melonsfantasyworld - Tumblr blog

melonsfantasyworld · 4 months

Text

You Love Our Permanent Chase (And the Bite of Our Bark)

A/N: Down to the literal wire, but a very happy holidays to @freakingata! It is I, your Secret Santa! It has been so lovely getting to know you these past few months, and I've loved writing this fun Nessian fic for you 🥰 I hope you enjoy soccer star Cassian and the holidays shenanigans he gets up to with his work rival Nesta 😉 (cc: @acotargiftexchange)

Word Count: 9,337

Read on AO3

Nesta hates Cassian Valdarez.

She doesn’t care that his play helped carry Velaris FC to the top of the league standings year after year. She doesn’t care that his save against Hybern during penalty kicks sent Prythian to the World Cup final. She doesn’t care that he’s beloved by the nation, and she certainly doesn’t care that he was considered one of the best goalkeepers in the world before a shattered knee ended his career.

Because when Nesta looks at Cassian Valdarez, she doesn’t see the friendly, likable soccer superstar that everyone else seems to see. Instead, all Nesta sees is a cocky, arrogant, insufferable man who’s had everything handed to him on a silver platter.

Nesta worked hard for years to get where she is. She worked hard in high school to earn a scholarship to one of the best universities for journalism. She worked hard to graduate top of her class for her degree. And she worked damn hard interning with barely two pennies to rub together until she was finally promoted to reporter and anchor. She thought she had finally done it. Thought she’d finally made a name for herself and achieved her dream.

Thought.

But then Cassian Valdarez had all but strolled in, the network more than happy to pant at his feet and offer him the job.

So now Nesta is stuck being a co-reporter, a co-anchor to the former soccer star. She’s forced to sit beside him and force a smile while they talk through the biggest plays and the biggest games of the week, the top news in soccer from around the world. She’s forced to listen to his deep timbre, to his drawl as he calls her sweetheart. It’s infuriating.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Speak of the devil. It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her annoyed groan. At least with Cassian standing over her shoulder, she’s able to roll her eyes in peace without him clocking the expression. She doesn’t even bother turning to greet him, to even lift her head and meet his gaze. Instead, she keeps her focus on the papers on the desk in front of her, organizing her notes until she’s happy with them. She hopes the blatant dismissal grates his nerves as much as his presence grates hers.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Cassian asks anyways, sliding into his seat beside her.

“Certainly not as good as yours.”

Nesta remembers the pictures, the headlines that took over social media like a blazing fire. Cassian with his curls disheveled around his face, his hazel eyes bright but hazy, a pretty blonde all but hanging off his arm while they stumbled out of a bar called Rita’s downtown. With bright red lipstick pressed against the golden skin of his cheek in a perfect mark, the photos painted quite the picture, and almost every headline included a cheeky play on words over the fact a former goalkeeper was scoring now.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look for you.”

“Jealous?” Nesta scoffs, snapping her attention to Cassian and his stupid smirking face. “I just feel bad for the poor girl, that she had to spend a whole night with you. Must have been terrible.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that message along to Mor,” Cassian tells her, his eyes practically glinting in amusement despite the fake solemn tone he puts on. “Platonically, of course. In case you were curious.”

Nesta rolls her eyes again, turning back to her notes. “I don’t care.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Cassian chuckles, the sound low and warm, and Nesta clenches her jaw against it. But before either of them can say anything more, the floor manager, Balthazar, steps over to the news desk. He quickly runs through some high level notes from the director, the makeup staff stepping over halfway through to touch up both their faces.

The routine of it all helps Nesta to focus, to center herself. She focuses on the words Balthazar is saying, on the brush skating across the skin of her face. She glances back down to her notes, and for a moment, the rest of the studio fades away. No longer is there the chatter of the camera crew, the movement of coworkers as everything is readied, the blaring stage lights overhead. It is merely the steady thrum of her heart within her chest, the air through her lungs with each breath.

It is merely Nesta in her element as they're counted in.

“Welcome to Velaris Sports and the Football Show,” Cassian begins, shooting a winning smile toward the camera. “I’m Cassian, here with Nesta, and it certainly was an interesting week for the world of soccer. Wouldn’t you say so, Nes?”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her reaction at the stupid nickname, to keep her face smiling toward the camera, even as her fingers flex against her notes. “It certainly was, and I think we’d both agree that one of the top things to happen this week was the Women’s National team’s showing against Hybern. It was clear that though the match was just an early qualifier for next year’s World Cup, those women are here to play. Emerie Marciano’s sipping tea celebration after her goal early in the second half will live in infamy.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Let’s check out that and other highlights from that game in case you missed it.”

~ * * * ~

When the call to cut finally echoes across the sound stage, that red recording light finally flickering off and the stage lights dimming to nothing, Nesta lets out a quiet breath. She takes a moment to close her eyes, relaxing fully back into her seat, back into herself, and lets her television smile drop away.

“Great show today, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” Nesta mutters, pushing up and to her feet and straightening out her skirt. Whether Cassian notices the distinct lack of offering a ‘you too’ or not, she doesn’t know or care, gathering up her papers.

“I especially liked those extra tidbits about the Vanserra family you threw in. Great tie-in for that segment on Lucien Vanserra.”

Nesta doesn’t even bother swallowing down her eye roll. One day, she's sure her eyes are going to fall out of her head, and it's all going to be working with this man’s fault. She turns back toward him, offering a bland, mocking smile. “That’s what happens when some of us actually do our research.”

“Exactly,” Cassian agrees easily with a wide smile of his own, his hazel glinting. He leans back casually in his seat, stretching an arm back and across Nesta’s now vacated one. “That’s what I have you for. You be the brains, and I'll be the beauty.”

