoonful of noodles into his mouth. “She needs to go to timeout.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at Nesta, who is smiling as she chews, looking ridiculously gorgeous and humored. “You. Time out. Now. Nose in the corner for five minutes.” 

That brow lifts, once more. “Is that a demand?”

Her voice has a sultry quality I haven’t heard in months.

“Hell yeah it is,” I murmur, and Nesta’s eyes brighten. Nyx is too busy stuffing his face to call me out for my curse or notice what’s happening. At least until I say my next words. “Unless you want to take us for ice cream instead.” 

Nyx’s spoon clatters onto his plate as he drops it to clap. “Ice cream! Ice cream!” 

Nesta pretends to think on it for a minute. “Finish everything on your plate, then I guess we can get ice cream.” 

Nyx jumps up in his chair with a celebratory screech before sitting back down to finish his dinner in record time. 

True to her word, after going to change out of her yoga clothes, Nesta returns a few minutes later, wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a cardigan, with her hair pulled back off of her face. She grabs her purse off the counter and asks, “Ready to go?”

Nyx is up and heading for the garage before I can react, but even so, I’m glued in place.

She is so, so beautiful.

Turning for the back door, Nesta notices I haven’t moved. She glances back at me. “What?”

Shaking myself out of my stupor, I approach her, pausing in front of her. “Nothing, just…” I reach out and run my hand down the length of her sleek ponytail, tugging lightly when I reach the end. I don’t let myself notice the slight catch in her breath as I do so. “Appreciating how gorgeous you are.”

Her eyes, so often full of storms, are calm today and they soften, as she looks at me.

“Can I kiss you?” I whisper, still not wanting to push her past her comfort zone yet.

She nods, rising up on her toes and closes the distance between us before I even have the chance.

My hands cup her face, tilting her head just right so I can slant my mouth over hers. Her fingers are clinging to my shirt and I break the kiss before it can become anything our nephew shouldn’t see.

“Come on,” I say, lacing her fingers in mine and heading for the back door. “You promised ice cream and you’re going to have to deliver.”

One of my favorite things about having a nephew is having the ability to load him up on sugar and then give him back to my brother.

By the time we’re pulling into Rhys and Feyre’s driveway, Nyx is bouncing in his carseat, singing the national anthem of Velaris at the top of his lungs for the fifth time. Apparently he’s been practicing it at school, and I’m impressed considering he only messes up about half the words.

Nesta finds it hilarious.

I keep sneaking glances over at her as she laughs in the passenger seat. 

Rhys opens the door when I ring the doorbell and Nyx runs past him, into the house, giggling as he continues singing. He doesn’t even move, my brother, as his toddler runs through the house. He just sighs and looks at me. “Ice cream?”

“Blame Nesta.”

I think he’s about to scold me, but then he cocks his head. “You seem happy. Doing good?”

I nod, slowly. “Yeah. I am. We are, I think.”

Even through his exhaustion, he smiles. “Good.” From somewhere in the distance, there’s a crash. 

Then, Nyx yelling, “Daddy? Uh… I tried to get juice.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I have to mop up some juice,” Rhys says, clapping me on the shoulder before telling me he’ll call me later. 

When I make it back to the truck, Nesta’s watching me. “That’s going to be fun putting to bed.”

“Considering it’s already ten minutes past bedtime? Yeah, Rhys is going to be thanking us.”

She chuckles and gets comfortable as I back out of the driveway. The ride is quiet for a moment, nothing uncomfortable, but as I stop at a redlight I can feel her watching me. I turn to meet her gaze as the truck comes to a stop. “You alright?” She nods, but she’s sucking on her bottom lip. I frown. “Nes, we have to be honest with each other, if you’re not alright—”

“I’m fine,” she says, quietly. The light turns green. “I’ve just been thinking.”

The words leave her slowly and an uneasy feeling creeps into the pit of my stomach. “Okay. About what?”

“You,” she says, quietly. “Sleeping on the couch.” 

I shrug, doing my best not get my hopes up. “Not a big deal.”

“I disagree,” she says, turning in her seat to face me.

This is something I’ve noticed her doing for the past few weeks. She’s giving me her full attention, letting me know that I’m her priority right now.

“Nyx won’t say anything to Rhys and Feyre,” I promise her, assuming she’s worried about what her sister will say. “And even if he does, I’m sure they could guess I’ve been sleeping on the couch—”

“I don’t care what Rhys and Feyre think.” She cuts me off and I let her, snapping my mouth shut. “I don’t care what anyone else, save for Gwyn, thinks about what takes place in our marriage. I… I’ve been thinking you should come back to bed.”

“Tonight?” I ask, turning onto our street, glancing  over at her. I want to make sure she’s serious, that she’s not just saying this because she thinks it’s what she should do since Nyx found out.

“Tonight,” she agrees, then adds, “and tomorrow night, and the night after that, depending how things go.”

I pull into our driveway and into the garage, parking next to her car, but neither of us make a move to get out. My next question could damn me, but I can’t stop myself from asking.  “And how do you want things to go?” Immediately, Nesta’s back goes rigid and I reach out, taking her hand and smoothing my thumb over the back of it. “I’m not asking to have sex, Nes, I just want to know what exactly you’re expecting.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m… I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet.” Opening her eyes, she gives me a soft smile. “But I miss having you sleeping next to me. I miss falling asleep in your arms and waking up with you curled around me. I even miss your snoring.”

I feign being appalled. “My snoring?”

“Yeah, contrary to what you told our nephew, you’re the only one that snores in this relationship,” she says, laughing quietly. 

“What can I say?” I ask, quietly, wanting nothing more than to close the distance between us and kiss her. “I’m not perfect.”

She rolls her eyes and tells me to get out of the truck. We go inside and I grab my pillow off the couch after I lock up and make my way upstairs. 

When I enter, Nesta’s standing in her bra, pulling an old t-shirt out of her drawer. It takes me a second to realize I’m staring, then I look away, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry.”

She laughs, quietly. “It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked before, Cass.”

Taking that as permission, I look back up, but she’s pulled the t-shirt on. It’s one of mine, one I haven’t worn in years, one that she had claimed long ago. It’s long enough on her that when she starts shimmying out of her jeans, I don’t see anything, it’s all hidden. 

“True,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say. To confess that it’s different now, that everything is different now, probably wouldn’t help the situation. I don’t want to start a fight right when I’m about to climb into my own damn bed for the first time in over a month. 

Her smile doesn’t fade as she goes into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. I pull off my shirt and search through my drawers for a clean pair of sweatpants, which I kick off my jeans to pull on. 

Greg hops onto the bed, the bell on his collar jingling merrily as he makes himself comfortable on Nesta’s pillow. As much as I love our cat, I’m not interested in having him squeezed between us like the furry toddler he is the first night I’m allowed back in my own bed.

Without a word, I round to her side of the bed, picking Greg up. He gives me an inquisitive trill as I carry him towards the bedroom door, which turns into a noise of outrage as I chuck him out into the hall and pull the door shut as he lands on his feet.

Nesta comes out of the bathroom, chuckling. “What was that?”

I turn around to make a snarky remark about Greg’s sass, but I come up short. 

In nothing but that damn old shirt, Nesta’s pulling her hair back into a ponytail. With her arms raised, the hem of the shirt slides up her thighs. I can’t help my eyes as they graze her body, can’t help how slowly they trail from her bare legs, to the curves of her breasts that I can make out through the thin fabric now that her bra has been long forgotten, up to her cleansed face, which I admire in all her natural beauty. 

Needing to get under a blanket before she sees just how much the sight of her is affecting me, I round to my side of the bed, my arm brushing hers as I pass her, and get beneath the comforter.

I watch her still as she goes to turn off the light, then she makes her way to her side of the bed and gets in.

There.

We’ve done it.

Hurdle crossed. 

Except now I want to throw my body on top of hers and rip off that t-shirt. But I don’t, because she told me she wasn’t ready, and I respect that. 

But she did say that she wants to be held.

When I turn to her, she’s already facing me, already watching me.

“This is nice,” she whispers.

“I feel like you’re too far away,” I whisper back.

She huffs a laugh as she comes closer to me, until her forehead is against my chest and her arm is sliding around my waist.

“Better?”

I pull her on top of me, and she melts right into me as she always had, her body knowing exactly where to go to get comfortable. Her cheek is against my shoulder and my arms stay around her, tightly, protectively. Her knee is just above my cock, which is too hard for me to be thinking straight, but I like that her leg is slung over me, so I close my eyes and think of sick puppies and death.

“Better now,” I say, quietly, and her hand, which is lying on my bare chest, starts moving, her fingers moving in lazy circles across my skin, tracing the ink there. 

“Better now,” she agrees, and kisses the base of my neck.

The simple touch has my skin feeling like it’s on fire, and I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. 

This feels good.

Right.

Torturous.

But right.

My arm is wrapped around her, tucking her against me, my hand pressed against her lower back. I can feel the heat of her skin through the thin t-shirt and I let my fingers move as indolently as hers do.

I don’t mean to, but before I know it, my fingers are skimming over the bare skin of her back, the thin fabric of the shirt bunched up.

“Sorry,” I mutter into the darkness, trying to smooth her shirt back down. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Cass,” she whispers, breath skating over my skin. “Gwyn said physical touch was good.”

Yeah, she did, but my dick is so hard and I’m wound so tight that if Nesta all but touches it, I’m going to blow.

Dead puppies. Well done steak. Naked grandmothers.

I repeat the mantra in my head until all the blood in my body isn’t being redirected south and I can breathe without feeling like my skin is stretched too tight.

When I glance down at Nesta, I find that she’s already looking at me, a smirk on her beautiful face. “You good?”

That smirk makes me want to roll on top of her, claim that wicked mouth in a kiss that I’d trail down her body until I reached the hem of my old shirt, tugging it up to reveal—

Closing my eyes, I drag my free hand down my face. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Her soft laughter ruffles my hair and she presses another kiss to my skin, just above my collarbone. “Go to sleep.”

With another deep breath, I pull her closer against me and settle into the pillows, listening as her breathing evens out.

When I’m sure she’s well and truly asleep, I press my lips to her forehead, breathing in her honey and lilac scent, and whisper, “Goodnight, Nesta. I love you.”

I swear her body relaxes further in my arms.

#nessian #nessian bow #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #fanfic #fanfiction #modern au #angst #nesta #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas

[snelbz]

Better Or Worse {Chapter Five}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Cassian —

True to my word, I’ve continued to sleep in Feyre and Rhysand’s basement. Now that it’s Monday, I have my bags in the backseat of my truck as I drive to this damn counseling session. As long as this doesn’t completely blow up in my face, I’ll be going back home with Nesta. 

I was surprised when she showed up at Feyre and Rhys’s, begging me to come home, to go to marriage counseling. A year ago, even months ago, I would’ve agreed to marriage counseling without any hesitation. But I meant what I’d said. I’m tired, and I’m past trying. 

At least that’s what I keep telling myself, but yet I’m here, pulling into the parking lot of some fancy little office on the far end of town. 

Nesta’s already here.

I see her car parked right next to the door. She’s still inside, but her car is off, and I find myself wondering if she’s just as nervous and unsure as I am about this whole ordeal.

After cutting the engine, I grab my wallet out of the cup holder and make my way to Nesta’s car. At first, she doesn’t see me, so I knock on her window and make her jump. She greets me with a scowl. 

Even when she’s mad, even when I’m pissed at her, she’s gorgeous.

“Come on,” I say, as she throws open her door. “We’re about to be late.”

I turn and walk towards the front door of the office building, knowing she’ll be a step behind me. Sure enough, I hear the clipping of her high heels on the pavement a second later. “I’ve been here since 9:45. You’re the one showing up one minute until ten.”

“You said our appointment was at ten,” I said, opening the door and holding it open for her. “So I’m here at ten.”

She glared at me as she walked into the building, but the waiting room was not a conducive place for the type of conversation we were prone to having recently, so she let it drop.

For now.

She headed right for the young woman at the receptionist’s desk, leaving me at the door, giving me a minute to appreciate her. The sweater she wore was loose and baggy, hiding her full breasts, but it was tucked into a pencil skirt that showed off her round ass. It was made of lace, with a shorter skirt beneath, showing off her long, toned legs.It was the kind of obscene balance that Nesta brought to everything in life.

I could barely tear my eyes off her ass, off those legs that hadn’t been wrapped around my waist in far too long, but once I did, I noticed the sweater was an old one of mine.

A knot of emotion caught in my throat that I cleared away before joining my wife.

“Dr. Berdara will be with you shortly, if you’d like to take a seat.”

Nesta gave a curt nod and swiveled to a set of chairs by the window. I quietly followed after a kind smile toward the receptionist. 

Nesta and I sat in silence for five awkward minutes before a door opened and our names were called. The therapist was around our age, maybe a year or two younger, which I thought was strange. Surely she had never been married, and if she had, she couldn’t have been married long enough to know all of the answers.

She seemed nice enough though.

Her and Nesta made small talk as they walked ahead of me down the long hallway and into an office overlooking the parking lot.

She gestured to a small leather couch for us to sit on opposite of her desk, which we did before she sat herself and smiled.

“It’s so nice to meet the two of you,” she said, sweetly. “I’m Gwyn.”

Wants us to call her by her first name? Another red flag.

“Not a fan of going by your title, Doc?” I asked, and I admit that my hostility may have been showing a little too much. I can practically feel Nesta’s eyes on me.

“I prefer a more casual approach when I’m first meeting new clients,” she explained. “Start us all out on even ground, rather than anyone above the other.”

Before I could reply, Nesta jumped in. “I think that’s a wonderful way to start out. I’m Nesta.”

The two of them looked at me, waiting. I started drumming my fingers on the arm of the couch. “And I’m Cassian.”

“As I said, it’s wonderful to meet you both.” Gwyn gave us another sparkling smile. “Cassian, why don’t you fill me in on why you two are here today?”

My fingers froze. “Why me?”

“Because Nesta made the appointment,” she said, nodding to my wife. At the same time, she nonchalantly flipped open a notebook and reached for a pen. “So since she took the first step by reaching out, I’d like to hear from you.”

“Pretty sure I took the first step when I told her I wanted a divorce,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I can feel her go rigid next to me.

Gwyn jots something down in her notebook, either oblivious to the tension between us or used to the uncomfortable situation thanks to her line of work. 

“And what led you to that point?” She pushed, her voice gentle, which only makes me more agitated. “What made you ask her for a divorce?”

Alright. I guess we’re jumping right into this fucking train wreck.

“Nesta stopped caring about our marriage,” I answer, shrugging. “So now I have, too.”

“I didn’t stop caring,” Nesta snaps.

Gwyn gives her a smile. “You’ll have your time to respond, but let’s let Cassian finish.”

Well, shit. Maybe I don’t hate her.

Gwyn turns back to me. “What makes you think that she’s stopped caring?”

“In the last year, we’ve barely spoken to one another. We’ve barely spent any time together. When we do talk, it’s about bills or our schedules or her work, which I think is great, she’s great at what she does, but we don’t need to be constantly talking about deadlines and edits. Every time we’re in the same room together, she gets annoyed and snappy. Every time I ask her for a night off, where we can just be together, she refuses.”

Gwyn nods thoughtfully. “So you feel the root of your issues lies in her work?”

“I think she’s addicted to her work. It’s clear she cares more about it than she does me,” I answer honestly. “She definitely puts more work into her career than she ever has in our marriage.”

Anger is radiating off of Nesta, but she doesn’t say a word. 

“I hear you.” Gwyn writes something else down. “How long have the two of you been married?”

“A little over nine years.” Nesta worked on the night of our anniversary, but I don’t bring that up.

“And your issues just began a year ago?” Gwyn asks.

I hesitate. “I guess I don’t really know exactly when our issues started, but about then, yeah.”

“This may seem like an obvious question, but I’d like as much background as you're willing to offer.” She folds her hands over one another on her desk and looks between us. “Did anything happen around the time things changed? Was there a catalyst or an incident that led to what you both see as a deterioration in your marriage?”

Before I can even decide how much I want to divulge, seeing as I met this woman less than five minutes ago, Nesta answers for us both. “No, nothing.”

And then Gwyn is writing again. “No infidelity or skeletons in closets that came to light?”

When I look over at Nesta, I find her eyes already on me, her gaze pleading.

I wanted to be pissed that our marriage counselor was almost accusing me of cheating on my wife, despite knowing she was asking an innocent question. I wanted to be pissed that Nesta had lied to her face, despite being the one who suggested we come here to work on our issues. This was where she’d finally open up about what had happened that night, when our world had gone dark, after pleading with her so long to just talk to me.

But it wouldn’t be today. Nesta wasn’t ready, the panic in her eyes was evident enough.

I turned back to Gwyn just as she looked up from her notebook and lied, just like Nesta had. “No cheating. No skeletons. Nothing happened.”

Gwyn looked back and forth between us, skeptically, but nodded. “Alright. Well, finding a turning point is a crucial part of this process, so let’s start from the beginning. How did the two of you meet?”

“Freshman year of college,” Nesta says, and I don’t care that she’s suddenly taken control of the conversation.

“And you started dating?”

Nesta nods.

“And what was it that drew you to Cassian?”

The question throws me off guard and I hate how much I want to hear the answer.

Nesta clears his throat. “He was…wild. Confident. Sarcastic. And frustrating as hell.”

Gwyn smiled. “And you found that attractive?”

“I found him intriguing,” Nesta said, wistfully. “He could piss me off and make me swoon within a matter of seconds. I’d say that it was his passion that drew me to him, at first.” 

“And Cassian?” Gwyn asks. “What drew you to Nesta?”

I stare at my outstretched feet. “She challenged me. Captivated me. I was used to dating…girls with low self esteem who just wanted me to prove that they could have me, but Nesta was smart. Confident, too. I don’t know. I guess that I liked that she was different.” 

“Different how?”

It was a much more difficult question to answer than I would have thought. Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because it was hard to put it into words. “She pushed me. She made me dig deeper. There was substance, not just a pretty face, she helped me grow, I guess.” 

Nesta sits silently beside me, staring at her hands, and I tried not to notice that her eyes line with tears. 

“And when did you get married?” Gwyn asks, still watching me.

“A little over a year later. We married young. Both just turned twenty.”

“And did anyone oppose your marriage? Considering you were both so young.”

“My father,” Nesta answers, quietly, “but we’ve never had a great relationship so I didn’t really care what he thought. He came around afterwards.” 

She didn’t mention that he died a few years ago, but I can hear the pain in her voice as I often do when she talks about her dad, although rare. 

“Tell me about your wedding day.”

“It was small,” Nesta says, and it nearly sounds like she’s smiling, although her face remains neutral. “Just our closest friends, and my sisters. Our friend Rhys got ordained online and married us on the beach.” Unable to help myself, I chuckle. Rhys was the worst officiant of all time. He was drunk, which did make the awful speech he had concocted a little bit better. “I wore a dress that I found online for thirty dollars and we were barefoot. It was nice.”

She made that thirty dollar dress look a million bucks. I still remember exactly how she looked, with her hair braided like a crown around her head. I remember how I felt. It had been the best day of my life and I couldn’t believe that I was so lucky to marry someone I was so in love with, my best friend.

“You look lost in thought. What are you thinking?”

It takes me a second to realize that she’s talking to me. Nesta is watching me, expectantly. I clear my throat. “It was a good day.”

I’ve somehow said the right thing and the wrong thing, all at the same time. Gwyn gives me a smile and looks poised to jump onto her next question when Nesta speaks. “That’s it?”

I don’t respond immediately and neither does Gwyn, which leads me to believe she’s going to let this one play out, rather than intervene.

Thanks, Doc.

I turn towards her, unsurprised to find her eyes already on me, storm clouds brewing within. “I said it was a good day, Nes.”

“But that’s all you have to say? It was a good day?” She genuinely looks offended and my short fuse is getting incrementally shorter by the minute. “Meeting your brothers for a drink after work is a good day. When you find a twenty on the street, it’s a good day. And all you have to say is that it was a good day?”

My jaw locks and my fingers flex. “What do you want me to say?”

Pure rage flashes across her eyes. “I want you to say something meaningful.”

Something meaningful. Jokes on her. She’s the one that hasn’t said something meaningful in months, years, who can’t recall how to have a meaningful conversation if her life depended on it. I take a deep breath, then another. Those deep breaths are the only thing keeping me stable, keeping me grounded. “Something meaningful?” I repeat. 

“Yes,” she snaps.

Gwyn remains quiet.

My lips snap shut and I bristle, eyes planted on a pen sitting on Gwyn’s desk. “This is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Just talk, Cassian!”

My eyes snap to hers, and the second we make eye contact, I’m gone. I can see the emotion, the rage and sadness and hope, and that’s rare for Nesta. Especially lately. Lately, I’ve barely gotten anything from her, but now…she’s listening. She’s waiting. She’s hopeful.

“You want to talk about our wedding day?”

“Yes.” A tear falls down her cheek. She quickly wipes it away.

“The day I married you was the best fucking day of my life,” I say, looking away from her. “I loved you, Nesta. You were so damn beautiful, walking towards me with that overpriced bouquet. I had no doubt that you were the woman I was supposed to marry. All I wanted was you. I didn’t give a fuck when or where I married you. All I cared about was that you were mine. I meant every word I said in our vows. I’ll always love you, always protect you, always be there for you…” I shake my head. “I meant my vows, Nesta. But your vows were shit. Over the last year, you’ve proven that you didn’t mean a damn word you said that day.”

The room is silent, save for the occasional sniffle from my wife. She doesn’t respond and I’m sure as hell done talking for now.

Gwyn lightly taps the end of her pen against her notepad. “Can you tell me what you mean by that, Cassian?”

“I mean she hasn’t stood behind her vows, the promises we made to each other.” My voice is quiet now, all anger sapped from me as Nesta dabs at her eyes with tissue she produced from somewhere. I’m just tired now.

Reading through her notes, Gwyn says, “You’ve told me there’s been no infidelity, so in what way do you feel that Nesta hasn’t upheld her vows?”

“She’s never there.” I hate explaining this. It’s the same shit I’ve explained to my brothers for the past six months and nothing ever changes. “It’s like I don’t exist. All that matters is her books and her deadlines. She doesn’t put any effort into our marriage or even into our relationship.”

Nesta is noticeably silent now. Good.

Gwyn pushes. “Nesta, would you like to respond to that?”

Angrily, she swipes at a tear. “My books are my livelihood.”

“And you were my whole life.”

I don’t realize I’ve spoken the words aloud until both Gwyn and Nesta look at me.

I sigh, rubbing at my temples. Trying to move past the fact that I’m letting feelings I want to suppress out, I say, “Look, I’m proud of Nesta. Okay? She’s a damn good writer, and she’s living her dream. I get that. But since her career has taken off, she’s either working or stressed, and wants nothing to do with me, because I’m just another thing on her plate that’s already overflowing.”

Nesta doesn’t bother saying that I’m wrong.

“So you’re saying that Nesta needs to focus more on you,” Gwyn says.

“I’m saying that as long as she’s too busy working, our marriage is nonexistent.” Gods, I didn’t even want to come and now I can’t shut up. I lock my jaw and stare at my hands.

I feel Nesta looking at me but I don’t care to look back at the moment. 

“And how do you feel about what Cassian has said, Nesta?”

My wife is quiet for a moment, then she says, “I don’t know.”

I scoff and Nesta glares at me, but Gwyn is patient. “Do you not know, or are you unsure how to put your emotions into words?” 

Nesta shrugs, and I know she’s frustrated but I can’t find it in me to care much. “I guess I didn’t realize I was working so much, at first, but now I’m just used to it. I’m used to waking up and working until I go to bed. Ignoring Cassian was not my intention, I just wanted to be successful.”

“And now it’s a habit?” Gwyn asks.

Nesta nods.

“Would you say that you’re addicted to your work?”

Nesta hesitates. “I guess so. I guess it’s all I think about, yes.”

“Do you still enjoy being an author?” Gwyn asks, and I find myself intrigued by this question. For the first time in a while, I look at Nesta.

She’s staring at her wedding rings. “I don’t know. I love to write, but it definitely feels more like a chore than it ever has before. I don’t like the editing process. And sometimes I’m so stressed that I have writer's block and I go insane trying to write anything worthwhile, only for it to get torn apart during editing. My deadlines are getting closer and closer together and I struggle to meet them, because I’m always so stressed. And I know it affects Cassian. Then I feel guilty, but if I’m being honest, that guilt just makes me more stressed and withdrawn and frustrated and miserable to be around.”

The words rush out of her; her eyes never leave her rings.

“There may be a conversation that needs to be had with your publisher about the amount of work your putting out,” Gwyn muses, never one to give orders, just suggestions. “But as of right now, Nesta, I want you to think about how you used to balance work and your time with Cassian before. We’re nearly out of time today, but I want that to be what you consider until we meet again. Cassian, I want you to think about the amount of work Nesta does and how you can help.” I immediately want to protest that I know little about the written word, not like Nesta does, but she shakes her head. “I don’t mean in a literal sense, but to alleviate her stress. How can you help?”

I nodded. If we were here, I was willing to try.

“I want you two to go on a date before our next session.”

I blink at her, not sure that I’ve heard her right. “A date?”

“Yes,” she replies, closing her notepad and smiling at us both. Nesta’s expression is as confused as mine. “Dinner, maybe a movie or some dancing, the activity doesn’t matter. As long as the two of you spend uninterrupted time together, without work or deadlines, cell phones or emails, that’s our goal.”

