nestaarcheronweek
Nesta Appreciation Week
Nesta Week is running from April 21 to April 27, 2024! Profile pic by @dustjacketdraws. Page run by @moodymelanist.
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Amidst the Madness Chapter 3
You've all had me so absolutely FLOORED with the reaction to this fic so I decided to move chapter three up and get it out for Lover day of @nestaarcheronweek
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55268251/chapters/140703211
Teaser:
“You faeries have such strange romantic notions.” She plucked at a loose thread on her dress, “at first I thought it was because things are better here, more pregressive, but now I see it is only delusion.” Rhys inclined his head, inviting or daring her to continue, she wasn’t sure which. “What a ridiculous thought, that a man would not hurt a woman that belongs to him.”
“You don’t belong to anyone,” Feyre growled. Nesta only shrugged.
“Why do I get the feeling that isn’t exactly true in this frigid wasteland of a territory.” Rhys’ face went pale, the truth revealed in his darkening eyes.
“You are not Illyrian. Their customs do not apply to you.”
Nesta hummed, “How fortunate for me.”
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NestaWeek Day 4: Lover
I enjoyed making this moodboard for @nestaarcheronweek! I truly think both Nesta and Cassian deserve the world.
“Nesta had loved Cassian since she'd first laid eyes on him. Had loved him even when she did not want to, even when she had been swallowed by despair and fear and hatred. Had loved him and destroyed herself because she didn't believe she deserved him, because he was all that was good, and brave, and kind, and she loved him, she loved him, she loved him”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Silver Flames
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Creator: valkyriesreading
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Artist: foxydraws__
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Want to write the reverse of your wlw nessian drabble where cas doesn’t realize she’s gay yet but nesta thinks cas stares at her boobs a little too much to be straight
hell yeah I do. hope y’all enjoy this one and happy @nestaarcheronweek day 4 🩷 got the title from tangerine by kehlani hehe
Read on AO3 here!
“Are you going to keep staring down my shirt, or can we get this presentation done?”
Cass startled so badly at Nesta’s words that she nearly knocked over her water, only barely managing to catch the reusable bottle at the last second. “What?”
Cass and Nesta had been paired up as partners for their advanced writing requirement course, and they’d been making steady progress on their presentation in one of the library’s group study rooms. Cass was an education major to Nesta’s political science, and Cass had never been so excited for a group project in her life.
At least, until Nesta had shown up to the library wearing that shirt. It was just a simple, blue, wrap-tie shirt, but between the way it made Nesta’s eyes look even bluer than usual and the way it perfectly cupped her breasts, Cass was having a difficult time staying focused on the task at hand.
“Sorry,” Cass said, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt from being called out. She’d thought she was being more discreet, but Nesta had clearly proved that theory wrong. “I was just, uh, zoned out.”
“Were you zoned out the other three times, too?” Nesta fired back without missing a beat.
“I…” Cass trailed off, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound insane. “I just think your shirt is really… cute.”
Nesta Archeron was easily one of the most gorgeous women that Cass had ever seen. With her gray-blue eyes, bronze hair, and amazing fashion sense, Cass spent most of her time wanting to be just like Nesta. Granted, Cass was way too much of a tomboy to pull off even a quarter of Nesta’s wardrobe, but a woman could dream, right? And who better to dream about that Nesta Archeron, especially when she had on a shirt like that?
“Right,” Nesta replied with the most deadpan voice Cass had ever heard. She sighed heavily before shutting her laptop altogether, fixing Cass with a slightly incredulous look. “Are you ever going to get your shit together and ask me out?”
“What?” Cass blurted out, all the blood in her body rushing to her cheeks. God, she hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “I don’t—”
Nesta rolled her eyes. “Cass, I can do this assignment in my sleep. I just wanted to make sure my gaydar was working.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cass answered. Okay, maybe sometimes she found herself staring way longer than she should’ve when it came to pretty women, but that was just… what everyone did. That didn’t mean she was anything more than a strong ally, no matter how many times she cringed when a man came near her.
“Don’t you?” Nesta asked, cocking an eyebrow. She leaned forward, a victorious little smirk gracing her lips as Cass’ eyes immediately tracked the motion. “Well that’s a yes.”
“It’s not my fault you have a great rack,” Cass blurted out, her brain to mouth filter evaporating altogether.
Nesta snorted. “I’m not making you look at it.”
“If I wasn’t looking, I’d have to be dead,” Cass muttered.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” Nesta retorted with a roll of her eyes.
Before Cass could think of a proper reply — Nesta thought she was pretty? — Nesta reached out and grabbed a hold of Cass’ chair, pulling her own so close that there was no room to escape. Not that Cass was feeling particularly inclined to do that, anyway. It was dizzying having Nesta so close; she was pinned under that icy gaze and couldn’t back away even if she wanted to.
Cass didn’t want to.
“I’m going to finish this assignment when I get home,” Nesta said, her voice low and offering no argument. “Give you some time to think about… things.”
“Think about what?” Cass said back. She was hardly breathing as Nesta leaned in even closer, placing her hand on the chair in between Cass’ thighs for balance.
Nesta was close enough now that it would’ve been easy for Cass to lean in and kiss her, and find out if her lips were as soft as they looked. Cass’ lips parted in anticipation, every thought in her mind besides Nesta emptying out like they’d never been there at all, and she was torn between leaning forward to kiss her or letting Nesta continue to order Cass around like she owned her.
What the hell was wrong with her?
“That’s what I thought,” Nesta breathed after a few moments, her lips still dangerously close to Cass’ own. When Nesta laughed quietly at Cass’ reflexive frown, Cass could almost feel the vibrations on her lips, and God wasn’t that a thought. “You’re taking me to dinner tonight.”
“I— okay,” Cass agreed. God, she hoped she didn’t sound as dumbstruck as she felt; Nesta didn’t suffer fools, and Cass wasn’t trying to be one. “Whatever you want.”
Nesta finally leaned forward to press a kiss to Cass’ cheek, pulling back with a smirk. “I think we’ll get along just fine. See you later.”
