#nessian if you squint | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elliemarchetti · 1 year

Text

A Court of Deadly Virtues (Book 1)

Plot: A Court of Mist and Fury retelling from Nesta’s POV. Set in Chapter 57.

This is going to be more canon-divergent further on, but for now every change involves mostly Nesta and Cassian’s relationship.

Previous chapters

Words: 1.107

Kindness [4/7]

Only the eldest and the golden Queens attended the second meeting, escorted by five guards each. By the time they decided on the perfect date, spring had begun in the Mortal Lands, and crocuses and daffodils were poking their heads out of the no longer frozen earth. Feyre still wore her flowing ivory robe and gold feathered crown, but this time she and Rhysand held hands resolutely. The older woman ran her shrewd eyes over them and sat down without an invitation, arranging the skirts of her emerald robe around her. The negotiations were less gracious, and not even the images of the secret, beautiful city showed by the Veritas were worthy of the rulers trust.

“Who says this isn’t another manipulation?” the crone asked. “A lot has changed since the war and the Morrigan’s so called friendship with our female ancestors. Perhaps you’re not who you say you are and the High Lord crept into our minds to make us believe he has allies more powerful than those he can really count on. It would explain why you seek our help so desperately.”

“That’s crazy talk,” hissed Nesta, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “Crazy talk from arrogant, crazy fools.”

Feyre turned to her with a pleading expression at the same time as Elain reached out to silence her, but there were too many innocent lives at stake to stand back and let everyone else do the dirty work. If they didn’t want to risk their lives, so be it, but they at least owed them a chance to fight back.

“Perhaps an evacuation is possible...” speculated the golden woman, but it was evident she was just making up things to shut her up.

“We’ll need ten thousand ships,” Nesta replied, her voice nearly breaking. She did the math for a whole night and ran over the same calculations nearly a hundred times, fearing she missed something, hoping there was an error and they weren’t really in need of such a fleet, but she was right, and she didn’t even started to consider the cost of transportation from the inner villages. Everyone was talking about numbers, and hypothetical lives, but Nesta knew those people, she knew they had nothing, she knew families born poor and farmers who preferred to die than abandon their fields or a couple of decrepit cows. No mortal knew the whole truth about the Fae, their knowledge based on erroneous legends and rumours, they had no idea what they would’ve to endure and they didn’t know how to fight. They would be slain, and what little good was left in their simple lives blown away like a house of cards in a blizzard.

“We’re stuck here,” she resumed, cold rage and burning accusations exuding from her like a vengeful aura. “And you’ll watch us die in hope they’ll be satisfied and won’t look at the Continent, but they would, and if you do nothing you’re going to regret every choice you made in this room.”

The old Queen gripped the shiny armrests of her chair, furious at such obstinacy: “Then I suggest you ask one of your winged males to take you across the sea and see for yourself the power of our defences.”

Nesta stared at the woman in pure disgust. She wasn’t going to beg, she wasn’t going to ask for more, and judging by the look on Cassian’s face, even he wouldn’t have allowed her to make a fool of herself. It was a matter of pride, and love.

“Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this home. I fought alongside both humans and Fae who believed in equality, and I’ll be on that field again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this home and your people. I cannot think of a better way to end my life than to defend those who need it most,” said the Illyrian with such ardour, that for a moment Nesta felt more important than she was, not just a pawn in someone else’s game but a powerful player who somehow won the heart of Prythian’s most fearsome warrior. A single tear trickled down her hollow cheek, and thick calloused fingers were ready to wipe it away before it could fall on her dress. If he’d got down on his knee right now and asked her to marry him, it would’ve made less of a stir, but Nesta felt no embarrassment, and didn’t flinch at the almost familiar touch, completely ignoring the Morrigan who looked at them with wide eyes. She didn’t seem jealous or annoyed, even though Nesta suspected she and Cassian had some shared history, but rather amazed. The Queens didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, and as swiftly as they arrived, they disappeared from the large drawing room, leaving behind them a heavy lead box. Nesta gasped as Rhysand lifted it to reveal what was inside, but she didn’t lean over Cassian’s shoulder to find out what was written on the note resting on the second half of the coveted Book.

“You should come with us,” whispered the Fae, so softly only she and Elain, who was still by the window looking on her garden, could hear him. “You heard the situation and you’ve made perfect calculations. You should pack lightly and stay in Velaris for a while, as safe as it can be now that the Queens know of its existence.”

“I...”Elain muttered, looking like a dog caught in a snare. “I can’t.”

The words flowed out so quickly, and Elain looked so stubbornly at the floor, that Nesta wondered if she was having second thoughts on the wedding and something happened between her and Azriel. More than ever, the iron ring she wore on her finger seemed immensely ugly and unsuitable for her sweetest sister.

“Then I’ll send a unit of my soldiers to guard the estate. No one will notice their presence and they’ll be completely autonomous. If you change your mind, one of them will wait in this room at noon and midnight every day.”

Nesta just nodded, unable to find the right words to thank Cassian for such a great kindness.

“I wish things were different,” he admitted, before walking off to rejoin the rest of his companions, who were beginning to cast curious glances at them.

“I could never leave my sister,” Nesta replied, and momentarily prayed to some forgotten God for him to get close enough to touch, so she could remember what it was like to have their fingers intertwined, but he didn’t, and when the small group flew away, Nesta was unable to meet Elain’s guilty eyes.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #a hint of elriel if you squint #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #feyre archeron #rhysand #mor #future neris #acotar fanfiction #acomaf retelling

7 notes · View notes

foundress0fnothing · 4 months

Text

Firm and Fragrant Still the Brambleberries

For @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk. Happy Holidays! It has been such a joy to get to know you over these last few months. You are wonderful and brilliant, and I cannot wait to FINALLY be able to scream in your comments about my obsession with Semper Eadem without arousing your suspicions.

Many thanks to @velidewrites and @perhapsajacket for beta reading this first part of this fic and reassuring me that the Nessian vibes were working. And many thanks to @acotargiftexchange for putting together this wonderful event. Y’all are the absolute best! 🥰

Summary: When Nesta became a nurse at the start of the war, she could not have predicted a patient as challenging as Lieutenant Cassian Davies, nor he a nurse as captivating as her. As the same war that brought them together threatens to tear them apart, Nesta and Cassian must navigate the complexities of love and duty to find the way back to each other. A WWI historical AU.

For information about the historical elements to this fic, see the end notes.

This is chapter 1 of 4.

Read on AO3 or continue reading below the cut!

Chapter 1: Somerville College, Oxford

July 1916

“I think of you hour by hour. You are always close in your own secret place in my heart. I hold you in my arms when no one else is near. I kiss your forehead, your eyes, your hair. No, not your lips, dear, even in fancy. I have never in my maddest dreams kissed your lips. But I ache and crave and long for them, though—till you give me leave—I dare not even pretend that they are mine. Will you ever give me leave? You say No now. Yet I think you will, Avery. I think you will. I have known ever since that first moment—”

“He’s asking for you again.”

Nesta looked up from her book to see Gwyn Berdara’s head poking through the doorway. It was late—or early, rather, she realized, blearily squinting at the clock on the wall and rubbing her eyes. She should have retired to her bed in the dormitory hours ago, and from the pleased look on Gwyn’s face at catching her off-guard, her fellow nurse was well-aware of that fact.

“Surely someone who’s actually on duty,” Nesta said, yawning and looking pointedly at Gwyn, “can take care of whatever it is he needs.”

Gwyn snorted. “Apparently there’s no one except ‘Nurse Nes’ who can make the pain go away with her magic touch.” She waggled her eyebrows. “So it’s a good thing you’re still here.”

Bristling at the nickname that only one of the soldiers convalescing at the Third Southern General Hospital was shameless enough to call her, she replied curtly, “I’m not going. Tell him I’m not here.”

“I don’t think he’d believe me,” Gwyn said, grinning.

“And why is that?”

“Because,” said Emerie Carynth, appearing suddenly beside Gwyn and wearing a matching smile on her face, “I told him you’d still be here.”

Nesta glared at her.

“Not on purpose, I swear,” Emerie quickly amended. “But don’t think I missed that you have a copy of Dell’s new romance.” Nesta glanced down at the book she still held open in her hands, her attention briefly flicking back to the dramatic confessional love letter left she had been in the middle of reading. “We saw you try to hide it in the dining room when it came in the post. I bet Gwyn you wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to start it.”

Returning her focus to her traitorous fellow nurse, Nesta frowned. “That doesn’t explain how he knows I’m still here.”

“He may have overheard me celebrating my victory a few minutes ago.” She smirked. “Gwyn has to take my shifts with Merrill for the next week.”

Nesta grimaced. The older nurse was brutal to work with, especially if she thought the VAD nurses like Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta were shirking their responsibilities. She accommodating enough for the soldiers, but all the nurses knew to steer clear of her wrath whenever possible.

Gwyn nodded at Nesta’s expression. “And he was my next patient when Emerie found me.”

“And what? He forced you to come back here and bother me?”

“He asked nicely.”

“Weak, Gwyneth Berdara. Weak.” Nesta knew her fellow nurse had a soft spot for soldiers like him who bore their injuries with grace and good humor, willing to crack a joke or, if they were not too injured, gambol about the grounds during recreation hours. Especially if those soldiers were tall and dark-haired and unreasonably muscled.

Gwyn shrugged unapologetically. “Like he doesn’t make you flustered, Nesta.”

“He does not,” Nesta bit out. Exasperated, absolutely. Incensed, occasionally. Even, in rare moments, begrudgingly amused. But certainly not flustered.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are,” Emerie said, grinning with a faux innocence that Nesta didn’t believe for a moment. “He’s not even my type,” she smirked. “But I have eyes.”

“I hate you.”

“As much as you hate him?”

“More.”

Gwyn hummed. “Lucky Emerie.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow in question.

“Oh, nothing. I’ve just never known anyone whose hate looked so much like desire before.”

Emerie winked salaciously at Nesta, who only rolled her eyes at her friends’ antics. “I’m still not going.”

“Sure you’re not, Nurse Nes.”

“Emerie, I swear—”

“He expected you’d say that.” Gwyn smiled, interrupting them. “And he told me to tell you that if you didn’t come help him, he’d have to cope with the pain through song.”

“Arse.” She had heard him singing with the men before—loud, raucous marching songs that seemed to be dictated primarily by enthusiasm rather than any actual musical talent. “So he intends to wake the whole wing if I don’t go? That’s asking nicely, Gwyn?”

Gwyn shrugged. “I’m sure Clotho and Merrill wouldn’t blame you for it.”

But they would, Nesta knew. When she paused her studies at Somerville to join the VAD and the military hospital that sprang up in what had once been her college, she and her fellow volunteers were told to make the patients in their care as happy as possible, no matter what. They were not to do anything that would cause a scandal, of course, but barring that, any desire was considered reasonable—extra food after mealtimes, a new pillow every hour, even time with a preferred nurse if requested. After all, they were exactly what the first letter of their organization’s acronym indicated: voluntary. They had no previous training, no credentials or certificates like those possessed by the professional nurses who oversaw them. What did they know?

Quite a bit, and often more than the so-called ‘professionals’. Certainly more than they did a year and a half ago when they first entered the service. Nesta may have been raised in a manor house, bred for marriage and comfort after the culmination of her studies, but the war had changed all of that, had changed her. She was no longer a stranger to fluids and grotesque injuries, to bodies and hard, messy work. Gwyn and Emerie were the same.

But none of that mattered, not really, to the more senior nurses, except for the fact that it made their jobs marginally easier. The VAD women were still expected to appease and please. So they did.

Nesta sighed, looking forlornly at the book she wouldn’t get to pick up again for at least another day.

“I’ll tell him to expect you in ten minutes, then?” Gwyn asked, reading her decision on her face.

“Yes, alright,” Nesta grumbled, standing and stretching for the first time in—she glanced again at the clock—three hours. She hoped that whatever nonsense she was about to face would resolve itself quickly enough that she could get home and sleep, although, she thought, as she began to gather her things, she wouldn’t count on it.

“Hope Dell’s book was worth it!” Emerie called as she moved out of the doorway and back into the darkened ward.

“I’m sure it was,” Gwyn said to Nesta, following Emerie out. “Piers’ letter?” She asked knowingly.

“Piers’ letter.” Nesta mimed fanning herself, and Gwyn laughed as she left Nesta to gather her things.

Grumbling about needing to find new friends, Nesta slowly made her way into what had once been the West dining room. With thin walls, cramped quarters, and a confusing odor of long-forgotten roast dinners mingled with astringent antiseptics, it was ill-suited to its current purpose as a hospital ward.

Almost as ill-suited, Nesta mused to herself as she wended her way through the beds of sleeping men, as she was to the nursing profession. Her friends seemed to take to the profession naturally: Gwyn had quickly amassed a staggering knowledge of illness and injuries and could diagnose patients quicker than most of the physicians; Emerie demonstrated a singular talent for using the standard physician-prescribed therapies in innovative ways to help the soldiers progress more quickly along their healing journey.

Nesta had no such mastery. She wasn’t incompetent at any task, and was quite good at many of them, but she did not have any particular specialty. Nor did she excel at the ‘appease and please’ aspect of her role. She had little patience for the soldiers’ petty complaints, their bored antics, their casual flirting. She did her job, cared for her patients professionally and efficiently, shutting down their attempts for favors and conversation and flirtation, and went home to her books at the end of the day. It was how she liked it. And it meant that, over time, few soldiers particularly liked her.

All except one.

