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autumnshighlady · 2 months

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I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 19)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Eris helps Nesta conquer her fear of fire

warnings: inner circle slander, MAJOR angst, Cassian hate

word count: 4.2k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: sorry for the short chapter (i mean it's still 4000+ words but its short for me lmao) but I'm already working on the next one but here's a Neris chapter! haven't updated this fic in too long, so I apologize. Enjoy and as always, tell me your thoughts and reactions!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18

read on ao3

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NESTA POV

Nesta gently stroked Athariel’s silver scales as the dragon snaked its head around her, vying for attention. The beast made a low cooing noise at her touch, and Nesta chuckled to herself. She remembered the mix of awe and fear she had felt upon seeing the dragons for the first time. Ancient and mythical beasts beyond her wildest imagination, in the flesh before her very eyes. And yet at this moment, Athariel was acting more like a puppy than a dragon.

“Some fearsome beast you are.” Nesta murmured as Athariel continued to purr lowly. She reached forward to scratch behind the dragon’s right horn, and Athariel responded by closing her eyes and pushing her head further into Nesta’s hand. “Spoiled creature.”

The sweet autumn breeze funnelled into the cave and stroked Nesta’s cheek. It was an unusually cold day. Even the thick wool layers did little to keep out the biting chill that seeped into Nesta’s bones. She shivered slightly, pressing closer to the dragon for warmth.

Eris had left about ten minutes ago to fetch something for today’s training session. As usual, he refused to elaborate, only giving Nesta a playful wink that he knew would send her blood steaming when she asked what he was going to fetch. Every few days, Eris dragged her to the dragon cave to train her magic. Even after her demonstration to Beron, Eris insisted they continue the practice. “Killing my father is going to take a lot more finesse than your display, my dear.” He had explained. “My father is not an idiot. He knows how to defend himself, you do not.”

As much as she hated admitting that she liked spending time with Eris, it pained Nesta to be away from you. Since the announcement of your engagement, you had been constantly pulled away by servants, planners, dress fitters, and courtiers in preparation. It broke her heart, seeing the life slowly drain out of your eyes with each passing day. She saw how you snuck desperate glances at her as you were shuffled off for wedding business, pleading for help through the bond. There was nothing that could compare to the pain of the helplessness she felt. Eris had sternly told her to keep it together, that she had a part to play and couldn’t interfere with your engagement yet. His father would be watching your every move, and if Nesta became too involved then everything would go to hell.

The thought of the two upcoming weddings made Nesta’s stomach churn. While she definitely got the better of Beron’s sons, there were still so many things about Eris that she couldn’t figure out. The Prince always had an angle to play, never revealing his next move until he was certain things would work out in his favour. Nesta could understand why he was helping her. Objectively, their marriage was a strong match. She had been raised by her mother for this exact role – a doting wife who appeased the males of the court, but one with a viper’s tongue who was able to hold her own and get exactly what she wanted. Eris would benefit from it too, having a Cauldron-made female at his side whose powers dwarfed any of those in his court.

But his angle with you was something Nesta couldn’t figure out. Helping you was a huge risk for him, one that placed both you and the Prince in danger. Throwing you out of the Autumn Court and delivering you back to Rhysand would have been the smart move for Eris, as it would have eased the tension between Autumn and Night after Nesta had slipped through Rhysand’s grasp. Helping you was a risk that Nesta couldn’t understand why Eris was so willing to take. She had tried probing him about it a few times, but he had always brushed her off.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Eris strode back into the cave, a bundle of sticks and wood in his arms. He dumped them on the floor, the clattering noise echoing throughout the dragon’s den. Morgoth’s massive dark head appeared from the shadows, emitting a low rumbling noise that shook Nesta’s bones as he sniffed his master. Eris chuckled, saying something to the dragon in a language Nesta did not understand as he stroked its nose.

She frowned at the pile of wood on the floor. “You went out to collect sticks?”

Eris smirked. “Brilliant observation, Nesta Archeron. You never cease to amaze me.”

She shot him a withering glare. “Prick. What do sticks have to do with training my magic?”

“Because it’s hard to train fire-related magic when you’re utterly terrified of fire itself.”

Nesta froze, panic rising in her chest. Athariel nudged her now-still hand, as if sensing her anxiety. But she kept a straight face and said evenly, “I do not know what you mean.”

Eris scoffed, bending down and arranging the sticks. “Oh, please. You flinch every time the hearth is lit. You look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever I use my magic around you. Deny it all you want, but I see right through you, my dear.”

She blanched at his words. His tone was not accusing nor angry, but casual and nonchalant. He wasn’t trying to put her down, but simply pointed out an observation. Nesta’s throat closed up as she realised just how much Eris truly picked up on. Not once did Cassian ever seem to notice how she flinched from every fire he lit, or how her room was always freezing and damp because she refused to use the fireplace. He had been too focused on fucking her to ever truly see through the front she put up.

“You do not have to tell me why,” Eris said, a bit softer this time. “But fear will distract you, and we cannot afford to have you distracted at this time. I will not force you to face this fear if you truly feel that you cannot, but I believe you are able to. You have already overcome so much, Archeron. Let this be just another obstacle.”

His gentle encouragement surprised Nesta, despite having experienced it before. She always found herself comparing his words to Cassian and the Inner Circle’s. The Inner Circle always gave her the illusion of a choice, two bad options with one worse than the other, forcing her to choose the lesser of two evils and end up going with what worked best for their agenda. There was no choice in training with Cassian, it was presented as something she simply had to do.

Eris, on the other hand, always offered her a way out – another option even if it was one that made his life more difficult. He would explain the upsides and downsides to each path with logic, not manipulation. It was something Nesta grew to appreciate. He never backed her into a corner, or wanted her to submit.

She hated how the way she was treated in the Night Court followed her around like a ghost, haunting her every move. Guilt churned in her gut every time she instinctively snapped at Eris, anticipating that she would be forced into something. To his credit, he did not appear phased by her reactions and would wave off any apologies. It was something the Inner Circle had never understood about her. Nesta’s life had been taken out of her hands when she was snatched in the middle of the night and forced into the Cauldron. She did not choose to become fae, and now suddenly she had an immortal life ahead of her and no idea what to do with it. Yet her choices in the Night Court were never her own. Someone always decided what was best for her, rather than letting her figure out this transition at her own pace.

But Eris always gave her a choice. Nesta knew Eris wanted her to overcome her fear of fire for everyone’s sake, and she trusted him enough by now that she knew if she said no, he would drop the subject rather than push her buttons. So she took a breath, staring at the pile of sticks the Prince had assembled. “Ok,” She said. “I’ll do it.”

*********************

Half an hour later, Nesta’s breath was slightly less shaky. Her back was pressed against Athariel’s silver neck, the heated scales of the dragon adding extra warmth against the damp autumn chill. A small orange fire blazed a few feet in front of her, that haunting snapping noise echoing throughout the cave. It took every ounce of self control Nesta had to not panic, taking deep breaths to try and push down the bile in her throat.

Eris sat beside her, his arm ever so slightly grazing hers. He had spent the past thirty minutes monologuing about anything and everything, a welcome distraction to help Nesta focus on something else other than the crackling of the fire. He told all types of stories, ranging from tales of the ancient beings in Prythian to recounting the time Lucien accidentally killed Eris’s favourite fish by taking it out of the water to get fresh air. Nesta had not chimed in, but let out a snort at the latter story. She had seen Eris smile out of the corner of her eye. A true smile, not his usual arrogant smirk. It made her heart flutter, seeing the autumn Prince so relaxed.

As time passed, the less Nesta flinched at the noises from the fire. Her body began to relax, and she saw less of her father’s face across her mind and began to appreciate the beauty of the orange flames. They still unsettled her and if she could smite them out this second she would. But she no longer felt the urge to crawl out of her own skin.

“... And I ate every last bit of that so-called ‘birthday cake’ Lucien made,” Eris rambled on, following another story about him and his youngest brother. “It was ghastly. Every bite made me want to hurl my guts up, but my brother looked so young and proud of his creation that I couldn’t hurt his feelings. Although he has always been a slippery little bastard, so part of me wondered if he was just playing innocent and deliberately made me a disgusting cake on purpose to see if I loved him enough to pretend it was good.”

Nesta laughed, truly laughed at that. She turned her head to meet Eris’s gaze. He made no jibing remark about how rare a laugh like that was for her, like Cassian would have done. He simply smiled, the orange light of the fire casting artful shadows across his pale skin.

“Eris,” Nesta began hesitantly, the noise of the fire fading into the background. “Can I ask you something?”

The heir shrugged. “I am an open book, Nesta Archeron. Ask away.”

She snorted. “Ok, well we both know that’s not true.”

“If you want to know my deepest darkest secrets, my dear, all you have to do is ask.” Eris purred. Nesta’s blood heated at his velvety voice, and she pushed herself to focus.

“What happened to Lucien?” She asked. “I was never told much about him, even by (Y/N). All I know is that he was in the Spring Court with Feyre when she was there, and he was in that room in Hybern with the Cauldron. And that he’s Elain’s mate and is now bouncing between the mortal lands and the Night Court.”

Eris sighed. “It’s complicated, Nesta.”

“I’m just trying to understand his role in all of this.”

“Including if he would be a good mate to your sister, am I correct?”

Nesta swallowed her sadness. She had tried not to think about Elain these past few weeks. The memory of finding out Elain had been the one to pack up what little belongings she had in her apartment stung like a fresh wound. “No,” She corrected Eris. “Because I appear to be the only one from the Night Court who likes to think of him as his own person, not just Elain’s mate. Who Elain chooses to be with is no longer my concern.”

Eris nodded. “Very well. Lucien is the youngest of my brothers, and my father was especially cruel to him. What I am about to tell you cannot leave this cave, understood?”

Nesta nodded, curious.

“Lucien is not my father’s son. My mother had an affair with Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court. I figured it out quickly, but my mother always denied it. My father had suspicions but no proof, so he took every opportunity he could to punish Lucien. He hated that Lucien never cared about his royal status, and that he frequently made friends with individuals that my father deemed unworthy – (Y/N) included. One day, he met a lesser faerie named Jesminda. When my father found out about it, he had two of my brothers hold Lucien back as he executed Jesminda right in front of him.”

Nesta chose her words carefully. “Were you… were you there?”

Eris looked at her sharply. “Yes, I was. But I refused my fathers request to kill Jesminda, so he did it himself. It is the only thing I have ever refused him, even to this day. And I paid the price for it.”

“What did he do to you?”

“That matters not. Once I was released from the dungeons, my spies informed me that my father was planning on killing Lucien. I knew my brother was smart and would flee to the Spring Court, so I alerted Tamlin to the situation. Tamlin found Lucien at the border and killed two of my three brothers that had been sent after him to slaughter Lucien on our father’s orders.”

Nesta picked at a thread on her sleeve and asked dryly, “Let me guess, Malgorm was the one who escaped Tamlin’s claws?”

Eris snorted humourlessly. “Yes. Somehow, Malgorm always finds a way to escape death. It’s incredibly annoying.”

“Does Lucien know what you did for him?”

“No. He does not. And it does not matter if he did know, it would not change his hatred for me.”

A sadness overtook Eris’s eyes that pained Nesta. With a sick feeling in her gut, she knew looking at Eris was like looking in a mirror. Two eldest children with a cruel parent, twisted and moulded into their parent’s perfect creation. Nesta knew that Feyre would always see her as their mother’s favourite, but never knew just how much Nesta suffered underneath her. How Nesta would plead to the universe every night that their mother would turn her attention elsewhere because neglect was better than cruelty to her. Feyre did not know that her grandmother had beaten her, or that her mother had pulled Nesta’s hair until she cried and deprived her of meals to keep her thin. Nesta had never told her, not only for fear of showing weakness, but because she knew that Feyre had been so neglected she wouldn’t truly be able to understand that their mother’s attention was not something to be desired.

And Eris was the same. All the tales Nesta had heard of him portrayed the male as a worse version of Beron, a perfect eldest son and soldier for the High Lord to wield like a sword. But he had done so much to protect his younger brother, and just like Nesta, had never told him because he knew he wouldn’t be able to fully understand it. They were both disliked by their youngest sibling for being their parent’s prized pupils, oblivious to the whole story. Even though Eris had not answered her question, Nesta knew that what Beron had put him through was a thousand times worse than anything her mother had done. Deep down, she knew that Eris was just as broken as she was. Their main difference was Eris had centuries of practice in masking it, whereas Nesta did not.

“You’re not a bad male, Eris.” Nesta said softly, her gaze lost in the warm amber of his eyes.

“You hardly know me.” His voice was bitter, the aloof arrogant mask he wore threatening to slide up and hide the vulnerability Nesta had seen in his face moments ago. “I’ve done horrible things in the name of my father, Nesta. Things that would make you run back to the Night Court if you knew.”

“I don’t judge people for what they had to do to survive.” Nesta insisted, her voice even. “You may have your own secret agenda, Eris, but you’ve treated me better than most people have in a long, long time. Do not think I don’t appreciate that.”

Eris laughed, and the haunted look was shoved from his face. “My dear, how you have been treated is appalling, even to me. Let’s not have that be the standard, I beg you.”

“How do you know I didn’t deserve it?” Nesta said before she could stop herself. It simply slipped out, the guilt that had been shoved down her throat by the Inner Circle ever since she became fae entrapping her words once again. It was an exhausting uphill battle. Every day, she told herself that she was right to flee the Night Court, to try and make a life for herself outside Velaris. But every day those seeds of doubt wriggled their way into her thoughts, trapping her inside a web of self hatred that she had fought so hard to get out of.

“Seriously?” Eris said incredulously, eyebrows raised. He shifted so he was facing Nesta, and he took her still trembling hands in his own. “Tell me, what criminal, abhorrent offence have you committed to warrant being treated like shit and locked up?”

Nesta’s throat was dry. “I didn’t try and help my family like Feyre did when we were in poverty.”

Eris shook his head. “You are the eldest daughter, not the parent. It was not your responsibility to provide for your family.”

“I was mean to Feyre on several occasions.”

“You’re sisters, that’s supposed to happen. You should hear the vicious things my brothers and I say to each other.”

“I spent a ton of Rhys’s money on alcohol, drinking myself stupid every night.”

“Please, that male has more money than anyone I know, my dear. I assure you his bank account was not dented in the slightest.”

“I slept my way through the city after the war.”

“Everyone in that little Inner Circle has fucked more fae than anyone I know. Your number is nothing compared to theirs.” Eris said calmly. “All I’m hearing is that a newly turned fae female was traumatised after being dragged into a brutal war she did not ask for, and found unhealthy yet very normal ways of coping. So tell me again, what actual horrid thing have you done to deserve any of this?”

Tears filled Nesta’s eyes as she listed her sins, the crackling of the fire fading into the background. She knew Eris was right, his logical mind soothing her anxious one. Talking about it with Eris was different than talking about it with you. You had been just as angry as Nesta had, forced into the same situation as her and kept in the House of Wind against your will, the Inner Circle using the fact that they had saved both your lives as leverage to make you do what they wanted. You were someone who Nesta could rant to about it and get angry, letting that hatred she felt out to someone who knew exactly what she meant. But Eris was different. He rationalised her thoughts, providing a different kind of reassurance.

She couldn’t stop the tears that fell down her cheeks. Nesta bit her wobbling lip, trying to keep more from spilling out. Eris released one of her hands, bringing it up to her face and gently brushing the tears away. “They’ve done a number on you, haven’t they?” He murmured softly, cupping her cheek. “What are you thinking right now, Nesta Archeron?”

Nesta inhaled deeply, pressing her face slightly harder into Eris’s warm hand. The smell of smoke and forest engulfing her senses. “That I am scared,” She admitted. “For so many reasons. I am scared that Cassian will find me and steal me back to Velaris. That everything we’ve done has all been for nothing. I’m scared that your father will find us out somehow and kill us all. I’m scared for (Y/N) and her engagement to your awful brother. And I hate myself, Eris. I hate myself for who I’ve become not just because I am now fae, but because the person I was before the Cauldron would not have given in and trained with Cassian. I… I am afraid that with this new immortality ahead of me I will not recognize the girl I used to be, and not in a good way. I hate that I have let the words of people who barely know me cut this deeply, and I am ashamed of it.”

Eris continued to use his thumb to brush away the fresh tears on her cheeks. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You have had a difficult hand dealt to you, Nesta.” Eris said softly. “And they should have known better. Do not be ashamed. For anything. Just know you have (Y/N), just as you have me. We will not let the Night Court take you, I swear on my mother’s life. Your mate cares for you, and I… I care for you, too.”

Nesta opened her mouth to respond, but a strange sensation in her chest stopped her. It suddenly felt like she was falling through space, the stars overhead spinning around her as she plummeted towards a strange light. She gasped, and felt Eris tense up as well. In her mind, she saw her silver flames dancing towards orange ones. They intertwined, braiding together and forming a magical rope-like appearance. Nesta reached down in her mind, her heartbeat racing as she grabbed a hold of it. She peered down to where the flames had extended to, seeing a flaming silhouette on the other end, her silver flames surrounding it affectionately.

And so she reached forward, extending a mental hand into that flaming silhouette.

And Eris gasped.

Nesta’s eyes shot open, and she lurched back from the Autumn Prince’s touch. Eris’s face was ghostly pale, and he was panting as if he had just fought off a hundred soldiers at once. Athariel hissed behind her, not happy to be awoken by the sudden movement. Her mouth was dry. She had felt this feeling before, but with you. That flaming rope she had followed felt the same as the pull of the tattoo on her sternum.

The mating bond.

The flaming silhouette at the other end of the magical rope was Eris Vanserra. Nesta’s mind reeled, her body threatening to combust with the feeling inside her chest. She could only stare at the male before her in shock.

Estelle said fae can have more than one mate, but Cassian is not one of yours. Your words rang in Nesta’s head like a bell, making her feel dizzy. No, she thought. This isn’t possible. You were her mate, how could this happen? There was still that strange feeling in her chest from Cassian, which confused her even more. The feeling of one mating bond within her was overwhelming enough, but two? Nesta didn’t know if she could survive it.

“Eris…” His voice was like a prayer on her lips, sounding completely different than the previous hundred times she had said it. It was like a song, carrying over to the shaken autumn prince and snapping him out of his trance.

“Nesta.” Her blood sang at the sound of her name, silver flames sparking from her fingertips in response.

“Like calls to like…” She muttered, recalling Eris’s repetition of the phrase. And then it dawned on her. Eris had consistently told her that like calls to like, and she had thought he was talking about their similarities in magic.

Fury rose within her, drowning out everything else. “Did you know?” She hissed at Eris.

The male’s eyes were wide, and he stuttered. “I–”

“Did you fucking know?” Nesta growled. “Is this the only reason you agreed to help us? So you could use the bond to trap me. Is that what you wanted? To keep me prisoner here, just like your father did to your mother?”

Eris blanched, flinching like he had been struck. Nesta felt it, the blow of her words, as if she had been punched in the chest. “I swear, I did not know.” Eris pleaded. “Nesta, please, you have to trust me. I had no idea about this.”

Nesta rose to her feet, her entire body shaking. She climbed onto Athariel’s back, nudging the dragon forward with her heels. Athariel grumbled, but got to her feet and began to crawl out of the cave. Her hands shook as she held onto the dragon’s horns. She stared down at Eris, who appeared paralyzed in shock as he looked up at her. Nesta’s voice was cold as ice as she said, “I don’t believe you.”

And as Athariel spread her wings and took to the sky, Nesta had not noticed the fire had gone out completely.

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c-e-d-dreamer · 9 months

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But I'm Only Looking At You: Chapter Masterlist

Main Pairing: Nesta Archeron/Cassian

Summary:

Cassian has been in love with Nesta Archeron for years and hopes to one day ask for her hand. But when Cassian learns that Nesta is set to marry the Viscount Tomas Mandray, he's ready and willing to do anything to stop it, including doing something very very stupid.

Aka a Regency AU inspired by Taylor Swift's Speak Now

Read on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Epilogue

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #regency au #my fic #coming for Cassian Week 2023 #I cannot wait!#shout out to MB for giving me this prompt #and shout out to Elise for helping me with this title #also also pre shout out to Krem for doing a beautiful art for this fic that everyone will get to feast their eyes on next week

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velidewrites · 11 months

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When the Goddess of the Underworld grants a mortal General an extended stay in the land of the living, she doesn’t expect him to come back with another deal — one she has no idea will ruin her life forever.

Pairing: Hades!Nesta x Cassian

Word Count: 14k

Notes: This is Part I of my follower celebration project, Divinity! Thank you for being here <3

Warnings (please read before proceeding): Graphic depictions of blood, injury and death; 18+, explicit sexual content, return of the monsterfucking agenda, this means monster sex; monster cocks; yes cocks plural; Cassian has three of them let's just get that out of the way now; are you reading the tags?; let me just repeat it: there is monsterfucking in this fic; proceed at your own discretion

Beta'd by @melting-houses-of-gold <3

Read on AO3 || Check out this BEAUTIFUL art commissioned by @melphss inspired by this fic! 🥹💕

When Hades appears, the earth beneath her erupts in flames.

They are not the hot, blazing kind the mortals burn for the Gods kind in their temples. Their fire is passion, wild and impossible to tame. It molds the stone to its will and consumes everything in its path, threatening to blind and scorch and hurt anyone who crosses it. It is a living breath—a sign that one day, like everything else, its fervour will fade away, leaving nothing but ash as a reminder of its former glory. A fire that begins to die the moment it is born—the moment it dares to lick, to taste.

It is a mortal fire. A human fire.

It is nothing like hers.

The silver flames surrounding her are made to repel. A display of her power—of the risks involved in getting too close. They swirl around her like pets at all times but when she steps into the Overworld—it is too hot, too volatile to sustain their icy touch. When Hades enters, they slither up her form, the cold pleasant against flesh, and take their rest in the pits of her eyes, where they make her gaze burn with a reminder of what she truly is.

Death.

Thanatos smirks at it sometimes—at the fear reflected in the mortals’ eyes as they meet her own. He is the only one who seems to understand—understand that Hades is not the Harbinger of Death, but its Nurturer. The Underworld is where it thrives, devoid of the passions and distractions above, yet full of a different sort of beauty. Peace. Quiet.

But Hades is not mortal. And sometimes, Death gets too quiet to bear.

Today is that day, and, like always, she makes her way upward until sunlight seeps its roots deep into her bones.

There is a downside to the Overworld, though, one she has no idea how the others stand to endure. For to walk among the mortals, the Gods must become one of them—in flesh, if nothing else. Down in her kingdom, she is allowed to roam free, the same as Olympus—although even there, she is not entirely without restraints. Hades grimaces slightly at the thought, but discards it just as quickly. She did not come here without a purpose—she never does—and it would be foolish to slip into unnecessary distractions.

Besides, she thinks as the flames around her begin their ascent at last, this mortal body is not without a purpose. Right now, if she is to be completely honest, she can’t exactly remember why she despises it so. Today’s form is perhaps her favourite of all, every inch of it revealed to her as the silver flames trail up her legs, her breasts, her neck. Once they settle in her eyes, she can finally appreciate what she has become.

She likes the softness of her skin underneath the pads of her fingers, and the sensuous sway of her hips as she takes her first step. Her hair, a golden shade of brown, falls in part down her back with the rest of it draped over her shoulders, the cascading waves cupping the curve of her exposed breasts.

What pretty sight, she thinks, then smooths a hand over her thigh. Her power responds instantly, its gentle hum weaving the earth, wind and sun into a silky thread. It doesn’t stop until the gown is complete and hugging her body with a fabric of the darkest black. Hades’s mouth ticks up in a smile at that—it seems that no matter what body she chooses, the colour suits her every time. The gown is sleeveless, and she stretches her arm, admiring the contrast of her milky skin against the fabric. She is the paling moon hung over the midnight sky—a light that shines most beautifully in the darkness.

The rest of the garment gathers at her hips before falling loosely to the ground, covering what she thinks is too much of her supple form. She’ll have to amend that later—she may be a Goddess, but she still wants to make a good first impression.

A breathless sound somewhere behind her tells her she has nothing to worry about, and Hades smirks to herself before turning to its source. A mortal man gapes at her openly, his eyes holding nothing but pure, unrestrained awe. He is old, she thinks, taking in his hunched form and wrinkled skin with a raised brow. A part of her is glad her beauty is one of the last things he will see.

There is no hope for him left when his gaze moves up to meet her own. Only the strongest of mortal minds can withstand the deathly fire in her stare—and this man no longer possesses the resolve of his younger counterparts.

She says nothing—does not even move when he finally understands what kind of creature he stumbled upon in this forest. Not a lost, wandering maiden, but a Goddess.

The worst Goddess this world has to offer.

The awe in his gaze freezes into fear, and his jaw hangs open for the last time before his knees buckle and he falls to the mossy ground. The elderly fog in his eyes chills and becomes frost, a thin veil of cold death. Hades sighs at the scene.

This is inconvenient.

She does not wish to see Thanatos today—not when it means another, long lecture and a hundred reasons against her coming here again. He is perhaps the only one who even dares to contradict her, and she appreciates that at times, but with this—with this, she is certain. Thanatos will say she’d lost her senses, to be sure. It wouldn’t be the first time, and just like all the times before, she would deal with him later.

The barest tinge of guilt passes over her, and she silently curses this mortal flesh for submitting to such foolish, such human impulses. Thanatos, after all, is her most valued friend, even if everyone on Olympus believes him her servant. The truth is, Thanatos is no more than her guest in the Underworld, for his presence is undesired anywhere else.

It is why she does not mind when the less astute of the mortals mistake her for Thanatos—for the God of Death. He lives out his eternal life in the shadows, appearing only when situations like the man before her require it. She is content to take the blame, the hatred—she repays it tenfold when their souls arrive in her kingdom.

Thanatos may be Death, but Hades is its ruler. Its Queen.

Still, whatever compassion she holds for her companion in the Underworld is of no use to her now, and so she shoves it away and makes her way to the edge of the forest. Thanatos will know what caused the old human’s death, but Hades will not be there when he arrives.

The moss is soft beneath her feet, dampened by the rainy days succeeding the summertime. She despises the dry heat, the heavy air and the scorching rays of sunlight. It is why she only visits later in the year, when the climate is more welcoming. When there is…more to be seen.

Hades can see him now, in fact, as she looks out to the fields from behind the wide oak that borders the forest. Demeter keeps him hidden almost all year, like a secret she does not want known to the rest of the world—not even to the Gods. Especially not to the Gods, Hades thinks. Though, of course, there is no hiding from them no matter how hard she tries.