Cass watched Nesta grab her things and saunter out of the room, the only thought in her head I love when women…
Well. At least one woman, that was for damn sure.
tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @fieldofdaisiies | @goddess-aelin | @c-e-d-dreamer | @talkfantasytome | @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk | @sv0430 | @talibunny30 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @champanheandluxxury | @lilah-asteria | @burningsnowleopard | @sayosdreams | @readskk | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @bellaful08 | @readergalaxy | @podemechamardek | @pearlfortears | @nerdperson524 | @jmoonjones | @kale-theteaqueen | @autumnbabylon | @hiimheresworld | @illyrianshadowhunter | @dustjacketmusings | @live-the-fangirl-life | @that-little-red-head | @sweet-pea1 | @brieq | @queercontrarian | @jsmelodies | @afflicted-with-wanderlust
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𝐍𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤: 𝐍𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧
I’ve been saving this baby for Nesta Week, so I’m really excited to share this heartwarming art of Nesta and Cassian!
@lyyzis_art did such a wonderful job! I love the way she drew Nesta and Cassian relaxing in the House of Wind library. Thank you @lyyzis_art
Link to Instagram post
@nestaarcheronweek
Characters belong to Sarah J Maas
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Day 4
Lover
@nestaarcheronweek
Although this prompt is more so about Nesta’s romantic endeavors I wanted to use this day to appreciate how she’s a hard shell soft center kind of girl and it’s easy for people to miss that with someone that puts up such a tough exterior as her.
The fierce love for Elain that sometimes peeks out for Feyre, bodily shaking Cassian when she was in danger and almost obliterating Tamlin during their encounter in Spring.
Her refusal to give up on the human race during the war.
It’s in the palpable desperation she felt for the women in the library when they refused to sign up to train and yet she never gave up.
She offered small acts of comfort for Bryce when she struggled in the caves when she would have thoughts about her family in danger.
The longing and pain when she met Ember.
The quiet moments I imagine she cherishes reading in her private library eating soft gooey chocolate cake.
The sweet moment she braves the darkness of the House, acknowledges it and embraces it.
The spice gift she gives Emerie and when she inspires Gwyn to stand up against Merill after her own show of will of steel.
How much of an anti hero she is for her cut throat ways and yet ultimately being a fighter for good with a squishy center.
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DAY FOUR // ♡ LOVER ♡ // @nestaarcheronweek
If Nesta accepted Eris’ proposal, to begin a life she chose,
and—
She followed the path to mental and emotional healing on her own terms.
Requested he dance with her regularly for personal enjoyment and to further cultivate a strong body.
She trained her magic with him in time and flourished, comfortable with someone who respected her boundaries, who appreciated her as she was, and who she came to appreciate for himself as well.
They found earnest love in what started as a purely political alliance, and his plan to overthrow Beron went off without a hitch.
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Nesta Archeron Week : Lover
@nestaarcheronweek
I think Nesta is a 'give it all up for the people you love' kind of a person. Her self-worth's at an all time low with her belief that Cassian deserved better than her in life.
or
Cassian is dying and Nesta could think of only one way to save him.
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Read on Ao3
Snippet:
Nesta grabbed hold of the rope of her magic before it could seep out of her and shoved it back, back, BACK, and slammed the door shut on her powers. She took a deep breath and jumped up to her feet. There were things that needed doing, she couldn't sit here wallowing in her self pity all day. Perhaps she'll help out in the healers tent. Mother knew they needed all the help they could get, with Illyrians falling out of the sky left and right.
And that's where she was when Nesta a deep searing pain that started in her abdomen and climbed all the way to her chest, knocked her into a table. It wasn't her, this wasn't her injury. It was barrelling down from the place in her chest she had refused to acknowledge, it was him. They weren't mated, she shouldn't be feeling him this acutely, unless...
Unless.
Read on Ao3
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@nestaarcheronweek | Day Four: Lover
A swift shadow passed overhead, followed by a whisper of wings, and Nesta didn’t need to look to know who sailed high above, making sure all was safe. That she was safe.
Busybody. [...]
Her mate. Her love. Her friend. The light within her chest brightened to a radiant sun. – A Court of Silver Flames, Chapter 80
For today I wanted an illustration of Nesta and Cassian enjoying the tranquility of the House. This was, in fact, the first illustration that I commissioned with Pablo and when I saw how it turned out, I was unable to correctly order the words because of how impacted I was by the beauty of the illustration.
Art by: Pablo Souza (pablochmn)
Commissioned by: @podemechamardek
🚫 Please do not repost.
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Just Looking At You Got Me Thinking Nonsense
A/N: happy Day Four of @nestaarcheronweek! Sometimes, to really be a lover, you have to risk it all in a bidding war, ya know? This was a fun little fic to write, and I want to give a big ole shout-out to the Anon who sent me this prompt! I hope everyone enjoys :)
Read on AO3
Cassian digs his phone out of his back pocket, opening back up the group chat and the most recent messages still waiting there. With a nod, he pockets the phone again, rolling out his shoulders. There’s a glass case full of pictures and some sort of awards on the wall opposite him, and Cassian uses it as a makeshift mirror. He’s always had a bad habit of running his fingers through his hair when he’s nervous, and now his curls are a tangled mess as a result.
A door opening down the hall has Cassian almost jumping out of his skin. He turns just in time to see the exact woman he’s here for walking down the hall, her arm looped with a red head that Cassian is pretty sure was in his trig class last year.
“Trust me, it will be over before you know it,” the red head says as they walk.
“Until I have to sit through some stupid dinner after… You’re lucky that I love you.”
“I know, and I am lucky you’re doing this with me. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to go up there alone.”
“Hey, Nes,” Cassian calls in greeting when they’re close enough, raising his hand in a wave.
Whether she doesn’t hear him or is just ignoring him, Cassian isn’t sure. But both women don’t acknowledge him, walking through another door further down the hall. One that, he presumes, leads into the large hall.
“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” Cassian mumbles to himself, letting his hand drop back to his side. “Idiot.”
“Idiot is certainly one word I’d use to describe you.”
