#vidalinav writes fanfic

[vidalinav]

Stu(died): Chapter 6

Summary: Finals week and Cassian’s birthday

Masterlist, Stu(died) Chapter List

I don’t know if anyone really follows this anymore or if anyone even remembers what happened last chapter, but... I finished this chapter. Nesta’s a bit aggressive in this one btw. 

~

Nesta will blame it all on these godforsaken holidays.

That’s why she goes to Cassian’s family dinner and stays through the night, because the cheer has her in a chokehold and she can barely gasp a no. That’s why she behaves nicer than she is. That’s why she doesn’t bother arguing when his mom asks what they are to each other. Tutor x Student? This is not a fanfiction!

It must be the lights, the cheer, the joy that regrettably seeps into her skin and drowns her in glitter. That’s why Nesta stays and talks in a voice so soft she can barely recognize herself. She looks in the mirror, too, that day to see if the difference in her persona is a tangible thing, something that she can turn on and off like the bathroom light switch, but all she sees are fake reindeer ears and snowman pajamas.  

Who are you?  

So, Nesta decides that an alien who likes Christmas and being well fed has inhabited her body. And it’s an alien that kisses Cassian that night. 

The real Nesta would never do such a thing.  

The real Nesta is a professional. Strictly business. Cassian is a student and tutoring is her job, and she contemplates this as she watches him across the table, biting at a pen. What if he makes a mistake, she thinks. Pens over pencils?  

He leaves teeth marks on the cap, and she wonders what the alien sees in him. A guy who leaves all his mistakes on paper. He’s left-handed too which makes it worse. All the ink is smudged, and his palm is a Smurf level of blue.

Cassian doesn’t care. Cassian doesn’t care about anything.  

Then why did he give you a gift? Why did he invite you? Why does he stay?

The alien speaks and it’s decidedly in Cassian’s favor.   

“So,” Cassian drags, “I know you don’t like going out. Or at least you prefer to be staying in, but I thought we could do something next Wednesday.” 

Cassian taps his pen against the table in way her heart has repeated every time she thinks of that night. The christmas lights. The warmth in her chest. The soreness in her arms because they were wrapped so tightly around him. 

But Nesta does what she does best, dismissing him with a simple shrug of her shoulders, giving nothing away. Because there is nothing there. She’s his tutor.  

“Wednesday’s a school night.” 

“You’re in college,” Cassian counters.  

“And college is still school,” Nesta says, shaking her head a little too abruptly.

Everything feels abrupt. Wrong. The oddity of the movement has her scrunching her nose. Why is she nervous suddenly? That must be what this feeling is. Apprehension. Danger. A terrible need to hide. She doesn’t feel this way decorating the tree at his house, not even meeting his family. No, in fact...

She feels like she belongs there. 

Nesta doesn’t even belong here, in this body, sitting in this room, watching this boy-man-child-person rattle the table with his jostling knee, playing drums with writing utensils. 

So, Nesta breathes in a disgruntled sigh, and raises her chin like a bad habit. 

“I’m busy Wednesday,” Nesta says, her voice final, like she’s ending an essay and hitting submit. Grade me harshly, she thinks, but this is business. This is education. This is forward thinking. 

It will be better this way, she thinks. But like many other times before, Nesta isn’t sure who this is better for. It’s all muddled up in her brain, because this is what Cassian does. He confuses. He distracts. 

And Cassian never stops prodding like he should. In fact, he leans back in his chair, a certain smirk on his face meaning he’s ready to negotiate. Dinner and movies and after session snacks and walking her home and buying her books. It’s always that smirk and sometimes it’s a soft, gentle smile right after she agrees, breathless and bitter that he convinces her so easily. 

It’s an indecent look. One so confidently sure of himself that Nesta’s sure she’s not staring at the same Cassian.

Her heart pounds in her chest and Cassian, the alien, smirks. “Well, I was hoping you could find someone to cover your shift.”  

“And why would I do that?”  

There it is. Cassian smiles and it’s reminiscent to a holiday. Glee inducing. Glitter infested. Green and red and bright, retro lights. Trees taller than she is and warmth. Warmth to chase away the bitter frost. 

He leans his head in his palm and he smiles as he places the pen behind his ear, chewed up cap and all. 

“It’s my birthday next Wednesday,” he says as if Nesta doesn’t already know. She does. She knows too much about him. She’ll blame it on that forgettable freshman year, the semester he sullied his name and ruined their chances of... friendship. He did this to himself, she thinks. 

Cassian leans closer, a covetous whisper of his words like he’s keeping some secret. I’ll share this with you, she reads from his tone. 

Share this with me, the alien agrees. 

“I want to spend it with you. I thought we could see a movie.” 

Because she’s been talking about wanting to see one--or rather complaining that she never has the time. 

Cassian leans back as if he’s ready to hear her terms, but Nesta holds her breath. She tries to will her heart to stop sounding like drums. She swears she can hear it get louder, a whole orchestra sitting in her chest. 

I hate movies sits right on her tongue, but that alien squanders the thought. Oh no, the alien thinks, you want this. The alien is joyous. The alien likes this attention. 

So it’s no wonder when the alien takes control, pushing that ridiculous need to panic outside of her body. 

“What movie?” it asks. 

Cassian’s eyes widen and he shoves his notebook away as if it’s blocking his view. “You agree?”  

“I didn’t agree,” Nesta says, defensively, “I asked what the movie will be.”  

But Cassian shakes his head. His hair is neatly tucked behind his floral scrunchie and a few curling wisps of black escape at his neck. Regrettably, she feels a strange urge to grab at the straying piece and tug. 

But she hates that scrunchie. She hates his hair that’s never neat. She hates the indecent way he walks through this earth as if already knowing who he is. Where is his confusion? Where is his fear? 

“We can see any movie you want, but I think you’ll want to see that horror movie coming out.”  

Nesta scoffs, “You hate horror movies.”   

“I don’t hate you, though,” he quips, his lips tucking up fondly. A little comically. A little too neat and nonchalant. A little too calm and self-assured.  

Maybe an alien is inhabiting his body.  One side of his lips is raised and his eyes are a rich shade of amber in this library light, and she wonders... are you flirting with me?  

I hate you sits right on her tongue, so immediate she almost says it aloud.

Only the alien stops her from spewing the words. Rip if off like a Band-Aid, she argues. Then he can hate her and go find a new tutor and she’ll never have to see him again. The alien doesn’t like that thought at all. She feels her stomach drop at the thought, dipping like she’s racing down a hill. 

Maybe she’ll puke and this will all be over with. 

But if he does get a new tutor, someone else will have to tap at his notebook five hundred times and sigh this one, Cassian!  Someone else will have to keep him focused and resist his bribery, his negotiation, his eyes and his hair and his voice. 

“This one, Cassian,” she hears herself tiredly sigh, when he looks back to his homework a little too lost to have been paying attention this whole time. “Anyways, I can’t get it off. I need two weeks' notice for things like that and Janie won’t cover for me. She’s going back home after her last final.”  

Cassian frowns and Nesta ignores how that expression makes her feel. She is tired of feeling, she decides. “I’ll still see you that day, right?”  

He sounds desperate. Likes she’s ruined his hopes and his dreams. Nesta refrains from telling him that his work ethic will do that for him. 

“We have a tutoring session in the morning. As is my job.”  

“You’re job... Right...” But Cassian merely nods, instead of arguing like she thinks he might. “I’ll take it,” he says, seemingly content with the bare minimum she gives. 

But the alien inside of her sits back, wound tight and ruthless... it is not satisfied with bare minimum. 

It is not tired of feeling. 

~

The house is warm, but Nesta’s face is still red. There seems to be a permanent state of cold that’s been permeating her body and it’s not another of bout of sickness that would have her regrettably missing Wednesday. Her nose is cold to the touch and her feet, though covered in enough socks to be safe enough as shoes, are freezing. She looks in the glare of the microwave and even there she can see it. 

She looks like fucking Rudolph. 

And yet, instead of lying in her bed, smothering herself in blankets, and turning on the space heater that may or may not light her room on fire, she is in the kitchen, trying not to put her head in the stand mixer. 

“Woah,” Emerie says, dropping her towel where she pats at her wet hair. Nesta sighs before facing her loving, but judgmental friend. What will she say at her flushed cheeks? “Are you... baking?”  

“No,” Nesta answers quickly, rolling her eyes. “Can’t you see? I’m trying to get the mixer to knock some sense into me.” 

“Well your head might be too big to fit in that bowl,” Emerie jests. “Have you tried the emulsion blender and the big pot?”   

Nesta only sighs, her gaze moving across the endless about of mixing bowls. Is this what hell feels like?   

“Hmm,” Emerie says, “you’re doing your lovesick sigh. Must be serious if you’re baking and sighing. Anyone I know?” 

Emerie gives her a pointed look, one just as indecent as Cassian’s smile. 

Cassian. Cassian. Cassian. 

Cassian who can’t get out of her head. 

But instead of replying, Nesta straightens her stance and runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the ponytail. Get it together, she repeats to herself. “Nothing’s serious. I just wanted dessert is all.” 

“You’ve never touched a whisk a day in your life.”

Nesta scoffs, “that’s not true. I licked the batter off of it the last time you made cake, remember.” 

“I do actually,” Emerie nods wistfully. “That was good cake.” 

She moves to inspect the counter where Nesta currently rests her head in defeat. There’s flour and eggs and milk and oil. Sugar and baking powder, and there’s too many bowls for Nesta to know what to do with. Who needs this many bowls? What person decided they needed 15 plus bowls in their pantry? 

“You have flour in your hair, you know.” 

Nesta shrugs, “casualty of war.” 

“Ahh, must be about someone I know then. You only start mentioning war when you’re too busy fighting your feelings.” Emerie chuckles at the seemingly clever thing she says, but Nesta doesn’t find her words so amusing. 

“I have no feelings,” Nesta answers immediately. “In fact, I don’t even want make this cake anymore. I’m tired, actually.” 

“I mean... it is exhausting hiding from the truth.” 

Nesta glares up at her friend, but Emerie only smiles wider at her look. Of course, she’d have friends who found her glares endearing. How inconvenient, she decides. Next time, she’ll pick friends who hate the same things she does... or have no friends at all. 

But that thought makes her chest ache, so she dismisses it quickly. 

Emerie points to the mixture of melted chocolate. “For Cassian right? When is his birthday again?” 

Nesta sighs, lowering her head once more on the counter. 

“December 16th.”

“So you’re dating now?”

Nesta scoffs, wondering how Emerie reaches that conclusion. But Emerie merely points to the spoon covered in a fluff of butter and sugar, as if that will convince Nesta of how ridiculous she seems. 

“No we’re not,” she remarks sternly. 

“Nesta... you’re baking a cake.”  

“I like cake.” Which is true. It’s her favorite dessert. She happens to be lucky her younger sister lives hours away, or she’d eat it every day. As is her right. 

“Okay,” Emerie shrugs simply. “Then you’re baking a cake when you have a final tomorrow and you could be studying.”  

“I’m taking a break! Aren’t you the one always going on about self-care?” Nesta can’t help but wrinkle her nose, grumbling about being reminded of her impending doom. Because she does have a final tomorrow. A final she could be studying for if not for the fact that a frat boy has her in a chokehold. 

Take your fucking cake and be done with me, Nesta thinks violently. 

Emerie waves a hand, “That’s to Gwyn. To you, I say there’s a hunky boy that follows you around like a lost puppy, and you are under no obligation to like him but...” Emerie’s words hush to a whisper and she puts her hand to her lips as if keeping a secret. 

Everyone with their fucking secrets!

“I think it’s clear that you do.”  

“No,” Nesta dismisses, shaking her head. “Negative.”  

“Denials not just a river in Egypt,” Emerie sings.

“What about Egypt?” Gwyn inquires. The door shuts abruptly and Gwyn sets down her bag of books with a loud thud. Emerie tuts, because it’s obvious she’s been studying instead of taking a break like she’s been trying to encourage. 

Gwyn doesn’t take a break for anyone.  

And neither does Nesta... usually. Neither does Nesta always and it doesn’t matter if this class is an elective that was never really that hard, she should be studying to make sure without a doubt she doesn’t miss one problem. 

But Emerie doesn’t goad at their friend, instead she takes a piece of chocolate off the counter and raises it to her lips. “I was just telling Nesta here that's she’s obviously infatuated with our nosy neighbor. Why else would she be baking?”

“You’re baking?” Gwyn questions, thoroughly astonished. “What 18th century novel have we set foot in where you’ve suddenly gone domestic? Is this what love does?” 

Gwyn blinks and for a moment Nesta doesn’t know what to do with that expression, but then Gwyn is moving to the couch, picking up the bag of brightly colored balloons. “Is this what the bat is for? You told me it was for your sister.”

Emerie’s brows furrow and she looks to Nesta confused. “Bat?”    

She means the stuffed bat that Nesta picks up at the giftshop Gwyn sometimes works at, near the hospital. Nesta volunteers there so... what can she do? It’s just there and Gwyn is laughing while she blows up balloons, telling her that she gets a 30% discount on all the things and suddenly Nesta is grabbing the black toy. It’s a heating pad just like her lobster. 

It doesn’t make any sense, but Nesta also buys a card. It’s the alien! 

Happy birthday, you old bat, it writes. 

Nesta grimaces, but when she looks up at her friends, she throws up her hands. “We’ve known each other for two years! It’s just a friendly tutoring gift. Like good luck with the semester, thanks for keeping me employed. Hope you fail again soon. It means nothing!” 

But at her outburst--which is a little too high-strung that even Nesta blinks at her own antics--Emerie backtracks.  Emerie fiddles with a spatula on the counter, turning it over and her voice gentles into a soft tone, all placating like she’s a child.

Great... now she’s hysterical. 

“You know it’s okay if it does mean something. You are allowed to like someone. It’s a perfectly okay thing to do... and it’s just as well if it is or if it isn’t Cassian.” Emerie places her hand on Nesta’s arms and Nesta tries not to shirk in on herself. 

This is what she hates. She can feel it like a lump in her throat. The feeling of being seen, watched, peeled away layer by layer as if she means to rip off her skin and discover all the secrets Nesta hides. She hoards them away like a little dragon and her gold. What will they do once they find it, she fears. How will they ruin her? 

Danger. Danger. Danger. 

She feels unsafe. Nesta shakes her head, her face feeling hot and she wants to go to her room, except that’s the cowards way out and she can’t be seen like a coward. She’s a bad bitch. She feels nothing. 

“I say this because I want you to know that we love you whether you date this man or not. Whether you date anyone or not.” 

Gwyn shrugs though her lips don’t raise comfortingly like Emerie’s. She’s rather upfront as she says, “we love you so much that we’ll threaten his favorite part if he hurts you. I know several ways we can make it look like an accident.” 

Nesta laughs a short sound. “So do I,” she says, softly, suddenly tired. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Emerie waves, “we can help hide the body and all that jazz... but can we also help with this cake? Do you want help with this cake?” 

I want you to stop looking at me, Nesta thinks. 

“I wish Cassian had never come into our lives,” she answers, though she doesn’t know how honest her words are or what they actually mean. 

Nesta lays her head on the counter, contemplating the emulsion blender and that giant pot Cassian had made her soup in. She wonders if flour is as hard to clean as glitter or if it will stay on her face and her clothes for a little bit longer, evidence of her crime. 

But Nesta concedes to the offered help. If she ropes Emerie and Gwyn into this then at least she’ll have someone to blame when Cassian inevitably starts asking questions. 

~

“It’s a little misshapen,” Nesta says and it is. At best, it reminds her of the one from Harry Potter--massive letters spanning the entirety of the cake. But at least, she spells all the words correctly. It could have had an entirely different name on it, too, which Nesta contemplates doing more than once as she frosts.

Cassian looks to the cake like it’s made of pure gold and any mentions of Caspian, Callum, Carlos, and Cade fall off of her tongue. Because C.A.S.S.I.A.N is written in big, bold, blue lettering, just like the corners of her notebook when she absently scribbles.

Cassian lights up somehow when he smiles, and his lips are wide staring at the chocolate. The hazel shine like a warm cup of tea and she can see all of the amber swirls. Rich cinnamon. A baker’s dream. A reader’s paradise. 

He is the embodiment of the word cozy... just like being in the library, surrounded by all these books.

But these feelings are made up of lies, she tells herself, and his face makes her want to puke. At the very least, she’s starting to feel nauseous and she wonders if Cassian can tell. She practices schooling her facial expressions in the mirror to look aloof and she hopes the hour has done her well, because her cheeks are starting to feel warm. 

She looks red, looks dire and distressed in that mirror. She looks like she is going to fail a test--has already failed it and there’s nothing to do to save her grade. She’s being dramatic, Nesta keeps repeating to herself, but the words do nothing to make her seem calm. 

She doesn’t think she seems calm now, but Nesta will keep telling pretty lies. She’ll keep swallowing them, pushing past the lump in her throat. She’ll fill her stomach with something that soothes. 

“You made this?” Cassian asks.

Nesta shrugs, trying not to fiddle with the sleeves of her sweater because she can help the movement. She’s in control of her body and she always has been. She is a stronger bitch than this. 

And a cake is no big deal, she reminds herself. She can make cake for anyone, even herself. If Nesta wants cake, she can make cake and she can eat the entire thing in one go. She could even take back this one and run. 

But Cassian gathers his arms around the base of the cake as if wanting to tuck it to his chest, and suddenly she remembers the thought from freshman year. That he must give good hugs.

Nesta recoils, tucking her arms across her stomach.

“I almost don’t want to eat it,” Cassian notes lightly. 

Nesta startles in her seat. 

“You have to eat it,” Nesta demands, forcefully. She’s been staring at that cake every time she opens the fridge and it takes every bit of willpower not to say to hell with Cassian and eat it herself. She’ll be damned if he doesn’t let her eat some of it. Isn’t that what Emerie keeps saying last night? That she can make her cake and eat it too. That it will be her reward. 

“I made it for you,” she argues and she can feel her face getting hot. “Why wouldn’t you eat it? Isn’t that bad luck or something?”

“Bad luck? Like a fortune cookie?”  

“Bad luck like a curse. You don’t eat it and you don’t get your birthday wish.” 

Cassian’s lips raise lightly, slowly, schemingly. “I get... a birthday wish?” 

Nesta pauses, hearing how the words sounds. They sound childish and stupid. This will ruin her street cred’. She’s not going to be the smart one anymore. She’s the stupid one. The one who makes up things that don’t even make sense. 

“But you have to know...” he trails off, shaking his head as if it’s obvious.  

Nesta refrains from yelling get on with it as she asks, “know what?” 

Cassian squints, his gaze focusing on her face, curious but apprehensive all at once. Cassian laughs, but the sound is short. Almost scared. 

“So, when we were in freshman year, I had a whole day planned about how I wanted to spend my birthday. My family had plans too, they were going to come up and take us all out to dinner. Do it big. Fancy steak house and... I don’t know, go carts or something. They said it was my first birthday away from them and they wanted it to be special.” 

“Okay.” 

“I told them to stay home, because I wanted to spend it with you.” Cassian gives her a knowing look, but Nesta doesn’t know anything, so she keeps quiet, leaning on every word. “In my mind, it would have probably been dinner too, the seafood place that’s a bit out of town, and maybe the bookstore because I figured if I could get you into a bookstore, you’d start talking about your romances and I could play down the fact that I was nervous as hell and I didn’t know what to say.” 

“You were the only person I wanted to spend my birthday with. It’s like... I met you and it was only you from then on.” Cassian shrugs, lightly, and Nesta watches as he closes his notebook, with an air of finality. As if to say studying is not as important as you. As bold of a claim as it is. 

“So you have to know, Nesta. The only wish I have is you.” 

The only wish I have is you. 

The only wish I have is you. 

The only wish I have is you. 

The words replay in her mind and Nesta can feel her face getting warm. Her chest feels different. Nausea, maybe... so Nesta, stares at the textbooks instead of looking into his eyes. 

She snaps her fingers quickly. “I think you’ll understand this chapter more if I can find this textbook I’ve been meaning to give you. I’m going to go check.” 

“Right now?” Cassian asks, astonished. 

Nesta shrugs, nonchalantly. “No time like the present.” 

“Nesta...” 

But she moves, swiftly from the table and into the aisles, willing herself to not look back--hoping upon hoping that he will leave her alone. 

Cassian follows her with a soft call of her name. “Nesta...” 

“Nesta,” Cassian speaks, hushing his tone to not disturb the one or two other students they pass along the way. Nesta doesn’t know how far she’ll go, but she’s hoping she’ll make it to Australia by Tuesday... or at least deep enough for Cassian to give up, inevitably resigned to the fact that she won’t be distracted in her pursuit. Just ignore him, she thinks. “I don’t need a textbook right now. You don’t need a textbook.” 

“I think your grades would beg to differ.” 