Nesta scoffs, settling Cassian with a final scowl before she turns on her heel and stalks off the sound stage. At least now she can settle back at her desk, put on her favorite podcast, and spend the rest of the day peacefully in her bubble away from Cassian while she prepares for their next episode. She needs a drink, a stiff one ideally, but it’s only the afternoon. She decides to settle for something sweet instead to help her through the rest of the day, beelining for the refreshments table set up back near the kitchen.

She grabs one of the mugs at the end of the table first, carefully filling it about three quarters of the way with coffee. She adds creamer next before grabbing a handful of sugar packets, tearing them all and dumping them at the same time. Snagging one of the wooden stirrers, she brings her coffee to the perfect shade, lifting the mug to her lips and taking a small sip. Just how she likes it, the taste blooming on her tongue and warming her all the way down.

“You made me coffee, sweetheart? You shouldn’t have.”

Before Nesta can even react, before she can even turn or say something or roll her eyes for the twentieth time today, a large hand reaches over her shoulder. Dark swirls of ink twist and curl down toward the wrist, and long fingers curve around the top of her mug, plucking it straight from her grip. She whips around, an annoyed scowl already twisting across her face, a raging fire burning in her narrowed gaze. She swears Cassian’s eyes glint at her expression, his smile twitching up that little bit higher as he brings the mug to his lips and takes a sip.

Cassian pulls the mug away with a grimace, peering down into the coffee. “Cauldron, you don’t want to add some coffee to your sugar?”

Nesta smirks triumphantly, even as she blinks innocently up at him. “It’s sweet. Like me.”

“I think you got your ratio off, Nes. It’s clearly not bitter enough.”

“Nesta,” Nesta snaps, jabbing a finger at his chest as she enunciates. “Nes-ta.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Cassian fires back, his ever present cocksure smirk betraying his faux innocence.

“Perhaps you’ve taken too many balls to the head over your career because clearly you must be deaf.”

Cassian chuckles lightly at the quip, but he doesn’t disagree. Instead, he brings the pastry in his other hand up to his mouth, taking a bite. Nesta can’t help but track the chocolate that begins to ooze between his fingers, the way his tongue darts out to catch the sweetness. Her gaze snaps back down to the platter of pastries, excited at the prospect, but all she sees are regular croissants and jam filled scones.

Of course.

Of course, Cassian took the last chocolate pastry. Because taking her job, taking her sanity each and every work day clearly isn’t enough. The audacity of this man. Nesta’s chest feels tight with the heat and rage bubbling between her ribs. It boils over and scrapes beneath her skin, fueling her inner fire and goading her on. Harsh words sit heavy on her tongue, poised and ready to strike, but a quiet throat clear to her left has her swallowing them back down.

Nesta and Cassian both turn their heads and their attention at the same time, finding one of the production assistants, Diedre, standing beside them. Nesta has always noticed she’s a bit on the shy side, and even now, as her eyes glance back and forth between them, Nesta spies the barest hint of pink beginning to spill across her cheeks.

“Sorry,” Diedre mumbles, reaching between them to grab one of the jam filled scones. The color on her cheeks deepens with the attention still on her, her shoulders pinching upwards. “Are either of you planning to participate in the Solstice Week events?”

“Solstice Week events?”

“Don’t you read the company emails?” Nesta sneers with a scoff.

“It’s um… it’s just different events to build excitement for Solstice,” Diedre explains, answering Cassian’s question. “Desk decorating. A cookie exchange. Ugly sweaters. And a Solstice inspired scavenger hunt.”

“So a contest, then? And what prize do I get if I win?”

“What makes you assume you're going to win?”

“I…” Diedre stutters slightly, glancing between them again. “I don’t think there’s any sort of prize.”

“That’s alright,” Cassian offers, turning his gaze back to Nesta and daring to shoot her a wink. “I’ll still win anyways.”

Nesta will admit that when the email came in for her earlier in the week, she merely skimmed it before ultimately deleting it. She’ll admit that she didn’t care about something as silly as the company’s attempt at team building and morale. But, now, she knows. She knows that she will not let Cassian Valdarez get another thing over her, even something as stupid as Solstice Week events. She will not let him bask in another victory that’s all but handed to him because no one else even tries.

Determination has her spine hardening like steel, her chin raising just slightly as she holds Cassian’s gaze firmly. She refuses to let him have this. She’ll show him and this whole production company, the whole network, and she’ll do it in such a way that it wipes that stupid, smug look right off Cassian’s face.

No, this time, Nesta Archeron is going to win.

~ * * * ~

Nesta squints down at the piece of paper she has laid across her desk, running her fingertip over the drawing there. She had stayed up late with Gwyn at the rickety kitchen table that’s been with them since their college apartment. The redhead had always had an affinity for Solstice and the celebrations. And a creative eye. She always ensured their apartment was decked out for the season as early as socially acceptable, and Nesta intended to use her friend’s talent to her full advantage.

Tapping her finger against the page in confirmation, Nesta turns in place. She crouches down toward the bags she brought into the office with her this morning, rooting around until she finds the package of stuffing. She stretches out the stuffing and lays it across her desk, crumbling up pieces of paper and shoving it beneath to create little hills just as Gwyn suggested.

Nesta adds various random figurines and mini fake Solstice trees, and she steps back to admire her work, happy with the winter wonderland she’s created. She returns to her bags and grabs the green streamers next. She maneuvers her desk chair until it aligns to her liking, carefully stepping up onto it. Even with the added height boost, she has to press up onto her toes to get close enough to the ceiling. She jams a hook into the material of the ceiling tiles, draping the first streamer across it.

“You’re in already? What did you do? Sleep here overnight?”

The sudden voice has Nesta jumping in surprise, her balance on the chair wobbling. Two hands shoot out to help steady her, fingers spanning across her entire waist and heat seeping beneath her blouse and skittering across her skin.