At the sound of her approaching footsteps, Nesta saw him turn his head, a satisfied smile already stretching across his face that, had he been anyone else, would have caused Nesta’s heart to start racing.

As a man, Lieutenant Cassian Davies was magnetic. Handsome in a rugged kind of way, he was imposingly tall and broad with a body that, even injured as it was, spoke of lethal grace and destructive power. His face bore the proof of this: small scars cut across his eyebrows and lips, and his nose had clearly been broken and reset at least once. His hazel eyes often shone with a mirth that drew soldiers and nurses alike to his bedside, but there was an edge to them as well—something surprisingly hard and deceptively calculating. Like all of the men convalescing at their hospital, Lieutenant Davies had seen tremendous bloodshed, but he alone seemed to rise above it, to possess some inherent mastery over it. He was dangerous and desirable in equal measure, and though Nesta refused to join in with the other nurses when they gushed about him in the privacy of their dormitory, she couldn’t deny his appeal.

As a patient though? He was everything she loathed: loud, flirtatious, stubborn, and shamelessly relentless in his attempts to irritate her.

“Nurse Nes!”

“Threatening to wake the ward is a new low, even for you, Lieutenant Davies. And don’t call me that.” Nesta hissed, approaching his bedside and glaring down at him.

“Sweetheart—” Lieutenant Davies raised his good arm in an attempt to pacify her, but Nesta interrupted him.

“Wrong again, Lieutenant.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Nurse Archeron,” he apologized with mock contrition, affecting the tone of an impudent schoolboy brought before his headmaster. “I’m so glad you could make it. I was just about to treat the lads to a rendition of ‘Pack Up Your Troubles.’”

Nesta didn’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to look over his chart to guess at what it was he might need. The sooner she could figure it out, the sooner she could leave Lieutenant Davies and his foolishness behind. She could make it through this without succumbing to his antics. She could be professional. She could.

Even with her eyes focused on his chart, however, she felt the weight of his gaze on her, deciding how best to challenge her attempt at professionalism.

And then he found it: “I still could sing, you know. You might benefit from hearing the chorus.”

She whipped her head up and saw his eyes spark with pleasure at having successfully baited her, but she was too irritated to care. “‘Smile, smile, smile?’” Nesta asked, biting out the lyrics.

“You already know the words! You’ll be a natural in no time.”

“Please.” She resisted the urge to argue further, forcing herself to direct her attention back to the chart in her hands. Could he want another pillow? Or more food? Was he due for—

“So, what do you say, Nes?” Lieutenant Davies asked, interrupting her train of thought. “Are you going to smile, smile, smile?” He grinned as he softly sang the melody.

“Your singing is atrocious.”

He scoffed. “It’s excellent. Now, my dancing—.”

“I can only imagine that it’s even worse, Lieutenant Davies,” she interrupted.

“Once I get back up on my feet again I promise to show you just how wrong you are. Don’t think I didn’t notice you considering a smile.”

“Enough.” This had to end. Nesta could feel the weight of her hair heavy on her head after having it tied up in her standard braided coronet all day, and that, coupled with Lieutenant Davies’ teasing, was threatening to give her a headache. “What do you want?”

“Nesta Archeron,” he admonished, and Nesta chose to ignore the way her body shivered at the sound of her full name on his lips. “We have got to work on your bedside manner.”

She huffed. “If you find it so appalling, there are at least a dozen other nurses who would be more than happy to assist you.”

“I told Gwynnie. None of them have your magic touch.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Nes—”

“Wake the whole ward for all I care.” She dropped his chart with a clatter and turned on her heel, ready to storm out

There was a pause, and then, before she could take a step, Lieutenant Davies called out softly, “My shoulder is a little sore.”

Nesta imagined it was. The report of his injury at the Somme had been a gruesome note in what was and continued to be the bloodiest battle of the war thus far, and one that just kept going, if the steady stream of new patients into the hospital was anything to be believed. A few days into the battle, Lieutenant Davies had been wounded by shell fragments that embedded themselves into his chest and shoulder, some dangerously close to his lungs. He bore the injury well, but from the lines etched on his face and the tension in his jaw, she could tell it ached more than he let on. He would be bedridden for at least another two weeks before physical therapy could begin.

“And you couldn’t ask Nurse Berdara for another dose of morphine?”

“You make me feel like I’ve earned it, sweetheart.”

She snorted at that. “Fine.” She stooped to gather the supplies she would need from a low shelf on the cart at the foot of his bed, then turned to pull on gloves and prepare the needle for the injection. “But only because you were due for one anyway.”

“Whatever you say, Nurse Archeron. I know you like me.” As she administered the drug, he began humming quietly, his body slowly loosening as it worked its way through his system.

“Done. Goodnight, Lieutenant Davies.”

“No goodnight kiss?” He murmured the question as his eyes shuttered closed, relentlessly flirtatious to the last.

Nesta watched the morphine lull Lieutenant Davies into a deep sleep. “For you? I think not.”

She turned and made her way quietly out of the ward, thinking of her bed and her book. And if her thoughts drifted back to a certain sleeping soldier and she smiled slightly? Well, there was no one awake to notice.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

August 1916

“How are you feeling, Lieutenant Davies?”

Cassian looked up from the casualty sheets he had been apprehensively scanning for his brothers’ names to find Sr. Merrill, one of the older nurses who oversaw the hospital, standing at the foot of his bed.

His arm fucking ached—not that he would say that to a nun. He hadn’t lost all his manners in the trenches.

Just most of them. And especially when faced with the pretty nurse who made him feel more than a little stupid with her honey-brown hair and sharp tongue. But Nesta Archeron was nowhere in sight, nor had she been for several days—attempting to avoid him, most likely.

So he only answered, “Still a little sore, m’am. But better than yesterday.”

Sr. Merrill smiled at that. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re in good spirits. You’re to start physical therapy today.”

Cassian could have wept with joy. Although the injury had been localized to his upper body, the damage had been severe enough that the doctors had insisted that he remain bedridden and stuck indoors for at least a month. And he had, albeit reluctantly. For someone used to near-constant activity, whose men called him ‘the General’ for the drills he would put them (and himself) through between battles, a month of idleness was akin to torture. There were only so many card games a man could play or books he could read, only so many soldiers and nurses he could talk to, and (in his bleaker moments) only so many times he could catalog in minute detail the unidentifiable stains that graced the walls of the ward. Restless and bored, Cassian was more than ready to get back on his feet, to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on his face again. “When do I start?”

“Tomorrow. I have you scheduled with Nurse Carynth. She’s one of our best for physical therapy.”

Cassian knew her. Strikingly pretty and statuesque, she could out-swear most of the men and had earned her reputation as an excellent physical therapist through a combination of what appeared to be genuine brilliance and a singular ability to browbeat and cajole her patients into pushing themselves. He had seen her work with a few of the other men from his company, and knew that if anyone else in the hospital deserved the title of ‘the General,’ it would be her.

But he wondered—“I’ve heard she’s effective, yes, but,” He paused, looking for the right words, although he knew that Sr. Merrill and the other nurses were inclined to humor their patients’ requests whenever possible. “I was wondering if I could work with someone else.”

“Oh?” She looked puzzled, but pulled out a pen to note the change. “Do you have a specific nurse in mind?”

Cassian smiled.

He was still smiling as he sat in Sr. Merrill’s office the following day listening to an incensed Nesta Archeron argue with her supervisor.

“No.” She said, her blue-gray eyes flashing flintily as she crossed her arms. “I’m not working with him.”

Sr. Merrill raised an eyebrow. “And why not? Do you have an objection to working with Lieutenant Davies?”

“Yes.”

When Nesta didn’t elaborate, Sr. Merrill gestured for her to continue. “Go on.”

Nesta tilted her head, and Cassian could tell she was calculating her response. “It’s not personal,” she began.

Cassian snorted. He knew that it absolutely was. Nesta Archeron was the one nurse at Somerville who couldn’t stand him. From the look on Sr. Merrill’s face, the older nurse knew that as well, although she did an admirable job trying to hide it.

“It’s not.” Nesta turned to face him for the first time since they entered the office a few minutes ago. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. He could feel the anger radiating off of her, burning cold and sharp and exhilarating. It had been over a month since Cassian had seen any combat, but watching her like this scratched the same itch, and he knew that he would do any number of unspeakable things to keep stoking that fire.

He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Then what might be the issue, Nurse Archeron?”

She glared at his use of her correct title for once, knowing he only did it to irritate her in front of her supervisor, then turned back to face Sr. Merrill with a barely audible huff.

“My reasons are professional. I am not a particularly skilled physical therapist, and the severity of Lieutenant Davies’ injuries suggests that he’ll need special attention. He should be working with Nurse Carynth or Nurse Madja.”

Sr. Merrill frowned at that. “You’ll be following a plan of care left by one of the doctors, so there’s no need for you to do anything terribly innovative. That’s not your role here.”

“I know you’ll take good care of me, Nurse Archeron,” Cassian added, doing his best to look sincere. And he was, mostly. Nesta may not have been the warmest nurse at Somerville, but she was a damn good one. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

She didn’t respond to his comment, but Cassian was familiar enough with her expressions after a month of making a study of her to know she wanted to roll her eyes, and he couldn’t help the grin that began to break over his face.

“But I know how you VAD girls are,” Sr. Merrill interrupted, forestalling any further argument between them with a dismissive wave of her hand. Her tone dripped with derision, and Cassian’s grin faded as he saw Nesta tense, her spine straightening.“If you’re truly unwilling, I’m sure Lieutenant Davies will accept another nurse for his therapy.” She paused. “But I will be making a note in your file, Nurse Archeron.”

Nesta’s lips tightened. Cassian grimaced slightly as he observed her wage a silent war with herself, feeling increasingly ill-at-ease with his provocation of this element of the hospital’s hierarchical drama.

“Well, Nurse Archeron?” Sr. Merrill asked.

Cassian watched Nesta collect herself. The changes were subtle–her spine remained straight, unbowed by the weight of the threat, but he saw the way she banked the fire burning in her eyes until all that seemed to remain was a cool, professional detachment. He hated it.

But he knew her answer.

“I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Sr. Merrill handed Nesta a folder that Cassian presumed was his plan of care. “Thank you for wasting everyone’s time.”

Nesta took the folder and stood abruptly, stalking out of the room.

“Lieutenant Davies,” Sr. Merrill addressed him, drawing his attention away from Nesta’s retreating form. “I understand if you’d like to switch nurses after that … display.” She looked distastefully toward the door. “I have always believed that you boys deserve better than being subjected to the whims of spoiled ladies unused to hard work.”

Cassian stood stiffly, his injured arm aching from tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and frowned down at Sr. Merrill. “I meant what I said. I trust Nurse Archeron to take care of me.” His tone was sharp, defensive.

Sr. Merrill sniffed. “Of course. See that I don’t hear any complaints from your commander if you remain on the injury register longer than you ought.”

“You won’t. M’am.” With a sharp nod of his head, Cassian turned to follow after Nesta, moving a damn sight slower than he would have preferred. His arm throbbed and his legs felt heavy and stiff, aggravatingly fatigued already.

Nesta had stopped by the entrance to the ward, presumably to wait for him, her gaze focused off into the distance rather than watching his progress.

Cassian didn’t rush—wouldn’t have, even if he could have moved more quickly—taking the time instead to study her. She still wore the detached professionalism she had donned during the meeting, but her eyes were tired, wearied after the confrontation with Merrill. He wanted the fire back.

And he knew how to get it. Quashing his still-lingering guilt, he asked, “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

She startled slightly, coming out of whatever reverie she had been caught in, and scowled up at him as he drew abreast of her. “I’m not in the mood for this right now.”

He smiled to hear a hint of spirit back in her voice. “I’ll take you in whatever mood I can get, Nes.”

She hummed, her gaze assessing and the set of her mouth unimpressed. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

With that, she pulled open the door to the ward and began walking deeper into the room, not stopping to see if Cassian was following after her.

He trailed along behind, noting that she passed the door that led outside onto the lawn where most of the other officers had been led by their respective nurses for therapy or recreation. The late summer day was inviting, after all—bright and sunny and warm after a span of rainy weeks.

Because of this, the ward was nearly empty, so Cassian called out to her, “I didn’t mean to cause any problems, you know.”

Her gait didn’t change, but he saw the tilt of her head as she considered his words. “That’s not an apology.”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “I didn’t know about Merrill. I’m sorry for having involved her. But,” he smiled, “I’m not sorry you’re assigned to me.”

“We’ll see,” she said, finally stopping and turning around to face him.

Nesta had led them to a room at the back of the ward. It was small and slightly dingy; he guessed that it had once been some kind of larder for the college before the war.

Cassian looked inside and then back at her, a question in his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to go inside. “After you.”

“I thought officers got to go outside for their therapies.” He looked back longingly toward the door to the lawn, the late summer morning streaming through the window panes nearly irresistible after a month indoors.

“Not the ones assigned to me. Everything we need is right here in this room,” she said. She wasn’t quite smiling, but he could see a hint of malicious pleasure gleaming at the corners of her eyes.

Cassian forced himself to smile, hoping that his disappointment wasn’t evident. Well played, Sweetheart. He turned to the only weapon he had remaining because he damn sure wasn’t about to give her this victory easily. “It certainly is, sweetheart. And we’ll get to be so close,” he all but purred, trying to ruffle her feathers.

But she only rolled her eyes and began setting up the space according to whatever was detailed on his chart, dragging a chair and a few small weights to the center of the room.