“Did something I say bother you?” 

“Your entire being is bothering me,” Nesta scoffs. 

“Bothered how?”

But Nesta keeps moving, her head straight and her gaze straight ahead. 

Cassian grabs her arm, a strong but gentle pressure. Nesta eyes the touch, startled by the fact that she doesn’t immediately shrug him off. “Tell me so I can make you feel better.”  

“As if you have so much control over me,” she says, though she still doesn’t shove him away. 

“No, but you have control over me,” Cassian says, loudly. Nesta gives him a dirty look for speaking so loudly in the quieter part of the library, and he looks apologetically at her. Then he rolls his eyes, smiling fondly as if to say see. “I want to please you, to make you happy... and I thought I was doing a horrible job until that kiss.” 

“Don’t bring up that kiss,” she said, loud and outraged and also furious that he has her yelling in a library. 

“Why?” Cassian goads, pushing the conversation forward, which is so unlike him to do. “You kissed me, remember.” 

“You invited me to spend Thanksgiving with your family, and besides you didn’t push me away.” 

“Oh no, I wanted to kiss you.”

Nesta crosses her arms, giving him a look that means there will be no arguing with her. “Well you shouldn’t.” 

But Cassian’s lips raise, undignified and stupid. “In fact I want you to kiss me again.” 

He moves closer to her and Nesta takes several steps back. He’s as tall as she remembers, and there’s no comforting table or textbooks that stand between like a barrier. She supposes she could grab one from the shelf and chuck it, hope it meets his face. She can run. She can transfer schools. 

But that would disrespecting the books and that thought has her clenching her impulsive fists. He’s tall and he smells good. Pages and pillows and soft sheets. Something like fresh air. Something a little darker with more muted notes. A little like getting lost in the woods. 

A little like being found. 

Cassian looms over her and for once he doesn’t back away and Nesta doesn’t assert space. He raises his hand, his palm gently, hovering close to her skin... waiting to see what she’ll do if he gets close. Nesta closes her eyes and Cassian trails a thumb down her lips as if tracing a map. 

“Do you want me to kiss you again?” He asks, his breath so soft against her cheek.  

She can feel the books against her back and it reminds her of romance novels. Cassian and her in between stacks, sneaking in dark corners for clandestine meetings. Anyone could see them. Her boss could see her. The tutoring monitors could crawl up to the fourth floor and shout, this is what we pay you for? But no one is here. It’s only Cassian, and his hulking frame. That red sweatshirt spilling across his chest.  

Nesta glares, crossing her arms. She hums, and she’ll say it’s to make him wait, but it sounds much too wanton--a deep groan in the back of her throat.  

“That’s not a yes,” he muses.  

“This is coercive,” she says, kicking her foot. “We’re in a library,” she seethes.  

But he smells so good, and he hovers over her just right. The perfect height to be pinned against bookshelves. It almost seems sacrilegious. Would that damage the books, she thinks. What if they push against it so hard, each shelf falls over like dominoes? There would be no hiding what they’ve done, then.  

Cassian smirks as she thinks, that dimple in the corner of his mouth shining on his face and she wants to place her thumb there... She wants his lips on hers. His body on hers. His hands skimming across her skin like he’s tracing words on a page.  

If she touches him first, he can touch her. If she only says yes, then she can taste him again. She looks to that floral scrunchie. She’d be able to pull on it, pull at his hair and hear his groans and finally find out what they sound like outside of her conspiring imagination. The ones hidden so deep, she thinks no one will ever find them.  

Nesta looks to his eyes, but they’re much too bright. She can see herself in them, all flushed. Interestingly enough, she doesn’t look frightened. She looks ready... wanting... waiting... eager. 

Nesta can’t help biting at her lips. “Books make me weak,” she mutters to herself. A fatal flaw. 

“Oh I know,” Cassian says, smiling. “But I'm not going to kiss you unless you expressly tell me yes. I’m not going to kiss you, unless you want this, Nesta.” 

So, Nesta pushes at his shoulders. 

It only takes a tap before Cassian is pulling away as if nothing happens at all, here between bookshelves. Is that disappointment in his gaze or does he just assume she will say no? He doesn’t appear perturbed. If anything, it seems expected. Or perhaps he’s a gentlemen and he does mean what he says. 

“Back to Gauss’s law it is,” he says, softly. 

But Nesta is strangely disappointed by that.

She can imagine following him back to the table where they’re tucked away in a space that is reserved for those who want to talk and study. Not the quiet area where she usually studies by herself. They go back to the table now and they’d pass blow up mattresses and every once in a while a student in a dinosaur costume would roam the hall as someone else films them from behind. Just like every true finals week, when students become so tired facts turn into fiction.

Right now though, there’s no one in sight. It’s quiet and strangely calm and… the alien grasps Cassian’s hand because Nesta is tired here between shelves.

Finals week lunacy has sunk in completely, she thinks. She can barely recognize herself at all as she stares at her flushed face in the gleam of his eyes. It’s no wonder she’s contemplating how sane she truly is. 

Cassian swallows, she can see the bob of his adam’s apple, but his gaze is open and warm and he’s wearing her favorite sweatshirt she could just wrap herself in. If only he wrapped his arms around her. 