Azriel’s low chuckle echoes Rhys’s remark, and Cassian turns to glare at both his brothers. He knocks his shoulders against both of them, leading the way back toward the front of the building and the main doors into the hall. There’s more laughter, but at least his brothers fall into step behind him. He doesn’t have time for their teasing. Not tonight at least. This is his one chance, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up, if he loses it. He needs to focus.
Cassian knew that Nesta Archeron was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen the first time he saw her walk into his gen-ed English lecture earlier this semester. Her blue gray eyes had been piercing beneath the lights of the lecture hall, and Cassian wanted to dive into them and drown in them right in that moment. Even more so when he watched her roll those eyes at something said at the front of the lecture hall.
Gods, he wanted to make those eyes roll.
He was sure that the Mother must be smiling down on him when Nesta had ended up in his seminar after the lecture too. It was clear that she was smart. That she had a passion for books. That she didn’t take any bullshit. He could sit and watch and listen to her in that seminar for the rest of his life and be happy. And when she absolutely eviscerated Tamlin for his “analysis” of Lolita, Cassian had been ready to drop to his knees right then and there.
It made him try harder. He made sure he actually paid attention in the lecture, made sure he did the readings, made sure he came to each and every seminar with his analysis prepared in hopes of impressing her. He wasn't sure it was working or not, but sometimes, he swore he saw her lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile, of a smirk, when he spoke. He swore that sometimes he could feel her gaze on him when he wasn't looking.
And then, one day, he’d walked into the seminar room to find the seat next to Nesta open. He’d practically stumbled over his own feet in his rush to slide into that open seat, earning an amused head shake from Kallias. Using the few minutes before the seminar started, Cassian had called her Nes and gotten a withering glare in response. He was sure the look was meant to cut him down where he sat, but it only stoked the embers in his chest into a full wildfire, only made him grin wider.
It became a game after that. Every seminar, he’d take the seat beside Nesta, and every seminar, he’d spark a back and forth between them. He cataloged every look, every response he was able to draw out of Nesta. Every eye roll. Every derisive snort. Every sarcastic quip. He got drunk off it all and kept coming back for more and more. And when he made Nesta blush, the pretty pink spreading across her cheeks, he knew that was it for him.
He spent the whole rest of the week after that trying to figure out the best way to ask Nesta out, sure that she wouldn’t appreciate being asked in front of their whole seminar group. He wondered if it would be weird to ask her to speak to him after the seminar, prayed to the Mother to take pity on him, and blessedly, take pity on him she did. It’s what led Cassian to finding out that Nesta was pledged to Mor’s sorority.
How he found out that she would be here tonight.
One of the sorority members greets Cassian and his brothers when they step through the doors to the hall, her name tag reading Deidre. She holds out three paddles, but Rhys and Azriel both wave her off, only Cassian taking one. Lucky number nineteen, just like his jersey. They settle into seats at an empty table, and then it’s just a waiting game.
It doesn’t take long before Mor is stepping out onto the stage, giving her welcoming speech as president, but any words she says fade away as soon as the women participating tonight walk onto the stage. As soon as Cassian catches sight of Nesta. Her dress is a silky, silvery blue that, along with the stage lights, brings out the blue of her eyes, and the hem is short enough to show off the stretch of her legs. She has that look on her face that’s Cassian’s favorite, and just the sight of her has his mouth going dry. She’s gorgeous.
“And next up we have Nesta Archeron.” Cassian’s attention snaps back to Mor. “She’s pre-law and minoring in English. She loves romance novels, so you better be ready to bring out all the stops if you’re the lucky one who gets to take her on a date. Now, we’ll start the bidding at–”
“One hundred dollars,” Cassian calls out before Mor can finish, jumping up to his feet and holding up his paddle.
“Mother save us,” Rhys mutters under his breath.
“Wow. That’s…” Mor clears her throat. “That’s quite generous. I guess we’ll be starting the bidding at one hundred.”
“One fifty.”
Anger flares low in Cassian’s gut at the second bid, and it burns even brighter when he turns his head and finds the owner of the voice. Eris Vanserra. Cassian has hated the man ever since he had the misfortune of sharing a class with him freshman year. Ever since he watched him stroll into a college class wearing designer clothes and look down on everyone. He’s pompous, pretentious, and has a face practically asking for Cassian to punch.
And punching Eris’s snooty face is definitely something Cassian’s fist itches to do right now.
“Two hundred,” Cassian declares, turning back toward the stage.
“Two fifty,” Eris echoes.
“Two seventy five.”
“Three hundred.”
“Holy shit,” Mor mutters before seemingly remembering that she has a microphone in her hands. “I mean wow. That’s officially our highest bid. Ever. Do we have a response?”
“Five. Hundred.”
Gasps and murmurs of surprise sweep through the room at Cassian’s announcement. He glances toward where Nesta still stands on stage, her eyes wide and pink settled high on her cheeks. But those wide eyes are pinned on him, not Eris, not Mor, and her attention has his heart stuttering between his ribs, has it tugging toward the stage as though she holds the thread so firmly wrapped around it.
He dares to toss Nesta a wink before turning to smirk at Eris, but Vanserra is still lounging casually in his seat with a sort of cool arrogance that ice starts to prickle beneath Cassian’s skin.
“Five fifty,” Eris declares, eyes cutting toward Cassian with a smirk of his own.
“Fucking prick,” Cassian mutters under his breath before he leans down to speak to Rhys. “Okay, I’m going to need to borrow more than what we originally agreed to.”
Rhys sighs, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Seriously, Cass? This is getting a little absurd for a single date.”
“She’s worth it.”
“Is she? You know, I’ve heard stories, and–”
“Fuck you,” Cassian growls, turning back toward the stage before he runs out of time. “Five seventy five!”
“He’s clearly dedicated. You’ve got to give him that,” Azriel mutters with a low chuckle.
“You know Vanserra’s not going to stop, right?” Rhys adds, his tone almost bored.
As if in answer, Eris’s voice rings out again. “Six hundred.”
“Seven hundred,” Cassian calls out quickly before dropping his voice again. “If you’re so worried about your rich boy checkbook, then do something about it.”