“Careful, Nes,” Cassian chuckles quietly. “Don’t want to break that pretty little head of yours.”

Nesta makes a fake gagging noise at the comment. “Don’t try to be cute.”

“You think I’m cute?”

Nesta turns her head enough to glare at the hands still at her waist, but Cassian doesn’t seem deterred. In fact, his telltale smirk only seems to grow at her reaction. With an annoyed huff, Nesta turns back to the task at hand. She hangs the other streamer over the hook, adding the large, red ribbon tied in a bow as the final touch. She steps down off the chair and out of Cassian’s grip, carefully placing the ends of the streamers so it gives the illusion of a tree.

“Looks great,” Cassian comments. Nesta snaps her attention back to him, but the teasing smirk she expects to find is decidedly missing. In fact, there’s nothing but genuineness painted across his expression. “You certainly went all out.”

“Well, it is a desk decorating contest,” Nesta reminds him. She can feel pride bubbling up in her chest, blooming and taking root between her ribs. She doesn’t even bother swallowing it down, doesn’t bother biting back the victorious smirk that tugs up her lips. “What did you expect?”

For a moment, Nesta swears that Cassian’s smile grows at her expression, an emotion she can’t quite pinpoint flaring in his hazel eyes. But then that all too familiar cocksure smirk takes over his face again. His attention dances back toward Nesta’s desk, taking in the different decorations she’s arranged, before he meets her gaze again.

“I honestly assumed you’d be more of a grinch.”

Nesta’s nostrils flare at the remark and she crosses her arms across her chest. “Fuck you.”

Cassian laughs again as though the insult delights him, the sound prickling across Nesta’s skin. Her blood sparks just as much as Cassian’s gaze seems to. She rolls her eyes and turns on her heel, stalking away and toward the coffee, Cassian’s voice following after her.

“Game on, sweetheart.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta lets out a quiet breath as she steps out of her car. She swears that she can still feel flour in her hair. No matter how hard she scrubbed in the shower, it’s as if the cookie dough is now embedded within her from where the beaters sent it all flying. Almost as badly as it's embedded in her apartment. She's still not sure how cookie dough got on the ceiling.

Another soft sigh and Nesta grabs her bag and the tupperware full of cookies from her passenger seat. She can’t help but wince as she peers at her cookies. They spread more than she had anticipated, losing their shape, and the edges and bottoms are crispier than she’s sure they’re meant to be. She had followed the recipe to what she thought was a T, but something went wrong somewhere along the way.

At least they’re made with love.

That’s what Gwyn had said the previous night, and Nesta hopes that counts for enough. It should count for enough in her opinion, that at least hers are homemade. She’s sure that most of her coworkers will just be bringing in store-bought for the cookie exchange today. Including a certain former soccer superstar that Nesta is confident has never stepped foot inside a kitchen before in his life. He probably used his money to have a private chef that prepared all his food for him.

Nesta steps inside the studio kitchen, finding the area that’s been set up for the cookie exchange. Already, there are various cookies out and on display, including the cakey icing heavy ones that the grocery stores sell for every holiday, still in the plastic case. Cassian’s contribution if Nesta had to guess. With a roll of her eyes, she opens up her own tupperware and adds her cookies.

“Morning, sweetheart. What kind of cookies did you make?”

Nesta takes a moment to breathe before turning toward the voice. Cassian leans casually against the counter near the refrigerator, wearing a soft looking, deep red henley shirt since they aren’t filming today. His hair is pulled away from his face in a bun, the lights of the kitchen casting shadows across his jawline. He has a cookie in his hand, perfectly shaped and iced to look like a soccer player, and he offers Nesta a cheeky smirk as he pointedly takes a bite.

“Sugar cookies,” Nesta grinds out from between her clenched teeth.

She turns back to her tupperware of cookies, spying a stack of sticky notes and a sharpie set to the side. She grabs both, quickly scrawling her cookie type on the purple paper to match the other cookies on display. She feels more than she hears Cassian sidle up behind her, heat prickling up her spine as it radiates off him. His breath skates across her cheek as he leans forward to peer over her shoulder.

“Are they… snowmen?”

“They’re meant to be gingerbread men and Solstice trees,” Nesta explains, trying desperately to swallow down her annoyance.

“Really? Are you sure?”

The annoyance burns into full blown anger, fire raging through Nesta’s veins. She whirls around, but almost instantly regrets it. It puts her chest to chest with Cassian, and she has to tilt her head back slightly to keep meeting his gaze. His hazel eyes practically seem to spark, all green vines and golden specks, and that smirk of his grows slowly but surely across his face.

“You know, you’re supposed to chill the dough after you cut them,” Cassian continues, not even bothering to take a step back to give her space, leaving Nesta caged in. “That’s the trick to getting them to keep their shape and not spread so much.”

“I don’t recall asking,” Nesta seethes. She settles a hand against his chest, shoving gently, but Cassian’s large frame is unmoving.

“The other trick is to use your hands, to really knead the dough to the right consistency.” Cassian’s voice dips lower as he speaks the word, holding a hand up between them and curling then flexing his fingers. “I’d be more than happy to give you a demonstration some time.”

“Yeah, right. You really expect me to believe you’re some great baker?”

“Try for yourself,” Cassian offers, reaching back behind Nesta and producing a tupperware of his own.

Nesta eyes the cookies, the perfectly shaped and iced soccer players, and scoffs. “You did not make those.”

Cassian presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “You wound me, sweetheart. I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent cook. And an excellent baker. In fact, this is my own recipe.”