So Nesta does the only sane thing, she can grasp, all thoughts of Gauss gone and instead, Nesta begins writing romances on his lips.

~~~~

Stu(died) Tagged List:

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430 @unhealthyfanobsession @simpingfornestaarcheron @talkfantasytome @sayosdreams

~

Do they get together after this? ahahhahahhahauahaahhfa 

no. 

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #nessian fanfiction #Stu(died) #vidalinav writes #vidalinav writes fanfic

[duskandstarlight]

The Girl (Nessian fanfic)

Notes: I needed angst and raw Nessian so... here we are. I have no idea if this is a prologue or a one-shot at this moment in time ( I think it's a prologue...) But here you are, a gift to you all because I am so shit at posting / writing these days...

And because it's not my jam writing-wise, now is the time to highlight that this will not be a pregnancy fic.

Prologue Cassian

It’s winter when he meets The Girl. Solstice lights are strung around the city and the music playing in the cramped bar is essentially a questionable mix of eighties, garage music and festive bangers that people scream along to until they’re hoarse.

Amongst the writhing bodies, Cassian spots her. Scarlet cami, hair like honey. He watches her for too long, the way her hips move to a rhythm nobody else quite seems to get like she does, the length of her ponytail as it swings to and fro. 

When she turns and meets his eyes, he’s a goner. And at the end of night, when he backs her into his apartment, he realises quickly that whoever this girl is, she takes what she wants and he’ll take what he can get.  

None of it takes long. 

It’s electric. It’s fire. It’s as if alone, they are both embers - but together they are the wind that ignites the spark, burning up a frenzy. His mouth on hers, the length of her hair wrapped around his palm whilst her fingers bite at his scalp. Her legs clamped around his hips as she unzips him and sinks down. 

It’s obscene that Cassian doesn’t think about protection. It’s there in the back of his mind, this small niggle. But he bats it away, marvelling instead at the pull and push of this primal attraction he’s never had before, relentless as the tide as it rushes back only to curl over inside of him again and hook him right back in.

When it’s over, Cassian has the distinct impression that he’s lost something, so he keeps his head buried in the crook of her neck a little too long. She smells like jasmine and vanilla and salt. Cassian feels as if he’s been shattered from some great height.

And then she’s untangling herself from him and tugging up her leather-look leggings over her hips, tucking her breasts back into her bra and pulling the scarlet satin cami back over her head. 

Cassian is still not quite back in the room when she grabs for her bag. Her voice is scratchy and thick with what they’ve just done. “It’s been fun.” 

The words have him scrambling up from the couch but his jeans are caught around his ankles.

“Hey,” he says as he manages to stand. The zipper jams in his shirt and he mutters a series of curses under his breath.

By the time he’s turned, the front door is shutting. 

She’s let herself out.

In all Cassian’s time sleeping around, he’s never seen such a quick exit. 

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @fanboy7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @valkyriesupremacy @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @misswonderflower @miamorganvel18 @kawaiteacup @nestaa-stan @castielspelvis @haigrr @dont-take-life-to-seriously @dontgetsalmonella

#nessian #nessian fanfic #acotar #nessian fic #acotar fanfic #nesta archeron #Cassian acotar #cassian #duskandstarlightwrites #the girl

[arinbelle]

For the fanfic writers ask game, 5 and 9!

Hello! Thank you so much for asking!!!

5.What fanfic of yours should everyone have read?

9.What are your favorite fanfics?

~*~

5. So I'm not used to tooting my own horn too much but I'll say that even though Lost was a big hit with everyone, I think I spent so, so, SO much time in writing "Learning Curve," and I think if you really want to get me as a writer that's one to read.

9. So I'm not sure if this is asking me as a reader or writer so I'll answer both. As a writer, my favorite fic I ever wrote might be A Court of Witches and Warriors because I never thought I'd stick to something for that long. And even though I know I haven't updated in forever, it's still my first big thing I ever did and I'm proud of her!

As for other fav fics, where to begin?!?

- Embers and Light is a given. I don't think at any point that any Nessian fan hasn't read it yet but if you haven't read it yet, GO! SHOO! Written by the lovely @duskandstarlight

-In Which She Makes a Friend by @bookstantrash is just 👌😚 (this is my made-up chef's kiss emoji btw). It's so cute, and funny, adorable and angsty. The perfect blend of everything. And it’s all the forced mom, dad, child random family put together trope plus girl training as a boy in the army trope so like...ALL THE TROPES. WE LOVE THE TROPE!

-@vidalinav has...things? It's not easy to explain bc she releases a million snippets that I devour and I basically consider them mini chapters at this point and all of then are their own perfect story. Most notably, Nesta’s Love is Quiet which is done and is actually 5 full chapters.

-Anything by @moodymelanist but my fav will forever be Mr. and Mrs. Archeron because I love Nessian and I love Mr. and Mrs. Smith and the combination AU is just *swoons and dies*

-Bittersweet by @inkedstarlight ...so I actually binge read this fic and then couldn’t find the name and panicked and bothered a bunch of people and refound it because it is SO DAMN GOOD. So beautiful.

- A Favor by @ncssian is *screams very high pitched scream* I mean I can’t really explain it but like it’s perfect. It truly is perfect. It’s just AKJSDFKSJASJ I can’t explain further. Sorry. You’ll have to go see for yourself.

-Fine Print by @noodlecatposts. It’s smutty. It’s soft. It’s angsty. It’s a guilty pleasure. Did I mention it’s steamy? Because it is. 

-Okay so @caotica-e-quieta writes on AO3 as “closet_monster” and it’s actually really funny because when I was just a lurker on tumblr and didn’t interact with anyone and read on AO3, I was the BIGGEST FAN of her work. Like I mean, reread almost everyday because for one, there was literally not much Nessian work out there so you devoured whatever the hell you could find. Her work is some of the best that’s out there so I obviously...ahem...may or may not have every fic memorized. My favorite one is I Made Dinner- Impeccable in every single aspect. WAIT I just remembered I also love, love, love it takes time and a little death. 

-Sand and Stardust by @sayosdreams makes me fucking cry and scream and laugh and cry all at once. So beautifully crafted and it’s Nessian babies!!!!

- @letstakethedawn writes...well, honestly, FILTH. Anyways, I think I’ve read Babooshka many times and well...rose quartz’s are just neat I think. That’s all I’ll say. Read it to understand it.

- It Was the End of Everything by @nehemikkele. Beautifully told. Made me cry. Also, not the only thing written by this writer- because there is SO MUCH to read. But it’s the one I’ve had a chance to read fully and loved unconditionally.

-Been obsessed, remained obsessed, will forever be obsessed by Bottled Up Storms by @perseusannabeth. Imagine soft Cassian, soft Nesta, all the angst and softness in the world and you’ve got this fic.

There are SO MANY more, but these are the ones I can list easily off the top of my head. I actually have so many fics saved and liked but I need to scroll a bunch through my tumblr to find them. Which I will when I’m feeling particularly nostalgic one day!

#nessian #nessian fics #ask game

[sayosdreams]

🌾 A fic you really want to write but you haven’t (yet)?

Oh, @flamingveritas , there are so many. So so so many. I’m putting them under the cut so u can read them all if u like but u don’t have to

Thank you so much for this ask 🥰

Okay, so let’s ignore the fics that I need to continue/ update. Fics that want to write but haven’t include

This James Sirius Potter / Lysander Scamander story where Lys is a trans woman. I actually started plotting this bc of how much I adored the concept and it was one of those “daydream worlds I’d escape to when I’m bored” sort of things. I do want to write it someday (hopefully)

This kind of long modern AU that is centered around Aedion and Aelin’s friendship / cousin dynamic. Basically the prolongue would start off when Aedion moves in with Aelin and her parents when he’s around 6, go through her parents’ divorce and stuff, and the actual story would have a few chapters where the characters are in middle school but the main crux of the story would be in high school. The vibes I’m basing this off of is Aedion and Aelin drifting apart and Aedion being rly sad abt it. Aelin will introduce Aedion to her new friends (Rowan, + maybe the rest of the cadre) as her “second cousin” even tho she used to introduce him as her “brother”. So yeah those r the vibes. Oh also Aedion is gonna be best friends with Elide. I actually started writing this fic but idk I felt like I wasn’t doing Justice to it? Hopefully I will be able to write this

Another fic I started writing was this Rowaelin modern AU. It started off with mild angst in the first chapter which I wrote based off a prompt or smth, but then when I started writing ch 2 it went do RLYYY angsty, dark stuff. It would be the darkest fic I’ve written / thought abt writing so far (Before the Dust Settles is kind of dark in some ways I guess but that’s mostly just angst. This fic would be dark in terms of Aelin’s past trauma with Arobynn). I don’t know if I’ll finish it or not but I do think it could be an interesting story. If you’re wondering, it would be like the premise of Dark Roast No Sugar by but no coffee shop, Aelin and Rowan are exes when the story starts, and also like Rowan isn’t an investigator or anything and Aelin isn’t pregnant, and… yeah

A million Nessian fic ideas. I honestly might start doing what ppl like @ vidalinav have done where they just post the incomplete snippets of fics they don’t think they’ll finish.

I rly would like to write a Nessian fic where Cassian loses / almost loses his wings. I can’t remember the title rn but there’s a fic where Nesta shares Cassian’s pain when she touches him, so kind of like those vubes but not that premise?? It would essentially be Nesta explaining to Cassian that he is much more than his wings and his life isn’t over without them (it would sort of be a commentary of masculinity as well). Nesta would be going through her own shit abt turning into a fae, etc so Cassian would be helping her through that as well

It’s amazing that I still haven’t written a Lysaedion fic or a Teddy Lupin fic when those are some of my fav fics to read. I rly do want to write them someday

everyday I get more and more tempted to write a Regulus centric fanfic, soo I guess we shall see what happens 👀

#answered ask #sayosdreams asks

[vidalinav]

Promp! Nessian subtle touches!!! Like they are not together together yet but they give eachother little touches?? Kind of like before all the a*sf fiasco, i don't know i just want soft nessian

I sort of wrote something for this... but I made it sad face. :D but it’s actually more Nesta having anxiety.

This is basically if Cassian hadn't immediately run off to the snow ball fight and they had their morning after. Basically for context, after this scene, they'd have to go see the rest of the family after they've basically accepted the mate bond. SO... awko taco, but I didn't write that part.

~

Nesta always dreads the morning afters and perhaps that's why she never invites Cassian to stay. There's no drunken allure, no fascination, no great lust that overrides her senses enough to forget that she is with another person... lying in her bed, less than perfect... something stale and sweaty, while she tries to forget the night.

But Nesta finds she doesn't particularly want to forget this night. She doesn't want to get out of bed either.

Cassian’s arms are wrapped around her and his wings are lazily lounging across her way, blocking out the sun and instead of clambering out of sheets, Nesta wishes to trace the fabric of his wings and see what he might do. Would he get mad? Would he settle in sweet sighs? Would he let her touch him, over and over again, just as he had last night?

Last night feels like a dream where they are surrounded by stars. Light winds around their hearts, knotting and twisting into something permanent and precious. Nesta has an inkling of what it is, but she won't say it out loud. Let him admit it first. If he dares, let him speak his mind and she'll tell him that she'd always hoped it was him. That it was always meant to be him, even when she contested so greatly to herself that he wasn’t meant to be hers. 

They fit somehow. Her head rests in the crevice of his neck and she's tucked so neatly next to him. Their limbs are twisted together and surely they've become so entwined that no two people exist. Only one soul. One body. One star shooting across the night.

But now it's morning and just like the sun, Cassian blinks awake.

He smiles as he sees her. Nesta can't help the soft grin. It arises from her face without any great fanfare and it settles just like the warmth on her skin. 

“Thank the Mother,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. "I thought you were a dream.” 

"I didn't want to wake you," Nesta says as she lightly trails a finger across the fine tendons still wading across her body. Cassian shivers and he takes her hands, placing a reverent kiss to each knuckle.

He's quiet as he kisses her awake, kisses her back to life. Her skin turns pink at his touch and there must be something to be said about the color that returns in light of his presence. He soothes her and thrills her all at once.

"They'll be searching for us soon," he confesses, a little smirk playing with his features. Nesta tries not to wrinkle her nose, but Cassian kisses there, his hands weaving through golden brown waves. "I doubt they'll let us miss breakfast."

Bunch of busybodies, she thinks, but before Nesta can rant her lungs clear, Cassian is pulling her closer. An impossible feat, really, because there’s no way they could be any more entwined. Not unless they burrowed their way to the center, where that splitting star sits. 

"There will be pancakes. French toast. Oatmeal... and I even made sure they'd have those strawberries you like. There's cake left too, perhaps we can make a celebration of it."

A celebration, an announcement, some rejoice of pleasure. A finally.

A finality.

Cassian sounds excited as he says the words, but Nesta can only think of morning afters. 

There's a shame to it, isn't there? That everyone should know about how she's spent her time and whose she spent it with. She swears there was a concern there at one point... though she doubts they will mind much now that it’s Cassian. 

But it is Cassian.

Nesta has always been full of secrets and this is but one that will be ripped from her grasp. If it exists outside quick romps, it will exist outside bedroom walls. The secret will no longer be safe and hers alone. 

It will no longer be theirs--safe where it's clasped within her hands with tightened fists.

“What worries you,” Cassian asks softly... slowly... But Nesta doesn’t know what to say, what to reveal. Will he keep her secrets? If those walls are knocked down, will he guard those walls he’s plundered? "Don't you want to see the others?"

Nesta swallows, staring into hazel with her heart a roaring song.

How does she say she doesn't know what she wants? How does she speak a truth that will tear him apart? How does she speak without the inevitable sighs, the impatience, as if she's arrogant and not troubled? Her world is being ripped to pieces just like her soul, and he's holding her together merely by his arms--his embrace.

Why does love feel so sickly? She feels like she's humming out of her body and her limbs must move, but will she run? Will she freeze? Will she fight and tear them both apart?

So Nesta instead tightens her hold where her arms are wrapped around him. She chooses to cling, and she leans her head on his chest, willing herself to stop screaming when her voice makes no sound.

"I want to listen to your heart," she answers, "for just a little while longer."

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #is this a snippet if I don't intend to finish the rest? #unsure #vidalinav writes nessian #vidalinav writes fanfic

[vidalinav]

Okay you know how I made a LucNes ficlet series where Nesta got over the wall and was in the Spring Court? Well I want to do that again, except while Rhys and Feyre are in the Middle, I want Nesta to try to go over the wall again. I'm not sure why she tries, maybe intuition from the Mother, I'll weave that in some how, that she feels something is wrong and must go find Feyre. But the point is that she goes and she, in this fic, will make it across. Except (I also don't know how) she ends up in the Night Court with Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Amren, who are like... who the fuck are you? And she's like who the fuck are you? I'm trying to find my sister, know where she is? No, okay, stay out of my way. Which gives Cassian heart eyes for days, and it will give me leverage to once more prove that Fae!Cassian and Human!Nesta is the elite Nessian ship.

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #nessian fanfic idea #vidalinav writes fanfic ideas

[vidalinav]

If I wrote good smut I would be writing an acotar au where Nesta actually does decide to hit the brothels to “provide” for her sisters or at least to get rid of one mouth to feed. All of the other plot though would stay relatively the same. So when Feyre does come back with the IC in tow, Cassian meets that Nesta. That feisty as shit, takes no shit from any man, male or otherwise, where she’s also well-versed in how to get what she wants and to make the most money. She’s got the brain of a court lady and the skills of a courtesan, so she’s very popular. 

She’d probably have the same vibes as acosf Nesta though where she likes sex and I’d probably paint the brothel as more woman choice focused and less exploitative, but that’s just me not wanting to write so much angst. I’d also go the route of discussing mating and marriage and the roles they play in this society, where Nesta thinks that she’s not going to be able to get married now based on the traditionalist views of humans and that she’s accepted this even likes it--that now she has her own money, that’s she’s earned and there’s not one person on this earth who can tell her what to do with her body, her money, or her mind. But Fae, as y’all know, have a very lax view on sex and Nesta can do whatever she wants with her body, as long as that’s what she wants to do with her body and not just because it’s the only thing keeping her fed and clothed. Cassian, I think would take on that perspective because I wouldn’t write him being judgy about her choices, in that regard anyways. 

Because he’s also like... I’m going to kill any man who touches you. I’d probably have him like visiting the estate and Nesta being like someone just threatened my clients and another person paid for my time in spades and they never showed and it would be Cassian who did both those things. She would know it was him too, and Cassian would be like I have no idea what you’re talking about. He would get so irate thinking of her with another person, though, and Nesta would use this, goading at him to admit what he’s done.   

Mostly, I would want them to hook up as human Nesta and fae Cassian because that’s my bread and butter. That’s the dream. Again, it would fall in the similar vein as acosf Nesta so it would be casual and Nesta would be like pay me for my time and that’s the only way she’ll start this relationship, because she doesn’t want it to be serious and she knows it just might be if there’s no agreement between them. It basically gives her what she wants without the icky emotional attachment lol, because she does want Cassian. She has the hots for him. 

I think it would also make it more fun too then when she becomes fae, because I would so be using that same MO for any thing that the IC want Nesta to do or even helping Eris in some way. She’d be like what’s the difference between working in a brothel and working for Rhys? And then she’d be like oh I know! I choose to work at the brothel, I didn’t choose to be fae or come here. She’d be bratty of course and quick witted but that’s just how I always write Nesta. That’s my fave Nesta. And Eris would be like I won’t pay you for sex... unless you want... but I’ll pay you to help me kill my father and set up a trap and she’d be like buy me land and we’ll see how much I’ll play along. 

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfic idea #vidalinav writes fanfic ideas

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Hello everyone. So I missed Nessian week. I told @vidalinav that I would post something a few days late and clearly that was a lie. I am a liar.

But that’s ok so is the Inner Circle and they run a country or whatever.

Anyway, I was on vacation and I find writing fanfics hard when I’m travelling because 1. I have no work to procrastinate and 2. I do more of my original writing because I’m more inspired.

But fear not as I am currently visiting a friend in New York for a few days and still not working. NYC always gives me mad Nessian vibes for many reasons and my friend works in the day.

All this to say, SEND ME PROMPTS! I will likely write them while tasting my way through my fav Brooklyn breweries and I think that’s very Cassian.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #nesta and cassian

[vidalinav]

You Never Forget

Summary: Nesta loses her memories when she falls down the stairs. 

I wrote an amnesia fic. 

~

Nesta doesn’t remember much, but she remembers that male’s hands. 

She remembers the way his fingers paint pictures in her palms, how they glide along her own as if he can summon them to movement. He’s waiting, she thinks, but she doesn’t know what for, so Nesta pretends to sleep when he’s near... not that she really can open her eyes all that well. 

Her body aches and her head throbs and she can barely lift her arm past her torso. It’s farther than she’s ever gotten before though, so Nesta blinks awake blearily. The room is bright with the glow of a midafternoon sun and it stings her head as well as her eyes, but she zeroes in on the male who she thinks must be the one who’s so soft. 

She remembers all those whispered words. It’s okay Nesta. Stay with me, Nesta. It won’t happen again, Nesta, just wake up please. Truthfully, that’s the only reason she knows her name. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta is whispered into her ears like the constant drum of a heart. 

She swears she can hear his heart, too. She can hear every breath catch in his throat, feel the ache in his lungs. He holds onto her hand and she can feel all that worry in the warmth of his palm. 

His hand isn’t in hers when she wakes up, though. 

Nesta groans as she looks for him, the movement too much for her throbbing head. Vaguely, she can hear the creak of a seat at the other side of the room.  

“Don’t move too much,” the familiar voice says. “I’ll go get Madja.” 

Seeing him now is both familiar and strange. She can barely make out his form when she’s in and out of consciousness. Nesta tries to imagine him in her dreams, but she can barely make out reality. What is and what is not real? 

He’s a broad male with tired, sad eyes. His hair hits the edge of his shoulders. He has wings that protrude out of his back and she follows the lines of them as she looks. The male seems to stand straighter at her perusal and he holds in his breath. She can tell. 

Madja, she tries to recall. She doesn’t think she knows a Madja.

Her silence must concern him though, because his brows crinkle at the center. The male looks to the door and then to her and then to the door again, debating whether to stay or go. Some part of her wants to ask him to stay because she’s not entirely sure where she is. 

He’s the only thing that’s familiar. At least she knows the sound of his voice and the reassurance of his skin.

Nesta can only blink at him slowly. She feels her lips twist into a frown. The light from the window makes her head pound like drums. 

"Give me one second,” he pleads. 

Nesta counts to one, and the male is gone in a flurry of wings. She wishes she had wings...

Nesta’s not sure that she doesn’t, so she looks behind her, ignoring the bite of pain at the movement. There’s nothing behind her back, so she wiggles her toes and her fingers to see if there’s any other peculiar feature she has. She finds nothing strange besides a splitting headache and perhaps, the point of her ears. 

Maybe that’s why she hears things so well. 

Or perhaps she doesn’t hear well at all, because Nesta doesn’t hear when another male enters her room. 

“You’re awake,” he says with relief. “You slept for days, we were starting to get worried you’d never wake up.”

What a frightening thought, Nesta thinks, to never wake up. To be trapped in her strange dreams. She wonders if this is not a strange dream. Maybe she’s indeed still sleeping and someone on the other side is waiting for her conscious thought that never arises because she thinks she’s awake right here. 

But Nesta decides not to think on those things, when she can barely comprehend what is going on now. 

This male is also winged like the other, and he’s much too pretty to be a healer, that’s for sure. Perhaps, he’s a friend, then. He’s got the same color of eyes as the other one, too. Hazel that brightens in the light of the sun. 

“How do you feel?” 

Nesta decides on, “Confused. What happened?” 

“You don’t remember?” The male winces and Nesta watches his gaze shift to her head. Nesta lays a hand where he stares and she can feel the wrapping all along her skull. “I don’t blame you, you hit your head pretty hard.” 

The pretty male scowls but the ire doesn’t seem to be pointed at her, or at least he smooths out his expression when he notices her concern. 

“The stairs, Nesta...” He speaks so somberly as he talks. Something remorseful and caring. She doesn’t remember this male but she must be important to him to have him look so worried. “Where did you plan on going?” 

Nesta doesn’t even know where she is, so she supposes she can’t answer that question with any truth. She tries to think on it. She shuts her eyes as if that might help her remember, but all that’s behind her eyelids is a cool, dark color with specks of floating light. 

Nesta winces at the pain thinking causes. 

The male noting the look seems to understand. He moves across her room and his wings block that bright, burning light of the window. Nesta sighs at the blessed relief. 

“The stairs,” Nesta notes. She clears her throat and she’s just beginning to see the pain talking causes. Her throat is dry and her lips feel sewn shut. The male moves to one of the tables and pours a glass of water, handing it to her, but before she takes a sip... 

“Did I trip?” Nesta asks. Is she clumsy? She must be if she causes this much damage from some harmless stairs. 

The pretty male shrugs, “I didn’t see how you fell, just that you were falling... and then when you stopped.” 

Strangely, she thinks she can hear him swallow. Not as loud as a heartbeat, but the sound still makes her grimace. She wants to cover her ears, the way it hurts her head. 

“There was blood on the steps,” he says. 

From where she hit her head, Nesta gathers. She presses her hand against the wound as if she can feel the damage its wrought, but the flesh is still tender to the touch. “And I’ve been asleep for days?” 

“Five,” the male nods. 

There’s not many more questions Nesta can ask without being frank. Beating around the bush seems to mean both pity and sorrow from two males she’s never seen before and another person on the way. 

“And who is Madja?” Nesta asks. 

Who are you? she almost says. 

The winged fae tilts his solemn head. “Who am I?” 

Nesta wonders if she’s said those words aloud.

Before she has the chance to ask, the other male--the warm one--is bounding through the door again. She hears him this time, but it would be difficult not to. There’s something about this male that just screams loud. 

A female follows him. This Madja, she presumes. 

A part of her, and without her choosing, relaxes at the sight of him. Every part of him is large, she thinks, and it should be frightening. He moves in a way that takes up space. Every movement is clumsy. The other male steps back to make room for him, but it doesn’t seem like enough. This male bounds towards her in a chaotic flurry, his lips worrying behind teeth. 

She doesn’t know his name, but the concern is flattering and she remembers him so finely... perhaps it’s for that reason Nesta’s not afraid. 

“I think we have a problem,” the pretty one starts.  

“I think that’s obvious,” the sweet one gripes. The pretty one glares and that look has her frowning unconsciously. Nesta doesn’t like that look one bit. 

But the female, Madja, merely goes to unwrap her head. Her stern fingers poke and prod at her skin, combing through her hair, and when Nesta winces the sweet male barks out a be careful. 

She wonders if he’s always like this. She can’t imagine having someone this caring for all of her days. Or maybe they’ve only known each other for a short while... 

Maybe they’ve known each other all their lives. Nesta finds herself trying to imagine how she’s met him, but all she can think of is dreams. Whether she’s in one or not. She can’t seem to think of any scenario without her head throbbing painfully. 

“Can you lift you head for me, Nesta?” Madja says the words with patience, but she still thinks the sweet male might gripe. He only frowns like he’s unsatisfied at the the thought of her moving. “Well the wound seems to be healing nicely.” 

The other male, the one who stands in the corner, clearly perturbed that no one is listening to him, crosses him arms in a huff. “She doesn't remember any of us.” 

“That’s not--” 

But the male who holds her hand throughout her dreams, with a gaze that’s filled with moving flecks of color, looks her straight in the eyes. Nesta has the sudden urge to hide from his attention. Even Madja frowns in confusion at the pretty male’s words.

It’s Madja who asks, “Do you know your name?” 

“Nesta,” she repeats as she’s done since the moment she’s heard the word.  

“Do you remember me?” the sweet male asks. 

She remembers the warmth of his hands and she tries to smile kindly at the stranger who offers her comfort. “I remember you calling my name.” 

Madja nods slowly, but it does nothing to suppress the guilt of seeing him close his eyes, pain written across his face. Did she do that?

She must have, so Nesta does what she’s learned is one way to comfort someone who’s in a terrible, frightening position. 

Nesta grips the male’s hand, hoping the warmth of her palm calms that galloping heart. 

~

The problem with this fic is that Nesta loses her memories at the point in acosf when she falls down the stairs... so she’s really just connecting dots and mate bond is influencing. HOWEVER, won’t it suck for her when she regains her memories and finds out they all suck???? 

@arinbelle

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #vidalinav writes fanfic

[vidalinav]

Soft Hearts- Part 1

Summary: Nesta has a thing for Cassian but she won't admit it or give in.

Post acowar, pre-everything else. Only a slight influence of the trauma of war. Mostly dumb crushes. Starting from where acowar left off...ish.

~

Nesta couldn’t say she belonged in a romance novel. There was nothing particularly romantic about being self-conscious—about being aware of every little movement of another’s body. Of their breathing. Their lack of sleep. Their… pain.

Nesta could feel his pain as if her own wings ached, though she had none on her body. She told herself it was just because she was too empathetic to his plight. She was there when they were injured so how could she not be?

Her body ached and her back hurt and every time he stayed stuck in that room, she felt impatience settle in her chest. It couldn’t be her own. Nesta wasn’t impatient to see him. In fact, every day was a day closer to him being out of bed and another day Nesta wished Madja could make up some excuse as to why he should stay in that room.

The thought of seeing him made her heart thumb wildly. It had a mind of its own and she wasn’t sure if it meant she was relieved or anxious… maybe both.

“You can see him, you know,” Feyre said. She smiled at her softly over breakfast and Nesta wrinkled her nose at the way her sister waited, scooping up a plate of scrambled eggs and shrugging like she was trying hard to be nonchalant.

If she waited any longer Nesta knew she’d start pestering as her sister was quicker to do so lately. Nesta already knew what she’d say. All those, hurry up Nesta’s. What are you waiting for, Nesta’s that she never said out loud, just urged with those looks.

“I don’t think he’d mind.”

But even now they didn’t say his name. It was an unspoken agreement in this house. No one talked about Cassian to Nesta and Nesta never talked about Cassian to anyone. But that didn’t keep them from trying—from sticking their noses where it didn’t belong. Even Azriel kept vaguely suggesting it, giving her that frank look as if to say we all know why you’re here.

There was no hiding it.

But Nesta liked to hide. She’d been hiding all her life and there was no one now to goad her into talking… say her sister, who thought that being annoying meant she’d somehow spill.

So Nesta chose a glare for her sister’s rule breaking. Though, it didn’t seem to distract from her flushed skin.

“If there’s anyone he wants to see, I think it’d be you.”

“Then maybe I don’t want to see him,” Nesta mused, stabbing at her eggs with her fork. It gushed a putrid yellow, and she frowned, thinking of the fact that she never really liked eggs much.

Feyre only raised a brow and it took everything in her not to shirk back at the look—that I know you look. That I see you expression.

What did her sister really know anyway? Wasn’t that why she tried to keep her talking?

“I don’t know what you mean by that look,” Nesta started, raising her chin snootily and appearing as disinterested as the day she was born. “But if it means you also think it’s a bad idea then yes, I agree.”

But Feyre didn’t agree. Never agreed.

“I saw everything Nesta.”

By everything she meant their father’s head snapping. The King of Hybern’s head held in her hand as she looked into his cold, dead eyes. Nesta could barely recognize herself in the reflection of his gaze, nor Elain with all that blood leaking to the floor.

And who were they if not who they’d been?

Nesta wasn’t sure who she was now and she thought that sentiment would have gone when she got used to her new body. But it seemed to stay… to cling to her. To her body, to her skin. Seemed to want to live in her veins and take residence there. Who are you, she often asked when she looked in the mirror.

Nesta could hardly recognize the scared creature and she could hardly master that thump in her chest. She might as well have been another person entirely, so Nesta was someone else when she did those… things.