He turned to cast a final glance back, wondering what he could do to change her mind. Surely she didn’t want to spend the day cooped up inside too. What would she want? Would she want him to beg for it? Would he?

He would. For her. And for the outdoors.

But then the sound of a throat clearing delicately brought him back to the cell of a larder, and he returned his attention to Nesta. Her eyes were on him, head tilted to the side like a predator studying its prey.

“Positive you don’t want to work with Nurse Carynth now?”

Cassian looked her over, his gaze catching on the blue-gray eyes that dared him to call her bluff, and he smiled, a real one this time. He would play her game. For now. “Positive. Do your worst, Nurse Nes.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few notes on the historical elements of this chapter:

— The title of this fic comes from Robert Graves’ poem “Intercession in Late October.”

— The quote that opens this chapter is from Ethel M. Dell’s Bars of Iron, which was one of the best-selling books of 1916. Dell wrote hugely popular romances and was successful enough to support her family on the proceeds of her writing alone, although her work was often disparaged by critics and criticized for being too sexual.

— Cassian is loosely based on Robert Graves, a captain in the 3rd Battalion of the Royal Welch Fusiliers, a poet, and the author of Goodbye to All That, a 1929 memoir about his experiences in WWI. Nesta is loosely based on Vera Brittain, a VAD nurse and author of Testament of Youth, a 1933 memoir about her experiences as a nurse and her postwar turn toward pacifism.

— Both Robert Graves and Vera Britten were connected to Somerville College, although they were not there at the same time. Somerville was founded as a women’s college in 1879; it was requisitioned by the War Office to serve as a hospital during WWI. Vera Brittain had been reading English Literature when the war broke out, and she took a leave of absence to serve in the VAD, returning to complete her studies in History in 1919. Robert Graves, after being injured in July during the Battle of the Somme (July 1, 1916—November 18, 1916) was sent to Somerville to recover, and while there, had a brief romance with one of the nurses.

— The tensions between the VAD (Voluntary Aid Detachment) and professional nurses was a real concern during WWI, although it has been dramatized here. Most of the volunteers were middle and upper class women and lacked both the skills of professional nurses and (for some) the propensity for hard labor and discipline. These tensions gradually dissipated as the war went on.

— “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag, and Smile, Smile, Smile” was a popular WWI marching song, first published in 1915. The words were written by George Henry Powell and were set to music by his brother, Felix.

— The notice “Officers are requested not to throw custard at the walls” was real; it was found in Maitland Hall after Somerville was converted back into a college.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acotargiftexchange2023 #acotar gift exchange 2023 #nesta archeron #cassian #historical au #wwi au

54 notes · View notes

wildlyglittering · 4 months

Text

Illyrian Comfort Pie

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

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

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

Illyrian Comfort Pie

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

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

Where the hell had she put the damn thing?

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

No phone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sent. Nesta moved onto notification number two - Feyre.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this pie?” Feyre asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ok?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was two days ago. Two long days.

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

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

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

She says no chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The phone answered after the second ring.

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

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

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

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

“Well. Shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fucked it.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“The pie, I completely fucked it up.”

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

“There is no pie. I botched it.”

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

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

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

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

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

Now, Nesta blinked at him. “Sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’ll get to eat my pie.”

“Cassian!”

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

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

“Forever.”

60 notes · View notes

damedechance · 1 month

Text

𝐒 𝐔 𝚸 𝚬 𝐑 𝐅 𝐑 𝚬 𝚨 𝐊

Part 2 of 5 updated:

✴ read on ao3

✴ listen to the playlist

Pairing: Nessian

Rating: E (explicit)

Summary: When her long-time partner bails on the business trip they had planned for weeks, Nesta Archeron finds herself in a bit of a bind. Finding someone to go to Italy with her for a week is easy, but finding someone who is also willing to make content with her for her adult social media platform? A little more difficult. Or, it should be, until Cassian comes to the rescue. (AKA: Nesta has an OnlyFans and Cassian offers to come with her on her business trip to Italy)

✴ read below for a brief snippet:

2. i'm 👁️ extremly 😫🦄 now and 🍑 I wish 😚 you meet me 🕳️ fast 👠

Of the possible suspects, only one was capable of the messy, illegible scrawl taking up space in the margins of Nesta’s new paperback. There were only two people–her roommates–who had access to this new volume before Nesta stuffed it in her carry on. One of them had a devout, if not aggravating at times, protectiveness over the pages of a book, as if they were to be held sacred.

The other was Gwyn.

Nesta sighed, flicking her lap tray up and sending it rattling against the back of the seat in front of her. It was quickly silenced by the press of her knees against it as she slouched lower in her seat. Even with the page nearly up against her nose, Nesta still couldn’t make out whatever annotation Gwyn had blotted next to the most arousing passage Nesta had ever read.

Or might have read, if the hieroglyphics next to it weren’t so distracting.

One might assume that a person so devoted to her research, a historian no less, would treat their book–other people’s books–with more care, but Gwyn seemed to forgo all matters of preservation she learned at work when it came to erotica. Nesta, of course, would argue that raunchy novels were perhaps more deserving of her respect, but it was usually drowned out by the imminent threat of spoilers.

Nesta squinted at the words, pressing the book flat against her thighs as she attempted to decipher the scrawl. ‘MMF hot?’ Nesta guessed. She was starting to suspect they might not be words at all, and that instead, Gwyn had desecrated her brand new book with a crude drawing.

Groaning, Nesta attempted to continue reading the paragraph she was on, but her mind kept drifting back to the annotation. She was unable to continue until she decoded it, no matter how desperately she wanted to get on with the book. She glared at it, until her neck started to get stuff and her vision started to swim, and was no closer to figuring it out when a voice beside her interrupted.

“You haven’t turned the page in ten minutes,” Cassian groaned. “Are you just ignoring me?”

“Yes,” Nesta supplied easily, though her eyes were still on her book. “And shut up, people are sleeping.”

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #nessian fanfic #nessian smut #acotar fanfic #modern au #nessian modern au #vacation au

40 notes · View notes

stillwintering · 1 month

Text

WIP Wednesday

All's Fair in Love and Politics is Nessian story. But I can't resist Neris. This is an excerpt from the next chapter.

"Starborn is the best candidate to beat Hybern, and you know it," Nesta countered. "Maybe," Eris considered. Then, all levity disappeared from his posture, replaced by a menacing aloofness. "Everyone has skeletons in their closets." Nesta squinted at him, trying to see through the sharp edges. "You've been doing oppo research on Rhys," she finally concluded. "Nothing Hybern won't also find." "And?" He paused, deliberating his next words. She could see him weigh the cost of the information he possessed, and she wondered if she was willing to pay the price. Eris's gaze roamed the crowd around them, stopping on Cassian in the distance. "Do you know how many people he's killed?" Eris asked.

Read the rest of the story on AO3.

Writing is slow going because of, well, life. I actually write for my day job. Fiction writing is something I can only indulge in when everything else is done. But progress is happening.

#where rhysand is running for president #neris #nesta x cassian #all's fair in love and politcs #eris vanserra #fanfic #a court of silver flames #cassian #nesta archeron #nessian #acosf #acotar #wip wednesday

20 notes · View notes

rosanna-writer · 5 months

Text

Rosé Flowing with your Chosen Family

Summary: Role-Reversal AU. After accepting the mating bond, there's only one thing left on Rhysand Cursebreaker's agenda: introducing his human brothers to his mate, Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court. When Cassian and Azriel meet Feyre's Inner Circle, it might just be the longest family dinner of Rhys's life. Warnings: None Pairings: Background Feysand, Nessian if you squint Word Count: ~3.6k

Based on this prompt from @sjmkinkmeme: "Just good'ol family fluff. In which Rhysand Cursebreaker brings his brothers, Cassian and Azriel, to meet his mate, Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court, friends and family in the City of Velaris. Hilarity and shenanigans ensue."

Since it's almost Thanksgiving, I figured I'd finally get this awkward family dinner one-shot out of my drafts! You can find it below or here on AO3.

Rhysand picked up the second half of the Book of Breathings, the final result of so many months of scheming and a plan that had gone off without a hitch. Feyre would be delighted—not that Rhys would ever fail a task she assigned him as her emissary to the mortal lands.

Maybe she'd even show her appreciation in bed when he got back.

He tore this thoughts from Feyre and looked up at his brothers watching him with interest. They didn't say anything because they didn't have to; Rhys knew they were wondering what was next now that he had the book.

"You heard the queens," he said, "so it's your choice, whether you want to stay here or come with me."

"Come with you to Prythian?" Azriel said, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"I understand if you'd rather stay here, but I think you'll be safer in the Night Court. My home is your home, and there are people there I'd like you to meet," Rhys said.

For Rhys, the Night Court had felt like the home he was always looking for, but that might not be the same for Cassian and Azriel. When he tried to think about his first days in Prythian, tried to put himself in their shoes, it felt like a lifetime away to Rhys. He'd been another person—Cauldron, another species—when he'd gone Under the Mountain.

"Like who?" Cassian said.

Rhys smiled in that way that always preceded one of those dramatic reveals he was so partial to. "For starters, I'd like you to meet my mate."

Rhys only got a glimpse of Cassian's grin before he was folded into another one of his brother's bear hugs. "You bastard, why didn't you tell us you had a mate?" Cassian said.

"I only just accepted the bond. Things have been…up in the air," Rhys said.

It was a bit of an understatement, and he planned to tell his brothers everything eventually. The bond had snapped for Feyre on the balcony just after they were freed from Under the Mountain—she'd grabbed him and winnowed him straight to Night. Rhys had hated her then. But so much had changed in the months since, and he'd just accepted the bond the other day.

Cassian let him go, and Azriel clapped him on the back next. "Who is she?" Az said.

Rhys's grin only got wider. "Feyre Archeron, the High Lady of the Night Court," he said, her name like a prayer on his lips.

Azriel cocked his head as if he hadn't heard correctly. "I thought she was your boss?" he said.

Rhys had been coming to the mortal lands not just to see his brothers, but also as Feyre's emissary. He'd asked her to allow him to handle this himself, and she'd given him all the space he asked for, no matter how much it worried her when being on opposite sides of the Wall dimmed their bond. His brothers hadn't met Feyre yet. The Night Court might be Rhys's home, but to them, the Queen of Night was still the wicked female parents told their children would eat them if they misbehaved, a demon and a nightmare.

Hardly the sort of person you'd want as a sister-in-law.

"I'm still her emissary," Rhys said. And since accepting the bond, everything had been such a whirlwind that he and Feyre hadn't discussed what being mated would mean for his place in the Night Court.

Azriel just raised an eyebrow at that.

"Well congratulations anyway," Cassian said, a little unsure.

"Thank you," Rhys said quietly, unsure how to express his relief that his brothers seemed more concerned about a potential power differential than the way a mating bond was just more evidence that he was no longer human like them. It meant everything that nothing had changed between them, even after he'd died and come back to life as High Fae. "Are you coming or not? If so, I can tell you more as you pack."

Cassian and Azriel looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them, before they both nodded. Rhys relaxed. If his brothers had wanted to stay here, Feyre's soldiers would have kept them safe. But he'd breathe easier with both of them behind Velaris's wards.

And beyond that, he'd missed them.

Once their bags were packed, Rhys winnowed his brothers directly to the living room of the townhouse. The instant they arrived, Feyre's voice floated down the stairs. "Rhys!" she called, too relieved that she sensed his arrival to use her daemati abilities. "Did you get the Book?"

She appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in one of Rhys's sweaters and a pair of paint-stained leggings. Her braided hair hung over one shoulder. The effect was decidedly un-High-Lady-like.

At the sight of two men flanking Rhys, she froze halfway down the stairs, eyes wide. "Are these your brothers?" she added, more quietly.

She should have known that Rhys might want them to come to Velaris after all the business with the mortal queens. But still, she'd thought he'd at least have warned her. Rhys spoke of his brothers with nothing but love and admiration, and she desperately wanted them to like her. Feyre might not admit it until the end of her immortal life, but she was nervous. She didn't want Rhys's family to look at her like she was a monster, just like everyone else did.

The one with the longer hair—Cassian, if she remembered correctly—just winked at her and said, "Come on, Feyre. We don't bite. Unless you ask us to."

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, the way he did when he was nervous, too. "The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer," he said. The other one, Azriel, just snorted at that.

Despite having been in the Night Court less than a minute, they were obviously comfortable. It gave Feyre the confidence to say, "I'm glad an appreciation for affirmative consent is a family value."

That actually coaxed a rare smile from Azriel, but Feyre didn't notice as she descended the rest of the stairs. Her attention was all on Rhys.

Perhaps it was the mating bond still being fresh, but after having him gone for just a few hours, the urge to launch herself into his arms was strong. Instead, she forced herself to focus and added, "But you did get the Book, right?"

Rhys smirked. "Of course I got the Book. Have you ever known me not to deliver?" he said.

In truth, she hadn't. But before Feyre could say anything, Rhys was kissing her, probably pressing a bit closer and dragging it out a bit longer than he should in front of family she'd just met.

When they broke apart, Feyre refused to look embarrassed. It took every last scrap of grace she could muster—and as a High Lady, that was quite a lot—not to blush furiously. "It's nice to meet you both," she said, then turned to Rhys and added, "I can take the Book to Amren while you show them around."

"Only if you promise to hurry back," Rhys murmured, fingers brushing hers as he handed her the Book.

Feyre's voice dropped lower. "Hurry back to you? Always."