Uninterrupted time with my wife.

The idea terrified me.

I hesitate, but it’s Nesta that says, “Okay.”

I don’t know why I’m so shocked by this, by her quick acceptance, considering this was all her idea, but I am. I’ve been trying to spend alone time with her for months, and I’ve gotten shot down every time. As soon as someone else mentions it, she says okay.

I tell myself not to be pissed about it, but I am.

Still, I say, “Okay.”

Nesta —

It’s been three days since Cassian has been back home, and it’s been…okay. Quiet, and there’s still not a lot of interaction between the two of us, but we haven’t been fighting. Although I guess it’s hard to fight when you barely speak. 

It hasn’t helped that he’s been working a lot this week. He’s a few men down at his restaurant so he’s picking up the extra slack, as you do when you’re the head chef, until they return. 

Still, when he’s gotten home we’ve had a small conversation about our days then we tell each other goodnight before Cassian makes his way down to the couch to sleep.

I hate being in our big ass bed without him, but I don’t mention it, not yet. 

Cassian got off earlier today, so we decided to take up Gwyn’s challenge. We’re going on a date. I’m nervous as hell, which is ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I want it to go well but I feel like I have to tiptoe around everything to avoid another screaming match.

I can hear Cassian humming to himself in the shower as I slip into a little black dress, one I haven’t worn in a really long time, and look in the mirror. I’m hot, I can’t deny it. I curled my hair and did a full face of makeup, which I also haven’t done in a while, and honestly? I feel confident looking at my reflection, more confident than I’ve felt in…shit, too long.

After clasping a simple diamond pendant around my neck and closing my jewelry box, my eyes fell on the cracked bathroom door in the mirror behind me, a bit of steam billowing out. The only thing I lacked to be completely ready were my heels, but seeing what occurred last time I walked in on Cassian in the shower, I respected his privacy and waited. I sat down on our bed — the bed I’d been sleeping in alone — and waited.

It was absurd, giving my husband privacy and space after being together for a decade. We were the couple no one shared their secrets with, because what one of us knew, the other did as well. We didn’t do it to gossip. 

We just didn’t keep secrets from each other.

I didn’t know at what point that changed, but I knew I was the cause. It all seemed to be my fault lately.

“You ready?”

My head snapped up. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn’t heard the shower shut off or the door open completely.

And my husband stood before me in nothing but a dark blue towel, water dripping off his hair and running down his muscular body.

I watched as one particular droplet trailed down his neck, over his broad chest and well-defined abdomen, before absorbing into the towel wrapped around his hips.

“Nesta?”

Cauldron, boil me, I was ogling my own husband.

Tearing my eyes from his body, I met his gaze. I wasn’t entirely surprised to find heat there, simmering beneath the wall he’d put up between us. It had been a long time since I’d taken a moment to appreciate his body, a body he works hard to maintain, and I know he was as affected by our distance as I was.

Once I’d looked my fill, I cleared my throat, completely forgetting what he’d asked. “What?”

“Are you ready to go?”

I shook my head. “Almost. Just need to grab my shoes.”

He nodded, heading for his dresser, opening the top drawer, where his socks and underwear had always been tossed in with no rhyme or reason. As he began to rifle through it, I hurried into the bathroom, the steam already dissipating, and into my closet. Finding my heels was a matter of a few seconds and I was back into the bedroom before Cassian had even found a matching pair of socks.

“I’ll be downstairs,” I called, the straps of my shoes dangling from my fingers.

I only got two steps down the hall before I heard his voice call out behind me. “Nes?”

I turned, finding him standing in the bathroom doorway, a pair of black boxer briefs clutched in his hands. “Yes?”

“You look beautiful.”

A sudden pang of nausea swept through my stomach, fueled by excitement and longing at his words. I knew I was blushing. “Thank you.”

His smile almost reached his eyes as he disappeared into our bathroom and I hurried downstairs, Greg on my heels. 

My beautiful, fat cat hopped onto the couch next to me in the living room as I put on my shoes, trying to control my shaking fingers. 

My mind wanders back to my husband in a towel, as well as what lies beneath as I stand, my heels securely fastened. I take one last look at myself in the hallway mirror and take a deep breath as I hear Cassian coming down the stairs. 

When he comes into view, I want to run up to him and kiss him deeply, but I stay where I am. He’s wearing black pants and a dark crimson button down, both of which are perfectly fitted to his gloriously sculpted body. The top few buttons are undone, and I can see glimpses of his chest tattoo. But the best part? His hair hangs loose. 

“Ready?”

“Yes,” I say, nearly breathless, which makes him arch a brow. I clear my throat. “I’m starving.”

“Me too.” He comes near me, where his wallet and keys sit and snatch them up. He smells delicious, like that cologne I got him last Solstice. Once everything is in his pockets, he holds out his hand.

I blink before realizing what it is he wants.

Cassian is nothing short of a gentleman when it comes to a date.

I slip my hand in his and realize just how long it’s been since we’ve touched.

His fingers curl around mine as pulls me to my feet and we turn to head for the kitchen and the garage beyond. He drops my hand as he locks the door behind us and I’m surprised when he takes it again as we walk to his truck. It’s a short walk, but he’s apparently decided it’s been too long since we touched as well.

After closing me in the passenger side of the truck, he circles around until he’s sitting in the cab with me and starts it up. It roars to life and he backs out of the garage and the driveway.

As soon as he’s on the main road, he reaches over and threads my fingers in his.

I don’t say anything about it and neither does he, both of us silently enjoying the contact we’ve been denied for months.

“I made reservations at Sea and Vine,” he said, once the quiet in the cab was starting to feel less comfortable and more stifling. “I know how much you like their wine selection.”

The soft snort leaves me before I can stop it. “The wine selection, eh?” When I glance over at him, his ears are red. “Nothing to do with their cannolis?”

“Don’t hate on their cannolis,” he mutters, and I catch the hint of a smile. 

The rest of the car ride isn’t bad. We make smalltalk, which feels strange and unnatural, but not awful. We make our way to Sea and Vine, and park at a parking meter a few streets over. As soon as we’re out of the truck, he takes my hand again and pulls me close.

The heat radiates off his body, and now that his hair is completely dry, I admire the thick waves. He hasn’t shaved in a week or so, and a steady scruff has captured his cheeks, his chin. I love it when he’s not clean shaven. I think it’s sexy.  

Part of me wants to pull him into an alley and have him pin me up against the bricks. I want to revisit that heat we had when we were dating, when we were engaged, when we were newly married. There was a time when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, when we would sneak away no matter where we were and fuck each other senseless. 

I’m just now realizing how long it’s been since we’ve even been on a date. The whole concept feels foreign, and I’m almost unsure of what to do.

It’s all so ridiculous.

When we make it to the restaurant, we’re ushered to our table and Cassian pulls out my chair. Once he’s seated across from me, we fall back into our small talk. We share about our days, and how things have been going at work. I order my favorite wine and nearly melt in the deliciousness of it. Cassian asks them for a cannoli before we even order dinner. 

To my delight, I’m enjoying myself. And, I’m hardly thinking about work, which is rare. I feel like I’m thinking about work every waking moment. It’s a nice change of pace.

“Gwyn seems nice,” Cassian says, once our food is placed in front of us. He has a plate of steak and pasta, while I have shrimp scampi. 

“She does,” I agree. “I like her approach. Very casual.”

Cassian nods and pops a bite of steak into his mouth. “I have to admit that I wasn’t so sure about counseling…but, I didn’t mind it.”

“It’s nice, having someone there to play the mediator,” I say, jumping right in. We can tiptoe around our problems or we can face them head on. After months of awkwardness and half-assed conversations, I was ready to get back to who we were. I just had no idea where to start. “Someone to let us finish our thoughts when the other wants to jump in.”

He says nothing, just takes another bite of his exquisite steak and raises an eyebrow, indicating I’m the one who needed the reminder more than he did.

Which, to be fair, was true.

I can’t help but chuckle as I eat, swallowing my food before I speak. “I’m just saying, having an outside party is helpful.”

“I don’t disagree,” he says, twirling his fork in his pasta, not looking at me. “Especially when it comes to shit we don’t want to talk about.”

Immediately, my walls started to go up, not liking where he was leading the conversation. I swallowed harshly, but there was no food in my mouth.

Clearing my throat, I started, “I’m going to make an effort to be home more, Cass—”

“I’m not talking about your work, Nesta,” he pushed.

My jaw clenched and I stared at my plate, still full of food. Cassian’s chewing slowed as he watched me. 

“I thought my work was the biggest part of our issues,” I began, slowly.

Cassian continued to eat, apparently able to eat through any sort of tension. “I think it’s a part of our issues. It’s not the only part of our issues, although it’s apparently the only part of our issues that you want to talk about.”

I’m quiet for a moment, pushing around my pasta on my plate. “Can we not? I want to enjoy my night.”

“I’m not trying to ruin our night,” Cassian says, his fork halting. “I’m just saying—”

“Well stop,” I snap, and instantly regret it. My eyes wander back to my plate. “I don’t want to talk about that tonight.”

“You don’t ever want to talk about it,” he mutters, and drops his fork. “It wouldn’t hurt to talk about it, Nesta.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We have to.”

“Not now.” The tone of my voice is final, and I see the hurt in his eyes. I know that what happened didn’t only affect me. It affected him, too, and we never had closure. I get that…but I can’t talk about it. I’m not ready. Even after all this time. I’m not ready. 

We’re quiet for a moment, and I wonder if anyone at the tables surrounding us have picked up on our awkward choice of dinner conversation. 

“I’ve lost my appetite,” I say, at last.

“Yeah.” Cassian’s not looking at me. All of the sudden, the mood has changed and we’re strangers again. “Me too.”

“Call for the check.”

His jaw locks but he gives me a stiff nod. With barely any of his food eaten, he motions for the server to come our way and asks for the check.

I feel guilty.

I also feel angry.

Uncomfortable.

Sad.

We sit in complete silence as our check is retrieved and we’re brought to-go boxes. I dump my shrimp scampi into one, and he pushes his steak into another. 

We barely make it out of the restaurant before he says, “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” I ask, as if I don’t know, which seems to make him mad.

“Don’t do that,” he says, stopping under a streetlight to glare at me.

“Don’t do what?” I ask, unable to stop my act, not knowing why. 

I can tell he’s frustrated, can tell he’s getting pissed. I notice he’s not reaching for my hand this time. 

“Act like you never have any fucking clue what I’m talking about,” he hisses. “I need you to communicate, Nesta. I need you to talk to me, to be open to me, to give me something of substance. I’m tired of these surface, meaningless conversations, and I’m tired of you avoiding everything we have to get out in the open. Therapy only goes so far.”

“Why couldn’t we just have a nice night?” I cry, and I hate myself for getting emotional. “We haven’t had a date in forever. This was supposed to be good for us.” And now we’re fighting on the fucking street.

Cassian just shakes his head and shrugs. “It’s not my fault.”

“Oh, right, it’s mine! It’s always my fault. It’s my fault we drifted apart, it’s my fault that you want a divorce, it’s my fault that we can’t—” the words fade away from me, stuck on my tongue. A tear falls that I wish kept itself hidden. 

He stiffens. “Nesta—”

“Go home, Cassian.” I start to walk away, but he quickly follows me.

“Come on. Let’s just go to the truck—”

“I’ll find my own way home,” I snap, trying my best to hurry ahead of him. I don’t look at him. I hardly acknowledge his presence. I need to be alone.

“Nes—”

“Please, Cassian!” I spin around, meeting his eyes. I can’t stop the tears from falling, can’t stop the feeling of utterly falling apart. “Leave me alone! Go home.”

I hate the angst in his eyes, the confusion, the loss. “Where are you going?”

I shake my head, backing up slowly. “I’ll see you at home.”

This time, when I walk away from him, he doesn’t chase after me. 

#better or worse #nessian bow #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #nessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sjm fanfic #snacmc collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #angst #modern au

[snelbz]

Better or Worse {13}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Warnings: language, s e x

This chapter is NSFW. 18+.

I feel like everyone can see my nipples.

Realistically, I know that nobody but Cassian even knows that I have my nipples pierced, but my subconscious brain is yelling that everyone knows.

My husband, ever the overgrown child, is currently making a sand castle. A huge sand castle at that and he looks like he’s having a blast.

Turning back to the pages of the new romance I’d brought with me, he wasn’t the only one. With my earbuds in, I blocked out the sounds of the people around us and lost myself in the story before me. It wasn’t anything like the stories I wrote, but that didn’t make it bad. I loved reading books in different styles, always allowing my craft to evolve.

I was just getting to a scene where the male main character was on her front porch in the pouring rain, ready to tell the female main character his true feelings— and hopefully get some slow burn smut— when a shadow blocked my book.

Glancing up to look at my husband, I pulled one of my earbuds out. “What’s up?”

“I’m covered in sand and need to rinse off,” he said, holding out a hand that was, indeed, white and sandy. “Let’s get in the water.”

Curling my lip, I settled further back into my lounge chair. “I’m okay. I can’t anyways, remember?”

His eyes flicker to my breasts as he purses his lips as I use my new piercings as my excuse to avoid the cold ocean water. “Just come in up to your waist.”

I place a finger in my book as I cock my head. “Just go in by yourself. I’ll watch you.”

He frowns, and I can’t believe that I find it cute when he pouts. “What if I drown?”

“You’re an excellent swimmer.”

“What if a shark comes at me?”

“Punch it in the nose.”

“What if I drift off with the waves and I lose you?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Then I’ll send out the Coast Guard until you’re found.”

His shoulders sag. “I don’t want to go by myself. Please?”

I sigh, and even I will admit that it’s dramatic as fuck. “But it’s cold.”

“It’s not that bad,” he says, having already been in once. He holds out his hand, again. “Please?”

I stare at him for a moment, but he stares back with the same intensity.

“Fine, up to my waist, no more than ten minutes,” I say, and bookmark my page before taking his hand and letting him pull me out of my lounge chair. 

If it were just because I didn’t want to get in, I would not be letting him lead me into the water. There is no way in hell that he wouldn’t drag me under, splash me, or do whatever he could to poke at me.

But thanks to his new favorite jewelry I own, I can’t get in the water for another eight hours or so. I’m not risking an infection from any piercing, but sure as hell not on my nipples.

True to his word, the water isn’t as cold as I feared and I even went out a little past my waist, careful to keep my breasts from bobbing into the water. Cassian stayed with me, wrapping his arms around me and kissing me sweetly. This was a public beach, families and couples and kids everywhere, so it wasn’t like we could get hot and heavy anyways. But still, I could feel the heat simmering just below the surface in that kiss.

The memory of Cassian’s mouth on me the night before had all of my nerves lighting up. He hadn’t let me touch him, had said it was about my pleasure not his, and I had come not once, but twice, all without him touching my overly sensitive nipples.

I told him I wanted to do something we’d never done while we were on vacation. We went to bars and restaurants with our family, but we never went out and did anything else.

I wanted to go to a club. I wanted to dance and feel the music pounding through my body and lose myself in the lights. Cassian was not nearly as excited as I was.

Still, when we got back to the beach, we each started getting ready. I packed a little black dress just for this occasion, along with a pair of strappy heels. My hair was curled, free of its usual updo, hanging loosely down my back which was mostly bare, thanks to the dress I had on, which was open-backed and showed off my ass magnificently.

When I walked out of the bathroom, I stilled.

Cassian is sitting on the foot of the bed, watching a soccer game in his underwear. Although he had showered, he hasn’t done much since then, when I took over the bathroom and he went to “get dressed”. 

Apparently, getting dressed means getting rid of his towel and pulling on his underwear.

And socks.

“Babe, there’s only fifteen minutes left and Illyria is down by one,” he says, eyes glued to the screen. “Let me watch the rest and I promise to dance with you all night.” 

I think that’s fair enough. “Can you at least finish getting ready while you watch?”

Something exciting happens on the screen and Cassian jumps to his feet. “THAT’S RIGHT, MOTHERFUCKERS!”

I suddenly hope our neighbors are currently out of their rooms. Letting him watch his game, I go to his suitcase and pull out a pair of black jeans, along with a black, long sleeve tee that I shake the wrinkles out of. 

As he sits back down, he glances over at me, and stills. I’ll never get tired of that, watching him look at me for the first time. His eyes go soft, then fill with lust, and his lips part as he lets out a breath. 

He motions for me to turn around, so I give him a little show, turning slowly. When I face him again, it’s clear his eyes were lingering on my ass. “Good?”

“Why do you always have to look so damn good while trying to make me leave this room?” he asks, the game long forgotten. “It’s torture.”

“It’s my specialty,” I say, blowing him a kiss and laying his clothes out on the bed. “We’re not staying if it goes to overtime.”

It didn’t. Illyria scored one more time with forty seconds to spare and the game ended. True to his word, Cassian dressed, brushed his teeth, and we were out the door within five more minutes.

The club, called the Pleasure Barge, was just a few buildings down from our hotel. It had pleasure cruises that left the beach every half an hour, but that was not my focus for the night. After showing our ID’s at the door, our hands were stamped and we were let into the club. The music was loud and I could feel the bass thrumming through my entire body. I turned to Cassian, to see if my excitement was mirrored on his expression.

He couldn’t have looked more miserable if he tried.

“Smile,” I said, pulling on his hand and finding a table along the edge of the dance floor. “Go get us a couple drinks and then we’ll dance.”

He mumbled something I didn’t catch, but headed to the bar regardless. A few minute later, he returned with a vodka cranberry for me and neat whiskey for himself.

I sipped through my straw and watched him. “You could try to have fun, you know?”

“There are far too many people here for me to have fun,” he replied, bringing his glass to his lips and looking around. 

“Finish your drink and I’ll make it fun for you,” I promised and his eyes landed on me.

It’s ridiculous how he can look at me and make me feel completely nude. It’s a talent that he’s always had, one that’s always made my heart beat a little faster and my knees shake. 

He downs his whiskey in a few gulps, surely hoping to make sure I quickly act on my statement. I try to keep up, hasilty making my vodka cranberry disappear before dragging my husband onto the dance floor. 

The music was loud with a heavy bass, and as soon as we were out in the mass of people, his hands were around my waist and my body was sliding up against his.

We haven’t gone clubbing since our early twenties, but I’ve always loved to dance. There’s something freeing about it, once you decide to not give a damn what anyone else thinks. 

I throw my hands in the air as I shamelessly rub my ass all over my husband’s groin. My back is pressed against his abdomen, and I can feel his heart beating erratically. It seems that he doesn’t mind dancing with me, after all. 

At least, that’s what I can assume from the way he palms my breast.

I swat his hand away as I laugh, turning to face him and sliding my arms around his neck. “We’re in public!”

“There’s at least twenty couples fucking in the bathroom right now!” He yells back. “I think me grabbing your boob is the most innocent thing going on here!”

I laugh again before getting lost in the music. Cassian must really love me, because I lose track of how many songs we dance to before he leans close to my ear and says, “Break? I need a drink!”

I nod so I don’t have to yell over the music and we find an unoccupied table across the dance floor.

“Stay here, I’ll get our drinks,” he says, giving me a chaste kiss and grabbing my ass.

I bite my lips as he goes, watching the way his muscles move beneath his shirt.

I pull my phone from the hidden pocket in my dress, checking my texts.

Elain has texted our group chat with pictures of a soft pink and gray nursery. She’s officially begun nesting, starting to put away the tiny clothes she’d received at her baby shower. This baby wouldn’t be here for another few weeks, yet she already has a larger wardrobe than I do.

I'm beyond happy for my sister and Azriel, just as happy as I was for Feyre and Rhys when they found out they were pregnant with Nyx. But it also felt like a shot to the heart every time I thought about the pregnancies we’d lost. Gwyn had suggested that we tell our families, to open our grief up to those that loved us. I want to and so does Cassian, but neither of us are ready.

Soon, we keep promising ourselves, and we will, but not yet.

I sense someone pause at the table next to me and I lean into him, smiling up at him, before I realize it’s not my husband. Jumping back, I put a hand to my chest. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

He lifts a brow, and he does it in a way that tells me he’s used to flirting. “No worries. I’m Justin.”

I blink. It’s been a long time since I’ve been single, and Cassian and I got together so young that I almost don’t catch what’s happening here. “Hi, Justin. I’m married.”

He laughs, and I can’t deny that he’s attractive. A few years younger than me, I’m sure, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. His hair is a chestnut brown and his eyes are blue, and they’re scanning my body from the top of my head to my toes. “I don’t mind that. A lot of married women vacation here. Girls trip, right? I’m known to make a girls trip a little more worth while.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. I laugh until I’m snorting. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to catch my breath, “I just…does that line typically work on women?”

He flashes me a grin. “You tell me.”

“Oh, Cauldron boil me, no—”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

I stare at him, nearly dumbfounded. “I just told you—”

“You’re incredibly beautiful,” he says. “By far the most beautiful woman in this place.”

I hesitate. “Thank you, but—”

“Would you like to dance?”

This guy just isn’t getting the hint. He takes my hand, but before I can pull it away and tell him hell no, I hear my husband’s voice.

…………

Cassian

………….

I know I have anger issues.

I know my anger comes quickly and takes a while to fade, and I know that sometimes I get pissed over ridiculous shit, but there is nothing ridiculous about this prick taking my wife’s hand.

With both drinks in my hands, I stop behind Nesta and ask, filter long gone, “What the fuck are you doing?”

His stupid, smug grin melts away the instant he sees me. “Hey, man, I was just telling your wife how beautiful she is—”

“You were just leaving,” I say to him, interrupting.

“I’ve got this, Cass,” Nesta says, snatching up her drink as soon as I set it down on the table.

Nesta wasn’t going to dance with him, I know that, I could see the look on her face as I approached, but my fuse is short and I’m about to blow. My higher reasoning is gone and I’m pissed at this asshole who had the gall to touch my wife, at the club for existing, and at Nesta for dragging me here.

“Seemed to be doing real well while I was gone,” I snap, not tearing my eyes from the prick who’s still standing at our table.

“Excuse you?” I can hear the righteous indignation in her voice as she turns in place to glare up at me, the jackass behind us forgotten.

“I’m gonna go,” he mumbles, backing away. “You two have a good night.”

I want to say something, to have the final word, but Nesta beats me to it. “Go fuck yourself, Justin.”

Whirling back on me, her eyes are blazing. “Do you really think I was flirting with that asshole?”

“I don’t know what the hell was happening,” I say, losing the tenuous hold on my anger. “I walk up and he’s holding your hand and asking you to dance. What else did he say?”

“He hit on me and I told him I was married.” She emphasizes the word by holding up her left hand and pointing at her wedding rings. “But he wouldn’t take the hint.”

I know if I say something right now, it’s going to get me in trouble, so instead, I toss back the double shot of Gentleman Jack I ordered, feeling it burn all the way down. “I’m ready to go.”

“I’m not,” she seethes. “I want to dance, I’m having fun.”

I gesture towards the crowd on the dance floor, empty glass still in my hand. “I’m sure if you can find your friend in there, he’d love to dance with you.”

Her mouth snaps shut and she’s seething. “Wow.”

I shake my head. My hands are shaking and I feel like punching a wall, flipping a table. “I’m going back to the hotel.”

“No, you’re not.”

I turn to leave.

I know it’s a dick move. I know I’m being an asshole. But it’s better than causing a scene and I’m right on the edge of doing just that.

It’s taken me months to get to the point of being able to casually reach for Nesta’s hand, to flirt with her again, to be the guy that she needs and then there’s this guy…who comes out of nowhere and has the audacity to touch my wife like she’s not a goddamn masterpiece.

He has no right.

I crash through the doors of the club and into the fresh air, taking a deep breath.

Nesta’s night behind me. “I should’ve known.”

“Known what?” I ask, not stopping. I keep trekking ahead in the direction of our hotel.

I’m seeing red.

I can’t make it stop. 

“Known that you would make a mess of this,” she says, heels clacking on the sidewalk behind me. “You didn’t want to go in the first place. I should’ve known.”

Her words hurt me but I can’t stop. I’m too blinded by jealous rage. “Go back inside. I’ll see you later.”

She barks a laugh but there’s no humor in it. “You’re a dick.”

I don’t answer. She’s right and I can’t deny it.

I also keep replaying that asshole taking her hand over and over again in my head. Nesta wouldn’t cheat, I know that. There’s not a single doubt in my head that she’s loyal to me. That doesn’t stop the scenarios from playing out one by one.

He takes her hand and they dance and she has fun with him, instead of her boring husband who would rather be watching a soccer match in the hotel room. She laughs at his jokes and he smiles at her in that douche bag way he did.

It fucking infuriates me.

I spend the entire walk back to the hotel playing out stupid scenarios that would never happen and by the time we make it to the elevator, I want to turn around and go back to the club and break that asshole’s jaw.

Nesta angrily punches the button to call the elevator and in the back of my mind, I know I’m ruining our vacation. I’m overreacting and I need to apologize, but I can’t. She’s my fucking wife and no one other man will put his hands on her.

We don’t talk until we make it to our room, when I push open the door with far too much force and she follows me inside.

“Are you happy?” She snaps, plopping onto the bed and taking off her shoes with shaky hands. 

“Fucking ecstatic,” I say, kicking off my own shoes. “Can’t wait for what you have in store for tomorrow.”