“I saw you when you were lying over him… you can’t hide those feelings from me—not when I know how you love.” Feyre gave her a knowing look, and Nesta thought back to the time she went to a wall for her sister even though she didn’t make it across. She was stupid then, too. Braving the fae?

“I was a fool for doing both,” she said as if that offered some explanation. It was the only reasoning she could find, and Nesta pushed away the plate of eggs, hoping that her sister would sense her mood and not ask her to elaborate.

Even so Nesta reached for some of the biscuits instead of storming off. A bit of strawberry jam and her sister changing the subject, she thought, might save the morning.

“And you’ll be a bigger fool if you don’t go up to that room and demand the attention you crave.”

“I don’t crave attention,” she scoffed.

“Why else would you be waiting outside his door all doe-eyed and moony.”

Was that what she looked like? Doe-eyed?

Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that so she took a sip of her tea and looked to the room as opposed to her sister’s waiting gaze. In the parlor of this small house, she could almost see why they considered moving to somewhere larger, but Nesta liked the space. It was familiar and not too showy, and there were bookshelves where she thought bookshelves should be. On nearly every wall.

But still… her thoughts ran back to Cassian. She wondered if he was having as much of a good time resting as she was being interrogated. Nesta hoped he was—hoped he suffered as much as she did.

At least then, someone would understand why she never crossed that threshold into his room.

Anyway, it was hard not to stand outside his door when something in her chest ached so fiercely that she thought she might be losing her mind as well as her soul. She wondered if she had that good of an imagination to conjure up this much pain. For that must have been what it was and it seemed fitting somehow that it was the only thing she could do with her magic thus far.

That had been her whole life after all… making a home in the rumble and ruin, building her life where death and disaster laid.

“You almost died for him Nesta… and he almost died for you. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Nesta took another sip of her tea, ignoring her sister’s pestering. It didn’t mean anything, she often told herself as she laid in her room. It meant nothing at all. Not even seeing her father die right before her eyes had changed her.

She was the same.

The same cold heart. The same sneer. The same hatred blooming…

But why then did her face get so warm at the mention of his name?

She found herself staring at his door and thinking of romances—that it was awfully romantic to want to die for each other.

Such a foolish thought. This was no play, and the reality was detrimental to her sanity and yet… he had stood by her, had gotten hurt, had still asked her to run.

Nesta couldn’t run of course. It wasn’t possible. Not in that moment.

She’d have taken all that pain from him if she could. It was supposed to be only her anyway. That was her initial plan, and then… he’d kissed her lips as she lied on top of him. She could still feel that soft touch.

“Your face is getting red, you know,” Feyre said in that know-it-all voice of hers.

Nesta glared at her youngest sister, an expression that came as steadily as the spring rain. But Feyre only shrugged. Her gaze shifted to the stairs as if she might peer through walls. Inside and upstairs where a resting Illyrian might be contemplating his death from staying dormant like he was told.

No, Cassian would never want her.

Maybe the Nesta before…

Not the Nesta now. Not the Nesta who couldn’t breathe without feeling guilty, who couldn’t eat without feeling sorrow, that couldn’t dream without waking up terrified.

This Nesta didn’t know love. This Nesta only knew sorrow and fear and loss.

So, this Nesta would spare them both from that pain.

~

@arinbelle

#I write so differently when I write in past tense #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #vidalinav writes fanfic

[vidalinav]

would please write a fic in which the house do little petty things to rhysand, amren and morrigan? like moving their chair when they're about to sit, or flowing curtains into their faces when they're talking, stuff like that?? please?

OMG This took forever and it's good enough for what it is. Also my experiment was correct. I can finish fics when I just continue snippets.

Summary: Nesta leaves for a weekend and both the House and Cassian are upset about this.

~

On the first night that Nesta’s away, all is well.

At least that’s what Cassian tells himself to get him through the day. No sense in dwelling on his mate’s absence when she’s spending a weekend with Emerie and Gwyn. Safe and sound and happy.

Never mind that he wishes to be spending time with her…

They deserve this. Especially Nesta who he can already see smiling. Those bright, fond eyes lit up in baby blue.

Cassian will distract himself from her absence instead. He won’t think of the lack of music. He won’t think of snarky replies gone silent. The teasing laughter bursting out of her lips that he can almost hear in this quiet house.

No.

He’ll take a long bath. Polish his weapons. Read a book that he’s been putting off for ages and he does.

But that gets boring as soon as the afternoon sun heats up their living room. So Cassian wanders the halls in search of the many rooms his mate is always going on about.

Secret doors and floors and wild things. Nesta describes wonderous ballrooms and terrariums. Great large baths. Cassian finds that all the rooms are bordered shut.

He rattles the handles, and the doors mock him as they stand. Sturdy and unforgiving. He twists another and the handle falls off. The House laughs in the way a house does. With the creak of a flapping door. It must find it amusing watching him huff and stomp his feet.

But one door creaks open at the other end of the hall and Cassian thinks that the House must be taking pity on him. Once, he might have found himself scratching his head at thought of being pitied by a House, but Cassian’s too curious about what lays inside. He runs to the open room.

He’s nearly there when the door slams shut.

Cassian pulls at the handle and the door doesn’t budge.

“Oh you’re good. You think you’re so funny!” He yells out. “Wait till Nesta hears about this, I swear.”

But the House is as haughty as his mate, he finds, and it doesn’t like to be threatened by the summonings of a witch. Cassian watches as the lights flicker off. One by one, he’s left in a dark hallway.

“So what? I’ve faced monsters bigger than you.”

The House seems to grow irritated at that. Cassian can almost see Nesta’s face, that glare. Those piercing eyes that mean she has a knife in her pocket or some strong words. He never knows which is worse.

But Cassian has also never been one to shun away. Even from Nesta’s temper.

So he crosses his arms, tapping his foot as if to say Is that all you’ve got?

Perhaps, the House can also read minds. Body language.

At once, the floorboards start dipping where he stands as if some invisible hand is pressing on piano keys. Cassian moves before he trips, but not before his foot catches on the wood.

Doors start slamming shut. The curtains at the other end of the hall open and close, as if to say here is safety.

The living room’s brightness makes the hall seem even darker. A gaping mouth that wishes to swallow him. Cassian needs no other warning. He moves quickly beyond hidden rooms.

The House laughs as the house does. Endlessly amused. Victorious and perhaps feeling a bit forgiving since it won. For when he enters the living room, a roast chicken is waiting for him on one of their smaller tables.

Is it an apology or a thank you for the laughs, he doesn’t know.

Cassian figures he’ll brush the events off as a playful indiscretion.

~

By the time night comes, and Cassian can scratch one day off the weekend without her, the House and him have settled on a simple routine. He doesn’t go peeking through things and the House gives him what he needs to live.

It’s much like a cat in that regard. Spoiled and dismissive. But Cassian won’t bite the hand that feeds him, even if he spends the day subtly rearranging things the House moves around. The House distracts him and for that he says a small goodnight to the mountainous beast.

But whatever distraction the house provides, Cassian isn’t prepared for seeing the other empty half of the bed.

It’s cold without Nesta. He has no one to hold. Cassian clutches her pillow and he says a quick thank you to the House for not changing the casing. It still smells like her. It doesn’t keep him from tossing around, though. His thoughts running rampant, to fill the spots where Nesta’s missing.

What could she be doing, he ponders. What is she wearing? What is she saying? What expression does she make?

The House must be thinking of her, too.

A picture appears where Nesta sleeps. It’s a painting of their mating ceremony. Cassian pulls it to him, running his fingers over her face. She’s dressed in a pretty ivory. Her hair braided back into a veil. Nesta smiles into her bouquet, soft and beautiful, and Cassian can see the fondness in her gaze, the shy teasing on her lips.

“You miss her too, don’t you?” Cassian asks, his voice traveling to the four corners of the room.

The House only responds, by pushing down the blankets on Nesta’s side of the bed. Cassian sets the picture back, tucking it under the sheets.

He closes his eyes, falling asleep with his head on the frame.

~

In the morning, Cassian wakes to the bright hot sun. The curtains are gone as if they’ve never been there at all and he covers his face with the pillow. Somewhere in the House, clocks chime. Loud, boisterous cuckoo noises. Not one, but many going off simultaneously. He can’t even recount having a clock at all.

The picture at his side is gone and Cassian wonders where the House has taken it. He has this vague thought that the reason the House doesn’t want him looking through its room is because he’ll discover a shrine filled with Nesta’s things.

The House doesn’t let him ask.

The sheets begin to shift as if tired of waiting for him to move. They tighten at the corners, flatten in the middle and Cassian imagines sheets like rope. He scrambles out of bed before he can suffocate under the covers. The House seemingly huffs, the pillows fluffing loudly like hands smacking at the feathers.

“Fine. Fine,” Cassian grumbles, irritated, rubbing at his eyes. “You know you’re moody when Nesta’s gone.”

The House only opens the door to the bathroom widely, fanning it as if to say hurry or it will shut forever. Cassian heeds the warning, mumbling about rude houses and manners.

~

Cassian feels Nesta’s absence in his tired eyes. He can’t stop himself from yawning as he makes his way to the dining room. There’s no breakfast waiting for him when he arrives. He asks for eggs, and nothing appears.

“I think Nesta would appreciate you feeding me,” he goads. Cassian tries not to contemplate the lunacy of speaking to the House as if it’s a person.

Not a person. A villainous beast.

The House doesn’t like his tone. It lays a plate down, the ceramic rattling on the table. The eggs are still in their shells.

Somewhere, Cassian can hear the doors squeak.

~

“You look awful,” Rhys remarks.

Cassian waves it off. He feels awful, too.

The House doesn’t like when Nesta’s not home, he’s come to realize. It opens and shuts doors, dishes start dropping, things stay dirty and get messier. Cassian trails the halls as things start falling to the floor.

“The House is having a tantrum.”

Cassian tries to appease it, but his attempts seem to make the House angrier. He flies down to the city to get romance novels, as Nesta has told him it likes. But when he comes back and he thinks all is well after the books are taken, a few hours later when he’s conveniently staring out to the city skyline, their big picture window clear and open to the skies, pages of books fall down the mountain side like rain.

He knows exactly what books they belong to.

Not your taste, huh? Cassian huffs. Could have just said that!

But if the house doesn't like his tone before, it definitely does not like his tone then and before he can remark anything further, there’s a large bear standing in the middle of the living room.

A bear!

Cassian doesn’t even bother with it. He moves to balcony, flying down to the Riverfront estate without looking back. He hasn’t been back for several hours.

“Because of Nesta?” Mor asks.

Yes. Because of Nesta... Because they can’t seem to function properly without her. The House is throwing fits. Cassian can’t sleep. It’s only been two days and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore of this.

“Maybe you just need to assert dominance,” Amren helpfully suggests. He can hear the mocking jest in her tone. “I mean, Nesta’s basically it’s mother. Maybe you need to show it, your its father.”

Cassian glares as the others laugh, “That sounds like a swell idea. Maybe I should just spank the rock like a misbehaved child.”

“Or,” Rhys drawls lightly, “maybe the House is just not used to it only being you. Nesta’s gone and Azriel’s also away. It might be lonely.”

Rhys shrugs as if feeling sympathy for the large beast.

Cassian’s never thought of it like that. It’s alive so... he supposes if it can miss Nesta, it can also be lonely. Too bad loneliness means almost getting hit by falling plates and being eaten by a bear.

Mor raises a shoulder, her eyes brightening in a way he knows means trouble, “Perhaps, it just... wants more people around.”

Cassian sighs, looking to the ceiling. At least these walls won’t cause him bodily harm. “If this is your attempt at inviting yourself over... I warn you right now that I’m not responsible for anything that happens to you physically, mentally or emotionally.”

Mor only claps her hands in excitement.

~ Above the fireplace there’s a painting of Nesta and him. Cassian’s eyes are on his mate and Nesta is grinning sweetly, her cheeks a little bit red. Cassian always smiles when he sees it.

It’s one of their first pictures together, made beautifully by the House when Nesta asks. It’s no wonder that it sits at the center of their home.

“She’s only been gone for two days,” Rhys teases, bumping his shoulder with his. “Is the mating bond chafing?”

Cassian shrugs sheepishly, “I just... would rather be with her. No offense to you fools but you just don’t entertain me like you used to.”

Amren sneers disgusted, “We certainly wouldn’t want to entertain you like Nesta can.”

“Hey!” Cassian warns. “The House has ears and so do I. She’s more than entertainment.”

“You two do seem happy,” Rhys notes, gesturing to that picture.

“Well I certainly never thought she could smile,” Mor says.

Cassian knows the House isn’t going to take kindly to that comment.

He sighs as he grabs Mor by the shoulders, ignoring her hasty yelps. She’s standing by too many breakable things and Cassian assesses the living room looking for any threats.

Indeed, a vase falls at their feet where Mor was previously standing.

“So happily...” Mor adds, shirkishly.

“I see what you mean about the House,” Amren states. She moves throughout the living room, pointing to things that she thinks might come to life. Waiting to call out behave or listen here. The objects remain inanimate. “Seems it’s developed Nesta’s attitude,” she says, wrinkling her nose and flicking at a table.

Amren makes her way to velvet blue, tucked close to the window where a book lies on the side table untouched.

“I wouldn’t sit there,” Cassian warns, “That’s Nesta’s reading chair.”

Amren snorts as if she believes nothing bad will happen to her. Cassian knows better and he resists covering his eyes. He doesn’t want to see what the House will do nor what fit Amren will throw even without her power.

Cassian must have a gift for prophecy or his friends must be predictable for the House moves the chair just as Amren sits. She falls to the floor.

He can hear Mor’s and Rhysand’s laughter from behind him. Amren smacks at a lamp, and the House takes that as the first punch. A chandelier crashes in the middle of the room, crystals splattering everywhere.

Cassian wonders how he’s going to explain that one when Nesta gets home.

~

“How was Windhaven?” Rhys asks.

Cassian raises himself from the floor, his head feeling much too heavy after several bottles of wine. To forget the night, he’s said. The elephants, the tigers, Amren’s shrieking. The doors that kept opening until more things poured out. Creatures he didn’t even know existed stomping throughout his home.

Mor’s hair is a tangled mess by the time the House settles, cuts and bruises fading back to tan skin. Amren is locked on the third floor. Rhys merely sips his tea throughout the day and well into the night. The House refills it over and over as he dutifully shouts praises about Nesta’s beauty. Her kindness. Her love. His gratefulness.

The House is wary about that at first, but Cassian supposes it doesn’t care about old grudges as long as Rhys knows who’s queen in this castle—who’s the witch residing between these walls—who's picture is on the mantle.

At the sound of her voice, Cassian holds his breath. The House blinks away, along with the lights that flash excitedly.

Nesta huffs lightly, “you’ve been there before.”

“Yes, but not because I enjoy it or have friends there.”

Cassian can just imagine that nonchalant shrug. That content movement of her body.

“It’s cold and dark and people look at me as if I might curse them where they stand.” He can hear the light tilt of laughter. “I kind of enjoy it.”

Cassian jumps up from where he lies, startling Mor from her place on the couch. Nesta’s gaze locks on his, and no picture can possibly replace the light of her eyes as she grins.

“You look like you fought a war,” she says, and Cassian smiles so bright and big at the snarky remark. Nesta moves as he moves, and he can barely resist running to her and having her in his arms. 

“Didn’t you sleep while I was away? You look tired.” She places her hand on his cheek, rubbing her thumb under his eyes. “You should take a nap.”

“Come lay with me and I’ll do whatever you want,” he answers, grasping at her waist. She smells like air and snow. Something cold and infinite. He holds her close intent on warming her up. Cozying close where the House keeps their bed warm.

The House has other ideas, however, for it opens all the doors. Flickers all its lights. There’s a feast waiting and ready for her return. It’s morning and already there’s a five layered chocolate cake on the table. Nesta laughs aloud, flittering out of Cassian’s arms and into the ones that belong to the House.

Cassian sighs...

After all the males, beasts, and otherwise, he never would have thought he’d be competing for Nesta’s love with a House.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #vidalinav writes fanfic #vidalinav answers asks #vidalinav writes fic requests #I say as if like forty times #that’s why I have to edit

[vidalinav]

Pictures and Pointy Things

I wrote this yesterday when I was obnoxiously emotional because of stupid birth control and so I was both teary for no reason (I cried into a latte) and had intense brain fog. So I don’t know if it really makes sense. 

But the gist is that Feyre makes a painting of Nesta to give to Cassian and Nesta hates it because she looks too happy and it makes her feel vulnerable. 

~

For Cassian’s birthday, Feyre gifts him a painting of Nesta. She’s wearing the color of a midday sky and her lips are as red as rose petals. She’s smiling... Not a full blown bright, beaming laugh that would be unnatural to someone like Feyre. But a small raise of her lips that must mean she’s happy at what she sees. 

The Nesta in this picture has a soft look and in her eyes there must be something like love. Nesta wants to snort at the thought of ever looking this vulnerable to paint, but all she feels is deep dread worm its way into the pit of her stomach where secrets live.  

It’s an odd gift, Nesta thinks as she rolls her eyes. It would be much better to have the two of them together. Love has never been so singular and it doesn’t matter that Nesta looks at Cassian like this. Why should anyone know except him what she looks like, like this? Even a smaller version would have been better. Not this golden frame that might sit in a foyer or some hallway where it’ll never move. Her face too indecently large.

Where would he even put this thing, she thinks when it’s firmly grasped in his hands. Nesta was never meant for walls. Feyre should have known this after all. It took nearly two years for her face to ever grace her home. 

But Cassian loves this gift, she can tell.  

He smiles sweetly when he receives it, thanking her little sister with a kiss on her cheek all giddy with praise. Nesta tries not to grimace at her own gaze staring back at her. It’s an odd thing to see herself for how others perceive her. Someone fragile and glowing. Wasn’t she once full of ire? This person looks easily fooled, easily hurt. With one swipe of a hand, a claw of her nails, and she would be ruined just like that. 

Nesta clenches her fists to keep from scratching as Cassian gazes lovingly at the picture and then to her. He’s happy to carry her face around with him, as large as it is. He settles the portrait in a safe and secure place. As if handling it is in fact handling her. Nesta spends the evening wishing he’d turn it around, throw a blanket over it because she doesn’t want to be reminded of this stranger who’s equally in love as she is naïve.  

It’s his favorite gift, he says that night.

Nesta doesn’t understand why. What’s so good about it? In the peach of her cheeks there might be hidden shame. In her storm-clouded eyes there might be something embarrassing just waiting to rise to the surface. If not in the stagnant complacency of paint strokes, than in a soul trapped inside glass. Feyre has taken it out of her own body.

Suddenly, she looks breakable and that’s when Nesta gets framed for all to see. Look how well you’ve broken. Now there are two images of her. One in front of mountain and one staring out to see all those near. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me and wonder what I could have been all this time.

Her mother would be ashamed of that too soft expression. She would have told the nursemaids to tie her hair tighter so it would pull at her skin. No smiles, no genuine joy. All of it is too appease, to lure. The Nesta in this picture isn’t made for schemes. She’s made to remind Cassian all that he’s done. 

She’s happy with him. Nesta’s in love…  

That may be the truth but why does everyone have to see it?

Later, it sits on the wall in the House and Nesta stares at it where it’s tacked sternly high. Cassian places it in a room of his own. It’s a place where he stores weapons and she might have been offended to be placed in storage. But the room is also his office when he needs the lack of distraction for battle reports or inventory. 

Mostly, it’s storage, even if it is useful storage. She is filed away with sharp, pointed objects. Knives and swords and bows and arrows. It’s a fitting place, she supposes, for how well she maims in past. Not for this new Nesta who stares shyly back with upturned lips.

“I hate this picture,” she admits to the room. To the sharp, pointed things. 

“I know,” Nesta hears a voice call. Cassian stands at the door, his hip leaning against the edge and he gazes at her fondly. His wings glow in the light of the hallway and she looks away from both him and the picture, sighing towards his desk. She trails her fingers lightly across a few books on battles and war. She’s read enough on strategy and stealth and yet she still gets caught with that look on her face.

“I don’t know why you keep it in here,” she complains. 

“You don’t?” He muses with a smile. Cassian offers his arms as he moves towards her, encircling her waist and kissing at her forehead. At least, he still gives her affection when he has a very loving version staring at him. Perhaps that’s why he’s always in here... to be reminded of what she could be. Not what she’s always been. Nesta has never been like this and she’s stupid for having been caught so vulnerably. Maybe that’s why her mother had been so strict. Nesta was easy to fool. “Would you rather it be over the fireplace? You are the queen of this house, it might be the best place for it. You can overlook the living room.” 

Nesta gives him a bland look as she elbows him in the stomach. But Cassian only laughs, securing his arms more tightly. “I don’t want to see it at all,” she says.

“Well I want to see you all day, and you distract me too much when I’m trying to work.” 

“I distract you?” Nesta scoffs, “you’re the one who won’t stop taking my books when I’m trying to read.” 

Cassian shrugs simply, “well that’s because you don’t pay attention me.” He kisses his way down from her cheeks to her lips, and Nesta wrinkles her nose at the affection. “You act like I can’t do anything better than what you read and you know I can.” 

Nesta rolls her eyes and juts her chin to the frame, “you’re so full of yourself, maybe you should have a picture hung up on the wall. Not me.”

“What and distract me while I’m trying to work? No can do, sweetheart.”

Nesta wiggles out of his arms with a scoff on her lips. Her feet move towards the image as if it indeed traps her soul inside, maybe her body wants it back, reaches a hand out towards it.

“It’s a beautiful picture,” Cassian says softly. “There’s nothing to be bothered about.”

But it does bother her. Not the place, not the frame, but the painting itself. How she looks.

“Don’t you think I look to…” Nesta can’t finish the thought. She only looks stupid with that soft smile on her face.

“Happy?”

“Is that what I look like?”

Cassian settles his chin on her shoulder, bending to accommodate their mismatch in height. His arms encircle her waist once more… She’s a distraction indeed, she supposes, for the way he always seems to need to be touching her.

He hums and she can feel the rumble on her back. “You look… well-loved.”

“I look foolish.”

“You look lovely… and happy… and in love.”

“That’s foolish.”

Cassian doesn’t have to sigh for Nesta to feel the gesture on her back, that rumble of his chest. But despite his seeming frustration, Cassian merely turns her in his arms, his hands reaching for her cheeks, shifting her away from that image. “I love this picture and you don’t look foolish. You look the way I’ve always wanted you to look at me. The way I only dreamed…”

Cassian shrugs and Nesta wants to cross her arms, raising a brow because that’s exactly what she thought. The image of her is just supposed to remind him how well he’s done at making her fall.

“You know, I call this your Nesta Loves Me look.” Cassian smiles as he looks to the picture. His grin is so wide and wild, and that’s the look Feyre should have painted instead or alongside her. Love is not singular. She is not alone in feeling this way. There should be no reason why she should be the only one to look forever dumbfounded. 

Nesta runs her hand down his face, her thumb swiping across his lips as she frowns. “Is this your Cassian Loves Me look?” 

Cassian only sets his forehead on hers. “You can hate this picture,” he says, “for whatever parts of it you hate it for... but when I look at it, I see you happy and I want to spend the rest of my life trying to get you to make this expression.” 

For today, at least, Cassian gets to see the look once more.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #vidalinav writes fanfic

[vidalinav]

You Never Forget- Part 2

Madja tells them both to keep Nesta relaxed. No training, no stress. Once she’s well enough to move, she should go about her familiar routine, and see if that drums up any memories. 

For now, Cassian keeps her company and answers all of her questions. She asks odd questions, too... none that he thinks she’d ask. 

How do your wings work, she wonders. Does everyone have them? Do pointed ears make you hear better? Nesta’s curiosity knows no bounds and every time she learns something new, when he answers her thoroughly and she’s had her fill, Nesta smiles politely with that satisfied grin. 

The Nesta with no memories is more polite than anyone he’s ever met. There’s no rage or bitterness. She’s snarky, still, but rather in a way that makes him laugh even if he means to be serious. She’s quick and so damn smart that he wonders if her head injury is so bad, if it left all of this knowledge behind--that thirst for it. 

“And the House, it gives me things,” Nesta says. She holds out her palm as if to show him. “Can I have a book, please?” 

The House obliges her requests and Nesta smiles lightly at the cover. She tucks a piece of falling hair behind her ear, and that’s different, too. Whether it’s from her injury or her lack of memory, Nesta doesn’t wear her hair up at all. She doesn’t even ask for a ribbon or a tie. She seems unbothered with the messiness of her appearance. 

It amazes him to see her this way. 

“It only seems to give me romances, though. Do I like romances?” 

“Very much so,” Cassian answers, trying to stave away the guilt. Nesta keeps asking him those questions. Do I like this? Do I like that? What’s my favorite color? Cassian, thankfully, knows enough to answer the simpler questions and anything he doesn’t he dismisses with a hopefully, we can see if you can remember once we get you up and about. 

Nesta nods excitedly at that. The journey is in the discovery, she says. 

The fear is in the discovery, too. Cassian half wonders how she’ll act when she knows. 

This Nesta is content and bold. That Nesta... was lonely and sad. She ached and she bled and she yelled across rooftops until she became such a quiet, little thing. Barely enough of her to take up space. This Nesta has never known quiet in her life. She talks so much, prattles on and on where wonders never cease and Cassian breathes in the sound of her voice. Nesta lights up this whole room.  

But he’ll be honest... Cassian doesn’t know what to make of her. 

It feels wrong to want this Nesta. It feels wrong to smile and laugh with this Nesta. And when she gets tired, her eyes blinking blearily, or when she grasps the back of her head as if she aches, it feels wrong to hold her hand. 

Cassian doesn’t know why he keeps holding her hand, but the worry in his chest never leaves. He sees her there... lying on the concrete while she doesn’t move an inch. Nesta doesn’t move even when he calls for her, and like the idiot he is, he thinks she’s lying. 

To get back at him, he thinks. She’ll make him worry just to dwell in it for a little while. But then, she doesn’t move and Azriel is there, and he’s asking what happened, and Cassian knows. Because he was practically there. 

He’s seen her fall. He’s seen her tumble and crash. It’s what she deserves, Cassian thinks, and afterwards maybe she’ll stop trying to go down. 

It’s a horrible thought, and then she doesn’t move. Her eyelids are pressed together. They could be glued shut. He starts imagining coins across them and his heart lurches in his throat. He just screams her name over and over.

Azriel calls for Madja when Cassian can’t move. He’s useless then, too, and he remembers that most when Nesta says she can’t remember a thing. 

He doesn’t let go of her hand, because it’s the least he can do. Now, she smiles fondly, when he does it and he doesn’t think of the implication of the touch. Her cheeks are such a pretty shade of peach. Her skin is filled with color and she’s alive. That’s all he can hope for. 

But touching her... 

The other Nesta, he knows, would have never allowed his touch and so touching her seems sacrilegious. It seems wrong. Cassian keeps reminding himself of that, but he holds her hand anyways and tells himself this is the only touch he’ll allow. When she let’s go, he’ll never touch her again.  

“You held my hand the entire time I was unconscious. I could feel you,” she remarks. Nesta closes her eyes as she shifts more comfortably on her pillow. The flutter of lashes and those pretty pink lips are enough for him to tell her he’ll give her anything if she asks. “Why?” 

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Is this a punishment, he thinks, for not catching her when she falls. For not being there earlier, even before the House. Or perhaps he’s done something terribly awful in another life to be punished like this. Where the Nesta who likes his touch is arguably the Nesta he shouldn’t have. 

She’s so close and even a hand hold is a sin. 

“I couldn’t let you go,” he says. 

Nesta doesn’t answer, but her lips raise lightly and soon her breathing evens. Cassian wants to brush her hair out of her face, and pull the blankets up around her shoulders, but he can’t... 

He can’t do that to her. She doesn’t know what he’s done. 

So Cassian remains placated in his seat, still holding her hand. Sometime later, Azriel comes in and gives him that accusatory look, Cassian’s seen well these past few days. 

“You shouldn’t get attached to her. She’s not yours,” he says. 

But she is... Cassian knows this well. Maybe not in a way that means anything, but in a way he can feel down deep in his soul. 

But Cassian will never reveal that truth to his brother, even if he’s sure he already knows. 

“She’s not a different person,” he argues instead. “She’s the same.” 

The same face and lips and eyes. The same nose. The same expressive way she talks. 

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Azriel keeps reminding him. “What will happen when she finds out?” 

“I’m not doing anything wrong.” 

Azriel sighs, looking pointedly at the touch. “She likes you because of the bond. Nesta didn’t choose you.” 

It’s a hard truth to swallow, so Cassian dismisses the thought and runs a thumb across her soft skin. He can feel her pulse on her wrist, and he lightly wraps his hand around there, because it calms him more than anything else. 

“She could choose me still,” he mumbles to himself. 

“Cas, she’s vulnerable.” 

Those words seem to punch him in the gut, and he can’t help but raise his voice. “I’m only holding her hand. Is that small comfort, me taking advantage of her?” 

“Yes,” Azriel says, sternly. “It is. So tell her the truth before you make anything worse.” 

“I will.” He was planning on it... as soon as Madja says it’s safe for her to know. When her head doesn’t ache just by thinking too hard. “I will.” 

“She doesn’t love you, Cassian. Nesta might not remember that, but you certainly can’t forget.” 

No, he can’t forget that simple fact. He can’t forget the past. 

But... 

Can’t he dream a little while longer? Just while Nesta’s asleep. 

At least there, Cassian can pretend Nesta loves him, too. At least then, holding her hand won’t make him feel like the worst person alive. 

~

@arinbelle

I seriously want to make this fluffy for some reason, but like my conscience will not allow me to do that. So let’s see how much I can make this both cute and guilt-inducing on Cassian’s part. 

#nesta archeron #cassian #you never forget #nessian #vidalinav writes fanfic

[vidalinav]

Stu(died)- Chapter 5

Summary: Cassian invites Nesta to spend Thanksgiving with his family. 

Nessian Modern AU-university setting.

Masterlist, Stu(died) Chapter List