Nesta scowls as Cassian shakes the tupperware toward her encouragingly. She snatches up one of the cookies and makes a big show of taking a bite. She hates it. She hates that the cookie is actually delicious. She hates that it's buttery sweet and melts perfectly in her mouth, the perfect mix of crispy edge and a soft center with icing that's not too overpowering.

It takes everything within her to swallow down a moan of delight, to not give Cassian that sort of satisfaction, but from the way Cassian’s smirk only seems to grow, it’s clear he already knows. With a huff that she pushes out between clenched teeth, Nesta knocks her shoulder against Cassian’s and shoves past him. Hard. She stalks back toward her desk, mind already reeling with ways for her to win the Solstice Week event tomorrow, to ensure victory after today’s misstep.

And if Nesta sneaks back to the kitchen throughout the day to grab more of Cassian’s cookies to help fuel her? Well, no one has to know.

~ * * * ~

“That has got to be the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen.”

Nesta tugs at the hem of the fabric at her hips. The pink color probably wouldn’t be half bad if it wasn’t practically neon, and the two toned green fringes of yarn clustered across the front only seem to add to the charm. That and the clumps of yellow yarn with lopsided faces. Nesta has to bite her lip around the smile threatening to break free across her face. It’s exactly the type of response she was hoping for.

Schooling her features, Nesta finally raises her face to Balthazar. “Thank you.”

“Not usually the response you’d expect to that,” Balthazar chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Today only I’ll allow it.”

“Well, you definitely have my vote.”

With that, Balthazar vanishes back toward his own desk and his own work, so Nesta finishes mixing her own coffee to her taste before doing the same. She pulls up her notes she’s been working through these past few days, quickly skimming through what she already has written. Nodding to herself, she pulls up the game clips from the last World Cup, finding where she left off.

“Hope you’ve been working on your gracious loser speech, sweetheart.”

For once, Nesta doesn’t roll her eyes at that all too familiar drawl. In fact, her grin is wide as she turns in her seat and comes face to face with Cassian. He has his arms spread wide, showing off his own sweater. A fake, felt fire has been glued to the center of the sweater, various small stockings pinned in a line along the shoulders, and tinsel loops around the collar.

It’s certainly ugly.

Almost in slow motion Nesta watches as Cassian takes in her own sweater. His brows start to furrow low over his eyes, his arms dropping limply back to his side. But the true victory comes from watching Cassian’s cocksure smile slip from his lips and be taken over by a confused frown.

“What the hell is that?” Cassian asks, gesturing toward her attire.

Nesta tugs at the fabric, smiling down fondly at her attire. “My sweater for today’s contest. It’s meant to be solstice trees and kittens. Allegedly at least. But it’s perfectly ugly, don’t you think?”

Cassian crosses his arms across his chest, raising a practically sardonic brow. “What possible store could you have found that in?”

No longer wanting him towering over her, Nesta rises from her seat, truly going toe to toe to him. She narrows her eyes at him, the scowl familiar and easy. She lets a slow smirk tug up her lips, keeping her voice the picture perfect of innocence as she tells him, “Jealousy isn’t a good look for you.”

Cassian chuckles softly, shaking his head. “What are you going to tell me next? That you knit it yourself?”

“Unfortunately not. My great aunt did,” Nesta explains, peering down at her sweater again. “She’s half blind.”

“That sounds like cheating.”

“Since when are there rules for an ugly sweater contest?” Cassian huffs quietly, but he doesn’t say anything, and Nesta knows that she’s won, knows that he doesn’t have an argument for that. She offers a condescending hum, tilting her head in mock innocence. “Guess someone’s a sore loser.”

Cassian leans in closer still, and Nesta raises her chin higher in defiance, unwilling to back down from his attempts to cow her, back down from his gaze pinning her in place. With the little space between them, Nesta realizes his eyes are more green than brown, specks of gold seeming to glint amongst those swirling vines. This close, she can feel the heat that radiates off him, can feel his breath skate across her cheeks. She can watch in slow motion as that smirk returns.

“Until tomorrow’s contest then. Nes.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta leans forward in her seat, squinting at her computer screen and the image displayed there. She currently has two wins for this week’s contests to Cassian’s one, and she’s determined to win today’s challenge too, to claim her victory for the whole week.

A scavenger hunt.

According to the email sent around to everyone, various small, plastic penguins have been hidden around the studio and offices to be found. Each one is worth a different amount of points, and whomever has the most at the end of the day, wins. It seems simple enough, and if Nesta plays it strategically, it’s practically in the bag.

Nodding to herself, ensuring she’s memorized the image and what exactly she’s looking for, Nesta closes her laptop and pushes up to her feet. She glances around at the other desks around her, hoping to spy one of the penguin figurines. The ones with the top hat are worth two hundred fifty points, but she’d accept any to begin the search.

Nesta heads for the studio kitchen next. She opens up the refrigerator, and there, beside all the packed lunches, is a penguin, no taller than an inch, with a pink bobble hat on. Only ten points, but Nesta snatches it up all the same and continues her search. She finds another ten point penguin amongst the mugs, a penguin with yellow earmuffs worth twenty five points between tea pouches, and a penguin on skis worth fifty points in the freezer.

She continues her search across the soundstage, winding through the desks, and even checking in the production control room. By the end, she has an entire paper cup full of various penguins. Plenty of the ones worth ten and twenty five points, and she’s even found a few of the penguins in a blue coat worth one hundred points.

Still no top hat penguins though.

“And how many penguins have you found, sweetheart?”

Nesta doesn’t even bother turning around, doesn’t bother stopping her search, as she pulls open the bottom tray of the printer and locates a blue coat penguin. “I’m already at eleven seventy five.”

“Not bad,” Cassian comments, and when there’s silence after, Nesta hopes that means he’s decided to leave her alone. “Aren’t you going to ask how many I’ve found?”