Her back straightens as a newfound fury brews in her eyes. “You know, you’ve always been a jealous asshole, Cassian, but you’ve reached a new level tonight. Congratulations.”

“Don’t,” I warn, yanking at my belt, feeling like my clothes are suffocating me.

“Don’t what?” She yells. “Tell you that you’re being a dick when you’re being a dick?! I was having fun, Cass, and you ruined it! We were having fun! And then you started overreacting out of nowhere! All of the trust that we’ve built? Gone! Because you couldn’t even trust me to warn off some prepubescent twat without your help!”

“You don’t get it,” I hiss, and I know my tone is cruel, but I can’t control it.

“Of course.” She laughs, but humor is obsolete. “Of course, I don’t understand.”

“You don’t!” I yell, and she nearly flinches which hurts me more than it hurts her. “I didn’t touch you for almost a year, Nesta! Then this guy shows up out of nowhere and touches you without a second fucking thought!”

She stops then, the tension in her shoulders fading, if only a little. The anger in her eyes turns to concern. Sadness. “Cassi—“ 

“Do you know how many days I spent wanting to just reach over and take your hand? But I couldn’t.” My anger is dissipating, and now I’m just tired. Now, I just feel foolish for my outburst, but I shake my head. “And this random fucking stranger just…does it.”

She takes a step towards me, but then stops. “You have to trust me to take care of shit like that on my own, Cass—”

“You shouldn’t have to,” I say, crossing the space between us and cradling her face in my hands. “As your husband, it’s my fucking job to take care of you, to protect you, and that includes someone putting their hands on you.”

“Doesn’t give you free reign to be an asshole yourself,” she murmurs, voice softer than it was before. Her eyes are on my lips, heavy lidded, lined with thick dark lashes. Her makeup is smudged just a bit from our time on the dance floor.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry I’m an asshole, but seeing him touch you, even just taking your hand, when you’re the most precious thing on the whole, godsdamned planet?” I shake my head, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “I lost it.”

“You’ve always had a short fuse.” Her voice is whisper soft now and at some point, her hand ended up bunched up in the front of my shirt. “It only takes a spark to set you off.”

“And there you were holding a match and some kerosene.”

I’m not sure which one of us moved first, if it was conscious thought from either of us, but her hands were in my hair and her mouth on mine a second later. I had no idea where her phone was and I didn’t care. Nothing would interrupt us tonight.

She gasped as I picked her up, cradling her ass, her legs quickly wrapping around my waist. Then I was laying her down, covering her with my body, refusing to waste another second.

She clings to me, her dress hiked up and I grind into her, already making her moan. She reaches for my shirt and pulls it off, her lips only leaving mine for a second to pull it over my head.

If I felt out of control before, it’s nothing to what I feel now. I’m no longer in control of myself, my being. She has me in the palms of her hands, ready to do whatever the hell she wants. I need it, I need her. It’s been too damn long.

I slip her dress down her body and throw it away. She lays before me in nothing but a little lace thong, and those damn nipple piercings are staring up at me.

My cock is so hard it’s agonizing. Unbearable. I’m fumbling with the button of my jeans, but Nesta rolls me over and pins my arms above my head, kissing me fiercely. 

A year of lust and want and need, of longing and heartache and distance, has all been building up to this moment. 

Nesta leans back, breathing heavily, her eyes searching mine. “I need you. Now. Don’t be gentle.”

Without a word of warning, I roll us back, grinning down at her. “As you wish.”

I claim her mouth in another savage kiss, tugging on her bottom lip as she works on getting my pants off. For a moment, she seems to be having as hard a time as I was, but then I feel them go loose around my hips and we’re both shoving them down until my cock is free pressing against her thigh.

As I grab the waistband of her thong, Nesta lifts her hips but instead I rip them off her body, the shreds of lace landing on the floor by the bed.

She gasps and leans back to look at me, but anger isn’t lighting her eyes. Arousal is. “Those were expensive.”

“I don’t give a shit,” I say, wrapping an arm around her waist and scooting us both farther up the bed, until her head rests on a pillow. My lips are on her neck, finding the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and sucking. 

“Gods, yes,” she groans and I smile against her skin.

One of my hands skims down her body, pausing to tease the swell of her breasts, then the heavy underside, careful to give her nipples a wide berth. I drag it down her toned stomach, pausing as she shivers beneath me. I glance up at her. “Are you okay?”

She nods, eyes burning. “I need you, please, Cass.”

My fingers skim over her sex, making her jump, which brings a smirk to my face, and then I slide them between her folds. She’s already so wet, slick and warm, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready for me. It’s been months since I’ve been inside her, but hurting her is the last thing I want to do.

I slowly slide my middle finger inside of her, watching her face as I do. She gasps, and her back arches, and her legs spread wider for me. 

I give a couple of slow, taunting pumps inside of her before adding another finger. She moans quietly, and I can’t help the fact that I’m getting a little more rough.

Which she seems to enjoy. 

“Cass,” she breathes, and her hips are writhing, moving in time with my fingers, now slick and glistening as they pump. 

She gasps again as she reaches down between us, fisting my cock. I groan as she squeezes, and then my mouth finds hers once more. 

Adding a third finger, it’s now more of just a tease. She’s ready for me, undoubtedly, but I can’t seem to stop. I look down between us, watching as the sheets get wet beneath us while her hips sway and grind against my hand. Her breathing is hitched, her chest heaving, the sounds escaping her mouth echoing throughout our room. When her knees begin to shake, as her fingers dig into my back, I know she’s close. 

“Come for me,” I breathe. 

Her body tenses as she yells out a curse, and I feel her clench around my fingers. I thrust them back in one last time, deeply, loving the way she feels as she comes around me, and circle her clit as she rides out her orgasm.

The grip she has on my cock is nearing the point of painful, but feels so damn good that I almost don’t want to remove it.

Almost.

But I need to be inside her. I need to feel her, everywhere. To become one with her again after so long.

As she comes down from her high, I kiss her neck softly, sucking and licking, and pry her hand free from where she still held me. Stroking my cock, I climb over her, listening as her breathing evens out, before planting my free hand beside her head and meeting her gaze. There’s so much I want to tell her, so much I want to say, but I don’t need to. I see all of it and more reflected back in her eyes.

Lining myself up, I slide between her folds, coating myself in her slick heat and teasing her clit with the head of my cock. She gasps every time and my grin grows.

Her eyes narrow and she grabs my hips while lifting her own, trying to position me at her entrance. I keep just out of reach, teasing her, and watching as she becomes increasingly needy by the second.

“Cassian,” she whines, throwing her head back and I love it. I’ve got her in the palm of my hand, just like she has me in hers.

Leaning down, I drag my teeth along the graceful column of her throat. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

She grabs a handful of my hair, tugging my face up to hers and crashes my lips to hers. We break for only a second, just long enough for her to whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”

And then I’m plunging into her, heeding her request to not be gentle, as I push in to the hilt in one hard thrust. She tears her lips from mine in a moan and I watch as her breasts bounce and those piercings flash in the low lighting.

I wait there, deep inside of her, dwelling in the feeling. After such a long time apart, this feels so right, so perfect. My hands roam her skin and cup her face as I give her one gentle kiss before completely unleashing myself on her. 

I pull myself out to the tip and thrust into her once more, gaining the same reaction. I can’t stop watching her. After pulling myself up on my knees, I bring her legs up over my shoulders and grab onto her waist. She doesn’t want me to be gentle, so I won’t be. I know what she likes.

I wait for her eyes to open up, wait for them to connect with me, before pounding into her quickly, aggressively, relentlessly. 

She doesn’t give a damn that we’re not in the privacy of our own home, that these walls are paper thin. She moans, screams, curses my name, and it consumes me.

I’ve spent so many nights dreaming of this, reliving the memories of our sex life, but those fantasies didn’t compare to how she sounds, how she feels. I watch her chest heave, her breasts bounce with every thrust of my hips. I watch her eyes roll back, watch how her brows are pinched and her lips remain open. She reaches up to the headboard behind her and lays her palms flat against it, grounding her.

A burning sensation is growing low in my spine and I groan as I grip her waist hard enough to leave bruises. I’m not going to last much longer, I know that. It’s been way too long since I was inside of her, but I need Nesta to come one more time. I can tell she’s on the edge, can tell by the way her hips are starting to quiver and my name is falling from her lips like a prayer. I fucking love it.

I hold her legs to my chest with one arm while my free hand dips to our joined bodies. Swirling my thumb around her clit, I grit out, “Look at me, Nes.”

With great effort, Nesta’s eyes open, locking onto mine. She reaches for me and I let her legs fall apart, settling in each side of my body as I drive into her, my fingers rolling her clit.

Her fingernails bite into my back as she wraps herself around me. “S-so close, Cass.”

I murmur, my lips next to her ear, “Come for me, sweetheart,” and bite down on her neck.

As if she was powerless to defy my words, her orgasm slams into her, making her back arch, pressing her breasts into my chest, as she calls out my name. I fall over the edge right behind her, pumping into her in erratic strokes until I go rigid, eyes rolling in the back of my head, my cock buried deep inside of her.

The room is silent save for our heavy breathing. Falling to the side, I grab Nesta and roll her half on top of me, kissing her until I feel like I’m going to pass out.

When the kiss breaks, Nesta laughs quietly and buries her face into my neck. “Holy shit,” she whispers, “I missed that.”

“Me too.” I brush her hair back and kiss the side of her head. “We’ll have to do it more often so that you don’t start missing it again.”

“We can do it every damn day and I’m still going to want more.” She leans up and looks at me. The love in her eyes is overwhelming. 

“Good.” My eyes never leave hers. “Me too.”

When she kisses me this time, it’s gentle, slow. We kiss like that until we finally fall asleep. 

#better or worse #nessian bow #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #snacmc collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sjm fanfic #sarah j maas

[snelbz]

Better or Worse {18}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Sorry for the late post! I had it queued for pm instead of am and just noticed. We’re almost to the end of Nesta and Cassian’s journey of growth, but we hope you’ve enjoyed reading this one as much as we’ve enjoyed writing it!

Almost every counseling appointment we’ve gone to, Nesta has been right there by my side. But Gwyn asked us to meet separately this week and that shouldn’t make me as nervous as it does. I know it’s common for therapists to want to talk to each person on their own, but even at the beginning, even when we weren’t speaking, having Nesta there was a balm to me. I was able to open up and talk about my thoughts, my feelings even if I wasn’t sure how I felt about them.

Now, sitting across from Gwyn, I feel like I’m back at square one. Rather than the usual couch, I’m sitting in an armchair identical to the one she’s in.

Her notepad is resting in her lap, but she doesn’t look down at it. She doesn’t even have a pen. “How are you doing this afternoon, Cass?”

“Good,” I say, but nothing more which makes her smile.

“Nervous?” She asks, not unkindly.

I sigh. “Yeah? Which is weird, right? Because we know each other fairly well by now.”

“True, but it’s not weird, it’s actually common,” she assures me. “You’re not used to doing this alone. It’s a big step.”

There was a time when her tone would piss me off, would make me feel like she thinks she’s talking to a child, but not anymore. I know she’s genuine in everything she says. 

“I guess so,” I agree, and answer her question honestly. “I am good, though. Yes, nervous, but everything has been going really, really good. Great. Nesta and I are, uh, renewing our vows.”

“Oh?” Gwyn asks and she sounds happy about it, which is a good sign. “When?”

“A month. I actually asked her when we got back from our little vacation, after we left here.” I shrug. Since we’ve been doing so well in our marriage, we haven’t been coming to see Gwyn as much. “It felt like the right thing to do. I asked; she said yes.”

“I’m happy for you,” she says, and I know she means it. 

My appointment goes on like that and after a few more minutes I actually start to fully relax. I told her everything, probably oversharing at some points but I can’t help it. I feel like I just fell in love again for the very first time, although this time feels much stronger than that. Nesta and I have a bond that can’t be broken, that can never be shaken again. 

After telling Gwyn goodbye, I head to Nyx’s preschool to pick him up. He’s waiting for me with his backpack on and his lunchbox in hand, and the second I pull up to the curb, he’s jumping up and down. 

“Hey buddy.” I hop out of the truck and give my nephew a hug while ignoring the wandering eyes of his teacher, as usual. She’s at least seventy, I swear, and I have no clue how she hasn’t retired yet.

“Uncle Cass, we learned about bugs today!”

So begins my rundown of his day, right down to his snacks and the lunch Feyre packed for him that morning.

My phone rings as I’m putting my car in park in the garage. When I see it’s Elain, my brows pull together. I love my sister-in-law, and would do anything for her at any time. But she doesn't usually call me. I answer as I round the truck to get Nyx out of his carseat.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Cass.”

“Is everything okay?”

Her cheery laughter floats through the phone. “Everything is fine. I was seeing if Nesta was with you. I tried her cell but she didn’t answer and I wanted to get a final decision on the flowers for the ceremony.”

I’m a man of many talents. I pride myself on being knowledgeable about many things. Flowers sure as shit isn’t one of them.

Scratching at my beard, I head into the house, Nyx on my heels. “She had a meeting with Eris and the publishers this afternoon, but should be home around five if you can wait that long.”

I hear the telltale sounds of Nyx dropping his backpack. “Hi, Greg!”

“Alright, I’ll try her then. Thanks!”

We say our goodbyes and I toss my phone on the kitchen counter only to realize the kitchen has become far too quiet. When I turn around, Nyx is nowhere to be found.

Just before I can completely panic, Nyx comes back through the door, crying.

I frown. “What happened, buddy?”

“Greg,” he says, a sobbing mess. “Door…open…Greg.”

He can barely get the words out but I get the gist. With a sigh, I pick Nyx up and pat his back. “It’s okay. Greg gets out sometimes, I’ll find him.”

I set Nyx up on the couch with a juice box and a bowl of popcorn while he watches Bluey before finding myself going around the outside of the house, looking in all the bushes. 

No Greg.

I call his name and all of my neighbors that don’t know me are probably wondering why I’m going around my house, yelling for a Greg, but I ignore any potential neighbor’s judgment. Every minute that passes that I can’t find him, I get worried. Nesta loves this cat like a child. 

And I can’t find him. 

When I finally head back inside, Nyx’s head pokes over the top of the couch. He’s still sniffling as he asks, “Did you find him?”

I hesitate for a second because I don’t want him to worry, I don’t want him to start crying again, and I definitely don’t want him telling Nesta about this. So I decide to go with a little white lie. “I did. He was having fun running around and asked to stay outside a little longer. I told him he could play outside until it gets dark.”

Thankfully, that perks him up and blessedly derails his toddler attention span. “Did you know that lightning bugs come out when it’s dark? And then their butts light up?”

For the rest of the afternoon, I’ve got one eye on Nyx and one on the window at the back deck. On multiple occasions, I run outside with the bag of treats and shake it as obnoxiously as I can.

The damn cat never comes back.

As the clock ticks closer and closer to five, I start to panic. How am I going to tell Nesta I let Greg get out? Better yet, how am I going to keep Nyx from saying something?

Before I can come up with a foolproof plan, the garage door opens and my beautiful wife comes strolling in. She gives me a smile and a kiss on the cheek before asking, “How was your appointment with Gwyn?”

“Fine,” I answer, and as soon as it’s out of my mouth I know that I’ve answered way too quickly. Her joyful demeanor falters and I hesitate, which makes her frown. 

“What?” she asks, and there’s a bite to her voice which I know means I should tread carefully if I want to try and keep the peace. 

“Look,” I say, and take a deep breath. I watch her eyes as they go from angry to concerned to confused. “I…there was...Nyx accidentally…Gre—”

Just as I’m about to say his name, the furry little bastard charges into the room and jumps up on the kitchen island to greet Nesta. My wife momentarily forgets about me and scratches the cat under his chin.

I stare, dumbfounded. “I…what the fuck?”

“Hmm?” Nesta asks, remembering I exist and crossing her arms. “Okay, what did you do?” “Nothing,” I say, and grab her face, bringing her mouth abruptly to mine. She’s surprised for a second, but melts into me as my lips keep moving. 

“Ew!”

We pull apart to look at Nyx, who is standing in the doorway and covering his eyes. When he peeks through his fingers, he gasps. “GREG! I thought we lost you forever! I was soooooooooo scared! Uncle Cass, wasn’t I scared?”

I purse my lips and slowly bring my gaze back to Nesta’s. She’s watching me with narrowed eyes full of hellfire. 

“So, we lost Greg,” I confess, quietly. Nyx doesn’t seem to notice the tension as he grabs the cat off the island and carries him into the living room. I open my mouth to give a long, pathetic story about what happened, but Nesta shakes her head and puts her fingers over my mouth.

“I don’t wanna know,” she says, and her eyes soften. “He’s here, he’s safe, do better next time.” 

I blink, thinking it’s a trap and not wanting to curse it. “Yeah, okay.” Now I’m suspicious. “You’re taking this too well, it’s scaring me.”

She snorts and runs her hands down my chest and bundles my t-shirt in her hands. “I want tonight to be a good night. We’ve been a little stressed lately, planning this wedding so quickly…” She shrugs. “No more stress.”

I feel like there’s something she’s not telling me. Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been married for a decade, but I feel like something’s off. “Nesta—”

She looks over my shoulder, into the living room at Nyx and Greg snuggling on the couch, then back to me. 

“What?” I ask, and try not to let my worry creep in too far. “What happened? Are you okay? Did Eris piss you off? The fuck did that prick do now—”

“Eris didn’t do anything, for once,” she says, laughing quietly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just…been thinking about something, but I thought we could wait until we’re alone tonight to talk about it.”

I hate that.

I hate when someone says we need to talk, especially my wife, then doesn’t tell me what it is we need to talk about. 

“Now I’m going to spend the entire afternoon worrying about whatever it is you have to say,” I say, keeping my voice low. 

“It’s nothing bad,” she whispers, and leans up on her toes to kiss me. I grab her ass and squeeze for comfort. “Just something I’ve been thinking about. A lot. Come on, let’s make dinner before Feyre gets here to pick him up.” 

And that’s that. I throw together a quick meal of blackened chicken, green beans, and red potatoes, which Nyx devours as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks. More than once, Nesta has to remind him to take smaller bites, but he manages to clean his plate without choking. Nyx regales Nesta with his school day, as well, telling her all about his studies but conveniently forgetting the story he told me about the little girl on the playground who held his hand.

Nesta is in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, while Nyx and I are on the couch watching Bluey when I hear the door from the garage open. Nyx, engrossed in whatever shenanigans Bluey and Bingo have gotten into, doesn’t notice the quiet greetings or the hushed whispers and murmuring.

But I do.

It sets me on edge, immediately thinking of whatever Nesta wants to talk about when we’re alone. It sends my brain straight into “overthink” mode and I don’t notice that Nyx has said something until he calls my name a second time.

“What was that, bud?”

“I said that daddy said I could get a puppy just like Bluey.”

“Did he now?” Feyre asks, breezing in from the kitchen.

“Mama!” Nyx is off the couch in a flash and crashing into her legs.

His backpack is already slung over her elbow and she lifts Nyx into her arms, hugging his close. “Hi, bub. Ready to go home?”

“Yes! Me and Uncle Cass lost Greg.” Feyre’s smile falters but Nyx charges on. “Don’t worry, mama, we found him.”

We say our goodbyes and promise to see them soon, and when it’s just me and Nesta alone, I can’t control myself any longer.

“So.”

She chuckles as she sits next to me on the couch and turns off Bluey. “So.”

I wait for her to say something but when she doesn’t go on, I throw my hands in the air. “Damn it, Nesta, please just—”

“I think we should look into adoption.” The words rush out of her, quietly. “I think we should adopt.”

Out of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t it. I’m at a loss for words.

It’s not until I notice her eyes start to line with tears that I come back, my mind catching up with me.

“You don’t want—”

“I’m just surprised,” I say, before she can worry. “I mean, adoption is…that’s a lot. That’s big.”

“I’m ready to be a mom, babe,” she says, and a tear falls as her voice breaks. “We’ve been ready for a family for so long and I’m accepting that I’m not ever going to have a baby.” I want to protest, but I can’t. “So I thought we could have a baby, or a child, through adoption.”

I’m quiet for a moment, but Nesta doesn’t push me.

Adoption had never even crossed my mind and I’m a little ashamed of myself for not considering it. Growing up in the foster system, how many years did I dream of someone finally deciding I was worth the trouble, of a family adopting me and giving me the happy home I’d always dreamed of. But Nesta wanted to be a mother and I never thought farther than giving her that dream myself, of our child growing inside of her.

Who’s to say the child we’ve been dreaming of isn’t already out there?

“Do you want to quit trying?” I ask, carefully. “To have our own?”

“Absolutely not,” she scoffs, and I can tell she’s trying not to be emotional. She knows my past more intimately than anyone else on the planet. “You think after finally having sex after months of celibacy, I’ll be able to go back?”

I swallow and huff a laugh but stay quiet for a minute, allowing my thoughts to catch up with me. My thoughts that are all over the place. 

“Okay,” I say, quietly, and her tears spill over. I wipe them away, carefully. “After the wedding…we can start the process, if it’s what you truly want.”

“It is,” she says, and there is no doubt. “But is it what you want?”

“A family with you is all I have ever wanted,” I say, and it is wholly the truth. 

I can’t help my own consuming emotion as she kisses me. Every day I don’t know how my marriage can get better, how I can love this woman more, but then I do. I didn’t know this love, this excitement for the future could still be so strong, so evident after ten years.

I’m so ridiculously in love with this woman that I can’t believe it. I show her as much as I lay her down on the couch and take my sweet time with every beautiful, magnificent inch of her body.

We will have our family soon enough, one way or another, and I can’t wait.

#better or worse #nessian bow #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #ACOSF #nessian #snacmc collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab

[snelbz]

Better or Worse {16}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Sera Marigold Draeven is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

I’m ninety-five percent positive I thought the same thing when Nyx was born, but it can’t be helped. I’ve got the world’s cutest niece and nephew.

It’s been a week since Sera was born and I’ve been wrapped around her finger since the moment Elain laid her in my arms. She’s awake, for once, and her eyes, hazel, just like her daddy’s, are wide open and gazing up at me.

“Was I ever that little?”

The question comes from my left, where Nyx is peering over the arm of the couch, still not quite sure what to think about his new cousin.

“You were even smaller than Sera, bub,” Rhys answers from the kitchen. Nyx drags his gaze from the baby to his dad. “You were born prematurely.”

His little dark eyebrows knit together. “What does prematchery mean?”

“It means,” Feyre jumps in, rolling her eyes at her husband, “that you were so excited to be with us that you came out of mommy’s tummy early.”

“Oh,” he says, nodding and dragging the word out. He looks back at Sera. “So she didn’t want to come out of Aunt Elain’s tummy?”

“No, she most certainly did not,” Elain replies from her seat in the recliner.

I chuckle as Nyx’s brows raise. 

“She’s stubborn just like her mom and aunts,” Cassian chimes in.

I shoot him a look as Elain rolls her eyes, but I can’t help but look at him fondly. He’s watching Sera with such love and adoration that my eyes line with tears. His eyes meet mine and his smile softens even more.

“Can we take her home with us?” Nyx asks, curiously, genuinely. 

“No,” Feyre laughs, “but we’re going to see her all the time. Don’t you worry.”

Rhysand tosses an arm around Cassian’s shoulders and leads him into the kitchen. I take that as a sure sign that my brother-in-law is getting hangry and wants Cassian to put the steaks on the grill as soon as possible. 

Azriel stays. It seems he can’t get enough of his baby girl.

I look back down at my niece just as she gives me the biggest of yawns. It’s ridiculously adorable.  

I stopped trying not to allow myself to get jealous. After meeting with Gwyn this week, we talked about how jealousy is a natural reaction and trying to reject that jealousy will only bring anxiety and depression. Sure, there is an obsessive amount of jealousy that’s important to stay away from, but the kind of longing and want and emptiness that I feel… Turns out, that’s normal.

And although there’s nothing I can do about that feeling, I must say that my niece is absolute perfection. The second I look down into her beautiful round face, all I feel is love and protection. 

I’ve been talking to Feyre a lot in the last week, since I told her about our past, and she’s been an amazing listener and support. She recommended that I tell Elain, which I did, and just like Feyre, there was no judgment or condemnation, only love. Their reactions had only made me wish I had said something sooner. 

Even Azriel pulled me aside and held me for a long while, crying alongside me, just like I know he had done for Cassian. Azriel may be the quietest of us all, but he loves and feels greater than us all, too. 

Half of me wants to go help Cassian with dinner, but the other half of me - the half of me that refuses to give up my niece - is the one that wins. 

Rhysand comes back into the room, only to whisper something in Nyx’s ear before the toddler runs toward the kitchen, giggling. I give my brother-in-law a curious look, but he only plops down next to Feyre on the couch and bites her earlobe. They’re so cute it’s sickening, but that’s nothing new.  

I hear the screen door open and close, knowing that means Cassian has taken the steaks out to the grill, and settle in to get more snuggles…

Until I smell something.

Sniffing twice, I look up and catch Elain’s eye. “I think she has something for you.”

Chuckling softly, Elain begins to extract herself from her seat, but Azriel presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get her. You relax.”

“She probably needs to feed.” She presses a hand to her chest and adds with a wince, “Badly.”