~~~~

Cassian sets down the pie tin, the glass clinking on the counter tops. “I’m giving you all warning now, but I’m bringing someone to Thanksgiving.”   

“And who’s that, baby?” His mom calls. She moves through the kitchen, reaching for a cup in the cupboard. Cassian doesn’t bother waiting for her to ask for help as short as she is or watch her climb on top of the counter. He grabs one for her and his mom gives him a sleepy pat on the cheek.   

“She’s a friend,” Cassian explains. That’s all the information he really wants to give. But it’s the way he says it… it gives too much away.

His sister coughs as she tries to swallow a bite of cereal, and his mom whips towards him with those laser beam eyes. “A friend?”   

“Yes, a friend,” Cassian confirms with a small sigh.   

They both gape up at him, but luckily, his dad saves the day, yet again. He blinks blearily at the three of them huddled in the kitchen, hair a tousled mess. He’s probably wondering why all of them are so awake this early, but Cassian doesn’t bother mentioning it’s already close to nine. He’ll take the distraction. Any reprieve. They watch as his dad looks to Azriel, flipping through channels in the living room. He simply nods a confused good morning.   

“Daniel,” His mom beams, slapping her hand to his father’s arm. “Cassian’s bringing a friend home for Thanksgiving!”   

“Who?”   

“Nesta… you met her at the game.” Cassian rubs the back of his neck. A nervous habit that he supposes is better than yelling at all of them to leave him alone. 

“Ah,” his dad sings, nodding in recognition. “The beautiful one.” He wags a finger as he huffs a laugh, reaching for the coffee pot. “My son sure knows how to pick ‘em.”   

Cassian scowls at that. “She’s more than beautiful. She’s…”   

Funny, grumpy, secretively soft.   

“She’s smart,” Cassian says instead.   

Ama lifts the spoon from her lips, waving it around with a mouth full of coco puffs. “What’s she doing with you, then?”  

“Ha. Ha.” Cassian remarks, though he can’t hold back the irritation. He’s been asking himself that same question... 

But she’s not really with him. He’s just better than being alone on a holiday.  

Cassian takes a deep breath, looking to his family. They’re going to embarrass him, he already knows. “She’s important to me, so I’m telling you early so you can get rid of any baby pictures where I’m naked in the bath… and don’t go pointing to places where I peed on the wall when I was six.”   

His father snorts, smirking to his mom. “That’s it, Franny, we’re going to have to move. Get rid of anything Cassian’s touched.”   

But his mom’s hums in judgement, glaring up at him in the way that has him straightening. “I think you forgot about that time when you were fifteen. After that party you boys snuck out ot.”   

“Men are disgusting,” Ama says, her mouth pursing as if she’s tasting something sour. “Anyways, what does she look like? I doubt you’re bagging Instagram models.”   

His dad gestures towards him, confused. “Cassian’s good-looking! What do you mean?” 

“Thank you!” Cassian says, pointedly glaring at Ama.   

But his sister only waves a hand, gesturing for Cassian to cough up the goods. Even his mom looks like she wants to know, her eyes big and pleading.   

Cassian sighs, pulling out his phone to the only photo he has of Nesta. Just seeing her has him smiling and he tries to tamper it down, hide it in a cough.  

She looks bored with her chin in her palm, irritated that he won’t put the phone down and study. Nesta’s surrounded by books and a mess of paper, and it seems so her, he wants to squeeze his phone. What he wouldn’t give to hold her tight when she’s grumpy and sneering, to bury his face in her hair until she laughs.   

It’s his favorite photo to date, and if he’s honest, he’s looked at it a million times. Cassian can still feel the panic of that one time he almost deletes it—a slip of his large thumb—so he won’t let them touch the screen as he holds his phone out.   

“You look with your eyes, not your hands,” he grumbles, “It’s the only picture I have." 

“She’s so beautiful!” Ama gasps, holding a hand to her chest dramatically. “Way too pretty for you. But can I date her?”   

“You’re fourteen!”   

“And?” She drawls, “Is age the only thing standing in my way? No hope for you then.”   

Cassian opens his mouth to respond, but his mom sighs at the two of them. She distracts him from whatever he’s about to say. Cassian watches as his mom takes his dad’s coffee from his hand, sipping at it while she cozies under his arm. His dad snuggles close, laying his head on hers. Perfectly content.   

Cassian wants that…  

So many times, he’s imagined it. Nesta and him in a great big house or a small, cozy home. Whatever she wants. Whatever makes her happy. As long as she’s in his arms. But Cassian shakes away the thought. She’s not even his. He’s not hers. They’re not dating. She’s only… a friend?   

He doesn’t even know.   

Rhys distracts him from his pity party, if only because he enters the kitchen with that ruffled expression he always seems to have on his lips. His brother leans on the counter, grabbing at an apple, and frowning at the picture still displayed bright on the screen.   

“She’s mean,” he notes, wrinkling his nose.   

Cassian snatches the apple away before he can take even one bite. “She’s not mean. She’s grumpy.”   

“Maybe that’s what he sees in women,” Azriel calls out from the living room, still staring at the tv screen.   

“Yeah,” Cassian says, pointing at Rhys. “Wait–no! She’s just Nesta. That’s just how Nesta is. She’s not mean. She’s… tough.”   

“Like a steak that’s well done?” Ama questions.   

Cassian thinks better on answering that. The subject of meat and Nesta should not belong in the same conversation… unless it’s steak houses and cooking… eating? Cassian pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can we stop talking about Nesta now?” 

His mom simply gestures to the photo. “How long have you known her?”   

Cassian sighs. He closes his eyes, knowing exactly what they’re going to say. “Two years.”   

They all begin to shout, and he wonders if he should mention how early it is. 

Only nine…   

“What and she doesn’t want to date you?” His dad gestures to him as if he were a piece of meat. “Is she blind?”  

“Or stupid,” Rhys mumbles.   

“She’s smart,” Azriel mocks, joining the procession. He smiles and Cassian knows he’s only teasing, but he sneers at his brother anyway, waving at the others in a how could you?   

Ama shrugs a shoulder, “Dodging a bullet then.”   

Cassian watches as Azriel and Ama fist bump at that. The look of betrayal Cassian gives his little sister is enough for her to roll her eyes. When did he stop being the favorite brother, he thinks. He took her to the science museum every spring since she was nine!  

At least, he knows where she’s getting the teenage angst.   

Cassian decidedly grabs the spatula. Enough is enough. “She’s coming for Thanksgiving,” He shouts, “and I swear if any of you make her uncomfortable, I’ll…”  

His mom raises a brow, that motherly cautionary tone in her voice. “You’re going to what?”   

Cassian sputters, “I’m… I’m going to burn all the food! Nothing you eat will be edible.”   

“You wouldn’t dare!” Ama shrieks.   

Azriel crosses his arms, insulted at the low blow of Cassian going directly for the food first. “Even the rolls?” 

Rhys only rolls his eyes. “Then Nesta will see you can’t cook and will probably dump your ass right then. I like this plan.”   

Cassian lowers the spatula. He didn’t think of that one. 

“What do you see in her anyways?”   

It’s a genuine question, Cassian knows. One that he feels like he must defend on principle.   

“I shouldn’t have to explain why I like someone, Little Rhysie.” Rhys sneers at the name. “And Nesta doesn’t have to like me, let’s be clear! But you just… you don’t know her like I do. Yes, she’s grumpy and she looks as if she’s always bored, and she acts, at first, dismissive and arrogant, but she’s loving and so funny and attentive, and she has to be comfortable for you to really see the extent of who she is.”   

“So, she’s a human version of Hamilton,” Ama says.   

At his name, the cat meows loudly. He jumps off the couch, raising a big furry tail. They all watch him move to his bowl, meowing in a fit of anger that it hasn’t already been filled.   

“Oh!” they all sound, looking to each other and nodding.   

Cassian shakes his head and sighs. “I’m getting a new family.” 

~ 

Cassian drums his fingers on the steering wheel the entire time Nesta’s in his car. She’s quiet and solemn and she grips the side of the door like she might open it at any moment. He imagines her escape. Jumping and rolling out onto the tarmac because she’d rather eat dirt than suffer this holiday with him.  

Cassian feels oddly self-conscious with her here, in his car with her backpack stuck in the back. It’s too casual—too normal for this be anything but a dream. Cassian finds himself sniffing the air every time he breaths, to catch that whiff of vanilla of his sister’s perfume. He sprays it right before she enters, and he has the vague inclination to keep spraying it while she’s near. He’s cleaned it so there’s no odd smell or mess, but it’s Nesta...  

She can scent fear.  

Worse, Cassian’s a nervous rambler and the silence is driving him insane. He thinks to turn on the radio, but his hands lay firmly on the steering wheel as if he’ll veer off if he lets go.  

The only thing he can think of to drum up a conversation is asking her about her paper. The one she spends two weeks on in a great state of despair. Half jumbled and half-screeching, she complains to anyone who listens about the critique she’s received and how she’ll have to spend extra time on the next assignment to make up for this grade. 

Cassian’s all too happy listening to Nesta now complain how she still hasn’t gotten her grade back for the more recent assignment when it’s been nearly a month, which just proves how the professor’s too incompetent to give good feedback.   

The conversation buys him some time at least. Time for what? He doesn’t know. But his stomach hurts just thinking about it.   

Inevitably though, Cassian begins pulling into streets of trimmed bushes and fountains in front of the lawns. His house is at the end of the long road, down a long driveway where him and his brothers used to race on their bikes until Rhys broke his arm, and they could no longer venture without a watchful eye. The inflatable balloon decorations are already sprouting from the ground. Tacky? Yes, but his parents had never cared about having the best lawn in the neighborhood.  

Besides, the tackiness doesn’t concern him. It’s the sheer size of his house. Cassian’s never noticed how large it is before… All houses on this block are. Vaguely he can remember the conversation he overhears between her and Gwyn... something about overconsumption and the rich. He squints at her hard as Nesta takes in the view. What is she thinking?  

Probably something along the lines of Death to the Proletariats! 

“So, this is your house,” she says. Nesta doesn’t even look at him when she speaks, he half wonders if she’s mumbling it to herself. “Looks exactly like I expected.”   

Cassian doesn’t know exactly what that means, so he merely shoves open his door, rushing to the other side. He thinks to open it for her, ease her into this whole ordeal, maybe body block her view, but by the time he reaches the other side, Nesta’s already hopping from his jeep.  

So, Cassian goes to get her bag. It’s heavy as he lifts it, and he has pretty good idea about the contents. Books and notebooks and textbooks... Nesta’s brain never takes a vacation. 

“I can carry my own bag,” she complains.   

Cassian rolls his eyes, throwing it over his shoulder and trying not to wince when it hits his back. “I can, too. See?”   

The glare Nesta gives him is just enough to give him chills.  

Until he remembers that it’s nearly the end of November and the temperature is dropping steadfast. It has yet to snow, but Cassian thinks it smells like it. The air is crisp and wet and fresh. It’s perfect weather for snowfall. 

It’s not perfect weather for someone with only a cardigan. What is it with Nesta and tiny sweaters? Cassian refrains from telling her that though or lecturing her on the fact that she was just sick a few weeks ago. She’ll only argue and spend more time in the cold, so he hurries her to the front door.

Nesta wavers at the inflatable snowman, sizing it up, and eyeing it as if she might fight the thing for being too tall. Cassian doesn’t let her look for too long.    

“Even your tree is large,” Nesta notes as they step through the doorway and into the hall. The key is stuck in the lock and Cassian wrestles with it, until her gaze lands on him and then he acts as if the key was always meant to be there in the first place.

Nesta raises a brow, and Cassian only tilts his head in question, innocence appearing on his face. She juts her chin towards the bare tree. Sturdy and proud.

The tree is only twelve feet. Not even the largest they’ve had, but the pickings are slim this year. Cassian won’t tell her this, of course. Not when every look means she’s analyzing his whole life like it’s trapped in a slide and she’s peering through a microscope.  

Instead, he shrugs, “it’s a fir.” 

Nesta wrinkles her nose slightly. “It’s real?”   

Thankfully he doesn’t have to answer that judgmental tone. He can already hear his dad’s spirited voice calling out for him. “Cassian! Is that you?”  

Nesta shirks back at the voice, and she looks like she might run, but she doesn’t. She stands there and straightens, her chin raising in habit as if she’ll scare that thing that wishes to trample her and stand in her way. Because Nesta has never shied from anything. Cassian can’t help the fondness blooming in his chest. That’s his Nesta.  

Not his Nesta, of course.

In steps in the most un-threatening man, Cassian has ever known.

He smiles behind those big glasses, raking them up to his nose. It’s as much of a nervous habit as Nesta’s straight spine. Two of the most harmless humans to exist staring at each other for not even the first time. He’s a large man, and without his school regalia, he’s more studious and domineering. Plenty of his friends when he was young, hated coming to their house for this reason. Afraid of being caught with some principle like figure. But Cassian knows how his father is… he’s a dork, just like Nesta.

Nesta smiles right away. It’s only a small turn of her lips and her eyes are too bright to mean she’s comfortable, but still… Cassian wonders if that pink tilt is from pure politeness or if she recognizes the man from their tailgating and doesn’t mind being around him. It is just a quick meet and goodbye, but she doesn’t wrinkle her nose at least or scoff haughtily at his outstretched hand, so Cassian takes that as a good sign. 

His dad answers back with a warm smile of his own and for a moment Cassian thinks this might not be so bad. How threatening can a middle-aged man with an argyle sweater seem to someone? She’ll relax.

But Cassian asks cautiously, “where are the others?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re somewhere around here,” His dad chatters, waving him off and gesturing for them to follow, to look and get comfortable. Look at the pictures hanging on the wall, the house in all its glory, the halls like he’s showing her an apartment she wishes to rent. “You know, it’s very nice to meet you again Nesta. When Cassian told us you were coming, I almost didn’t believe it. Cassian never brings anyone home, and I encourage him often. I almost thought he didn’t have any friends.”

Nesta doesn’t look at him while his father rambles on, she’s too quiet as she takes it all in. There’s not much he wants to hide from her, his whole house is welcome to her… but boy, does he want to hide her and maybe himself. Both of them running back to campus, before something deeply embarrasing can happen. His dad gestures to the kitchen, as polite as any concierge. He smiles at him with a great big grin as Nesta moves first, giving Cassian a thumbs up when she’s ahead.

“We got a whole buffet of food that my son’s so graciously made for all of us.” 

“You cook?” Nesta asks, her voice making him stand with attention. But she shakes her head as if chastising herself. In a low voice and perhaps for her own ears, she says, “of course you cook. I saw you grill.”  

Before Cassian can answer that or pause in his pursuit of memorizing every little quirk that Nesta Archeron possesses, his dad’s already luring them both towards the stove. They watch him smile gleefully, putting on large oven mitts and throwing an apron over his head. It has a cartoon dinosaur dressed in Christmas lights on it. Tree Rex...   

Dear god.   

His dad raises his finger in excitement, as if to say wait and Cassian smiles nervously at Nesta, though she only looks ahead, careful not to look at him for too long.

Carefully, his dad takes out the pie from the oven. Warm and golden brown, he holds it up like it’s Cassian’s first grade art project. “Look at this! He’s a wonderful cook. Best in town! Look at that lace on the border. You can’t get that kind of detail just anywhere.”   

Cassian laughs anxiously, giving his dad a look, hoping it conveys the right message. Tone it down!  

“I’m not that good,” he dismisses, sheepishly.   

“Don’t be modest!”   

His cheeks heat up from the praise or... Is he embarrassed? Cassian has no idea. It’s hard to tell. As soon as Nesta sees the house, he figures the queasiness in his stomach will go away once that part is over, but it seems to be becoming a permanent state of affair.  

“Yeah. Don’t be modest Cassian.” Azriel grins wide as they all turn to see his brother and his little sister in the doorway.  

Azriel gives a nod to Nesta, and promptly heads for the rolls. Cassian smiles in a way that hurts his cheeks. “Why are you still in pajamas?” He mumbles under his breath when Azriel reaches beside him.  

Azriel scoffs, “it's my house. What should I be wearing?” 

“It’s Thanksgiving,” he says as if it’s obvious.  

“And I’m wearing Sunday’s best.” His hair isn’t even combed, and his shirt has a baby vomiting on the front.  

"Hamilton’s dressed nice at least,” Ama says, holding the fat cat in her arms. Indeed, he has a little bow tie on, and the cat doesn’t look happy about it either. Not that Hamilton ever looks happy...  

“And you?” Cassian gestures to her dress, noticing the pins in her hair, the way it’s curled. It’s the nicest he’s ever seen her outside of band concerts and science fairs. Cassian can just imagine what she’s going to say. Something all the lines of on my way to steal your girl.  

His mom, however, appears from the living room, her arms already crossed in that mad mom way. Cassian was supposed to text when they were close... whoops.  

Probably would have been a good idea, knowing his family. The way they liked to embellish and dramatize. A house full of actors and clowns, he once says. What did that make him then in this circus?

"Where’s Rhys?” Cassian asks, looking around to see one of them is missing. 

Azriel shrugs, “probably still washing his hair. I filled his shampoo with mayonnaise.”   

What? “Why?”  

“I told him he’d regret it if he ate my last donut. It’s not my fault he has no self-preservation skills.”  

His mom only rolls her eyes, “We’ll talk about that later.”  

She shoves her way past them, warning them with a stern look. Be polite. 

Yes, Cassian wants to plead. Please be nice and warm and comforting. 

“You must be Nesta!” His mom announces. Cassian grimaces at the brightness of his mom’s voice. “I’m Francesca. Cassian’s mom, of course. You can call me mom, too, if you’d like.” At Cassian’s bewildered look, his mom waves a hand. “What? Everyone calls me mom. I’m the mom of the neighborhood.” 

“Or...” His dad interrupts. His saving grace. “You can call her Franny.”  

His mom smiles a little sheepishly when she notices Nesta’s lips raise in what looks more like a grimace. But before she can say anything that might appease, as his mother likes to do, Cassian watches as she zeroes in on to the backpack left on the floor, where Nesta leaves it tucked out of the way.   