She’d been watching him long enough to understand why. Her son’s power is raw and untamed—it is unlike anything she’d ever seen. Hades can’t quite comprehend how a being so impressive in his skill had managed to come out of a woman so gentle as the Goddess of the Harvest. There’s no denying it, though—he is part of her, no matter how much his power differs from hers. Their auburn hair and russet eyes are one and the same, even the placement of freckles on his toned arms mirrors that of Demeter’s. He shines like the fire that burns under his gaze—bright and hungry and unstoppable. Perhaps that is why he intrigues her—his flames complement her own, their passion a balance to her peace. It is not the same kind of mortal passion that fills her with such distaste—he will never die out. He will burn alongside her for as long as she wants it.

He is a God, just as she is. Eternal. Demeter claims she’d crafted him from the autumn leaves that had once fallen over her crops, but Hades sees the lie for what it is. A man like him cannot be anything but the fruit of pleasure and the joining of flesh—though whose, Hades does not know. Another God, to be certain. One shameful enough for Demeter to remain in her cottage amongst humans—a place so pathetic that no self-respecting God would bother looking at it twice.

But not Hades. Hades comes every year.

Every year, she watches the God of Autumn and wonders if he feels her fire, too. If he does, he says nothing—and so Hades chooses to believe he is not aware of her presence at all. He leaves Demeter’s stead on the dawn of the first autumn day, and the season erupts around him in a symphony of bronze, crimson and gold, glistening even in the most rainy of days. He roams the lands then, admiring his work until Demeter appears at the doorstep again, urging him inside with a worried look on her face. He abides every time, and every time, Hades is too late to stop him.

She will not fail this year. This year, he will be hers at last. She will grab him before he returns to his mother’s side and take him to her kingdom with her—show him what true power means. What being a God means.

She has a few months before the time comes, but she had come today to admire him from afar. Eris. A beautiful name, she must admit, for a beautiful man.

Soon, you will be mine.

He will make a fine consort—he is exactly what she needs in the Underworld. A flicker of light, of fervour, a cackling fire to disturb the quiet. At last, she will—

Hades sucks in a sharp breath, her mortal lungs contracting violently in answer. She whirls on her feet, expecting to find someone behind her—another mortal, perhaps, who strayed too far on their evening hunt. But she finds the forest empty.

It is then that she realises the disturbance came from within her—that her power set every nerve in her body on alert, knocked the air from her chest, stirred by whatever dared to come near it. And since there is no one beside her…

A low snarl slips past her throat.

Someone entered one of her temples—and defiled it.

Hades takes one, final look at her betrothed before the earth beneath her cracks and the silver flames swallow her again.

***

The temple shakes as it signals her arrival, the pile of ruined marble a testament to her anger. Hades feels no remorse—she has hardly any worshippers here, if the spiderwebs draped over the large columns are any indication. This is a village of warriors, and fierce ones at that—they do not accept death even as they march bloodied into battle. She’s been seeing more and more of them in the Underworld lately, souls defeated by the neighbouring legion on the other side of the mountain. A pointless, petty war, Thanatos had told her, though Hades had no interest in hearing the rest of the details.

Through the fractured roof, she can make out the dusk slowly melting into a greyish night. The last remnant of daylight is the pale beam of the sun, illuminating one of her ruined statues. Hades recognises this face—it is one she took on ten years prior. One of her least favourites, but pretty nonetheless.

Pretty enough that the sight of blood on her marble cheek fills her with rage.

Defiled, the word thrums through her again. Degraded by mortal touch.

The crimson smudge gleams fresh, its iron scent brushing her nose without permission. She scrunches it in distaste—yet another violation of her divinity. Whoever did this would not leave her temple again. She would see to their punishment personally.

A gargled cough echoes through the stone, and Hades whips toward the sound.

There you are.

The man’s body is curled up on the floor, but no rubble surrounds him—whatever caused him pain, it happened before her arrival. Blood pools at his side, tainting the pristine marble and reeking of him. There is no doubt left in her mind—this is the man who did this.

And he is already dying.

It seems that her job here is done—perhaps Thanatos is already on his way. Hades turns her back to him and gathers her power again—if she hurries, she might still catch a glimpse of Eris before darkness breaks over the sky once more.

But then the cough reaches her again, and this time, it is followed by a strangled sound.

“Please…”

She halts, though she isn’t sure why.

“Please,” the man rasps again.

If he does not die on his own, her fiery gaze might hurry things along.

Hades turns.

Somehow, he managed to pull himself up to his knees despite the open slice across his navel. Whatever sword had caused this, it was no average one—this man is nearly severed in half, blood pouring out of his squelching flesh in a thick, ruthless current. He holds a large hand over his guts, and Hades wonders if it is the only thing still keeping them in place. This is no ordinary man, she realises, no ordinary warrior—he will not die until he’s exhausted every path, every resource, the very last resort he can think of.

His last resort appears to be her.

Interesting.

“What will you give me?” she asks him, her voice dropping an octave. He tilts his head up to meet her gaze, and Hades considers that perhaps she does not need anything in return at all.

He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. Breathtaking in every sense of the word. So breathtaking that she searches her mind for any Gods who might have sired him—she had never seen a mortal this exquisite. A son of Ares, perhaps, or Athena, even, but he has no resemblance to either of them—there is nothing polished about him that she’d seen up on Olympus, nothing refined into that sleek, eternal perfection her kind likes to boast of. No, he is as wild as the howling wind in the harshest of winters, as rough and hardened as the frozen earth at the foot of the mountain towering over her temple.

His hazel eyes blaze with want, but it is not the hunger she so often sees in the eyes of her betrothed. He wants to survive, to live, but his reasons have nothing to do with him.

“Anything,” he says, and there is new strength in his voice, one Hades did not expect in a man on the threshold of Death. “I will give you anything.”

She doesn’t want to admit this, not out loud at least, but he intrigues her immensely. A man with the face and stare of a God—and yet still, just a mortal, dying man.

She realises then that he’s holding her own stare directly—that he’s taking in all that silver fire and his answering gaze holds not even a shred of fear.

“Your name,” Hades decides. “Your name in exchange for your life.”

His dark brows furrow, and she knows he is turning her words over in his mind until he finds the trap, the secret motive she surely plants underneath her request. A thought crosses her mind that whoever he is, he has been trained to deal with deception, to recognise threat before it even comes to life. But the only threat here is her curiosity, and so, when he looks up at her again, she already knows he has found nothing.

“Cassian,” he tells her, and Hades breathes again.

Somewhere deep inside her, she hears the fading voice of Thanatos, a final voice of reason before she succumbs into this bargain with no hopes of return. Forget his name. Go home. Do not think of him again—destroy the temple, if you must.

She does not have to. Hades is a Goddess, a Queen—she will be damned before she let this distraction ruin the plan she’s been crafting for decades.

Thanatos will honour this bargain—he will not come for this man, and will defy the Fates in doing so. The least Hades can do is listen.

“Do not seek me out again, mortal,” she warns.

And with that, she is gone forever.

***

Forever does not last long enough.

“Ignore it,” the shadows tell her, and she turns to meet their face.

Thanatos’s expression is grave, though that does little to stop her—he always looks this way, after all, pained and somber even in the quiet reprieve that the Underworld allows him.

“I cannot,” Hades says, and her friend’s lips only press tighter together.

She wonders if it is her friend trying to shield her, or the God of Death. Perhaps he is merely trying to spare her—to keep her from making the same mistake he had. Thanatos has never quite recovered from Athena’s rejection, or Aphrodite’s heartbreak, the romance brief as it was. But this—she—is different. This has nothing to with risk, or with romance—only curiosity, burning somewhere deep inside her chest, and brighter than the silver fire in her eyes.

Right now, that curiosity is fuelled by anger, because the man—Cassian—dared to disobey her command.

She felt him the moment he touched one of the statues in her temple, his touch roughened by the calloused skin of his open palm and tainted with battle yet again. To think that this man, this mortal, has now dared to summon her twice—it makes her want to rage for the rest of eternity.

“You ask too much of me,” Thanatos accuses, his words pulling her out of her thoughts yet again.

Hades waves a hand. “I do not ask of anything yet.”

His gaze narrows on her, and she can practically feel his scrutiny clawing at her skin. “Your temple reeks of his blood—surely you’ve felt it, too.” The shadows swirl around him eagerly, like a child mindlessly nodding along to its parent’s words. “You know where this path will lead you.”

“Precisely,” Hades hisses. “I forbade him from ever returning there again, and yet, not even a month later, he came back—no doubt with more demands.” Her anger simmers inside her again, but she manages to keep it contained. The time to unleash it will come later—soon, if Thanatos would just get over himself and let her pass.

The God of Death angles his head slightly. “You intend to punish him, then.”

“Of course,” Hades says, trying her hardest not to take offence at the disbelief in his tone. She knows Thanatos’s faith in her has been shaken, that he disapproves of her plans, her determination. That he disapproves of the Overworld, and of Eris, and—

“You’re wrong,” he interrupts. She didn’t realise she said the words out loud, though perhaps Thanatos could simply read them on her face. “I only want you to understand. This God of Autumn, and now this…this human—they will never be enough for you here.”

Her eyes flare silver. “You mean you will never be enough.”

Hades regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth, but it is already too late. She let her anger get the best of her—to strike where she knew would hurt him the most. She can tell she succeeded from the way his eyes darken, from the way his shadows curl at his sides like snakes ready to defend their master, to fight venom with venom.

Thanatos is not her master, though—and even though down here they may only have each other, she is still the Queen. His Queen, for as long as he chooses to remain in the Underworld. His opinions, his jealousy, she decides, are not welcome here.

Her body relaxes as the momentary guilt lifts from her shoulders, and when she speaks again, her voice is colder than the silver fire pooling at her feet. “I am leaving for the temple.”

Silence falls between them, and when she no longer believes Thanatos has anything of value left to say, she turns her back to him at last.

She’s about to disappear when she hears his voice again. “This will be the last favour, Hades,” he warns her.

Good. She will not need any more.

Still, the words echo in her head the entirety of her journey upward, fading only when the temple comes into view. The ground trembles under the weight of her fury, the stone walls crumbling inch by inch with her every step. She has no idea how the temple still stands, frankly. She was expecting it to collapse after her last visit.

She was also expecting to see Cassian amidst all that rubble, drenched in his own blood and his guts slowly spilling out of his body. Instead, she finds him in perfect health, his chin held up high as he meets her gaze from beneath her statue where he waits.

Kneeling.

Hades is not one to be easily taken by surprise, but the sight of him on his knees before her makes her breath hitch in her throat. He’s cloaked in a warrior’s leathers, traditional to his region, dark and ridged and tight, and Hades can’t help it when her traitorous eyes trail down to admire their work. She can make out the defined muscle of his thick thighs, wondering how they’d feel under the touch of her human hands. She wants to dig her nails into the golden-brown skin—wants to pierce those leathers and find out just how hard those muscles are.

She hears his breath turn ragged when her gaze settles on the bulge at their apex, and the thought crosses her mind that, perhaps, he’d be more than willing to answer all her questions had she only asked. Her form seems to please him as much as he pleases her—though that, at least, comes as no surprise.

The gown she’d selected would no doubt make Thanatos choke in disbelief. The black lace is sheer and hugs her body in all the right places, revealing her smooth skin from the collar at her neck down to the lean muscle of her calves. The thread forms intricate patterns over her nipples before descending to her navel in a V-like shape, covering just enough of her cunt beneath to make any God drop to his knees.

Any mortal, too, of course, she reminded herself as her gaze lifted to the male before her once again.

“I thought you’d like to see me this way,” Cassian says, his voice low and deep and reverberating through her in a slow, shuddering wave. “Hades.”

The moment shatters like glass.

Hades straightens, silently cursing Thanatos, the Fates and, above all, herself for giving into his beauty, to the temptations of this mortal flesh. She is Hades, the Goddess of the Underworld, and this pathetic, mortal male had nearly made her knees buckle at the sound of his sultry baritone. Her anger is renewed, a flame brought to life once again as it replaces the pleasant heat that has somehow managed to pool at her core. Hades reminds herself then that she has come here to exact punishment, not…whatever this is. Whatever he makes her feel.

After all, Hades has plans. In two months or so, she will finally be joined in the Underworld by her betrothed. Her consort. Her equal.

Cassian is none of those things.

“You disobeyed me, General,” she says, because she does not dare to say his name out loud. Besides, she is certain that’s exactly who Cassian is—a male of such strength, such size, cannot be anything lesser than. “I ordered you to never seek me out again.”

Their gazes lock and hold.

Cassian does not even flinch. “I’m afraid I’m in need of your favour once again, Goddess.”

The ground shakes again—then stops as Hades takes a levelling breath. “What makes you think you will have it?”

He shifts his weight from one leg to another, and Hades’s eyes dart to the movement, to this new, exciting position his muscles arranged themselves into. She can swear he kneels wider now, as though he knows, as though he smells the curiosity, the arousal on her.

Cassian shrugs. “I suppose I can only hope.”

“What is it you want?” Hades asks. “You don’t seem injured to me.”

His entire body tenses, and she catches a shadow passing through his features. “It’s not me,” he tells her, his shoulders rolling back and inch as he looks up to meet her eyes again. “It’s my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“She’s dying,” he says, and there is the smallest hint of strain in his voice now. She must be important to him, then, Hades realises. She never understood how humans feel so deeply.

So she tells him, “All things die eventually, General.”

Cassian’s jaw clenches hard. “It’s too soon,” he says. “She was taken by illness none of our healers understand.”

“It is the will of the Fates, then.”

Lightning flares in his hazel eyes at that. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Hades barks a laugh. “You?” she asks, “or me?”

A muscle juts in his jaw, and she wonders if he bit hard enough to draw blood. “I put myself at your mercy,” he says before adding quickly, “Your Majesty.”

Something about the title pleases her immensely, and so she doesn’t kill him right on the spot. “You would give yourself to me?” she asks instead. She can already hear Thanatos’s protests in her head, but her mind wanders anyway. Cassian in her kingdom like a pet she could keep at her disposal, curled by her lap and ready to serve. Pretty. Obedient.

Hers.

He would entertain her—her consort, too, perhaps, when he joined her side at last. A lovely sight to admire in the morning and play with at night.

Hades hums lowly, and Cassian’s eyes flare up again—with a different light, this time, and she swears she can see specks of gold in those endless pools of hazel.

“You propose a bargain, then,” she begins, surveying him head to toe once more.

So beautiful.

Cassian nods. “Save my mother’s life, and my life, my heart, my soul—is in your hands.”

Hades considers.

Kill him, the raging fire inside her says.

But the golden light staring back at her pleads, Take me.

Hades steps forward and reaches out a hand. “Come with me.”

***

They arrive at the Gates of the Underworld hand in hand.

“Am I…” Cassian starts, taking in the sight around him. “Dead?”

Hades smirks to herself.

“No,” she tells him. “You will live for as long as I need you to.”

His eyes widen, as if struggling to grasp the immortality she’s just laid out before him. “And my mother?” he asks.

“You will never see her again, if that is what you’re asking.”

Cassian releases a long, long breath. “Lead the way.”

The only way into the Underworld is through the Acheron river, and though Hades can come and go as she pleases without the unnecessary ordeal, she decides to accompany Cassian anyway—this time, at least. She tells herself she simply doesn’t want him to drown—after all, this is his first time in the Kingdom of the Dead, and it would be a shame to lose a pet she’d only just acquired.

Cassian sways as they step onto the small, wooden ferry, but Hades only looks ahead. “So,” she begins. “You survived.”

His confusion is almost palpable, rolling off of him in waves and leaving creases in the dark water. How strange it is to have someone in the Underworld feel so strongly, Hades thinks. There is only peace and quiet in these lands, and he is a disturbance—Thanatos would surely say so, at least. He might be a disturbance, yes—but to Hades, it is a welcome one.

A useful one, too.

“Oh,” he suddenly says, ripping Hades free from her racing mind as she thinks of all the ways her new guest could be used. “You mean the battle. The first time you saved me.”

Hades stills at that.

The first time?

She would hardly call their bargain saving. His companionship was his price, not…not some kind of gift. The General is chained to her now, to the Underworld—he belongs to her just as the darkness here does.

This is his punishment, and yet…and yet his words ring of salvation, and it makes Hades wonder.

And so she says, “Tell me more of this…battle.”

A step behind her, she hears him loose a breath. “We stood no chance. We…I lost almost all my men,” he says, and Hades feels the Underworld purr in delight at his words. It will feed on this guilt, this regret of a survivor until its endless hunger is appeased. “We defended our village in the end, but at a cost.” His voice breaks as he adds, “So many of us—gone. They took our women, our children…”

And, Hades realises, these fallen souls—they all belong to her now. They all rest here, roaming the quiet darkness—the warriors, the children…The women.

The question escapes her the moment it crosses her mind. “And you?” she asks. “Did you have a…a woman?”

There is only silence between them—silence and the Acheron’s gentle current as they make way toward Hades’s fortress.

When he answers, Cassian’s voice is hoarse. “No, Your Majesty,” he says. “I did not.”

And Hades…Hades no longer knows what to feel.

She shouldn’t feel, she reminds herself. She has spent too much time in this body, this mortal prison of emotion and softness and pain, its flesh strong enough to subdue that silver fire within her that’s used to killing everything that dares cross her path. Once they reach the shore, she will leave his side for a while—will find a place to unleash those flames, if only to remind herself of who she really is.

Of who she’s supposed to be .

But they’re still crammed on the ferry now, the shore nowhere in sight, and so, for the last time, Hades indulges in her curiosity. “Why me?” she asks, still not turning to meet his gaze. “Why not Thanatos, or Athena, or Ares, even?”

She feels his hazel gaze on her back, his presence stronger now, somehow—but this time, there is no confusion filling it, and she knows he understands exactly what she’s asking.

So Hades finally turns.

“Perhaps,” Cassian grins, “I thought you could use some company.”

For the first time in her eternal life, Hades laughs.

***

She returns the next day, deep from where she dwells in her fortress, and finds Cassian looking out to the dark waves washing up on shore.

She took on her human form once again, though for reasons she can’t exactly justify. She doesn’t need this body, not here—but this is how Cassian knows her, and she likes the hunger flickering in his eyes as they sweep over its every curve.

This is merely for her enjoyment, Hades tells herself. He is, after all, to be her entertainment—company, as he called it earlier. She doesn’t really care what he thinks of her—but an inflated sense of an ego is true to any God, and, mortal or not, he seems like the right person to stroke it.

Something heats deep inside her as she thinks of all the places he could stroke her, all the wet, sinful pleasure he could help her coax out of this flesh—

“You’re back,” Cassian says, turning to meet her silver gaze.

Compose yourself, the fire within her hisses.

“Not exactly,” she tells him, thankful for the coolness in her tone despite the heat still shooting through her body. “I was just about to leave.”

His brows knit over his eyes, and he tilts his head slightly, dark hair spilling over his shoulder. “Leave?” he asks. “What for?”

Hades crosses her arms. “Contrary to what you might think, I have pressing matters to attend to.”

“In the mortal lands?”

“Yes,” she says, then waves a hand to urge him closer. “I have something for you, General.”

Cassian’s eyes flash, a glimmer of light in the dim space of the Underworld, and he takes a step toward her. “Oh?”

Hades nods, and lays out her hand to reveal her gift.

“I…don’t understand,” Cassian says, but his gaze remains fixed on the seven crimson stones, gleaming gently in Hades’s palm.

“They are called siphons,” she explains, then waves a hand again. The stones are now edged in his leather armour, the two largest ones resting proudly atop the strong muscles of his arms, and Hades smiles at the sight. They look as thought they’ve always belonged here, as though they’ve been part of him forever. “They’re meant to amplify your power—your speed, your strength, your precision. You may be a formidable warrior in the Overworld, General, but down here, you will need these to keep the more…defiant souls at bay.”

Cassian’s fingers brush over the siphon at the back of his palm, its bleeding light reflected in his marvelling stare. “So…” he begins quietly, then clenches his fist—as if testing the newfound power of his grip, “I’m to be your…guard?”

Hades’s smile curls into a smirk. “Think of yourself as more of a helpful guest, General.”

His eyes finally lift to meet her own. “And are your guests allowed to ever return home?”

The Goddess’s smile sours. “This is your home now.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“If you so wish,” she continues, not really wanting to hear the rest of it, “You are welcome to wander to the Overworld whenever I’m…otherwise occupied.” Then, she adds, “As long as you remember that no matter where you are, you belong to me.”

She half expects him to cower—even Thanatos gives in to the icy bite in her tone from time to time—but Cassian appears relaxed, his siphons still glistening quietly atop his armour. “I am yours to command, Goddess.”

“We’ll see,” Hades only says, then brushes past him and toward the river.

He moves so fast she does not even see his hand dart for hers—and when his fingers lace with her own, Hades is so stunned she freezes entirely in her trail.

She has never been touched like this—not by a mortal, at least. She had taken lovers before, Gods—those of a grand status and those of lesser significance—but they felt nothing like this, and this has nothing to do with the trap of her mortal flesh. His golden-brown hand is warm, and every roughened bit of his calloused skin tells her of him—the battles he’d won and the battles he’d lost, the spirit they crafted like the strongest steel. It sinks into her, as if searching for her own, hidden so deep within her she’d never thought it existed until this very moment.

In a land of eternal dreams, Hades feels awake.

“I’ve offended you,” Cassian says quietly.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Hades replies, but her voice is distant now, still buried with the soul she didn’t know she possessed.

“I have not forgotten what you’ve done for me,” he continues, as though unaware that the world has just tilted beneath their feet. “You saved me—before I met you, I knew only of war and bloodshed and pain.”

“What makes you think you’ll find anything better here?” she asks, the question no more than a breath. “What are you hoping to find?”

The peace, the quiet darkness of the Underworld…Hades knows better than anyone that it will never be enough, not unless the passing soul is already dead—and Cassian’s soul practically sings with life, like the wind ruffling the snow-capped trees, like the gallop of hooves cracking the rocky earth.

But when his fingers wrap tighter around her own, she realises Cassian doesn’t seek peace.

“Understanding,” he tells her softly. “I think you seek it, too.”

Hades’s gaze drops to where their hands are joined, life and death, and she is no longer sure where one ends and the other begins.

“I do not wish to return,” Cassian continues when she stays quiet, “My place is here.” His thumb brushes over her knuckles, and the thin hairs on her arms rise at the barest touch. “My place is here with you, Hades.”

Hades blinks.

You know where this path will lead you, Thanatos’s voice practically screams in her head, and finally, finally, Hades realises—this is all wrong.

Cassian’s place may be at her side as the bargain deemed it—but her place is nowhere near him at all.

Suddenly, Hades is grateful Thanatos, or any of the Gods for that matter, weren’t here to witness this—whatever this thing between them is. She is Hades, after all, a Goddess and a Queen, and Cassian—this man—has no say in where she belongs.

Besides, Hades has already decided—she belongs here, with Eris. With the God of Autumn, the season where everything dies—the perfect consort to the Queen of Death itself. They are going to live in her kingdom exactly as she planned, burning together for all eternity. Death and Decay.

Hades frees herself from Cassian’s eyes, and if there is any hurt in his eyes, she does not stay long enough to see it.

“I’ll return soon,” she says as she once again makes way toward the river. “I must hurry if I am to catch my consort before the dusk breaks.”

Every soul in the Underworld goes utterly still.

Hades smiles to herself.

That ought to keep him at bay.

But when Cassian speaks again, his voice dips so low she swears it makes the ground shake. “Your what?”

He takes a step toward her, the crimson light of his siphons blazing on the river’s surface. Hades doesn’t grace him with a look, her back straight to him as she explains, “My betrothed—the God of Autumn. He will join us once the season ends—at the sight of the first snowfall.”

“You didn’t tell me,” he says, and it’s almost an accusation.

Hades’s smile becomes cruel, and she turns to face him at last. “This matter does not concern you,” she answers, and watches his siphons flare even brighter.

“The God of Autumn.” Cassian chews the words as if the taste is not to his liking. “And you love this man?”

Hades almost laughs. “Love has nothing to do with it, General—he is my consort. My equal in every way that matters.”

“Is power all that matters to you?”

“Yes.” A half-lie, since power is the only thing that matters to Hades.

Cassian hums, mulling over her words. “And if…” he starts, and Hades only keeps listening because this is the entertainment she has been hoping for. His confusion, his anger—they were expected. Jealousy, on the other hand…

“And if there was someone more powerful than him?” he finally asks. “More powerful than your God?”

Hades scoffs. “I have no interest in concerning myself with Olympus ever again.”

“I don’t—”

“Enough,” Hades says, because as entertaining as this is, she knows the sun has already begun to set in the Overworld. “I expect to see you at the Gates upon my return.” She turns her back to him again. “You are to remain here until then.”

How utterly lovely it feels to see the warrior ignite within him again. He is once again reminded of their bargain, of the Goddess standing before him, and the flames inside her purr at the control she’s regained. He’d thrown her off, she can admit that, with the warmth of his skin and the softness of his touch—but this anger, this roughness…This is a language Hades understands. Her immortal skin tingles deliciously under his gaze, under the fury burning underneath. She’d never met a human so…defiant.

It is no matter. One way or another, he will be tamed by her hand. By her cunt, if that does not work. Gods or men, males always seem particularly susceptible to those.

She steps to the edge of the shore, surveying her reflection in the murky water. The black silk clings to her body like the thickest shadows, exposing her bare skin in places she’d carefully selected in her quarters earlier. The curve of her breasts is revealed by a deep cut in the top of her gown—another slit in the fabric teases her bare thigh, all the way down to where it pools at her feet. With each passing day, she enjoys the curves of this body more—human, yet so deliciously divine.

A low, guttural sound somewhere behind her tells her the General shares the sentiment.

A flicker of her power places something heavy atop her neatly braided hair, and gaze moves to admire the onyx jewels when she hears his voice again, his large frame appearing on the river’s surface.

“I will not.”

Her smile fades, but she does not grace him with a look. “You dare disobey me again, General?”

“I am coming with you,” he says, that anger creeping into his tone again.

She scoffs again. “You will do no such thing. Your presence would only disturb me.”

He moves in closer, the warmth of his chest nearly sinking into her back now. “Oh?” he muses, his eyes fixed on their reflection as he leans over her shoulder. “Do you find me distracting, Majesty?”