Feyre chuckles knowingly and once again, I’m hit with a surge of jealousy that I’m unable to stop. Hearing my sisters talk about all aspects of their pregnancies, both good and bad, only makes me yearn for it more. Even things like engorged breasts, late night feedings, and diaper changes don’t seem so bad when I look down at the precious angel in my arms.

One day, I promise myself. It’ll happen for us one day.

Azriel scoops Sera from my arms, promising to bring her back down to feed after she’s changed. Rhys, despite the fact that Cass only took the steaks outside minutes before, goes outside to check on dinner, mumbling something about how starving he is, and to make sure Nyx is behaving. We know Cass is watching him, but you can never be too careful with a toddler and a hot grill.

When it’s just us, Elain sighs, pressing a hand to her tender breasts. “It’s only been two hours and my body is screaming at me to feed her.”

“I’ll be honest, having my supply dry up when Nyx was a few months old was frustrating, but relieving,” Feyre said, tucking her legs beneath her as she drapes an arm over the back of the couch. “I wish I could have fed him for longer, but he did fine on formula, and my boobs were screaming for a break.”

That jealousy rears its ugly head again and I do my best to ignore it as they discuss the merits of breastfeeding vs formula, unable to add to the conversation. Instead, I think about how far Cassian and I have come, how happy we are, and how relieved that I can talk about these things with my sisters once again. I hadn’t realized I zoned out until Feyre says my name.

“Sorry, what?” I ask, blinking out of a memory from our vacation. She and Elain are looking at me like they know exactly what was on my mind.

“How are yours feeling?” Elain asks, color blooming on her cheeks. Feyre is trying not to laugh as she glances down to my chest.

I feel myself blush. I’d told my sisters about my new piercings when we returned and they both didn’t believe me until I’d proved it—through a shirt, of course. “Great now. Wonderful actually.”

Elain’s cheeks turn even brighter as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe you did that. I walked in on Azriel the other day while he was on the phone with Cass. He is, uh, very vocal about his love for your new jewelry.”

Unable to contain her laughter any further, Feyre cackles. “I, too, have walked in on a similar conversation.” Her eyes soften, even though her grin remains. “It sounds like you two are doing really well, Nes.”

The softest joy forms in my core. “We are. Really, really well. I feel like we’re in the honeymoon stage all over again, and I know that we’re going to keep having our fair share of trials, but…” I shrug. “I feel like our relationship is stronger than it’s been in years. Since we got married.”

My sisters share a look before they look back to me. 

“We’re happy for you,” Elain says, and maybe it’s the new-mom hormones, but she’s crying.

Which makes Azriel frown as he walks back down the stairs with a freshly-changed newborn. “What’s wrong? I was bringing her right back.”

She waves him off as she takes their daughter and he leans down to give her a sweet, chaste kiss before heading out on the patio with Cass, Rhys and Nyx.

Elain was just putting a milk-drunk Sera in her swing when Rhys, Az, and Nyx came in, the former carrying an aluminum foil covered platter. He grumbles, “The chef says we have to let these rest for at least twelve minutes before eating them.”

“You’ll live, you big, Illyrian baby,” Feyre says, rolling her eyes.

“Starving,” he mutters, heading into the kitchen.

Az chuckles and follows him, while Nyx hurries over to Feyre, motioning for her to lean down so he could whisper something to her. He shoots me a look as he murmurs in her ear and then shot off again, back into the kitchen.

Feyre was shaking her head as I ask, “What was that about?”

“Nothing, he’s just silly.” She smiles, but I couldn’t miss the mischief in her eyes.

I narrow my own, but realize someone was missing. Turning towards the kitchen, I holler, “Where’s Cass?”

A pause in the conversation and beat of silence follow. It was Azriel that answers. “Cleaning the grill.”

Bullshit. The man turns the heat up and lets it char the inside for an extra twenty minutes after he’s done, leaving nothing ash to scoop out. After a decade, you learn things about a person. I get up and head for the patio, wondering what he’s up to.

“Aunt Nesta, have I shown you my new Lightning McQueen?”

I turn and find Nyx right behind me, a bright red car in hand.

“Wow,” I say, trying my best to act like the tiny, red  car is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. “That’s awesome, buddy.”

“Wanna see him drive?”

Well, I can’t say no to that. “Of course.”

I expect us to do a quick trial run of the toy car, but we end up sitting on the hardwood, attempting to have Lightning McQueen outrun every other toy car that Nyx brought with him.

Which is a ton.

Thinking it surely must be twelve minutes by now, I call for my sisters, but neither one of them answer.  It’s Azriel that comes around the corner, cradling Sera in his arms.

“The table is set.” It’s all he says before he turns on his heels and disappears.

Before I can get to my feet, Nyx is running off, heading for the kitchen, leaving me in the dust.

Cassian has suddenly reappeared, along with Rhys and Az, and the table is indeed set, but now my sisters are nowhere to be seen.

“Elain wanted to show Feyre the vegetable garden,” Azriel offers as I look around.

Looking between them all, I ask, “Right before we eat?”

“I made a salad.” Cassian is busy cutting Nyx’s steak before plating it. “They were checking to see if anything was ripe enough to go in.”

“Oh.” My suspicions settle, but I still feel like something is off. When my sisters come back in though, everything seems normal. Elain deemed two tomatoes ready, but she’d rather save them for salsa one night this week, so Cassian continues as he planned and a few minutes later, everyone was devouring the delicious meal.

I can’t help but look around the table, that unsettled feeling remaining in the pit of my stomach. Cassian meets my eye and smiles from across the table, but he almost seems anxious.

Which makes me anxious. 

“Not hungry?”

I blink, realizing I’d just been pushing my vegetables around. The sound of Cassian’s voice hardly breaks me out of it. 

“I just…” I hesitate, not wanting to offend anyone, knowing this food is delicious. I clear my throat. “It’s hot. I have a sore in my mouth…don’t want to agitate it.”

Cassian lifts a brow as he takes a bite of his steak. He hums, pleased with the flavor, with the texture, and I’m amazed that that alone turns me on.

And makes me want to eat the beautiful meal he’s prepared.

And him.

However, we’re in the presence of our siblings and nephew, so I behave myself and start to eat.

Much to my culinary husband’s dismay, I don’t eat steak often and when I do, I sometimes like to add steak sauce. He considers this blasphemy, I consider it enhancing the flavor. Standing from my seat, I ask, “Az, do you have A1 in the fridge?”

“I’ll get it,” Cassian announces, standing and rounding the table, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. At the same time, he not so subtly pushes me back into my chair.

I stare after him, eyes narrowed. “Okay,” I say, quietly as I dab the sides of my mouth. “He’s acting weird.”

“I don’t think he’s acting weird,” Rhysand says, his mouth full. “And I would know. I’ve seen his weird.”

“Remember that one time,” Azriel begins, “when we all went out on a triple date in high school and he was so nervous that he sweat through his shirt and knocked over the water pitcher? That was weird.” 

“Or that time, at the football banquet, when he was so nervous that he ate half of everything on the table and spent the time he was meant to be on stage in the bathroom, getting sick,” Rhysand adds.

I blink, trying my best to follow their conversation. “All you two are doing is proving me right.”

They don’t get the chance to respond. Cassian comes back into the room with a bottle of steak sauce and lovingly sets it down next to me.

I swear his hands are shaking.

My eyes remain on his massive frame until it’s plopped in the seat across from me. He picks up his fork and stabs a piece of steak, and when he looks back up at me, he frowns. 

“Aren’t you going to use that?”

I hadn’t even realized I’d been gripping the steak sauce, its cap still on. Without another word, I unscrew the top and create a little puddle on my plate. I swear he’s holding his breath as I dip the meat in the sauce and take a bite. 

Yes. I’m a true abomination of a chef’s wife. 

We continue on eating but the air remains thick. I think I’m making it thick with my own mindless worrying, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but think that there’s something going on that I’m oblivious to, and that doesn’t sit well with me. 

Nonetheless, I try not to let my mind wander. I eat, even though I taste nothing and wish to leave the room….or have a drop of alcohol. 

Alcohol would be a blessing, something to ease the anxiety flooding every inch of my being. 

Time goes slowly but I finish what’s on my plate, and my family that surrounds me finishes theirs with lively conversation. 

I stare at my empty plate, wondering why I feel so insecure, so lost. Surely I’m not so fragile that a simple case of anxiety paralyzes me. 

Fuck.

Who am I kidding?

Of course, I am. 

I put my silverware on top of my plate and fold my napkin, placing it on top of it all like a bow. My eyes meet Elain’s, who is frowning, which makes my rise to my feet. 

“Can I take anyone’s plate?” I ask, forcing a smile.

Apparently Azriel was in the middle of talking, because now everyone is looking at me with a frown. I take my plate and everyone who surrounds me, and head towards the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?”

I whirl around and look at my husband, who’s leaning against the threshold. I can’t read the look on his face, which is…odd. I’ve always been good at gauging what he’s feeling, even more so in the past few months. He wears his feelings for all to see. There’s a cross between nerves and something else I can’t name in his eyes, something that sets me even more on edge than before.

I hesitate, and the silence around me has me feeling like the walls are closing in. I notice Nyx shift in his seat uncomfortably and hurry out of the room before I do something even more embarrassing, like have a full on mental breakdown in front of my family.

Even though I think the breakdown has already begun.

I’m in the kitchen when his heavy footsteps sound behind me. I place my plate in the sink with shaky hands, and then his arms are around me, pulling my back against him. He kisses my cheek, then my neck, gently and soothingly. 

“I did something to upset you,” he says quietly, as I close my eyes and try my best to take a deep breath. In through my nose, out through my mouth. 

“I can’t read you,” I say, “and it’s making me anxious.”

I don’t deny it, don’t tell him that there’s nothing wrong and everything is fine, even though I want to, even though it’s something I once would have done without a second thought. Instead, I let out the truth, let out my emotions. 

“You’re acting strange, and I feel like I did something to make you act strange,” I continue, when he says nothing. 

When he continues to say nothing, I feel like I’m going to puke. When I spin around, nothing comes out, my anxiety that was turning into anger slowly starts to dissipate as I see the crease between his brows. 

“I wasn’t trying to be weird,” he says, taking my hands. “I was just trying to…”

His words fade away, and he seems to be at a loss, which is also weird for Cassian. I shake my head, exasperated, “Cass, what the hell’s going on?” 

He sighs, all the breath leaving him. “Look, I wanted to make tonight special, and the last thing I wanted was to get you all worked up, but now I feel like I failed in that area, and I feel bad because you’re fucking stressed, which is the last thing I wanted.”

The words rush out of him and I finally realize that my husband is anxious, too. About what? I don’t know, but I do know that something is on his mind. 

Before I can say anything more, he’s pulling me towards the backdoor. “I wasn’t able to finish everything I had planned,” he says. “It’s been kinda hard sneaking out all afternoon without you knowing, but Rhys and Az have been a huge help. Nyx, too, although there were times where he did more harm than good considering, you know, he’s a toddler.” My confusion grows as he chuckles, but when he opens the backdoor and we step onto the porch, I’m suddenly speechless.

Ten years ago, at a family dinner very similar to this, Cassian asked me to marry him. The three of them lived in a shared house off campus at VU and though that house has been long gone for years, it’s like I’ve stepped back in time.

It was never the most romantic place to be, but so many of our early memories were made in that house, in that backyard. In the span of an afternoon, Elain and Azriel’s backyard has been transformed. There are string lights and candles and music playing, with the purple, silver, and black coloring of Velaris University scattered everywhere. Even a few touches from the fraternity Cassian spent a few years in, including, to my chagrin, a keg off the side of the porch. A path of candles line the walkway, leading to where a small wrought iron table and chairs sit in the corner by the fence. Atop that table is a lone red rose.

“Cassian,” I breathe, unable to find the words as I gaze around us.

Taking my hand, he leads me down the porch stairs and towards the table, just like he did all those years ago.

“I kept trying to find ways to top my marriage proposal,” he begins, stopping in front of the table, “and there are probably a million ways that are more romantic than this, but I figured… It worked out so well the first time, so we may as well relive the moment.” A sound comes out of me that falls somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but both are joyful. Cassian grins. “Nesta, I love you. I love you now, and I loved you then. Every moment that I’ve spent by your side has been a blessing and the past year has proven to me that your love isn’t something I’m willing to take for granted. I want you to know unequivocally how deeply, hopelessly in love with you I am. I can think of no better way to do that then to stand before our families and the Cauldron and declare my love for you again.”

He pulls something from his pocket and drops to one knee. A surprised laugh breaks free as I cover my mouth with my right hand. My right hand because my left is in his.

“Marry me again, Nes.”

A simple silver band, inlaid with diamonds is held between his fingers. The twin to my wedding band, save for the tiny, red stones, alternating after every few diamonds. They flash in the lights, looking like fire and catching the eye.

I nod, because I can’t say a word. I nod so hard that I nearly give myself a headache, but it’s all well worth it. He slides the ring onto my finger, and I don’t realize how hard I’m crying until he’s on his feet and his lips are on mine. 

I hear cheering from the porch. I haven’t even realized everyone has been watching, but their joy consumes me, making me cry harder. 

We’ve come so far.

In a matter of months, we’ve come so far. I can’t believe that we were ever in such a bad spot, that we let our marriage become so awful, but looking at us now…it’s all ancient history. Never again.

#nessian bow #better or worse #nessian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #cassian #nesta archeron #cassian x nesta #snacmc collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #sjm fanfic

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {17}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Thank you to all of those who have continued to read! We have loved writing this story and cannot believe it's about to come to a close.

*WARNING: NSFW, 18+ READERS ONLY.*

I don’t remember the last time my sisters and I had the afternoon to ourselves. No kids, no husbands, just the three Archeron girls.

And about eight hundred dresses.

Elain’s eyes are already shining with tears, her new mama hormones just as powerful as the pregnancy hormones, while Feyre looks like she’s on a mission.

The consultant, a pretty girl named Justine, met us at the door and showed us to the changing rooms we’d been assigned before asking me what my vision was for our vow renewal. As she hurried off to look for dresses that fit the ceremony of my dreams, she gave my sisters free reign to pick out one or two dresses of their own.

I’m not sure what to think about getting a second wedding dress. My first wedding dress was cheap, something I found online, but I loved it. Simple, fitted, but gorgeous. It was perfect for our casual beach wedding. It’s been sitting in an upstairs closet for the past decade. 

Feyre and Elain come back to the dressing rooms at the same time, multiple gowns draped over their arms.

“Okay, rule,” I begin as they start hanging them up. “We show each other everything, even if we look ridiculous.”

“Fair,” Elain agrees, sitting next to me on a plush bench. “We should have fun. We won’t be doing this again until the kids are grown and planning their weddings.”

At the mention of Nyx and Sera growing up, Elain tears up, but she quickly shakes it off. She left the baby with Azriel and is having serious separation anxiety.

I squeeze her hand.

“Remember when we went dress shopping for my wedding?”

As soon as the question leaves Feyre’s mouth, Elain and I burst into a fit of laughter. The most hideous green dress pops into my mind that Feyre nearly had us wear just to play a prank on her soon-to-be husband, but in the end we went with the sleek navy blue gowns that Feyre just couldn’t pass up. 

But shit, those green dresses were awful. They reminded us of something her ex may have wanted in his wedding…which added to the reasons why Feyre had left him.

Poor taste. In everything.

“Those blue dresses were stunning, though,” Elain says, eyes soft. “You were stunning.”

“Very few brides can pull off a black dress,” I agree, “but you were perfect.”

Feyre smiles, remembering it all. “Yeah, it was a perfect dress. Too bad Rhys ripped it to shreds the second the reception was over.”

Elain barks a laugh as I shake my head. “He would destroy something so beautiful without a second thought. He’s insane.”

“Which is why she married him.” Elain winks.

Feyre doesn’t deny it as her grin grows and turns just a little bit wicked.

“Someone had to marry a madman, may as well be me,” Feyre jokes.

But I shake my head. “I don’t know. Beneath all that calm demeanor, we all know Az is a freak.”

Elain’s cheeks redden at my words, but she doesn’t deny it which makes Feyre howl.

Justine returns with three dresses, two of which I immediately know will be going in the reject pile, but true to my word, I try them on.

“Tell me about your husband,” Justine says, fanning out the train and handing me a large mirror so I can see the back. The dress is atrocious, all puffy sleeves and layers upon layers upon layers of tulle. I look like a cake topper and based on Feyre and Elain’s constant smirking, they agree.

I ignore them, answering Justine. “He’s handsome, kind, strong, loyal. A bit of a goofball, but it’s one of the things I love about him. I can be a bit too serious, sometimes, so he balances me out.”

“And how did you meet?”

And so goes most of the appointment. She brings dress after dress, most of which don’t fit my style, but I politely try them on, answering her questions, while constantly thinking of my dress at home.

I idly wonder if I can still fit in it, something I mention to my sisters while we have a moment alone.

“I sure as hell wouldn’t fit in mine anymore,” Elain sighs, patting the small belly she hasn’t been quite able to get rid of since Sera was born. “Hips are wider, belly is bigger, and don’t even get me started on these boobs.”

I laugh, feeling the jealousy poke its head up but ignoring it until it dissipates on its own.

“And my dress no longer exists…” Feyre sighs, rolling her eyes in the most loving way.

“I might try it on tonight,” I say, playing with one of the ties of the dressing robe I’m wearing. “Just to see if it still fits.”

“Do you want to wear it again?” Elain asks, examining the fit of the lavender dress in the mirror in front of her. “Rather than get a new dress?”

Pursing my lips, I look at the mountains of lace and beading and silk around us. “No,” I admit. “This is sort of a new beginning for us. These vows are to show how far we’ve come and how strong we are. I love my old dress, but I think I need something new for this new chapter.”

Both Feyre and Elain are nodding, understanding on their faces, just as Justine comes back with two more dresses. Feyre sighs and leans back on the couch she’s curled up on. “One thing is for sure. If you do still fit in your original dress, Cassian is going to lose his shit when he sees you.”

The hanger on one of the dresses Justine was hanging by my dressing room door clatters against the wall before she drops the garment to the floor. The noise pauses our conversation as she hastily reaches down and picks the dress back up.

“I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy,” she mutters, clearing her throat. Hanging the dresses up, she turns around and looks at me in the reflection. Her look isn’t appraising, it isn’t the same look she gave me earlier when we were discussing dress shapes. This is an inspection. Her eyes start at the top of my head, where my hair is braided in a coronet, down to the tips of my toes, painted in a deep red color.

“It’s fine,” I say, slowly. 

She doesn’t seem to hear me as her eyes trail back up my body. “At least you’re pretty.”

I hesitate. “Pardon?”

She clears her throat and I swear the smile she paints on her mouth is forced. “I was just saying how beautiful you are. All of these dresses will look lovely on you.”

I slowly look at my sisters in the reflection of the mirror, but they’re watching Justine with equal confusion. 

With a halfhearted promise that she’ll be just around the corner if we need her, she’s gone, leaving my sisters and I to stare after her in a stunned silence.

“Okay, well,” Feyre says, jumping to her feet and clearing the awkward tension. “Let’s see these dresses that will look lovely on you.”

Rolling my eyes, I grab the one she dropped and head into the dressing room.

I end up leaving without a dress. Nothing stood out to me, nothing grabbed my eye like my original dress did. After leaving the dress store, we ended up at a Mexican restaurant, where Elain relented to peer pressure and had exactly half of a margarita. Nine months of not drinking killed her tolerance and she’s a giggling mess as I drop her and Feyre off at her house.

When I make it back home, the house is silent and empty, except for Greg who is fast asleep on the couch, snoring soundly. 

After kicking off my shoes and setting my keys and purse aside, I hurry up the stairs into the spare bedroom. In the back of the closet, stuffed into a zipped up bag, is my wedding dress.

I haul it out — an unnerving amount of dust clouding in the air — and set it on the unmade guest bed. I don’t know why, but I find that I’m nervous. Maybe it’s more of excitement, but the feeling that floods my core has my fingers trembling as I reach for the zipper.

When I pull out the dress, it’s exactly like I remember it. 

It’s white, of course, but the lace covering the bodice has a hint of blush to it, just enough to notice. The back is completely open, while the sweetheart neckline is held up by thin, dainty straps. Fitted through the waist and hips, it gently flares out before reaching the floor.

I love it just as much as I did the day I wore it to marry my best friend.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m taking off my clothes and whipping the dress off its hanger. 

I’m surprised when it easily slips on. I slide my arms through the straps and shimmy the dress over my hips. There’s a zipper on the side and I only have to tug and suck in once before it’s fully zipped. 

When I look in the mirror, I suck in a breath. Suddenly, I see myself on the beach, looking into Cassian’s eyes as he says his vows. Ten years is a long time, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

A door closes downstairs and then I hear Cassian’s carrying up to me.

“Nes?”

“Shit.” Cursing under my breath, I quickly hurry across the hall to our room and then into our bathroom, closing the door behind me. My hair, thanks to the dozen or so dresses I tried on today, is an absolute mess. I pull the bobby pins out and haphazardly run my fingers through it, doing my best to make it presentable again. A knock sounds on the door just as I drop the last pin on the counter.

“You okay?”

With a deep breath, more nerves in my stomach now than ten years ago, I open the door.

Whatever Cass had been planning to say fades into nothing as his jaw drops and his eyes drag down my body and up again. I’m surprised to see silver lining his eyes when he meets my gaze again.

“You are so beautiful.”

Emotion clogs my throat and I look down at the counter, feeling my cheeks burn. “Thank you.”

“You look as beautiful today as you did the first time I saw you in that dress.” He steps closer and lifts my chin.

I meet his eyes and the emotion dwelling within them is overwhelming. My vision blurs and he wipes away a tear that escapes down my cheek. There was a time that I would have felt foolish in a situation such as this, but I don’t. I feel completely loved, in every possible way by this man in front of me.

“I just wanted to see if it still fits,” I say, although my voice breaks.

His smile is so soft that it makes my knees weak. “Oh, it fits,” he says, and his eyes graze my body, making my heart beat just a little bit quicker. His eyes linger in all the right places before I step forward and slide my arms around his neck. His hands run down my sides and rest on my hips.

“I love you,” I breathe, and he kisses me.

Cassian has kissed me in a million different ways throughout the years, but there’s something precious about a sweet, gentle kiss. It’s the kind of kiss he gives me now and the sincerity of it, the promise of it, nearly has me going limp in his arms.

“Did you find your dress today?” He asked, his lips leaving my own for a moment to find my temple.

I shake my head. “No, none of them were the one.”

“You’ll find it, baby,” he says, stepping behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and gazing at our reflection in the mirror. The image it creates is laughable, my wedding dress contrasting with the sweats and hoodie he wore over to Rhysand’s, but it doesn’t matter. What we’re wearing, what we look like, none of it matters. It doesn’t matter if I wear a two thousand dollar ball gown, my first wedding dress, or one of Cassian’s old hoodies, being with him, reaffirming our love for each other, that’s all that matters.

“I love you,” I tell his reflection, repeating my words from earlier, because I feel like I need to make up for all of our lost time, all the days he didn’t hear me say it.

His lips find my neck. “And I love you.”

The deep rumble of his voice against my skin has my eyes closing, tipping my head to the side to give him better access. I feel the zipper at my side coming loose and can’t stop the smirk from forming on my lips.

The dress pools at my feet and I know I should carry it back across the hall, put it back in its bag, and return it to its place in the back of the closet.

But I don’t.

Instead I luxuriate in the feeling of Cassian’s large hands cupping my breasts, the way he rolls my nipples under his thumbs in tandem with his tongue on my throat. I can’t stop the soft moan that falls from my lips.

Behind me, I can feel the evidence of what the little sound does to him. 

I watch his eyes open and darken as they meet mine in our reflection. I can tell he grins as he bites the tender spot at the base of my throat, and this time when I let out a moan, one hand slides down my abdomen and finds its place between my thighs, beneath my panties. His finger teases me, running between my folds again and again, as Cassian whispers, “Beautiful.”

I try to rock my hips, try to signal my need for his fingertips against my throbbing clit, but he takes his hands off of me. Before I can protest, he’s picking me up and carrying me into our bedroom. 

Instead of throwing me on the bed in a fit of passion, as he usually does, he lays me down gently. My head falls against the pillow as our eyes meet, and there’s such a yearning, such a devotion staring back at me that it has me feeling emotional, yet again. I say nothing. Neither does he.

He simply pushes himself back on his knees and pulls off his hoodie, then his t-shirt before leaning over me and kissing me, slowly. Our tongues brush as our lips open and move. He takes my hands in his and brings them over my head against the pillow. 

Our kisses grow heavier and I need more. I need more of his mouth on mine, more of his skin on mine.

With my heels I push down his sweats and we work them off together, and eventually it’s just our bodies lined up as one, perfectly as always.

He pushes in, slowly, my legs wrapping around his waist until he’s fully seated inside me. With my hands pressed into the pillow above me, I’m completely at his mercy, pinned there under his adoring gaze. His hips draw back, leaving me empty and needy before pushing back in. Cassian swallows my moan with another tender kiss and before I know it, I’m gasping beneath him as he makes love to me.

If the past few months have taught me nothing else, it’s the different ways my husband worships my body. He’s fucked me, dominated me, let me take the lead. But there’s nothing that makes me feel as cherished and desired not for my body, but for my heart as when he makes love to me, our souls becoming one for those few minutes.