Cassian's cough sounded mysteriously like the word "gross." Azriel chuckled. Normally, Rhys stayed out of his brother's minds, but he pushed past their shields and said, Behave.

Based on their expressions, Feyre could tell that Rhys had said something to his brothers mind-to-mind, but she decided she didn't want to know what it was. She pulled on a coat and tucked the Book securely under it. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to Rhys and added, a note of command in her voice, "We're having a family dinner tonight at the House of Wind. I expect all three of you there."

A family dinner meant everyone would be there. "Then let the games begin, Feyre darling," Rhys purred.

Once the door shut behind her, Cassian mussed Rhys's hair. "Look at you, Rhysie. A mated male," he said, as Rhys batted his hand away and attempted to smooth his hair back down.

"It is good to see you happy, though," Azriel said quietly.

"More importantly," Cassian said, draping an arm around Rhys's shoulder, "has she got a sister?"

His brothers would be in the same room as the Archeron sisters within a few hours—Mother save them all.

Rhys ducked out from under Cassian's arm and indicated the guest rooms up the stairs with a jerk of his head. "Two, plus a cousin who might as well be a sister, too," he said.

When Mor's family caught her with another girl and cast her out of the Hewn City, the Archerons opened their home to their cousin. Mor had told Rhys her story during his first week here, when Feyre had declared she was calling in their bargain, and it had helped him stop being terrified out of his mind of the Night Court. Mor was like him—Rhys had gone Under the Mountain for the love of another male.

After showing his brothers to their rooms, Rhys told them about it, as well as everything else. Feyre had winnowed him here after everything Under the Mountain, so overcome that she'd just blurted out that they were mates. By the end of that first week, they weren't friends, but he hadn't hated her anymore. Then his relationship with Tamlin had broken down in the aftermath of it all, and Feyre had offered him a soft place to land. Working as her emissary, preparing to fight Hybern—it had given him a purpose when he'd been adrift.

Determined to give him all the space and time he needed, she hadn't mentioned the bond since that first day. And yet she'd still breathed life back into him when his time Under the Mountain had left him a half-dead shell of a male. It was only a matter of time before he'd accepted the the bond. During his trips back to the mortal lands, his brothers had heard pieces of the story. But now they knew all of it.

It was a while before Feyre returned, far longer than it should have taken her just to winnow to Amren's apartment and back. Rhys supposed she must have been corralling her Inner Circle and that maybe she'd wanted to give him some time alone with his brothers.

"I'll need to fly you to the House of Wind," she said when she returned and found the three of them in the living room. "We should leave now since it'll be two trips."

"Fly?" Cass and Az said in unison.

Feyre smiled and let her wings shoot out from her back. The twin looks of surprise she got in response made her wonder if Rhys hadn't told his brothers that he could form wings of his own. He hadn't gotten around to learning to use them yet.

"What are you going to do, carry me up there?" Cassian said.

Feyre shrugged. "No one else is going to do it."

"Are you sure you can—"

Before Cassian could finish that sentence, Feyre hooked one arm around his legs and the other around his back and scooped him off the floor. "Is this alright, or would you rather I sling you over my shoulders?"

"Shit Feyre, what the hell do you eat in the Night Court?"

According to the rumors, younglings, but it didn't seem like the time to mention that. Feyre thought she might have frightened him, but Cassian seemed positively delighted that she could carry a man as large as him with so little effort.

"You'll find out in a few minutes," she said.

Feyre carried Cassian the last few steps to the door, then shot into the air once they were outside. To Cassian's credit, he didn't even squeeze his eyes shut during takeoff.

Now that it was just the two of them with no one else in earshot, Feyre said, "If you're considering giving me a speech about how you'll kill me if I ever upset Rhys, you don't have to bother. I already know."

Cassian snorted. "Rhysie might be a little scrawny, but he can handle himself."

If Cassian thought Rhys looked scrawny now, he should have seen his brother when he'd left the Spring Court for good. Now he looked the healthiest Feyre had ever seen him.

"Good. Anyone who marries into my family needs to be able to."

"What makes you say that?"

As if on cue, they reached the balcony to the House of Wind. "You'll know why by the end of dinner."

Her sisters were already waiting there. Elain had chosen a soft blue gown and kept her wings hidden; ever the gracious hostess, she'd probably been careful to look as unassuming as possible when meeting Rhys's human family for the first time. Nesta, however, was still in her fighting leathers, wings out as always.

As she set Cassian down, Feyre gave them a look clearly telling them to be nice. She didn't bother using her daemati powers—she and her sisters could communicate plenty with just a single glance.

And with that, she turned back to retrieve Azriel next. Rhys had told her that Az was the only member of his family with manners, and Feyre could see why. Azriel made polite conversation about Velaris and even started to thank her for flying him when they reached the House of Wind.

But they both went silent at the sight of Nesta and Cassian grappling on the balcony.

Feyre set Azriel down with a sigh. This could mean one of two things: either Cassian had immediately said something that set Nesta off (certainly possible) or the two of them were getting along swimmingly (equally likely).

Down the bond, Feyre said to Rhys, I know I said I'd fly you here, but we have a situation. You should winnow.

"Nesta!" Feyre said, shaking her head. Elain gave her a sympathetic look, and Feyre could've sworn she heard Mor and Amren snickering together in the corner. "Must you?"

Both Cassian and Nesta froze mid-grapple at the sound of Feyre's voice and turned to look at her. Nesta used the moment of distraction to roll over and pin Cassian to the stone floor.

Just then, Rhys winnowed above the balcony and dropped smoothly into place next to Feyre. "I suppose this is the situation you mentioned?" he said.

Nesta stood up, moving with her usual grace. "There is no situation," she said coolly. "I think I've proven my point."

She held out a hand to help Cassian up, so Feyre concluded this was a sign her sister had decided she liked him. Based on the pulse of relief down the bond, Rhys had come to the same conclusion.

Which was fortunate—with the way Cassian looked at Nesta as he took her hand, his eyes might as well have been replaced by hearts.

Rhys and Feyre locked eyes as a simultaneous Oh no crossed both sides of the bond. There would be more sparring from Cassian and Nesta in the future, and they'd all be lucky if they left the House of Wind standing at the end of it.

"Anyway, these are my sisters Nesta and Elain, my cousin Morrigan, and my second-in-command Amren. And this is Rhys's brother Azriel," Feyre said.

Elain stepped forward, extending her hand. "It's so good to finally meet you," she said with genuine warmth. "Rhys talks about you often."

"Talks about me positively, I hope," Az said with a wry smile, taking Elain's hand. "It's nice to meet you, too."

Elain being her usual charming self set Feyre's mind at ease—Mother bless her spymaster of a sister, who could drag secrets out of anyone with just a few smiles. Maybe they could actually get through this dinner without sending Rhys's brothers running away in fear.

"Is there a reason we can't continue this conversation over dinner? I'm starving," Mor said.

"As if I'd ever get between you and food," Feyre said. Mor stuck her tongue out, and Feyre hissed at her cousin.

As they walked towards the dining room, Rhys and Feyre reached for each other's hands at the same time. With the mating bond still so fresh, the urge to touch each other at all times was still strong. The only thing that had cleared Rhys's head enough to leave for the mortal lands without Feyre had been sparring with—or if he was being honest, getting a sound thrashing from—Nesta that morning.

The eight of them took their seats, a few significant glances between Feyre, Rhys, and Elain communicating their agreement to make sure Cassian and Nesta were seated as far from each other as possible. Mor caught sight of it and smirked into her wineglass.

The food was relatively plain—Feyre hadn't wanted to ask the cooks to put something elaborate together at the last minute. And yet Cassian was blatantly sniffing at his forkful of chicken. Azriel kicked him under the table.

Rhys gave his brother a sympathetic look. "It was hard for me to trust the food when I first came to Prythian, but I assure you it will be the best you've ever tasted," he said.

Feyre pushed her own food around on her plate uncomfortably. She'd forgotten the human superstitions about eating fae food, even though Rhys had told her all about how hesitant he'd been to touch it during those first days in the Spring Court. Cauldron, she'd just gone and invited them to dinner.

Rhys squeezed her hand under the table. It's fine, he said down the bond, giving her another one of those smiles that made her heart flip.

"I never thought we'd find someone whose table manners were worse than Amren's," Nesta said from the other side of the table.

Cassian grinned, holding her gaze the entire time he bit into the slice of chicken, chewed, and swallowed. Nesta's lips curled back into a snarl.

Mor quietly filled a glass of wine and slid it to Feyre.

"Criticizing my table manners? That's bold coming from an Illyrian," Amren drawled.

Feyre stilled, instinctively looking to Rhys. His brothers had already been brave just to come to Prythian and eat their food, and she did not want to explain exactly why Amren wouldn't touch her plate, at least not on Cassian and Azriel's first night here. It had been difficult enough to get Amren to forgo the blood just this once.

"Might I remind you that I'm also Illyrian?" Elain said, a little tartly. It had always been a point of contention with her—she might not have been a natural-born warrior like her sisters, but her mother hadn't allowed her to get out of training to fight.

"Elain's right," Mor said. "It's not Illyrians who are the uncivilized ones, it's the males. We had five centuries of peace until Rhys came along."

"And just had to drag two more with him," Nesta muttered darkly.

Feyre shot Nesta another warning look, ready to remind her sister that Rhys had brought his brothers to the Night Court for their own protection. Nesta just shrugged as if to say "I have a point, don't I?"

Yet again proving he was the only one of Rhys's brothers with manners, Azriel steered the conversation to safer ground, saying, "Your top advisors are all female? That would be unheard of in the mortal lands."

The wave of pride that Rhys sent down the bond was so strong that Feyre blushed and ducked her head, a little overwhelmed. "Far too many courts have no female advisors at all. I dreamed of something better, and when I became High Lady, I made sure things changed," she said.

So had her sisters, who were dreamers just like her. After taking command of her armies, Nesta had ensured female Illyrians received ample opportunities to train as warriors, and it had been Elain who turned the library in the House of Wind into a place of refuge run by priestesses in need of it.

"It's not exactly what I expected when I first arrived here, either," Rhys said.

Nesta started to say something, but Elain cut her off with a glare and said, sweet but pointed, "I'm glad we were able to change your mind."

"Speak for yourself," Nesta muttered.

Cassian's eyes gleamed, bright with interest, as if he were sizing up an opponent. Nesta stared back without blinking.

Before she had a chance to start growling, Azriel said, "Have you always been able to fly?"

It was all the opening Elain needed to direct the conversation to an anecdote about Feyre crashing face-first into a tree when she'd been learning to fly as a child. And in turn, Cassian seemed to get into Nesta's good graces by telling a story about hitting Rhys in the face with a snowball several times in quick succession.

At the sound of her family's laughter, Feyre found herself relaxing. By the end of the meal, it seemed they'd actually managed not to scare off the humans or offend them, and they'd even dodged any awkward questions about exactly why Amren hadn't touched her food. Perhaps…this dinner might not have been anything close to the disaster that she feared.

Or at least, it seemed that way until their plates were clear, and as they all stood to go, Mor grinned and said, "Why don't we take Cassian and Azriel to Rita's?"

#acotar #rhysand acotar #feyre archeron #i've been sitting on this prompt for an embarrassingly long time

42 notes · View notes

lucienarcheron · 10 months

Text

My Remedy [Nessian]

Prompt: Cassian helping Nesta overcome her fear of the bathtub. | Soft Nessian is my favorite kind of Nessian. | Originally posted on 01.31.2018

Genre: Fluff Rating: SFW

Nesta stared down grimly at the empty bathtub. She did not want to take a bath. She was perfectly fine with her damn bucket but someone wouldn’t stop nagging her about it.

“Time to face those fears, young lady.”

She rolled her eyes and then glowered at him.

“I don’t want to.”

“You were able to sit in there for a little bit every day this past week.” Cassian replied. “Let’s try that with more water this time.”

Nesta frowned, her fingertips tracing the edge of the tub. “I don’t want to.” she mumbled again and Cassian gave her a look.

“Nes.” he started, pulling her against him and interlacing their fingers. “You need to push those fears. You can’t let it control you. You told me to help you. I’m here to help you. You can do this. You’ve been doing it. It’s going to be fine.”

Her eyes locked on their interlaced fingers and she pursed her lips. He was right, of course.

She just had to have those eight shots of vodka and just had to open her big fat mouth about the damn bathtub thing. She just had to make him promise to help her get over it. Her eyes followed the matching tattoos that laced both their hands down to their forearms. What an idiotic way to seal a bargain. And it wouldn’t go away until they fulfilled it. So here they were.

“I’ll have to be naked.”

“That is generally how one takes a bath, yes.” Cassian said and the smirk that followed had her glaring at him. “But seeing as you’ve been wearing something each time you sat in here, I didn’t think you remembered that.”

“I don’t want to be naked with you.”

“Now now, no need to lie, sweetheart. You said very different things on that eventful drunken night of yours.”

She groaned and he laughed, bringing a hand up to lift her chin and meet her gaze.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll wait outside. We’ll only put a little bit more water than last time and I’ll wait until you need me.”

Nesta’s face paled and the grip on his hand tightened. “No. I don’t want you to be outside.”

“Then I’ll be here with you and you can wear something you don’t mind getting wet.”

Nesta swallowed then frowned. She loved him. Getting naked shouldn’t be a problem, right? She actually hated sitting in wet clothing but the prospect of being completely bare in front of him…

There had been a lot of touching here and there, hands had slipped under dresses and shirts. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what would be underneath her clothes. He’d certainly felt her up enough.