Cassian’s breath is hot on her neck, teasing her skin, the sensitive spot below her ear. Hades fights the urge to shudder, forbids her body from reacting to the emotion rolling off him without restraint.

His powerful arms come around her then, hands resting heavily on her waist, and her body leans instantly into the touch. Hades gasps out in protest, a small, exasperated sound at the blatant display of the effect he has on her. This body keeps betraying her, keeps answering his call with a song of its own, one Hades isn’t sure she ever wants to hear.

Cassian brushes his thumb over her skin—somehow, she can feel the warmth of his touch beneath the silk—and their gazes meet in the reflection of the Acheron, his eyes shining brighter than the flames in her own. The message is clear.

Don’t you see it? Don’t you see how good we look together?

“Stay,” Cassian murmurs, his soft mouth brushing the shell of her ear. Hades watches the movement in the water, and she’s not entirely sure she’s even breathing as he says again, “Stay here—stay with me.”

Hades closes her eyes, and, for just a moment, she lets herself imagine what would happen if she obliged. She wonders how those hands, that mouth would worship her—the way a Goddess deserves to be worshipped. Maybe his tongue would trail a path down her neck—place wet kisses on her exposed skin until it reached her breasts, already heavy and aching for his touch. Maybe she’d let him flick one of her nipples—trace lazy circles over the pebbled spot as he took it into his hungry mouth. Maybe…maybe she’d let his hands slide downwards, let them feel the slickness they’ve already begun to coax from her. Maybe she’d let his tongue taste it, too.

And then Cassian’s fingers brush her waist again. “You don’t need him.”

Hades opens her eyes.

She whirls to face him again, to face the man who was meant to be no more than a momentary distraction, the man who now thought it acceptable to touch her, tease her as though she belonged to him.

No, Hades thinks. He belongs to her.

“You,” she tells him, “have no idea what I need.”

When he opens his mouth to protest, Hades is already gone.

***

The island is warm and filled with sunlight.

It is so unlike the Underworld that Hades finds herself blinking a couple times before her immortal gaze adjusts to the sight. The sea is bright and turquoise, and its waves foam into a pearly white as they crash against the shore. Even the sand glimmers under the light like dusted gold.

It is exactly the kind of place Hades expected to find her.

She knows Aphrodite is staying over at the palace, towering over the water in an opalescent kind of stone. The small kingdom seems untouched by autumn’s decay, not yet at least, and Hades suspects one of the Gods must hold it in their favour—Helios, perhaps, judging by the sun hanging high up in the sky despite the late hour of the evening.

The island is a beautiful place, though Hades has little interest in staying—she’s here with a purpose, one pressing enough that it cannot wait for her to fully take her surroundings in. Besides, she knows Aphrodite has sensed her arrival from the way the seafoam stiffened as it washed up on shore. It makes Hades smirk—she wonders what, exactly, her presence here has interrupted.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another month.”

The voice behind her is like fresh, sweet honey dripping over her skin, and the first instinct of her human body is to take her fingers into her mouth and lick them just to get a taste. Hades hisses sharply in response—Aphrodite’s always set her traps well. She could only pity whatever mortals she’d chosen to ensnare this time.

Hades turns, the sand molding itself to her feet. “You know I hate leaving things until the last minute,” she says, the words enough of a greeting as the two Goddesses face each other at last.

Aphrodite chuckles. “Of course you do.”

Hades knows she should have expected perfection from the Goddess of Love and Beauty, but seeing Aphrodite’s face makes that fire inside her stir with jealousy anyway. Her face is so impeccable it almost hurts—the mortals, no doubt, fall to their knees at a mere glimpse of it. Full, rosy lips and eyes of a fawn’s coat, gazing upon her from beneath long, dark lashes—the portrait of innocence hiding an ancient, cruel soul.

Aphrodite smirks, as though she can tell exactly what Hades is thinking, and brushes a loose curl off her shoulder. The colour mirrors that of Hades’s, but Aphrodite’s hair is even lovelier, somehow, with a luminescence to it that seems to rival the very sun itself. She’s woven pearls into the small braids tied at the crown of her hair—her preferred symbol of her divinity. Except, of course, for the brief period of time when she’d opted for sapphires as her favourite jewellery. Hades’s scowl deepens even more at the thought.

“Thanatos sends his regards,” she says, if only to wipe that stupid smirk off her pretty face.

Instead, her golden brows shoot up with amusement. “No, I don’t think he does.”

Hades rolls her eyes before they flicker to the grand structure ahead. The palace nearly beams with Aphrodite’s presence—even the wind here seems to carry her scent. Jasmine and honey—a poison too many to count had mistaken for nectar.

Perhaps that is why Hades can’t help herself again. “So,” she muses, “the rumours are true, then.” She looks at Aphrodite again. “Will I be invited to the wedding this time?”

Hades is more than certain Aphrodite hadn’t come to this island for a holiday. The beautiful Goddess never does anything without purpose—that, at least, the two of them have in common. If she resides here, at the palace, Hades can guess well enough who her next victim is.

So she adds, her lip curling slightly, “A coronation, perhaps?”

Finally, that grimace Hades knows all too well blooms upon Aphrodite’s perfect features. For something to rattle her enough to drop her sultry mask…Hades can’t help but be impressed.

“There might not be either,” Aphrodite says, crossing her arms over her pearly white dress. “He’s proving…especially difficult.”

Now that piques Hades’s interest. A mortal immune to Aphrodite’s charms? It seems impossible—Hades had seen the Gods themselves trip over their feet for as much as a shred of Aphrodite’s attention. That whoever this prince was hasn’t yet made her his wife was…

Intriguing.

Still, Hades isn’t here to gossip about Aphrodite’s latest conquest. She’s got her own mission on her hands, and one far too important to indulge in irrelevant chitchat.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Did you bring what I asked you?”

Aphrodite reaches out a hand. “You doubt me, Hades?”

“Always.”

She laughs, the sound weaving into the soft whoosh of the sea. “So mistrustful,” she scolds playfully. “How will you keep your loved one, my dear Hades, with your heart guarded so closely?”

“That’s what I have you for,” Hades says, then takes the seeds from Aphrodite’s open palm.

Aphrodite only hums.

Hades takes that moment to examine what she’d come here for. Four, singular seeds—pomegranate, she realises—shining a gentle ruby in the slowly dying sunlight. An untrained eye would mistake them for merely that—but Hades feels the power thrumming inside. Wicked. Forbidden.

She looks up to meet those brown eyes again. “How does it work?”

“The power contained within the seeds shall bind your lover to your side—simply feed him one of them at the beginning of each season for the spell to be renewed.”

Hades’s eyes narrow. “You only gave me four seeds.” They would only last a year—a year to keep Eris in the Underworld.

Aphrodite smirks again. “Perhaps you’ll have to consider opening your heart then.”

A low snarl slips past Hades’s teeth. “This was not our deal—”

And then she feels it.

A shift in the wind—and a fire blown out.

The same fire she thought would burn until the end of time—the same fire she thought would burn with her.

Aphrodite’s brows furrow as she, too, feels it—and her sneer returns when realisation dawns upon her. “Or perhaps you won’t,” she says, and with that, she’s gone.

Hades allows herself one breath as she stands alone at the beach.

Then her flames erupt, and her fury is unleashed.

***

Divine blood has many forms.

Thanatos’s blood, for example, is the darkest shade of black, thick and viscous and reminding her of tar. Once it slithers down his body, upon its first contact with the ground, its still into obsidian—there are still remnants of it scattered atop Olympus, glinting ominously even in the most starless of nights. They serve as Thanatos’s personal reminder: Don’t ever return. You are not welcome here.

Hades had never seen Aphrodite’s blood—she’s not even sure the Goddess has ever bled—but she imagines it as a thousand pearls liquified, a shimmering silk exuding an opalescent kind of light. It tastes of the endless sea, wrapped up in fragrant jasmine to disguise the salt.

She’d never thought she’d ever see Eris’s blood, either. And yet it pools right before her, seeping into the drying crops.

It gleams a bright crimson and fills the air with a tinge of metal that Hades knows she’s tasted before—it starts off bitter before it sours on her tongue. Iron.

Human.

Hades’s eyes flicker to the cottage ahead where Demeter rests, still blissfully unaware. Not a God then, she thinks to herself, but a mortal—a mortal man has sired her betrothed, and left his blood in Eris’s veins as proof.

It made Eris vulnerable. It made him killable.

Her gaze returns to his body, already chilling as Autumn slowly slips out of his grasp.

Hades’s blood is the silver fire that flows in her veins. Cold. Restless. Unforgiving. An excellent aide in exacting revenge. She cannot use it here, in the Overworld—so Hades waits, letting her burning eyes promise the vengeance she’s already begun plotting.

Fortunately, her prey already waits in the Underworld.

“You know who did this,” Thanatos says behind her.

Hades does not turn to face him. “You don’t have to sound so pleased.”

“I did tell you not to go down this path,” he reminds her. “This—all of it—is on you.”

Hades whirls on her feet. “Save him,” she breathes. “You have to—”

“No.” The word slams into her like a wall of ice. “No more favours, Nesta.”

Hades goes completely, lethally still. Even her blood falters in its tracks, the flames too stunned to keep on raging.

Her warning comes as a whisper. “You dare?”

Thanatos crosses his tattooed arms over chest, the dark swirls shifting with his golden-brown skin. She’d never asked, she realises in that moment, what the meaning behind them is—she also finds that she doesn’t care.

“I dare,” Thanatos says.

No one—no one in her divine, eternal existence—had ever used her name. Her true name. Too powerful, too sacred to be spoken by anyone but her. Even Olympus doesn’t know—and if they do, they never dared to so much as think it. She’d only told Thanatos, centuries ago—a mistake, she now understands—and Aphrodite, her price for the now useless pomegranate.

For Eris is no good to her dead. In the Underworld, he’d be all but a shred of a soul he was here—powerless. Empty.

Unworthy.

Nesta rages again.

And then leaves to exact her revenge.

***

The Underworld is quiet when she returns—as if the fallen souls themselves have decided to stay out of her way. Even the Acheron seems to have stilled, its gloomy current frozen into place.

They all feel it—the anger, the fury rolling off their Queen. They’re wise to know crossing her now is a fate much worse than death.

Like an obedient pet, Cassian waits for his mistress at the shore. He holds his chin high, his hair swept back in dark waves as he watches the silver flames reveal her inch by inch. He looks every bit the General that he is.

Expect that Generals are meant to obey their masters—to follow their every command without question. And yet this one stands before her with blood on his hands that isn’t his own, the crimson siphons illuminating the proof of his defiance.

Worst of all, his hazel eyes show no remorse—only intense, absolute determination.

He’s proud of what he did, Nesta realises. She’s comforted by the thought that, after she’s done with him, he will no longer be anything.

She lets her flames swallow the ground beneath her, lets them lick up her legs as she steps toward him. It feels liberating to have them to live and breathe her rage outside her eyes—now, every bit of her is that cold, unforgiving fire.

Still, Cassian meets her blazing gaze and doesn’t even flinch.

It angers her even more.

“You,” she breathes, the sound dry and hoarse on her tongue, “ruined everything.”

Cassian crosses his powerful arms. For a moment, he reminds her of Thanatos—his red siphons mirror the sapphires she’d given her friend all those centuries ago. Had she not been so utterly foolish and given them to Cassian, Eris might still have been alive now. Sitting on the throne she’d prepared for him, Aphrodite’s magic coursing through his veins.

But Eris is dead now, his soul likely travelling down to the Underworld right this moment. All because of—

Of her.

She should’ve left him for dead the first time—should’ve heeded Thanatos’s warning and allowed Cassian to die a warrior’s death.

Instead, she created a monster.

“If it’s forgiveness you seek,” Cassian almost scoffs, “You’re in for a disappointment, Your Majesty.”

“Not forgiveness.” Her lips twist in a cruel smile. “Punishment.”

She expects it then—that flash of fear in his gaze, that final realisation that, like him, she is a monster too.

Instead, Cassian lights up with excitement—as though punishment is exactly what he’s been hoping to hear.

Perhaps that’s why she asks, “Why?”

She doesn’t need to elaborate—he understands well enough.

“You deserve someone better than him,” he says, his chin dipping as his gaze sweeps over the fire slowly travelling up her skin. She ignores the heat it stirs within her, tells herself it’s the silver touch of her flames—except that her power is cold as ice, ice that now slowly melts under the burning hunger in his stare.

Still, she schools her features into disdain. “And I suppose that someone is you?”

Hazel eyes flicker back to hers. “It could be.” He takes a step toward her. “If you want it—if you want me.”

Nesta grits her teeth—if only to keep herself still. “What I wanted,” she says tightly, “is gone now. Because of you.”

Cassian’s voice drops an octave. “Good.”

Her fingers curl into fists. “How dare you,” she hisses, channelling that useless heat into anger. “How dare you kill a God.”

Another step in her direction has her mortal body shaking. “You would give yourself to him.” His eyes darken, the black of his pupils drowning out their colour. “You would give yourself to a God who fell at the hand of a human.” Disgust laces his words—a General unimpressed with his opponent, a General who wished for battle only for his enemy to yield before it even truly began. “I killed him in two strikes,” Cassian says. “I challenge you, I said. For the hand of the one who commands us both. Would you like to know what your precious consort told me?”

She squeezed her fists harder, the circle of fire around her raging up to her waist now.

Cassian takes a final step—another inch, and he’d be swallowed by the flames. “He said he doesn’t know you,” he seethes, “but even if he did, you’d never be worthy of him.”

Nesta’s flames die out—fade into the dark earth beneath her feet.

It wouldn’t have mattered. She’d expected defiance—that’s why she’d arranged for the pomegranate as a precaution. Willingly or not, Eris would have come to the Underworld eventually. It was not up to Cassian to—

“I defended your honour,” Cassian continues. “You would punish me for that, Goddess?”

There is no reverence in the way he speaks her title—as if her status, her kingdom, as if Hades means nothing to him at all.

As if he only cares about her.

As if he only cares about Nesta.

“Tell me your name,” Cassian breathes.

The entire Underworld freezes.

Slowly, she tells him, “You know my name.” A final warning.

“No—your real name. Not the one they carve into temples, not the one they chant before their dead,” he says. “I want to know you.” His eyes are desperate. “Tell me your name, Hades, and I’m yours—the way I was always meant to be.”

“You,” she starts lowly, “already belong to me.”

Cassian’s eyes flash in surprise.

Nesta goes on, “I brought you here at your own request. I could’ve left you, your mother, everything you hold dear—I could’ve left it all to die.” She points a finger to his chest, her long, sharp nail digging into the hard muscle—and Cassian’s gaze darts to the touch. “But I brought you here instead, and I was planning to give you everything. I would have made you mine—my most prized pet, always at my side.”

His breath turns ragged, and he’s so close that she can almost feel it on her neck.

“But you are no pet,” Nesta says quietly. “I see that now.”

Cassian stills entirely.

Nesta smiles. “You are a beast.”

Silver sizzles beneath her finger, tasting his golden-brown skin, and Cassian’s eyes widen at the sight.

He can do nothing when her magic purrs, and his body bursts into flames.

His screams echo through the Underworld, the ground shuddering beneath his pain, the Acheron quivering at its sheer force. She knows it isn’t their cold touch that pours anguish into his soul, but the transformation itself. The steel-sharp claws that tear his skin apart as his limbs shift into large, heavy paws. The sharp needles piercing at his body before they turn into short, roughened fur, dark and gleaming the way his hair once did. The vocal cords twisting and contracting as they turn his smooth, deep voice into a low, primal rumble.

It’s working.

Cassian was already tall as a human, but his form must have grown threefold now—the four-legged beast that now stands before her is massive, towering over her so that she can hardly reach its torso, let alone face him at an eye level. His eyes…

Nesta swallows. Hard.

What have you become?

Three large heads now blink at her, their pointed ears twitching in what appears to be confusion. He almost resembles a wolf, Nesta thinks to herself, though his fur is shorter, and his shape and size is no match for the creatures she’d seen in the Overworld’s forests. Cassian is now a creature of his own might, no longer needing siphons to amplify his power. No, this beast could crush Eris with as little as a swing of his long, dark tail.

Those three pairs of eyes blink again, and Nesta makes herself face the middle, wolf-like head. And when his stare shines a familiar hazel, she finally, finally smiles.

He belongs to her now, and there is no going back.

His gaze shifts into something like understanding—and a deep huff sounds from the big, wet snout, as though he’s trying to tell her, I was yours all along, Goddess.

She angles her head slightly. “Perhaps I simply like you better in this form, General,” she answers.

Another huff—a scoff, almost—and Nesta can’t help but chuckle.

“You have no idea,” she tells him.

Slowly, Cassian makes his way past her, toward the island’s shore, the ground grunting heavily under the weight of his new form. He stops at the river’s edge, and she knows he’s taking it all in—the beast that has always lurked from deep within his soul, waiting to be released.

Yes, Nesta realises. She does like this form very much.

When the beast turns to her at last, there is a question hiding in his stare.

“Your humanity isn’t gone—well, not entirely, at least,” Nesta explains. “I can change you back as I please.” A sly smile creeps onto her lips once more. “As long as you please me.”

A low growl slips past his teeth—sharper than any sword he’s ever held, no doubt—and Nesta begins to wonder if he even wants to be changed at all. He likes this—this strength, this might she’d given him. As if whatever she says, whatever she does, will never be true punishment—as long as it means he gets to remain by her side.

Perhaps, Nesta considers as she eyes his brutal form, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

He must see the thought in her stare, because, as though in emphasis, Cassian shifts his weight to the back and rests on the stony shore. His powerful middle is revealed, every bit of muscle strong and hard before it leads—

Nesta sucks in a sharp breath.

Hanging between his legs are three, thick cocks, already throbbing and out for her taking.

Her mouth goes dry, and she sways forward a step. He’s large, larger than she’d thought he’d be, larger than any mortal she’d ever seen. His dark fur gathers at the base—one, hard shaft at the top, with two others placed just below it. His cocks mimic the positioning of his heads—the prime watching proudly from the middle, and the other two resting at its sides.

“Impressive,” Nesta hums absently, focused on the erection growing before her.

She takes another step, so close now to where the beast is waiting—so close that she can see the need gleaming at the blunt tips—

Her breathing comes faster. She needs him, too, she realises, that familiar rush of heat returning to her core. She needs to feel him throb under her touch, needs to taste him in her mouth, needs to be filled by all of him until the Underworld collapses under the force of her pleasure.

Nesta tries to ground herself, to steady her breath as she reminds herself to take it slow—he belongs to her now, wholly and eternally, and there is no need to rush to chase her want.

After all, this is supposed to be his punishment. And if there is one thing Hades has always known, it’s how to make the males suffer.

She can feel his eyes on her, focused on her every move. Good.

Nesta leans forward and reaches out a hand. The next breath dies in every last one of the beast’s throats as she gently drags her finger over the middle shaft.

Cassian shudders violently, and from the corner of her eye, she can make out the claws, digging into the solid ground. She smiles to herself—and strokes the large girth again, swiping her thumb over the pearly want beading at the tip.

She studies each appendage again, the way they pulse with his lust, the picture of her next move already coming to life in her wicked mind. Slowly, she straightens, her hand leaving the throbbing heat of his skin.

A small noise sounds above her—a strained whimper of protest as she parts with his desire.

Nesta clicks her tongue. “So impatient,” she scolds, as if she herself had not just had to restrain herself from straddling him.

His eyes don’t leave her for a second, fixed on the hand that had just stroked his aching cock, and she knows it’s taking everything in the beastly General not to pin her to the ground and take her as she is. A part of her wishes it—for him to lose control, to mount her with all its power, to make a mess of her right here, at the gates to her onyx fortress.

But Nesta has a plan—as she always does.

This time, she will not let him ruin it.

“Look at you,” she hums again, smearing the evidence of his arousal between her two fingers. Cassian’s eyes dart to the movement, the jaws of his three heads clenched tight. “The beast has come out at last.”

He makes a low, guttural sound.

“Don’t worry,” Nesta says, “I still find you pretty.”

The rock cracks beneath the strength of his claws.

He wants her—she can feel the heaviness of his lust in the air between them. He wants to tell her just how badly he wants her impaled on his cocks, how badly he wishes to know the taste of her hot cunt. Too bad.

She offers him a smile she knows is edged with cruelty. “Be a good boy for me, and I will let you speak again.”

And with that, Nesta kneels.

His desire calls out to her, and she wonders if he’ll taste as wild and untamed as she’d imagined—if she’ll taste the howling wind on her tongue, the hunger for battle and bloodshed. Suddenly, this is no longer about punishment—it’s about claiming him as hers, about knowing every part of him as though it were her own. Deeply. Intimately.

Cassian’s heavy pant fills the Underworld as she strokes the middle cock again, letting her hand slide down to its base before returning to tease the gleaming tip once more. She only smirks as she feels him harden in her hold, and takes him into her mouth at last.

The ground rumbles slightly with Cassian’s stuttered growl, and it only incites that heat within her. Her tongue swirls around the thick head, and she knows she won’t be able to take him all in, too large to ever fit wholly in her mouth. She also knows he expects her hand to aid her, to close around the base in tandem with her mouth—but Nesta has other plans.

His cock hits the back of her throat as she braces her hands on the two cocks beneath.

Cassian jerks almost violently at the touch, the two, throbbing shafts twitching in response to the feel of her on the sensitive skin, and she can’t help but smile slightly against him. He’s heavy and solid in her hands, and she pumps him up and down, rhythmically to her mouth as her tongue reaches out to lap at his length. She watches his muscles tighten and his hips jerk up—he’s close, she realises, something like satisfaction purring deep inside her chest at the reactions she’s elicited from him. Something determined to please him, to make him addicted to her touch.

His next growl is deeper, raspier, and he arches fully into her mouth. Nesta’s vision blurs, her moan a garbled sound as his tip bumps against her throat again—and Cassian pulls back, as though not wanting to strain her.

As if he ever could.

She curls her fingers around his shafts—too thick for them to truly ever meet at the base—and she squeezes him gently as her tongue darts out once more to graze along the underside.

Then she opens her eyes and meets his gaze.

Cassian comes in a wave.

His roar reverberates straight into her core, already wet and crying out for his heat, and Nesta delights in the feel of his throbbing cock on her tongue, in her hands. He comes down her throat as she swallows him, hands still pumping him in a slowing pace until he finally slumps, panting as though in disbelief.

Her mouth slides off him smoothly then, and she smirks at the mess she’d made of him—of the release still spilling out of the two cocks she’d made a mess of. Nesta rises to her feet and, unable to help herself, flashes him a triumphant smile.

Cassian steadies himself weakly, all four of his powerful legs now holding him up as his breath settles. He looks at her as though he’d never seen her before—as though now, he finally understands that it is a Goddess standing before him, that what she’d just done is a sacrament he’d fall to his knees before for the rest of his life.

All three pairs of eyes sweep down her form now until they meet her centre—and she wonders if he can somehow smell the arousal pooling at her core.

His low growl confirms her suspicions—and Cassian takes a step forward.

The image flashes in her mind, then—this beast between her thighs, licking hungrily at the heat dripping down her cunt, pressing its heavy tongue to her clit—

Cassian takes another step.

“You,” Nesta breathes, “are in no position to make demands.”

She is supposed to be the one in charge here, she reminds herself, but the words fade immediately into the daze of her weakening mind as she watches his hazel eyes darken. Cassian huffs, and it’s almost like a laugh—as if he, too, knows that right now, the Goddess is utterly at his mercy.

As if he likes it.

His eyes flicker to her again, a silent plea—he will not touch her until she grants it.

Nesta looses one, final breath before she yields the one thing that has always been only hers to wield.

Control.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she warns, even though she already knows he’d die before he let that happen.

Cassian pounces.

She’s pinned to the ground before she can blink, the dark stone smooth and cool against the exposed skin of her back. Cassian’s massive body hovers over her, blocking out the dim light as he leans further down.

Before she can use her magic, his teeth already flash, and the sound of the ripping fabric fills the air between them. Her gown now lays shredded around them, and the soft breeze sweeps over her naked body, chill against her hot, aching cunt. She arches off the ground an inch, her human body already desperate for his touch, for the delicious fullness of him inside her, thrusting in and out until she can no longer sustain her breath. Nesta wants him—wants all of him like she’s never wanted before, rough and without restraint.

But then Cassian’s monstrous heads lower further down, and do not stop until—

Until one of his snouts presses against her abdomen and he sniffs, a low growl slipping past his sharp teeth.

His eyes burn dark, intoxicated by the scent of her, spread open and utterly, obscenely wet.

Nesta knows he’s begging for a taste.

She knows what’s coming now, knows he’ll feast on her until she comes again and again and again, until he gets to feel that fire on his tongue and deem it sweeter than ambrosia itself. Two of his heads lower, then, as they lick up her inner thighs, their tongues hot and heavy and wet, stopping an inch from where she needs them most.

She makes an exasperated sound as her walls clench around nothing, only more of that slickness coating them, urging for friction. Cassian huffs a laugh and looks up to face her, an infuriating sight when his head should be where it belongs—right between her legs.

She swears that beastly mouth curls into a smile before his middle head dips and drags its tongue clean up her centre.

Nesta moans then, low and wretched, her head falling back against the ground. The crown of her golden hair is like beams of sunlight against the onyx stone, but she doesn’t care—doesn’t care about the looks of this body anymore—only the way it twists and tightens at the rough tongue swiping over its sensitive cunt.

Cassian licks her like a creature starved, like he’d just crossed a desert and she’s the only fountain in sight. His tongue is heavy and large as it drags itself against her walls, and she wonders just how, exactly, she’ll be able to take any of his cocks when his tongue already sends hot bolts of lightning through her veins.

His other two heads resume their journey up her thighs again, and she writhes at the overstimulation—at the wet trails he’s leaving all over her like an animal marking its territory. I might belong to you, he seems to say, but you belong to me now, too.

Somehow, Nesta doesn’t mind.

The realisation is like the first breaking of light in the darkness, like the first birdsong at the end of a silent night. Nesta—Hades—has always only claimed, for herself, for her power, for her kingdom. No one’s ever claimed her—no one has lived long enough to even try.

No one except Cassian.

He doesn’t want her power or her kingdom—he doesn’t even want Hades. He only wants to be Nesta’s, and for Nesta to be his in return.

Perhaps this—all of it—has not been some twisted curse from the Fates. No, she can almost see their thread now, bright and golden and tied between the two of their souls.

And what a beautiful sight it is.

She speaks, but her words come out quiet, strained.

Cassian pauses.