Nesta scoffs, straightening and turning to face Cassian and lift a sardonic brow. “No.”

“Well, I’m at a thousand and ten.”

Cassian steps closer, right up into Nesta’s space until the heat radiating off him prickles across her skin. His hand reaches out, stretching back behind her. Nesta can’t help but hold her breath, Cassian not even breaking eye contact while he lifts the document cover on the copier at her back. When he pulls his hand back, a penguin with yellow earmuffs sits in the center of his palm.

“A thousand thirty five,” Cassian offers with a smirk.

With a roll of her eyes, Nesta side-steps away from Cassian. She can hear him trailing behind her as she makes her way down the hall, but she pointedly ignores him. The sound of a door opening draws her attention, and when she whirls around, she spots Cassian opening what appears to be a janitor’s closet of some kind. Nesta rushes forward, slipping in quickly before he can, determined to find whatever penguins might be hiding in there first.

“Who knew you were so competitive, Nes.”

“Nesta,” Nesta snaps, whirling around to watch Cassian step inside behind her.

The door closes behind him with a soft snick, and Nesta realizes too late just how small the space is. She and Cassian are practically standing chest to chest, and the wide set of his shoulders and his tall frame makes it seem even smaller still. Nesta tries to take a step back, but the metal of the shelves in this closet merely digs into her spine.

“That’s what I said,” Cassian tells her with an easy shrug.

“Do you enjoy riling me up?”

“Oh, there are many things I enjoy when it comes to you, sweetheart.”

Just like at the printer, Cassian’s hand reaches up between their bodies. Only this time, his hand reaches toward her face. For a moment, his fingers brush along the strands of her hair that hang loosely around her temples. For a moment, Nesta swears she can feel the barest whisper of a touch across her cheek. She can feel heat creeping up her neck, threatening to spill beneath her skin, threatening to send goosebumps skittering down her spine.

Cassian pulls his hand back, showing off a penguin in a blue coat pinched between his fingers. “Eleven thirty five.”

Nesta lets out a growl of frustration, both at the fact that Cassian is now only forty points behind her, and at the fact she allowed herself to be distracted by him. She whips her attention back toward the shelves, moving around the rolls of paper towels and cleaning bottles. She lets out an excited noise when she looks between the stack of microfiber towels, pulling out one of the coveted penguins in a top hat.

“Would you look at that,” Nesta declares, turning back around and holding up the penguin for Cassian to see. “I’m at fourteen twenty five now.”

“The day is still young.”

“Whatever. I doubt they hid that many in here so just get out of the way so we can leave.”

Cassian offers an eyeroll of his own, but he turns toward the door at least. Nesta waits for the light of the hall to spill back into the small space, for Cassian to step out so she can follow behind him, but instead his entire body tenses, shoulders raising slightly.

“So… bad news,” Cassian starts, turning his head enough that Nesta can see the grimace that’s taken over his face. “The door is locked.”

“Don’t fuck around, Cassian. It’s not funny,” Nesta snaps, smacking his arm in annoyance. “Open the door.”

“You think I’m lying to you?” Cassian jingles the handle of the door in emphasis. “It’s locked.”

“You’re probably just doing it wrong. Move out of the way.”

Nesta elbows past Cassian, reaching out and trying the handle for herself. It barely moves, so she tries again, more aggressive, but it’s definitely locked. She lets out a noise somewhere between a frustrated scream and an annoyed huff, slapping her hand against the wood.

“I told you it was locked.”

Nesta nearly jumps out of her skin at how close Cassian’s voice is. She realizes too late that when she elbowed past him that Cassian didn’t move, that she’s now practically pressed up against him. She can feel every hard line of him, every muscle built from years of playing soccer. Can feel the way his heart seems to skip and beat between his ribs.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, to swallow down the shiver threatening to skitter up her spine at the proximity, Nesta pounds her fist against the door. “Help! Someone help! We’re locked in here!”

“Really, sweetheart?”

“Can anyone hear me? Unlock the door! Help!”

“You know, we could always just—”

The sound of the door clicking echoes in the small space and cuts Cassian off. Balthazar’s face comes blinking into view, his eyebrows dipping low in confusion as his gaze darts between the two of them.

“Um…”

“Don’t ask,” Nesta pushes out between gritted teeth, shoving past Balthazar and stalking down the hall and back toward her desk.

By the end of the work day, Nesta’s collection of penguin figurines comes to a total of one thousand, eight hundred, thirty-five. She takes a photo and sends it to the email for all the Solstice Week events, her submission. It doesn’t take long before the email comes in, announcing the winner for the scavenger hunt, but Nesta frowns as she reads the name, as she eyes the photo of the winning penguin collection. The figurines practically overflowing to the point they don't fit in the frame.

Jumping to her feet, Nesta stomps her way down the line of desks. “How did you do it?”

Cassian leans back casually in his seat, his easy smile not fooling Nesta for a second. “Do what?”

“Two thousand seven hundred five?” Nesta demands, glaring down at him. “How is that even possible?”

Cassian’s smile turns into a full blown smirk, lifting his hands back behind his head until the sleeves of his shirt ride up his biceps. “Someone’s a sore loser.”

“You cheated. You had to have cheated.”

“I’m offended that you’d make such an accusation. It’s not my fault I’m charming.”

Nesta snorts, rolling her eyes. “Charming? That is not a word I would use to describe you.”

“Clearly others find me charming,” Cassian tells her with a shrug, that infuriating cocksure smirk unmoving. “Charming enough to share the penguins they found with me.”

Nesta’s jaw slackens at the admission. She steps forward, in between Cassian’s legs, so that she can glower down at him. “That’s. Cheating.”