But this was too many vulnerabilities in one situation.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” he said quietly and she met his gaze.

“Why are you so nosy?”

He snorted. “You are my business. It’s not being nosy when it’s my business.”

“You think everything is your business.” she grumbled and he grinned.

“Everything about you is definitely my business. Mate.”

She squinted at him even though her heart leaped at the word. Nesta had been very hesitant about the mating bond even though they both knew it was there. They had talked about it at length and had reached a point they were both comfortable with....but still. Mates or not, they had chosen each other.

“Nesta.”

She hated when he said her name like that. All soft and caring and loving. It always made her melt for him. She glanced at him and he gave her an encouraging smile in return.

“I’m thinking...that I love you.” she mumbled. “And getting naked shouldn’t be a problem.”

He gave her a soft smile. “I love you too. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Nes. Get one of your sleeping gowns. That should work fine.”

“I was in a sleeping gown when I went into that stupid cauldron.” she grumbled and her fists clenched. Cassian leaned in and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.

“That may be true but there is no cauldron here. It’s just you and me and some water in a bathtub.” he said slowly, reassuringly. “Nice, calm, safe water. You will be fine.”

Nesta scowled though her heart was thundering. She felt so weak and she hated it. She hated this fear. She hated that it was taking so long to get over it.

“Are you going to start petting the bathtub and telling me how nice and calm that is too?” she asked with a quirked brow. Cassian grinned then on cue, let his hand pet the edge of the tub.

“Nice bathtub. Safe bathtub.”

Nesta shook her head, trying but failing to hold back a chuckle. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet, you wouldn’t have me any other way.” he said with a wink and Nesta snorted, despite the small smile on her lips. He planted a kiss on her cheek then moved around her, wings tucked in tight so as not to knock anything over, and he opened the water to start filling the tub. She watched him, her heart warming incredibly as he moved about.

Sometimes, when he slept beside her at night, she marveled at how they had gotten this far. At how this annoying, bat-like person had wormed his way into her icy-cold heart. Gods, it terrified her at times. But then he smiled at her and her stupid heart did flip-flops, making it all okay. She used to think that love was such an idiotic concept and yet, it was the best thing she had ever felt.

“Nes?”

He was waving a bottle in her face and Nesta blinked, realizing he had been talking to her.

“Hm?”

“You alright?” he asked, brows furrowed and she nodded.

“I was just thinking.”

“I know it’s hard to resist thinking about me naked, Nes but keep your dress on. I feel like I need to call Az for protection.” Cassian scoffed dramatically and Nesta rolled her eyes.

“I’m going to kick you out if you don’t stop.”

“I don’t think you can resist how magnificent my ass is going to look when I casually bend down to close the water.” he replied with a grin and did exactly so. “Are you watching, Nesta? I’m casually bending.”

Her lips twitched and Nesta tried so hard not laugh when he looked over his shoulder, exaggerating his pose but she failed, her laughter ringing throughout the room. Cassian chuckled as he straightened then leaned in for a kiss, back to holding a bottle up.

“Want to add bubbles? It’ll make it relaxing.”

Her eyes finally flickered back to the tub, momentarily forgotten in their conversation and the laugh died in her throat.

“I don’t know.”

“Hey...look at me.” Cassian said softly, gently guiding her chin so that their eyes met. “I am right here.”

Nesta swallowed and then she asked him a question she had been very hesitant to ask before. “Will you sit in there with me?” she asked quietly and Cassian blinked, then gave her a soft smile.

“Of course.”

She watched him slip off his shirt and her anxiety calmed. He was here, she could do this. Nesta turned and slipped off her dress, a little slowly, hesitantly. During these previous bathing sessions, Feyre had given her a swimsuit and so she didn’t feel as self-conscious as before. But today, she hadn’t anticipated this forced bathing session so she was wearing a matching bralette and panties set that were very different to the swimsuit.

Judging by the noise that had escaped from Cassian, he seemed to agree and Nesta flushed.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“A warning would’ve been nice.”

“It isn’t any different.” she insisted which was a lie, she knew it was different. Which was why Nesta refused to face him.

“Forget how nice my ass looks, your ass is the magnificent one, Nes.”

She turned to find him smirking and she glared at him. “You’re a pig.”

“That you love.”

“I hate pigs.”

“Impossible since I’m your favorite.”

“Cassian.”

“Nesta.”

“You’re being irritating.”

“I could do this all day.” he replied, giving her a grin and Nesta was ready to launch herself at him. “But, the water is going to get cold and while you were giving me a strip tease, I remembered to add the bubbles. Let’s not waste this nice opportunity.”

She finally noticed how he was standing in nothing but his boxer shorts and Nesta was satisfied to see that indeed, she was leaving more of an impact on him than she had anticipated.

“You go in first.” she said, her eyes on the steaming water filled way past what she was used to and with bubbles covering most of it. Cassian slowly stepped in and sank down with an exaggerated enough sigh that Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She watched him settle back, resting against the tub and then he gave her a smile that made her fight against the hesitation she felt.

“Come on, Nes. I’m fine. You’ll be fine too.”

“It’s deeper than before.” she mumbled, nearing the tub. She knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She trusted him enough. It was a matter of getting it over with at this point.

“That’s true. But you can do it. I’m right here if you need me.” he replied with a smile.

Nesta slowly let her fingers dip into the hot water and she watched the bubbles spread around. It couldn’t be so bad. This was different. She was different. Nesta hesitated once more and her eyes flickered to Cassian. His nod was all she needed, he was right there. Nothing bad would happen to her.

Biting her lip, Nesta slowly climbed into the tub and stood for a few minutes, watching the bubbles move gently. Of course, Rhys would make tubs this huge just so he and Feyre could fuck around in them. She scowled then swallowed. It was fine. It was completely fine that the water reached this high while she was standing.

“How high will the water reach when I sit down?” she asked, her voice strained and Cassian immediately moved forward, reaching out his hand.

“Doesn’t matter, your head is always above the water. Look at me.”

Nesta turned her head to meet his gaze and he gave her an encouraging smile.

“See where the water reaches me? It won’t go past there. You’ll always be above the water.”

“Above the water.” she repeated quietly, her hands locked at her sides.

“Yes.” Cassian confirmed again then reached out and gently tugged on her hand. “Come, sit down with me. I won’t let go of your hand.”

Nesta swallowed again then slowly, clenching Cassian’s hand as tightly as she could manage, she sank down into the tub.

“Cassian.” she choked out, her knuckles turning white as she tightened her grip. This was a bad idea. She shouldn’t have listened to him. This was going to be a terrible, terrible thing —

“I am right here.” he said calmly, pulling her body against his in the water. She had sat, braced on her knees, one hand still gripping his and the other gripping the edge of the bathtub. “Take a deep breath, Nesta. Everything’s fine.”

Nesta did as she was told, taking a deep breath and then blinked, glancing around her at the pool of water with bubbles surrounding them. The water was steady. Nothing was pulling her down and she felt the firm bottom of the tub. The water reached a little bit below her shoulder. She was fine.

“I’m fine.” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

“The water is fine.”

“Feels quite nice, actually.” Cassian replied, his tone humorous but his eyes never wavered off her for a moment. Nesta’s gaze flickered to her hand that was firmly locked in his and then to the other, firmly gripping the tub. Slowly, very hesitantly, she moved the hand gripping the edge of the tub closer to where it met Cassian’s shoulder and then she let go, quickly moving her hand to grip his shoulder instead, feeling his warmth.

She felt Cassian watching her as she pursed her lips, her eyes firmly on the hand gripping his shoulder. Her heart was still beating wildly despite the reassurance of having him there. But here she was, sitting in a tub filled with water and bubbles and a large Illyrian.

“You’re right here.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You won’t go?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not unless you want me to.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

Nesta met Cassian’s gaze as his hand reached out to brush her hair to the side and he leaned in, planting a soft kiss on her shoulder. She flushed. And Nesta Archeron didn’t flush.

“Are you using your Fae magic on me?” she asked quietly, taking a jab at that one moment between them long ago when his lips had first gotten a taste of her neck.

Cassian chuckled as Nesta slowly let go of his hand and placed it on his other shoulder instead.

“You tell me, Nesta. Am I?” he replied, his hands coming to firmly grip her waist and pull her closer to him. She settled on his lap, straddling him, less scandalized to be in this position than she expected. Nesta leaned in to rest against his chest, her head tilting up slightly so her eyes would find his.

“I should be able to do this on my own.” she whispered to him but Cassian only curled a strand of damp hair behind her ear.

“You can do it on your own. Doesn’t mean you have to.” he replied simply.

“You can’t always be here to do this with me.” she argued and Cassian only gave her a smile as his finger slid up her arm to her bralette strap and he gently pushed it down.

“Actually, I can. We can make it a thing we do. Take bubble baths together.” he said and leaned in, kissing her shoulder again and she let him. She let him and let her eyes flutter shut when his kisses moved from her shoulder to her neck. Nesta let him, as his tongue darted out to taste the sweet spot higher up on her neck. She let him, as he sucked gently, causing her fingers to dig into his shoulder and a rush of air to escape her lips.

“You’re doing it again.” she whispered when his hands slid up from her waist, gently massaging her sides and back.

“Doing what?” he asked quietly, his fingers sliding just underneath the bralette she was really despising at the moment.

“Using your Fae magic to distract me.” Nesta replied and he laughed, his lips finally coming up to place a kiss on hers.

“I must be so powerful to be able to use any kind of magic on the mighty Nesta Archeron.” he teased and she chuckled, leaning her head back to place a soft kiss on his neck.

“Are you going to tell me it’s some magic called love next?” Nesta replied, wrinkling her nose, feigning disgust and Cassian laughed again, leaning in to kiss said nose.

“No magic needed to get you to fall for my charms, sweetheart.” he replied with a grin and she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Does putting bubbles on your head count as ruining the moment?”

Nesta paused. She had almost forgotten that she’d been sitting in the bathtub for this long. Her hands weren’t gripping him as tightly as before. Her body felt relaxed.

She was okay. She was safe.

Nesta locked eyes with Cassian and her heart felt so full. This was only a start but it was something she could work with. She’d found a remedy.

“As long as I get to give you a bubble beard in return.”

Cassian laughed then leaned in, his lips locking on hers and she returned the kiss with as much fever as she could muster.

If this was how her baths were going to be from now on, Nesta found that she didn’t mind sitting in a bathtub at all. In fact, as Cassian deepened their kiss and his arm wrapped around her waist, Nesta was looking forward to spending more time in the water with him.

Maybe next time, they wouldn’t have any clothes between them.

Maybe.

#nessian #nessian fanfics #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar fanfiction #gfics #fic: my remedy

70 notes · View notes

julemmaes · 11 months

Note

“hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters

- the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt”

For gwynriel or nessian??? 💕💕💕

Keep them coming girl I'm having so much fun with these ones you have no idea. I also reblogged some others posts with prompt if you need inspo, but feel free to continue really

This can be considered a part two to the previous prompt you sent, but can be read separately

Word count: ~2k

Azriel was tired.

No, he corrected himself mentally, "tired" wasn't even beginning to explain the exhaustion binding his bones. Or how he felt like his eyes could pop out of their sockets at any minute with how swollen and read they were.

Surely staying in the pool the entire afternoon and swimming underwater without any goggles hadn't been the smartest option, but the surprised wows and oohs coming from Nyx whenever he opened his eyes and looked at him had been enough to convince him it was worth it.

Now, he wasn't so sure anymore.

Everyone was crammed in Rhysand and Feyre's huge kitchen—not that anything else in their summer villa could be considered anything but—and he was keeping to himself in the corner that faced the backyard, in case he needed a fast escape plan.

He loved his family, he truly did. But they could be a bit too much from time to time, and now that his only excuse to avoid adult interactions had been put to sleep, he felt like he had to find another way lest people started approaching him.

He sighed to himself, sipping his wine as he cracked another peanut in his fist.

There was another person in the room that could make this less miserable for him, but he really didn't want to pull her out of that bright bubble of laughter that surrounded her.

Azriel looked to the side, glancing at Gwyn.

She was sitting on the edge of the kitchen island closer to him, her hands tucked under her thighs and her naked legs dangling. She was only wearing her bikini bottom and one of his dark blue sweaters and her hair were like a fire avalanche of beauty.

She was stunning.

And he was the luckiest piece of shit ever.

His girlfriend turned his way, tilting her head to the side as if sensing his gaze on her. She flashed him the whitest and brightest smile she could and his heart sunk. She squinted and her freckled nose wrinkled in that adorable way of hers.

He was so lucky.

She frowned slightly, her smile still in place, as if to ask him if everything was okay. He nodded tiredly, assuring her he was good and after a few beats where she observed him attentively, she nodded in turn, convinced, and went back to whatever they were discussing.

He suppressed a smile and hid his chin in his shirt, hoping no one was looking at him and would catch him simping over his love.

When he went to take another swing from his glass and noticed it was empty he huffed, annoyed. And although he was already a bit tipsy and he knew he shouldn't be drinking with how weary he was, he risked his peace to go and retrieve a refill.

He walked slowly to the center of the kitchen, brushing a finger down Gwyn's leg and moving further before she could stop him. He sidestepped Emerie and Mor, who were sitting on the countertop, legs intertwined together, hands on each other. Mor was kissing her fiancée's jaw and Emerie seemed completely oblivious to it as she kept talking.

"All I'm saying is that this house is already big enough," she laughed, dumbfounded. "You definitely don't need to add more rooms or another gazebo, the one you have is perfectly fine."