“Nesta,” she repeats, the word no more than a breath.

He looks up then, his tongue parting with her cunt just barely, and she moans in protest, rolling her hips higher up into him again.

But Cassian doesn’t move—only stares at her, something golden shining in the darkness of his eyes.

So she explains, “You wanted to know my name.”

His gaze holds nothing but revelation—he looks like a beast waking from a long-suffering dream.

“My name is Nesta,” she says again, a desperate urgency in her tone.

Her name is the last snap before he unleashes himself.

She can practically hear how wet she is as he licks her, the sounds of her pleasure loud and depraved and stirring something deep within her gut. Her breath becomes short, uneven as he sinks deeper and deeper with every thrust. Her fingers sink into the ground, her power slipping out of her and into the stone, pressing thin cracks beneath the pads of her digits. Her eyes flutter shut, no longer able to register anything but the tongues exploring every inch of where she aches the most—until the middle one slips out of her at last to circle around her clit.

It’s everything Nesta needs to fall apart.

Release tears through her, hot and white and shuddering every last crumbling bit of her world. She comes with a low, strangled cry, and her body falls flat against the ground, swirling with heat despite its cool, welcoming surface. Her human heart thumps loudly in her chest, and she opens her mouth to say something—anything—but words fail her entirely as Cassian continues to sweep at her in a smoother, slower pace, coaxing her through her climax.

Only when her breath finally returns, pouring enough air back into her lungs to speak, does she wave her hand weakly, her power flickering between them.

Cassian blinks, as though something shifted inside him—and understanding dawns upon his features as he finds the change at last.

The look he gives her takes her breath away all over again.

“General—” she starts, a pulse of that familiar heat shooting through her once more as he rises to wedge his powerful middle between her thighs.

He growls—but this time, the sound is different—changed as it shifts into a voice. Into words. “No more,” he says in a deep, guttural rumble. “No more titles. Speak my name, Nesta.”

His paws rest heavily beside her arms, bracing themselves as he leans over her.

Nesta’s eyes dart to the thick cocks inches away from her core. “Cassian,” she breathes.

Another rumble—lighter, this time, one she can only take for a chuckle. “So impatient,” he mocks, parroting her words from before.

“Give me everything,” she gasps as his middle cock grinds against her sopping folds.

Cassian chuckles again. “You wouldn’t survive everything.” Nesta shudders. “I need to prepare you,” he says, one of his heads lowering to nuzzle at her neck. “Trust me.”

Anticipation coils inside her belly as he guides himself to her entrance—and she gasps out in protest as the tip of his cock pauses right before it.

She knows why he does it—knows exactly what he wants to hear.

“Cassian,” she calls him again, his name like a plea on her lips.

Cassian slides in, and all the worlds collide.

He bottoms out in a deep, rough thrust that rips a wanton cry free from her throat. She jolts against him, his two hard cocks pressed against her thighs, the tingle of his short, black fur on her naked skin setting every last one of her nerves on alert. Nesta’s chest heaves for a breath as he knocks all the air from her body, as she adjusts to the large girth of him in the tightness of her cunt.

His cock stretches her deliciously, reaching a place inside of her no one has ever reached before—and she rolls her hips against him, begging for more friction, begging to feel him stroke it over and over again until there is no more space between them to close. Until they become one.

When he doesn’t make a move, Nesta wiggles again, her eyes squeezed shut as she tries to focus on pushing the air back into her body. But no movement comes—only the low rumbling of his voice again.

“Nesta,” he says, and it’s like a prayer. “Look at me.”

She does.

When her gaze locks onto his, she realises she can see her eyes in the reflection of his—or so she thinks, at least. For her eyes always burn with that deathly, silver fire—they have been from the moment she was born.

But the eyes she sees in his own are a light, lovely shade of blue—like the paling winter sky, calm and gleaming like fresh snow under an arctic sun.

It’s the first time she ever sees them, but the sight is familiar as though she’s been seeing it every day in the mirror—they’re Nesta’s eyes, the ones hidden beneath Hades’s wrath.

She likes them.

She wonders if, this whole time, Cassian has been seeing them, too.

“Mate,” Cassian whispers.

And then, he starts moving.

Slowly, he drags himself in and out, his pace easing into a melting rhythm. He stretches her, watching her face contort in pleasure, groaning as looks down to watch her split open on his cock. Nesta quivers around him, she, too, mesmerised by the sight—by how perfectly he feels inside her, by how perfectly his cock slides in and out of her body.

With every thrust, he reaches deeper, pushing the head of his cock until it fills her so thoroughly that she flutters wildly around his thick length. Her breath turns ragged again, quickening after every stroke of his cock against the spongy roof of her walls.

Cassian growls, throbbing harder inside her, his own pace rushing to match her panting gasps. He drives into her, in and out and in again, the wet sounds of their pleasure mixing with the heavy air. She moans his name, matching him stroke for stroke, hips urging him closer, urging to him to push deeper into her, to find their peak together the way they were always meant to do.

Her walls grip him tighter, and he starts rutting into her frantically, giving into some wild, primal urge to claim her fully, openly, with everything he’s got. He isn’t holding back anymore, he doesn’t care for a steady pace—only the wails of her pleasure and the heat of her cunt welcoming the monster all the way in.

Nesta nearly chokes as she actually sees his cock puff out her lower body, its perfect curve hitting that spot inside her that made everything but him completely, utterly insignificant. She’s close now, so tight around him that he clenches his jaws to keep himself moving, to hit the back of her cunt with his thrusts.

“Nesta,” he pants, and the sound is her undoing.

They erupt together, the hot slick of her climax coating the length of him as she shakes with the force of her pleasure. Cassian’s cock twitches, and the pumping stutters before he roars and buries himself deep.

His orgasm slams into her, the hot rush of his seed throbbing up his shaft and coating her insides. There is only him, now—only the chase they take on together, the rest of the Underworld fading away. She might be chanting his name, might be gripping the muscled paws she’s nestled between—the only thing she knows is that Cassian is filling her as they ride out their release.

Slowly, the world falls back into place—enough for her to catch a breath, at least. Enough to open her eyes once more and look at the one who’s ruined her life to build a better one anew.

“Mate,” he breathes again, understanding clear in his hazel stare.

As if in answer, something thrums deep within her chest, something warm and golden and not at all like the darkness she’d been used to her whole life. Something that fills the silence—one word, beautiful and unending.

Mate.

Taglist: @melting-houses-of-gold @fieldofdaisiies @octobers-veryown @sunshinebingo @autumndreaming7 @augustinerose @demarogue @helhjertet @jmoonjones @madgirlnesta @areyoudreaminof

#divinity series #tw monsterfucking #nessian #nessian au #nessian smut #nessian fic #pro nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #nesta acosf #cassian acotar #cassian acosf #acotar au #acotar fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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labellefleur-sauvage · 11 months

Text

I Need a Big Boy

Nesta had been a fan of her city’s rugby team, The Velaris Fighters, for years, all because of one man: Cassian Smith, the team’s captain.

Tonight, she was finally going to show Cassian why she was his biggest fan.

A very short and smutty Nessian fic. Inspired by a few influential tiktoks featuring some very handsome and big rugby men in short shorts and tight jerseys that instantly made me think that Cassian would be an excellent rugby player. No other plot, just sexy vibes.

Word Count: 2600

Rating: E

Read on AO3

XXX

“Yes! Just like that! Just a little bit more, just like that - yes!”

Nesta threw her arms in the air and cheered along with the thousands of other people in the crowd as the Velaris Fighters scored five final points before the sirens that signaled the end of the game blasted through the air. Besides her, her friend Gwyn threw her arms around her neck in a hug, while their other friend Emerie blew into a bright blue plastic stadium horn.

“What a game!” Gwyn exclaimed, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “I thought for sure they wouldn’t be able to come back!”

“That was the best scrum of the season. How Rhys managed to hook the ball after the other team nearly had it -“

“And then Azriel managing to grab the ball when Rhys got tackled -“

“But we all know who was really responsible for their comeback win,” Emerie said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, eyeing Nesta.

Nesta only hummed, too distracted by watching the man of the hour: Cassian Smith, front row prop and team captain of the Velaris Fighters. He had gone through two shirts over the course of the game to her delight, and had abandoned his latest shirt, choosing to go topless while he gave a media interview on the field.

She sighed wistfully, watching the overhead lights dance across his golden brown skin. This man was the only reason she got into rugby several years ago, when she saw an ad at a bus stop for the local rugby team with Cassian front and center.

Luckily she found rugby genuinely interesting, and enjoyed going to the games. Even better, she got to ogle the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Cassian was a tall brick house of a man, nearly 6’5” of pure muscle. His upper body - shoulders, arms, back, even his neck - was a mess of highly developed muscles. Each rippling ab was defined, and his thighs were thicker than tree trunks. Most of his glorious body was covered in dark, swirling tattoos that contrasted against his golden brown skin. His shoulder length wavy hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and Nesta watched, enraptured, as he slowly took the ponytail out of his hair and raked his fingers through his sweaty locks.

She licked her lips. It felt like a personal show, just for her. If all went according to plan, then she’d be putting on a show for him soon.

“Come on, let’s go.” Gwyn bumped Nesta out of her daydream. Shaking herself, she gathered her bag and followed her friends out of the stands, joining the throng of people waiting to exit the stadium.

“You still going to go to the player’s entrance and try to get an autograph?” asked Gwyn.

“She’s going to try to get a lot more than that,” quipped Emerie.

“Be safe!” Gwyn said. “Let us know if you need a ride home or anything! Keep us updated -“

“She’s not going to have time to give us play by play updates when she’s getting railed -“

“OK, bye!” Nesta called, turning away from her laughing friends to walk towards the side player entrance where the players entered and exited the stadium. A small crowd had already assembled outside the doors, people anxiously waiting for a chance to see their favorite players.

Nesta forced her way up to the front railing separating the crowd from the door. She didn’t have to wait long - soon, players from both teams began filling out, some stopping to sign autographs. Craning her neck and standing on her tiptoes, Nesta kept her eyes trained on the door, hoping she didn’t miss him.

Finally, the door swung open and Cassian emerged. He was even more beautiful up close: his hair was damp around his face, his form fitting t-shirt clung to his body and the fading sunlight highlighted his rugged face.

Nesta lost her breath as she watched Cassian briefly look around the crowd before his eyes met hers. He looked her up and down, head to toe, before sauntering over.

“That’s a great shirt you have on. Did it come pre-ripped like that?”

Nesta grinned. She was wearing a replica of one of his jerseys, with several rips along the shoulders and sides to mimic how his uniform often looked after a particularly rough game. She had also cut a deep V-neck into the shirt to show off her impressive cleavage.

“No, I had to cut it myself. Wanted it to look more like the real thing.”

Cassian gave her a one sided grin. “Like the rest of my jerseys, it would look better shredded on the ground.”

Nesta snorted, dragging her eyes down his toned chest and lingering on the junction on his thick jean covered thighs. She lazily brought her gaze back to Cassian’s face, noting the slight blush grazing his cheeks.

“This shirt has a lot of sentimental value to me, so I don’t think I’d be willing to risk having it destroyed. I think I’ll keep this one… unless you can give me something special in return.”

She could have sworn she saw him shudder. “I can think of a few things I could give you,” he said huskily. “How about you come back to the team locker room with me? I can give you a personalized jersey, a private tour of the facilities…”

“That’s so generous of you,” Nesta purred. “I think I’d be more interested in a private tour of you , though.”

Cassian cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you can take that? Most people can’t quite handle… all of me, like that.”

Nesta stared up at him and licked her lips. “How about we go somewhere private and I can prove to you that I’m more than capable of handling a big boy like yourself?” she shot back.

He smiled. “That can be arranged. Come on.” He single-handedly moved the heavy metal barrier out of the way, letting Nesta slip through. “My friend and I are going to the locker rooms,” he told the security guard at the door. The man nodded lazily, letting them back inside the building.

He quickly led them to the back of the stadium and into a large locker room. It was much nicer than Nesta expected - each player had their own personalized locker lined around the room, with a wide, wooden sitting bench in front of each cubby.

Cassian spun her out of her observations and took her face in his hands for a claiming kiss. Nesta sighed as his tongue swept inside her mouth. He broke away from her suddenly, a cocky grin on his face.

“How long were you waiting outside?” Cassian asked, sitting down in front of his locker and spreading his legs.

“Not long,” Nesta shrugged, her lips still tingling from his intense kiss. “I’m your biggest fan, so I was willing to wait a while for you.”

He smirked. “My biggest fan, huh? What else are you willing to do for me?”

Nesta hummed, then went to her knees between his spread thighs. “If you take your pants off I can show you.”

Cassian grinned, standing up to his full height so he towered above her. “I’ve already worked so hard today - how about you put in a little work and show me how much my biggest fan truly appreciates me.”

Grinning, Nesta reached up and undid the button of his jeans and slowly pulled the zipper down. A considerable bulge had already formed between his thighs, and it only grew larger as her deft hands dragged Cassian’s skin tight pants down his legs. She took her time undressing him, letting her hands wander over the hard muscles in his quads and hamstrings and calves. He kicked his pants away when they bunched around his ankles.

“My, my,” Nesta murmured appreciatively, staring at the outline of his cock straining against his underwear. “What a big cock you have. I can’t wait to see it dripping for me.” She pressed a series of delicate kisses along his clothed cock, kissing up his shaft. Cassian’s abs and legs tensed in anticipation as Nesta’s mouth drew nearer and nearer to his tip.

“I can’t wait to see it stuffed down your throat,” he gritted, tearing off his shirt and tossing it by his discarded jeans. “You’ll do that for me, right? Take my fat cock down your throat? Prove to me that you really are my biggest fan?”

“Anything,” Nesta said, lightly sucking the fat head of him through his underwear. She tasted a bit of his salty precome and had to close her eyes as her desire nearly toppled her, Cassian’s deep groan reverberating through her entire body. Her center throbbed and Nesta felt wetness gathering in her underwear.

She was tired of teasing him. Yanking down his underwear, Nesta lightly pushed Cassian back so he sat down heavily on the wooden bench in front of his locker and spread his legs. She groaned. His cock was long and thick and heavy, leaning towards his stomach. Nesta took him in her small hand and gave him a few pumps.

“You did such a good job today,” Nesta said. “Let me show you what you deserve.” She dragged the flat of her tongue up from the base of his cock to his tip, then took his head into her mouth and sucked.

Cassian groaned as Nesta bobbed her head over his dick. A thrill went through her. She was really doing this. She had flirted and teased the most handsome man she had ever seen, whom she’d been lusting over for ages, and now she was sucking his cock with more determination than anything she’d ever done in her life. Nesta had reduced one of the strongest men she’d ever seen to his knees with a few licks of her tongue, and she’d never felt stronger in her life.

Her hand stroked what she couldn’t fit in her mouth - his was the largest cock she’d ever sucked, and she briefly wondered if she would have to eat her earlier words of proving she could handle someone as large as him. Nesta took half of his length in her mouth and sucked hard.

“Fuck Nesta, you’re so fucking good at this.” A large hand pressed against the back of her head, forcing her down on his cock. “Just like that, I know you can take all of me.”

Eyes watering, Nesta relaxed her throat as much as she could as Cassian gently pressed her head down until her nose met the wiry curls between his legs. Breathing through her nose, she looked up at Cassian.

“You’re so fucking pretty right now,” he moaned, watching her struggle to keep his length within her throat. “Didn’t think seeing you cry while you take my cock would be so hot but fuck, it is.”

Nesta’s pussy throbbed at the praise. A few tears gathered in her eyelashes and she blinked up at Cassian, begging him for anything: to let her move her head, to continue praising her, to touch her, anything.

He seemed to understand how desperate she was. Guiding her off his length, Cassian pulled Nesta up and pressed his lips to hers. His tongue tangling with hers, Nesta relaxed in his arms and against his body. His big hands made quick work of her underwear and jean shorts before he trailed his fingers longingly over the rips and tears of her shirt.

“I really want to tear this off you - it’s already ripped, it’d take so little for me to destroy it.”

“Don’t you dare!” Nesta snapped. “I told you, this shirt is special to me!”

“I can get you a dozen just like it.”

“Are you going to argue with me about a shirt or are you going to fuck me?”

Cassian shrugged. “Have it your way.” Bending down, he grabbed Nesta under her ass and lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the wall so her back was against the surface.

Nesta gasped. It was hot, his casual display of strength. She felt the tip of his cock brush her soaking folds and she shifted her hips, trying to bring him even closer to her.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Cassian hissed. “Did sucking my cock make you this wet?”

“And watching you play,” Nesta admitted, a slight blush staining her cheeks.

“You poor thing,” he crooned, shifting his arms so Nesta’s legs settled in the crook of his elbows, “you’re been a desperate, wet mess for hours, haven’t you?”

“Yes!” Nesta gasped. “I’ve been so desperate for you! Please, fuck me!”

“So needy you’ll let me fuck your pussy raw, hm?” Cassian mumbled, leaning down to kiss her as he pushed his length into her tight cunt.

Nesta sighed, gripping Cassian’s huge biceps as he worked himself into her. She slumped down a bit against the wall, securely held by Cassian’s hands under her ass and his arms supporting her legs.

“How lucky I am, for my biggest fan to have the tightest pussy I’ve ever felt,” he said, withdrawing then pushing back into her. “Like you were made for me.”

She smirked at him. “Told you I could take it.”

Leaning her head against the wall, Nesta lost herself with the feel of Cassian’s big, strong body around her and his thick cock pistoning within her. He hit places she’d never felt before, and she knew she’d never be able to take anything except his glorious length.

The only sounds filling the locker room were their moans and the wet slap of his cock slamming into her pussy. Nesta felt herself getting even wetter the rougher he got. Reaching down, she furiously circled her clit.

“You feel so good,” Nesta gasped. “So perfect.”

“And you’re such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this,” Cassian groaned.

Nesta looked up at him with wide eyes. “Since I’m your biggest fan, I’ll let you come in me. Just for you.”

Cassian cursed. “You want me to come in you?”

“Yeah, want you to fill me up.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he moaned, thrusting so hard and deep inside her Nesta knew she’d be sore later. It was wonderful and everything she’d ever wanted.

“Cass, yes, right there!” She gave her clit one final brutal rub and she was coming, quaking in Cassian’s strong arms as he chased his own release.

“Fuck Nes,” Cassian groaned, emptying himself within her tight cunt. He gave her a few more weak thrusts before he stopped, resting his head in the hollow of her throat. Giving her a quick peck on the lips, he withdrew his cock from her body.

“I was worried you were actually going to destroy my shirt, you big oaf,” Nesta said as Cassian carefully set her down on shaky legs.

“I’d never destroy the first jersey I ever gave you,” he replied, gathering their clothes. “I know how much you love that thing.”

“Not as much as I love you,” Nesta said, leaning up to kiss him.

“I love you too. I don’t want to kink shame you, but when you asked me to roleplay with you as my biggest fan for some dirty locker room sex -“

“Oh, don’t say you weren’t into it right away!”

“I just thought it was a bit weird, considering my girlfriend should already be my biggest fan. Do you know the logistics I had to figure out to make sure we’d have the locker room to ourselves?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “This just means you have a pretty big leeway for what you want the next time we roleplay.”

“Oh I’ve already decided what I want. Maybe some sweaty post-workout sex, with leathers and chains, stuff like that.”

Nesta grinned. “I can’t wait.”

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #cassian acotar #acotar #my fics #my fic #rugby!cassian #rugby au #cassian is big and hot #and nesta is into it #who can blame her #a court of thorns and roses

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kale-theteaqueen · 4 months

Text

The Humble Art of Gift Giving

SO Thrilled to participate in my first ACOTAR Secret Santa with @acotargiftexchange! I absolutely loved writing this piece for @danikamariewrites. Everyone check out her work if you haven't already, it's amazing! I hope you enjoy this piece of Nessian Christmas Fluff! Merry Christmas, TTQ <3

Summary: Nesta loves giving gifts. Takes pride in it, actually. Especially at Christmas. She's had her list of potential options for her family ready for months now, and all that she needs to do now is actually buy them. And therein lies the problem. What if they aren't good enough? What if they're cheesy or off the mark? Nesta's gifts are always perfect, and this year will be no exception. Cassian knows this, and loves her for it. But her biggest challenge this year isn't shopping for family. It's getting a gift for him. Especially when she makes it her personal mission to top the previous year's presence. Luckily, all it takes is a quick trip to the local Christmas Market to give her the inspiration she needs.

Read Below or on A03!

Feyre.

Elain.

Cassian.

Gwyn.

Emerie.

Azriel.

Rhysand.

Lucien.

Amren

Morrigan??

Nesta scowled at the Excel sheet in front of her, at the blank squares that needed filling. It was December 16th, and there were still too many open-ended questions. Feyre was getting new paints, ones she specifically asked for, and were linked accordingly in her designated row, highlighted in a soft green to indicate she’d purchased them. Elain was receiving a set of earrings and a necklace made of pressed flowers, also highlighted in green.

And Cassian, well…

There were many, many links in his row. Options upon options. But nothing felt good enough.

Nothing felt good enough for Gwyn either, nor Emerie or Azriel. Links to Etsy shops, indie bookstores, and, regrettably, even Amazon filled the sheet, but they were all white, the category marked ‘Purchased?” painfully blank. And she hadn’t even begun to consider what she should purchase her extended family of sorts.

They always did this holiday together, making a big bash out of it, and every year since Feyre and Rhysand got married, and especially since she and Cassian had gotten engaged, she was presented with the same dilemma.

What did she get them? Would they even bother to get her anything?

Apparently, they were, or at least that’s what Feyre had claimed, when she asked. Her sister jumped on any chance to have a big happy family, and though it took significant effort and trial and error, she more or less had it. Nesta just didn’t know quite where she fit in.

“Sweetheart, your food is going to get cold.”

Nesta raised her eyes from her laptop, frowning at her fiancé, who was smiling knowingly at her from the other end of the couch, a bowl of pasta in his hand. She should have been working on the next book in her series, the manuscript open in a separate tab. Her last book may have only been out for about a week, but even still, deadlines were deadlines. If only Nesta had actually written anything in the past two hours.

“I gave you twenty more minutes, as promised.”

With a sigh, Nesta sat up straight, closing her laptop and evaluating his latest creation in front of her. Pesto, with fresh pine nuts and fusilli pasta. Gods, she didn’t deserve him when he made dishes like this. Especially when he had to pry her away from her writing. Or at least, what was supposed to be writing.

“How’s the Christmas list coming?”

Ah, he knew her too well.

“I just don’t know what to do,” She said, taking her first bite and practically melting at the taste in her mouth.

Cassian hummed knowingly, more than aware of how meticulously she planned Christmas presents. She collected links for months, bookmarking random Instagram ads or TikTok promos. But when it came to actually purchasing them, to deciding on what was good enough, she often lamented for weeks.

“We’re going to the market tomorrow, right?” He asked. “I’m sure we’ll turn a few more of those lines green.”

“I suppose,” Nesta said quietly, lifting a hand to push her glasses farther up her nose. A new development, one she still wasn’t quite happy about. But spending time reading in the dark had its consequences, apparently.

“We won’t leave until we’ve got at least the rest of the family knocked off.”

“Maybe it’s stupid, and I should just get them all gift cards or something.”

“You hate giving people gift cards, Nes.”

Nesta sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “But if they don’t even like me, then why would they want a gift from me?”

Cassian stretched out his leg so his foot could nudge her calf affectionately. “They like you, sweetheart. All that tension has been resolved, yeah? Mor was just telling me that she was excited to see you and hear about your latest book.”

Nesta frowned, stirring her fork around her bowl of pasta. It was true, the animosity that defined a lot of her relationship with Feyre’s found family was largely gone after months of working out past traumas or grief. Now, a year and a half later, Nesta was three books into a successful series, and happily engaged to the man beside her, who continued to look at her with nothing short of affection in his eyes, despite her anxiety.

“You’re right,” She replied. “I just…”

“Want it to be good enough?” Cassian supplied, scooting closer.

She nodded as his arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her comfortably against his chest.

“Your gifts are always so thoughtful, you know,” He replied. “Mor wears that charm bracelet you got her, with all of our initials, almost every day. I think the only competition you have is yourself, baby.”

Nesta huffed out a soft laugh, nestling into his shoulder. “I just want everything to be right.”

Cassian tipped her head up, kissing her softly. “I know. Tomorrow, Nes. We’ll get it all wrapped up, tomorrow.”

---

The Christmas Market was crowded, families and individuals alike scouring the stalls for the perfect, unique gift for their loved ones. Nesta watched them from her spot near the entrance, a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a map in the other. In her pocket, her phone sat ready with her meticulous list of gift recipients.

“Alright,” Cassian said, looking over the page listing all the vendors. “Should we start from the right and snake our way through?”

Nesta nodded, her eyes scanning intently over the seemingly endless number of shops. There were at least twenty candlemakers, local artists, even a bonsai tree shop. The wheels in her head began turning, and she began making mental notes of who would be most interested in which items.

But before she could delve too deeply into her analysis, Cassian slid his arm around her waist, squeezing just enough that she looked up at him.

“Try not to look so serious, sweetheart. We’re supposed to be merry.”

Nesta huffed, but took a step forward towards the shops, holding out a hand for him to take. “I am perfectly merry.”

Cassian laughed, a bright and melodic sound that often was the only thing to pull her out of dreary moods. “Of course. The most festive woman I know.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips. Pulling him forward, she entered the first aisle, taking in the first few shops. On careful steps, she approached a woodworking tent, eyeing the various cutting boards, cheese platters, and handcrafted pens. They were all beautiful, but nothing caught her interest or fulfilled the basic requirement of what she considered to be a perfectly tailored gift.

That is, until her eyes caught on the end of the table, at the line of puzzle boxes. She smiled, running her fingers over a medium sized one, assessing the various cogs and gears within.

Amren did mention needing something new to fidget with.

Pulling out her phone, Nesta filled in the tiny woman’s row, and flagged down the shop owner.

With one gift down, her confidence boosted, and she strode down the path towards the next few stalls with a small smile, eyes scanning over the various handmade jewelry, knitwear, and blown glass. Cassian wasn’t too far behind, though his attention was typically scattered in these kinds of environments. More often than not, she’d turn and find him gone entirely, entranced by a tent in a different aisle.

He grinned at her when she caught his eye, holding up a knitted flower hat, small and definitely intended for a pet. Immediately, her mind drifted to Azriel’s beloved twin black cats. And, more acutely, how horrified they’d be at the prospect of being dressed. Rolling her eyes, she smiled amusedly at him and shook her head before continuing on her way, knowing full well her fiancé would try and convince his brother to put them on anyway.