Giving myself over to the pleasure of the moment, I let my eyes fall closed and focus on the feel of him moving in me, on me, around me, and allow the emotion building in my chest to grow.

“I love you,” he breathes, peppering my face with kisses as he thrusts in and pulls out. His lips trail down my neck to my breasts and I’m unable to stop the moan this time as his tongue flicks over my sensitive nipples, playing with the jewelry there.

I want to tell him that I love him too, but I’ve momentarily forgotten how to form words. I’m lost in him, completely consumed in all that he’s giving to me. My legs around his waist tighten as he quickens his pace. His tongue plays with my nipple only for a moment more before trailing back up my neck and capturing my lips. My back arches and I’ve completely lost control over the sounds tumbling out of my mouth, sounds that Cassian seems to thrive on. 

He curses, and although it’s filthy it feels reverent, as he leans back and meets my gaze just as I cry out and my body trembles around him. My release finds me and I cling to him, wanting to revel in this moment. He thrusts a few more times before his movements grow uneven, and he comes with his eyes locked on mine and our breaths mingled together, quick and heavy. 

Neither of us say a thing, but neither of us move, either. Our hands are clasped, his body is on top of mine. He stays inside of me. 

I feel safe, wanted, loved.

A dress may not seem like something to get emotional over, but thinking about where we started, how far we’ve come, and what we’ve gone through in the past year makes me forever grateful that I wore that thirty dollar dress all those years ago. I can’t wait to marry my husband all over again.

#nessian #fanfic #fanfics #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #modern au #angst au #nessian angst #fanfiction #sjm #collab #collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #nesta #cassian

[snelbz]

Better or Worse {15}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Nesta tastes like dark chocolate and sweet wine.

Once we got home, I made her an award winning dinner that ended with chocolate cake - made from scratch - and wine that was far too expensive. It had been worth it, though, to watch her eyes flutter shut and the sweetest of moans fall from her mouth. Those moans had led to wandering hands, which led us to now, in bed, with my mouth exploring every inch of her body. 

I should be asleep. I have an early day tomorrow. We have a shipment arriving at seven-thirty and I should really put out an advertisement for a couple of new positions that have recently opened up, but sleep is the last thing on my mind. All I can think about is my wife and how perfectly she fits in my arms. 

“Cass,” she breathes, and I practically whimper. I feel no shame, though. I am completely under her will, and don’t give a damn. “I need you inside of me.”

I lean back and catch her glazed gaze. We’re drunk on one another without a care in the world, and it feels so right that I can’t believe we had ever lost this feeling. 

When I brush my thumb along her bottom lip, she bites down on it and I groan. “Say please.”

She does no such thing. Instead, a fire lights in her eyes and she grins, flipping me onto my back. She opens her mouth to say something, surely something sassy, but my phone begins ringing on the nightstand.

She frowns.

“Ignore it,” I breathe, thrusting my hips up into hers.

But her eyes drift to my phone. “It’s Az.”

“Ignore-”

“It’s Az.”

I know that tone. She’s worried something is wrong with Elain, so I answer. With a sigh, I grab my phone and swipe across the screen, even though my cock is so hard that it’s painful.

“Hello?”

“Elain is in labor. Baby’s coming.” The words are clipped, stressed, but I’m instantly alert.  A sudden laugh comes from my brother, and I can’t help but grin as I sit up. Azriel continues, “We’re on our way to the hospital. I’ll call when she’s here, but…” Azriel breaks into a laugh, and my grin widens. “The baby is on her way, Cass.”

My eyes find Nesta’s and, despite my grin, her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, a look of worry on her face. Apparently obsessed with her mouth tonight, I work her lip free and l brush my thumb over it again. She presses a kiss to the pad of my thumb as I ask, “How far apart are her contractions?”

In the background, I hear my sweet sister-in-law say a word that isn’t usually prominent in her vocabulary. Az’s response is still stressed, but I can hear the amusement in his tone. “Still about seven minutes. We’re getting the car loaded up and will be leaving soon. I’ll let you know when we’re settled and how everything is going.”

“That’s awesome, man,” I say, rubbing my free hand up and down the outside of Nesta’s thigh. She hasn’t moved, still straddling me, listening intently to my half of the conversation, though I know she’s figured it out. “I can’t wait to meet her. I’m so happy for you.”

And truthfully, I was. By this time tomorrow, both of my brothers would be fathers. While I longed for what they had, I would never begrudge them their happiness, especially Azriel, who didn’t think he even deserved it before Elain came along.

When Az responded, I could hear it in his voice. “Thanks, man. I’ll text you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I ended the call and set the phone down on the bed next to me. My other hand found it’s place on Nesta’s thigh, my touch no longer trying to seduce, but instead to soothe. Looking up into her gorgeous face, I said, “Elain is in labor.”

She nodded, swallowing roughly. “That’s what I figured.”

“Are you okay?” There was a haunted look in her eyes and I knew where her mind was, where it had immediately gone.

“I’m okay,” she replied, voice soft, and even though I knew she was telling the truth, this wasn’t easy for her. It wasn’t easy for either of us.

All thoughts of claiming her body were gone for the moment, and I slipped my hand around the back of her neck to tug her lips down to mine in a soft kiss. She melted into me and I wrapped my arms around her as she let her head fall into the crook of my neck.

I wasn’t surprised when I felt the gentle splash of tears on my skin a moment later.

The buzz of the alcohol we’d consumed seemed to have worn off in the surprise of the call and my hand smoothed up and down her back.

A moment later, when I couldn’t contain the words any longer, I said, quietly, “Nesta—”

“I feel guilty,” she says, her voice broken, before I could continue.

My fingers, sliding across her back, did not still. “Guilty?”

“I should be happy,” she says, sniffling, “and I am, I really am, for them…but, a very selfish part of me is so…”

“Jealous?” I ask, when she can’t seem to find the word.

She nods, and I feel it in the book of my neck.

“It’s okay to be jealous,” I whisper, because if I speak normally she’d hear my own sadness. “I think jealousy is normal for people like us. We can be happy for them and sad at the same time. Jealous.”

Nesta doesn’t say anything. Instead, she clings to me as she cries. I feel useless, unable to make the situation any better. Her feelings resemble my own, but I know hers is amplified. I was heartbroken when we lost our children, especially the last so far along, but Nesta…she carried them. They were growing inside of her. I know it’s different, and it is a feeling that I cannot match. 

“I love you,” I say, because I feel there is nothing more to say.

“I love you, too,” she breathes, and for some reason my heart breaks further. 

There’s no getting over this. This is something that will always be with us, something that will always haunt us. We’ve lost so much, and although we have found our way back to one another, there are some things that can never be mended. 

“Tell me what you are thinking,” Nesta whispers, her breath warm against my skin, “so that I don’t feel so crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.” I pull her closer on top of me. “You’re grieving. Still. And that’s okay. I am, too. I’m jealous, too. I’m happy. So damn happy. But, of course I think about us, what we’ve lost, what I wish we had.” I run my fingers through her hair. “If we never have kids, I’ll be okay. You and me, we’re more than enough, Nesta, but I do want that, want kids, just like you do. We can be sad and happy together.” 

Her eyes meet mine and we stare at one another in a way that we haven’t in a long time. I see the heartbreak in her eyes, but I also see the longing, the yearning, the desperate plea for everything to be okay. 

She holds me, and I cling to her, afraid that if I let her go something unimaginable will happen. I’m scared that she will break. I’m scared that I will break. I’m scared that if we part, every ounce of progress we have made will evaporate. 

As time passes, neither of us speaks a word. The silence is not awkward, but telling. It’s something that I cannot put into words, something that I cannot fathom. My arms stay around her, keeping her close, as every unfathomable emotion passes between us. 

What little daylight that was left fades. Night has come fully and the only light that’s left in our room is the flickering candlelight from Nesta’s nightstand. I’m not sure how long we’ve been laying here, not sure what time Azriel had called, but I know that it’s late and that we should try and get some sleep, but I can’t.

Nesta, however, is drifting. I’m glad. She needs rest. I know her well enough to know that the rush of emotions she’s been flooded with has exhausted her. I rub her back slowly, hoping it’ll soothe her enough to put her to sleep. Still clinging to me, she yawns and closes her eyes. I watch her, my mind in a whirl of chaos. I check my phone, but Azriel hasn’t texted or called anymore. They must be waiting, just like we are. We’re all waiting. 

Nesta finally falls asleep and my hand stills on the small of her back. I meant what I said. If it’s only ever the two of us, I’ll be happy. She is enough — she’s more than enough. If it’s only just the two of us growing old, I’ll have everything I ever wanted.

But, I do want kids. I want a little person who is half me, half her, wholly perfect. I want that bond, that unexplainable bond that I’ve heard about. I want that feeling, where you hold your baby for the first time and just…lose it. I want to change diapers and be stressed because the baby won’t stop crying and I want to worry about my child growing up too quickly. I want that pure love that is so rare, so genuine. Nesta and I had been so close, and although the two of us are enough, I fear that we’ll never get that moment. I’m starting to settle with the fact that we’ll never get that moment. 

It’s a hard pill to swallow. 

I don’t realize that I’ve drifted off myself until I realize that my phone is vibrating on the nightstand. I jerk awake, scaring Nesta in the process.

“Hello?” The word is slurred from sleep as I answer my phone.

“She’s here.” I can tell Azriel has been crying, can tell he’s overjoyed. “She’s here, Cass.”

I can’t help but smile, my heart feeling a little bit lighter. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “She’s perfect. I know it’s early, I’m sorry.”

I glance at the time. It’s just before six. “Don’t be. I’m glad you called. You tell me when you want us there, and we’re there. We can’t wait to meet her.” 

“Anytime,” he says, and I can hear his smile. I am truly happy for him. Azriel, after all he’s been though, deserves the happiness, the joy. “Just call me when you’re here.”

Nesta’s watching me expectantly, eyes lined with tears as the softest of smiles lights up her face. 

“Alright, we’ll be there soon,” I say, pulling Nesta closer to me. I add, “With coffee.”

Azriel laughs as he tells me thanks, and we hang up. I look down at my wife.

“Ready to meet our niece?” 

She nods, and rolls out of my arms. “Coffee and breakfast on the way?”

“For us, for them…Yes.”

We get up and shower before getting dressed. It’s almost eight by the time we leave the house. The little cafe a mile down the road has the best quick breakfast so I order a couple of omelets and coffees to go before we’re on our way to the hospital.

Nesta’s quiet, but I just let it be. I know where her mind is at and I know that if she wants to talk more about it, she will. I hold her hand, nonetheless, letting my touch say everything my words aren’t. 

The hospital is pretty still once we arrive, although Feyre and Rhysand had also just arrived. We find ourselves walking towards each other near the entrance, giving each other hugs, and once a few tears have been shed, we walk inside together. 

The elevator ride is short but quiet. Feyre and Rhysand are talking quietly amongst themselves, but when I glance at Nesta, tears are lining her eyes. This position is hard. I know she’s overjoyed, but she’s also mourning. Half of her heart is bursting, but the other half is breaking. 

“Nes,” I whisper, but she shakes her head and a smile plasters itself on her face.

Feyre and Rhysand look our way, but I try to ignore them. Their smiles falter; their eyes grow weary. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, quietly.

She nods, and her hand brushes along my arm. 

The elevator dings when it reaches the fifth floor, and we all exit. I open my mouth the second the doors close behind us, but Feyre takes Nesta by the elbow and pulls her down the hall. I frown after them, watching them fade away.

Rhysand shoves his hands in his pockets as they disappear. 

“There’s something you’re not telling us,” he says. When I don’t answer, he continues, “And that’s okay…but if you want to talk about it, we’re here for you.” 

I don’t realize how emotional I am until my eyes line with tears. Guilt and sadness flood my core, and it’s not until we’re seated that I tell him everything.

………………..

Nesta

………………..

Feyre has looped her arm through mine, but neither of us has spoken, even though we’re winding our way through the endless halls of the hospital. I hadn’t even realized how emotional I’d become before my sister tore me away from our little group. She says nothing. She’s waiting for me to speak, but I can’t find the words, so we remain silent. 

This is all wrong.

This is not the way it’s supposed to be.

I’m happy, but I’m destroyed, and I know that makes no sense but how I’m feeling makes no sense. 

“I don’t want to do this today,” I say, quietly, staring at my hands that are opening and closing. “We shouldn’t do this today. I’m sorry, just ignore—”

“I’m not going to ignore anything,” Feyre says, putting her hand in mine to stop my nervous habit. “You’re not okay. What’s going on? I thought you and Cass were doing good.”

“We are.” My voice breaks. “Things between us right now are amazing.”

We’ve stopped walking and Feyre faces me. “Then what is it?”

This is the moment I have both longed for and dreaded, telling my family what happened. For so long, I kept everything bottled up. It’s different letting Cass in, it was even different telling Gwyn, but crossing this line puts our struggles, our heartbreak, out there. And once it’s out, that’s it.

I think about walking away, but just as I’m about to turn, my youngest sister reaches out and brushes my tears away. 

“I’m here for you,” she says, simply, and all at once it feels like a dam is breaking inside of me.

“Eleven months, one week, and three days.”

Confusion causes Feyre’s face to pinch just a bit, but she doesn’t say anything as I exhale slowly. “That’s how long it’s been since I lost our daughter."

The breath that leaves Feyre comes out in an almost silent huff. “Nesta—”

“It’s almost been a year and I— I still grieve for her every day. Cassian, too.” I close my eyes, trying to hide from the shame of what the grief had almost caused me to lose.

And so I told Feyre everything.

I told her about the early miscarriages, when we knew we could always keep trying. I told her about the miscarriages when I started to think something was wrong. And I told her about the day we passed twelve weeks, when we truly believed we were in the clear and that we were finally going to be parents. Then I told her about the worst day of our lives, about the depression I fell into and subsequently almost destroyed my marriage.

Not once did Feyre interrupt. Not once did she give me any sign that the pain I was feeling, the hurt I’ve kept from her and Elain was a burden to take on.

When I finished telling my story, Feyre wrapped her arms around me as we both cried. 

I’m not sure how long we sat there. Time seemed to stand still, but I felt a weight being lifted off my shoulders. She apologized for everything she had no control over, and thanked me for sharing my pain with her. I suddenly felt free, and although that guilt and pain lingered as it always would, I felt renewed. 

When we finally break apart, I notice that Cassian and Rhysand are standing nearby. They look like the two of us, tearstained but whole, and I know without a doubt that Cassian has also made his confession, has found his peace. 

We go through a series of hugs and curses and apologies and relieved laughter, considering where we are and who we are about to meet. This morning is full of sorrow and longing, but it’s also a joyous day. We’re about to meet our niece, the newest member of our little clan, and that is something that cannot go unwanted or ignored.

I dry my tears, and although my heart still feels heavy, it’s a thousand times lighter. 

We won’t tell Elain and Azriel. Not today. Probably not for a while, but that’s okay. Our secret has expanded, our pain has been shared, and that in itself is growth.

#nessian bow #better or worse #nesta x cassian #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #snacmc collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab

[snelbz]

Better Or Worse {Chapter One}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: We are so excited to share this one with you guys! As you know, angst is sort of our specialty and while this one will be pretty heavy, we’ve tried to sprinkle a good amount of fluff as well. We hope you love it and always, please let us what you think!

Chapter Warning: Language.

Nesta -

“I'm going to bed.”

My fingers come to a pause on my keyboard. I glance up and find Cassian leaning against the door frame of my office.

The clock in the corner of the computer screen tells me it’s 10:46. I know he’s not telling me to try and entice me to join him. No, he’d given up on that weeks ago.

My fingers go back to flying over the plastic keys, clicking as I try to pick back up the stream of consciousness I was working on when Cassian interrupted. “I want to get this draft finalized tonight. I only have a few chapters left. The publishing company will have my ass if it isn’t submitted before tomorrow afternoon.”

Excuse.

That’s all I’m full of anymore. Excuses.

Excuses as to why I’m always at my office downtown late or don’t ever want to go to dinner. Why I’m distant or never try to touch him.

“Can you at least try to make it home by six tomorrow night? Please?”

My gaze leaves the screen and lands on him again. “I’ll try. You know I’ve got deadlines I have to hit.”

He’s as handsome as always, even more so with the shadow of stubble across his jaw. He must not have shaved this morning, if the dusting of hair was any indicator. That wasn’t like him. Shaving was a part of his daily routine, quickly followed by his morning shower. My husband may be brash and blunt, but he’s a man who has and loves his routines.

Routines that often feel like they are smothering me, stifling any spark of spontaneity in my soul.

His arms are crossed over his muscular chest, his tattoos just barely peeking out over the neckline of his t-shirt. I know those tattoos intimately, can trace them with my eyes closed.

It’s been far too long since I’ve done that.

His voice pulls me from my thoughts of the ink adorning his skin. “I’ll cook. Get a bottle of your favorite wine. We don’t have to go anywhere.”

He sounds like he’s negotiating a hostage situation, not asking me to dinner. I hate it.

I stop typing, trying my best not to show my annoyance. “I don’t know. I’ll have to see.”

Cassian's reaction does not reflect any sort of satisfaction. “Come on, Nesta. We haven’t had a date night in months. I will literally bring date night to you—”

“I said I’ll have to see.” The moment the words come out of my mouth, I feel guilty. My tone is embarrassing, but I can’t control it, the snap. 

Cassian's mouth shuts and his jaw locks. “Fine.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

A beat passes between us before I start typing again. I can feel Cassian’s eyes blazing into the back of my head for a minute, then he’s turning around. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” I say, trying to sound as genuine as possible, but mostly I just sound stressed.

Which I am.

So damn stressed. 

I hear him walk down the hall and close our bedroom door. I stop typing yet again, my eyes shutting as I rub my temples. 

At least I’m honest. I could tell Cassian that I’d be home by dinner tomorrow, but then I would be late and he would just be disappointed and get pissed. It’s better to let him down up front rather than too late.

Being a best selling author isn’t all I was expecting it to be. Sure, seeing my book on shelves next to some of my all time favorites is awesome, but it’s daunting. My first book was self published, coming to life out of my own blood, sweat, and tears. So once it took off and I started working with a publishing company, I thought I’d made it. Things were going to get easier. All I had to do was get my words down onto paper and they’d do the rest.

Wrong.

Someone is always demanding something. Whether that’s a finalized draft, an update on an outline, or approval for cover artwork, I never have a moment to breathe.

As if the universe is laughing at me, a new text chimes on my phone, lying face down on my desk. I recognize the sound, immediately knowing it’s my agent, Eris.

I sigh, telling myself to ignore the notification. I’m already editing hours after I should be, but my eyes keep bouncing up to my phone. After reading the same sentence four times, not comprehending a single word, I snatch my phone up.

Got a phone call from the Velaris Times. They have an opening for an interview tomorrow afternoon.

An opportunity I can’t pass up.

Sounds like a plan. My office or theirs?

If I thought I would be able to focus back on my edits, I was wrong. Eris is typing back as soon as my text is received.

Over dinner, actually. Viviane Whittaker will meet you at Rita’s at 5:30.

My thumbs hover over the screen.

Can you at least try to make it home by six tomorrow night? Please?

Swallowing, I type out my reply.

I’ll be there fifteen minutes early.

I should go tell Cassian that there will be no date night tomorrow, but I think better of it. I’m already so tired and that is not a fight that I want to start so late at night. I’ll just text him about tomorrow.

I look back up at my screen and try to reset my mind, call back my concentration. Just as I begin reading, a jingling bell comes closer and a ball of fluff settles on my feet.

I look down at the chubby black cat and reach down to scratch him between the ears. “Hi, Greg.”

Greg shoots me a look full of judgment. 

“Don’t try to guilt me,” I say, straightening back up in my chair. “I already feel guilty enough.”

With a huff, Greg lays his head against the carpet and closes his eyes. I’m officially the only one in the house not fast asleep.

Cassian -

I haven’t gotten mind-numbingly drunk since college, but all I want to do once I get out of work is drink to forget. I’ve never been good at handling my anger, and I was already on edge, so when Nesta texted me saying that she had dinner plans and would be home late, I was automatically seeing red.

I just want one night with my wife but I should have known that was too much to ask for. It usually is. 

Already finding Rhys’ number in my phone, I hop in my truck and start the engine as he answers.

“We’re going out tonight. Drinks are on me,” I say, before he can even say hello. 

“It’s a Thursday,” he replies with a laugh, but I know he’d be there regardless. Out of all of us, Rhys was the one who had ended up with a real “big boy” job. He’s one of the most respected lawyers in Velaris, and having his own practice, he basically gets to make his own hours if he isn’t in court.

“Glad you can read a calendar.” I sound like a dick but I can’t bring myself to care. “I’ll be at Windhaven in fifteen.”

“Should I call Az or is he already on the way?”

“I texted him first. Didn’t want him to leave work and have to turn around.”

Azriel works in a tattoo parlor two blocks down from our favorite spot, but lives outside of town. With Elain being pregnant, there’s only so much time we get with our brother.

I look over at the empty spot in the garage next to mine and sigh.

A hole in my chest that has been progressively growing larger aches. I’ve always been proud of Nesta. She’s always wanted to be an author since the day I met her, and she’s living her dream. And she’s really damn good at it. She has a way with words that I could never understand, that I couldn’t even come close to matching. She was meant to be a writer.

But ever since she’s found success, I’ve come in second.

It’s not that I always have to be her first priority. I want her to live for more than me, but it would be nice to be a priority sometimes. It would be nice for her to put our marriage first, to make time for me, for us. I barely even see her, and when I do, her eyes are glued to her laptop screen. She didn’t come to bed until four, then was up again at seven, barely uttering a word to me before she left for her office. 

“Cass?”

I haven’t even realized that Rhys has been talking to me. “Sorry.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he says, and his tone has softened, fully aware of where my mind has gone. “Get a booth.” 

“Alright.” I hang up, reading Azriel’s text on my screen once I pull the phone away from my ear.

Perfect. Had to tattoo a flower on an 80 year old woman’s ass today. I need a drink. 

Despite my current mood, I chuckle and pull out of the driveway. Keeping the radio off, I drive, wondering if I should send Nesta a good luck text. In all reality, she probably won’t reply, so I toss my phone in the passenger seat and let it be. 

If Nesta wants to talk to me, wants to spend time with me, she would be home for dinner for once. I know I’m being petty, but after a while, being neglected by the woman you married becomes exhausting. 

And I’m so damn tired. I need booze and bad food and my brothers. I’m man enough to admit when I need to get something off my chest, but not enough to do it sober.

Rhys’s instructions to get a booth were unnecessary. Azriel unsurprisingly beat me here and is sitting in our normal booth, the one with a direct line of sight to the bartender. A pitcher of beer sits in the middle of the table as well as three glasses. I appreciate my brother’s propensity to think ahead, but I need something harder than beer tonight.

Nodding to Az, I make a beeline to the bar. Breathing a sigh of relief, I see Ace is the one behind the bar tonight, not Devlon. The old man owns the bar and has never been a fan of me, Rhys or Az.

“You look like you need a free drink,” Ace says, as I make it to the bar and lean against the cool wooden top. 

“I always need a free drink.” The words sound pitiful coming out of my mouth. Ace just winks and pours me a glass of whiskey without even having to ask me what I want. “Thanks.”

“Always,” she says, patting my hand before I turn to walk to the booth. I’ll see her again shortly. I don’t expect the glass of whiskey to last too long before I need another. 

Azriel watches me approach, his glass already halfway gone. I nod to it as I sit across from him. “Has the image of elderly ass been erased from your mind yet?”

“No,” Azriel says, taking another drink. “But the memory looks better and better with every drink.”

I huff a laugh as I sip from my glass of whiskey, enjoying the burn as it slides down my throat and I pour a glass from the pitcher in the middle of the table. 

Rhysand appears beside me and slides onto the bench. I hadn’t even realized that he’d walked in, but in my defense, I’m hardly present. 

After pleasant hellos and Rhysand pouring his own glass, he asks, “So, is this when you tell us the reason you want to get plastered on a Thursday?” 

Swirling my glass, I watch as the whiskey moves through the ice cubes, the color diluting as they melt slowly. Bringing my drink to my lips, I drink deeply and set the glass down, staring at the table top.

“My marriage is falling apart.”

Neither of them speak.

Neither of them do anything.

I wasn’t expecting them to fall over themselves to comfort me, but I was at least expecting a back pat or an I’m sorry, man. Glancing up from the table, they both just stare at me.

The look in their eyes tells me they knew. Everyone knows. We haven’t been ourselves in months. I can’t think of the last time we were both at a family dinner.

“I don’t know what to do,” I go on, when neither of them say a word. “I’ve been trying…but every time I try, no matter what I try, I feel like I’m pushing her further away.” I take a drink. “I’m exhausted.”

I down what’s in my glass and motion for Ace to make me another. 

“I tried to give her a date night tonight,” I go on, working on my beer that’s quickly disappearing. My brothers simply watch me as I babble. “We haven’t had a date night in months. She never seems interested, so I stopped asking. Last night, I asked, for the first time in a long damn time.” I gesture around the table. “As you can see, I’m not with my wife.” 

“Where is she?” Azriel asks, when it’s clear I’d paused my rambling, at last. 

Another glass of whiskey is set in front of me. I give Ace a grateful look before shrugging. “With some reporter. Not sure where. They’re out to dinner and will probably be there until some ridiculous hour.” 