Cassian snorted, throwing snacks in his mouth like they hadn't just finished a five course meal.

"But wouldn't it be nice if in, let's say, a few years, when everyone starts having kids, they could have their own smaller, cozier gazebo?" Feyre said, leaning with her elbows on the island.

A choking sound cracked the beautiful picture Feyre had been trying to paint, and Cassian started coughing, spitting crumbles and munched up food everywhere. Nesta, standing right next to him, looked at him with such a disgusted face that Azriel had to chuckle.

Elain patted him on the back until he was breathing normally again and at this point, Azriel was wondering how not everyone had caught up on what was going on.

He shook his head as he poured red blood wine in his glass and kept silent as he made his way to Gwyn's side, trying as much as he could to hide behind his girlfriend's frame.

"You good?" Nesta asked her husband, eyeing him with calculated calm.

His brother cleared his throat one last time before nodding.

Azriel noticed Rhysand holding back his own laugh, trying to hide his smirk in his cup of coffee. That was interesting.

So Cassian had told him. Making a quick sweep of the entire room, only Lucien seemed to be in on their secret, considering how shitty of a job he was doing at pretending he wasn't laughing, too.

Bad, bad choice, had his brother made. If Nesta found out Cassian had told so many people, she would have him by the balls. And Rhysand owed him fifty bucks.

"Anyway," Feyre clapped her hands, "I really, really want to build a smaller version of the one we already have."

Azriel tuned her out then, not really caring for this topic and decided to focus on the feather touch caresses his girlfriend was trailing down his forearm.

She did that all the time.

Gwyn unconsciously touched him everywhere. All. The fucking. Time. Didn't matter where they were, what they were doing, who they were with, his girl found a way to have her soft, delicate, slender fingers on him.

And he loved every second of it, but he wanted more.

With his mind fogged by the alcohol and the throb in his head due to the extended time spent with his family, all he needed was a bed and his girlfriend in his arms, but he would never pull her from this place unless she asked him to leave.

And he definitely wouldn't initiate any kind of pda. He had tried, many and many times again, to be the kind of person who could just sweep their lover into their arms and cover them in kisses in front of a room full of people. Unfortunately, he wasn't comfortable with being the one to seek out his partners for fear they would feel forced to accept what he was offering in front of others. So he waited, and waited.

And waited for Gwyn to do more than just brush the tips of her fingers up and down his arm, but she wasn't even looking at him, her back to his chest—and she wasn't even leaning on him.

He brushed the fabric of his sweater, down to the hem of it and tugged slightly. When his girlfriend suddenly laughed he sucked in his breath and moved his hand away, tucking it in the pocket of his shorts.

Stupid man, just touch her.

She'd told him so many times she wanted him to. That she needed him to touch her, even in front of their friends.

He counted to ten and then chickened out again, deciding to go with his trademark request for affection.

He pinched her sleeve and tugged with a bit more strength than before. Gwyn's head shriveled his way and then looked down at his hand, still clasped around the shirt. The corner of her lips curled and then she scoffed, pulling her hand free from under her thigh.

She silently opened her legs, turning more his way but still keeping her attention on the conversation. Azriel knew it was so the other's wouldn't catch up on their actions, so he didn't take it at heart.

Not anymore at least. The first time she'd appeared this disinterested in their affection he'd fallen down a rabbit hole of insecurities and fears that had lasted days.

He took his rightful place in between her legs, letting his hands travel under his shirt and around her naked waist, pulling her closer to him. With her sitting so high from the ground, his head reached just below her chin and when her fingers laced in his hair, she pushed his face right between her covered breasts. Her legs tied around his hips.

He sighed.

Heaven.

His thumbs were drawing circles right above her butt cheeks, where they were safely concealed by the sweater and that was the only sign he hadn't yet fallen asleep. Even though he didn't deem the chance of that too impossible, with the humming rumbling in her chest and the light scratches on his scalp.

Azriel closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, enjoying their scents mixed together. The remnants of sunscreen on her skin, the perfume of her chamomile shampoo, the faint aroma of the cherries she'd been eating all night long.

He loved her.

The head massage she was giving him suddenly stopped and he felt her voice in his very brain when she whispered in his hair, "Are you tired, love?"

He loved when she called him that.

He nodded, "Dead."

She mockingly gasped, quiet enough just for him to hear and then two fingers pressed lightly on his neck. He chuckled, not moving from his position.

"Nuh-uh," Gwyn murmured, "still very much alive."

His only answer was a groan.

She shifted and her legs released him, and the cold that hit him shocked him enough that he moved away from her. Her hands fell to his shoulders and when he looked up at her, she was smiling down at him.

That fucking smile was going to be his death.

Without taking her eyes off of him, Gwyn announced to the room, "I'm taking my big boy to bed. He needs sleep."

Azriel started shaking his head, ready to complain they could stay and force himself through another hour of this torment if it made her happy, but her hands were on his cheeks and she was kissing him before he could open his mouth.

Hoots and hollers rose from the others and Gwyn laughed in the kiss, forcing him to part from her, but he smiled nonetheless.

He didn't deign his family of a goodbye before his girlfriend dragged him out of the kitchen and up to their room, where he finally stripped and laid down for the night.

Gwyn crawled in bed after him, after having changed into just a pair of slips. They both slept naked at home, and they weren't about to change their habits just because they were on holiday.

She curled around him, chest to chest, their legs finding their way to intricate without making it uncomfortable. Gwyn left a kiss on his collarbone before tilting her head back and looking him in the eyes, leaving another incredibly soft kiss on his chin.

He was having the hardest time keeping his eyes opened, and he only managed to brush his lips against hers before sleep overtook him.

#gwyneth berdara #azriel #gwynriel fluff #side nessian #side feysand #side emorie #acotar #acotar fic

84 notes · View notes

vidalinav · 1 year

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/vidalinav/712546999526998016/omega-verse-nessian-with-nesta-nesting-haha

I’m sorry you can’t just say this and leave it at that (jokes of course)

I would give you my firstborn child for this

I said a lot of things in this post so which one was I leaving you hanging on? I just chose one at random since I felt like writing, but not finishing something.

~ "Where are you going?" Azriel asked, raising a brow at the blankets in his arms.

There was six if his brother bothered to count and Cassian hoped he didn't, because he wouldn't know what to say to explain why he had so many. He couldn't help himself was the only thing that came to mind, but then again, when could he help himself?

Certainly not when they'd first met the Archeron sisters in all their glory and Nesta had raised her haughty nose and he'd insulted her very existence. Certainly not when he'd spent three days servicing her heat after she'd opened the door, flushed and squirming, and she'd become so desperate for him that he nearly bit her right then. She'd kicked him square in the nuts the next morning and still Cassian held the blasphemous blankets in his arms.

Maybe it was when he caught her tear and he'd made a number of promises that he couldn't keep and not keeping them was as good as a knife wound he could never heal from. She could twist it, he decided. If she wanted to, she could take take the knife out and stab him again, and he'd come right back so she could do it again, because Cassian couldn't help himself.

But Cassian couldn't rightfully explain why he had one blanket of wool so as to keep Nesta warm when she was holed up in the house of all places and one of cashmere incase she wanted something soft. One in a greyish blue he'd only seen in her eyes. One in a bright red... just in case she thought of him. One in a knitted pattern that reminded him of her and another so plush he could see her hoarding it into her nest like a little dragon.

He didn't get to see much of her nest the last time. The only thing he'd paid attention to was her scent and her body, begging for his touch. Cassian wished he'd paid more attention to the blankets and the baskets and the color of her room, and the trinkets on her nightstand and the books along her wall. The things she wore when she was home and alone, though she didn't wear much after he'd arrived.

Cassian was trying his best to fill in the gaps, and he'd hoped any of these provided the comfort she desperately deserved. Especially now, when she'd lost the human comforts that once was her whole life.

So, Cassian lifted his wings to Azriel in answer and casually offered, "I'm going to stretch my wings."

But that wasn't a good enough explanation for the shadowsinger and not for his high lord either, who shuffled down his newspaper and gave him a look that meant he didn't need to read his mind to know he was lying.

Rhys hummed a non-committed sound, squinting at the sheer volume. "And the blankets?"

"If I get cold, I'll have something to keep me warm. You, of all people, told me to take extra care of them while they're still healing."

"Yes, but why six?"

Azriel jutted his chin to the basket encased in his hand. "And what's in there?"

Cassian rolled his eyes and even that movement made him think of the female locked away in a mountain top who needed to eat something before she withered away. "Why do you need to know?"

It was Rhys who answered, fluffing his newspaper as if a dismissal. "Because I don't want to hear a complaint from an Archeron sister about a harassment from a moony Illyrian... especially when she still won't let us help her."

Which is why, Cassian wanted to argue, this was exactly what he needed to do. He'd been up there every morning for two weeks and she'd thrown a book at him, roared at him, flipped him off, but it had taken effort.

She'd been quiet, always looking to check on Elain as if she wasn't also irrevocably changed. It had taken him too long to see that ire, hear that scoff, summon that storm in her eyes, and it had scared him almost as much as seeing her head dunked under that cauldron. Cassian wasn't sure when it started--when he began to bring gifts with him and tiny trinkets and books-- but he'd done it every day this week.

If she'd thrown it out the window when he left, he didn't know. Cassian didn't care, because at least it was a movement, a moment, a true emotion.

The basket had food. Sweets, in fact, because it was the only thing he knew she would eat. She'd refused the chicken, the roast, the curry, the stew, but after every day the one thing she'd touch was the dessert.

So today, he'd brought enough dessert to feed a small army and maybe he'd snuck in the zucchini bread and the carrot cake to provide some semblance of a vegetable intake and maybe he'd still packed bread albeit with honey butter, and maybe he'd still packed a meal she could share with Elain. Pasta with roasted butternut squash.

But she would eat, if it was the last thing he'd do.

Rhys snorted, " and if you're not careful, she might hang you from the House of Wind with those blankets and how will I explain that to the people of Velaris."

To be continued

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #omegaverse nessian

67 notes · View notes

tato-acm · 2 years

Text

Proposals by tato-acm

*drunk Gwyn at Nessian wedding party*

Gwyn: you know, this really isn’t fair…

Cassian: what?

Gwyn: you, marrying Nesta. You’re already her mate, do you need to be her husband, too? First a mating ceremony, now a wedding with Nes. That’s so selfish… *shakes head*

Cassian: Berdara, what are you talking abou-

Gwyn: I propose this: you get to be her mate, I get to marry her next time! *smiles and nods proudly*

Nesta: …I’m listening.

Cassian: next ti- we’ve been married for less than an hour and you already want to be someone else’s wife, Nes? *leans in with a teasing grin*

Nesta: *eye-rolls, pushing his face away* Not someone else’s - Gwyn’s. Hush, I’m intrigued.*turns to Gwyn* Go on, love.

Gwyn: *puts on her most serious pose* We are immortal, that’s a very long time to be married to one single person *teal eyes go wide dramatically* forever…

Cassian: *narrows eyes*

Gwyn: *holds up both hands in surrender* But you’re right, Cass… You should get a chance to experience married life with Nes. So, let me propose this: you guys stay married for like 2 years -you know, like a trial run- *leans in and whispers conspiratorially* or even less, until you annoy Nes enough for her to need a break from your face *winks*- then Nes and I get married! *grins at Nesta*

Nesta: *seriously considering this*

Cassian:…so, we’d just keep switching? You two would stay married for 2 years too, than I-

Gwyn: Oh, no, no… We stay together for at leeeeast *squints eye thinking* 20 years. We are pretty compatible. *nods, reaching for Nes and interlocking their fingers together*

Cassian: and what about Az?

Gwyn + Nesta: what about him? *frowning*

Cassian: won’t he be lonely, without you? *smirks*

Gwyn:… not if you two get married, too?! *wiggles eyebrows and grins*

Cassian: *seriously considering this*

Azriel: *arrives at the table, holding a glass of water and a plate full of chocolate truffles for drunk Gwyn* did you just…propose to Cass for me? *brows high with amusement*

Gwyn: someone had to, Shadowsinger. You’re just too slow…*shakes head* 500 years to make a move? *a slow wicked grin spreads across her face* But, I mean, it did take you over 2 years to figure out we were mates after we met… *avoids his gaze, grabbing a handful of chocolate truffles, dropping half into Nesta’s waiting hand*

Azriel: *narrows his eyes at her*

Gwyn: didn’t it, though? *mimics his narrowed eyes, smirking as she pops a chocolate truffle in her mouth*

—————————

no mates allowed

#gwynesta #nessian #gwynriel #gwyn berdara #nesta archeron #cassian #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #shadowsinger

249 notes · View notes

c-e-d-dreamer · 6 months

Text

Listen, I know that technically Elucien won my WIP Wednesday poll by a surprisingly close 2 votes, but I actually finished writing this unplanned Nessian fic today over dinner, which means I'll be able to edit it tomorrow after work and post on Friday sooooo hope everyone enjoys this snippet?

“Imagine if he pulls me out of the crowd and invites me back to his place after the show,” the other girl in the tee offers to her friend.

“Once he sees you, he totally would.”

“I bet he’s amazing in bed too. He’d rock my world, and then I’d be like no need to look any further. You found your future wife.”

The girls laugh and practically squeal in agreement, but Nesta has to swallow down a scoff. She doesn’t know why the conversation scrapes across her skin, why it grates against her nerves. She knows that Cassian and his brothers have a large female following for their band. She knows that she’s the one who asked to keep their relationship more private. She knows that it’s their bed he comes home to each night, that she’s the one he wakes with soft kisses and quiet good mornings, that she gets the ‘I love you’s and the smiles just for her.