“What am I supposed to do about it?”
“Seven fifty,” Eris’s voice drowns out Rhys’s question.
“Alright,” Azriel sighs, pushing up to his feet. “This is just sad to watch now.”
Cassian sighs as his brother walks away, knocking his fist against the table in frustration. “Eight fifty!”
He waits for Eris’s answering bid, but there’s only silence ringing out in the hall. Cassian’s brow pinches in confusion, and he snaps his attention back toward Eris’s table. The man in question is on his feet, standing toe to toe with Azriel. There’s a suspicious looking stain across Eris’s shirt, and his lips are pulled back in a sneer.
Whatever lashing Eris is giving for his now ruined designer shirt, Azriel takes it unfazed. He merely reaches for a napkin, the movement nothing short of sensual as he wipes it against Eris’s shirt, against his chest and down his stomach. Even from across the room Cassian can see the way Eris’s face has turned a color to match his face.
With Eris thoroughly distracted, Cassian looks back toward the stage, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Mor.
“Oh! Right,” Mor speaks into the microphone. “We have eight fifty. Do we have higher than eight fifty?” Cassian motions with his hand to hurry up. “Eight fifty going once. Going twice. Sold for eight fifty.”
Cassian falls back into his seat with a relieved sigh, unable to bite back the wide grin that pulls across his face. He did it, he was the highest bid. He gets to see Nesta outside of their lecture, outside of their seminar. He gets to spend time with her one on one and to find out what really makes her tick.
He gets to take Nesta Archeron on a date.
He’s practically bouncing on his feet waiting for the rest of the women to have their bidding, for the evening to come to a close. He all but jumps back up to his feet, plucking the check from between Rhys’s fingers. The look on Mor’s face is all too knowing when he hands over the money, but even that doesn’t deter him.
He gets to take Nesta Archeron on a date.
“Eight hundred fifty dollars, huh?”
Cassian spins around to come face to face with the exact woman in question, her arms crossed and her expression unimpressed. But Cassian has learned a lot sitting next to Nesta this semester, and he recognizes the light sparking in her blue eyes, the slight pinch at the corner of her lips. Try as she might, she can’t hide her amusement from him.
“What can I say, sweetheart?” Cassian drawls, grin still wide. “I’m quite dedicated to getting what I want.”
“Oh? Is that why you pulled that stunt with Eris?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was merely Azriel flirting.”
Nesta laughs, and it’s already Cassian’s favorite sound, a sound he wants to draw out of her again and again. “He flirts by spilling drinks on people?”
“Everyone has their own version of flirting. Look at us, with our back and forth.”
That comment does earn him an eye roll, Cassian’s blood singing and his heart soaring at the reaction. He dares to step even closer to Nesta, until he has to tip his chin down to keep smirking at her. Dares to reach up between them for a stray strand of Nesta’s hair and tug on it teasingly. Dares to tease the backs of his fingers along her now pinkening cheeks.
“You might actually be crazy, you know.”
“Only because you make me that way, Nes.”
—
Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies
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{Day 4} Lover
• I’m taking this prompt quite literally, so if you were expecting something sweet and profound today after Day 3’s post, sorry (not sorry) to disappoint 🤗
• Listen, this is Nesta’s ode to the lover of her life, the male who has turned her heart (and bed) upside down. It’s her mood board, I’m just posting it on her behalf 🫡
• I love a man who bears his neck to his lover, so it’s headcanon that Nesta bites his all the time to get him *ahem* you know, use your imagination 😄 all answers are correct here.
@nestaarcheronweek
Images: Pinterest
Poem: Me
On the playlist: The Rizzness by TAEMIN
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A Taste of the Divine (ao3)
@nestaarcheronweek day 4. Returning from a mission, the Night Court’s spymaster arrives back in Velaris in need of a stiff drink above all else, but after seeking out Velaris’ seediest tavern, Azriel gets more than what he bargained for when he finds Nesta inside. Post-ACOWAR, pre-ACOSF. Title taken from The Summoning by Sleep Token.
Even after a week away, the cobbles beneath his feet did not yet beckon Azriel home when he returned to Velaris.
With the dust of the Continent still clinging to his boots, the Shadowsinger looked up at the horizon, finding the distant lights of the House of Wind against the darkening sky— slices of golden light piercing the rock of the mountain, and though Azriel ought to have glimpsed the light shining from those windows and rushed forward, he remained exactly where he was; standing a thousand feet below, finding no desire at all to go home just yet. At Rhys’ behest, he’d spent the past week observing the human queens on the Continent, his mind fixed towards schemes and plots with nothing but his shadows for company. And now…
It took a while, after a mission, to remember what it was to live outside of the dark.
So he didn’t want home. Didn’t want the welcome he knew would be waiting as soon as he stepped over that threshold. He was too accustomed to the dark, to the hidden corners and the silence, and what he wanted more than anything right now was a fucking drink.
He needed to feel the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat, blurring the edges of his mind. But he didn’t want the shiny, polished bars he frequented with Rhys. He didn’t want Rita’s. Azriel wanted grit and dust, wanted the back alleys and the dim bars lit by candlelight.
A place where his shadows could melt into the darkness, one and the same.
And so he found himself ten minutes later standing at a worn and chipped wooden bar top, a coin laid on the counter to pay for the liquor the barkeep poured into a short glass. There were no faelights here to bathe the place in a pleasant glow. Only candles, flickering flames few and far between that illuminated the gaming tables and left the corners swathed in shadow. It was run down and sub-par, and yet, Azriel thought dryly as he nodded his thanks to the bar tender, wasn’t that exactly how he felt? Wasn’t this exactly what he needed?
The whiskey burned his throat as he drank— cheap and sharp, scraping its way down through his chest, setting a fire behind his ribs. He grimaced as he took a large sip, baring his teeth with a soft hiss as he set down his glass.
Before the burn had subsided, his shadows tittered. Whispered.
Even above the din of the bar, Azriel heard the footsteps approaching. Heard the heels slamming against the wooden floorboards as his shadows skated along his arms, coiling around his wrists. He didn’t turn; didn’t bother to see who had dared draw near.