Nesta follows that gaze, looking too apologetic for a place that’s usually messy. But his mom doesn’t let her get a word out before she’s holding up her hand. “Did my son not get you settled in? Cassian did you show her around the house—the bathrooms at least?” Nesta's eyes widen as his mom zeros in. “Did he offer you a drink, sweet pea?”  

“We just got here,” he whines in explanation.

His mother ignores that. “Lemonade? Iced tea? Cassian get her an iced tea.” 

“Ma, she can talk,” Ama says.   

“Also, she has arms,” Azriel adds, lightly. She gives them both a stern look and whips a glare to Cassian.   

Cassian takes a deep breath and decides that he’ll just settle the matter with as little fuss as possible. He shrugs. “Do you want something? I can show you what we have.”   

Nesta merely nods, but to say she looks overwhelmed is an understatement. At least she seems to be at ease with his dad. He gives her a friendly smile as he nods to the refrigerator and it’s something about the softness that has Cassian relieved.

His dad holds Ama with that look. His little sister wrapped in a white blanket, as he announces come meet your baby sister. It’s the same look he gives when Cassian breaks his leg in the second grade, and he carries him to the car. The same look as when Azriel—perfect Azriel—forgets to do his fifth-grade project and he cries. His dad rallies them together and they stay up the entire night making an ecosystem in a cardboard box.  

To Nesta it might have been a friendly face in a crowded room, but to Cassian... Cassian is never more grateful to have a father like him.   

It puts him at ease.   

So, Cassian, in a fit of courage, blurts, “You now know my mom.”   

He speaks to Nesta only—pauses so she can look to him and not the others who are probably watching and jotting every way they can make fun of him later. “She likes to boss me around most days, but she’s the most wonderful person alive.” He sets a hand on his mom’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “This is Ama, my little sister and of course, you already know Azriel. This fat cat is Hamilton.”   

He turns to look at them after he’s sure Nesta doesn’t look too overwhelmed. “Guys, this is Nesta.”  

Ama rolls her eyes, “Obviously. Mom just said that.” 

“Thank you, Ama. I just love the tone of your voice. So sweet to me.” 

But his little sister raises a hand, and raises Hamilton’s too, in a wave of hello.  

Cassian watches as a sweet small grin lights Nesta’s face, her cheeks warming to a shy pink. She waves a small hand, and it requires all his effort not to tuck in his own—see how small it is compared to his. “Nice to meet you all.”   

Cassian grins and when he turns back to his family, he gives them the most serious expression he can muster. His most threatening look. “There, you’ve all met her now and unless you want the rest of the food burnt, would you please remove yourselves from the kitchen. I’m supposed to be cooking here!”   

His mom looks like she wants to add something, but Cassian beats her to it. He looks at Nesta with what he hopes is an apologetic expression…. It probably looks more like he’s exasperated. “I have those Arizona green teas you like.”  

Nesta nods slowly, her lips set into a pretty, pink pout. Her eyes blink wide at him. She seems surprised that he knows her favorite drink…

At the look, Cassian wants to hang his head back and sigh. 

Gods help him, she’s never going to get the hint.   

~ 

Settling Nesta in goes as well as he expects, but the hard part is over, Cassian tells himself. It can’t be any more embarrassing than this.  

Cassian knocks on the wood of the cutting board, just in case.   

He blocks off the kitchen to the rest of his busybody family and he pulls out a stool for Nesta to sit at the counter and things are... well enough. She pulls out a book and he wonders if it’s to avoid him, but hey, at least she doesn’t pull out earphones.  

They settle into a companionable silence and occasionally, Cassian asks her questions. Is she hungry? Does she want to try something? Does she want more tea? How about that test on Tuesday?  

Nesta mostly says no, looking back to her book and Cassian bites at his lips as if to reign in the questions. They sit on his tongue and so many things appear in his head that he has to hold himself back from blurting them out.  

Snow? No, that’s about the weather.  

The book? No, he asked her about that already.  

Strangely, Cassian wants his family to come back. He's never noticed just how much studying offers him reprieve—an excuse. Cassian doesn’t have to be entertaining, because he should be studying. He doesn’t have to be cool, because he should be studying. There’s no lame-o excuse he has to come up with to see Nesta again. The excuse is that he’s studying.  

Now what does he talk about that’s not studying?  

Thankfully—albeit a little too late in his opinion—his mom peaks her head in and offers the tour Cassian so graciously does not. Nesta accepts without a look back to Cassian and when she’s gone, he almost feels guilty at the relief.  

Then… he just feels bad.  

He tries to focus on the last bit of cooking. The turkey, the rolls, the pie all done. The sweet potatoes are in the oven with a smattering of pecans and brown sugar. The marshmallows will be toasted to perfection. He seasons the mashed potatoes. All the while, Cassian comes up with topics like his brain is playing Jeopardy!  

He knows Nesta. It can’t be that hard.  

But it’s hard!  

As much as he thinks he knows, Nesta just... surprises him. He knows her expressions, her mannerisms, her terrible need to be right. He knows what her pout means, her glares, her tired blinks. He knows her lies and how to read them. I’m not hungry. I’m not tired. Cassian then complains for an hour about how she’s running him ragged, and he’ll never learn without some food. Let’s take a break, he keeps whining, and then he suggests getting tacos or sandwiches or coffee and that’s the only way she’ll agree. He knows what books she reads and what restaurants she likes. He knows her routines.  

What he doesn’t know are her interests, but god, does he want to! 

Cassian just can’t think of anything to say.  

“Who’s winning?” Cassian looks up to his dad who tilts his head, offering a small, tentative smile. “You look like you’re having a real deep conversation and I’ll be honest; you seem to be losing the argument.”  

Cassian sighs, “I can’t think of anything to say.”  

“To whom?” 

“To Nesta!” Cassian doesn’t mean to yell, and the raised brow his dad gives him only makes him feel worse. “Sorry,” he offers quietly.  

“It’s okay.” His dad shrugs a shoulder, and Cassian vaguely remembers starting school again for the first time, holding onto his leg because he doesn’t want him to leave. “This is the first time you’ve ever brought someone home, so I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.” 

Cassian tilts his head back, his eyes shifting past cream. “What if she doesn’t like me?”  

He feels like a kid saying that. What is he in junior high? But it's the question that keeps replaying in his mind, and he’s spent an hour trying to convince himself it’s not possible. That he can make himself convincing enough.   

Cassian turns his gaze back to his dad, but he only smiles sadly.  

“She might not,” he says, shrugging, and those are not the words Cassian wants to hear. “But she's here... I think that might have to be enough for today.”   

Cassian groans at the answer and at the same time he feels guilty for groaning. He’d wait a million years for Nesta, it’s true, and he’s not lying when he says she doesn’t owe him anything, but...  

What if she still doesn’t like him at the end?  

Cassian doesn’t want to think about that, so he grabs a roll, stuffing it in his mouth.  

“How does she seem?” Cassian asks in between bites.  

“Your mom is currently trying to wring words out of her and trying not to wring Rhys’s neck.”  

He supposes that should make him laugh. There’s nothing any of them like more than to see Rhys chastised for being dramatic. Cassian can’t muster the mirth, though. One, because he keeps stuffing down rolls and if he laughs, he’s for sure going to choke and two... Well, he feels tired suddenly.  

His dad smiles at him, a bigger grin this time. Cassian wonders if he’s now become the dramatic one and his dad is laughing at him beneath that smirk. Everyone's laughing at his expense today.  

“Cas, she came to Thanksgiving with you. To a family holiday. She at least prefers you to wherever she could have been today. So, you are the better option. Now I don’t know if that means she wants to date you, but it means something—means you made a safe enough place that she’d endure this god-awful, awkward family gathering. She knew about us before she came too, that's got to say something.”  

Maybe...  

“Not maybe. I know and honestly, if she comes back after today, well she deserves all your time because hell no would I come back.”  

Cassian gives him a bland look, “You live here.”  

“Only because I can’t escape.” His dad throws up his hands, gesturing to the window where the expansive front long beams in front. “I’ve tried! I can’t make it past the hedges.” 

That at least makes him huff. Not exactly a laugh, but... he’s getting there. Cassian shakes his head, “Nesta’s just…”  

“Nesta’s just what?” the person in question asks, as she resumes her spot on the counter. She opens her book to its marked page, and Cassian watches as Nesta merely waits for his response.  

“I thought you were touring the house.” Cassian looks awkwardly at his dad and back to her.   

“Your house isn’t so large it would take me all day to see it.” Nesta raises a brow and Cassian quickly holds up the basket of bread.   

“Try a roll,” he says in distraction. Cassian hums as he watches her grab at one. She inspects it like it’s laced with drugs, poking at the bread with a finger. Cassian decides he won’t look at her for too long, so he looks at his father instead, but he only mouths talk to her as he raises a hand in goodbye.  

He’s leaving him alone with her! 

“You made this?”  

Cassian smiles as warmly as he can muster. His cheeks hurt from the grin. He hums to himself—another nervous habit—but he hopes the sound might sooth him. “I make all the food for Thanksgiving. Except the green bean casserole... Rhys won’t let anyone touch that.”  

At the mention of the name, Nesta wrinkles her nose.  

“Your brother doesn’t like me.” Nesta squishes the bread in her hands and Cassian watches the movement in awe. It seems strange having her in this kitchen. He feels nervous, somehow. Interviews, come to his mind. Interviews and fifth-grade performances when he falls off the stage.  

“What?” Cassian says, his voice rising in pitch. “What makes you think that?”  

“He just told me he doesn’t like me.”  

That prick.  

“Although, your little sister offered me his room. I can move in next week.” Nesta snorts softly, looking to the living room. “We’re giving him time to move all his things.” 

She looks almost fond staring at the rambunctious bunch fighting over which movie to watch. Azriel has the remote and Cassian knows no one’s going to grab it from him, which means they’ll all be stuck watching something on TLC. 90-Day Fiancé or something or other.  

“I’m sure Azriel can help with that.”  

Nesta nods, gesturing to all the bowls. He can’t stop staring at her. Here in his kitchen with her hair swept down her back. This is too normal, too odd, too much, and the very image of her has his mouth opening wide, ready to reveal all his secrets.  

But Cassian can’t tell the good ones yet... not when she could dismiss him so easily, so Cassian slips on the oven mitts. “The foods almost done,” he says. 

"I’m still surprised you cooked this all by yourself.”  

Somewhere between the wariness, he thinks he hears Nesta impressed. Maybe that’s what gives him the courage—the impulse—to pick out a clean spoon, dipping it in the mashed potatoes. “You’ll be even more surprised when you taste it. Here, try a bit.”   

It takes everything in him not to raise that spoon to her lips, not to feed her like he wants. Nesta gives him a look before she takes it from his hand. For the life of him, he can’t read it and Cassian wants to know what she’s thinking. If that look might mean, he means more to her than homework.  

Nesta moans at the bite of food, doing that thing she does with her head. A small little dance, a back-and-forth movement. Cassian doubts that she notices the tell-tale sign, but he knows... she likes his food. Cassian tries not to let the heat go to his face—the pride.   

This has to be a bad idea, he thinks, but what a good idea?   

Cassian catches Nesta’s gaze, and her eyes are a tepid blue. Parts of her hair are swept up and out of her face, but a few wisps escape the pinks. He holds out a hand, ready to tuck them back for her.

How soft is her cheek, he wonders.   

“That’s not fair,” Rhys muses and the sound of his voice has them both jumping back. “You slapped me with that spoon the last time I tried to sneak a bite.” 

That prick.   

Cassian tries not to glare at his brother, but the smile he gives him is edged with enough malice that even Nesta looks shocked. “I’ll slap you again if you don’t stay out of the kitchen.”   

“Playing favorites, too. I see.” 

Soon enough, Azriel is making his way into the kitchen, too. He heads straight to one of the bowls. “You were never anyone’s favorite, Rhys.” 

When Cassian looks back to Nesta, she’s fiddling with the bowls. Her eyes flicker to the dining table. “I’ll just--”  

“Oh dear, that’s not necessary,” his mom calls, popping seemingly out of nowhere... Were they all waiting in the hall? “You’re our guest. You relax.”  

“When is the food done?” Ama whines.  

“Whenever it gets done,” Cassian retorts, but he looks to Nesta and gives her a sheepish grin. He doesn’t know if she’s eaten all day and he regrets not asking earlier. He’s only seen her eat a roll and that’s not nearly enough for how much she snacks. “About thirty minutes.”  

“You never talk to me that softly,” Ama huffs.  

“That’s because you don't deserve this tone.”  

“And I do?” The frankness in Nesta’s voice has his cheeks warming to a fault. Cassian zeros in on her gaze. Those bright blue-grey eyes. That cheeky way in which she hides her smirk.  

“Course,” he offers with a casual shrug. Cassian refrains from speaking dramatics, but it’s hard to know what to say when she looks at him like that. Like she’s never seen him before.  

I’ve been sitting right in front of you this whole time.  

He hopes that look means she’ll understand that he’s not here to play with her feelings. He’ll give her the world if she wants and not because of how well she keeps up his grades, but because he can't imagine ever not seeing her roll her eyes or complain about how he’s not paying attention. He'll fail all his classes if he has to. 

Nesta would hate him if he did that.  

“In that case, is there anything I can do to help?”  

On a regular basis, Cassian might have insisted that he could do it himself. No need for her to lift a finger. But the way Nesta seems to stick by him, not wanting to leave, even as his family starts getting out drinks, Cassian decides he’ll take it. 

Has his family saved him? Have they been so unreasonable that Nesta actually prefers his presence over theirs? 

That thought makes his heart bleed in his chest. He knows she doesn’t know anyone in this home as well as she knows him, but it’s that familiarity, that certainty, that has him wanting to tuck her close.   

Cassian will keep her comfortable and happy. If that’s to be his job for the evening—for the rest of his life—then Nesta Archeron will be more comfortable and happier than anyone in this world.  

So, he offers her a spoon and a grin. “Can you stir the cheese in the macaroni?”  

~ 

Nesta sits by him at the dinner table, and he tries to hide his pleased expression at the thought of being so close to her even if it is just a coincidence.  

Did his family plan this? Who knows, but Cassian won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She’s here, and he won’t question that either.

“Cassian?” His dad gestures to the turkey with a knife, poking from the breast to the golden leg. It’s a tradition in their household that since he cooks all the food, he gets first dibs.  

Cassian only looks to Nesta, “white or dark meat?”  

“Dark,” Nesta answers. Cassian hears Rhys groan, probably mumbling something about how there won’t be any left now that there’s seven people. Cassian decides to ignore him, but he’s right... he might just have to make two turkeys next year.  

Cassian shakes his head at the naïve thought. Next year? Let’s see how next month goes.  

“You don’t want mashed potatoes?” Nesta asks and he notices the bowl she holds out his way.  

“Oh wait, no. I want some.”  

Cassian piles them onto his own plate, and when he notices Nesta’s only gotten a small spoonful—probably about politeness since he knows she can pack it away—he spoons more onto her plate. He watches her frown at the tall lump but before she can glare at him, Cassian is quick to turn away, handing the bowl to his mom.  

Nesta eats a little bit of everything and only takes a tiny bite of the carrots. Cassian wants to roll his eyes since he just knew she’d be judgmental about the healthy options.  

She likes the sweet potatoes the best with its marshmallows, its brown sugar topping mixed with pecans. She does that little dance with her head again, and though Nesta eats everything else, it’s the only thing she asks for seconds of. That seems to annoy Rhys since he practically hoards them away every year. But his mom just keeps offering her more and more with an amused look on her face towards his brother. That’s what you get.  

Cassian’s not all that surprised about Nesta’s enthusiasm since she loves sweets. 

“You cook well for someone terrible at science.”  

At the mention of his grades, Cassian grumbles, “Cooking isn’t a science. It’s an art.”  

“You certainly can cook for me all the time, if you’d like,” Nesta says happily, biting into the brown sugar spread. Cassian pauses at those words, those inviting, pleasing words that mean she might want him around.

Or maybe she’s just used to him. Again, it’s the familiarity. It has nothing to do with him or how well he can cook or how constant he’s there. She tutors him and perhaps the annoyance has grown in something else. Something fonder…

“I’ll bring you food when we study,” he says and his voice is entirely too soft as he says the words.

Nesta scoffs lightly, making a face. “You already do that and I’ve told you several times not to. Hope that you never spill anything on my notes.”  

That obnoxiously pretentious response is familiar, and Cassian smiles lightly at the words. Perhaps… a little too fondly.

“So,” his mom announces loudly. She leans a bit forward as they turn towards her. “You guys are…”  

Cassian glowers at the question, but he can see all of them move just a little closer, waiting for her answer.  

He hates them. He’s never coming back home again.  

“We’re friends,” Nesta says, calmly.  

Scratch that! He should have brought her home sooner. His heart feels like it’s pounding in his chest, his ears ring and ring, but still he asks. “Best friends?” 

He knows he’s pushing his luck, and any other day Nesta might have glared at the push. He feels apologetic as he waits. His hands grow clammy, and his face must be red. His ears feel warm to the touch.  

Nesta merely hums, pushing the potatoes around her plate with a fork. She’s not one to lie, he knows. She won’t spare him the embarrassment.  

“You’re the first friend I made.” She catches his gaze. Her face doesn’t turn a pretty shade of pink, her lips don't part, her eyes don’t gleam like the morning sun. For all intents, she could be telling him the weather, but Cassian can see every word she doesn’t say just by that frank look.  

You’re important to me. 

Cassian smiles down at his mashed potatoes. He can already feel the warmth reach his cheeks. He’s going to be red all day.

Rhys clears his throat, “So why aren’t you with your family?”  

Cassian gives him a glare.

“My sisters live far,” she only says.   

“You have sisters?” Ama grins at the thought and Cassian rolls his eyes. She’s always complaining that she could do with a few less brothers.

We can live Rhys at the mall, he thinks. One less.  

Nesta nods, “Two.”  

Cassian bristles in his seat. Two sisters? How does he not know this? Oh, that’s right, Nesta doesn’t tell him anything that doesn’t have to do with passing his classes.  

“Are they in school like you?” His dad is the one who asks this, and he looks more curious than judgmental. Thankfully. His dad is the least judgmental person he knows, but still... Nesta has never been so forthcoming with information.  

“My youngest sister goes to an art school in New York and my other sister is a baker in Brackenridge.”  

A little more than five hours away. Interesting…  

"You’re the eldest?”  

Nesta nods and Azriel whistles as if understanding the plight. “Then you know how annoying little siblings are." He pointedly looks at Rhys who gives him a glare.  

“They live so far,” his dad tells her. “Do you miss them?”  

“We talk a lot on the phone, and I see them every couple of months when we can all get together.” Nesta shrugs and a side of her lips raise in a way that makes Cassian want to reach for her. Though he can’t do that like he wishes. 

He can’t imagine not being able to see these buffoons every weekend, even if they are more work than anything else, and the way Nesta is… he can’t imagine her not missing her sisters, even if her expression doesn’t note anything particularly wrong with this arrangement.

So, Cassian clenches his fist around the fork, trying not to grab a hold of her hand. To remind her that he’s always here. He’s always been here.

His dad smiles warmly at his friend. “Well, until those times come, you’re welcome with us anytime.”  

~ 

Cassian catches Nesta’s gaze and he juts his chin out to the door. She seems to sigh in relief at the action. He knows her well enough to know when she wants to leave, the socializing inevitably taking its toll.  

The keys jingle as he grabs them, and Nesta heads for the coat rack. He wants to remind her to put on a scarf, it’s something that a friend might say to another friend, but Cassian thinks better of it. No sense in pushing his luck.  

“Where are you two going?” his mom asks.  

“I’m taking Nesta home. Thanksgiving is over.”  

His mom sets her hands on her hips, giving him a reprimanding look. “Thanksgiving is not over.”  

She places a hand on Nesta’s arm, and surprisingly Nesta doesn’t shrug off the touch. “Oh, sweetie, please stay.”  

“Mom, she wants to go home.”    

“You’re practically a part of the family,” his mom pleads. She holds out a hand to the living room as if luring her to holiday cheer. “And thankfully, Cassian let us know you were coming early, so I picked up pajamas for you.”  

Cassian gapes, “pajamas!” 

His mom ignores him, but Nesta only remains thoughtful and quiet.  

“Stay the night. We have traditions in this household, and I’ve just decided you’re our honorary daughter.” She laughs brightly as Cassian glares. “So please... We’ve got hot coco and Christmas movies and we can decorate the tree together as a family.”  

His mom rambles on, gently moving Nesta forward.  

Cassian hums in contemplation. Is he like this?  

Then again, Nesta doesn’t pull away even with the not-so-subtle push. She holds up the pajama top, when it gets shoved into her hands, and he sees the snowman at the front, laying in a puddle. I’m having a meltdown, it reads.  