“I prefer the words charming and resourceful,” Cassian fires back, his hazel eyes practically sparking even under the fluorescent lights. “That means two wins for me, and two wins for you. We’ll have to call it a draw, Nes.”

“It is not a draw. You forfeit because you cheated.”

“Nowhere in the rules of the scavenger hunt did it say I had to find all the penguins myself. It just said whoever had the most points at the end of the day. And I did. It’s a technicality.”

Nesta huffs and crosses her arms across her chest. “Then we do another challenge to settle the score and determine a true winner.”

“It’s a Friday and the end of the day,” Cassian chuckles, shaking his head. “What possible work challenge could you come up with?”

“We’ll stick with the Solstice theme like it’s been all week to be fair. It snowed last night. You, me, snowball fight.”

“Fine,” Cassian concedes surprisingly easily, reaching forward enough that he can close his computer. “But when I win, and I will, I want you to remember this moment and how you begged me for this.”

“I am not begging,” Nesta snaps, stepping back enough that Cassian can stand up from his seat.

“Is that another challenge? More than up for rectifying that one, sweetheart.”

“Just meet me outside.”

Nesta turns on her heel and storms off back to her desk. She quickly shuts down her own computer for the day and packs up her work bag. She tugs on her gloves and hat, winding her scarf around her neck. She zips up her coat and heads for the door, following around the building to the grassy area now blanketed in white waves of snow.

Nesta lets out a yelp of surprise as a snowball hits her straight in the chest, wet snow streaking down her jacket and dripping to her feet. A deep, booming laughter follows the assault, and Nesta raises her gaze to glare at Cassian, another snowball already balanced in the palm of his hand.

“Does this mean I win now?”

“No,” Nesta snaps, crouching down to scoop snow into her own hands.

She packs the snow down until it’s a ball, stretching her arm back and lobbing it at Cassian’s head. Cassian is quick to jump out of the way with another deep laugh. He tosses his own snowball toward Nesta, but she ducks before it can hit her, using the motion to scoop more snow into her hands.

Cassian starts to charge toward Nesta, and with a yelp, she makes a break toward the right, quickly tossing her half formed snowball at him. She skitters slightly as she stumbles away, but she crouches down again to gather more snow. She straightens and presses her hands together, packing down the snow until it forms a ball. She whirls around again just as cold wetness settles on her head, dripping down her temple and the back of her neck.

Her jaw drops open, staring with wide eyes at Cassian’s own shocked face, his hands held above her head. For a moment, they merely stare at one another, but then Cassian’s lips start to twitch. His hazel eyes light up and he gives in to the laugh he’s clearly trying to hold back, the sound surprisingly warm despite the cold now settling deep within Nesta’s bones.

“You look like a wet, angry cat, sweetheart.”

“You’re such a shit,” Nesta seethes, shoving hard at Cassian’s chest in retaliation.

With the snow and ice slippery beneath their feet, Cassian’s balance wobbles, and before Nesta knows it, he goes tumbling to the ground. Unfortunately for her, his hand latches around her wrist, almost out of instinct, and she falls half on top of him with a quiet oof. She quickly shoves off, but that just leaves her in the snow, her entire back now cold and wet.

“So,” Cassian starts, propping up onto his elbow so he can smile down at her. “When are you finally going to go out on a date with me? Does tomorrow work for you?”

Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, her mind trying to wrap around Cassian’s words. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Nes. Isn’t it about time we finally put an end to all this sexual tension?”

It takes everything within Nesta to keep in her startled laugh. She can’t believe this turn in the conversation. This notion. The absolute absurdity of this man. A date with him. With Cassian Valdarez. The bane of her existence. The man who’s the reason she has to share her job. The man who is all endless cocky smiles and looming over her with his large frame and those hazel eyes that practically pierce through her in a way that’s almost unnerving.

“What are you talking about? I hate you. I’m pretty sure I’ve made it very clear that I hate you.”

“Oh… um…” Cassian clears his throat a bit awkwardly, pushing a hand up and through his hair. “I thought that was just how you and I flirt. Our back and forth. Like a game.”

“I hate you,” Nesta repeats, not even bothering to swallow down her scoff. “In what world would I ever agree to date you?”

Cassian’s smile slips fully off his face, the hazel of his eyes dimming before he drops his gaze away from Nesta. He pushes up to his feet, still not quite looking at her as he brushes the snow off his pants.

“Well,” Cassian finally says, his voice suddenly hollow and lacking any of his usual warmth. “Clearly I read this whole situation wrong. Sorry.”

Nesta opens her mouth, but words die in the back of her throat, thoughts a tangled mess of vines. She can do nothing but gape dumbly, can do nothing but watch as Cassian lets out a quiet, self deprecating breath and shakes his head, turning on his heel and stalking away.

~ * * * ~

By the time Monday rolls around, Nesta’s reeling mind still hasn’t calmed since the events of Friday. She spent the entire weekend replaying that moment in the snow with Cassian on loop, the look on his face before he walked away. She kept replaying every moment she ever had with Cassian. All the smirks and easy laughs. All the quips and jabs. Every sweetheart and Nes. It started to all make sense, that look he would get on his face, the way the golds of his hazel eyes would glint.

The worst part was that the more Nesta thought about those moments, thought about those looks, thought about him, her chest got that little bit tighter, emotions running rampant and kicking up a swirling storm. Only one thought broke through the raging seas in the end: what was wrong with her? She hated Cassian Valdarez.

Or did she?

Cassian who never balked at her fire, who never belittled her or told her to bring down those flames. Cassian who always goes toe to toe with her, practically lighting up in amusement at every quip or remark. Cassian who never questioned her knowledge or skill, never commented or joked about her being a woman working in sports journalism. Cassian with his delicious baking and gorgeous eyes and warm laugh and—

With a soft sigh, Nesta tries to shake her head of those thoughts. She focuses on her notes and today’s show, mentally running through the stories and the points she wants to discuss. Even still, the words on the page start to blur together, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, the skin already ragged from the same tick chasing her all weekend.