“Did my sister send you?”
The voice was cold and flat and resolutely furious— and above all else, familiar. Azriel turned his head to find Nesta standing beside him at the bar, with her arms folded over her chest and her eyes alight with anger. Silver swirled in those eyes, churned like a riptide, and her jaw was clenched so tight it made him wonder if she was physically biting her tongue to keep it behind her teeth. Her hair was swept up in her usual braid, leaving the long column of her neck exposed, and as the candlelight danced across her bare skin, it dragged golden fingers across her collarbone, illuminated the planes of her that would have most men begging for the chance to touch her.
Azriel wasn’t most men— but still, it was an effort to pull his eyes away.
He let his gaze skim her face, raising one eyebrow as he barked a dry, sardonic laugh. Downing his whiskey, he ordered another with a flick of his wrist, a twist of his fingers.
“No,” he answered, sliding another coin across the bar in exchange for another double measure. “Nobody sent me.”
“Then what are you doing here,” she gritted out; not a question but a demand.
Azriel merely lifted his glass, watching the candlelight set fire to the whiskey. “Same as you.”
The silver in her eyes burned as she lifted her chin, met his eye with every ounce of irascible hauteur she could muster. “And are you planning on being my nursemaid all night?”
A sigh slipped between his lips, quiet and resigned. The spymaster shook his head, too tired to argue, and blinked flatly as he answered her with a simple, “No.”
The furrow in her brow smoothed, her dark lashes fluttering as she blinked once, twice. She didn’t argue either, and as she leaned forward, elbows braced against the bar’s surface, Azriel caught the scent of her— something sweet beneath the sharp, something cool beneath the heat of the bar. He swallowed, tilting the glass in his hand, and forced himself to watch the whiskey clinging to the clouded glass instead of studying the way the heat gently curled the strands of hair that had escaped the braid at the nape of her neck. She said nothing, but silently Nesta lifted herself onto the seat beside him, a damn near perplexed expression on her face as she watched him drown his sorrows. Slowly, Azriel lifted his gaze to hers. Ignored the way his shadows shivered. Almost lazily, Azriel quirked a brow and slid the glass towards her, nodding wordlessly; a silent go on, then.
Nesta curled her fingers around the glass in silent understanding, didn’t hesitate in bringing it to her lips and knocking the whiskey back. She drained half before returning him the glass, and when it passed from her grip and into his their fingers brushed. He stilled, the air frozen in his lungs. It was the barest of touches, so slight, and yet one that felt far too much like a spark against touch-paper, almost begging to burst into flame.
Azriel didn’t think about the way that simple touch had his skin feeling suddenly tight.
Didn’t think about the way her lipstick lingered around the edge of his glass.
Nesta looked at him in the dim light, lifting her face until the candlelight glanced across her jaw and—
Gods, she was beautiful.
Azriel didn’t know why he’d never let himself truly notice before, why he’d never let himself fall down the well that was those mercury-blue eyes. Why he’d never given more than a passing thought to her beauty, to the lines of her face that could reduce a man to nothing with the right tilt of her head.
Cassian, a voice inside his head whispered, one he tried too hard to ignore. Cassian is why you never let yourself notice before.
But Cassian wasn’t here, and from what the Spymaster had gathered from his brother’s ranting, he hadn’t been at Nesta’s side for a while now. Had left her seeking companionship in the dark and shadowed corners of Velaris, where the starlight didn’t reach. Anyone with eyes could see that Nesta was hurting and yet— it had been Azriel to find her, entirely by accident, alone in a dive bar.
He didn’t believe in fate. It had fucked him over too many times, and yet—
There was something serendipitous in it, something providential about this chance meeting that made him feel… bold.
“What are you doing here, Nesta?” he asked a moment later.
The question was soft— tentative and half-hidden in the shadows that glided as one along the worn edge of the bar, slinking towards her like they might seek to hide the pitfalls of such an inquiry. Nesta shook her head, strands of hair slipping free from her meticulous braid, and maybe the alcohol made her bold too, because she met his eyes with purpose and didn’t look away as she said,
“I want to feel something.”
She shifted her shoulders back, the silver in her eyes catching in the light of the bar. Azriel’s shadows seemed to shiver, and he couldn’t hide the low laugh that scraped along his throat as his eyes dipped to the hollow of her neck.
“Don’t we all,” he said dryly.
His fingers dragged around the edge of his glass, and Nesta’s eyes tracked the movement, following each circle he made with his fingertips. She pressed her lips together, her sharp eyes dark, and fucking hell— this was new. A kind of uncharted territory he knew he shouldn’t want to map, shouldn’t want to explore with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. And yet he heard her heart pounding behind her ribs, its steady beat kicking when he caught her eye and pulled his gaze down to her mouth, lingering at her lips, and he couldn’t help himself.
Didn’t want to help himself.
I want to feel something.
It echoed in his mind, settling into him like a stone dropped down a well.
Nesta leaned against the old wooden bar; a thing of beauty in place so tragically dim. She tilted her head, and the movement stirred something in him that he knew he ought to ignore.
“You never answered my question,” she said bluntly. “If you’re not here to spy on me, then what are you doing here?”
Azriel sighed, sipping his whiskey and leaving a finger-worth behind. He nudged the remainder towards her, let her finish it.
“Had a shit day,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to go home just yet.”
Wordless, Nesta lifted the glass to her mouth in an echo of the way she had before— like they were two old friends, sharing a drink together. Yet she finished his whiskey and something beneath his skin tightened as he watched her lips part, glimpsed the liquor glistening on her mouth. He wanted to taste it— wanted to taste it on her tongue, and he swore softly, cursing everything that had brought him to this threshold, so close to tipping over. There was a line he shouldn’t cross, a boundary that he knew shouldn’t be broken.
And yet.
Nesta set the glass back down on the bar. “Care to talk about it, Shadowsinger?”
“Would you care to listen, Lady Death?”