But there’s no denying the anger that starts to lick through Nesta’s veins, fire crackling and flaring beneath her skin. There’s no denying the annoyance that twists through her stomach, tightening like vines in her chest. It takes everything within her to bite her tongue around the words she wants to sneer, instead shouldering past the girls and through the crowds to continue her trek toward the side of the building.

When she reaches the back of the building, she spots Cassian's truck in the lot. The pair of stagehands smoking and the big, burly security guard standing near an otherwise nondescript metal door let her know she's found what she's looking for. She unzips her jacket enough that she can pull free her pass, flashing it, but rather than letting her in, the security guard holds out his arms to stop her. His eyes narrow suspiciously, sweeping over her and squinting at her pass.

It has Nesta's anger burning into full-blown rage, into a living, writhing thing that digs its claws into her chest and begs to be released. Her boyfriend is in there. Her boyfriend. And she won't have these people looking at her like she's just some groupie. Won't have these girls thinking they're going home with Cassian.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #punk rock Cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acosf #my fic

79 notes · View notes

witch-and-her-witcher · 4 months

Text

For @asnowfern, a gift for @acotargiftexchange! The support and positivity of your responses left me brimming with creative inspiration, so please enjoy this Nessian First Hybern War (and after) AU.

Thank you @popjunkie42-blog and @wilde-knight for your beta reading and handholding. <3

Ao3 | 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, (7)

~*~

nessian | E | marriage of convenience, first hybern war AU, angst, whump, emotional slow burn

War brings them together, a bond binds them - but is that enough for two broken people to find love with each other?

~*~

The rest of the morning passes in a flurry with moments of such intense anxiety Nesta doesn’t know how her or Elain remain on their feet. The gathering once they leave the camp and file into a town square — Windhaven, if she has to guess — is spilling into side streets and busting out of the town’s seams.

Music curls through the throngs of fae, their voices melding into a cacophony of undulating tones that complement the high energy chords the instruments play. Colorful streamers of fluttering triangles on yards and yards of string criss cross the streets and the town square. The smell of steaming dumplings, sizzling meats, and roasting vegetables rise from street carts — but no one eats. The vendors watch their food, but no customers approach.

Everyone else's attention goes to the center of the square.

A platform sits there, nothing elaborate, but enough for a dais and standing room aside it. Nesta squints, trying to get a glimpse of the female who is standing at the dais with gleaming talons and lustrous, unnotched wings unfurled behind her.

Tita Noonya shoves and jabs to forge their path to the front of the crowd. Occasionally, Nesta catches females catching sight of her and Elain and making faces and immediate tittering of responses.

“Is it so odd to see humans here?” Nesta asks, unable to contain herself after glaring at a particularly upfront female’s sneer.

Although they stand apart for their pale skin and lack of wings, Nesta has spotted a few other fae like Jun who don’t have wings and paler skin, albeit pointed ears … Illyria is certainly homogenous in its make up, but surely humans aren’t so looked down on if they’d fought for their freedom?

Tita Noonya rolls her eyes, doesn’t look at Nesta when she answers. “It’s not your race, girl. It's the colors you wear.”

“Because they’re Cassians?”

The female eyes her with ink black eyes, the clouds dispersing the sunlight enough to make it impossible to distinguish her pupils from her dark, dark brown irises. Disdain is held deep within them. “You’ve made Illyria’s war hero ineligible.”

“That’s —” Nesta wants to argue, but horns begin to blast.

The crowds part with snaps and pops, confetti rising up along with cheers as the legion marches into the town square. It seems impossible to fit more bodies into the space. But they do.

Nesta catches a glimpse of Cassian at the front of the warriors, alongside his War Chief Devlon. Dark hair gleaming, cords of gold wrapped around one of his shoulders, all seven of his siphons on display and a sash tied around his hips that looks like it should be a sword belt. He’s the only warrior walking without a saber.

Nesta’s heart squeezes.

No wonder the females are upset with her.

Ruggedly handsome, brown skin glowing with his virility and strength …

Nesta presses her thighs together to ease the sudden throb at her apex.

The crowd seizes and swells, wings blocking out her view. But the image is burned into her mind.

Dashing. Cassian is dashingly handsome here and to see her First Defender in a position of honor dries her mouth and sends arousal low in her belly.

Her husband. Her mate.

Hers.

#thank you all for putting up with my daily updates!#i hope youve enjoyed dear alexis!#switching to sunday updates from here on out #i love you all so much who have been so supportive and interactive so far!!#nessian #nesta x cassian #CYLMWIHM #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar winter gift exchange 2023 #my writing

18 notes · View notes

bittermuire · 1 year

Text

Updated Masterlist

My Ao3 | Link to previous masterlist

•

Nessian:

The day after the next day - Nesta struggles to let Cassian into her life. Domestic fluff, modern au.

Nightmare - Shaken by nightmares, Nesta goes to Cassian. Angst, post-acowar.

The wrong confessions on a rainy beach - Nesta and Cassian talk after she decides to marry Eris. Angst, modern au but could be read in canon as well.

For you, there’s only love - Nesta reflects on her relationship with Cassian. Tiny little one-shot.

Be the first who ever did - Nesta gets sick and Cassian takes care of her, despite the tension of their loveless marriage. Angst, hurt/comfort.

Nezriel:

A nightlight and a bottle of wine - After she cuts ties with the Inner Circle, Nesta and Azriel strike up an odd friendship. Modern au, at this point the second part is urban legend but could still happen.

Moonlight - Nesta and Azriel talk about her recovery. Canon one-shot.

A rainy night in Velaris - Azriel walks Nesta home after a dinner with the Inner Circle. Fluffy and cute.

Rhysta:

A bitter heart - Nesta’s disastrous breakup with her boyfriend brings her and Rhys much closer, despite their less-than-favorable opinions of each other. Modern au.

Lukewarm coffee, a twinkle in his eye - Supermodel Nesta meets old money Rhys through a mutual friend. Lots of fluff and angst, modern au.

The red flower in my heart - After she cuts herself off from the Inner Circle, Nesta grows curiously close to Rhys. Canon one-shot.

Nesta-centric:

Turning the page, building a home - Nesta rebuilds her life with Gwyn and Emerie. Modern au, cute, domestic, from forever ago but I would like to come back to it eventually.

Evidence pt. 1 | Evidence pt. 2 - Nesta is married, and doesn’t bother to tell the Inner Circle the details. Set in canon and very self-indulgent.

A woman in the walls - Lucien goes to Velaris for the holidays, and is unsettled by Nesta’s absence. Gothic horror, Nescien if you squint.

Other:

Beautiful reflection | Mosaics - In the first part, Nesta leaves Cassian at the altar. Second part is Feyre-centric as she attempts to cope without her older sister, and comes to terms with her fate in Prythian.

Translation into Spanish by @nightsofvangogh !!! BR | Mosaics

Happy nesta | Nesta and mor | Gwynriel broadway au | Lucky

#nessian #nezriel #rhysta #nesta archeron #nessian fic #nezriel fic #rhysta fic

93 notes · View notes

fieldofdaisiies · 10 months

Text

Utlima Ex Nobis | ch. IXX

Nessian AU word count: ~2,1k words warnings: mentions of bad mental health summary: Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity is unknown but they can make an antidote.

masterlist

“Nesta is our priority, that is clear,” Cassian says matter-of-factly, the car slowly rolling towards the first two buildings. “She is,” Azriel confirms and Nesta shakes her head frantically. “Never!” she says loudly and sternly. Her fingers curl towards her palm and just when she is about to argue, Cassian cuts her off. “You are, Nes. You have always been and you are now. It does not matter if Az, Eris or I survive. We don’t matter. You do. You always matter and not only because you are vital for the antidote.”

She matters. Cassian thinks she matters — that she is important. That she is important for him. The former air force general kisses the pout on her lips, softly and for a long moment. His hands cradle her face until he draws away, his eyes stilled closed and with an ache in his chest. He knows that there is a chance that one or more of them won’t make it out alive. He also knows that there is no avoiding this. They have to drive right through this, surrounding this area are just large fences, mountains and deep ditches and no roads or paths. These factory buildings have once been the most powerful and influential, now they are no longer in use. At least not for what they once used to be. Cassian is sure that these buildings became the home of many infected, that all sort of infected are living here. And if it has rained the same amount here these past days then it did higher up in Prythian, he has no doubts that they would come across some Bloaters and Shamblers.

Azriel rolls down his window a little so he can point his gun outwards, Nesta and Cassian do the same, Eris just places his gun on his lap — ready for when it is needed. Cassian rubs the back of his neck with his other hand, before he lets go and once again takes Nesta’s into his, squeezing tightly. “We will have a future, Nes.” He smiles at her, but only shortly before his gaze returns to the outside.

It is so damn calm outside, one could hear a needle drop. The sun is glaring down on them, the sky still cloudless. The concrete beneath them is dry and there are large cracks in it. Nesta jumps a little when the car rolls over one large crack and makes an odd noise. But how Cassian holds her hand, brings her comfort and her heart calms. At least a little. Azriel’s head is cocked to the side, he watches their surrounding with wary eyes, his brows lowered. Nesta returns her gaze to her window, staring towards one of the smaller buildings in the area. Once again her thoughts start to wander to when it had been the last time people came to work here or went home. To the people who maybe never made it home, to the families who were waiting for—

She swallows and closes her eyes for a moment. She can’t think of that now. She has to be fully focused, she has to concentrate. She wants them all to survive, they all have to survive this. She squints her eyes, her lips pursed, her index finger on the trigger of the gun. She has to be ready at the drop of a hat. Eris pushes down on the gas a little more, he does not want to drive too fast as when going fast you can easily lose control and it would end in a disaster if Infected stormed them and their car. He draws in a deep inhale, going just a little faster. His knuckles are still white, all their eyes trained on the outside world, all actively listening for something. For noises that could signal danger, could signal that someone was coming for them. If not infected live here, then maybe hunters or other dangerous, lethal, people. Nesta tilts her head a little, thinking she might have seen some movement, but she gathers she has been mistaken. She tries some breathing techniques she has once seen online as a teen. Back then they helped her before exams and dates. Apparently even the old Valkyries used them, but that might be a myth.

“Fuck!” It is Azriel who curses lowly, and just a moment later Nesta sees the source for it. Around ten—

God! Not only ten, that must be over two dozen of infected all of a sudden storming out off several entrances, heading right for the car. They storm the car and even though Cassian shouts at Eris to drive faster, which the former doctor does, or tries to do, they could never make it out. It is too dangerous. Some Clickers, as Nesta now knows, throw themselves onto the car. They try to pull their windows up, but still need the space to shoot. The car slithers over the ground, tumbling and shaking until Eris kills of the engine. “We make it out alive!” he says and looks over his shoulder at Nesta and Cassian. He turns back and kisses Azriel, his eyes closed with pain.

Panic coils inside of Nesta, colliding with horror and dread. She kisses Cassian one last time, pouring all of her love and passion for him into this kiss.

“I wish we had more time, Nes. I regret this. That we did not have more time. That I did not have more time with you, Nes. That we did not meet earlier. But we will make it out of it. And if —god forbid— won’t make it, I will find you in the next world - the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” Cassian’s lips close over hers again, the car shaking frantically around them with the infected driven by their blood lust and hunger, trying to get inside.

They know there is no way to stay in the car, no way to drive on. They have to face them now and they knew that the moment they drove onto the path that led through the buildings. It is almost like they have to do this — like this is the end boss they have to face. Nothing about this journey has been easy, so why should it be easy now?

Firing shots, they climb out of the car and fight the first of their attackers with their bare hands. Moldy, scaly bodies lunge themselves at the four of them, their skewed and with fungal growth sprouting hands reaching for them, but they push and shove and shoot and Nesta digs her knife into the chest of one. She has just pulled it out from her shoe, holding it in her left hand, the gun still in her right. She is fully focused, notices every movement, every motion around her. There is only the thought of getting out alive on her mind and she would do everything in her power to secure this.

There are not only Clickers, that appear very little human, frantically twitch and release those croaky noises. There are others as well like Shamblers…or Bloaters, Nesta does not really remember anymore. And it doesn’t matter. By the end of this she wants to see them all dead. It is the only way to get out, to survive, to get to L.

Her chest heaves with a deep inhale when Nesta thrashes her hand out, hitting one of the…fungus fuckers right in the face. Under different circumstances she would have been massively grossed out, but the moment she blows a bullet through his head her thoughts already go to another Clicker coming for her. His crude echolocation sets her off for a moment but she grounds herself and just a second later her knife is piercing right through the man’s heart. Her mouth twists and Nesta releases a scream when she tears her knife free. There are so many that she has lost sight of Azriel, of Eris and most importantly of Cassian. But deep inside she knows they are alright. And alive. She just knows it. Turning her torso, and shielding it, she dodges the blow that comes flying at her and kicks her foot out to push back the Clicker attacking her, or rather having wanted to attack her. One hand thought, moldy and scaly, collides with the side of her face and Nesta has a coppery taste in her mouth. She does NOT pay too much attention to it, simply thrashing her hand out and piercing her knife through the brain of her attacker. There are so many of them, but they all start to merge into one massive field of infected — they are nameless, most of them faceless and all of them lack most features that would make them seem human. That’s what makes it so much easier to kill them, Nesta thinks. They are no longer people and death would just be a release for them.