Azriel looks away from me, his eyes locking with Rhys and then I feel both of their gazes on me. I turn to Rhys, who is usually the one who takes the lead in awkward situations. Tonight is apparently no different.

“She won’t have dinner with you, but she’ll meet some skeezy reporter for dinner?” He asks, an eyebrow raised.

Shrugging my shoulders, I start on my second drink. “So it seems.”

He folds his arms atop the table and leans towards me. “And you didn’t ask where they were going? Or when she would be home?”

“I stopped asking what time she’d be home months ago.” My voice sounds hollow, empty. I wonder how long it’s sounded like that. “And begging for answers seemed pathetic.”

They make eye contact again and Azriel clears his throat. “You don’t…think she’s having an affair, do you?”

“Absolutely not.”

He sighs. “Cass—”

“She isn’t sleeping with anyone else.”

“Cass,” Rhys begins, his tone as placating as possible, slipping into the voice of the man who can convince anyone of anything. It’s what makes him such a good defense lawyer. It makes me want to break something. Makes me feel weak. “We know you love Nesta and that she loves you.”

“She wouldn’t cheat on me,” I snap, and I mean it. We might not be on great terms right now, but Nesta is loyal to those she loves.

And despite the distance between us, I have to believe she still loves me.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to calm myself down once the silence between us stretches on for too long. The air is thick. They know they had struck a chord and are surely deciding if they want to keep the conversation going. “I just…don’t think that’s the case.”

“If she’s not cheating, then what’s the issue?” Azriel asks, tentatively. “Her work?”

“Yeah, she’s busy,” I say, staring at my empty glass. “But…I don’t know. Honestly, I have no fucking clue how we got here. We barely talk. Most nights, she doesn’t even come to bed. I can’t even tell you the last time we had sex.” That was a lie. I remember it, and it was way too long ago for me to admit. “Every time we do talk, it ends in a fight. I’m just…at the end of my rope. I don’t know what to do.”

The table is quiet for another minute before Rhys asks, “Are you saying that you want to leave her?”

It’s not that the thought has never crossed my mind. Lately, I think about it often, filing for divorce, giving up, but hearing the words out loud make me feel sick to my stomach.

I don’t answer.

I wave to Ace for another whiskey.

The table is silent until she brings the drink and returns to the bar.

“I don’t see what other options I have.” My words are whispered, as if I can’t hear them, they aren't coming out. My words are starting to slur a bit, a good sign I should probably slow down.

I ignore that sign and take a drink.

“You two fought like cats and dogs when you first met,” Rhys reminds me, as if I could somehow forget. “What’s different now?”

“Those weren’t fights, that was sexual tension,” I admit, shaking my head. “Gotta have sex for there to be sexual tension.”

Azriel refills his beer. “She hasn’t said anything to Elain, as far as I know.”

“Or Feyre,” Rhys adds.

“You both know Nesta,” I start, looking between the two of them. “She doesn’t talk about her feelings with anyone, much less me or her sisters.”

They both frown, watching me with concern, seemingly at a loss for words. 

“Do you still love her?” Azriel asks.

“Of course I do,” I say, my anger fading as the alcohol calms me, consumes me. “But just because I love her doesn’t mean that it’s working anymore.”

“Don’t make any rash decisions,” Rhys says, calmly, refilling my beer for me before motioning to Ace for another pitcher. Seems I’m done with whiskey for the night. “I know you, don’t act out of anger. You have to tell Nesta how frustrated you are. You have to communicate.”

I know he’s right, know that communication has become a weakness in our marriage. I don’t  want to communicate, I don’t want to work for it, I just want my marriage to right itself, to return to the way it used to be.

And I want to fucking drink.

So that’s what I do, alongside my brothers, until I’m not thinking about my crumbling marriage at all.

#better or worse #nessian better or worse #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #snacmc collabs

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {12}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Warnings: I'm sorry it's a day late! Life will be hectic until the end of the month. We hope you all enjoy this chapter! x

....................... Cassian .......................

“This is absolutely gorgeous.”

It’s the thirtieth time Nesta has said that in the half an hour we’ve been in the farmer’s market, but every single time, I find myself staring at her as I agree.

I haven’t been able to string a sentence together since Nesta woke me up in the best way possible.

Having a dream that your wife has her hands on you only to wake up and find her grinding against your cock instead is not how I expected this trip to begin, but I won’t complain.

Something changed in the moment we made each other come, something fundamental that we had lost in our marriage was found again. As she ran her hand over the surface of a rug hanging in one of the stalls, I couldn’t help but imagine she was dragging it down my chest, nails digging in just enough to playfully scratch, over my abs, towards my—

“There’s no way I can fit this in my carry on, is there?”

Pulling myself from a fantasy I promised I would turn into reality tonight, I drag my eyes from my wife to the area rug she’s examining. It’s massive, nearly as tall as I am, the blues and golds and grays matching the color palate in her office. 

When I look back at her face, I know she’s caught me staring— likely at her ass— and knows I don’t give a shit about a rug.

She does though. Even if she’s poking fun at me, she has stopped to look at this longer than anything else we’ve come across.

I step closer, putting a hand on her lower back, pulling her into me. I need to touch her, I can’t help it. After finally being able to again, I can’t stop, needing to have her hand in mine or a hold on her in some way. I know she feels the same.

“Definitely won’t fit in your carry on, but I’m sure we could have it shipped home.”

She grins, and I can see the wheels in her mind turning. “If we’re shipping things home, does that mean there’s no limit to what I can buy today?” 

I huff a laugh. “I mean, you may wanna take shipping prices into consideration.” 

She doesn’t. Not only does she pay for the rug, but she also buys three matching throw pillows. Thankfully they allow us to swing back around when we’re finished to pick them up, otherwise I’d be the one hauling them through the market.

We continue around the booths, hand in hand, refusing to let one another go. The touch of her hand in mind is the only thing grounding me. Otherwise, my thoughts of taking her back to the hotel consume me. 

It’s a perfect day. The sun is out, not a cloud in sight. It’s hot, but there’s a cool breeze coming off the ocean. 

“Let’s take a break.” I pull her towards a series of food trucks, but she frowns. 

“But we’re not even halfway through. Let’s just go to—”

“I promise we can finish, but I’m starving. Someone made me miss breakfast at the hotel.” Whether it’s from the implication of my words or my tone, her cheeks turn pink and a hint of mischief settles in her eyes. 

“Fine. A quick break, then I have to go look at those stunning wall hangers.”

I don’t know what the fuck a wall hanger is, but apparently they’re stunning, so we’ll be going home with at least two, no doubt.

A couple hours and an astoundingly high shipping bill later, we’re heading back to the hotel. I can’t even bring myself to be upset. It’s not as if the money is going to hurt us and Nesta is happy. I haven’t seen her smile this much in months. That’s what this trip is about after all, finding our happiness as a couple, relaxing, and spending time together.

Next up is dinner and while we were in the market today, I spotted a restaurant over the water, the most delectable scents reaching me and I knew that’s where we’d go. Nesta wanted a quick shower and despite this morning, I wanted her to invite me in with her. It seemed poetic to me. The last time we had sex was in a shower, we could come full circle. She doesn’t though and I check in with my brothers instead.

Greg is loving his time at Feyre and Rhysand’s, spending every second with Nyx. I save a picture Rhys sent of the two of them fast asleep in his little bed last night to show Nesta when she gets out of the shower.

I’m on the balcony, listening to the waves crash against the shore and returning a couple emails when the sliding door opens. I turn to my wife and freeze.

She’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.

Her hair is still slightly damp, curling slightly in the humidity. Her makeup is subtle, letting her natural beauty shine, but her body.

Cauldron, boil me, after ten years, that body is still going to be the death of me.

The black bodysuit she wears clings to every inch of her curves, the lace edges of the neckline teasing her cleavage, just begging me to drag my tongue between her breasts. Her jean shorts are short and distressed, showing off her long tan legs, leading down to strappy, little sandals.

She’s the heat of a summer night personified and I want nothing more than to let her burn me.

When I meet her eyes once more, she’s watching me with a seductive smile. “Do I look okay?” 

Knowing that she already knows my answer to that, I ask, “Are you sure you want to go to dinner?”

Her grin widens as she slides her arms around my neck. “Yes, I’m starving.”

Me too, I want to say, even though food is the last thing on my mind. I kiss her softly on the lips, then her neck, along her collarbone. She lets out a breath that sends chills down my spine.

“Feed me first,” she whispers into my ear, “and I promise to make the wait worth it.”

I curse quietly before sighing and meeting her eyes, bright and joyful. “Fine. But you better eat fast.”

Her head falls back as she laughs and her beauty, once again, blows me away.

We walk along the beach to the restaurant and only have to wait a few minutes before we’re seated. Although they’re known for their seafood, I have to get a steak. Every time I go somewhere new, I have to see if they can cook a steak as well as me.

Usually, they can’t, but I’m pleasantly surprised when they can. 

“Since you’re getting steak, I’m getting shrimp,” Nesta says, before she even opens her menu.

I look at her from across the table. “How do you know I’m getting steak?”

“Because they serve steak here,” she says, simply, and when the server comes to greet us she orders a sex on the beach, which has my mind happily going back to what awaits me once we get back to the hotel. 

I order a whiskey and when Nesta tells the server to make it a double, I raise my eyebrows as she hurries off to get our drinks. “Trying to get me drunk?”

“Maybe,” she says, flipping her menu open and smirking as our gazes lock. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.”

She bites her lip as she turns her attention to the menu before her and it takes everything in me not to grab her across the table and bite down on that full bottom lip myself.

I let myself revel in that fantasy for a moment before letting my eyes trail over my own menu. I’m perusing the sides, when I say, “They’ve got your favorite.”

The server appears then and Nesta thanks her before taking a generous sip from her straw. She closes her eyes and lets out a happy, little moan.

That moan goes straight to my cock.

She hums contentedly as she opens her eyes and looks at me. “Favorite what?”

She nibbles on the edge of her straw and it takes me a moment to remember what I’d been talking about. “Side dish,” I say, taking a drink of my whiskey. It’s good, smooth. “They’ve got bacon wrapped asparagus.”

She hums again, flipping to the sides herself and looking over them. “Everything looks delicious.”

“I know.” For a moment, I entertain the idea of asking to meet the chef, but I’m on vacation with my wife. Another time, after I’ve had the food, to see if it lives up to the hype.

Our server returns and we order. I get the steak, medium rare, with mixed greens and mashed potatoes. Nesta, who loves seafood, but never gets it, orders seared shrimp, steamed broccoli, and, of course, the bacon wrapped asparagus.

The conversation flows easily between us as we wait. There’s no tension, no stress, no discomfort, and I know it’s not the alcohol to thank. No, we’ve come a long way, and it feels good.

Nesta’s foot slides up and down my calf beneath the table as we talk, as we flirt. 

I start on the fruity drink once my whiskey is gone, although I do order another, and by the time our food comes, I’m definitely feeling a buzz.

I watch Nesta stab a piece of broccoli into her mouth before cutting into my steak. I must admit that it’s cooked to perfection, and it tastes nearly just as good.

“So?” She asks, swallowing a bite of bacon wrapped asparagus. “Does it pass your test?”

“Pretty damn good,” I admit, popping another bite into my mouth. “Yours? How’s the asparagus?”

“Not bad,” she says, but nods to my potatoes. “I’ll trade you some for some mashed potatoes, though.”

I stop, lifting a brow. “You want to trade me your favorite side for mashed potatoes?”

“I mean, they’re garlic mashed potatoes, which are by far the superior mashed potatoes.”

I’m still staring at her. “But I thought bacon wrapped asparagus is your favorite. I mean, when I make it, you’ve always told me it’s your favorite.”

Nesta laughs quietly as she shakes her head. “Alright, fine. You’re trying to pull a confession out of me, it seems, so…no, it’s not my favorite. It’s good, but not my favorite.”

I’m speechless. Do you know how many times I have purposefully made bacon wrapped asparagus for my wife, thinking it was her favorite?

An ass ton.

“Holy shit, I don’t even know you,” I say, stabbing a piece of meat. “And, my asparagus is a little offended.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

The server drops off our drinks, asking if we need anything else, which Nesta politely declines and turns her attention back to me.

“For real, Nes, I had no idea, I really thought that was your favorite.” I blink at her, still processing this information. “The entire foundation of our marriage has been built on a lie.”

“Okay, now I know you’re being dramatic.” She can’t hide her smile though and dabs at her mouth with her napkin. “Your turn.”

I take another bite before following it with a drink. “My turn for what?”

“For a confession,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I gave you one, now you tell me something.”

Shaking my head, I look at her. “We’ve been married for almost ten years, Nes, there’s not much you don’t know about me.”

“And until just now, you would have sworn that asparagus was my favorite thing on the planet.”

“I know it’s not your favorite thing on the planet,” I correct, feeling warm and tingly from the alcohol. “That would be my co—”

Reaching across the table, she covers my mouth with her hand, laughing. “You may be right, but I don’t think the rest of the restaurant needs to know that.”

The way she’s suddenly leaning forward, her tits have just about fallen out of her low cut top. I can see the barest hint of her nipple and I fight off a groan as she removes her hand and sits back in her chair. She follows my gaze and her cheeks flush. “Oops.”

Glancing around the restaurant, she adjusts herself, but I can tell she’s loving the attention I’m giving her.

Just as she lifts her glass to her lips, I say, my eyes still lingering on her cleavage, “Nipple piercings.”

She pauses, and one brow slowly lifts. “Seriously?”

I nod, slowly, eyes meeting hers to gauge her reaction. “Hot as hell. And I’ve always thought you could pull them off beautifully.”

Her eyes narrow as she finally takes a drink, then says, “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She nods, sucking in her bottom lip. “I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, considering half your body is covered in tattoos and you had a nose ring until three years ago. You should’ve told me.” She takes a piece of shrimp into her mouth. “Maybe I would’ve tried them out for you.”

It’s my turn for my eyes to narrow. “Liar. It’s not your style, and that’s okay. Trust me, I’ve never had any issues with your tits, babe.”

An older woman at the table beside me scoffs, and I send her a quick apology her way before turning back to my wife, who’s laughing quietly. 

“For a man who spends a lot of time in restaurants, you have terrible table manners,” she says.

I shrug. “I spend most my time in the kitchen, and there are zero manners in the kitchen.”

She rolls her eyes, but does it lovingly. “Seriously, though. I would’ve done it. Maybe as a wedding present, when I was young and hot.”

I snort. “You’re twenty-nine, you’re still young and hotter every damn day.”

“Hot enough to get my nipples pierced now?”

I put my fork down, giving her my full attention. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs, but I can see her cheeks heating. “I don’t…hate the idea. I’m sure it would hurt like hell, but I’ve always liked the look of them on other people.”

Cocking an eyebrow, I smirk. “You spend a lot of time looking at other women’s nipple piercings?”

Her blush deepens as she reaches for her drink. “Shut up.”

I can only attribute my overly active imagination to the fact that it's been seven months since I’ve had sex, but instantly I imagine her on top of me, riding me, the little gems dangling from the jewelry attached to her nipple moving in time with her hips. I’m transfixed on the image, though I’ve never considered it before. Nesta has her ears pierced…and that’s it. No extra piercings for fun, no tattoos. Feyre convinced her to get a second hole on her lobes about five years ago and after the list of pros and cons she made as to why she should or shouldn’t get them done, I decided to keep my dreams to myself.

I glance down at her chest again, ogling her, but who gives a fuck, because she’s my wife, and I think about how much I love her tits.

I didn’t think it was possible, but this could make me love them more.

She reaches for her phone and starts typing away. “There’s a tattoo parlor about two blocks away that has it listed as a service on their website.”

My eyes slowly trailed back up to hers. “What? Now?”

“I was thinking about finishing my shrimp first,” she says, playfully, putting her phone back into her pocket. 

I call for the check anyways, and by the time it gets to us, my plate is cleared and my drink has been drained. Nesta takes her sweet time, though, loving to tease me.

I have a feeling there will be a lot more teasing before the night is done. 

Half an hour later, we’re walking through town. I feel pretty light on my feet — not drunk, but buzzed. Nesta seems to be sober enough as she leads me down the two blocks to the tattoo parlor.

Once she’s inside, she tells them what she wants and is being led away. I start to follow her, but she puts up her hand.

“Oh, no,” she says, grinning. “You wait out here.”

I frown. “Why? I want to watch.”

“You only get the final product.” Her tone leaves no room for discussion and after a wink, she’s gone. 

I stay standing there, arms crossed, refusing to sit down.

“Don’t worry,” the guy sketching behind the counter says. “Varian’s done it a million times, he’ll take care of her.”

There’s not one part of that sentence that I like.

I don’t want some asshole named Varian taking care of my wife.

Nonetheless, I take a seat, because if I burst through this place in a jealous rage, I’m assuming it won’t make Nesta happy.

Fifteen minutes of aimlessly scrolling Facebook later, footsteps approach and my wife beams at me. “Ready to go?”

Jumping to my feet, I shove my phone into my pocket. “Can I see?”

Both Nesta and the guy behind the counter laugh at that, but she just shakes her head and reaches for my hand. “I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel.”

So begins the longest walk of my life. I try not to be obvious but I keep glancing towards her chest, trying to see something. I can’t see anything, no indication that anything has changed, and I really hope she’s not playing a prank on me.

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” I ask as we’re approaching the hotel. “You really got them pierced?”

“Yes, Cass.” Her voice is full of laughter and god, I’ve missed the familiarity in her tone when she says my name.

“How’d it feel?” I ask, unable to keep from wondering.

“Oh, it hurt like a bitch,” she admits, and her hand tightens in my hand a bit. “He did the first one and it took a few minutes to talk myself into letting him do the second.” Once again, the idea of another man not only looking at, but touching my wife’s breasts has me seeing red. Nesta went on, barely acknowledging my sudden burst of fury. “He was telling me that his wife only has one nipple pierced cause she couldn’t go through it twice.”

Right. Dude has a wife and was only doing his job. I keep reminding myself of that as we enter the hotel and head straight for the elevator.

Nesta tugs on my hand, her smile devious. “You don’t want to go to the bar for a bit—”

I grab her by the waist and kiss her roughly. “If you don’t get your ass in that elevator, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the room.”

“Is that a promise?” She winks at me, but heads for the bay of elevators nonetheless.

We ride the elevator up to the ninth floor with thankfully nobody else joining us. I pull the key card out of my wallet before we’ve even reached the door, swipe it and hold the door open for Nesta. The room is bathed in darkness and only grows darker as I shut and lock the door behind me. “Now can I see?”

Crossing the room, Nesta flips on one of the lamps by the bed and reaches up to one of the straps of her bodysuit. “You can look but you can’t touch. They’re sensitive.”

I slowly walk to where she’s standing. “I’ll be gentle.”

She gives me a stern look, but she’s unable to hide her grin. “No touching.”

“Fine,” I agree, and I’d comply with every one of her wishes at this moment. Accepting defeat, I sit on the foot of the bed and look at her. 

Slowly, that teasing of hers continuing, she keeps pulling one strap of her bodysuit down, then the other, until it’s pooled around her waist. 

I stare.

Two small pearls sit on both sides of her nipples. I should’ve known she wouldn’t have gone with simple silver.

I don’t know how long I stare, but Nesta doesn’t move, she just lets me obsess over her. 

“So?” She asks, at last, into the quiet. 

I clear my throat. “I, uh…don’t think I have ever been this turned on.”

Nesta laughs and steps toward me, between my legs. “I think it’s the alcohol.”

My hands find her hips and pull her closer. “It’s not the alcohol,” I assure her, pressing my lips softly to her chest, between her breasts. Her hands run through my hair, and then we’re on the bed.

This morning may have been about me, my pleasure, but tonight was about her.

Her nipples were just about the only part of her body that I didn’t touch as I recklessly feasted on my wife.

#nessian #fanfic #fanfiction #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #nesta #cassian #sjm #snacmc collabs #theladyofdeath x snelbz collab #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #modern au #angst au

[snelbz]

Better Or Worse {10}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Warnings: language.

We sit in Gwyn’s office, holding hands on the couch.

The last few weeks have been good. Really good. Cassian has slept with me every night, his arms around me, tucked in close to him. We’ve kissed, we’ve snuggled, but nothing more has happened, even though I’ve been tempted. 

Especially when I can feel my husband’s cock against me for half the night and in the morning, long, thick, and hard. 

I know it’s been trying for him, I know he’s wanted me, I know he’s been holding himself back, but he hasn’t tried anything. Even if I’ve wanted him to, not that I’ve said anything to him, but sometimes when we’re lying there all I want is for him to slip a hand in my clothes, to touch me, tease me, fuck me until I’m nothing but a puddle in his hands.

Still, he’s respected my boundaries. He always has, which is one of the many reasons why I fell in love with him in the first place. 

Even if I think I’m ready to take that next step, to have sex again — protected, of course. Double protection. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to try and have kids again, and if it happens by accident…

I shake the thought away before I can psych myself out. Sex, with my husband. I think I’ll bring it up soon, very soon. Either that or I’ll just try jumping him once we’re in bed.

Something tells me that he’d like that. A lot. 

“Nesta?”

“Hmm?” I know my cheeks are warm as I focus my attention back on Gwyn. Apparently she had asked me something while I was lost in my lust filled daydream. I look at Cassian.

He’s grinning, like he knows perfectly well where my mind has gone.

He’s always known my tells. 

“Cassian said you two have been sleeping in the same bed every night,” she says, politely, as always. “What has that meant to you?”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, it’s been great. I’ve forgotten how much more…I don’t know, secure I feel when he’s in bed with me. I’m more at ease when he’s sleeping beside me. Comforted.” 

“So it’s been a good change?” she pushes.

“A great change,” I say, and when I look at Cassian again, his eyes have softened.

My knees are weak. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Gwyn says, closing her notebook and I have no idea how an hour has already passed. It always seems to go so quickly. “After reflecting on your progress, I think it’s time that you two took the next step. At this point, I usually recommend a couple’s vacation. It gives you time to ignore the real world and just focus on one another for a few days without any interruption.” 

“A couples vacation?” Cassian asks, intrigued. “That sounds—”

“I can’t.” The words are out of me before I can stop them. Cassian’s smile has faltered. “I just…my new book is set to come out next month and there’s still so much to do. I have nonstop deadlines. Unless we wait until after—”

“After you’ll have to do press shit,” Cassian says, his voice quiet, and I can tell he’s trying to keep his calm. “You’ll be even busier after the release than you are now. I think getting away for a few days would be good for us. I can sneak away from the restaurant for a long weekend, at least, and if I can ignore my work for a few days, you can, too.”

Don’t snap. I take a deep breath. “You don’t understand—”

“Then bring your laptop with you,” he suggests, taking a deep breath of his own. He looks at me. “You can get some work done in the mornings, then we can be together later in the day.” 

“I would recommend keeping your laptop at home,” Gwyn says, as if she was preparing for my argument. “If you bring it, it will be all you want in front of you, it will be all you’re thinking about. As Cassian said, you can even go for just a long weekend. Thursday through Monday. Find someplace you want to go, relax and reconnect for a few days, then come back and resume your work schedule.” 

I nibble on my lip and I know that Cassian is looking at me, waiting for me to respond, so I don’t make eye contact. “I just…I’m sorry, I don’t think I can right now, it’s not a good time.”

Cassian drops my hand, but before he can say something out of his frustration, Gwyn says, “Why don’t the two of you think about it and talk about it? Nothing has to be decided today, but I do think it will be good for you.”

Cassian says nothing else but I nod. We wrap up our session and make our way to my car, which Cassian hates because he’s a giant and can hardly fit in the passenger seat, but the truck had a flat tire and we didn’t have time to change it before we had to leave to make our appointment. If I know Cassian at all, which I do, I bet he’ll be angry-changing the tire the second we get home. 

He opens the passenger side door the second I unlock the car and shifts awkwardly into the seat until he’s comfortable enough before closing the door.

Opening my own door, I get in the car and turn the engine over, glancing in the mirrors before putting the car in reverse.

“It’s four days, Nes.”

Sighing, I shift back into park. “Four days is a lot longer than you think.” I don’t mention that I get the bulk of my writing done on Friday and Saturday nights when he’s at the restaurant. Uninterrupted time isn’t something I get often, so a long weekend is too long for me to be away. “I can’t take any time off from edits, Cassian, not if I want the book to come out on time.”

He doesn’t immediately say anything, so I shift into reverse and start heading home. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but the timing isn’t great. We can do it later, I promise, but right now isn’t good.”

“It’ll never be a good time,” he says, slumping down in his seat. It makes him look like a petulant child.

“I just said we can go after the book comes out,” I say, trying my best to keep my tone calm, but I can hear the bite in my voice. 

He turns to face me in the car, his shoulder pressing against the window in the process. “I think we should go now. We’ve been doing great, Nesta, this can only help.”

I get where he’s coming from, and I’m really trying to keep my rising temper in check, but it’s challenging. “I agree, but I already have Eris up my ass—”

“I don’t give a fuck about Eris,” Cassian snaps. His calm demeanor has vanished. I should’ve known that he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. His temper, even worse than mine, has always been a stumbling block. 

“Well, you should, because he’s the reason I’ve been so successful,” I snap back. “He’s given me a schedule, I’m following that schedule, I have no choice but to follow the damn schedule, and there’s nowhere on that schedule that says I have time for a four day vacation.”