Her eyes shuttered, her face tightening in a way that had Azriel clawing at the past few moments, like a thread unspooling in his hands. “Don’t call me that.”
With a dip of his chin, Azriel nodded. “My apologies.”
Nesta shrugged it off, the stiff set to her shoulders melting as she leaned a half-inch closer, blinking slowly as her heart thumped once in her chest. “Buy me a drink and perhaps I’ll forgive you.”
He pretended not to notice how her voice had dropped, how there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. Pretended, too, not to see her eyes darken, shining with intent. He wasn’t fool enough to pretend that his hadn’t done the same, that he wasn’t still thinking of her mouth. His shadows slipped down his arms, begging to go to her, desperate to touch, and it took effort to keep them restrained, to keep them in check. Still, he motioned for another drink. Another two.
And when the barkeep presented him with two short glasses, Azriel slid the first towards her, but kept his hand closed over the rim, the candlelight throwing his scars into relief as he kept his palm flat above her glass.
“Shall we sit properly, then?” he asked, nodding to the booths that lined the back wall. “And stop pretending we’re strangers in a bar?”
Nesta only blinked, amusement threading through those silver eyes like vines through an iron gate. Idly, she hummed. “I’ve never seen you like this, Spymaster, free of your High Lord’s influence. You may as well be a stranger to me right now.”
Azriel rolled his eyes, but lifted his hand from her glass nonetheless. A smirk lingered on her lips even as a kind of surprise swept swiftly across her face— some kind of pleasant shock that he didn’t berate her for daring to mention Rhys at all. Cassian, he knew, was far too sensitive when Nesta criticised Rhys; his brother had frowned and scowled about it too many times for Azriel to be unaware. But it didn’t rankle him the way it did Cassian. After all, what difference did it make to him, if Rhys and Nesta never found a way to get along?
Silently, he gestured to the back of the bar again, ignoring her comment and nodding once more to the tables shrouded in shadow, so far from the soft glow of the candles.
In answer Nesta slipped from the bar stool and led the way, leaving Azriel to follow, a shadow at her heels. He kept his eyes up, refusing to notice the movement of her hips, or the way her dress dipped low at her back, exposing her spine. His shadows thrummed, jerking as if they would reach out to caress the length of that spine, and he cleared his throat around the desire to pepper it with kisses, to trace a line of fire down her back with his tongue. He swallowed around the surge of pure want rising in his blood, making his every nerve feel charged. Unaware, Nesta slid into the booth, her dress whispering across the worn leather that covered the seats, and when she reclined, crossing one leg over the other, Azriel was reminded starkly of a queen in her own realm.
She was, he supposed.
The dive bars of Velaris had never really been all that popular with Rhys or the rest of the Inner Circle. They were wholly in Nesta’s domain, now.
For a moment there was quiet.
And then Nesta dragged a finger idle along the rim of her glass, an echo of Azriel’s earlier move, making it sing beneath her touch. He wondered what else might sing beneath her hands, what else she could do.
“So,” she began airily, “what is it that has the brooding spymaster brooding so much more than usual?”
Azriel laughed into his whiskey. “Brooding?”
“Brooding.” She raised a brow, stained lips pursed as she nodded. “Stop avoiding the question.”
He raised a hand in surrender. “I had a mission on the continent. Surveillance on—“ He hesitated a moment. Not because he didn’t want to share or because she couldn’t know, but because he didn’t want to shatter this moment, to bring the darkness back to her eyes. “—the human queens,” he finished quietly.
Nesta said nothing, but knocked her drink back.
In the back of his mind, Azriel knew what Rhys would say. That he was being irresponsible, feeding Nesta’s vices.
But when he looked at her, he didn’t see a woman lost to the alcohol. He saw a soul struggling to cope, leaning on the only thing that could bring her a little bit of warmth. He’d spent enough time after the first war drinking his own way through Velaris to know, and besides… When Nesta glanced at him and dragged her eyes over his chest, he thought that this was one vice he was more than willing to feed tonight.
“I see,” she said at last. “No wonder you needed a drink.”
Azriel hummed in agreement. Emboldened, he leaned his head closer to hers, dropping his voice to a murmur as he cast his eyes across the bar.
“Tell me. Which one were you taking home with you tonight?”
Nesta stilled, a frown creeping into her brow as silver eyes narrowed.
Azriel shrugged, shaking his head with an idle smile tilting his lips. “Not that I’m judging. I’m just curious.”
She pulled back, curiosity a wildfire in her eyes.
“The one by the gaming table,” she said flatly, without turning to look at the mark she’d had an eye on. “He has pretty eyes.”
Azriel cut a look across the bar to find the fae in question. The male was tall, dark haired, but willowy and thin, and there was a look in his eyes that Azriel didn’t like as Nesta’s intended watched the two of them together in that booth— it was something petulant and spoiled, like he was a child and Azriel had just stolen his new favourite toy. Even his shadows shuddered, whispering their disapproval in a language only he could understand. In answer the spymaster raised a brow and looked at Nesta wryly.
“He looks like one who doesn’t like the word no,” Azriel said, directing a dark look in the direction of the fae by the gaming table. If he made his eyes darken, if he made his face more threatening than usual… well.
“You don’t approve?” Nesta asked, her voice like syrup.
He barked a laugh. “Not really, no.”
“And here I thought you weren’t judging,” she said smoothly, her head shifting to the side as she blinked, saccharine. She shifted infinitesimally closer, just a half inch that had Azriel clinging so tightly to his restraint that it was a wonder it didn’t break entirely. “Perhaps you should tell me who I should take home instead.”
Me, he thought, shifting in his seat. The answer had risen to his tongue without missing a beat, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It had taken even Azriel by surprise, how easy it was to let even his boldest thoughts bloom around her. His shadows slid along the edge of the table, trailing towards her like they were pulled by some kind of gravity, and when Nesta glanced down at them, a smile curved her lips. When she looked back up and met his eyes, there was something searing in her gaze that had Azriel’s mouth turning dry. He cleared his throat, shrugged, and yet couldn’t bring himself to say it— to give her the answer that ricocheted inside his mind.
But mother above, Cassian was a fucking fool.