As she looked through each row, the time seemed to fly by, with her list slowly but surely getting smaller and smaller. As she reached the center of the market, she finally looked down at her phone to take stock of what she’d thus far acquired:

A set of blown glass flowerpots for Elain.

A cocktail smoker set for Azriel, paired with a bottle of locally distilled whiskey.

An old map of the city for Rhysand.

A set of handmade wooden ballpoint pens for Lucien.

Which left Gwyn, Emerie, Morrigan, and, of course, Cassian.

She hadn’t found anything remotely good enough for him. Everything was either something she’d already done, or found too tacky, or cliché. It had to be personal, thoughtful. Something no one else would think of.

The closer she got to reaching the end of the market, the more anxious she became about the prospect.

Luckily, all it took was a brilliant antique book stand to occupy her thoughts.

It was by far her favorite tent so far, with shelves lined with antique copies of some of her favorites, of bags made from the bindings of repurposed books, prints and posters, and everything a bookworm could dream of. Smiling at the shop owner as she entered, Nesta made her way to the collection of old novels, perusing the selections.

There was nothing particularly rare or beautiful, but as Nesta scanned her eyes over the titles, there were at least several options to satisfy Gwyn, who loved collecting old and special edition copies of her favorites. But, to her surprise, it wasn’t her lovely friend she had in mind when she found the final book in the row, larger than the others. Taking care to pull it free gently, she observed the title.

Landscape Painting Through the Ages: A Definitive Guide

Flipping through, she smiled at the depictions of various flora and fauna, of the various instructions on perspective and shading. It was old, perhaps 40 or 50 years, but it was perfect for her youngest sister, who was always looking for new references to paint from.

Even better, as she turned around to approach the counter, she spotted a gorgeous Pride and Prejudice handbag made of a re-purposed binding. Gwyn would be head over heels. The shopkeeper smiled broadly at her as she approached, and said, with a thick accent,

“That one’s been sitting on the shelf for ages. I’m glad she’s found a home.”

Nesta smiled at the kind man.

“It will be well loved.”

Arms full, she stepped back out into the path, scanning for Cassian who was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found. She’d thought he’d have been easier to spot, with his height. But it seemed everyone had their own tall significant other to drag around.

Retracing her steps, she scanned through the rows, tent after tent. Rounding the corner, she contemplated texting him, telling him to meet her at the entrance to save her the anxiety, but then she caught sight of his curls, the red scarf around his neck, and her tension eased.

He stood at what was unmistakably a jewelry stand, and Nesta quirked a brow as she approached. The old woman behind the counter spoke animatedly to him, and in his hands was a tiny box, wrapped simply with a satin bow. Her interest piqued, she tried to assess what it was, listening for any clues. But just as she approached his side, he spun on his heel, grinning down at her, the box disappearing into his pocket.

“There she is,” He said. “How are we doing, sweetheart?”

Nesta looked up at him quizzically, and the amusement in his eyes told her he already knew what she wanted to know. But he didn’t budge, even after several seconds of staring him down. So, she relented,

“Fairly well. Just Emerie and Morrigan left.”

And him, of course, but that was for her knowledge only.

“See, I told you this market would be a good one.”

“What about you?” Nesta asked, shifting her arms as he reached to take some of her bags from her.

“A master of gift giving never tells his secrets, Nes.”

Nesta scoffed, even as she looped her arm through his and they meandered down to the remaining tents.

“How many of those ridiculous cat hats did you buy?”

“They had powdered wigs. Do you know how amazing Shadow and Smokey will look in those?”

Nesta shook her head, unable to hide her grin. “Azriel will kill you.”

Cassian shrugged, unbothered by the prospect. “I just want one picture of my nephews. Then they can rip them up for all I care.”

“I still don’t know what to get Morrigan. I have no idea what she likes other than wine.”

Cassian tilted his head in contemplation. “There’s that distillery that makes social justice themed alcohol, their booth is back towards the front. That would be right up her alley.”

Nesta’s brows rose, the idea scratching her itch for something unique yet appropriate for the still superficial friendship they had.

“That’s perfect,” She said quietly, pulling out her phone, anxious to fill in her spreadsheet. “Let me just-”

“Take your time, baby. We’ve got plenty of it.”

Nesta stared down at the screen, satisfied by the solid block green rows. Just two left now, which seemed so much more manageable than this morning when they started. A weight lifted off her shoulders, and she let out a long, satisfied breath.

“Just Emerie then.”

Cassian hummed in acknowledgement, offering his arm to her again.

They made it to the front of the market, and Nesta turned to assess the stands again, deciding on where to look again for her friend. Slowly, she wandered to one of the first jewelry booths, assessing the various bracelets. It was intricate metalwork on gorgeous cuffs. Cuffs that would make incredible friendship bracelets.

“Your ring is gorgeous.”

Nesta lifted her eyes, meeting the soft brown ones of the girl behind the counter. Looking back down at her hand, she assessed her engagement ring, the ruby set among tiny white diamonds. Cassian was by no means a poor man, but still, she’d protested that she didn’t need something so exquisite. He disagreed.

“Thank you,” she replied. “My fiancé has good taste, or so I think.”

“Excellent taste,” the girl replied. “The gold band will match those cuffs nicely.”

A smile tugged on her lips as she ran her fingers over the metal. “I think you’re right,” she said. “I’ll take three.”

The girl grinned at her, moving away to wrap them. All the while, Nesta continued to try and come up with various ideas for Cassian. But still, nothing seemed like enough. He had an engraved watch, one she’d gotten him for their first Christmas, and he had plenty of other sentimental gifts, ones she’d all but planned out years in advance.

And now, it seemed like nothing could top it. Except perhaps his wedding band, which they’d just selected only a few weeks ago.

“Wait, are you Nesta Archeron?”

Nesta returned her attention to the girl, who had her bag of goods in her hands. Her brows were in her hairline, her mouth dropped open.

“I… Yes, I am.” Nesta replied, still unaccustomed to being recognized in public.

“I thought you looked familiar. You’re my favorite author!” The girl gushed, her entire face brightening. “Would you… Would you sign my book? I got the last copy on release day. I absolutely adore the love interest. How he accepts Aurelia even with all her quirks and dark days? To die for! Did you base him off your fiancé?”

Nesta couldn’t hide her smile this time, knowing full well that most of his description did indeed from the man waiting just a few feet behind her. And with that thought came a new idea, one that seemed so simple, yet hadn’t before crossed her mind.

“Perhaps. And I’d love to,” She replied, reaching out to accept the copy and a pen. It was still so surreal, even after all this time, to see her own work in person.

Quickly, she signed her name, wishing the girl a happy holiday season, before shutting the book and handing it back.

“Thank you so much!” The girl said, looking so unequivocally happy it made Nesta’s throat tight. It was remarkable that someone was this happy about her writing.

“And…I’m really glad you found your person. I hope one day I find mine.”

“You will,” Nesta said, accepting her jewelry with a larger smile. “I know it.”

---

Over the course of the next week, Nesta’s nerves about what to buy eased.

Only to be immediately replaced by her nerves about if each recipient would like the gifts she got them.

It was December 23, less than a day remaining before the entire family would gather for Christmas Eve dinner. Nesta was always nervous to meet with them all at once, it was a feeling that would likely never quite go away. But now, at least, it was more anticipatory. Would Elain and Feyre like their gifts? Would Mor and Amren? Rhysand and Azriel?

As she looked down at the wrapping paper in her lap, the boxes strewn out in front of her in the living room, she ran through her gift checklist one more time. A warm glow was cast over the living room, the Christmas tree lights twinkling. Cassian had lit a fire a few minutes ago, and the heat of it soothed something deep in her soul.

It would be fine. These were good gifts. She’d wrap them, and everything would be perfect.

“Nes, sweetheart, I found the rest of the scotch tape.”

Nesta lifted her eyes, smiling gratefully at Cassian as he padded back into the living room, settling down on the floor, his back against the couch. Nesta shifted down to join him, reaching for Azriel’s gifts to place into a box. With meticulous precision, she taped it up, wrapping it in navy-blue paper with silver stripes.

“You’re so good at this,” Cassian murmured. “You should make it a paid service.”

Huffing a laugh, Nesta reached for his finger, using it to hold a satin ribbon in place as she tied it off.

“I don’t think my skill is quite that impressive. Gwyn’s, perhaps. Or Elain’s. They'd probably make thousands.”

Cassian hummed, leaning forward to press a kiss to her head.

“Feeling better now that you got Emerie a slot in that coveted yoga class she’s been trying so desperately to get into?”

“Much,” Nesta replied. “Though, you know how nervous I’ll be tomorrow, anyway.”

His laugh was soft, and he shifted, his arm sliding behind her, pulling her close once she set Azriel’s wrapped package aside.

“Nervous about whether they will like your gifts or nervous about having attention on you while you open yours?”

Nesta swatted him lightheartedly, hating and loving how well he knew her.

“They’re good gifts, right?”

“Amazing gifts, sweetheart. You put Santa Claus out of business every year, and we all know it.”

“I do, don’t I?”

There was one thing, at least, she wasn’t nervous about anymore. And it was his own gift, which she’d finished only a few days ago. The idea had struck that moment at the jewelry stand, and every day since she’d worked to put it together.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, a proper smile on his face. “Does that make me Mrs. Claus?”

Nesta lifted her head, assessing with a raised brow. “I’m not sure. You can’t exactly bake cookies very well.”

Cassian reared back in mock offense. “That was one time, Nes. I could make a successful batch of cookies right this minute if you wished.”

Nesta shook her head, shifting to settle more comfortably against his chest. “I think I prefer you staying right here.”

His chest vibrated in contentment, almost a purr. His arm was a comforting weight around her, and not for the first time did she marvel at how her life had turned out. How she was spending her evenings with this man, in their house. It was all pretty perfect, if you had to ask her. And Nesta had been raised never to believe in perfect things.

“But yes, you know I love attention.” Nesta said with a sigh. “It’s always fine, I know. I’m not sure why I always get nervous.”

“You want everything to be perfect, my love. And it always is.”

Nesta hummed, though couldn’t say she was convinced. Still, she adored him for how soothed he could make her with just a few words.

“You know, I was thinking,” He added after a moment. “I know you don’t like all the attention on you when you get gifts. So, what if we start our own tradition of exchanging the night before? Just us?”

Nesta’s lips parted, and she sat up, assessing him. Her gift to him was wrapped delicately, sitting under the tree next to the one he’d placed for her, just hours ago.

“You want to?” She asked, something within her very much approving of the idea.

“Well, you’ve been very secretive about my gift. Maybe I can’t wait anymore.”

Nesta couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips.

“Alright.”

Before he could smile back at her, she was moving, pushing out of his arms, and crawling the few feet over to the base of the tree. Reaching, she grabbed her own package, turning back to face him.

“You sure? You like being the center of attention when there are gifts involved.”

Cassian smirked. “Because I always get the best ones from my lovely fiancé. I can brag about it all night tomorrow.”

Her cheeks heated, despite herself, but she smiled back, shifting back over to him. Holding out the package, she said,

“Well then, be my guest.”

“You’re excited,” Cassian replied, intrigue in his voice. Lifting the gift, he shook it lightly by his ear. “Should I be worried?”

“Just open it, you brute.”

His smirk softened into a gentle smile. With deft fingers, he untied the ribbon around the box and undid the paper along the taped points, not tearing. He truly knew her too well. She sat back on her haunches, watching closely, wondering only at the last minute if it was too stupid, too cheesy.

Cassian’s brows rose as he unveiled his gift, the title of her latest book staring up at him.

“This is… your book.”

Nesta bit her cheek, controlling her nerves. “Open it.”

His interest was clear in the focus that settled over his face, and he opened the cover. His eyes scanned over the note she’d penned there, an extra dedication to him and him only. Carefully, his fingers brushed over the various tabs throughout the pages.

“What is this?” He asked softly, opening up to the first one.

“We weren’t together when my first book came out,” Nesta explained. “And we were just getting started when the second came out. In this one, the main character, Aurelia, she-”

“Leaves the first love interest for the one she ends up with, I know,” He said softly, flipping to the next tab.

Nesta nodded, folding her hands in her lap. He had read the entire thing before publication, after all.

“This is…Sweetheart.”

Nesta shifted closer, evaluating which line he was looking at.

“Aurelia scowled as Ramin brushed a bead of sweat off his brow, the jagged mountain path looking nothing short of ominous. “I thought you said you liked the outdoors,” He said. “This is the outdoors.”

“I like sitting outdoors. Not hiking for thirteen miles.”

“We have to get up this hill, sweetheart. We need to get a better sense of our position.”

There, in the margins, was her script, slightly messy yet coherent to those who knew her best.

“October 4th, 2019. We went camping as a family, to Rhysand’s cabin. We got lost trying to find the campground’s maintenance buildings. We hiked six miles, because you wanted to get to higher ground, to ‘evaluate our position.’”

Each tab had a memory associated. Something Cassian did or said that Nesta had taken and put into this character, the manifestation of what love meant to her. From their petty arguments to the ways in which he understood her unlike anyone else. To how she knew it was him, from the moment they met, and no one else.

“Nesta, this is incredible.”

“I know it’s not much,” She said. “But I couldn’t figure out what to get you that you didn’t already have.”

“Sweetheart, it’s everything.”

Cassian looked up at her with genuine tears in his eyes, an expression that was almost reverence on his face. It filled Nesta with intense warmth, with love.

“You like it?” She asked, her voice a soft whisper.

He moved, quickly, closing the book with care and setting it aside, before he was crowding into her space, pressing kisses all over her face until he caught her lips, where he stayed for one, two, three, four more, until she was practically breathless.

Nesta’s hands rested against his own, which cupped her face, and laughed, just a little.

“I love it, Nesta,” He replied. “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I will treasure this always.”

She pressed her forehead against his, relishing the affection she felt from him.

“I wanted the world to have a piece of how wonderful you are,” She murmured. “But the specific reasons as to why can be just for us.”

“What did I tell you,” He replied, dipping her head to press another kiss to her lips. “The best gift giver.”

Pulling back, he stroked his thumb over her cheek affectionately before moving towards the tree.

“I’m afraid mine may look quite small in comparison.”

Nesta shook her head, watching as he pulled the tiny box from its place atop the tree skirt. The man could bring her a rock, and she'd likely cherish it until she died.

“You know I don’t need anything special.”

“So you tell me every time I get you a gift, baby.”

He approached her again, settling down beside her and placing the box in her hands. It was the one she’d seen briefly at the Market, the one he’d hidden from her.

“I know you got me something that’s not sentimental, and I got you a gift like that too, for tomorrow night. But these, I think, can stay between us.”

Nesta couldn’t shake the smile from her face as she nodded her agreement. For several seconds, she stared down at the box, the gold foil of it glinting in the light. Cassian nudged her with his nose, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Open it, Nes.”

“Be patient.”

But even as she said the words, she was pulling the ribbon free and lifting the cover off. Her eyes roved over the necklace that sat nestled on a pillow of velvet, and she went still, her throat tightening.

“Cass…”

It was a simple pendant, one that held two stones – their birthstones, to be exact, bound together by metal that had been shaped to look like a single golden thread. Lifting it out of the box, she assessed it closer, lips parted in shock.

“Turn it over.”

She obeyed him, surprised at the small engraving that had somehow fit on the back. Their initials were there, with a year. Next year, the one they were getting married in.

“It’s beautiful,” She said quietly, running her finger over the gems. "Where did you-?"

“I had it custom made from the woman you saw me speaking to. I was picking it up when you so sneakily almost caught me.”

Huffing a laugh, she smiled down at the piece. Simple, yet elegant. Exactly her taste.

“Put it on me?” She asked.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

His hands were soft. They always were, when he touched her. In one gentle movement, he swept her hair over her shoulder, and in the next, he brought the necklace around her throat, the pendant resting perfectly between her collarbones. He clasped it easily, letting his hands slide over her shoulders, his head dipping to kiss her neck.

“I knew it would look beautiful on you,” He murmured. “But I still wasn’t prepared. You’re so stunning, Nes.”

Nesta leaned back into his arms, which wrapped tightly around her, the warm spices and cedar she associated with his scent enveloping her senses. Tilting her head up, she caught his jaw in a kiss, grinning as he dipped his chin to meet her lips properly.

“Merry Christmas,” She whispered, lacing their fingers together where they rested on her stomach. "I love you."

Cassian all but melted at the words, squeezing her tight and settling back against the couch, just holding her.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you too.”

---

The next evening, when Nesta and Cassian arrived at Feyre and Rhysand’s house to celebrate, arms full of gifts, her family’s eyes caught immediately on the gold pendant around her neck. Mor and Feyre pestered Cassian for hours, wanting to know where, exactly, it had come from. Azriel had kissed her on the cheek, complimenting her politely as he always did, warm and protective of her as he was. Elain gushed, and Amren smiled approvingly, always appreciative of fine taste. Even Rhysand complimented it, clapping Cassian on the shoulder.

It was a soothing experience, a welcoming one. It filled her with the confidence she didn’t know she needed, to say without hesitation that she belonged here.

And as the family settled around the tree, anxious to pass out gifts, any lingering anxieties faded away to nothing. Nesta couldn’t deny it to herself any longer, nor to those around her. In that moment, she felt entirely complete, entirely content. Entirely sure that this was the life she was meant to live, here with these people.

Just as Cassian had promised, everything was entirely perfect.

--- End ---

#nessian #acotar fanfiction #acotar #nesta archeron #cassian #archive of our own #acotargiftexchange2023 #acotarsecretsanta2023 #nesta x cassian #Modern AU #Writer!Nesta

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damedechance · 6 months

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𝐒 𝐔 𝚸 𝚬 𝐑 𝐅 𝐑 𝚬 𝚨 𝐊

✴ read on ao3 ✴ listen to the playlist

Pairing: Nessian

Rating: E (Explicit)

Chapters: 1/5

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.

✴ Read below for a snippet:

time is 👅 running ❤️‍🔥 out 😮‍💨🫦 won't you cum 💦 jOin me 🌊

The sliding glass door rolled shut behind her, as Nesta stepped down to the patio. Elain had clearly attempted to decorate it, with vases of her favorite flowers placed at even intervals along the table, fairy lights strung up on the lattice roof overhead. But Nesta suspected Feyre and Cassian had dug their hands into the boxes of decorations, as well, because the lights along the railings were unevenly spaced, and the paper lanterns remained in a squashed heap in the corner.

And Azriel sat, his own crumpled heap, in one of the patio chairs with a bottle of cider in his hand.

"Hey," he said, turning to look as Nesta pulled out a chair beside him.

"Hi," Nesta returned.

She liked Azriel. It was simple, around him. Quiet.

And for a while, they said nothing else. Azriel continued drinking, and Nesta closed her eyes. Allowing the sunshine to fall over her cheeks. From beneath the table, she hooked her toe behind the leg of the chair across from her and tugged it closer so that she could kick off her shoes and prop her feet up.

"When do you leave?" Azriel asked.

Nesta opened her eyes, rolling her head over to look at him. For a second, she wondered if he was asking when she would leave the house and head back home. She was relatively confident in the fact that Azriel would be the last one to judge her for leaving early.

But after a second of staring at him, Nesta realized he meant the trip.

Nesta groaned, rolling her eyes as she turned to look back up at the fairy lights overhead.

"I might not be going, actually," Nesta muttered. She sank down lower into her chair.

Azriel sat up slightly, holding the bottle of his drink loosely over the arm of his chair.

"Did something happen?" He asked.

And then something sparked inside of her. An idea.

Nesta carefully pulled her feet down from the other chair, and sat up to face Azriel fully. She leaned forward, ensuring that the front of her dress was perfectly in his view, and gave him a distant, regretful smile.

"No one to go with me," she said. "I can't exactly go on a business trip all alone, can I?"

Azriel raised an eyebrow. She knew he would be able to see right through her. She wasn't exactly making it difficult for him, either.

But at the end of the day, Nesta had a tragically short list of options. She was supposed to be on a plane and flying to Italy in less than a week, and her partner had withdrawn at the last minute. It was no secret–to anyone–what Nesta's job was.

"Can't you?" Azriel asked, his eyes narrowing as he took a swig of his drink. Nesta watched his throat bob, and leaned forward to stroke a finger down his arm.

She smiled. "Maybe. But it would be such a waste of a gorgeous location, if I was all by myself. Right?"

What she didn't say was that it would also be a waste of money. The trip was expensive, and while the profits from the content she filmed were supposed to more than make up for it, solo content just didn't rake in the same amount of viewers and subscribers as her content with Eris did. And she would be damned if she went back to Eris and asked for a refund.

"Gorgeous view," Azriel shrugged, "gorgeous girl. I'm not seeing the problem."

Nesta sighed, eyes drifting down from Azriel's face to where her finger was still tracing shapes over his arm. He was pretty. And that voice? She wondered if filming with him wouldn't gain her even more subscribers than filming with Eris ever had. If that dark aura, omnipresent around him, wouldn't draw people in through a screen just as well as it did in real life.

Nesta flicked her eyes up towards him.

"You wouldn't be interested in a vacation," she asked. "Would you, Azriel?"

Azriel drained his drink, leaning forward to set the empty bottle on the table, though he didn't move his arm. Allowing her to continue caressing him. Drawing her finger down the length of his arm, and then across the knuckles on the back of his hand.

"To Italy?" Azriel asked. He leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. "Who picked that?"

Nesta frowned a bit. Not exactly the response she was hoping for.

"Eris," she said.

Azriel's eyes split open. He looked at her, a muscle working in his jaw, but otherwise his face was perfectly impassive.

"And now he can't go?" He asked.

Nesta's brows drew together. Fuck.

"No."

Azriel hummed, looking back up towards the sky. "So you two aren't working together anymore?"

"Do you want to go with me or not, Az?" Nesta snapped. She snatched her hand away from his arm and sat up.

"It's a tempting offer, Nesta," Azriel said. He shrugged. "But I'm a bit camera shy."

The scream was already built up in her throat, this tight knot that burned and it was entirely misplaced–because really, it wasn’t Azriel's fault that he had his heart set on the most emotionally unavailable man in the city aside from himself–but she felt it boiling over. She could have broken something.

But the door gently slid open, and Cassian strode into view.

⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✴ . ⁺ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹

Let me know if you'd like to be added to a tag list!

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

80 notes · View notes

arinbelle · 9 months

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Gentle

A/N: Happy Cassian Appreciation Week! It has been so long since I’ve posted anything and this fic sort of came to me unexpectedly. I really miss Nessian and I super, super miss the concept of them in Illyria with Nesta going with Cassian after ACOFAS. I guess this is an AU to ACOSF, and it’s a little angsty, a little smutty, and a lot of Nessian, which of course I love and live for.

Thank you @cassianappreciationweek for putting this amazing week together. I’m so excited!!!

~*~

Nesta was curled up on the couch, a cup of tea steaming besides her and a thick novel held in her hands which she promptly laid down once she saw him.

She didn’t say hello, or ask how he was, not that he expected her to. And apart from a quick nod of acknowledgement on her part and a grunt from him, that was it for them.

Cassian was tired. Bone-deep tired and he worried he may not have the energy to speak for the rest of the week, let alone do anything else. The rain he’d been caught in on the way home hadn’t helped his mood either. And definitely not as he’d trudged upstairs and peeled off the sodden clothes and leather that stuck to him like glue.

But a quick, heated bath restored some of his energy and he made his way back down to Nesta, still on the couch, and still reading as he towel-dried his hair.

“Good book?”

A hum. Yes.

“Did you eat?”

Another hum. Lower. It could be yes or no, he’d learned.

“Come eat with me.”

A click of her tongue. He was interrupting her reading and it was his cue to stop bothering her. So he did.

He made his way to their small kitchen, following the smell of freshly warmed up food. He opened up the pots on the stove, taking in the rice, lentils and chicken. The smell was heavenly and after surviving on stale bread and hard cheese for the past week, he was relieved to eat a hot meal that required a plate and cooking.

Nesta didn’t move away when he joined her on the empty side of the couch, nor did she prompt him to eat somewhere else. Not that there was anywhere else to go eat. It was either down here with her, or upstairs shut away in his bedroom.

He opted for company, however silent it may be.

“It’s good.” He said after getting a second serving for himself.

“Emerie’s recipe.” She flipped the page, eyes never once wavering from scanning the lines in front of her.

He finished the remainder of the meal quietly, peeking glances to the female across him, not even two feet away, every so often. She’d opted for a loose knot at the back of her head, as opposed to the tight coronet braid it was usually in. And the nightgown she had on covered her from shoulders to toes.

Last he’d seen her, the week before, she’d looked much different. Her hair had been loose, falling down her back in silky ripples. He’d wrapped his hand around the length of it once, twice, until he’d had enough to tug her head gently backwards and meet him for a kiss. His hips had snapped into her own, pounding deeper and deeper and she’d pulled away with a moan, burying her head into the pillows as he tightened his grip on her hips. The thin scrap of lace that she’d come to him wearing, a barely there nightgown, was sitting discarded besides him on the floor besides the couch. He had been too close and he would have pushed her over the edge soon enough had there not been a sharp rap on the door a few feet from them.

Nesta had quieted immediately while Cassian had stopped altogether. The knock had come again a few moments later and Cassian had flipped her over onto her back while yelling out at whoever was at the door.

A message had come from a northern kingdom in the mountains that he was needed for some sort of emergency. Cassian had discussed the details for a few minutes more while continuing to fuck Nesta slowly, covering just her mouth as she came hard around him, back arched and eyes rolling back in her head.

It wasn’t until the messenger told him goodbye and that he’d be waiting at the training barracks for him that Cassian had properly extricated himself from Nesta, and propped himself into a sitting position on the couch.

Nesta was still catching her breath besides him and the swift peek he’d gotten between her slightly spread legs, of her swollen sex, had almost tempted him to taste her one last time before he had to be off. Almost, because before he could do anything, Nesta had reached down and dressed herself in that damned gown again.

Before he could rise as well, and cool down to get rid of his hardness, Nesta had gotten on her knees between his open legs, sucking him down her throat. It hadn’t taken him very long to explode in her mouth, his hands holding her hair back while he fucked it with a frenzy. She’d taken every thrust, and swallowed his release while continuing to work her mouth around him.

Her eyes had looked up at him wickedly as her tongue had chased him from the side of pleasure to overstimulation and he had twitched against her hold.