“Good morning, Nesta.”

Nesta’s head snaps up at the greeting, turning to find Cassian standing in front of his chair. For the first time, it feels like he's not smiling or smirking. Instead, his lips are pressed into a neutral line, a dullness clinging to the hazel of his eyes that’s almost unsettling. It certainly sends a crack ricocheting through Nesta's chest. It takes her a moment too long to realize he said her name, her proper name. No teasing nickname to be found. It almost sounds strange hearing it fall past his lips. It almost sounds wrong.

“Morning,” Nesta murmurs back.

Cassian settles into his seat beside her, not quite meeting her gaze. Nesta opens her mouth, but she’s not even sure what to say. Does she mention what happened last week? Does she pretend that nothing happened and ask how his weekend was? Before her mind can settle on the best approach, Balthazar steps over and begins his pre-show spiel and notes.

As the show kicks off, Nesta just hopes any awkward air between herself and Cassian doesn’t show through on camera. It’s certainly the most professional show they’ve ever filmed, sticking firmly to their talking points, the segments. But with each passing minute, Nesta’s spine straightens that bit more, her fists clenching that little bit harder against the table. By the time the shout of cut echoes across the sound stage, the air around her feels stifling, a tightness pinching between her ribs like twisting vines.

“I wanted to apologize,” Cassian starts quietly once it’s just them again, and when Nesta turns to meet his gaze, there’s a burning to his hazel eyes that has her breath catching. “For what happened on Friday, but mostly for all the teasing and everything with Solstice Week. I… I shouldn’t have assumed that it was flirting for you or that you felt what I did, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again. Have a great rest of your week, Nesta.”

With a nod of his head, clearly having said his piece, Cassian pushes up and to his feet, heading toward his desk. His name presses against the back of Nesta’s throat, desperate to be released and call after him. An emotion she’s been unwilling to name all weekend, one she’s been running away from since Friday, swirls in her gut. It twines and squeezes around her heart, tugging like a thread wrapped tight through her chest.

Watching Cassian walk away from her for the second time is like that thread going with him, yanking hard. It leaves Nesta swallowing hard, and she realizes one simple fact with a stark clarity that would knock her on her ass if she wasn’t already sitting down.

She misses Cassian Valdarez.

~ * * * ~

“And everything is good and ready?”

Emerie sighs, flopping back against the pile of pillows on Nesta’s bed. “For the fourth time, yes. All you need is the code I texted you and you’re good.”

“Okay okay,” Nesta concedes, turning away from the mirror where she was fixing her hair. “I just want to be sure.”

Emerie’s lips part, and Nesta can see the retort sitting primed and ready on the tip of her best friend’s tongue, but then her eyes sweep over Nesta’s frame. She takes in the deep blue velvety fabric that hits Nesta mid-thigh, the sweetheart neckline that sweeps low across her collarbones. The way Nesta’s styled her hair so it falls in loose waves down around her shoulders and along her spine, her makeup drawing attention to her eyes.

“Well damn,” Emerie comments with a smirk. “You’re definitely looking hot as shit.”

Nesta smoothes down the skirt of her dress, not even bothering to bite back her own smirk. “Thanks. Now, I just need the rest of my plan to work.”

Turning back toward the mirror, Nesta gives herself one last look over and dabs the lipstick painted across her lips. She grabs her heels and slips them off, rolling her eyes at Emerie’s hooting and teasing that follows her out the door. When she finally settles in her car, she takes a moment to breathe deeply, to steady her thundering heart, and then she’s off.

The event space that the network has rented for the evening is almost unrecognizable as Nesta steps through the doors. Golden streamers decorate almost all the walls, colored balloons clustered about and structured into a balloon arch over the doors at the far end. Small, tall tables dot the space, covered in white tablecloths, and workers dressed all in black weave between them with various hors d'oeuvres balanced on trays.

A bar has been set up along the back wall, and Nesta spies Cassian standing there. He has an arm slung across Balthazar’s shoulders and a beer in his other hand, his head thrown back as he laughs easily at whatever is being said. His hair falls in soft curls around his face, some sort of product making the dark strands shine beneath the lights, and the dark green sweater he wears looks especially soft even as it clings perfectly to his wide shoulders and chest.

Swallowing hard, Nesta steps over to the bar. “Happy Solstice.”

“Happy Solstice,” Balthazar echoes, raising his beer in a cheers.

Cassian turns to her, and sparks ricochet through Nesta’s nerve endings at finally having his gaze on her again. She doesn’t miss the way his hazel eyes flare, doesn’t miss the way his lips part and his throat bobs as his attention sweeps over her. It sends her own blood heating, her heart stuttering for a moment.

“Nesta, you look…” Cassian breathes before he seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and looking away again. “Sorry. Happy Solstice.”

“I was wondering if we could talk?” Nesta asks, darting a quick glance toward Balthazar who wastes no time making himself scarce.

Cassian is quiet, and for a moment, Nesta is afraid he’ll say no, but then he’s nodding his head. He downs the rest of his drink and looks to her expectantly, so Nesta begins to lead the way. She weaves between their coworkers and toward one of the halls that stretches through the rest of the building.

“So, who’s the gift for?” Cassian asks, breaking the awkward silence between them.

Nesta pauses her steps, glancing down at the gift bag in her hand before looking up at Cassian again. “It’s for you, actually.”

“You got me a Solstice gift?”

“You sound so shocked.”

“You hate me, remember?”

Nesta winces at his words, looking up and into his eyes, praying to the Mother that he can see the sincerity in her gaze. “I don't actually hate you. I thought I did but I…” She lets out a soft sigh and holds the gift out to him. “Just open it, will you?”