Nesta was sitting there, alone, seeking connection with any that would let her find it, and all Azriel could think was—
Me.
Me, me, me.
He couldn’t do it.
“You won’t like the answer,” he said at last.
The amusement winked out of her eyes.
“Let me guess, you think I should be here with your General instead.”
His shadows slinked closer, like even they could see the sting behind her words. And in another world, maybe Cassian would have been there with her. Maybe he would have been the one in her bed. But Cassian was nowhere to be found, and didn’t seem to have any intention of cutting in and finding out what, exactly, had Nesta seeking solace in a place like this. So Azriel blinked slowly, eyes like flint when they caught hers, hazel colliding with silver-blue and igniting in the dim light. His shadows shivered.
“No, actually,” he said flatly. “I wasn’t thinking of him at all.”
Liar— liar. He’d hardly done anything but think of Cassian ever since Nesta had sidled up to him at the bar— hardly been spared a second where some part of him wasn’t thinking of how much of a fool his brother was. After all, if Nesta was Azriel’s—
He didn’t let himself think it.
Nesta’s breath caught audibly. He’d taken her by surprise, and it had a small smile taking root at the corner of his lips. She noted it, tracked the curve of his mouth. She tilted her head, the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid brushing her shoulder. He wondered what it would be like to plunge his hands into her hair, to pull those braids loose strand by strand. There was a flame in her eyes when she met his gaze again.
“Then why won’t I like your answer, Shadowsinger?”
Gods— was he imagining the husk in her voice? The way it had dropped so impossibly low, edged with some kind of promise, something so damned seductive it had him thinking of all the things she could do with that mouth— all the things he could do with his.
Azriel downed what remained of his whiskey.
“Tell me what you’re looking for Nesta, and maybe I’ll answer.”
She rolled her eyes, and there was a moment where she looked him in the eyes, unflinching. She shook her head, and sat back, changing the subject.
“Has anybody here caught your eye, shadowsinger?”
Azriel scoffed, a low noise in his throat that seemed to make her eyes impossibly darker. It made his skin feel too tight, made his pulse thrum with anticipation so thick he could taste it on his tongue.
Around them, he noted, the atmosphere had shifted. The night had grown deeper, the hour later, and all those who had come to find someone to warm their bed had either left with their quarry already, or was closing in. Azriel glanced around the bar, saw the fae Nesta had thought of taking home sitting at a table with another fae woman draped over his lap, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. Beneath the din and the smell of liquor, hands began to wander and eyes began to roam, and in the corner where the candlelight couldn’t quite reach, Azriel felt the darkness masking them and leaned into it— leaned into every piece of the thrill that was building in his chest.
“What if they did?” he asked, looking at her from beneath his eyelashes.
Nesta leaned forward, daring to drag her finger around the rim of his glass. His shadows practically vibrated, the scent of her intoxicating.
“Maybe I’m looking for someone who isn’t afraid of your big bad general,” she shrugged, lifting her finger to her lips, tasting the drop of whiskey she’d collected from the rim of his glass. Azriel felt a slashing smile bloom across his lips, one that was knife-sharp and deadly.
“And that’s your only criteria?”
Nesta huffed a laugh. “You’d be surprised how many run a mile when they realise who, exactly, I am.”
Fools, he thought— all of them, fools who didn’t deserve the chance to kneel before her, to take up space in her bed.
He tilted his head back, resting against the back of the booth and looking down at her. “And that’s it, is it? You want someone who can go toe to toe with Cass and make it out unscathed?”
Nesta hummed, her eyes dipping to his chest, his hands, his shadows. He didn’t think he imagined the way she looked… interested. Maybe it was the whiskey, or the intoxicating look in her eyes, but he smirked, letting arrogance take over.
“Seems to me like there’s only really two people in this entire city that fit that bill, love.” The endearment came out smoothly, without thought. Nesta’s eyes heated. “One is Rhys.”
She smirked. “And the other?”
Azriel laughed, the sound low in his throat. “Do you need me to say it?”
Nesta bit her lip to mask a smile. “I didn’t know you could be cocky, Spymaster.”
He barked another laugh. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nesta.”
She blinked, leaned closer. “How about I find out, then?”
She was so close now, her thigh almost brushing his. It would take nothing, no effort at all, for him to reach out and brush a hand along her leg, beneath the table where none could see. Her eyes were molten, and Azriel couldn’t resist the urge to touch her— to feel her skin beneath his palms. Slowly, he moved his hand, letting it drift until it landed on her knee. His shadows tittered, and when she made no move to escape his touch, slowly Azriel traced a path upwards.
“And what happens when we’re next at the river house together?” he made himself ask, even as his fingers travelled north. They skated over the fabric of her dress, finding the split in the fabric and slipping beneath, his hands finding bare skin as a groan gathered in his throat. “When we have to sit at the same dining table and pretend none of this ever happened.”
Nesta shifted, taking his hand even higher. “I don’t see how it’s any of their business.”
Her own hand darted out, began to trace circles over his knee. His blood pulsed, raced through his veins as his entire body seemed to tremble with need, and fuck— he wanted her. Her breathing grew shallow, the beating of her heart the drum he was marching to, and when his fingers skated over the very top of her thigh, Nesta tilted her head back. A woman almost begging to be kissed.
Azriel cursed his lack of self-restraint; thanked the Mother for it, too.
She blinked up at him. “I answered your question. Now answer mine.” Her fingers gripped his knee tight above his leathers. “Who do you think I should go home with, Azriel?”
Fucking Mother above, this woman.
The sound of his name on her lips was heady, and he couldn’t help it as he leaned in, found his lips bushing her hair. Lower, dragging a slow kiss down to the shell of her ear.
“Are you sure you want to know?” he murmured. Her hand flattened, her palm dragging up his thigh even as his own fingers lingered on hers. Silent, she nodded. His lips were still at her ear, and he longed to graze his teeth over the skin there. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Me,” he breathed.
Nesta bit her lip again, even as a smirk travelled over her mouth.
“I thought you’d never admit it,” she whispered.