“Four days is nothing!” He shouts.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Cassian,” I hiss, “but I didn’t get to where I’m at because I neglected to do what’s necessary. I have fucking deadlines, and I’ve told you that I can’t fucking go, so I can’t fucking go.”

His jaw snaps shut and there’s a storm in his eyes that I haven’t seen in weeks. He stares at me for a moment, and even though I look back to the road, I can feel his eyes lingering. We ride like that, him staring at me, pissed; the silence overwhelming until we pull onto our street. 

Once I pull into the driveway, he’s already got the door open before I can even put the car in park, as if he can’t stand to be within a confined space with me for a second longer. 

Good.

I can’t stand him at the moment, either.

He’s being unreasonable, refusing to see where I’m coming from. 

As I expected, he’s storming toward his truck in the garage, opening the hatch to grab the spare tire. Without another look in his direction, I go inside.

Greg greets me, and I curse Cassian outloud to my furbaby before going straight for the wine cabinet. I pour a glass but don’t drink it. Instead, I lean on the counter, letting my face fall into my hands. 

What the hell is happening?

I went into Gwyn’s office today excited to talk about our progress, and now I feel like we’ve made no progress at all. 

Or maybe we have made progress and that’s the issue. 

I know there are worse things than my husband wanting to spend time with me, but he just doesn’t get it. He has no idea what it takes to be a published author, and I know I’ve subjected myself to my job too much in the past few years, but I don’t want to let my readers down. 

I stay leaning against the counter, closing my eyes, taking deep breaths. I don’t want this to get out of hand. I can’t let this get out of hand.

Cassian’s right. We’ve been doing really well. And a little couple’s vacation would be good for us. Great, in fact, especially now that I’m ready to be intimate again. We don’t need to be having these stupid little fights. Even if I feel passionately about what I’m fighting for, I know he does, too.

I try to think of a compromise. 

After taking a sip from my wine glass, I wander to the backdoor, where I can see through the little window into the garage. Cassian, with his jacket now off, is tightening the spare. His brow is set, his lips thinned, and he’s tightening the bolts probably way more than he should.

Cauldron help him next time he has to change that tire.

I watch as he finishes up, but rather than come inside, he continues around to each tire, checking them out one by one. Rolling my eyes, I take another drink of my wine and retrieve my laptop before settling in at the kitchen counter. Clearly, Cassian isn't interested in coming inside yet, so I’ll just sit and wait until he is.

It’s nearly twenty minutes later before the back door opens, my husband entering with grease on his hands and his hair tied back. When his eyes fall on my computer open before me, I can almost feel the ire radiating off of him. He doesn’t speak to me, goes straight to the sink and begins washing his hands.

Plopping my chin in my hand, I ask, “Do you think Skull’s Bay is nicer this time of year or the Coronal Islands?”

He’s in the process of trying to get the grease out from under his nails when he freezes and looks at me.

When he doesn’t say anything, I hum. “Or maybe Adriata. We’ve been there before, but who says it has to be somewhere new.”

Cassian turns off the tap, wiping his hands off on one of the kitchen towels. Turning to face me, he leans a hip on the counter and slings the towel over his shoulder. “When?”

I clear my throat. “I was looking at flights for next weekend.”

He’s moving before the words are fully out of my mouth, crossing the kitchen. “I promise, baby, this is going to be worth it.”

“I have some conditions though.” I push my laptop to the side, the travel sites half forgotten. “I know Gwyn said I should leave my computer. I can’t, Cass. There physically isn’t enough time for me to take four full days off.”

“That’s fine,” he agrees, his eyes bright.

Toying with the stem of my wine glass, I add, “I’m also probably going to be…distant in the days leading up to the flight.”

That grants him pause. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to try and get as much done as I possibly can before we leave, so I can ignore my laptop as much as I can while we’re there.”

Cassian stares at me.

I stare back.

“If you can’t go—”

“Are you seriously trying to persuade me not to go now that I’ve made up my mind that I’m going?” I scold. “Cassian—”

“I was pressuring you,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

It only occurs to me now that I’ve put him in a tough position. Since we’ve been distant with one another, since things have been weird, he’s probably extra cautious about pressuring me into things. 

I hesitate.

He picks up on it.

“Cassian—”

“If you can’t go—”

“I want to go—”

“But if you really can’t—”

“I want to go!” I laugh, unable to control the countless emotions running through me. I’m frustrated, but also excited and vulnerable. I stare at him, shaking my head. “I want to go. I just need you to meet me halfway. I know it’s not ideal—”

“You’ll go?” He asks, interrupting me.

I nod, taking a step towards him. “You were right. This will be good for us. I owe us this.”

Cassian is looking at me like he doesn’t believe a damn word that comes out of my mouth, and it hurts. Yet, he nods. “Okay.”

I haven’t realized how close we’re standing, how near he is to me. His eyes are still searching mine, his disbelief and suspicion on full display. 

“It’s almost as if you’re the one that no longer wants to go,” I say, quietly, and I mean it as a joke, to try and ease the tension, but it doesn’t come out like one.

Cassian doesn’t disagree. He says, “I’ve learned not to get my hopes up. I’ll believe we’re going when we’re on the plane. Until then…” he shrugs and takes another step closer.

He’s close enough that I can breathe him in. I want to reach up and run my hands down his chest, but I don’t. I just meet his gaze. “Aren’t we supposed to be working on trust? Trust me a little, Cass.”

“I trust you,” he says, and I note how his eyes dart to my lips for a split second. “But I also know you. You’re saying you want to go because you feel guilty, not because you’d rather be on vacation than here, working. I also know that when you’re stressed, it’s impossible for you to enjoy yourself or, you know, be pleasant.” He reaches up and brushes his thumb along my bottom lip. “Promise me that we’re going, and that we’re going because it’s what you want to do, and that you won’t get sucked into work while we’re there.”

“I promise,” I say, and I allow myself to touch him now, sliding my hands up his chest and around his neck. “I promise I want to go and have this time with you.”

He searches my eyes for another minute before nodding, and his eyes are back to being bright and filled with excitement as a small smile twists his lips. His arms snake around my waist as he says, “Good.”

Making my promise more convincing, I kiss him.

Whatever tenuous hold my husband had on his self-control snapped, just like I expected it to.

He crushed me against his chest, his lips devouring mine. I wasn’t surprised when I felt his tongue against the seam of my lips, begging for entrance. I parted for him, relishing in the feel of his kiss.

It had been so damn long since he kissed me like this.

My nails dug into his back as I kissed him back and before I knew it, he was cupping my ass, lifting me up and setting me down atop the counter. He no longer had to hunch over to kiss me, nearly the same height now and I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders.

Cassian stepped between my legs, tugging me toward the edge of the counter, his mouth still ravaging mine.

This passion, this heat between us was what had drawn us together in the first place. He was my match, my equal, as ravenous for me as I was for him. In ten years, that fire had never gone out.

Until it did. And that’s something I will never let happen again.

I gasped as Cassian ground himself against me, his length thick and hard, telling me that this was affecting him as much as it was me. The second I broke the kiss, his lips found my neck, sucking and teasing the sensitive skin there.

I moan, quietly, and his hands on my upper thighs tighten. My head falls to the side, giving him better access and he licks his way up the side of my neck until he’s nibbling at my jaw, then trailing back down until his mouth is sucking at my collarbone. My hands can’t stay still, can’t stay off of him, and I don’t even realize that they’re slipping beneath his shirt until he growls against my skin. I don’t give it a second thought. I pull his t-shirt up and he leans back, meeting my gaze as I pull it over his head and toss it aside. His lips are swollen and he’s breathing heavily, his eyes wild and full of lust. I lay my palms flat against his chest and run them down his stomach, my fingers running over every hard, defined muscle before I grab him by the waistband of his jeans and pull him back to me. 

My legs wrap around him, getting him as close to me as possible, as our mouths clash. There’s nothing holding us back, not anymore, not now. He’s kissing me like he needs me to breathe, and the throbbing between my thighs has become nearly unbearable. Needing any sort of friction, I rock my hips against him and he groans into my mouth as he pushes off my sweater and grabs my breasts through my t-shirt. 

Apparently not finding that good enough, my shirt is quickly removed, and it’s only then that Cassian’s mouth leaves mine. He reaches behind me and unclasps my bra. I’ve always known that my breasts were one of my husband’s favorite assets of mine, and I can’t even remember the last time he’s seen them. 

He makes a show of it, dropping my bra, releasing the hook and letting it fall. I sit still, letting him admire me. As he does, I glance down where I can see him perfectly outlined in his jeans, doing a little admiring myself.

His eyes, impossibly dark, rove over me, his hand clasping the back of my neck as he kisses me again. Then he’s lowering me back, down against cool marble of the countertop. My gasp as the shock of the cold surface presses into my skin has me throwing my head back and his lips are no longer near mine.

I feel his warm breath against my stomach, just beneath my belly button, and I freeze. He presses the gentlest, most unexpectedly sweet kiss to the slight dip there, before trailing upward with another and another.

I was so focused on his mouth that I didn’t notice his hands until one was cupping the swell of one full breast. Arching into him, I whimper softly when his fingers brush over my nipple, the sensitive bud tightening almost immediately under his touch. His thumb sweeps it the other way before his forefinger joins in, rolling it between them. I’m unable to stop my groan as I look down to find his eyes w bb already on mine.

And his lips hovering over my other breast.

With slow, restrained movements, Cassian lowers his mouth, letting his tongue drag over my nipple. Fighting to keep my eyes open, my hand dives into his hair, his own hand working my other breast in time with his tongue.

I curse, which only encourages him. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer as his teeth graze my nipple.

I shift beneath him, a curse on the tip of my tongue, but then my phone is vibrating on the counter a few feet away. Unable to help it, I glance over and see Eris’s name flashing across the screen.

Every thought I have leaves my mind. 

My first instinct is to reach for it, but I hesitate. Then again, if it’s something important, I need to know now. Especially considering we’re now going on this vacation and I have to get as much shit done as possible before we go. 

He must sense the fact that I’m distracted, because he looks up at me. “Ignore it.”

I should ignore it.

I know I should ignore it.

But whatever the hell Eris has to say is all I can think about. He rarely calls after my office hours, only with important news to relay. 

Cassian sucks my nipple between his lips once more as I say, “Cass.”

He freezes, his body tensing, and looks up at me again.

“Just…it’ll only be a minute.”

His brows furrow but then the recognition hits as I reach across the counter and grab my phone, just as it stops ringing. I sit up, moving Cassian away from me as I do. When I unlock my phone to call Eris back, Cassian speaks up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice is quiet, his breathing still ragged. “Can’t this wait until we’re done?” 

“It’ll only be a minute,” I say, pleadingly. “I promise. Then we’ll pick up where we left off—”

“No.”

My thumb stills where it hovers above Eris’s contact information. His voice is still quiet, but there’s an edge to it. “No?”

“Don’t, not right now,” he says, and steps between my legs again. He palms my breasts as his lips find my neck.

“Cass, it’ll only be a minute.” The words barely leave me before my phone starts ringing again. Apparently Eris isn’t waiting for me to call him back. 

Against my better judgment, I answer the call.

The warmth of Cassian’s body on mine is gone immediately and he’s scooped his shirt off the floor and is headed for the living room before I can speak.

But that’s mostly because Eris doesn’t give me the chance.

“Checked your email lately?”

I blink. My email? What about my email could be so important he’s calling me so late? “No, I’ve been busy this evening. Why, what’s—?”

“Your extension has been approved.”

My entire being goes still. “Oh.”

Pulling my phone away from my ear, I quickly skimmed over the email sitting in my inbox.

I had emailed one of the reps for the publishing company earlier, asking about an extension on the release. Although Eris is usually the go-between between the company and I, I’ve always had a good relationship with them. I’ve never missed any major deadlines or had a delayed release, but only because Eris would never allow it. I wasn’t even sure what the process to officially request for one was.

So I sent an email asking for information.

Apparently, all I’d needed to do was inquire, with my stellar reputation with them.

I hadn’t mentioned it to Cassian because, like he said, I hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up.

“We don’t have time for an extension, Nesta.” He sounded calm, but I knew he was anything but.  He was likely pacing, AirPod in one ear, his fingers steepled together. It was his standard not happy pose. “You are not pushing back this release.”

“I have to,” I argue. “I have too much on my plate right now. I need more time.”

“Do you know what I need, Nes?” Unlike when Cassian shortened my name, I hated when Eris did it. It sounded condescending and it infuriated me. “I need the final ten chapters emailed to the editors by Tuesday. I need you to respond to the email I sent you about cover artwork for the special edition we’re releasing later this year. I need you to get to work and leave the publishers to me.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And if I say I can’t do that?”

“You will,” he says, tone final, and hangs up.

I sigh, dropping my phone on the counter. My hands rub down my face before I look back up, expecting to see my husband there.

But he’s not.

I didn’t even notice that he had left the room.

“Cassian?”

He doesn’t respond.

And later that night, he never comes to bed. 

#better or worse #nessian #nessian bow #acotar #acomaf #acowar #nesta x cassian #nesta acotar #cassian #snacmc collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab

[snelbz]

‘Til Death Do Us Part {Chapter Eighteen}

Elorcan. Rockstar Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab.

‘Til Death Do Us Part Masterlist

A/N: Sorry for the long wait between chapters. Tara and I dove headfirst into Zodiac Academy, reading every single book back to back to back, and then she came to town and we spent time together instead of writing. On top of that, I no longer have a desktop to post off of, so I have to do so at work once all of my other responsibilities have been completed. Enjoy and please let us know what you think!

This chapter is 18+.

WC: 4506

Elide —

I wake up to a barbaric elbow digging into my side. Apparently I found Lorcan’s shoulder a lot more comfortable than I had originally intended because I notice the airplane is descending. He’s looking down at me, grinning, and pointing to the side of my mouth.

“You, uh…got a little drool…”

My hand flies up to my mouth but it’s perfectly dry and I narrow my eyes as I shove him and lift my head from his shoulder. He laughs quietly, his hand coming to rest on my thigh.

We left a little after ten this morning and I honestly have no idea what to expect. Since everything had been going amazingly between us for the last month, we decided we should finally take our honeymoon.

Lorcan suggested Skull’s Bay, which is apparently some boujee island resort but I was kind of put off by the name. Lorcan, of all people, would try to scare his wife by bringing her to some horror themed island or amusement park for our honeymoon.

I prayed to the gods that this was not the case.

I’m not a fan of flying so I took something to calm me down just before we boarded. Apparently it worked too well because I didn’t remember a damn thing from the flight in.

“We’ll land in about ten minutes,” Lorcan promised, his voice now gentle. “I promise the long plane ride will be worth it.”

I smile as I rest my head against his shoulder once again. He holds onto me until the airplane touches the ground. 

There are certainly advantages to being married to a rockstar. One of those advantages is first class seats on a six hour flight. I would’ve had no problem fitting in one of the economy class seats, but my six-foot-four husband? His knees would have been in his chest the whole time. Instead, we’re stretched out in our pod, his long legs comfortable crossed at the ankle.

As soon as we get off the plane, I can feel the heat settle into me in a way it hadn’t in Orynth. Our bags take a bit to come out, but then we’re being greeted by a man holding a sign that says Salvaterre.

“This actually happens,” I ask, squeezing Lorcan’s hand as we approach our driver. “I thought that was just in movies. You must be super important.”

He gives me an exasperated look, one he’s started using when I drag him for being too rich and needing to come back down to earth.

He shakes our driver’s hand and introduces himself and then we’re on our way. It’s about a thirty minute drive to the resort and as soon as we see the entrance, I’m glaring at Lorcan.

“It looks scary,” I say, pointing to the skulls decorating the sign.

“Baby, it’s called Skull’s Bay,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “There’s going to be some skulls.”

“It’s zombie pirates, isn’t it?” I chance a look out the window, but see nothing but the ocean and white sand. “That’s what the theme is. It’s gonna be like that Scooby Doo movie from the nineties.”

He laughs quietly as he shakes his head. “Pirates maybe, not sure about the zombie part.” He meets my eye. “I promise nothing will jump out at you, alright? Not intentionally, anyway.”

Well that’s not exactly comforting. 

As we pull up to the massive hotel I must admit that it’s beautiful. Situated right on the beach, it has multiple pools and spas and bars. It’s a mile walk away from all the touristy spots which, even though I’m still slightly scared of the island, I really wanna visit. 

If I thought the outside of the hotel was beautiful, the inside is spectacular. I’ve never stayed somewhere so nice. My travels usually include a sketchy motel, not a five star island resort. I’m suddenly nervous, which seems silly. 

“What do you think?” Lorcan asks when we step into the elevator. 

“I’m anxious to know what our room looks like,” i confess. “I’m suddenly scared to touch anything.”

He chuckles before correcting, “Suite.”

I blink. “What?”

“We booked a suite, not a room. If you’re going to be traveling like the rich and famous, like myself, you have to have the terminology right. Come on now.”

He’s teasing me.

I roll my eyes and jab him in the side but he catches my hand and pulls me closer to him.

The past month has been one of the best of my life. It seems that Yrene was right and sex really was the piece that was missing from our relationship. Lorcan has been…insatiable. His desire for me was something I attributed to his need for the physical, but it’s less about him and more about me every time we’re together. I’ve had more orgasms in the past few weeks than I have in my entire life, and most of the time, he doesn’t even get inside me.

We’ve only had sex twice since then, and both times were amazing, but Lorcan’s main priority has been me. Whether it’s his fingers, tongue, or teeth on me, I always plan to touch him after he’s finished, only to be swept away in a mind-blowing orgasm.

But we’re on our honeymoon. This is a trip that’s meant for sex and I plan on having a lot of it. Right now, for instance, as soon as we get to our rooms.

If my girl parts aren’t crying for a break by the end of this week, something is wrong.

Lorcan unlocks our door after we’ve reached our suite on the top floor of the hotel. He opens the door and my jaw drops.

While the rest of the hotel is decorated like a pirate’s paradise, this room looks like the inside of a treasure chest. Everything is decorated in rich, jewel tones, silver and gold accents are peppered throughout the room, and it’s absolutely gorgeous.

Our bags are already waiting in the bedroom and Lorcan goes straight for his, digging out his vape, thanking the gods for portable tobacco. I ignore him and take a walk around the rest of the suite. There’s a rustic feel to the room, despite its opulence, thanks to the distressed wood on the walls.

This place is practically a second home. It has multiple televisions, a washer and dryer, and a fully stocked bar. There’s a full kitchen, a fireplace, two love seats in the living room, a jacuzzi in the corner of the bathroom, plus a massive walk-in shower. It has a bench and suddenly, I have the urge to ride Lorcan under the spraying water. I’ve never been on top during sex, so I don’t know why it’s my first thought when I see it.

By the time I exit the bathroom, my husband is nowhere to be found. “Lor?”

The suite is massive, but I couldn’t have lost him in here.

I start having flashbacks to the day after our wedding. He hadn’t left then, and I highly doubt he’d leave me now. We were in Orynth then, twenty minutes from home. Now? We’re on an island, hours from home, away from the mainland.

I finally find him on the private balcony off our bedroom, facing the ocean. His phone is pressed to his ear, his hand on his hip, and he looks tense. I want to go out and rub his shoulders, to help him relax, but I don’t want to interrupt.

So instead, I decide to surprise him.

Aelin helped me shop for this trip, since my first try at lingerie was a dismal failure. The scratchy, white number I’d bought for the wedding had been cheap and it showed. It also hadn’t really been my style. I skipped on the white this time, despite knowing it was bridal lingerie. Something told me Lorcan would prefer black or red. Both colors ooze sex and sinful seduction. Armed with my husband’s gold card, I bought a few new sets that were much softer, much nicer, and fit my body a hell of a lot better.

I really hope Lorcan likes them.

I also bought a couple swimsuits, seeing as I’d owned the same one since high school, and I pull one out of my bag and toss it on the dresser, knowing we’ll end up at the beach sooner rather than later. 

Looking at the doors to the balcony, I see that Lorcan has started pacing. I reach back down into my bag, gently running a finger over the black lace of one of the bra and panty sets I bought.

I could put it in now. After his phone call, I could be ready and waiting for him, like a gift to be unwrapped.

Or I could already be unwrapped.

The sliding glass door opens and I drop the lingerie as Lorcan steps in. 

So much for my sexy surprise.

“Sorry, that was our manager. Ro and I sent what we’ve written for the new album to the record label last week and things are kind of in limbo right now.” He sees my suit on the dresser and claps his hands, rubbing them together. “But fuck that and fuck anymore phone calls, because we’re on our honeymoon. Hell, yeah, baby, let’s go to the beach.”

Beach…not bed.

I try not to let my disappointment show but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy undressing and searching for his swim shorts. I can’t help but admire his ass as I put on my own suit. He turns as I’m tying my top and he grins as he walks toward me. “Here, let me help.” I drop my hands as he takes the ties and ties a bow at my back. “You look sexy as hell in this.”

My cheeks still heat when he tells me things like that. I turn, fingers brushing his lower abdomen, just above the band of his shorts. “You look pretty damn good yourself.”

His eyes flare and he leans down to kiss me. For a moment I think he’ll toss me on the bed and ravage me, but then he pulls back, smacks my ass and says, “Let’s go.”

He’s taking my hand and we’re out the door.

The beach is beautiful and we have our own little secluded spot. The sand is soft and warm beneath my toes and the sound of the waves brings me peace. I’ve never gone swimming in the ocean but the idea of sharks terrifies me. It would be kind of a shitty honeymoon if I become shark food.

Lorcan, always reading my mind, asks, “Wanna go for a swim?”

I hesitate. “In the water?”

A humored brow lifts. “That’s the general idea, yeah.”

My bottom lip somehow gets sucked between my teeth. “I don’t know, Lor, it seems dangerous.”

This time he flat out laughs. “We’re staying in shallow water, nothing will get you. And I’ll be right beside you the whole time. Come on. Live a little. Let that beautiful hair of yours down.”

Ugh. I can’t say no to that.

He takes my hand and leads me down the sand towards the water. I stop just before the waves can brush my toes.

“Is it cold?” I ask.

“One way to find out.” He winks and runs into the water like he’s five before diving beneath the surface. When he comes up, he shakes his hair, sending water everywhere. “Fuck! Yeah…yeah, it’s cold.”

I laugh, thinking he’s completely adorable and idiotic all at once. Shaking my head, I turn back towards our towels. “I think I’ll pass if it’s cold. Maybe if it—”

I scream as Lorcan grabs me from behind, water dripping off him, and carries me towards the waves. “Oh, no, you’re getting in with me.”

I squirm and squeal until he drops me in the water, just as unceremoniously as he’d gone in, and I push my long hair out of my face as I come back up. It’s not nearly as cold as he made it out to be, though the wind does chill the parts not submerged.

Glaring up at him, I put my hands on my hips, which is completely ineffective at showing off my sass since I’m under water from them waist down.

Something tells me Lorcan picks up on it though, as he takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the water. I hesitate and he reminds me, “Nothing is going to get you.” To prove it, he tugs on my hand until he’s lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist. “I’ve got you.”

“I trust you,” I whisper, my lips inches from his as he goes out farther and farther into the water.

He smirks, kissing me. “Good girl.”

It’s up over his chest now, so I know I wouldn’t be able to touch the bottom at this point. There’s also no one else out this far, everyone else is farther down the beach, nowhere near us, and—

One of Lorcan’s fingers slips under the edge of my bikini bottom, brushing the lips of my sex. Gasping softly, I look up at him, eyes bright. His gaze is already on me and his finger is teasing my entrance. “Do you have any idea how sexy you look in that little bikini?”

I shake my head, trying not to whimper as he pushes in to his first knuckle. He pulls it out, sliding it back in, repeating the shallow motion over and over.

“Really?” His lips are by my ear and I’ve got my arms wrapped around his head in a vice lock. “‘Cause you’re soaked for me already, so I think you do.”

“We’re in the ocean,” I say, trying to keep my voice even as he slips his finger in deeper. “Everything is soaked.”

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs and his tongue traces the shell of my ear. “If you think I can’t tell the difference between the water and how wet your pussy is, you’re wrong.” His lips trail down my neck. “You’re so wet, I bet you could take all of my cock in one stroke.”

“Then do it,” I murmur, tipping my head to the side to give him better access. Please, gods, do it.

He adds a second finger, no longer teasing me, pumping them in and out. My hips move of their own accord. His mouth is back at my ear and I can hear the smile on his lips. “Not yet, baby. You think I can’t see how bad you want it?”

“Lorcan…” My voice is strained, my orgasm building far quicker than I expected it to. We may not be close to anyone, but we’re on a packed beach, at a resort, and my husband is finger fucking me in the ocean.

It turns me on in a way I was not expecting.

“Tease,” I mutter and his laugh is deep and sensual. My fingers weave their way into his hair and tug. His moans, the sound muffled against my neck. He adds a third finger and my legs began to shake around him.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes and nips at my neck. “Cum for me.”

It’s a demand that I have no problem fulfilling. 

My body grows tense as I cum, but he helps me ride it out until I’m breathing heavily and going limp in his arms. I can feel how hard he’s become in his shorts and all I can think about is getting him inside of me.

I lean back and kiss him.

It’s reckless, it’s rough and he instantly melts into it. His hands are gripping my ass, his tongue sliding into my mouth. With the slightest of movements, his hips thrust into mine.