They hadn’t shared a goodbye but Nesta had kissed him swiftly, brutally, with the taste of himself still on her tongue before walking away.

“What?,” she snapped, pulling him from his lewd thoughts.

“Nothing,” he said, scraping his dish clean. He picked up the bag he’d brought with him and made his way to the kitchen to clean up.

It was only after he’d washed his dishes and placed the leftover food in the icebox did he call out to Nesta to join him. She hadn’t moved right away but after a few breaths he’d heard a shuffle, the closing of a book and she’d soon appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“What?” Clipped. And a hint of annoyance if he’d read the rest of her posture correctly.

“Aren’t you charming? Is the book getting good? Did I interrupt an upcoming smut scene?”

He opened the white box’s packaging and Nesta took a seat opposite him from the center island.

“It already happened. They were going at it again.”

“How refreshing,” he chuckled with a wink. Nesta rolled her eyes.

“So I know how you are about your chocolate cake, but you have to try this one. I picked it up from a bakery up north and trust me, you’ve never had anything like it before.” He placed a generous slide onto the cake plate and pushed it towards her, handing her the fork she always favored.

Nesta didn’t eat it. She only surveyed the white cream and strawberry jam in between the large cake layers with barely concealed disdain. Strange. To his knowledge, she liked strawberries fine enough. And cake was always a welcome dessert for her.

“Where is it from?”

“Erm, Miyola. It’s a small town between these two hills in the northern Steppes. I know the baker there. I haven't had a chance to go in a while but I was nearby for the work I was doing with that Illyrian king, so I decided to drop by on the way home.”

She picked up her fork, spearing the center of the cake, but still not eating it.

“This baker is your…friend.”

She stated it but Cassian heard the question in her voice.

“Yes,” he answered, confused. A sort of friend that he’d known for a couple decades. Nothing like Azriel or Rhys, which were more family than friends at this point. But still, a good friend who made great pastries. And always gave him some extra for free when he left.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Just friends? It’s a very nice cake.”

“Yes,” he answered again, irritation beginning to spike in him. Gods but he was tired.

Nesta reached down to her lap before procuring a small piece of paper, all but throwing it at him.

“It fell from your bag when you came home.”

Cassian read it in silence, quickly realizing what Nesta was probably thinking.

“It’s not…”

“She doesn’t seem to be very set on being just friends, don’t you think?”

Nesta’s glare was murderous.

Layla, the baker he’d met a century ago had been a fun, heated tryst that had quickly fizzled out. Or so he’d thought. And when he had dropped by this past week, his thoughts of their past nights had been a fleeting memory. Perhaps he should have explained the cake was for Nesta, his…

Well she wasn't really his anything. Not between them or amongst the rest of the world. She’d made that much clear the first time they’d slept together. A very formidable line had been drawn, by her, making it known to him that it was just sex. Just for fun. And only while she was staying with him in Illyria. That it had nothing to do with romance, or care, or anything outside of base lust and desire. Which he could understand if it was any other female besides Nesta. If it had been any other female, he would have gladly accepted the agreement, and while he still had, a large part of him had felt empty at the thought. That it was all they would ever be. So for her to question this situation, question them when there really wasn’t a them - well it clawed at some already fraying part of him.

“Is that a problem?” He couldn’t help the snap in his words, the teeth he had to keep himself from baring.

If she wanted to play games, he could too. Nesta didn’t expect that and her spine stiffened, practically begging her to fight back. Bite back even. But he knew she wouldn’t answer truthfully. Because to do so would mean admitting that this thing between them was something real, something more than what she was lying to herself about. And the best thing she always did was run from the truth.

“Of course not. Why should I have a problem who you invite to your bed? I was just curious since you said- no, you lied, about who she was.”

“I didn’t-,” Cassian caught himself, taking in a ragged breath. So that’s what they would do tonight. Fight. He was in no mood for it.

“She’s a friend. I didn’t lie about it. And even if she wasn't, why do you care?”

Her spine went ramrod straight and she took in a quick breath, eyes blazing with simmering fury.

“I don’t,” came her strained reply.

Sure.

“So eat the cake.”

She waved her hand, ignoring him. “I don’t care. I don’t control you. I’m not stopping you from whatever you want with her. If you’d like to even bring her here and fuck her, why should I care?” Nesta got up, getting shriller and shriller with each passing word. “I don’t care one bit Cassian. Don’t stop on my account. While you’re at it, why not become reacquainted with all of your old friends? Females just seem to throw themselves at you left and right, don’t they?”

“They do, actually,” Cassian retorted. “I didn’t think you’d give a shit though. You don't about anything else.”

Nesta seemed to startle at his sudden outburst, but she quickly recovered.

“Well how great that’ll be then. You can go to one of them now and stop panting after me.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so miserable,” he deadpanned.

She smirked, crooning. “Males’ egos are truly a thing of wonder. You aren’t doing anything for me that I can’t do for myself with my own hand.”

Cassian laughed darkly. “Let’s not get into all the things I do to you. With my hands or otherwise.”

A faint blush stained her cheeks at that but she didn’t back down. She opened her mouth, readying for her next attack, but Cassian interrupted it.

He tried softer this time. “Don’t be cruel, it doesn't suit you.”

“Doesn’t it?,” she snapped.

Cassian shrugged then. “Jealousy definitely doesn’t. You would know if there were any other females around me in that way. You’d smell it on me.”

She shook her head. “I’m not jealous. I already told you, I don’t-.”

“Yes I got it the first time. You don’t care. Are you done now?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Cassian had to laugh at that. “Are you done, Nesta? Have you had enough?”

Eyes narrowed in contempt, arms crossed over her chest in lovely defiance, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

Cassian took a bite of the cake. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. And you don’t quit. I’d admire it if I wasn’t so tired. And I’d encourage it if I wasn’t already in a piss poor mood. Gods know I don’t need any excitement for a while.”

She blinked, unmoving, but quiet. So he continued, finishing up his dessert.

“But we do this, don’t we? You pick a fight with something that isn’t really an issue. I say something, you say something worse, I say something back, you get upset. You cry and then I’m the asshole that has to apologize for something you started. Or did I miss something?”

She knew he was right, but Nesta wouldn’t say it. Nesta wouldn’t say a lot of things. So instead he reached across the table, and pushed her plate further towards her.

“Eat the damn cake, Nesta. I brought it for you.”

She did. With just enough contempt that she might have scratched the plate with her fork from her first bite. But she did it. And eventually she had a second slice too, Cassian noted with a small feeling of victory.

“What’s her name?”

Gods save him, not this again.

“Nesta, I don’t-.”

She held up a hand, almost placating him. “I’m not trying to start a fight. I just wanted to know her name.”

Cassian hesitated for a moment. “Layla.”

“Pretty,” she noted quietly, moving the fork around her empty plate.

“Yes,” he murmured, cleaning up, and trying his best not to stare too much at Nesta, in case she spooked and ran from him again.

“Is she? Pretty, I mean.” Nesta’s voice was soft and too fragile for his liking. She wouldn’t look at him as she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted slowly. And she was. He couldn’t deny it. And even if he lied, Nesta would know. She always knew when he lied.

Nesta left then.

He argued with himself the entire way up the stairs and to her door. To talk to her, soothe her worries, and reassure her that there was no one else for him. But to do that would mean acknowledging that there was something here of enough substance where another female might present a problem.

Nesta would never accept that.

Still he knocked, and even though she didn’t and wouldn’t respond, he let himself in.

“New book?”

She didn’t look up once, sprawled out on her stomach, with her feet to the head of the bed.

“Old book. Rereading it.”

At least she spoke to him. He supposed they were no longer in that rough place anymore where he would have to worry about her stoic silence. She rarely iced him out since staying with him. Rarely felt the need to resort to it, even with some of their worst fights. This, he could work with.

He sat down beside her, trying his best, and failing, to keep the peace.

“You’re beautiful,” he finally said after a pregnant pause.

She clicked her tongue. “Is that why you’re here? I don’t need that from you. I’ve been told I had a face fit to marry a king since I was eight. This isn’t news for me.”

Of course it wasn’t. People had to be blind to not know that Nesta was stunning. Becoming Fae had only heightened it to being otherwordly.

“Well, then you should know that just because Layla-.” She clicked her tongue, shutting him up. She didn’t want to talk about this. But he couldn't leave it so cold and open. Especially not when he knew exactly what sorts of thoughts were probably racing in her head.

“Nesta,” he murmured, hoping she’d at least look at him before he threw his heart out in front of her, yet again. She had a habit of stomping the life out of it, but he prayed one last time, that maybe she wouldn’t.

She closed her book then, turning onto her back to look up at him. Her hair fanned out behind her and Cassian couldn’t resist carding through the tresses softly, gently, with so much hesitation it was a wonder he didn’t tremble too.

There was something about Nesta that terrified Cassian. Not the stone cold facade or the cutting words. He could take a hit or two to his ego, and with Nesta, it was more entertaining for him than anything else. But he had faced foes on battlefields for centuries, had killed and maimed without much thought, and never once had he encountered someone like her.

The brute strength and the efficiently cutting violence that he could easily execute with had always helped him as a soldier. As a general. And then as commander. Never had it been a weakness to deter from until he’d met Nesta.

Then, suddenly, all his largeness, all his brash, booming loudness had become dangerous. To her. For her. Gods knew she had the temper and fire inside to match his own, and to meet every shredding, stupid thing he said to her with her own poison. But it wasn’t the same and he knew it.

The fragility that she hid behind a beautiful, almost impenetrable mask scared him. As if he may one day, accidentally, shatter her irreversibly, if he wasn’t careful. So he tried again this time, trying and willing the words to form in the gentlest way possible to deal with this storm of a woman laid out in front of him.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I can’t guard you from reality even though I’d like to. There will always be another Layla if you go looking hard enough. And knowing you, you tend to go looking for heartbreak just so you can swing first.”

Cassian didn’t miss the fact that her storm-grey eyes began to fill with tears, but he had to commend her grit in not letting them fall.

“Is it not enough if I tell you there is no one else? Not now, not for a very long time, and not anytime in the future as long as you wish it.”

She laughed, but it was a hollow, broken sound. “I never asked for your loyalty.”

“You have it anyhow.”

A stray tear leaked out and Cassian’s hand flexed automatically to reach over and wipe it away. He held himself back only for a moment, judging whether or not it would shatter this delicate moment. Another tear leaked out and Cassian gently wiped it off then. Nesta nuzzled against his hand and it took everything in him to not pull her towards him.

“I never asked anything of you,” she whispered into the heart of his palm.

“I know.”

“So why do you keep giving?”

Cassian smoothed her hair, stroking her cheek. “Because I can. Because I want to. I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

She froze as he leaned down over her, before softening against him.

“I suppose so,” she whispered against his lips.

Cassian kissed her gently, even though his soul had been wholly consumed by her. Perhaps it would never be enough time in this world for him to show her how much she mattered to him, how much he cared. But for now, this would do.

~*~

Taglist: @endlessdaydream @sleeping-and-books @purpleglitterypinecone @sv0430 @gwynberdara @karmasworlds @bookstantrash @duskandstarlight @d0riansgray @perseusannabeth@vasudharaghavan @sayosdreams @arielle-reads @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @nahthanks @oversizedbats @swankii-art-teacher @inardour @rowaelinismyotp @starryblueskies7 @vidalinav @nessiantrashh @imagine-me @iwastoowildinthe70s @lady-winter-sunrise @vanzetanze @moodymelanist @wishfulimaginings @amaranthas-whore @simpingfornestaarcheron @generalnesta @mis-lil-red @nestaisgod @booksstorm @loosingdreams @champanheandluxxury @18moneytoad @starksravings @tinasbookishlife @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @nesquik-arccheron @readingwitches @that-golden-lyre @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @story-scribbler @readingismyonlyhobby @burningsnowleopard @pyxxie

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #nessian fanfiction #nesta fanfiction #cassianappreciationweek2023 #acosf au #one shot #arinbelle #cassianappreciation

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sapphire-reads · 10 days

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Spellbound - A Nessian Fic

An ACOTAR 90s AU featuring Nessian

Click here to read on Ao3

Nesta Archeron and her sisters live in a one-bedroom house with their seemingly hopeless father. Nesta, a girl who marches to the beat of her own drum no matter what others think, is sick and tired of her sisters' and their football player boyfriends…until she meets one of the linemen from the rival high school and finds herself unable to stop thinking about him…

This is a retelling of Nesta x Cassian's story in a 90s AU following their journey from high school to college and beyond.

#acotar #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #90s au #nesta

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estellaluna · 7 months

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Gwyn: Hey, Cassian can I tell you something?

Cassian: Yeah, sure what is it?

Gwyn: Azriel seemed a little different today.

Cassian: Yeah? Tell me about it.

Gwyn: He looks more dressed up than usual.

Cassian: Get straight to the point, Gwyn.

Gwyn: He looks so fine.

Cassian: *raising his voice* I know Azriel is so fine!

Gwyn: And I would marry him if he only asks

Cassian: I KNOW! SAME! I would marry Azriel if he only asks.

Nesta: You guys are aware that we can hear you both from the other side of this room!

Azriel: *smirks*

Cassian: Az, let’s get married!

Azriel: *flips him off*

#azriel shadowsinger #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel #azriel #gwyn berdara #azwyn #gwynriel au #gwynriel headcanon #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #pro gwynriel

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talkfantasytome · 1 year

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Small Steps

Cassian has a rough day that really shakes him. Nesta meets him where he is, using physical touch to try help him.

Warnings: Mild Angst | Word Count: 2,717 | Read on AO3

Nessian Masterlist

a/n: Based on this ask. I took to heart the "change anything". 🙈 So no smut, friends, I'm just still not there, and I wanted to get more to the heart of the love language.

Written for Day 2 of @sjmromanceweek: Love Languages.

The massive sigh that escaped Nesta's lips practically echoed through the sitting room.

She rarely read in that room. Then again, despite the book in front of her, she really couldn't say she was currently reading, either. Not as her eyes flicked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass door every other second. Checking on the balcony, making sure she didn't miss it when he got back.

As if she could. Who could miss someone of that size?

Thump.

Her eyes snapped back to the balcony, but nothing was there. It took her a minute before she realized the sound had come from the book that slipped from her lap.

She must be getting tired. It was rather late. And with how dark it was, she could actually miss it. Perhaps she should just go to bed, wait for Cassian there. Nesta would likely wake up when he got in…he was never particularly quiet getting ready for bed.

With a yawn, Nesta closed her book and stood from her seat, jumping as she heard the door open behind her.

"Finally!" she sighed, placing her book on the table and turning to see Cassian standing in the threshold, his hair wet and clinging to a forlorn face. It must be raining outside. "Where have you been?"

Nesta padded over to Cassian, pulling him further into the House and shutting the door behind them. The wind was harsh, blowing against her efforts, but she got it closed and locked before too much water came in. And what did was magically dried away by the time she heard the lock click.

Cassian didn't answer her. He just stood there, a few feet away, eyes distant and unresponsive.

"Cassian?" she questioned. Nesta kept her voice soft, tilting her head to try and meet his gaze. But even when she made contact with his hazel irises, that's all she was doing. There was no recognition that he was seeing her, meeting her eyes. She brushed a hand up his arm and asked, "Is everything all right."

He turned his head away, as if he couldn't look at her, and then pulled his arm back. It wasn't the response she wanted, and she couldn't pretend it didn't cut like a knife, but at least it was some type of reaction. "Cassian," she tried again, taking his hand. "What happened?"

Still no answer.

A pit began to emerge in Nesta's stomach as she watched her husband and mate remain still and cold. It wasn't like him. Cassian was all warmth and openness, jokes and laughter. He didn't fluster. Nothing ever shook him. Not like this. The worst Nesta had ever seen him before was in times when she was in danger, and even then there was something more than this.

She didn't know what to do. How could she? Five years together, and this was a first. She should know how to comfort him - she did know, typically. But this wasn't the same as sad Cassian or worried Cassian or pissed-off Cassian. And she doubted some sarcastic insults or gentle kisses would pull him out of the stupor he was in.

But Nesta had to do something. Cassian was always the strong one. For her…for everyone, really. It's what he did, constantly. And now she had to do it for him.

Holding back the tears that were begging to be set free, Nesta quickly requested a meal for Cassian from the House as she led him to the table. A plate full of steak, fried potatoes, and broccoli appeared just as she got him into a seat - his favorite meal. She sent a silent thank you to the House for that. The House didn't always seem to like Cassian, but clearly it could tell that now wasn't a time for whatever grudge it held.

Cassian sat there, hands at his side, staring off into the distance. She wasn't sure he even realized the food was there, but that was fine. He'd eat it, anyway. She'd make sure of that.

Nesta picked up the silverware and cut a piece of steak, cooked perfectly between rare and medium-rare, exactly how Cassian liked it. She then brushed some of his hair behind his ear and lifted his face to meet her gaze again.

This time, something registered in his eyes. The faintest twinkle that said he did see her. And for a moment she let the relief flood her, but only a moment. Because as quick as the twinkle came it faded again.

"Please, Cass," she breathed, holding the bite of steak up. "Eat for me?"

He lifted a hand and placed it over hers, guiding the steak into his open mouth. After that first bite, he took the fork in his own hand and began to work on the meal.

Nesta let out the breath she'd been holding and then sat beside him, keeping one hand on him at all times, her fingers curved around his broad shoulder. She stayed clear of his wings for the moment, unsure how he'd react in his current state to even an accidental brush against them.

It was quiet as he ate, only the sounds of his bites and chewing filling the room. And the inconsistent clicking of his jaw. The sound usually grated on Nesta a bit. Tonight, however, it was music to her ears.

His hair began to fall into his face, and Nesta pushed it back behind his ears, stroking him for a second with her thumb. Once again, no reaction from Cassian, but Nesta was too busy noting how cold his cheeks felt to worry about that. It felt as if he'd been out in freezing temperatures long enough for it to chill his very bones.

Turning her face toward the ceiling, Nesta asked, "Could you start a hot bath, please?" A gentle breeze caressed her face in response, and she added a whispered, "Thank you."

Cassian set his fork down a couple minutes later. He didn't move beyond turning to look at Nesta. He seemed to be asking 'what next', and it broke Nesta's heart and healed it at the same time. One step at a time, that's all she needed from him. She took his hands and stood up, pulling him up with her, and thanking the Mother that he registered it enough to help. She wasn't actually strong enough to move him without his help.

Keeping one of his hands in hers, she led him down to their suite. The bathroom was warm with the steam from the bath. Cassian followed Nesta into the room and stood in the center of it as directed by Nesta. She didn't bother waiting to see if he'd start to ready himself for the bath.

Nesta started on his jacket. She had to walk around him as she slid it off his arms and wings. And then she was on her tiptoes, peeling his shirt off of him, grateful he was present enough to lift his arms and duck down a bit to help her. Once the shirt was on the floor, Cassian straightened. It gave Nesta the chance to look over his torso. Not in admiration, as was so often in the case, but instead Nesta found herself scanning his body for injuries.

She couldn't imagine that was what was getting to Cassian. He typically played off injuries as if they were nothing, only resting to get Nesta to shut up. But that didn't mean he couldn't also be physically injured, along with whatever had happened to affect him emotionally.

There wasn't much, however. Just her husband's extremely toned chest and those entrancing tattoos that never ceased to astound her. She trailed her hands up and down his arms, hoping the touch would offer him a bit of comfort, or at least some warmth. He slanted toward her a bit, as if he were leaning in to the touch, but when Nesta looked up his face was still vacuous, even as his eyes followed her.

Nesta gave him a small smile anyway, giving his chest a quick kiss before she moved on to his legs. She knelt down to get off his shoes and socks. They were dirtier than she'd realized. He must've been tracking mud through the entire House. And the socks, too, were damp. But the worst part was the pinkness of his toes. How long had he been in his wet clothes? Nesta hadn't realized how wet they were. She was pretty sure Az had gone with him that day, so he shouldn't have needed to fly home. Just the quick flight from beyond the wards to the balcony of the House. They should've been lightly damp.

Based on the feel of his socks, they'd likely been drenched hours before. Dried enough they wouldn't drip, but not so much that they weren't still wet and cold. She should've had him bathe first.

With this new realization, Nesta was quick to remove his pants and lead him toward the tub. Whorls of steam danced across the calm water. She tested the water quickly and it was perfect. Hot, definitely, but not so much it would burn his skin.

She looked back up at him, meeting his blank stare. "Cassian, can you get in the tub for me?"

His eyes shifted to look at the tub and he gave her a solitary nod of his head. He was slow to move, but he climbed into the large bath. He always commented on how it was too big for him alone when Nesta didn't bathe with him. Seeing him in it without her, Nesta actually believed him.

Cassian sat down in the water, everything but his shoulders and head submerged. Nesta knelt beside the tub once he was situated, surprised to find a pillow on the floor waiting for her. She didn't reflect on it too much. Just accepted the plush object and reached to grab the soap and a loofah.

She didn't scrub too hard. He wasn't noticeably dirty, nor did Nesta want to hurt him. But still she made sure to wipe down his arms and torso, and did her best to get to his legs as well. And then she worked on his hair. She poured a large dollop of the hair cleansing concoction they kept into her hands and then lathered it into his hair.

Letting off a soft groan as she massaged his head, Cassian leaned into the touch and something lightened in Nesta. She let out a sigh of relief and smiled to herself as she continued to rub the soap in. Nesta took her sweet time with it, making sure she got every inch of his head, hoping to prolong his enjoyment. She then began to scoop water up to rinse the mixture out of his hair. It was slow work, but it was better than asking him to dip his head.

Once all the soap was off him, Nesta reached into the water and grabbed Cassian's hands, standing up and leading him to do the same. He followed, a waterfall cascading off his body as he did. Nesta grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him before she carefully helped him out of the tub. He held the towel around himself as Nesta patted it against his body, attempting to soak up as much water from his skin as possible.

Cassian watched her as she did. Something in his features scrunched, his eyes focusing on her chest.

Nesta couldn't hide her shock. She doubted Cassian was actually interested in doing anything that night. And she wasn't sure he was in a place for it anyway. Following his gaze and looking down, Nesta realized it wasn't actually her chest that was drawing his attention, but the fact that her dress was entirely soaked. She hadn't even noticed. "It's fine. I'll be out of this soon enough."

He didn't respond, but Nesta didn't care. It was a tiny step, and that was all she needed.

They walked into the bedroom and Nesta began to turn down the bed before going to the closet and pulling out Cassian's favorite pair of lounge pants.

"Do you want to wear these tonight?" she asked, holding them up for him. He looked them over, taking a minute before finally nodding. Nesta held them open and helped him into the pants.

Her hands met his waist as she let the pants go around him, and then they were trailing up his stomach and landing on his chest. It was a soft touch, not the kind that was meant to lead to something else. Just to comfort.

Cassian watched her. And when she looked up into his face, she found his hazel eyes staring back at her. They weren't as distant as they had been earlier. There was still something vacant about his face, but it wasn't entirely blank anymore. She smiled and lifted one hand to caress his cheek.

"I love you, Cassian," she breathed. Cassian tilted his head against her hand. All the response she needed. "Do you want to get into bed? I'm going to get into my nightgown, and then I'll join you."

Despite her words, Nesta didn't move her hands until Cassian had moved far enough away that she wasn't touching him anymore. He climbed into their bed as Nesta got on one of her nightdresses, and then she was joining him.

He stayed on his side, his back to her, and it took all the strength Nesta could muster to not finally break down. As much as she wanted to, Cassian still needed her. Even if he wasn't turned toward her with his arms open like he was most nights.

So Nesta scooted toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nestling her face between his wings. She left a soft kiss on the center of his back and made sure her entire body was up against his, mimicking his position.

Lifting one arm, Cassian rested it on top of Nesta's. His hand curled around hers and she nearly burst into tears. He was there, somewhere. Tomorrow would be for talking. Or the next day. Or whatever day he was ready. Tonight, she would hold him and stay close. And his hand grasping hers was enough to know that's all he needed.

She nuzzled as close as possible and held him tight. It wasn't long until his breathing evened out, his body relaxing in sleep. Nesta was able to drift off soon after that.

Nesta awoke to a room so bright, even with her eyes closed it was blinding. She groaned slightly to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and curling into the body that was holding her.

A deep, soft chuckle sounded beside her and Nesta's eyes shot open.

Cassian was there, smiling down at her, his arms tight around her waist.

"Cassian?" she whispered.

He lifted one hand, bringing it up to cup her cheek. "'Morning Nes," he breathed before leaning in and kissing her on the forehead.

"Is everything-are…are you okay?" she asked gently.

He nodded, pulling her closer to him and resting his head on top of hers. "It was a bad day, yesterday."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She could feel him shake his head as he replied, "Not yet. I just want to stay here a bit longer."

Nesta nodded and tightened her arms around him. "We can stay as long as you like. And we can talk when you're ready."

"Thank you. For that and…for last night."

Nesta brushed her nose against his chest in response and said, "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"No," he stated quickly. "It was exactly what I needed. You were perfect." Nesta buried her face into his chest, hoping to hide the tears that were finally breaking free. "You are perfect."

They stayed like that for most of the day, neither wanting to move or be far from each other. There wasn't much talking, but Nesta knew Cassian would share when he was ready. For now, she took joy in the small steps. The conversations they did have, the touches Cassian initiated, the way his eyes finally sparkled again as he looked at and laughed with her.

It was more than enough.

a/n:I hate that last line but I literally couldn't think of anything better, so...😬

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @clemidansleschoux @meher-sumedha @labetenoir @vinylcryes @shinya-hiiragi @starryblueskies7 @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @superspiritfestival @aks18 @thewayshedreamed @lunabean @xstarlightsupremex @mis-lil-red @wannawriteyouabook @dealfea

#nessian #nesta x cassian #sjmromanceweek2023 #cassian x nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #acosf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #modern au #mild angst #fluff #love languages #physical touch #the emotional kind #a side of words of affirmation for nesta

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snelbz · 1 year

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Better Or Worse {Chapter Five}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Cassian —

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

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

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

Nesta’s already here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She seemed nice enough though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My fingers froze. “Why me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t stop caring,” Nesta snaps.

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

Well, shit. Maybe I don’t hate her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you started dating?”

Nesta nods.

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

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

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

Gwyn smiled. “And you found that attractive?”

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

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

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

“Different how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me about your wedding day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks, Doc.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she snaps.

Gwyn remains quiet.

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

“It’s not stupid.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Just talk, Cassian!”

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

“You want to talk about our wedding day?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nesta is noticeably silent now. Good.