She fights with frantic vigor, her body a flurry of motion as she lands blow after blow. Nesta feels unstoppable and powerful. She has gained strength and she has gained power over the past weeks. She knows Cassian has played a big role in it, but mostly it has been the freedom presented to her that has given her this strength. She was free and she could fight and she could live. Cassian has given her back part of her life, a big part. He has shown her heights she has never experienced before. He has given her strength, he has made her believe in herself, her has made her open up, talk about her past, address her traumas and memories. And she…she loves him for that. Yes. Yes, it is true. She loves Cassian Cadell. She is in love with him.

The next blow she lands makes the woman in front of her stagger, but not fall. Nesta was not concentrated, not prepared, has lost her focus for a moment. The moldy hand that reaches for her, pushes the knife out of her hand, and then punches her in the nose. Nesta’s eyes water, blurrying her vision. And that punch has just fueled her anger more. Even though she does not see too well, she lunges forward, at the woman and when she is just mere inches away, thrusts her knife into her chest. She is so happy to still have it, to having been able to pull it out of the other person’s chest. She prefers the knife over the gun, can handle it much better. Vibrating shockwaves of the sound the Clicker makes — the crude and awful echolocation— when she dies reverberate through Nesta and her body shudders fully on its own accord.

And then she keeps on fighting, shooting, stabbing and punching. She loses sense of time and space, her body feels sore and exhausted but she pushes past these feelings, fighting because she knows that not only her life depends on it, but all their lives. In a broader sense, all of Prythian.

Quick movement from her right side catches her eye and Nesta swirls around, blowing her last bullet through the head of an infected of stage 4 — a Bloater. It doesn’t do much harm but when a mass of bullets come for him he blows up in spores and pieces of fungi.

The world around her stops. There is no infected left. No one is coming for her anymore and Nesta can hardly believe it. It can’t be over. They couldn’t have won. Could this truly be possible? Is this truly the end and they could drive on to L. If the car still worked, if—

Nesta does not want to think. She releases a loud sob and throws her hands in the air.

There is a mass of dead bodies around her. The air reeks of decay, of rot and blood. The atmosphere is tense, weighted also with the scent of adrenaline and resolve. Nesta inhales deeply despite the awful smell and lifts her head towards the bright sun. She allows herself to release a loud breath of relief, but the short peaceful moment dies down in the blink of an eye. Cassian’s voice, the shout of pure pain and agony hollows through her body and makes her knees tremble.

“AZRIEL!”

Cassian spins around, eyes squinted at the distance, but there is no sight of his brother. Azriel is gone.

~~~~~~~~~~ tags: @helhjertet @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt@crushedcloudsx @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me @swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan @burningsnowleopard @headcanonheadcase @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

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

18 notes · View notes

stillwintering · 5 months

Text

All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

Read on AO3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

Chapter 5

"Tell me again," Emerie said. "Why are you going to Iowa?"

Nesta stuffed another sweater into her suitcase, wondering if she would have the need for a formal gown on her trip. Amren had been scant on details, referring her to Cassian for information on the schedule in Iowa.

"Because Iowa votes first in the primaries."

Emerie just watched Nesta fold and refold her clothes from her reclined seat on Nesta's bed, not offering any help beyond vetoing several outfits. Nesta hadn't had time to fully furnish her DC apartment, so there was no place else to sit.

"Pack your running shoes," Emerie pointed to the corner of Nesta's small bedroom, where she kept her athletic gear.

"This trip is pretty tight. I won't have much free time to train," Nesta picked up her trainers and exercise clothes. "Can't I join you and Gwyn at the next race?"

Emerie shook her head emphatically. "We both promised Gwyn we would run the National Women's Half Marathon," she said. "Come on Nesta, you know this is really important to her."

Nesta begrudgingly packed her running gear. The advocacy group Gwyn oversaw sponsored a group of women who have survived domestic violence to run in the half marathon each year. It was a critical milestone in these women's journeys, and, despite her reluctance to train, Nesta knew it was a worthwhile cause to help raise money for the shelter.

"Okay, okay," she relented. "I'll try my best to squeeze in a run or two. Happy?"

Emerie squinted at Nesta. "Just promise me you'll call either me or Gwyn if you need some extra motivation."

Nesta rolled her eyes and went back to digging through her closet. Emerie picked up a stack of papers from Nesta's pillow, leafing through its contents. They were Cassian's emails about her itinerary in Iowa.

"And who's Cassian?" Emerie asked as she scanned the documents.

"He works for the campaign, organizing the field offices," Nesta replied. She grabbed a dark purple dress -- it had a low cowl neckline and long slits along its sides -- from her closet.

"So you're going to Iowa with Cassian?"

"He's already there."

Emerie looked up from the papers. "If you're bringing that..." Emerie eyed the dress Nesta was holding and smiled knowingly. "You guys are totally going to fuck," she concluded gleefully.

"Emerie!"

"I'm just telling it like it is." Emerie didn't even bother to look bashful.

"We're co-workers," Nesta said sternly, rolling up the dress and tucking into her suitcase. "It would be inappropriate."

Emerie's smile only grew wider. "That's what makes it hot."

---

Nesta caught the last flight to Des Moines because earlier in the day, she had to review the announcement video's final cut before the Starborn campaign's official launch. This video was crucial as it would serve as Rhysand's first impression to primary voters. She had dedicated countless hours to working with the production team, meticulously reviewing each segment. The finished version was only a minute long, but Nesta thought that it had effectively communicated the essence of the campaign's message: "Starborn for America, for the dreamers among us."

Rhys had wanted to lead with a policy-heavy first video. But Amren and Nesta had both convinced him that the first impression he needed to make was value-based. It needed to be a message that spoke to the hopes and aspirations of the electorate; it needed to inspire people and paint a vision of a desirable future.

Nesta reviewed the full ad run -- TV spots, ad buys, social media strategy -- on the plane ride. She thought if she wasn't so jaded by politicians and their vices, she might actually be excited about the promise of Rhysand Starborn.

It was almost midnight when Nesta's taxi finally pulled up to her Iowa hotel. She was exhausted and was looking forward to sinking into a warm bed -- any bed.

"Nesta!" A voice called to her as she was settling up the taxi fare with the driver. "Do you need a hand?"

By the time she came around the back of the car, Cassian was already lifting her luggage from the trunk. It took her a moment to recognize him outside of the rigid halls of Capitol Hill. She had almost exclusively seen Cassian in some type of suit and his hair tied up neatly. Seeing him in joggers and a white t-shirt was jarring. He was clearly coming in from an evening run, his golden skin glistening and hair wild. Even beneath the unflattering halogen lights of the hotel entrance, he was still striking.

"Cassian?" She blinked. It was as if she was looking at him for the first time.

He flashed her a familiar smile. "Long flight?" he asked her.

Nesta nodded. She took in the muscled chest beneath his sweat-soaked shirt and powerful biceps moving her luggage toward the hotel doors. He had tattoos across his pectorals, and they gathered in intricate patterns below his collarbones. She could just barely make out the dark outlines through the fabric. As he turned towards the lobby entrance, she was pleasantly surprised to see the shadow of tattoos continue across his back -- the planes of his muscles rippling as he hoisted her luggage up some stairs.

Nesta had always known that Cassian was fit -- how the suits he wore around the office seemed to constrain the muscles underneath -- but she wasn't entirely prepared to see his toned body on display like this.

"Isn't it a little late for a run?" she asked, her throat dry.

He smirked, arrogant, as if he had realized his effect on her. Nesta half expected him to quip about how many miles he had just done. But instead, he said, "I couldn't sleep."

Nesta followed him into the lobby.

He stopped in front of the reception desk and turned towards her. "It's good to have you here," he murmured.

Nesta could only stare at him. Cassian's cheeks were flushed, and hazel eyes were clear from exercise. He looked like he walked off the cover of a men's health magazine. It was distracting.

The receptionist cleared her throat behind them.

"I need to check in," she said, her eyes not leaving Cassian's handsome face.

Cassian did not yield under her gaze. He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, towards her. Nesta wanted to reach out and push the hair from his eyes. She wondered how his hair would feel between her fingers.

"I'll leave you to it then," he finally said. He tucked her luggage beside her under the reception desk and sauntered towards the elevator bay. "See you in the morning," he called over his shoulder.

---

Cassian knew he was in trouble the moment Nesta tilted her head toward him at the hotel reception desk. It had been building up for a few weeks now. Maybe even from the day she walked into Rhysand's office and introduced herself. Not that she needed an introduction. Cassian had been reading articles by Nesta Archeron for years now. But he never knew the author was so beautiful, with piercing blue-grey eyes that threatened to bore inside to his soul every time she looked at him like that.

Tonight, Nesta -- all sharpness, yet breathtakingly gorgeous despite having flown halfway across the country -- had just stared and stared at him as if he was naked in front of her. It both unnerved and excited him. But then that final head tilt, like she was about to reach out and touch him, Cassian knew he was a goner.

He had to excuse himself as quickly as possible. Cassian took a cold shower before collapsing into his hotel bed. The two of them were supposed to drive through Iowa together. It was going to be a very long week.

---

Cassian was already at the breakfast bar when Nesta came down to the hotel restaurant the next day.

"Good morning," she said, sleep still thick in her voice.

Cassian handed her a binder and a cup of black tea. "Good morning," he said brightly. He had swum 50 laps in the hotel pool after waking up early and not being able to fall back asleep. His hair was still damp from washing out the chlorine.

Nesta drank her tea, already annoyed by his chipper tone. She had never been a morning person. "What is this?" She opened the binder.

"Our Iowa field strategy," he replied. "We have a small team here. They have been setting up field offices across the state. We need to meet with them."

Nesta thumbed through the document and drank her tea in silence. It was too early to make small talk, she decided.

"Do you want to eat something before we go?" he asked, eyeing her across the table.

"No," she said without looking up from the binder. "When will the yard signs and banners be ready?"

"When Rhys announces," Cassian replied. "The volunteers are ready to distribute them day of."

When she drained her cup, she realized that Cassian had somehow learned exactly how she took her morning tea -- Assam tea brewed for longer than recommended, so it was a little bitter, served with a splash of milk and a dash of sugar. She finally looked up at him, taking in the loose, damp hair and tight-fitting black henley. He looked like a different person entirely -- more relaxed than he had been back in DC, as if he had been holding himself back all along.

Nesta slammed the binder shut in front of her. "Let's go," she said, not allowing herself to dwell on how he'd noticed that she didn't like coffee.

---

By the afternoon, Nesta decided that Iowa did not agree with her. Cassian, on the other hand, seemed to be in his element. He deftly drove them around the city in a red pickup truck -- useful for transporting supplies for the field offices, he had explained -- looking as if he had lived in the Midwest his whole life. Had he been born in the Midwest? Nesta found herself wondering and realized that she knew very little about Rhysand's top deputy.

"You've been out here often?" She asked, turning away from her laptop to look at him in the driver's seat.

Cassian shrugged. "Yeah, I've been through enough to know my way around," he replied, sparing her a brief glance, his hands steady on the steering wheel. "It's a nice city. I like getting out of DC."

The red pickup truck moved smoothly through the streets of Des Moines, blending seamlessly with the local traffic. Still feeling out of place, Nesta shifted her focus from her laptop to the cityscape outside. The buildings, the people, and the overall pace of life in Iowa were so different from what she was used to.

"How long have you been with the campaign?" Nesta asked, trying to piece together more of Cassian's story.

A small smile played on his lips. "Since the beginning," he replied. "Rhys, Az, and I go way back. I had helped out a bit during his first congressional campaign. I was between deployments back then. When Rhys said he was thinking about a presidential run, I came on full time."

"I take it you were also in the military then?"

Cassian nodded. "Lieutenant Colonel, Delta Force, fifteen years," he said, his voice even, eyes fixed ahead. "Az too. Although he mostly liaison with the CIA -- sneaky bastard."

Nesta watched him for a moment, taking in his laid-back demeanor and the way he seemed to appreciate the hum of the truck engine, as if what he had revealed was nothing. Delta Force was the most elite unit of the US Army, executing specialized, often highly classified, operations. That Cassian had been a commander in the special forces, it made perfect sense -- the way he carried himself, so confident and open, yet full of latent strength.

The truck slowed as they approached a busy intersection. "Why politics, though?" she asked, her journalistic instincts kicking in. "After a military career like that, why join a presidential campaign?"

Cassian's expression turned thoughtful. "The simple answer is because Rhys asked me to," he said, his eyes still on the road.

"And the real reason?"

They made a right into a parking lot of a small strip mall. "Full of questions today, aren't we?" Cassian smirked as he stopped the truck.

"Did something happen?" Nesta pressed.

Cassian turned to face her fully. "Now I see why you were such an effective journalist," his smirk only grew wider.

Nesta rolled her eyes and opened the truck door. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow around her. She squinted at the row of storefronts and spotted the makeshift "Starborn for America" office.

"Come on," Cassian called, his long hair blowing free in the spring breeze. "Baz is waiting for us."

---

A/N: I know Iowa is no longer going first in the Democratic primaries in 2024, but I just loved the idea of Nesta and Cassian making their way through the Midwest (the next chapter is going to be so delicious). And I'm not an expert on political strategy or the military. So I'm sorry for any errors in the real-life details.

Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list.

Tag list: @acourtofladydeath @fwiggle @swifti-ed

#fanfic #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #acotar #cassian #nessian #nesta #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #all's fair in love and politics #political au #modern au #feysand #feyre archeron #acotar fanfiction

11 notes · View notes