“Lor,” I whisper, although it can hardly be heard above the waves crashing against the shore, he hears me. His eyes meet mine and his pupils are so big that they’re nearly all I can see. “Fuck me.”

He lets out a long, loose breath before reaching beneath the water. I can feel his hardened length beneath me as it comes free of his shorts, and then he’s moving my bottoms aside once more. This time, he wastes no time pushing into me.

True to his word, he thrusts into me with one quick snap of his hips. I take him all in effortlessly.

He swallows my groan in a savage kiss, the pace he’s setting relentless from the get go. I whimper against him as he slams into me over and over.

One of his hands cups one of my breasts, tugging the fabric of my top to the side. I pull my lips from his as I cover his hand with mine. “What if someone sees?” I ask, breathlessly, looking towards the beach behind us.

“What if they do?” His lips are on my throat.

“They’ll take pictures. You’re famous, remember,” I gasp as he keeps pounding his cock into. “Post them online. Being a porn star isn’t one of my life aspirations.”

“You’ve got such a smart mouth,” he says, nipping at my lips. “No one can see what we’re doing. It looks like we’re floating in the water.”

I want to respond, want to tell him that’s bullshit, but he’s changed angles and is hitting a spot I didn’t know existed and suddenly, I’m seeing stars. My eyes go wide and my lips part.

“That’s right, baby.” He snaps his hips into mine again and again and I’m not able to stop myself from crying out. “Cum for me, let everyone know who makes you feel so good.”

I bite his shoulder as my orgasm slams into me, obeying his command.

He’s close behind me, falling over the edge and he doesn’t stop until we’re both clinging to one another as we attempt to catch our breaths. He stays in me for a few minutes, pressing soft kisses to my shoulder, my neck. He always does this when we’re done having sex. He becomes gentle, as if he’s trying to remind me that there’s so much more to us, to him, to me than this physical attraction. Even though the physical stuff is so, so good. He’s trying to remind me that he cherishes me. Sometimes I’m still surprised at how sweet he can really be. 

We readjust ourselves before going back up to the beach where we lay down together, both tired from traveling and making love. At one point, Lorcan falls asleep and I snap a picture because I think it’s cute as hell. 

He asks me about all the things I want to do while we’re on the island. I tell him I want to do all the touristy stuff and he can’t tell me no, even though it means we’ll be around dominantly old people, other couples, and families with small children. He agrees, though, and that’s a testament in itself in regards to how much he likes me.

We agree to spend tomorrow at all the local shops, then the next day we’ll take a tour of the island. Later in the week will be dedicated to horseback riding on the beach, spending a day in the hotel’s spas, experiencing the local clubs, and, to my terror, snorkeling. Of course, we agree that we’ll carve out time every day to come down to the beach.

It sounds like a dream. I never thought I would be able to have a vacation like this. I have a feeling I’m going to be geeking out all week but I also have a feeling that Lorcan likes it when I “geek out” so I don’t feel too bad about it. 

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

The question makes me jump. I was so at peace listening to the waves that I didn’t even realize that Lorcan had woken up. “That’s a very interview-like question.”

He chuckles, shifting so that he’s facing me underneath our umbrella. “I realize we don’t talk about the future very much…and I think we’re pretty damn good right now in our marriage so I thought it was about time we started talking about the future.”

My stomach explodes with excitement about the thought of my future, especially with Lorcan. “I agree with that.” I take a minute to think about my answer and am disappointed. “Honestly, I’ve never really spent a lot of time thinking about the future. I spent so many years just worrying about tomorrow that I never let myself think beyond that.”

He frowns but nods, understandingly. “Surely you’ve thought about some things, though. Like having kids. Do you want kids in the next few years?”

My eyebrows raise. “I can barely take care of myself, I’m not sure I’m qualified to be a parent.”

Laughing, he pushes his damp hair back off his face. The salt in the water has made his hair wavier than normal and I want to reach out and run my fingers through it. “Pretty sure I’m even less qualified than you are, but I think we could probably figure it out.”

And then I realize that he means our children. He means having a child with me. He’s talking about me having his babies.

I had only been considering myself as a parent, not the two of us, but…we are married. If I was going to have babies with anyone on the planet, it would be the man lying next to me.

I’m not able to stop the image before it conjures in my head. A little girl, with the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen, a familiar mischievous glint sparkling there, helping a baby boy learn to walk, his full lips so similar to mine. And there’s Lorcan, smiling from where he sits on the floor with them, making sure everyone is safe.

My heart physically strains at the scene my brain conjures up for me and maybe the idea isn’t so ridiculous after all.

“It would be nice to have a couple,” I admit and then quickly add, “when we’re both ready,” as a light begins to fill his eyes that I can only call hope.

It’s his turn to raise an eyebrow. It’s the one with the sexy scar going through it. Wait, when did I start thinking facial scars were sexy?

“You’re telling me you don’t think it’s a good idea to have a baby with a stranger you married less than two months ago?”

My cheeks heat and I shove him. “I wasn’t saying right now.” He catches my hand and pulls me on top of him. My leg automatically hitches over his, just like it does when we’re sleeping, and his hand, of course, goes right to my ass. I’m not complaining. “Maybe in a couple years. I’m only twenty-five, there are still things I need to do before I start having babies.”

“Like what?” The words are muffled, because he’s leaned down and buried his face in my chest.

“Lorcan!” I grab his face and pull it back up to mine. He’s grin is breathtaking and it fries my brain for a moment. I finally remember how to speak. “You can’t do that.”

“I just did.” He rolls us so that he’s on top of me. Since my leg was hitched over his, one of his thighs is pressed snugly between mine. “What kind of things do you still want to do before having my babies?”

My babies. The butterflies return.

It takes me much longer than it should to answer the question. “Wow.”

“Hmm?” he hums, kissing my nose.

“I guess I don’t know,” I confess. “I want to be…successful, I guess. I’d like my business to grow.” Even as I say it, I feel pathetic for that being the only thing I can think of. I’m still young. I should have a long list of things I want to do before I have kids, but I don’t. “If I’m being honest, I guess I don’t really know what my purpose is.”

His eyes study mine. “What do you mean?”

I shrug. “You have your music. That’s your purpose, right? You feel whole when you write, when you play.” He nods. “I don’t mind what I do. I like being creative, but I wouldn’t really say it’s my purpose.” 

I’m not sure how he’s going to react. It’s an embarrassing thing to admit, that at twenty-five I’m still not sure what to do with my life. But then he says, “That’s okay. Maybe now that you don’t have so much stress, you can start to experiment with new things, you know? Do some trial and error. Try new things.” He leans down to kiss me. “And I’ll help you in any way that I can. I’ll support you in everything you want to invest your time in.” 

My heart feels so light I feel that it’s going to fly out of my chest. I have no idea how I got matched with someone so supportive, so caring. It nearly makes me cry. I nod, running my fingers up and down his back. “What about you? Do you ever think you’ll be done making music?”

He nods. “Touring, yeah. I don’t wanna tour forever.”

“What will you do after that?” I ask.

“Write.” He shrugs, then hesitates. “Actually, you know, I’ve never told anyone this but I think it would be really fun to start a little school for young musicians. A place where they can come to sing and record and learn to play whatever the fuck they want.”

I stare at him for a second. “Why have you never told anyone that? Lorcan, that would be amazing.”

He shrugs. “Because it’s not a reality right now. There’s too much going on to try and get that going. This is the longest break we’ve ever had and that’s not something I’m going to be able to give part of myself to.” He rests his hand on my neck and his thumb brushes over the hollow of my throat. It’s surprisingly intimate. “That’s something I’m going to pour my heart and soul into. Playing is my passion, not the fame, and I want to pass that feeling on to whoever wants to learn.”

I have to blink away the moisture in my eyes. “I think that’s a great idea, baby.”

He notices what I’ve said before I do, not even meaning for the pet name to slip out, and the smile he gives me is liable to just melt my bikini bottoms off.

He kisses me and it’s so soft and sweet that my heart swells. I pull him closer to me and wrap him in my arms as his face nuzzles into my neck. We stay there for a while, tangled up together as the sun begins to set.

We go back to the hotel early, spending the first night of our honeymoon happily in bed, bodies intertwined and talking more about the future.

#‘til death do us part #tddup #elorcan tddup #elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #lord lorcan lochan #throne of glass fanfiction #snacmc collabs #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #rockstar au

[snelbz]

Better Or Worse {Chapter Three}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Chapter Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of sexual acts and is NSFW. 18+ ONLY.

Cassian -

Knowing that my loving wife is at Az and Elain’s, I make my way home after the gym. I’ve spent the last two nights with Feyre and Rhysand with no contact with Nesta. I should feel guilty for just walking out, but I don’t. If anything, I’m still pissed. 

The worst part is that she hasn’t even tried reaching out. I know I was the one to leave, but she hasn’t called, hasn’t sent a text, hasn’t scoped me out. It’s almost like unwelcome validation, further proving my point and fears. 

Once I’m home, I unlock the kitchen door and make my way in from the garage. The house is quiet and perfectly clean as if no one had been living there in my absence. If I were to guess, Nesta had been spending long hours at her office in the city. She hasn’t had anyone bitching at her to come home on time and I’m sure she’s been taking advantage of that. 

The bed is perfectly made and a basket of clean laundry sits on top of the blankets, none of it mine. Greg, our cat, is sprawled out on my pillow, sound asleep. 

I raid my closet, pulling together a new heap of clean clothes that I toss in a bag. It doesn’t feel right, but I ignore that feeling. I have to ultimately do what’s best for me and my happiness, even if joy is the last thing I’m feeling right now.

After getting my shit together, I take a look at the time and start stripping down, tossing my sweaty workout clothes in the hamper. I wonder if she’ll toss them in with the next load of laundry or just let them rot as I walk into the master bathroom and start the shower.

I missed my walk-in shower. It was my only request when remodeling our bathroom a few years back. I’m bigger than the average man and our previous shower never let me forget it. In this shower, I was never cramped and it relaxes the hell out of me.

I stepped beneath the hot water and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, then another.

It wasn’t that long ago that Nesta’s eyes shone when she first saw the shower. She hadn’t fought me hard on its design, only bemoaning the cost once or twice, before realizing just how worthwhile it was. It was big enough for not only myself, but room for someone to join me as well, something she’d taken advantage of often.

If I had a particularly early morning, Nesta would almost always get up with me. While I’d get in the shower, she would go downstairs and start the coffee pot, refill Greg’s food bowl, and check her email, reading over them, but never replying. Sometimes, it took two minutes, sometimes, it took ten, but without fail, before my shower was over, I’d feel her arms wrap around my waist and she’d join me.

It wasn’t always sexual. Sometimes, her emails frustrated her and she needed to vent. Listening and rinsing her hair was something I became good at. Even when I wasn’t inside of her, being with her in such an intimate setting, nothing but our souls, naked bodies, and the water running around us, there was nothing to distract and take away from each other.

But then she started to take longer and longer in the mornings. An email needed an immediate reply or she had to read through some quick edits. Those excuses made sense, they were related to her work, the only thing she loved as much as she loved me. I understood.

Then coffee pot wasn’t working, until I got downstairs and then it worked perfectly. She had been watching a news story and got distracted, but could tell me nothing about it. She had a migraine, four days in a row, that only affected her when I touched her.

By the time she stopped joining me in the shower, I’d stopped hoping she would.

I’m not sure when it all started changing. When I stood with Nesta on our wedding day and said our vows, I never expected to end up here. She was the love of my life, and still is, I think, but it’s…different. Every time I look at her now I feel a sense of sadness, pure loss, like looking at an old memory of when I used to feel alive and invincible, but realizing that it ended in heartbreak. 

We had a hell of a love story, though, while it lasted. We’re too much alike in all the right ways, which resulted in sexual tension that almost always ended in mind blowing fucking.

It wasn’t just the sex. Nesta understood me, and I understood her. We had a bond that I had always thought was too good to be true, and maybe it was. 

I miss her. 

I miss the woman that I had fallen in love with, and even though we were married young, I had no doubt of my love for her, and hers for me.

I miss joking around with her, hearing her laugh because I said something stupid and profane. 

I miss just talking with her about nothing and everything, comforting her, having her comfort me. I miss waking up in the morning to her watching me, still gloriously nude from the night before, with messy hair and a soft smile. I miss the little things that I took for granted, like holding her hand or laying with her on the couch while we watched a stupid movie.

I miss the sex. Not just because the lack of it has me horny and aggressive, but I miss the connection. I miss getting lost in her body that was completely in my possession. Sometimes I still let my eyes linger on her body, and I’m not sure if she doesn’t notice or just pretends not to, but I can’t deny that my wife is gorgeous. A beautiful face, of course, but her body…

Strong and curvaceous, her skin so light that even my fingerprints left soft pink tracks behind them. Her ass was one of my favorite places to grab, to smack, to hold onto while she rocked her hips, while she bounced on my cock, but nothing compares to her breasts. I still catch myself looking at them, catching her peaked nipples through those little tanktops she wears around the house. No bra, never at home, not since we started dating, and I sure as hell never complained. Even now, when she hates me for some unknown reason, it’s still no bra, and my eyes can’t help but drift to how they bounce with every step she takes.

Thinking of those showers we used to take together, of the feel of her skin, of tight tank tops with no bras, sent my imagination into overdrive and suddenly, in my mind, I’m not alone under the spray anymore.

I’m remembering one of the last times we had sex, when I’d come home and found her in the shower. Deciding that surprising her was a good idea considering how tense she’d been, I undressed and slipped into the bathroom without making a sound. I’d startled her and she yelled at me for a solid ninety seconds before I had her back pressed against the cool tile and was balls deep inside her.

The decision to take my cock into my hand wasn’t one I made on my own, but as I remember how good she’d felt, how tight and wet, her nails digging into my shoulders, I’m powerless to stop myself.

The sounds she made, the sounds she always made, the gasps and moans and yelling of my name strung with curses. I swear in the quiet as I pump myself, faster and faster, as I lean my forehead against the cool tile. The image of her head leaned back in ecstasy is all I see behind my closed eyes, the way her brows furrowed as that sensation in her core kept building. 

Fuck.

I’d kill to make her react like that again, to make her feel good, to give her exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. I know her. I know what she likes. I know what makes her scream, what makes her knees shake. 

I can’t help but groan as I near my release. It’s embarrassing how quickly it’s approaching. It’s been too damn long since I’ve orgasmed, too damn long since I’ve been touched. So long that I’ve settled for myself, but I’m feeling too good to care.

I imagine it’s Nesta’s lips wrapped around my cock, her tongue exploring as I fuck her mouth with no hesitation. She shows no resistance, she never has. She loves it, loves the taste, loves the tease, loves sucking me dry.

At least she used to.

I ignore the fact that she won’t be down on her knees before me again and relive the memory of it. I groan and my hand finds the wall beside my head, grounding me as I jack off to the lust of something that no longer exists. 

I breathe her name, or maybe I yell it, I don’t know. 

All I know is that all I can think about is her name, her body, her eyes on mine, the love and desperation in them as we fucked. It’s been months since this day, months since this memory, and I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of anguish and guilt as my release comes.

Nesta -

It’s hard to enjoy time with my sisters when my heart isn’t in it.

I feel guilty. I haven’t seen either of them in forever, save for when Feyre has come to pick up Nyx on the days that we watch him, and now that we’re all finally together, I can’t keep my mind in the conversation. 

I tell myself to focus, but I can’t. It’s been days since I’ve seen my husband, days since I’ve talked to him. I know he’s staying with Feyre, but I can’t convince myself to ask her about him. Even though I want to.

I want to know if he’s as miserable as I am.

I pop a strawberry in my mouth before taking a sip of my wine. “Oh, that reminds me,” I begin, even though I’m pretty sure they had moved the conversation along a few minutes ago, when I started to tune out, “I ordered two swings so I can keep one at my place. Because, you know, I’m going to steal this baby as much as possible.”

Elain chuckled, rubbing her growing bump lovingly. “I’m sure she’ll love spending time at her Aunt Nesta’s…and I’m sure me and daddy won’t mind having an afternoon or two to nap.”

“Why do I feel like you call him daddy way too often?” Feyre asks, and Elain nudges her with a scowl, which makes me chuckle. 

My sisters fall back into a comfortable, lighthearted conversation, but I don’t hear much of it. My mind is elsewhere. I wonder what Cassian is doing, what he’s been up to, what he’s been thinking, what he’s been saying about me. I doubt any of it has been good. I’m sure he’s been cursing my name and wishing I was nothing more than a woman of his past. 

“Nesta?”

I blink, unaware of how long I’ve been staring at my wine glass. I look up at Elain and clear my throat. “Hmm?”

Her eyes were soft, full of worry. “You can talk to us, you know.” 

I look to Feyre to try and gauge where her thoughts are at. After all, she’s the one that’s been talking to my husband. Yet, her eyes are just as full of worry, which I hate.

“I’m fine,” I say, and they know it’s a lie the second it slips off my tongue. The room drops into silence, and I close my eyes. “Has he…said anything?”

My sisters remain silent until I open my eyes, but then Feyre says, “He misses you.”

“He has an odd way of showing it.” The hostility in my tone isn’t directed at her, but I can’t help it. 

“He’s sad.” Feyre shrugs. “He hasn’t said much in detail, and I haven’t pried, but I can tell that he’s sad.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. I sip from my wine. I didn’t think that it was possible to feel any more guilty, but now I’m drowning in it. It doesn’t help that my sisters stay completely silent, letting me dwell in my misery. 

“Has he…mentioned when he’s coming home?” I ask, ashamed of how small my voice sounds.

It’s quiet for another moment longer and when I drag my gaze from my glass, I regret it. They’re both looking at me with pity.

I hate it. I hate feeling weak, but the sadness in their eyes isn’t just for me. Cassian has been a staple in their lives as long as he’s been in mine. He’s family to them both, but he and Feyre have always been close, almost stepping into the role of the older brother for her that none of us ever had.

I wasn’t surprised when she was the one who took the lead on this particular conversation.

Clearing her throat, she adjusted her seat on the couch, wrapping her arms around a throw pillow. I couldn’t get the image out of my head that she was putting a shield between us. That made me all the more worried for whatever she was going to say.

“I don’t know that he plans to,” Feyre finally admitted.

I waited for her to go on, not wanting to push, but her silence, and Elain’s, continued. “But that doesn’t— Why wouldn’t he?”

“He asked for a divorce, Nes,” she said, voice gratingly gentle, as if she were speaking to Nyx or one of her students. “That’s a pretty big indication that something is wrong.”

“I don’t need you telling me that something’s wrong.” Neither of them flinch at my sudden fury. They continue to watch me, carefully. I take a deep breath. “He’ll come back. He’s just pissed off and needs to cool down.”

Even as I say the words, I taste the lie.

“He’s given up, Nesta. He’s unhappy,” Feyre said, not unkindly. “And so are you.”

Such simple words, a secret that we tried to hide for so long, but here it is laid out bare: the truth. 

“I know,” I say, quietly, because my anger has faded and now I’m at a loss for words. 

“What about you?” Elain asked, and at my confused expression, she says, “Have you given up?”

If I were to tell the truth, I would say that I had given up a long time ago, I just didn’t realize it. Instead, I shrug. 

“Have you two ever talked about marriage counseling?” Elain asks, adjusting herself on the couch with a cringe. Deep into her last trimester, I can tell that she’s constantly uncomfortable. An annoyance, but a luxury. 

I shake my head. “I can’t remember the last time we had a meaningful conversation, much less a conversation that’s involved any sort of reconciliation.”

The confession flows out of me and my sister's frown deepens. “Well, remember Az and I did couples therapy when we were engaged. It helped so much.”

Azriel used to have a difficult time opening up, talking about his past, and it had created separation between the two of them in the beginning. I remember them doing couples therapy for a few months and only being happier and closer together because of it.

“I don’t really see Cass as…the therapy type,” I say, staring at a loose thread on the blanket thrown across my lap.

“Az was opposed to it at first,” Elain says, “but as soon as our first session wrapped, he already wanted to continue with it. Maybe suggest it. If you want to find your way back to him…” She shrugs and her eyes line with tears. I know it’s her hormones, but I still feel guilty for making Elain cry. She quickly shakes her head. “Don’t mind me. You know I’m an emotional mess.”

Feyre chuckles but I lean over and squeeze Elain’s hand. “I know. Don’t worry. I’ve cried so much the last few days that I don’t think it’s possible for me to cry anymore. Greg has gone into hiding, surely scared shitless that every time he sees me I’m going to be bawling.”

I try to make it a joke, but it’s just pathetic.

“We know you love him,” Feyre says, sipping from her glass. “And he loves you. He really does. He’s just…tired. You know?”

Yeah. I know.

“Do you want to save your marriage?” Feyre asks.

I don’t have the energy for anger anymore. “Of course I do. But I feel like…” Apparently I lied. I do still have tears left to cry, and they come now, appearing so quickly that I can’t even try to stop them. “I feel like so much damage has been done. We’ve drifted too far apart and I have no fucking clue how we’re going to find our way back to one another. I don’t think love is enough anymore. And I feel like I’ve made one too many mistakes.”

“No such thing,” Elain said, dabbing at her eyes. “There’s no such thing as too many mistakes. I’m telling you, marriage counseling works wonders. If you want, I can give you the information of the woman we saw. Suggest it to Cass. See what he thinks.”

My eyes drift back down to that loose thread, although my vision is now blurry. I’m scared of suggesting such a thing and having him laugh in my face.

“What if he doesn’t want to?” I ask, wiping at my eyes with my sleeve. “What if he’s just done? For good?”

This time both of my sisters spoke at once. Elain, trying to comfort as she always did, and Feyre, unafraid to speak the truth, no matter how much it hurt, their words jumbled as they spoke over each other. They gave each other an apologetic smile before turning back to me.

“He won’t be,” Elain promised, taking my hand. “He loves you and he misses you. I’m sure he’d be willing to do anything to get back to how you were.”

“But…” Feyre took my other hand, squeezing once. “If he doesn’t, if this is the beginning of a different chapter of your life, we’re here. You aren’t alone.”

The smile I gave them didn’t reach my eyes, nor do I think it fooled them. I’d been alone for months, but no one said anything, no one noticed.

What would make this any different?

After another hour of talking, clearing my head, and making sure I was good to drive, I headed home. I was avoiding it now, far more intentionally than I had before Cassian left.

Before, I hadn’t been there because I was busy. I came home late, but I always knew the porch light would be on, that my husband was waiting inside, despite our distance.

Now, when I come home, it’s empty. It’s dark and every sound, day or night, makes me jump.

I hate being alone.

But as I approach the house, I see the porch light is on and my breath catches in my throat. When I raise the garage door, it isn’t empty, as I’d expected.

There’s a familiar black truck parked in the spot opposite mine.

He…came home.

For a moment I just sit in my car, surprised and uncertain, not because I’m not happy he’s here, but because I wasn’t prepared.

After a deep breath, trying to calm my newfound nerves, I open the door and head inside. It’s ridiculous, being nervous to see my own husband, but we haven’t spoken in days and our last conversation left too much unsaid. I don’t know if I should be expecting a gentle reunion or preparing for a fight. 

“Cassian?”

The house is quiet. Greg is nearly asleep on the kitchen table, looking like he’d just gotten there and isn’t quite comfortable yet. 

Cassian's keys and wallet are sitting next to his phone on the island. It’s not where he usually puts them when he comes home. I’m finding it much stranger than I probably should.

When he doesn’t respond to me, I start making my way through the house, calling his name once more. I take to the stairs and hear the shower running as I approach our bedroom. 

It must be a good sign, right? That he’s making himself at home?

It looks like he came here right after the gym. His shoes are discarded on the floor, his sweaty clothes sitting on top of mine in the hamper. I drop my purse on the bed and slip out of my boots. I’m just about to sit, to wait for him, to take a few minutes to think about what I’m going to say, but then I hear my husband moan and my entire body locks up.

It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve heard him moan.

He’s having sex in there.

He may be pissed, but to bring some slut into our house— 

My entire body is shaking and I feel like I’m going to vomit. I feel a panic attack coming on, feel my face burning in embarrassment. We’ve had our issues, but I never imagined Cassian to be the cheating one, never imagined he could be unfaithful. 

And then to rub it in my face like this?

Before I even know what I’m doing, I’m storming towards the bathroom and throwing open the door.

A room filled with steam greets me, and before I can start screaming and cursing his name, I freeze.

Cassian’s alone. His back is to me, one palm opened flat against the tile wall, his head thrown back as his body starts to tense. The glass is fogged up, but I can still see enough of the body that I used to explore and pleasure. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him naked, since I’ve let him touch me in any sort of way, since I’ve touched him.

Which seems to be why he’s touching himself now.

He hasn’t heard me come in, and I should walk out, but my feet are stuck just across the threshold, my hand clinging to the doorknob.

He works himself quickly as he moans again, and curses low.

He says my name as he comes.

I must have gasped, must have made some noise as the shock of hearing him groan my name in ecstasy flooded my body, because he turned on his heel, staring at me through the fogged glass. His hand was still around his cock, his chest heaving with each breath that rasped from his lungs.

If I hadn’t been expecting him to say my name, I surely hadn’t been expecting the ire in his eyes when his gaze landed on me. Any heat at what I’d walked in on dissipated as he looked at me.

He may have been thinking of me, but clearly he didn’t want to see me.

My chest felt cold and hollow and empty.

Without a word, I left the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and walked into the bedroom.

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