Cassian lets out a quiet breath of his own, but he reaches out and takes the gift, his fingers brushing against Nesta’s with the movement. He shifts through the tissue paper until he reaches the gift inside, lifting it out with a confused frown.

“A… soccer ball?”

“Yes,” Nesta answers, her voice more short than she intends. “It will all make sense in a moment.”

With a determined huff, Nesta whirls back around and continues stalking down the hall. It takes a few seconds, but soon she hears Cassian’s steps falling in behind her. At the end of the hall, she finds the double doors exactly as she expects. She digs her phone out and pulls up her text chain with Emerie, quickly punching in the code to the lock. She pulls open the door and looks back to Cassian expectantly, but he merely raises an eyebrow.

“Is this the part where you lead me away from the party to murder me?”

“If it was, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Cassian chuckles, shaking his head. “Touche, sweetheart.”

Nesta gestures with her arm, and finally Cassian steps inside. She follows behind him and allows the door to fall shut behind them both. As promised, the lights have been left on, but from the looks of it, it’s only half the lights, casting everything in a dimmed, yellow glow. The domed roof stretches high overhead, and an almost eerie quiet has settled over the rows and rows of seats, over the grass, over the crisply painted white lines.

“How’d you get the keys to this place?” Cassian asks, stepping forward and spinning in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“I know people.”

Cassian hums quietly and cranes his head back, his eyes falling closed as he takes a deep breath in and then out. “And not that I’m complaining, but what exactly are we doing here?”

“We never determined a winner for Solstice Week,” Nesta reminds him, stepping forward and taking the soccer ball from his arms.

Cassian watches as Nesta steps up onto the grass and makes her way toward the box at one end of the field, the hint of that all too familiar smirk beginning to peek through. “And this is how you want to do that?”

“If you’re scared of losing, just say that,” Nesta taunts, bending down enough that she can place the soccer ball on the dot in the grass.

“I never said that,” Cassian offers, stepping across the grass himself and making his way toward the goal. “Did you forget who you were talking to?”

“Good.”

Nesta bends one of her legs back, slipping a finger beneath the strap of her heel and tugging it off. She does the same with her other heel, allowing both to dangle from her fingers before dropping them unceremoniously against the grass. Cassian tracks every movement she makes, and even with the space between them, Nesta swears his eyes darken.

Nesta resets her stance, offering a smirk of her own. “I thought we could make things interesting.”

Cassian licks his lips. “Interesting how?”

“If I make this goal, you have to take me out on a date.”

Cassian’s expression shifts to shock, and Nesta waits with bated breath for him to say something, for him to do something. Even after what happened last week, it feels like a shot in the dark, like a leap right off the ledge without knowing what waits beneath. What if he’s changed his mind? What if after telling him she hates him, he decided he wants nothing to do with her any longer? What if this is the stupidest thing she’s ever done?

The thoughts swirl like dark, churning waves inside Nesta’s mind. They leave her heart skipping nervously between her ribs, the blood pounding in her ears with each second that ticks by like an eternity. Her stomach flips over itself, and the urge to take the words back and swallow them back down, to backtrack, digs sharp claws into the back of her throat.

Nesta isn’t sure how much time has passed, but Cassian seems to come back to himself. He shakes his head and starts to bounce on the balls of his feet, stretching his arms out wide and tapping each of the goal posts.

“Take your shot then,” Cassian calls out to her.

Taking a steady breath, Nesta backs up a few steps. She glances down at the ball then back at the goal, eyeing up the space between, thinking through where she wants to aim. Running forward, she kicks the ball hard. Cassian doesn’t even bother moving. He stands firmly in place, his eyes never leaving Nesta’s face as the ball sails right past him and into the netting. Warmth floods through Nesta’s chest as they continue to stare at one another, a smile tugging up the corners of her lips.

“You know,” Cassian starts, turning around to retrieve the ball and walking back toward Nesta, bending down to place it back on the white dot. “Usually, it’s best two out of three.”

“Is that so?” Nesta asks, her voice breathless even to her own ears at the way Cassian is looking up at her.

Cassian straightens, slowly backing up toward the goal again. “I was thinking this time, if I make this save, I get to kiss you.”

“Feeling confident?”

“Are you? I was one of the best goalkeepers Velaris FC ever had after all.”

Nesta hums, feigning disagreement, but they both know it’s true. Just like before, Nesta takes a few steps back, eyeing up Cassian and the goal. She makes a big show of glancing to the right just before she runs forward and kicks the ball hard toward the left side. It doesn’t fool Cassian for a second. He goes sprawling across the grass, knocking away the ball with ease.

Nesta doesn’t even care where it rolls off to, and it’s clear Cassian doesn’t either. He’s barely made the save before he’s jumping back to his feet, long strides swallowing the space between them. His hands come up, framing Nesta’s jaw and tilting her face up, and then he’s crashing his mouth down against hers. Nesta doesn’t waste a moment. She surges up onto her toes, meeting him stroke for stroke. She buries one hand in the soft, dark curls of his hair, the other clutching into the fabric of his sweater, as one of his arms drops to around her waist, pulling her closer still until any space between their bodies vanishes.

When Cassian finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His nose bumps against Nesta’s, breath skating across her skin. She can feel the heat of him everywhere they’re pressed together, can count every green vine and gold fleck of his hazel eyes. And for once, it’s not one of his cocksure, teasing smirks greeting her, but a soft, wide smile. One that she suspects might be just for her. One that has her breath catching. One that she knows is echoed across her own face.

And in that moment, Nesta realizes that she doesn't hate Cassian Valdarez at all.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy

#nessian #so cute

170 notes · View notes