Cassian’s expecting her to scoff, to snide or sneer even if it’s exactly something he would’ve chosen for her too. But her lips raise just a tad, and he’s never seen someone so... beautiful. Cassian can’t explain it any other way, he doesn’t have another word. Beautiful isn’t exactly correct, he thinks, but his heart leaps in his chest at the same time he catches his breath as if he’s run out of air.  

Her look... he breathes it in, stores it away where all those facts live. That list of Nesta likes, and wants, and needs. Every quirk of her personality. All of it familiar.  

How is it possible, he thinks, to know comfort by just looking at someone.  

“I’ll stay,” she says to his mother. His mom squeals with delight, pointing out where the bathroom is, telling her how cute she’ll look in her pajamas.  

But Nesta pauses, looking to him first.  

“If that’s okay with you,” she adds.  

“Stay,” Cassian blurts. Because what else can he say? There are no other words that grace his lips well enough, that sound completely true and right or safe.

“Alright. I’ll stay.”  

Cassian swallows, grasping his throat to keep from saying anything else.  

“Stay forever,” his mom laughs brightly.  

~ 

Nesta waves a piece of tinsel around as Hamilton chases the sheen of paper. The fat cat seems to like Nesta just fine and he doesn’t ask her embarrassing questions like some of the other members in his family do.  

No wonder Hamilton’s his favorite.  

Hamilton reaches out a paw and Nesta pulls the tinsel away quickly until the little cat meows egregiously and she sets it back down. All the while, she talks to his dad. He holds a book out for her to see. Cassian recognizes it as an old history book about the trade of opium. Stellar reading choice.  

Cassian shakes his head. Of course, he’d ramble on about that book. He’s always trying to shove it down their throats. The perks of biological research, he says. Where scientific discovery meets history.  

Nesta at least doesn’t seem perturbed. She engages in the conversation with apt attention. In fact, he hands it to her, and Nesta grasps the spine in her hands like it’s worth its weight in gold.  

“Keep it,” his dad says. 

Really? Cassian wants to gasp. That’s his favorite book.  

“Maybe It’ll convince you into becoming a physician-scientist. Could use another one in the family.” His father winks at him as he says the words and Cassian holds up his hands in exasperation. 

He quickly sets his arms to his side when Nesta looks back at him. Cassian merely looks away, tapping his foot to the music playing softly through the living room. He’ll pretend he’s lost in thought.

Only thoughts of her, of course.  

Ama’s already in her pajamas, the words sleigh the patriarchy on the front. Cassian’s pajamas, conveniently, have snowmen on them. The same color and theme as Nesta’s and he makes note not to mention it, even as his mom winks at him by the buckets of bulbs.  

Ama opens box after box of decorations, gasping loudly when she finds the ears, holding them up like its treasure. “I found them!” 

The first person she gives it to is Nesta, and Cassian might have rolled his eyes, if she didn’t smile fondly at his little sister, amusing her whims and wiles. The reindeer ears comb the smaller, falling pieces out of her way like he wishes to do with his fingers. She’s adorable and all Cassian can do is stare like a creep.  

“First things first, we’ll have to decorate the tree!” his mom sings.  

“This is always my favorite part,” Ama says excitedly to Nesta.

As soon as dinners over, Ama uses the opportunity to stick as close as she can to her. The only other interesting person here, she says. “I helped pick out all the bulbs.”  

“Actually, I did that,” Cassian says with a roll of his eyes, shifting closer to Nesta as if he can keep his little sister from hogging their guest.  

“Please,” Ama says, raising a hand. “You wouldn’t know taste if it hit you in the--”  

“You know, I used to be your favorite brother.”  

Azriel snorts by the box of ribbons and wreaths, “not true. I was always the one she loved most.”  

Ama shrugs, “well, it certainly wasn’t Rhys if that helps.”   

Rhys gives them all a look, “I didn’t even say anything!”  

Nesta looks like she's holding back a smile, as if she can’t help the turn of her lips.  

“She laughs at my jokes,” Ama says, snootily.  

Cassian juts his chin out to Ama, gazing at Nesta like he’s exasperated and they share some joke between them. “The most entertaining person here. Can’t possibly be me.”

“Could be Rhys though,” Nesta remarks with a deliciously evil gleam in her eyes. “I’m certainly entertained by the grinch costume.”

“I’m wearing normal clothes.”

Nesta hums and glances at Cassian. “Exactly.”

Cassian snorts a laugh, and gestures for both of them to go to boxes where all the decorations lay.

The tree never looks fanciful, as Ama suggests. If anything, it looks as messy as the house usually is. There are handprints and artwork and pictures in popsicle frames that are older than even Ama. There is nothing on that tree that suggests they care about how things look. They joked one year and bought purple and green bulbs and a fake white tree, but his mom had hated it so much she’d called it Barney for the weeks leading up to Christmas.  

His dad had put it in the backyard a week before the holiday and had declared that the squirrels could have it and there would be no show and tell in their own home. The rest of them had agreed.  

It has only been the six of them for years, and now... it’s seven. It’s seven and Cassian can’t help but hope it stays seven.  

Nesta helps his mom and sister the most. They rope her into twisting the lights round and round, since she’s taller than both and can reach more. Cassian rolls his eyes and offers to do that for her, taking the lights from her hands. Even so, he still has to use the ladder for how tall it is.

When it’s perfect and his mom oohs and ahhs, Cassian stays near the tree if only to keep being close to Nesta and the way she seems to have settled in this space.

Nesta doesn’t seem to mind him, shifting from boxes to tree, and lifting an ornament and admiring the view of it all. The lights hit her just right. Perfect little dots of red and green along her face like a smattering of freckles.  

Nesta mouths the words of the Christmas song playing. He doesn’t even know which one. All he knows is she’s looking at the tree, swaying her head lightly to some sound. She’s wearing those little antlers in her hair, hanging up an ornament that he made when he was five and that soft smile… the clarity of her eyes…  

“I love you,” he gasps.   

Right as he says the words, the music stops playing, the song ending into soft bells. Cassian slaps a hand over his mouth.  

Fuck! 

His skin stings from how hard he slaps.  

Nesta turns to him, they all turn his way, but Cassian is only looking at her. He shakes his head. He can feel his heart sinking, his stomach twisting like he’s going to throw up.  

He’s going to throw up and his face hurts and Nesta’s expression looks… irritated? 

Azriel pokes out from behind the tree, raising a brow. “I love you, too. But you don’t have to get all sappy. It’s not even Christmas, yet.” 

“Cassian’s sappy every year though. I’m surprised he’s not crying from the Christmas lights.” Ama laughs, and Rhys opens his mouth to speak. 

Cassian gives him a glare before he can say a word.   

“Alright kids,” his mom says, clapping to try to distract them—to stop them from arguing. She smiles up at him, though, that special wink in her eyes, that all-knowing mom look. He loves Nesta, and his mom knows…

Their whole campus probably knows except Nesta.

 “Gather around the tree for pictures!”    

Nesta goes taut at the words, and Cassian watches as Azriel grabs his Santa hat, the one knitted with his name. Rhys throws his arms around Ama, who tells him he stinks still of mayonnaise. It’s all a routine, a family thing and Nesta steps away, shirking at the four of them. A little awkward in their close-knit family.   

“I can take it,” she says, gesturing to the camera his mom holds in his hand.   

“Oh no dear, go sit with the rest.” His mom juts her chin to where they scramble by the tree. Cassian settles on the floor, resisting the urge to pat the space beside him. “There's a timer. No worries!”   

“But I’m not--”   

“Nonsense,” his mom says, shaking her head. “Once you’re invited back to our house, you’re ours, baby girl.”   

Azriel’s the one who waves her over, dramatically. “Yeah, Nesta. You’re ours now. You’ll never escape us.”   

“Don’t make it sound creepy,” Ama sneers, hitting Azriel in the side with her elbow. “Nesta, I myself would be very happy to have another girl in the house. Even if it’s an in-law.” 

"We’re not married,” Cassian remarks, plainly.   

“Who says she’s marrying you?” 

"Well, she’s not marrying them!”   

“I’m not marrying anyone,” Nesta says, plopping down beside him.   

She’s so close and Cassian can smell vanilla and cinnamon as she bumps into him, adjusting where she sits. Or maybe that’s the smell of his house sticking to her clothes, her hair. Whatever it might be, she seems to belong here. Nesta fits so well between them.  

“Make way for the real star,” Rhys announces. His little brother must be asking for a death wish as he pushes at Cassian’s head, lurching in the space between him and Nesta. “This is my spot.” 

His mom tuts. “Your head seems to be blocking the tree dear. It would be better if you moved down to the end.”  

She smiles so forcefully even Cassian stands up straighter at the look. Rhys merely rolls his eyes, sulking to the other end.  

“Hi,” Cassian says, peering at Nesta once more. The loveliest image. Much better than brothers, anyway. “You have glitter in your hair. May I?” 

He gestures towards her head and Nesta nods. A little quietly, a little sweetly.  

“May I?” Ama scoffs to Azriel. “Do you learn manners in college?” 

“Hush now,” His mother warns, “and smile please!”  

Cassian knows he should be looking at the camera, but he looks to Nesta instead. She grins sweetly. The apple of her cheek is the color of a fresh peach, and he has the overwhelming urge to kiss at it, bite it, pinch it like his grandmother used to... but that thought has him wrinkling his nose.  

His grandmother and kissing Nesta should never be in the same sentence.  

"Focus on the camera, Cassian.”  

His face warms as he turns back to it. He doesn’t check to see if Nesta’s noticed his embarrassment. This whole day has been embarrassing, Cassian should be used to it by now, but all he wants to do is hold her hand. She’s right there, a front row seat to it all, and Cassian... he wants to hold her hand for comfort. For hers… but more likely his own.

Would she let him if he just entwined his fingers in hers?  

His stomach feels queasy as he grins and the camera clicks.  

Rhys groans and Azriel complains when his mom tells them they’ll take another one. Just the boys this time. Just Ama. Just Hamilton. Just the parents.  

“Sweetie, can I get a picture of you, too?”  

His mom looks to Nesta where she sits on the floor, nibbling on a sugar cookie. Cassian’s about to intervene, but he pauses, telling himself to stay where he is.   

“Of me?” She says, pointing to herself.  

“Yes, if that’s okay with you,” his mom adds softly. 

Cassian follows Nesta’s silhouette as she goes to the tree again, asking where she wants her to sit or stand. She smiles shyly and Cassian smiles at her smile.  

“Your face is going to get stuck like that,” Azriel sings lowly. For his ears only.  

He can hear Rhys grumble. “His face is the least of his problems. She’s wearing my antlers.”   

“And eating your cookies.”  

“I made those cookies,” Cassian hushes.  

“You make them for me.” 

“I never pegged you for the jealous type,” Azriel muses.  

“You’d think with three siblings you’ve learned to share,” Ama chimes in, grabbing a cookie from his hand.   

“Rhys has been sharing his opinion all day long, so I’d be happy if he shared less.” Cassian scoffs, not forgetting his brother’s impromptu warning Nesta’s way.  

It’s Azriel who stops their argument dead in their tracks. “I think she’s good for you.” 

Cassian looks to his brother in disbelief, sure that he might have had some cruel words to say just as Rhys had. If only for that freshman year debacle where Nesta leaves him drunk on the lawn until the ambulance arrives, even after he reaches for her.

Azriel has been hearing about Nesta for two years now. Every bit of that coffee scent in her skin. That shy but un-shy way in which she goes about campus and classes. Everything is hers for the taking, including him… why does she not just take him?

Cassian can’t think of anything to say, but it doesn’t matter anyways, because his mom is waving him over impatiently.  

“One with both of you,” she explains, whipping her head towards him and to the tree where Nesta sits.  

Nesta peers at him curiously and he can’t read every unspoken word there, but he gives her a sheepish smile.  

He goes back to where he was, that spot still open for him and waiting. “Sorry about all this. My mom’s a photographer and she gets a little stir crazy about the holidays.”   

Nesta shrugs with a simple smile to the camera.  

“Its fine,” she says. But is it?  

Cassian can’t tell she doesn’t give him explanations or conversation and Cassian wants to know exactly what she thinks of all this.  

“Now put your arm around her. You two, look like you actually like each other.”  

She doesn’t like me, he wants to blurt, but he doesn’t know if that’s correct—doesn't want that to be correct. Maybe Nesta does like him a little bit, like his dad says, if she’s willing to put up with him and this family and these pictures. She hasn’t complained even once, and he knows she can and loudly.  

She’s his friend. That has to be enough.

It is enough.

So, Cassian doesn’t put his arm over her shoulder. That’s too… familiar. Too intimate. But he leans in a bit closer and sets him arm on the opposite side of her. That way she’ll be tucked close, but not touching.

Nesta smiles at the camera, and for a moment he really looks at her. Those antler ears and the slight red of her cheeks, and those bright blue-grey eyes, those long lashes and those pretty, pink lips. As perfect as perfect could be. So perfectly Nesta Archeron.  

He can hear a click, but he doesn’t stop trying to memorize Nesta’s features.  

“Cassian, you’re not even looking,” his mom chastises.  

Cassian whips towards that camera with a blush.

“Now you blinked.”  

Nesta snickers to the side of him, and he brushes his shoulder against hers in a playful bump. “Hey, at least you don’t have to deal with this every holiday.”  

“Earth day?” Nesta asks amused.  

“Even then,” he grumbles.  

But his mom gives them both a stern look to look at the camera, and Nesta smiles once more and so does he... right after he rolls his eyes for the eleventh time.  

“There,” his mom says sighing. “You two are finally free from me.”  

His dad takes that as his chance to usher them to the couch, where piles of blankets and pillows are splayed out on the floor. Cassian pulls Nesta to the couch before any of his dweeb siblings can claim it.

“Kids, what movie are we going to watch?”   

“I vote the Elf!” Ama yells, raising her hand excitedly.  

Rhys wrinkles his nose, “that movie’s annoying.”   

“You’re annoying.”   

His dad turns to him, giving him a look that can only mean he wants to roll his eyes. Every year…  

“How about you, Cass?”  

Azriel scoffs, grabbing at the remote. It must have a magnetic connection to his hand, Cassian thinks, because he swears, he hasn’t seen him carry it around this much. “Why do we even have to vote, we all know what Cassian is going to choose.” 

The Grinch. They all know that.  

It’s Cassian’s favorite since he was small. Even when it wasn’t Christmas, his mom would put it on for him every time he got sick. She let him lay in their big parent bed where he’d be swallowed by pillows and throws, and The Grinch would be on. All that color.  

Cassian can quote every line and he thinks he does a pretty good impression of Jim Carrey… not that anyone ever wants to hear it.  

His mom holds a hand out, and Azriel begrudgingly gives her the remote. “How about we have our guest choose the first movie?” 

Rhys throws up his hands, but Nesta sits back, a small frown on her face. He knows she doesn’t like the attention they keep giving her, but… he can’t do much about that. His family’s just like that. Annoying and endearing all at once.  

Overwhelming, he should say.   

“You just said she was a part of the family,” Rhys says, “she’s not a guest, so why does she get to decide?”   

Cassian watches as his mom gives Rhys a stern look, setting her hands on her hips.  

But Nesta grimaces, shaking her head. “I’m okay with whatever. Any one is fine.”   

His dad smiles sweetly at her. Kind and patient, in the way Cassian knows well. “Then let’s make it easy. The Elf, The Grinch, the Polar Express—a personal favorite. Home Alone or Christmas with the Kranks? All of our favorite movies, and none of us will argue with what you choose.”  

Azriel sits back crossing his arms, and Ama and Rhys open their mouths to argue. His dad, this time, is the one to silence them with stern looks.  

Nesta thinks about it, rolling her hands up her thighs as if her palms are sweaty. Cassian would comfort her if he could, if it didn’t sound alarms at the action. That their relationship is something more… even if it isn’t.  

“The Grinch,” Nesta says softly. She shrugs a shoulder. “It’s my favorite Christmas movie.”   

Rhys groans, but Cassian is sure it’s not from the movie choice. They all look to him and Cassian can’t help the grin. But then, Nesta’s turning to him and he can’t help the blush.  

“I’ll make popcorn,” Cassian says, to distract them from his pleased expression. From his reddened cheeks. “I’ll even throw in some green and red M&Ms. Nes, I bought the peanut ones, just how you like.”    

~ 

Cassian wakes up to the sound of a phone ringing and he thinks of the class he has at 8:00am… But it’s not 8:00am and he’s not scrambling in his underwear, groggy as he tries to search for his phone. The ringing seems to be coming from Nesta’s phone or that’s at least what he gathers as he watches Nesta push off him. Cassian grunts as elbows dig into his stomach.  

“Feyre?”  

Her hair is in tangles as she holds that phone up to her ear. The antlers hang off to one side. Cassian can only blink blankly. He doesn’t remember ever lying down and the warmth he feels across his chest, the smell of her shampoo has him scowling.  

She’d been laying on him and he missed it! 

Nesta ignores him as she heads for the front door, not even glancing his way. She speaks in low hushed whispers as if there are secrets, she keeps. Feyre? Cassian can’t recall the name, but he tries to as he pushes off the muddled blankets, searching for his phone.  

They must have fallen asleep together and no one wakes them up. Cassian doesn’t know whether he should sing praises or shake fists.  

He decides that he’ll make the decision when Nesta comes back, and he gouges her mood. If she kills him, they’ll be safe. If she scorns him… they’ll never make it out alive.  

Yes, Cassian nods to himself. He’ll decide when Nesta gets back.  

But Nesta takes her time with her call which is well and good since it takes him a while to find his phone. The lights of the tree are still on, little bobbles of red and green, touches of gold, so Cassian doesn’t bother with the lamp. Not the brightest idea when he can’t see a thing.  

He finds his phone at last on top one of the cabinets along the wall. There are several notifications listed on the bright screen and he scowls at the flash of light. 

It’s barely past twelve. They must have fallen asleep during the last movie… 

Cassian checks Snapchat first. The group name has been changed to Ya Filthy Animals and Azriel’s name is at the bottom. 

When did he get added?   

Cassian doesn’t bother asking though. Instead, he clicks on the picture that’s been sent to all of them. 

Of her… and him. 

Nesta is draped across his body, her cheek tucked to his chest. Cassian has his hand in her hair, and he’s holding her close. Just a little too desperately to be platonic. The blanket lies on them like a bank of snow. The lights dance along their skin.  

They look… in love. So damn cozy in his childhood home and Cassian saves the picture before he moves onto the replies. It will be the second photo he has of her now. 

The reply is from Emerie. Oh, my fucking god.   

Azriel types, never regret adding me to the group chat. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals! 

The next reply is from Gwyn and Cassian can almost see her blank expression. It’s not Christmas.  

Cassian shuts his phone off, but not before saving the photo. He checks his text messages, and he gets some from his mom. He’s in a group chat now with Nesta and his mom.  

It’s just pictures. He smiles at the one with Nesta so beautiful and then he looks at the photo of them together. And the whole family photo.  

When Nesta comes back, Cassian puts down the phone. “Is everything okay?”  

"Just my sister. She needed money for a cab.”  

“The one who lives in New York?”  

“Yep.” That’s the only thing Nesta says, and he wonders how much information she’d offer in other circumstances, and what those circumstances entail.  

They settle in uncomfortable silence, and Nesta looks to the tree and not at him. She doesn’t want to tell him more, and Cassian will respect that.  

“I brought you a present," Cassian says, as calmly as he can muster. His heart feels as if it's caught in his throat, thumping so loudly he can hear it ringing in his ears. Cassian grabs it from one of the cabinets where he tucks it away and sets it in her lap when she doesn’t move to take it from him.

His wrapping skills are messy at best, but the wrapping paper is chosen for her. There are books all over it. 

“It’s not even Christmas," she says, but there's no malice in her voice. Only something cautious and curious.  

“But it’s something you want.” 

Nesta looks at the present warily, but she takes it. She unwraps it like he thought she would. All care for the paper and none of the mess. She'll save it, he knows. Because Nesta saves everything. Every note. Every notebook.  

Cassian watches as her eyes get big and he restrains himself from grinning wide. Nesta holds up the book with a gasp. “This doesn’t come out 'til next Tuesday!” 

“I found it in a bookstore when we went to the tree farm," Cassian explains, plainly. There’s a picture of a half-naked man on the front and to say the clerk looked at him weird for buying two made him think that bookshop in Alexandra was a touch on the judge-y side. “I bought one for Emerie too, so you can both squeal about it, but you don't have to share.” 

Nesta stares at the book in awe, flipping to the back and running her fingers along the hardcover. Cassian waits patiently, running his hands down his pajama pants. They always seem so clammy when she's near. 

Suddenly Nesta looks concerned. Her mouth twists, her skin crinkles between the brows. She looks angry and Cassian takes a step back, holding up his hands. "Do you not like--" 

Her arms wrap around his neck and just when he thinks she just might choke him, Nesta kisses sweetly at his lips.