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

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

“And you were my whole life.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And now it’s a habit?” Gwyn asks.

Nesta nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uninterrupted time with my wife.

The idea terrified me.

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

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

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

Still, I say, “Okay.”

Nesta —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We just didn’t keep secrets from each other.

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

“You ready?”

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

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

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

“Nesta?”

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

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

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

“Are you ready to go?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You look beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

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

I blink before realizing what it is he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all so ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which, to be fair, was true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“We have to.”

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

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

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

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

“Call for the check.”

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

I feel guilty.

I also feel angry.

Uncomfortable.

Sad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stiffens. “Nesta—”

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

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

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

“Nes—”

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

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

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

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

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

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autumnshighlady · 5 months

Text

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 17)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: reunion time

warnings: Night Court slander, anti Rhysand

word count: 5.9k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: i am SO SO SO SORRY FOR THE LACK OF UPDATES! It's been almost 4 months since the last chapter yikes. Life got crazy then I got into a horrible writing block and this is the first thing I've written since July. I'll admit it sucks and is definitely a filler chapter but I promise more exciting stuff to come x

feedback is appreciated, just no hate pls! these are just my opinions, i’m more curious to see how you all like the writing and characterization and storylines!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 /

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For the first time in weeks, your eyes open to rays of sunshine instead of cold darkness. Warm, rich scents flooded your senses, so vastly different from the stifling air of the prison cell you had become accustomed to. Instead of smelling damp, cold stone, you were greeted with the smell of fir trees and fresh air. Your limbs felt lighter, the weight of the chains that had been shackled to your wrists for ages long forgotten.The soft touch of a heavy blanket wrapped around you like an embrace, hugging your body.

You squinted at the harshness of the light, eyes not quite used to the brightness of the sun. You groaned and rolled over to get away from the luminous glow, but felt your body collide with something on the bed. After a couple blinks, your eyes began to focus on the lithe figure sitting next to you.

“Nesta…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, her name like a prayer on your mouth as she came into view. Nesta’s tall frame was seated cross-legged next to you, clad in a deep green gown with a wide neckline adorned with a lacy pattern of gold flowers. Her hands were clasped together tightly, resting upon her skirts. Her sharp face was muddled with concern, slate grey eyes hollow like her mind was elsewhere.

But they snapped into focus once again at the sound of your voice. “(Y/N)” Nesta breathed, blinking a few times as if she couldn’t believe it was truly you. “You’re awake.”

“How long was I out?” You asked, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows but failing. You let out a groan, flopping back onto the pillows like a sack of potatoes.

“Don’t try and sit up yet.” Nesta warned, gently putting a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve been out for two days. Your body has been through so much, the healers said to let you rest as much as possible.”

You took in a breath, taking in the sight of Nesta before you. A thousand emotions swelled up in you all at once, threatening to burst out and paint the room a hundred different colours. Your mate, your beautiful, strong mate had come to save you. Tears pricked at your eyes as your throat swelled up. “Nesta–” You croaked out.

“Shhh.” Nesta shushed, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You got out. We all did.”

You sighed. The escape from the Night Court seemed like yesterday and a million years ago all at once. “Are we in Autumn? I don’t remember getting here.”

Nesta nodded. “You passed out on Zôrzimril after we left Night. We’re in Eris’ personal residence in the woods. Beron doesn’t know you’re here.”

You glanced at the room around you, taking in the rich earthy tones signature to the Autumn Court. It was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold surroundings of Night. Lucien had told you that Eris had his own, elaborate place somewhere free of his father in the court. You had never stepped foot in it, until now, but had always wanted to.

“You’re in the room I’ve been staying in.” Nesta continued, a hint of a red blush across her cheeks as she avoided your gaze. “Actually, it’s technically Eris’s–”

“Wait,” You interrupted her. “I’m in Eris’s bed? You’ve been sleeping in Eris’s bed?”

Nesta’s blush deepened. “It’s his personal residence. He doesn’t exactly have guest rooms.”

“Where has he been staying then?”

“When he’s not at his father’s palace, the couch, apparently. Don’t feel bad for him, that couch is big enough for 3 people to sleep comfortably, limbs spread out and all.”

You snorted, ignoring the fact that you were laying in Eris’ personal bed. You expected to feel a twinge of jealousy that Nesta had been staying in this room, so up close and personal with Eris. But none came. Something which surprised you, given Nesta was your mate, and mates were supposed to be territorial.

It was like a bucket of ice water was washed over you as you recalled the realisations you came to over the last few days. Nesta didn’t know she was your mate – she thought she was Cassian’s.

Estelle’s words rang in your head. Fae folk can have more than one mate in some instances. Nesta Archeron has more than one, but Cassian is not one of them.

It confused you – Cassian sure acted like a mated male around Nesta, even more so once Rhys mentioned it at the Court of Nightmares. Why would the High Lord lie about it? Did anyone else know? A million questions swarmed through you, each one louder than the last.

You recalled Nesta telling you the story of Feyre finding out about the mating bond with Rhys. How angry she was when she found out that the male had known for months and didn’t tell her. Deep down, you knew Nesta would be angrier the longer you kept it from her. “Nesta,” You began. “There’s something you need to know–”

“Good morning, my sunshines.” The smooth voice of Eris echoed throughout the room as the door swung open, interrupting you. The prince strolled in, red hair gleaming in the glow of the morning sun. He was carrying a tray, steaming with freshly baked pastries, tea, and fruits. “I see (Y/N) has risen from the dead!”

“You’re not funny, Eris.” Nesta snapped.

“I disagree.” Eris quipped, setting the tray down at the foot of the bed. “(Y/N) think’s I’m hilarious, don’t you (Y/N)?”

You snorted. “If you pass me that bacon and egg sandwich I’ll give you this one.”

Eris smirked, placing the requested item onto a gold plate and passing it to you. “Deal.”

You eagerly grabbed the sandwich, taking as big of a bite as your mouth would allow. It burned your tongue, but you didn’t care. It took everything in you not to moan as the rich flavours filled your taste buds. “This is amazing.” You mumbled.

The Autumn Prince smirked. “Well I suppose anything would taste good after being basically starved in a dungeon.”

“Seriously, Eris. Shut up.” Nesta seethed, shooting a deadly glare at him. You snorted, but couldn’t help but notice the lack of seriousness behind it. Plenty of times you had been witness to Nesta snapping at people, but this was different. Her tone didn’t have the same bite to it that it did with others – no, it was more playful. She turned back to you, eyes softening. “How do you feel?”

You shrugged. “Tired. Like I’ve just done the workout of the century and need a week’s worth of sleep. I don’t want to leave this bed for at least another few days.”

Grey eyes met amber ones as Nesta and Eris exchanged an uneasy glance. For that moment, the only sound was the rustling of the wind coming through the windows. “What?” You asked, brows furrowed.

Eris sighed, walking around the corner of the bed. He was dressed in a simple red shirt with loose sleeves, the top slightly unlaced and exposing the pale skin underneath. Very rarely had you seen the prince dressed so casually. He grabbed your ankles through the thick duvet, lifting your legs up slightly and moving them to the side to make space for him to sit across from Nesta. Eris kept his hands on your legs, gently squeezing them.

“You’ve survived a lot of hard things lately, (Y/N).” He said slowly. “And you’ve overcome one of the most difficult parts. But I’d be lying if I said it was going to get a lot easier.”

A lump formed in your throat. Truthfully, over the past few weeks you hadn’t even thought about the possibility of what life would be like if you escaped Night and got to Autumn. There were still dozens of factors to consider, all of which you had given up on figuring out solutions to.

“I have to explain to my father how and why you are here, which will be difficult.” Eris continued. “He already blew a fuse over Nesta’s unexpected arrival. It is likely a second unexpected arrival will be even worse, and he will not take it lightly.”

You shifted in the pillows, running a hand through your hair. Surprisingly, you weren’t met with the knots and tangles you expected from not being able to brush your own hair for weeks. “Your father will hurt you, won’t he?” You said to Eris.

He hesitated before speaking. “Let me worry about that, my dear. We need to convince my father there’s a good reason for you to stay. I’ve already used the marriage card on Lady Nesta here, so we need to figure out something else.”

“What about my…” Your words trailed off as you tried to think of a word to describe what exploded out of you during the escape. “Magic?”

Eris shook his head. “Not an option. He cannot know about that.”

“Why not? Surely he’ll find out eventually?”

“Likely not. Rhysand is not stupid enough to let slip that he let someone with that kind of ability escape his court. And I have reason to believe Tamlin will stay quiet about it as well.”

“Speaking of that kind of ability,” Nesta interjected. “What even was that? I didn’t know you–”

“Yeah, me neither.” You said, locking your fingers together and twirling them around. You lowered your head, avoiding their gazes. “Something…. something happened when I was in there.”

Eris cocked his head, eyes burning with curiosity. “What happened?”

Nesta grabbed your hands, unlocking your clammy fingers and lacing her own between them. She shot a fierce look at Eris. “She doesn’t have to talk about it now.” She hissed.

“Yes, Nesta, she does.” Eris said calmly before turning back to you. “I wish we had more time to let you rest, I really do, but I need to know what happened before I can figure out what story to spin to my father.”

You let out a sigh. “Why can’t we just kill him first so we don’t have to deal with all of this?”

Nesta snorted, earning an eye roll from Eris. “As much as I would love to be rid of my father,” Eris said. “We have to wait before we take him out. There are things that need to be properly aligned, and it takes planning.”

“Haven’t you been planning?” You fired back. “I mean, plotting and scheming is all you do in your spare time, isn’t it?”

A smirk formed at the edge of Eris’s lips. “The officials in this court need to see Beron accept you and Nesta if they’re going to accept you. We risk a coup if we kill him before then. Now, tell me what happened while you were in that cell.”

Nesta’s steady hand on your weak one evened your breathing slightly. You tore your gaze from the pattern on the sheets and you drank in the sight of her as if it could slip away at a moment's notice. She looked stronger, healthier than she had in Night. She carried herself more confidently, less stiff and rigid. She looked more comfortable in her own skin, something that filled you with pride. But also sorrow – sadness at the fact you hadn’t been there to witness this change.

And so you explained everything – the vision you had, the conversation with Estelle, what happened that day Hybern came to your village. Nesta’s face was twisted with confusion and awe as you went on, whereas Eris’ expression was unreadable.

“But that wasn’t everything.” You murmured, heart beginning to race as you prepared to explain the part you dreaded most.

“There’s more?” Nesta asked, eyes wide. “You’re telling me you’re the Mother incarnate, and there’s more than that?”

Tears pricked at your eyes once again. These next few words could ruin everything. You knew Nesta hated the idea of mates, the concept of being shackled to someone just because a higher being thought you’d produce good offspring. Nesta already had to process what Rhysand said about Cassian being her mate, and you were about to make it a whole lot worse. You couldn’t stop those tears from spilling down your face as a sob left your body.

“Hey…” Eris spoke softly, reaching out to brush one of the tears off your cheek. “It’s ok.”

“(Y/N)?” Nesta’s voice was cautious, laced with concern.

“You’re my mate.” Your voice shook as you dragged the words out. You fixed your gaze on the sheets again, not wanting to see Nesta’s reaction.

“What?” She said quietly.

“Cassian isn’t your mate,” You said, more steady this time. “I am. Estelle said fae can have more than one mate, but Cassian is not one of yours.”

For once, not even the wind rustled in response. It was as if the world had gone quiet. You could feel her surprise, like a rush of cold water surging through that link between you two. You tried to reach her through the bond, to get a sense of what else she was feeling, but you were met with a stone cold wall.

Nesta. You tried. But she had shut you out, eyes vacant as she took in the information. Wordlessly, Nesta removed her hands from yours. Your skin cried out at the loss of warmth, missing the contact already. She uncrossed her legs and climbed off the bed before leaving the room, slamming the door behind her.

A sob wracked your body again, harder this time. Wet droplets appeared on the sheets as tears rolled off your face, and you buried your head in your hands. Even after everything you’d endured, this was somehow the worst.

You felt a shift on the bed as Eris scooted up closer to you. “It’ll be okay.” You heard his voice murmur in that scarce gentle tone.

“You don’t know that.” You choked out. One of your fears had come true. Everything you and Nesta had built up over the last few months – the quiet friendship, the few sacred kisses you shared that set your entire body alight, the easiness during training with Gwyn and Emerie, it all came crashing down. Whatever she had felt for you mattered now, she wouldn’t want to be shackled even more than she already has.

“When you were asleep, Nesta spent hours untangling your hair.”

You lifted your head from your hands at Eris’ voice, meeting his soft gaze. “It was a mess,” He continued. “Took her the entire afternoon. But she was so gentle, and not breaking a single strand. She didn’t take a single break, and even after she was done she remained by your side until the sun came up. I set up the couch for her, but she insisted on sleeping next to you.”

Eris gently touched your hand. It was warm against your skin, which you felt was still thawing from the cold of Rhys’ dungeon. “Nesta has had a lot to take in the last few weeks, as you well know. I’ve been training her powers, but my father has insisted that a demonstration of her magic be made before the marriage is to happen. I have no doubt that–”

“Did you know?” You blurted out before the prince could finish his sentence. It was a question that had been niggling at the back of your mind since you found out Nesta was your mate – Eris had a knack for finding out things long before others knew. You had no doubt that the second he found out about the spell you and Nesta cast, he had delved into hours of research trying to figure out as much about it as possible. He was a clever male, one who fought with knowledge and scheming rather than brute force like Cassian.

Eris was silent for a moment before speaking. “I suspected. There were too many unknown factors to bring it up, I wanted to be sure before I told Nesta. I found old manuscripts dating back thousands of years – the text was faded, but it went into more details about the specifics of the spell between Estelle and Jayana. There were too many parallels between it and the mating bond. I figured the only explanation was that a mating bond had to already be in place for the spell to truly link.”

You sighed. If Nesta found out that Eris might have known as well and kept it from her, she would be even angrier. “Eris, Nesta doesn’t trust easily. You should have told her this the second you got the idea in your head. Now she’s going to be pissed at both of us.”

“She’s not pissed at you, my dear.” Eris gently stroked your hand with his thumb, the movement so small it was almost undetectable. “Give her a few hours to process. Then we can all sit down and figure out what to do next, okay? Now rest for a bit longer, you need to get your strength back.”

You nodded, heart aching at the image of Nesta storming out of the room. Laying back, you settled back into the plush bedding, wishing it would swallow you up whole. Eris reached down and pulled the duvet closer to you, gently tucking you in. “Sleep well, darling.” He whispered. Before you could process it, Eris leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your skin tingled at the sensation, still feeling like it was slowly thawing from the cold of the dungeon.

There was so much more you wanted to say, a thousand questions you wanted to ask Eris, but the prince retreated as quickly as he came leaving you to sleep. Your eyes fluttered shut as you drifted off again, heart aching at the absence of Nesta’s presence.

*********************

A few hours later, you smoothed your hands over the skirts of the dress Eris’s servants had laid out for you. It was a rich brown colour with a square neckline and loose sleeves -- elegant, yet comfortable. You had no clue where Eris had been pulling this wardrobe from, but that was besides the point. Grogginess continued to plague you, although less so than before. Even with your fae healing, it would take a while for you to return to your full strength – something you had Rhysand to thank for.

Your hands curled into fists, nails scraping through your palms as you thought of the High Lord of the Night Court. A sick feeling curled in your gut as you recalled his smug face as he sent his dark powers slicing through your skin. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in that dungeon, chained up and helpless against the male. You hated it, hated him. You hated how much his slimy face crossed your mind, how the faint scars along your wrists would never truly fade. Your mind flashed with memories of riding atop Zorzimril, burning down Rhys and Feyre’s many castles, the orange flames lighting up the night sky as you burned and burned them. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t make you feel better.

Shaking your head as if to push memories of Rhysand out of your mind, you wandered towards the door on unsteady legs. As the door swung open, you were greeted with a long hallway lined with elegant torches. You looked back and forth, unsure which way to go. You didn’t even know Eris had this residence, let alone how to navigate it. But then you felt something, a slight pull deep inside of you that urged you to go left. Aimlessly, you followed it, wandering down the hallway before coming to a beautiful wooden arch that marked the entryway into the living room. In awe, you scanned the space before you. A series of couches and armchairs were placed around the room, some by a fireplace and some by the high bookshelf that stretched all the way to the ceiling. It was decorated in rich autumnal colours, the scent of cinnamon and apple cider filling the air. It had a modest dining table and three chairs, and a set of doors that seemingly led to a pathway outside.

Nesta and Eris occupied two of the chairs, sitting across from each other in silence. Eris was humming quietly, writing something down on a piece of parchment. His red hair looked more orange in the candlelight, and was braided loosely. Nesta sat stoically, staring into nothing. She had a cup of tea in front of her, but no steam emitted from it. Clearly she had been there a while, tea untouched. Her face was grave, but her head whipped to face you as you stepped through the archway.

You wanted to throw up with nerves. You had always been able to read Nesta’s expressions until now. Her face was contorted with a mix of emotions, passing so quickly between each one it was impossible to tell what they were. My mate, my mate, my mate, rang like a war bell in your head so loud it threatened to drown out any sounds from the outside world. You felt the bond in your chest swell in her presence, stronger than anything you’d felt before. There was no denying it – Nesta was your mate.

“May I join you?” You finally managed to ask through a dry throat. Nesta said nothing and just kept staring at you.

“By all means,” Eris piped up, setting his pen down. “Come join the party. We’re having a grand old time here, aren’t we, Nesta?”

You expected Nesta to roll her eyes or snap at him in that playful manner, but it was as if she didn’t even hear Eris. She just kept looking at you as if she wasn’t sure if you were really there. You carefully walked over, taking a seat between Nesta and Eris at the head of the table where the remaining chair was. Her grey gaze followed you the whole way.

“What have you guys been up to while I was out?” You asked.

Eris sighed. “Well, my dear, I informed Nesta of what I began to suspect regarding the bond. She tore me a new one for not telling her, it was very dramatic. So now we’re sitting in silence trying to figure out how to address the elephant in the room.”

You didn’t say anything, just stared at the lines in the wood of the table. You felt frozen – afraid of saying the wrong thing. Nesta had never wanted to be fae, and you knew having a mating bond must make that worse for her. It would make her even more shackled to this life she didn’t want, chipping away at her remaining humanity piece by piece. Sure, you and Nesta had kissed a few times and there was feeling behind it, but that didn’t mean she wanted you as a life partner. And even with that, Estelle had said Nesta had multiple mates. If Cassian was not one of them, then who was?

Eris’s sigh broke your thoughts. “By the Mother, you two are stubborn.” He huffed. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we? Nesta, (Y/N), you are mates. I suspected it a few days after I found out about the spell you two cast, as it needed an already existing bond to latch onto in order to work. But then things get complicated. Somehow, Rhys is wrong about Cassian being Nesta’s mate. Either they’re the best actors I’ve seen, or there is something linking Nesta and Cassian.”

You saw Nesta’s throat bob at the mention of Cassian. Trying to figure out how he was connected to Nesta hurt your brain.

“I felt something with Cassian,” Nesta said tensely. “Not in that way, but I could feel what he felt as if part of him lived within me. How is that not a mating bond?”

The prince shrugged. “I have no idea, honestly. There’s something strange going on there. However, none of that matters until we deal with my father. I am set to marry Nesta, which puts us in an awkward situation. If Nesta pleases my father with her powers, then she is to be wed to me.”

“When is that supposed to be happening?” You asked. You weren’t sure how you felt about Eris and Nesta getting married. Part of you was jealous, resentful at the idea of Nesta marrying someone else. But there was another part of you that felt differently in a way you couldn’t explain. Like you were being left out not just from Nesta’s life, but Eris’s too.

“Tonight.” Eris said gravely.

Your blood froze. “Tonight?”

“Yes. And no offence my dear, but you complicate things. Because now I have to explain to my father why you are here too and why I keep letting in strays.”

You snorted. “Beron’s going to kill me. I think you already pissed him off by letting Nesta in here without his permission. I’m not even half as valuable to him as she is, we both know he won’t have any use for me.”

“I won’t let that happen.” Nesta finally spoke, her voice fierce. You turned to face her and were met with her silver eyes. They stared into you, swimming with a thousand emotions.

“Whatever happens, Beron won’t touch you.” She continued evenly.

“We just have to play the angle right.” Eris said, crossing his arms and resting his elbows on the table. “You spied for Rhysand, correct?”

You scoffed. “Well, technically–”

“Yes, you did.” Eris interrupted sternly. “You spied for Rhysand, and then you found out what he was planning and tried to flee. He’s been hunting you down, and I found you at the Autumn Court border. That is the story we are going with.”

“What exactly did I find out that made me flee?”

“That he’s planning on becoming High King with Nesta’s Made sword.”

“Beron won’t believe that.”

“He will because it’s true.”

Your heart fell into your stomach. “What?” You spoke in a whisper, mind reeling in shock. The thought of Rhysand using Nesta’s weapons and declaring himself as High King over all of Prythian made you want to throw up.

“Based on my intel, the lovely Amren has been trying to convince him to go down that path.” Eris explained through gritted teeth. “Apparently he refused at first, but I strongly believe that with you and Nesta both having fled his grasp, he will reconsider his stance to get you back under his control.”

“If Rhysand was High King then he’d have dominion over the Autumn Court,” You muttered. “We would be right back where we started.”

Eris nodded. “But we can use this. My father would do anything to make sure that didn’t happen, overlook anything. If you inform him of Rhysand’s plans, he’ll want you on his side for more intel.”

“Would Beron really be so quick to trust someone who’s supposedly betraying their own court?”

“My dear, Rhysand locked you in a dungeon. That part we don’t have to lie about. We just have to twist the reasons why he locked you up. But truthfully, I think my father will be so distracted by the intel he won’t care about anything else.”

You chewed on your lower lip with worry. It was a big gamble, and while Eris was clever Beron was still unpredictable. So many things could go wrong so fast, and the last thing you wanted was to end up in another dungeon. The thought of doing so made you want to curl up into a ball.

As if sensing your discomfort, Nesta placed her hand on top of yours. It was warm, such a difference from how frail and cold her hands were in the Night Court. “It’ll be ok.” She murmured.

You smiled softly, relaxing instantly under her touch.

“And that’s my cue,” Eris announced, gathering his papers and standing up. “I suspect you two have much to discuss alone. I must go ensure everything is prepared for dinner with my father tonight. I’ve left instructions with the servants on how to get you ready, and I will be by to collect you both at five o’clock.”

He strode towards the archway, but paused briefly. Amber eyes landed on you and Nesta again, all playfulness gone. “I have done my part, and will do whatever I can to ensure your safety.” He said gravely. “But do not forget that you both have roles to play, and we all risk our heads if you fail to do so. And if you have any thoughts about betraying me to save your own skin, Beron will no longer be the one you need to fear from my family. I will throw you both to the wolves without hesitation if you think about dragging me down with you.”

With that, the prince left, leaving you and Nesta sitting in silence. Eris’s words stung you a bit, that he thought you would even think about betraying him. But Eris had been playing this song and dance with his father for centuries, and at the end of the day no matter how much he’d helped you, he’d always look out for himself. It was something you were aware of when you planned this, and you mentally kicked yourself for ignoring it.

The few minutes after Eris’s departure were filled with silence. No birds chirped in the windowsill, no breeze rustled the branches. It was as if the world had stopped, waiting on the edge of its seat for you and Nesta to speak.

Truthfully, you had no idea what to say. How could you comprehend what Nesta felt when you didn’t even know how you truly felt? A part of you had always loved Nesta, but were those your true feelings or just the mating bond? All those tender moments, the stolen kisses, the soft touches, would they have happened if the mating bond wasn’t already there? The thought of your connection with Nesta stemming from magic rather than your true feelings made your heart hurt. You had never wanted a mating bond, yet here you were.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, you found the courage to speak. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Nesta?”

Nesta took a deep breath, fiddling with her fingers for a minute before answering. “How a few weeks ago I was ready to burn down the entire Night Court to get you back. How every second you were in that dungeon I was here, living comfortably. How every time I closed my eyes I saw glimpses of darkness, how I felt your fear. How all that time, I thought it was the spell allowing me to feel those things. I never could have imagined…”

Her voice trailed off, as if she was afraid to even speak about the bond. “Me too,” You replied. “Look, I know things are hard for us right now. And you don’t have to accept the bond if you don’t want–”

Nesta sharply cut you off. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to accept it. I just don’t know what to believe right now. Estelle said Cassian wasn’t one of my mates, but I swear I felt a bond. Was she wrong about that? And does that mean she was wrong about us?”

“I can’t speak for Cassian, but I don’t think she was wrong about us. And I think you know it too, Nesta.”

Nesta looked up at you, grey eyes brimming with emotion. You felt a gentle tug at the bond and inhaled sharply. She smiled softly at your reaction, confirming everything she needed to know.

“Nesta…” You breathed her name like a prayer on your lips. Tears filled your eyes as you admired that tender smile.

“I’m sorry for running off on you earlier.” She said quietly. “I just… I didn’t expect it. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. You, being my mate. After everything that happened between us…”

You sniffled, trying to hold back more tears. “But was all of it real? I mean, if we were mated the whole time, did everything happen between us because of the bond, or because of us?”

Nesta blinked slowly. “It was real to me.”

“Me too.”

You stroked Nesta’s wrist with your thumb, rubbing it in circular motions. You felt like you were going to explode, feeling everything both you and Nesta were experiencing at once. All you wanted to do was sit here and stare at your beautiful mate, forgetting about everything else. To let the rest of the world fall away beneath your feet as long as you could stay in this moment forever.

But realistically, you knew you had to face the challenges. “What about Eris?” You asked quietly. “You’re supposed to marry him, where does that put us?”

The Archeron sister bit her lip anxiously. “I don’t know. I’m sure Eris and I will be free to see whomever we wish as long as we are discreet and are able to maintain our image.”

You laughed humourlessly. “So then I’d become your mistress.”

“That’s not what I want for either of us. But I don’t see another way right now.”

You tried not to let it sting. You weren’t stupid – Eris marrying Nesta was necessary in your plan, but that didn’t make it any easier. Especially now that you two were mated. The thought of simply being your mate's secret mistress made you feel slimy and ashamed. “How do you feel about marrying Eris?” You asked tentatively.

Nesta shrugged, but a faint red stained her cheeks. “It’s a smart move. It makes sense. And he’s not the worst male I’ve met so I think I’ll live.”