His hand moved from her thigh, up and up, palming over her arm until he reached her neck, rounded it, brought her closer. She twisted in his embrace, and in one easy movement Azriel took her leg and draped it over his own, until she was all but sitting in his lap. The bar was dark already, but he bid his shadows to embrace them a little more, to hide this little corner from prying eyes, and in the darkness Nesta leaned into his touch, dragging the heel of her foot down his calf as she pressed herself into him.
His hands wandered to her waist, gripping her so tightly he wondered if she’d bruise. If he’d leave a mark behind.
Nesta arched into him, her lips close to his neck as she breathed his name.
“We shouldn’t,” he breathed, even though every nerve he possessed cursed the words.
“No,” she shrugged. “We shouldn’t.” She looked at him boldly, her fingers trailing along his arms, across his shoulders. “But is that going to stop you, Shadowsinger?”
He laughed, acerbic. “It should.”
“Not an answer.”
He couldn’t fight the grin that spread his lips, predatory and vicious, and when an echoing smile spread across Nesta’s own face, the laugh that left his chest was dry and heated, heavy with want. He dipped his head, his lips lingering a breath from her neck, from the point where, beneath her skin, her pulse was racing.
“Do you want it to stop me, Nesta?”
She shivered, her eyes closing as he said her name.
She likes that, he thought, feeling his head begin to empty, his thoughts narrowed on her and only her— on the pleasure he wanted to give to her, what he knew she wanted to take. She likes it when you say her name.
He breathed her in, daring to drag a hand down the side of her ribs, feeling her shudder again. He leaned in, his nose against her neck. His body was a continuation of hers; no end and no beginning, like they were two strands so irrevocably tangled there was no telling them apart. Her hands were at his shoulders, her fingers drifting to his neck, and his wandered from her waist to her thighs, feeling the heat of her and relishing in it. He could have drowned in her.
Wanted to drown in her.
“Nesta,” he whispered, teeth scraping against her jaw.
“Azriel,” she breathed, her chest rising beneath his straying hands. He dragged his touch up from her middle, his palm resting at the bottom of her throat.
“Stop avoiding the question,” he said, lips against the shell of her ear as he parroted back her earlier words. In his embrace, she shivered. “Do you want it to stop me?”
She shook her head as his shadows skimmed her ankle, winding around her calf like ivy. “No.”
His heart thudded in his chest, and suddenly he felt like he was falling— like the ground had opened up beneath him. He wanted this, wanted her, and it didn’t matter that she could never be his, didn’t matter that if Cassian ever found out—
Her nails, sharp on his collarbone, dragged him back to her. Cut the thought off before it could bloom.
Fuck everything else— fuck it all to hell and back.
Nesta was in his arms, his hand on her thigh beneath her dress and fucking hell, he could barely find two words to string together in a sentence, so he did the only other thing he could think of— the only thing that made sense.
In the darkest corner of the dingiest bar Velaris had to offer, Azriel lowered his lips and kissed Nesta Archeron senseless.
It wasn’t soft or gentle; they came together like a wave crashing against the shore, all lips and teeth and shared breath that tasted like whiskey. Her hands were around his neck, fingertips brushing his wings, and as his hand splayed flat against her spine, Azriel brought her closer and kissed her with a hunger that spoke to centuries of control finally, finally, beginning to slip. For so long he had kept himself in check— never allowing himself to take what he wanted.
He wanted now— he wanted her.
And Nesta wanted him. He felt it in the way she gasped his name, in the way she tipped her head back to grant him access to her neck. He groaned against her as his tongue tasted the skin beneath her jaw, because—
Divine.
She was divine, something so decadent and heady that his mind was beginning to spin.
They moved in tandem, like this was a dance they both knew the steps to. When her heart skipped a beat, Azriel’s surrendered too; when the tips of his wings shivered with anticipation, a shudder racked through her that began in her chest and ended in her fingers. They were one and the same, the kiss bringing them together, setting them alight, letting them burn like a bonfire.
Azriel never wanted it to end.
Nesta turned in his arms, lifted herself up so that it wasn’t just her legs slung over his knees now. She straddled his hips and claimed his mouth, like she had forgotten where they were, forgotten who they were— they weren’t the High Lord’s brother and the High Lady’s sister anymore, just two souls who had collided in a darkened bar and found their mirror in one another.
Azriel’s hands smoothed down Nesta’s sides as his palms came to rest on her hips. She sat back, putting distance between them as she took a breath. Her lips were swollen, the skin at her neck marked by his kisses. He squeezed her hip once, heard her heart skip in response.
“Let’s get out of here,” Nesta breathed.
She came back for one more kiss, slow this time— lingering. Azriel obliged her. He kissed her sweetly, like they had all the time in the world, his hands rising to cup her face in his palms. When Nesta’s teeth sunk into his lip, he didn’t mask the curse that slipped from him, all at once low and desperate and edged with ecstasy.
“Yeah,” he said, feeling the sting in his lips left behind by her bite. It was the most decadent thing he’d ever tasted, and as he pulled away from her mouth and pressed another kiss to her jaw, he felt the heat in his veins stirring, his blood thrumming and his need for her more potent than anything. One hand dropped to hers, and Azriel linked their fingers together as he rose, pulling Nesta to her feet. He leaned close, breathed her in, let his free hand wind around her waist and pull her into him as he nipped lightly at the edge of her jaw.
“Let’s get out of here,” he echoed.
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Sometimes, when Nesta stays out too late at Rita's with the Valkyries, when she stays up too late reading in the library, Cassian carries her back to their bed all soft and sweet 😌
A very happy Day Four of @nestaarcheronweek! And a very very big thanks to @maybemacdc for working with me on this absolutely beautiful and tender commission 🥺 Please do not repost without credit and don't feed into AI programs.
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Nesta week day 4 | Lover
@nestaarcheronweek
Liking doing the pencil stuff at the moment, indulge me.
Before becoming fae, Nesta was already a fierce lover, protecting her sisters from the numerous threats both outside and inside their cottage. So here I give you Nesta and Elain, long before they took a dip in the cauldron.
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