Cassian can't think, he can't pull away. He can’t remember his own name. 

Her lips are soft, and she smells like vanilla, and she presses against him so sweetly. His hands go to her rumbled hair, keeping her close as he nips at her bottom lip.

Nesta pulls back, and her lips are swollen as she says, “I didn’t mean to do that.”  

But she kisses him and that’s a fact that has him grinning, singing that she likes him. She likes him. She likes him after all.  

Nesta likes him more than a friend.

So, Cassian sets his hand on her cheek, his heart settling into a familiar roar, as he feels how soft her skin is there. Nesta holds a hand to her chest as if she could possibly stop the ferocious beat. Her eyes are glittering with the Christmas lights.

“I didn’t mean to do this,” he says, as he sets his lips on hers once more.  

 ~~~~

Stu(died) Tagged List: 

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430 @unhealthyfanobsession @simpingfornestaarcheron @talkfantasytome

~~~~

I am never writing this long of a chapter again. Mark my words. It’s never happening again. I have become desensitized to this chapter that I don’t know even know if it’s in character but it is what it is. 

Also, you’ll learn the reason why Cassian has never been in a library (which he says in the first chapter) in the next chapter. His mom is a wildlife photographer, so for a long time they did homeschool or would leave so that they could all be together, and that was like on and off issue. I just didn’t want to explain that in this chapter if I was already explaining what everyone else was doing. I only give a little bit of relevant info at a time. 

Also having so many characters in one scene is tough, don’t do that to yourself. 

#Stu(died) #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #vidalinav writes fanfic

[vidalinav]

Preggo My Eggo: Little Star

Summary: A Nessian pregnancy

I had to get the soft part out of the way. 

~

The House knows before anyone else.

It dotes on Nesta before they notice something’s changed. A shift of a scent. Nesta resting her head on the table, leaning against a chair because she’s always tired for some reason.

The House takes care of her as it always does.

But breakfasts become fuller. Smells Nesta wrinkles her nose to are never seen again. Soon enough the closets are filled with looser clothes, more comfortable, warm fabrics… There are blankets everywhere. Cassian practically wrestles them away. He almost trips on numerous occasions from unchecked throws and when he complains, the House dumps a pile on top of him.

Nesta merely tells him to bring her one when he’s dug himself out. She’s cold, she remarks, but before Cassian can even lift himself from checkered torture instruments, a blanket appears on her lap.

She tucks the soft grey fur around her body, and Cassian grumbles something about temperamental houses.

It doesn't ever occur to them that something might be different, but one day, as they sit on the couch looking at the city lights, as the sun turns to sunsets and purple moody skies, Nesta rests her head on his shoulder and Cassian rests his own on her head. They soak in each other’s warmth.

It’s warm outside, they know, but up on the mountaintop it’s cold. An eternal winter sits on their laps as well as a book, and the fire rages quietly as if it makes no sound at all.

The music of a symphonia plays a song they’ve memorized well, and the House once more wraps them in blankets. The blankets are its arms, Nesta likes to say. Hugs and comfort and something more tangible than simple requests.

Cassian has a hard time believing the House loves him at all, but he accepts her words as truth. He’s long since decided that as long as it loves Nesta than he will love this house.

Nesta loves this House, and she smiles up at her cup of tea and a piece of cake that appears on the side table. She doesn’t reach for it though... instead she reaches for him.  

“I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy.”

Nesta mutters those words into his skin, and he feels a little like crying. It’s a privilege to have this. Her in his arms, the love between them, the assurance of her embrace.

They both at one point have nothing, eat nothing, thrive on scraps and learn to love the bare minimum. But Nesta and Cassian love in abundance. They’re overflowing with it, and that love wants to leak out of his eyes.

“I don’t think I could be happier than this,” he says, squeezing her gently. He tucks her closer. As close as their souls thrumming in their hearts.

It’s the House that fills them with more joyful news, and perhaps it does love him after all.

Cassian picks up the book in his lap, and it’s no longer delving in history lessons. He flips to the cover, tilting his head in confusion at the thin pages. 

Nesta traces her fingers along the drawing etched on the front. A blanket, a rattle... constellations hanging over a golden bassinet.

“Little star,” she reads aloud.

Little star, indeed.

~

Tagged:

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430 @simpingfornestaarcheron @rarephloxes

~

Let me know if you have any requests (except with the actual baby because I’m going to prolong that as much as possible).

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #preggo my eggo #vidalinav writes fanfic #vidalinav writes mini fics #whichever #I'm not sure how long some scenes will be

[vidalinav]

You Never Forget- Part 3

Summary: Nesta loses her memories when she falls down the stairs. But this part has Amren involved for a hot sec. 

Previous parts, Masterlist 

~

Going back to normal routines is easier said than done. Nesta’s normal routines are physically exerting... or they would be if she completed them, if she ever dared to get off that rock and learned to punch and kick like she’s supposed to. Liked they planned.  

Something about this new Nesta tells him that she’d be more appeasing to that request, and so Cassian doesn’t tell her what her routines are, aside from helping in the library in her spare time. Azriel tells him that he’s lying by omission, but Cassian can’t bear the thought of her getting hurt again or going to Illyria and seeing just how awful the situation is.

Nesta’s proud… elegant and pristine. Even now she wears dresses and fancy ribbons. The lady she was born and bred to be. It seems that part of her is half a learned experience and half a preference. He sees her preferences in baby blue and creams, and simple lace. She could go for the leggings or the pants, and the flowing tops that are better for galivanting across the House. But Nesta chooses none of these, and none of the leathers. Nesta chooses dresses and she looks as beautiful as summer rain.

Right now, she’s not made for war zones and if he’s honest, this situation tells him that she didn’t fare well in the last one. She might be curious about fighting, and if she is one day, Cassian will indulge her and teach her everything he knows, but there’s no way going to Illyria will help his case. Not with those males leering at her if they’re not sneering at him.

It was a bad idea and it shouldn’t have taken a head injury to know that. But he’ll be damned if Nesta gets even one scratch on her when she hasn’t even fully healed.

Nesta says she’s fine, ready to remember, ready to get out of bed and learn who she is. Cassian finds those words fill him with apprehension, so he makes some excuse as to why she shouldn’t be up to too much right now and shouldn’t be in the library, shelving tomes. 

“Just until your head is a little bit better,” he pleads, looking towards the invisible wound already healed. She complains of headaches still. At odd times in the day, she leans on the wall or a table, with her hand on her head, and Cassian grabs her arm to steady her. He’s barely left her side, too fearful that more damage might be done. 

Usually she’s asleep by the afternoon anyways, and that concerns him too, but when he urges Madja to come check on her, the healer says that it’ll take more than a few days to heal. Relearning and remembering might be exhausting for her. 

But Nesta has all the curiosity of someone with no self-preservation skills, and he follows her around the House as she learns as much as he does, how much the House caters to Nesta’s musings. There’s a bathhouse in one room now. A garden overlooking the city. A giant terrarium off of the training area at the top. The House indulges her... and so does Cassian, if he’s honest. 

He likes seeing her happy. So free and spritely. She grins or gives him a smirk so teasing his blood boils in his veins and there’s nothing in the world Cassian wants more than this. To keep this moment and trap it in a jar so he can stare at it when the moment slips between his fingers.

He’s buying himself time, he thinks, because she’s not going to be like this forever. She’s going to remember and then he’ll have blood on his hands and it won’t be from a wound he loses sleep over. It will be from her trust—her happiness—that look on her face as she explores the House with him. That he’ll never get back, because this is not who Nesta is.

Even now she grows tired of this place, she can’t leave. Nesta looks to the city below, and he knows she wants to know what exists there, too. As big and wonderous as the House is, it’s much too small for someone who yearns to learn the whole world.  

So, Cassian holds his breath for when she asks to take her down there, when he must introduce her to a world which he punishes her for.

He’s not sure what he’ll say. She’s technically supposed to make it there by herself in the evening after her monitored routines, but Cassian doesn’t want her even close to the stairs. What would he even say if she noticed the dried stain on the steps? How would he explain to her that she’s supposed to climb down them all or she can’t view the city in all its glory—that she lost that privilege because she was hurting so much she was drinking herself to ruin?  

It sounds awful saying it to himself. It feels awful, because every time he does say it aloud or think that thought, he wonders why he didn’t try harder. Emotional pain is not as easy to heal as physical wounds, but what stopped him from doing then what he is doing now?

Nesta’s more pleasant, yes… but the guilt is not.

Being in this house is starting to seem like a punishment. A punishment for him as well as her. Maybe it’s always supposed to be that way. At some point, Cassian must have thought that this whole ordeal was proof that they cared about her, cared about that stubborn head of hers that dismissed them so easily. They only want her to be somewhere safe to heal, rather than out in the world she proved she couldn’t handle. 

Cassian is starting to wonder if it’s they who couldn’t handle her. 

Nesta gazes outside wistfully, reaching her hand out of the open window to touch a floating cloud. The mist works its way around her fingers and Nesta smiles lightly. Something childlike and innocent, something from someone who doesn’t know any better. 

“Let’s go to the city once you feel up to it,” he offers. It’s the only solution he can think of. To rid himself of this guilt, he’ll indulge in Nesta’s whims and wiles. He will make sure she’s happy until she isn’t any longer. Until those memories come back and he can no longer hold her hand like he wants.

Nesta gives him a smile so wide and ready. “I feel up to it now.” 

“Tomorrow,” he offers, giving her one of those looks she’s called his fussing look. It seems to make her more amused than angry to see it, and that’s a good thing because he can’t stop fussing. She’s... open to him this way. She doesn’t close herself in, and because she doesn’t stop him from staying by her side, he can’t help how protective he gets. 

It’s the... mate bond. It might be. It might be just that Nesta is worth protecting. She’s worth indulging and getting to know and spoiling rotten with time and all the affection she allows. His heart belongs to her anyway, so why should she not get to rip it out of his chest when this is all through? Maybe that will wonderfully stop that guilt from tearing it to shreds.

But then Nesta blinks her eyes tiredly, and he again is reminded why she’s like this, and Cassian feels the guilt well up in his stomach and sit there. 

Was she not worth protecting before? 

“You get tired around this time, lately. And besides,” he adds when she looks like she wants to say more. “I can plan the whole day for us.” And Cassian can figure out where everyone will be. Out of sight, out of mind. Less to explain, because he didn’t explain the whole story…

“Like a date,” Nesta remarks lightly. Her pretty, pink lips set into an almost devious smile and she takes his hand in hers. She sets it on his chest, as if she wants to know exactly how fast his heart beats against her fingers and in her palm.

Cassian tries to swallow the sound of his heart breaking in two. “If that’s what you want to call it, but it could help jog up some memories… and if not it’s good food.” He shrugs nervously, and he can feel his cheeks warming at her soft gaze. She doesn’t fault him for the noncommittal answer, instead Nesta seems to track the changing color of his skin.

“This is flattering,” she says, swiping a thumb over his cheekbone. “You always seem to blush when I’m near.”

That’s another thing that’s changed or maybe never changed—maybe it’s who Nesta is, he vaguely remembers her being this outspoken. Never to him, of course. Never so… endearingly similar to flirting.

Cassian can’t stand it. Is this who he misses by being so unaware of her needs?

She smiles up at him softly, and she steps an inch closer to him. Cassian has to resist stepping back, putting that distance between them like the real Nesta would want. But Nesta only reaches for his hand again, entwining their fingers together as she’s done like that first day. Her hands are so much smaller, so much softer than his and he’s almost ashamed of his callouses. 

“I would like to see it all with you.” 

Cassian can feel his cheeks warming even further—his whole face must be red and there it is again... that guilt. It eats away at his stomach. It crawls up his throat. It sits on his tongue ready to spew the truth, if the lie didn’t taste so sweet. 

You don’t want me at all. 

~

Cassian flies her down in the morning, while the sun is peaking through the night. The shades of color has Nesta aweing. She likes the way the light peeks through his wings, makes them seem orange in the glow. 

She fits so well in his arms and she’s as dainty as he remembers. She hasn’t gained enough weight being in the House, and that’s another thing that feels like someone is poking a needle at his chest. Remember. Remember. Remember. 

You must never forget.  

Nesta stares at his wings as he flies, asking him questions in his ear, and he refrains from shivering at the warmth of her breath on his skin. She wants to know exactly how they move to let him fly, when he learns, how it feels.

She reaches out a hand and Cassian grabs it before she can touch them, his thumb pressing in her palm. “They’re really sensitive,” he offers sheepishly. 

“Are they?” she asks in wonder. 

“They’re—” Cassian coughs, clearing his throat, hoping that the city might swallow him instead of making another omission he’s very much losing track of. “It’s an intimate thing to touch them.” 

Those aren’t the right words, he learns.

Nesta frowns in a way that makes him want to immediately give her his wing. “Can I not touch them?” 

She sets her hands back at her side, and Cassian can almost see the wheels turning in her head, that distance she marks between them by his words. Nesta has always had walls. They build brick by brick until he can only see grey and none of the emotion beneath. Her eyes are the color of storm clouds and she peers into his own, commanding thunder, forcing out rain.

He’s rarely seen that look in these past days—that you don’t know anything about me look. But it’s there. It’s building up and up, so Cassian rushes to appease.

“You can,” he says, a great fit of urgency in his voice. “Maybe not when we’re flying though. It’s hard… to concentrate.” 

Still, she looks wary, glancing back at his wings and then to his body as if she’s just noticing how close they are, how easily they cling to each other. Cassian entwines there fingers together, raising them his lips, and finding that her hands are too cold. “You’re the only one, Nesta, who can touch my wings. The only one I want, I promise you.”

Her gaze turns softer, happy to hear those words. She smiles at that sweet kiss he lays on her fingers—the way in which he pulls her just a tad closer. Cassian breathes deeply in relief as she settles back in again, her head sweetly resting in the crook of his neck.

They haven’t defined any aspect of their relationship, anyway, and until Nesta asks, he supposes it’ll be fine to enjoy this for a moment. 

It’s not untrue. 

She is the only one he wants. 

~

There is an airy quality to her voice. So sweet and rich, like the chocolate she eats with that tiny pastry spoon. She eats all manners of dessert and Cassian can’t help but point at more, calling the attendant over before she even agrees to try the confection.  

When Nesta raises a brow, Cassian only shrugs a shoulder. “What?” he insists. “It’s to jog your memory so it won’t help to skimp out on things.” 

“Yes, but I’ve already had three slices of cake, a candy apple, and a whole balloon of cotton candy. At this point, the rest is excess.” 

It might be, Cassian thinks. But Nesta should have it all. 

Nesta should have had it before. If she didn’t like porridge without sugar then he should have planted sugar cane on the balcony or at least shook the House for a vial of it, so she could like the food she ate in the morning. Sugar makes people happy... that’s the first thing he should have went with. 

If she didn’t like porridge, he should have offered to make her something else. Anything to have her eat something. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, a pastry… The joy that appears on her face would have been worth squandering down every instance where he’d want to urge her to eat something healthier and more sustaining. Nesta isn’t him. She doesn’t have to fight for a cause or in an army. She only needs to look at the world and not resent being in it.

Why should he take away small joys?

“You like sweets,” Cassian notes, jutting his chin to the half-eaten slice in her hands. “You should have all the sweets you like. Chocolate seems to be your favorite.” 

“Are you taking down notes?” Nesta laughs, a clear and bright sound, “I thought I was the one who lost their memory.” 

Cassian shrugs, keeping his calm, reminding himself that this is for Nesta to remember who she is, not for him to learn about who she is when she’s never once allowed it before. “I want to remember everything about today,” he says simply.

I enjoy being with you, he wants to say, but it seems… too intimate. Too much like they’re in a relationship when they’re not, even if he hasn’t stopped holding her hand or being close enough that he can smell lavender and honey in her hair. He’s taking liberties, he knows. It’s too easy to do it when Nesta’s so trusting and she looks at him with big eyes and soft smiles. Everything in him roars that this is exactly where he’s meant to be—exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.

Cassian watches as she takes a bite. All day she’s been offering to share it with him, but he won’t. He can’t. So, he shakes his head again when she looks down at the last bit of cake and then back to him. He gestures for her to finish it all and when she moans a little happy sound, Cassian swallows his nerves and tries to hide the flush of heat that worms its way down his chest.

“I’m going to go throw this away,” she says, waving around the plate. “Don’t buy anymore food while I’m gone.”

“No promises.” Cassian chuckles nervously, and moves to the next booth where the pop of corn has the air smelling faintly of caramel. Oh, Nesta will like this one.

Cassian smiles wide without meaning to, perhaps because he’s lost sight of the mission in his head of satisfying guilt and it’s now only about how well he can make Nesta laugh or grin or talk his ear off. 

He shifts to look for her, trying to search the crowd for a baby blue dress and that contented smile.  

“You’re supposed to be in the library,” Cassian hears.

Nesta straightens as Amren grabs a hold of her dress and Cassian’s hands clench into fists on instinct. She tries to shrug the female off, but Amren holds on tighter to her skirt. 

When she doesn’t loosen her grip, Nesta’s gaze finds him in the crowd, but he’s already moving. Something about the caution in her eyes—the wariness and distrust—has some beast inside of him roaring about protecting what’s his.

He can’t help it when he’s stomping over, looming faster, glowering at the ferocious female. A sound very similar to a growl ruptures out of his throat when Nesta says, “quit touching me.”

Her words are irritated and haughty, the first words he’s ever heard from her that sound like the Nesta before, but they’re laced with this new Nesta. With some fear that has him wanting to grab at her hand and lace their fingers together to reassure himself that she’s okay.

“I doubt this is polite in any circumstance.” 

“That’s rich coming from you. Who’d you con into helping you neglect your responsibilities?” Amren raises a brow as if waiting for Nesta to fight her on it, to argue, but Nesta doesn’t. Instead, Cassian watches as Nesta blinks tiredly at the question, raising a hand to her head. 

Cassian raises a soft hand to her cheek before he can stop himself, and he’s mouthing the words you okay? Nesta gives him a tired grimace, looking to the tiny female.

Cassian steps ahead of her, blocking Amren’s view.

“Oh,” Amren says, wrinkling her nose. “She could have just said that. You took her down.” 

Nesta slips her hand into his, squeezing at his palm. He can feel the light brushes of her body against his wings, but Cassian doesn’t focus on that feeling that makes his skin erupt in shivers.

He shifts towards her slightly but her gaze is merely open and curious, less skittish now that she has someone to hold onto, and she waits for his explanation as to who this fae is. Cassian mouths, I’ll tell you when we get home. He smiles conspiratorially as if it’s a secret to tell, a gossip only she can know. He hopes the look stops her from asking any questions. 

Madja says to have her take it easy, to learn her memories slow. He doesn’t want to know what harm might be caused if Amren are spouting the remnants of past days to her. 

The only thing that matters right now is that Nesta’s safe and that she’s comfortable. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Amren says jutting her chin to their hands. “Though I didn’t think it would happen so soon. Thought she might have put up more of a fight.” 

“We’re just enjoying our day.” Cassian tries not to grit his teeth, but the words sound biting and cantankerous.  

“How’s your training? Last I heard, you were still sitting on a rock.” Amren raises a wicked brow, and looks at Nesta with distaste. Cassian sneers in her direction, baring teeth. “Finally found the easy way out I see.”

Nesta looks to Cassian at those words, but she doesn’t say much, seemingly knowing that Amren is trying to bate her into offering more information… not that Nesta has much information to give.

He wonders what Nesta thinks about all this. If she’s gathering information about her own life or about the company he keeps. Which is more important to her? Which direction will this sway into? Will it harm her own opinion of herself or harm his opinion in her eyes?

He prays it’s the latter.

Secretly, he hopes she takes it as neither. That this is a one-off thing with a person who is cranky at the best of times and monstrous at the worst. This tiny female has nothing to do with them. Either of them…

But that’s a lie, if he’s ever heard one.

“Leave us be. We’re not causing any harm by being out in the city.”

“Not yet,” Amren says, her voice filled with disdain, “but the day is still young.”

Amren looks over at Nesta and with a sneer that has Cassian want to fly her home and take down Amren at the same time, she says, “lying on your back might make him compliant, but we haven’t forgotten what you’ve done.”

And with those ominous words, Amren steps away as if she was never there at all. Cassian loses sight of her somewhere past the booth beyond kettle corn and only then does he loosen a breath. He’s very certain he’s going to have to fight Amren one of these days, but not in front of Nesta now when she rests her head on his arm like her head is too heavy to carry.

Nesta blinks up at him slowly, “I have a headache again.”

Cassian sighs and tucks her under his arm. His wing shifts to hide her from them all--this whole city. “Let’s get back to the House and I’ll explain everything.”

~

*He did not in fact explain everything*

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #vidalinav writes fanfic #you never forget