You chuckled, causing Nesta to glare at you. “Your face is red, Nesta. Admit it, you like him.”

“I don’t. He’s insufferable.” Nesta’s face only grew redder as she looked away.

Your laugh only grew louder. “Liar.”

“Fine!” Nesta snapped. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him in the last few weeks and he’s grown on me, ok? Does it not bother you as my mate for me to admit I like him? It feels wrong. I’m mated to you, not him.”

“No.” You answered honestly, which surprised you. “It doesn’t bother me. He’s charming. Besides, I’ve had a crush on him since I was like twenty, so…”

Your voice trailed off with embarrassment as you realised what you had just admitted. You had never told anyone about your crush on Eris, and had been determined to die with this secret. Your face went red, and Nesta burst out laughing.

“Look whose face is red now?” She teased.

“Shut up.” You mumbled, burying your face in your hands. “If you ever tell him I said that I’ll strangle you.”

Nesta snorted. “Oh, please. He’s Eris. He probably already knows.”

You groaned, banging your head into the wood of the table a few times. It was strange and yet comforting to know that Nesta liked Eris. You expected a mately surge of jealousy and possessiveness, but none came.

After a few more minutes of laughter, a comfortable silence took over the room before you each chose a book from the shelf and began to read. The hours began to pass by, and you stared at Nesta as she flipped through the pages, how beautiful she was with the autumn glow upon her. You wanted to memorise every inch of her features before the dinner with Beron tonight, the thought of which made your gut churn.

It was a quarter to five when the shuffled footsteps of four servants came into the room. It was time to prepare.

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c-e-d-dreamer · 9 months

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But I'm Only Looking At You: Part Two

A/N: Happy happy day two of @cassianappreciationweek! Nothing says Gentle like (checks notes) crashing the wedding of the woman you love, right? Right? What can Cassian say, sometimes love makes you do crazy things! Anywho! Hope everyone enjoys :) Also, fun fact! The words Cassian says during the ceremony are historically accurate!

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian watches from the shadows as a carriage pulls up in front of the church. The footman steps down and pulls open the doors, Elain and Feyre stepping out first. Both of Nesta’s sisters are wearing dresses of a pretty, pink color, their hair pinned up with flowers tucked into the golden brown strands.

Lord and Lady Archeron follow their youngest daughters out of the carriage, Eleanor turning back to say something. From this distance, Cassian can’t hear what’s said, but from the dip of Eleanor’s brows, the pinch of her lips, it appears to be some sort of reprimand. The look just has Cassian’s resolve hardening, a scowl of his own twisting across his face.

Finally, Nesta steps out of the carriage and into the afternoon sun. Despite the other ladies of London preferring yellow for their special day, Nesta has opted for a pale blue dress that looks almost silver beneath the sun’s rays. The style is simple but elegant, exactly what Cassian would expect for Nesta, and while he can’t quite see her face beneath the lacey veil she’s wearing, she looks beautiful.

With a steadying deep breath, Cassian straightens and rolls his shoulders back. He takes a moment to tug at the cuffs of his sleeve, combing his fingers through his hair to ensure the strands fall neatly around his face. A sigh from behind him has Cassian pausing before he steps out of the alleyway, and he just barely swallows down an eyeroll.

“Are you sure there’s no talking you out of this?”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Cassian turns around to face his chosen brothers, Rhys and Az each leaning against the brick walls of the buildings on either side of the alleyway. Rhys looks at Cassian with blatant exasperation as he waits for the response to his question, an expression he’s been wearing since Cassian first informed him of his plan the night of his House Party. Not that it made a difference then. Nor, does it make a difference now.

“No,” Cassian answers matter-of-factly, almost daring Rhys to try his argument tactics again. They didn’t work all week and they certainly won’t work now. “Did you ensure my request arrived?”

Rhys sighs again, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t look particularly surprised at Cassian’s response. “Yes. I pulled a few strings and was able to make sure the Bishop sees your request as soon as possible.”

“Good,” Cassian nods his head, turning back toward the church. He can no longer see the Archeron family, which means they must have gone inside and the countdown has officially started.

“There’s no going back from this you know,” Azriel finally pipes up. “She honestly might hate you for this.”

“I know,” Cassian answers quietly. And he does. He knows exactly how disastrously this is probably going to go. “But I love her.”

And that truly is the crux of it. He loves Nesta, and he refuses to watch the woman he loves marry a man like Tomas Mandray. He refuses to watch her become just like Lady Mandray, growing pale and thin, wearing long sleeves even in the warmer months, being prone to ‘sudden illnesses’ that keep her out of the public’s eye for weeks. He refuses to watch her curl into herself and lose that fire he loves so much under the words he used to hear Tomas spew when they were at school. And if that means throwing himself into the firing line in order to do that, then so be it.

“We all know exactly the kind of man Tomas Mandray is,” Cassian continues, glancing over his shoulder at Rhys and Azriel one last time. “And even if she hates me forever, at least she’ll be safe.”

“Then go get your wife,” Azriel tells him, smirking slightly.

Cassian chuckles and shakes his head, walking across the road to the church. He wastes no time jogging up the front steps and through the door, but he pauses just inside the atrium. The large, wooden doors that lead into the nave loom before him, taunting him. Everything he’s ever wanted is right there on the other side, and once he steps through them, he won’t be able to take it back.

He takes a slow breath in, holding it for a few moments before he lets it back out. It’s all quiet in the atrium, almost eerily so. Cassian tries to strain his ears for sounds, for voices, beyond the doors, but the wooden doors and the stone surrounding him are too thick. He supposes there never really is a good time in a wedding ceremony for this type of thing.

“I’m sorry, Nes,” Cassian mutters to himself before he pulls open the doors.

The wood of the doors creaks and groans, and the metal hinges give a high pitched whine, the sound echoing loudly along the vaulted ceiling of the church. Cassian winces slightly, but it does have the required reaction. All sets of eyes in the church snap to him, but he doesn’t even bother looking anywhere else. Not at Lady Archeron who he’s sure must be sneering and glaring at him. Not at Elain or Feyre who he’s sure are staring with shock. Definitely not at the Mandray family…

Instead, Cassian keeps his attention firmly on Nesta, on where she’s standing at the front of the church, her hands clasped neatly with Tomas’s. Her hands that decidedly do not yet have a ring on them. Beneath the lace of her veil, her blue eyes are wide, and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Rector asks, frowning down at Cassian.

“Forgive me, Father,” Cassian begins, continuing down the aisle and closer to the altar. “But I cannot lie, cannot continue on with this secret. Not under the Mother. I must be honest, must confess.”

“Then confess, son,” the Rector encourages.

“I have already had Miss Archeron.”

For a moment, the whole church is deathly silent, his words slowly but surely sinking in. And then gasps and murmurs break out, a cacophony of sounds and alarm. It’s with sick satisfaction that Cassian watches Tomas drop Nesta’s hands like he’s been burned, watches him step back and away from her with a disgusted scowl on his face.

“I beg your pardon?” the Rector asks, clearly trying to calm the rising emotions swirling around the church.

“I'm sorry, Father, but it’s true. I have laid with Miss Archeron. I know what a grave sin it is, what a dishonor I’ve committed for us both, but I’m prepared to right this wrong. I’m prepared to take her hand in marriage myself.”

“What are you doing?” Nesta seethes, storming over to him and shoving hard at his chest.

“I’m sorry, Nesta,” Cassian tells her, and he prays she can see the truth in his eyes, hear it in his words. He prays that she knows just how much he means it, how sorry he is for all of this. “But we cannot pretend any longer, cannot lie to everyone here including your betrothed. It’s not right.”

“I should have known you’re no better than a common whore,” Tomas sneers, tone dripping with cold cruelty.

His words have Cassian’s anger flaring red hot through his veins. He lets out a quiet growl and takes a step forward, his fist already clenching and his knuckles practically itching to collide with the Viscount’s face. It’s only Nesta’s hand settling firmly on his chest, stopping him, that has Cassian holding himself back.

“Tomas,” Nesta pleads, whirling back around to face the Viscount. “Please. It’s not like that. Just… just give me a moment. I’ll sort it out.”

Nesta’s fingers curl around Cassian’s wrist, her grip tight enough that her nails dig into his skin. From the glare she settles him with, the pain is clearly intentional. She all but drags him out of the nave and back into the atrium, leaving the still shocked wedding guests behind. She drops his wrist once the doors close behind them, but it’s only to shove at his chest again.

“I cannot believe you,” Nesta snaps, shoving hard enough this time that Cassian stumbles back a few steps.

“Nesta—”

“Seriously. What is wrong with you?”

“Nesta, please—”

“We have never laid together.”

“I know.”

Nesta finally pauses in her assault to his chest, blinking a few times as she takes in his words, before she lets out a sardonic, almost hysterical laugh. “So, you just decided to lie? To ruin me? To ruin my sisters.”

Cassian lets out a quiet breath, reaching for Nesta’s hand but she yanks it away and out of his reach. He tries not to let the gesture sting as much as it does. “Nes, please. You have to understand that I—”

“Go back in there and tell them you lied. This instance.”

“I can’t,” Cassian tells her, his voice quiet and mournful.

“Cassian!” Nesta pleads, her voice tinged with desperation.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Cassian steps closer to her, his hands coming up to cradle her cheeks. He hates it. He hates seeing the pain in her eyes, the water that’s started to line them. He hates that he's the reason for her tears. “I can’t let you marry him. I can’t lose you. If this is the only way, then so be it.”

“You have already lost me,” Nesta whispers coldly, knocking his hands away from her and taking a pointed step back. “I will never forgive you for this.”

“Nes…”

Before Cassian can finish his thought, those large wooden doors swing open again, Eleanor Archeron stalking through them. Cassian braces himself for her ire, for the cutting, choice words he’s sure she has for him, but her narrowed gaze isn’t pinned on him. It’s her daughter that she’s glaring daggers at.

“You insolent child,” Eleanor seethes, smacking the back of her hand hard across Nesta’s cheek.

Fire roars through Cassian’s veins, burning molten until his hands tighten into fists. He’s moving before he can even think twice about it, eyes glued to Nesta. To the way she has her face turned away, her hand cradling her cheek, a tear slipping free to slide down along her skin. He stalks closer and gently curls his fingers around Nesta’s wrist, tugging her behind him, placing himself firmly between her and her mother.

“I would appreciate it kindly if you did not put your hands on my wife.”

“She is not your wife yet, you filthy factory rat. I should have known when you were always sniffing around as a boy that you’d dare to lay your hands on my daughter. Not better than your disgusting father.”

“Mama,” Nesta starts to argue, but Cassian gives her wrist a gentle squeeze. There’s no reason for her to step into the firing line and certainly not for him.

“I’m staying with the Duke, Rhysand, while I’m in London, until the Bishop’s License arrives,” Cassian explains, keeping his voice calm, polite, refusing to rise to whatever bait Lady Archeron tries to dangle in front of him. “Nesta is of course welcome to stay there as well, until the wedding.”

“You truly are a fool if you think I’m going to let you whisk her away like that,” Eleanor snorts derisively, her fingers curling roughly around Nesta’s bicep and yanking her daughter to her. “She is still my daughter until the registry is signed.”

Cassian swallows hard and tries to calm the way his blood has started to simmer. “I’ll call on her—”

“You will not.”

The clear dismissal has a scoff tearing free from Cassian before he can squash it back down, but before he can argue, the doors to the nave swing back open. The Viscount comes striding out, his mother’s arm looped through his. Neither even looks in Nesta’s or Cassian’s direction, keeping their gaze straight ahead as they exit the church. If it weren’t for the way Tomas’s lips are pressed together, the way his brown eyes are darkened with clear annoyance, Cassian would almost say he looks the picture perfect of indifference.

“My lord,” Eleanor begins, her tone oozing with a courtier’s charm that Cassian has certainly never been on the other end of.

The Lady Mandray lets out a harrumph, the sound quiet but no less contemptuous, the only acknowledgement that she even heard Eleanor. Tomas and his mother continue down the front steps of the church and toward their carriage, the members of the wedding guest list there to support the would-be groom following behind them, each expression directed their way more judgemental than the next. It has Cassian taking an instinctual step to the side, blocking Nesta from those snide looks, shielding her.

He chances a glance over his shoulder, but it’s Eleanor’s gaze that meets his. With Tomas and his mother no longer looking, the placating smile has dropped from her face, that irritated scowl and glare returning and pinned right on Cassian. He can’t find it in himself to care for the look she’s settled him with, not when her hand is still curled around Nesta’s arm, fingers gripping tight enough that the skin has started to turn red.

Cassian opens his mouth to say something, but there’s more scuffling from the nave. He turns his head back around just as Elain and Feyre step into view, both of their faces still bewildered as their eyes dart between him, Nesta, and their mother. At least Feyre offers him a small, almost sympathetic smile.

“I’ll go get the carriage,” Elain offers quietly, rushing out of the church and tugging Feyre along with her.

“I’ll be sure to have a settlement drawn up for you to review and sign,” Nesta's father says, stepping out of the nave and over to Cassian, his face surprisingly impassive despite the day’s turn of events.

“Of course. Whatever terms are most favorable for Nesta,” Cassian agrees with a nod, earning a quizzical look in response from Lord Archeron.

“The carriage is ready,” Feyre declares, walking back up the church steps.

With her message delivered, Feyre turns on her heel and heads back down the steps, her parents side-stepping around Cassian to follow their daughter. It’s Nesta that takes up the rear of their party, her arms wrapped around herself even as she holds her shoulders back and her head up high. It’s a mask if Cassian’s ever seen one, and the sight sends a crack shattering clean through his chest.

“Nesta,” Cassian calls out to her, soft desperation and pain coloring his tone.

“Nesta,” her mother’s clipped voice cuts in.

Despite the clear order hidden in her mother’s request, Nesta’s steps do pause. She turns back to look at Cassian, and that crack in his chest explodes into a throbbing ache at the betrayal burning in her blue eyes, her lips pinched into a cool, hard line. She opens her mouth, words clearly poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, but then she merely shakes her head, turning away from Cassian and joining her family.

She leaves him standing there alone, nothing to do but watch her walk away from him, watch her leave. A lump presses in around his throat, his lungs burning and chest aching despite his attempts to swallow around it. He lets out sound somewhere between a scoff and a self-deprecating laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face and along his jaw. He tries to remind himself why he’s doing this, to remind himself that when it’s all said and done, it will have been worth it.

Even still, Cassian can’t help but tilt his head up, sending a silent prayer to the Mother and just hoping that he’s doing the right thing.

~ * * * ~

It takes a week before the Bishop’s License is finally signed and in Cassian’s hands. Unsurprisingly, Nesta’s family wants everything to move quickly and quietly. Cassian can’t say he minds. It means the sooner he can see her, can talk with her just the two of them privately. The sooner he can get the both of them out of London and away from all the prying eyes, the whispering gossip and judgemental looks of the ton, the better.

The Archerons are already waiting at the church when Cassian arrives with Rhys and Azriel. It’s Elain and Feyre, standing with their father, that greets him as he steps inside the atrium. Despite the fact there’s about to be a wedding, there’s a solemn air that clings inside the walls of the church, heavy and pressing in. Neither sister is smiling, even Feyre not quite able to meet his gaze. Instead, her attention is pinned to her right, lips tugged down in a frown.

Brows furrowing in confusion, Cassian turns his head, following Feyre’s gaze to where Nesta is standing with her mother. Eleanor has her head tipped down, practically right in Nesta’s face as she hisses something too quiet for Cassian to hear.

“Eleanor,” Lord Archeron calls out, drawing his wife’s attention.

Lady Archeron takes in Cassian standing there and straightens, striding over to her husband’s side. She doesn’t even acknowledge Cassian as she passes him, but he doesn’t miss the sneer still ever present on her face. It’s only when she realizes Rhys is standing behind him that her disdainful expression drops away, surprise taking over before that courtier smile returns.

“Your Grace,” Eleanor offers, dipping into a polite curtsy.

Rhys doesn’t say anything, merely dips his chin in a nod of acknowledgement, and Eleanor continues to her husband’s side. She slips her arm through Lord Archeron’s, and they head into the nave of the church, their daughters trailing behind him. Rhys claps his hand against Cassian’s shoulder and does the same, Azriel offering a small, sympathetic look as he too follows Rhys inside.

It leaves just Cassian and Nesta still standing in the atrium as they wait for their cue to walk down the aisle, for their lives to be forever bound together.

Nesta finally walks over to him, but she keeps her eyes downcast, seemingly glued to his kilt. The attention has him resetting his stance, has his hands reaching down to smooth out the fabric along his thighs. He rarely wore it when he was in school. He already heard enough from his peers, from the ton, about his family’s new money status. He hadn’t wanted to add fuel to their fires by flaunting his Scottish heritage too, practically handing over the insults and jabs on a silver platter. But now, with Nesta’s eyes on him, he finds himself more nervous than he ever was back then, his heart beginning to stutter between his ribs.

“After today, you’ll wear my colors too,” Cassian explains quietly.

The comment has Nesta’s gaze finally snapping to his, and Cassian’s heart squeezes tight enough it sends pain ricocheting through his chest. Even through the lacy fabric of her veil, Cassian can tell the way all the color seems to have leached out of her cheeks, the dark circles clinging to the skin beneath her eyes. And her eyes. Cassian doesn’t think he’s ever seen them so dull, more gray than blue and not even a hint of that spark he loves so much.

He takes a step closer to her, eyes sweeping over her accessingly. She’s wearing that same pale blue dress as her almost wedding to Tomas, but despite it only being a week, the fabric seems looser in places. Cassian has to swallow hard around a lump forming in his throat before he’s able to find his voice again.

“You look pale. Have you not been eating? Or sleeping?” Cassian asks gently, reaching a hand up beneath her veil to slide his knuckles against her cheek, but Nesta jerks her head away.

“Don’t touch me,” Nesta snaps, readjusting the veil draped over her face. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Cassian’s hand hangs in the space between them before he drops it back down to his side. The words are certainly a blow, but all Cassian cares about is that the fire has returned to Nesta’s eyes, the blue of them practically blazing up at him. He’ll take it. He doesn’t care if he’s on the other end of her ire, as long as he can keep stoking that fire, as long as he can finally make that lifeless expression vanish, as long as she gives him something.

So, Cassian scoffs and shakes his head. “Just what every gentleman wants to hear on his wedding day.”

“You brought this upon yourself. Or have you already forgotten your utter stupidity?”

“I wish you would just understand that I did this for you.”

“How dare you lie to me,” Nesta seethes, shoving him hard for extra good measure. “You did this for yourself, you selfish, insufferable idiot.”

“Careful, Nes,” Cassian taunts, catching her wrists and tugging her closer still while he dips his head down toward her. “Is that any way to speak to your soon-to-be husband?”

“I hate you.”

Cassian drops Nesta’s wrists and takes a step back from her at her words. For a moment, he swears he sees something flicker across her face, but she quickly turns her head away before he can begin to decipher it. Closing his eyes, Cassian takes a moment to breathe deeply. He holds out his arm for Nesta to take, and pointedly pushes down the hurt when she hesitates.

Arm in arm, they make their way through the church and to where the Rector is standing and waiting for them. The Rector has them turn to face one another and then the ceremony begins. Cassian can still see the exhaustion that clings to Nesta’s frame, but with the light spilling through the stained glass, she’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, still takes his breath away. Still has his heart beating in time with her name, Nesta Nesta Nesta.

By the time Cassian is taking Nesta’s hand in his, sliding the band on her finger, his own is trembling. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Following the Rector’s instruction, Nesta takes Cassian’s hand in hers, sliding his own ring on as she repeats the same words. Something unlocks deep in Cassian’s chest, deep in his soul, in that moment. It’s a final piece falling into a place, a key turning in a lock, a golden thread binding them together just as surely as the rings on their fingers. It fills Cassian with warmth, with a sense of rightness, with a sense of home.

With the rings exchanged, Cassian and Nesta step forward to sign the parish registry. The wedding guests in attendance rise to do the same, but with so few of them, it doesn’t take particularly long. The ink has barely dried from Feyre signing her name before Eleanor is striding toward the doors to exit the church, shooting an expectant look over her shoulder to her youngest daughters.

“I’ll have the footmen move Mrs MacLeod’s trunk to your carriage,” she finally addresses Cassian. “I’m sure it’s quite the long journey back to Glasgow.”

Cassian has to grit his teeth, has to bite back and swallow down the harsh words he wants to fire back at her blatant dismissal. No longer is she Nesta, no longer her daughter, but Mrs MacLeod, the factory rat’s wife. And there would be no celebrating this fact, no wedding breakfast to honor the newly married couple. It has Cassian’s blood boiling, his fists clenching at his side until Nesta’s palm slides along his wrist. It’s the first contact she’s initiated, the touch soothing, but just as soon as it’s there, it’s gone again.

“Thank you, Mama,” Nesta offers politely.

Nesta side steps around Cassian, and he can do nothing but follow behind her, nothing but watch as her trunk is secured to his carriage, her whole life seemingly packed away in that one box. At least, Nesta’s sisters each give her a hug goodbye, but her mother still offers only contempt. It takes all of Cassian’s willpower to keep his face neutral, not to glare at the Lady Archeron, instead focusing on offering a hand and helping Nesta to step inside the carriage. He turns back to give a final nod to Rhys and Azriel, his chosen brothers offering a wave and a salute respectively, before Cassian steps inside and takes the seat opposite Nesta.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins once the carriage jerks into motion.

He reaches forward to take Nesta’s hands in his, but she flinches back, holding her hands close to her chest and turning her head to peer out the window, to watch as London fades away. Cassian sighs softly, dropping his hand to the skirts of her dress, his fingers curling against the fabric.

The rest of the carriage ride is painfully quiet, Nesta’s attention never straying from the carriage window. Cassian’s always loved her stubbornness, the way she never backs down from what she wants, but just once, Cassian wishes she would look at him. He wishes they could properly talk now that it’s just the two of them.

Hell, as the hours and miles continue to tick by, as the sun continues its stretching path across the sky, Cassian would give anything for Nesta to yell at him. To fight with him. For anything other than the suffocating silence. It chokes him from the inside out, his heart twisting and squeezing until he presses his free hand against his chest, rubbing like that will somehow alleviate the ache.

He feels like he’s going insane. After the first hour of stilted silence, Cassian had tried again to talk to her, to draw her attention back to him, but he’d only earned a quiet harrumph for his troubles. After the second hour, he had tried to tease her, tried to spark a reaction from her the way he had earlier, but he had even less success with that. It has Cassian wondering if Nesta really did mean it when she said she’d never forgive him. When she said she hated him.

By the time they're pulling into a coaching inn just outside of Birmingham, Cassian has never been more grateful. He clambers out of the carriage and takes a deep, heaving breath of the cool, evening air, relishing in what little soothing balm he can get. He turns back toward the carriage and holds out his hand in offering, but Nesta pointedly ignores it, stepping down on her own. She hikes up the skirts of her dress and strides forward toward the door of the inn without even a glance back, so Cassian tilts his head up toward the sky, sending a mental plea to the Mother for strength before he jogs after his wife.

“Should I expect silence for the rest of our marriage then?” Cassian mutters as he holds the door open for her.

That comment at least earns him a sharp look from Nesta before she walks through the door and inside the inn, Cassian stepping in behind her. He goes to speak with the landlord, who hands over the key and directs him up the stairs, and Cassian tries not to grimace at the fact they’ll only have the one room.

Thankfully, Nesta doesn’t say anything when Cassian unlocks the door for them to both step inside. Although, he half wonders after the hours of silence if a reaction would have been preferred. Instead, Nesta grabs the pitcher of water for their room and heads straight for the bathing chamber, closing the door behind her. With a soft huff, Cassian sits down on the bed, taking the time to peel his boots off and toss them aside. He rests his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. The exhaustion of the day’s travel, of the past few weeks, burrows beneath his skin, carving space into his bones until he feels completely weighed down by it.

The soft snick of a door opening has Cassian practically leaping to his feet. He whips around just as Nesta steps back into the room, dressed now in only her shift. For a moment, Cassian is struck dumb. She’s wearing her hair down, the soft, golden brown waves falling around her shoulders and down her back. His fingers twitch at his sides with the urge to run through those strands, to tangle there as he holds her close. She’s beautiful, just like this, hair down, the faintest dusting of pink smattered high on her cheekbones.

“Where do you want me?” Nesta asks, fidgeting almost nervously with the cotton fabric of her shift.

“What?” Cassian somehow chokes out, shaking himself out of his staring.

“I presume on the bed. Perhaps a better question would be how do you want me?”

Cassian blinks a few times, his mind finally following what she’s asking. “Nes…”

Nesta lets out a frustrated huff, crossing her arms across her chest. “I’m not one of those simpering girls. I know what happens on a wedding night.”

“Do you still hate me?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because I won’t touch you until you ask me to, until you want me to.”

“You’ll be waiting forever then.”

“I suppose I will,” Cassian shrugs, grabbing one of the pillows and tossing it to the floor at the foot of the bed, intent on sleeping on the floor.

“That makes our marriage a sham then. I’ll go back to London and tell all of society.”

Cassian doesn’t bother biting back his taunting smirk as he lifts his attention back to her. “Did you forget that they already think I’ve had you? Everyone knows and believes that. But go ahead and try.”

That fire is a full blaze in Nesta’s eyes now, her mouth twisting into a scowl. She storms over to the bed, and Cassian half wonders if she intends to clamber over the mattress just to get to him, just to shove him and sink her claws into his chest. But she merely stops on the other side, hands clenched into fists at her side as she continues to glare at him.

“You’ll never have heirs.”

Cassian laughs dryly, cocking his head. “You think I care about that?”

“All men care about that.”

“I guess I’m not like most men, sweetheart.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, her tone dripping with derision when she says, “what do you care about then?”

“You,” Cassian practically shouts. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? I care about you, unlike that man you were going to marry before I stepped in.”

“Stop doing that. Stop speaking to me as if I’m stupid. As if I did not know exactly the type of man Tomas Mandray is.”

“Yet you were going to marry him anyways? What, better to marry a cruel man with a title than some factory brute?”

The silence hangs in the air between them, clearly answer enough. Cassian tries not to let it sting, but his chest already feels cut and splayed open, his nerve endings already raw and exposed. He swallows hard and turns away from her, extinguishing the candle and plunging the room into darkness. He settles down onto the floor, knocking his fist against his pillow for extra good measure, but the gesture doesn’t help the cold ache that gnaws at him the way he had hoped.

“Cassian…”

“Go to sleep, Nesta.”

—

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