#[rolls this underhand like a bowling ball and then tucks and rolls away.]

[godblooded]

@tlacehualli

“ -- mic check, mic check, miccheck! ”

stark’s voice comes through loud and clear over the earpiece. selina likes to say sometimes he just sounds like pure yahoooooooo every minute. what’s that, zest for life? the boy’s certainly -- stark, that’s for sure. he gives a cheerful laugh selina can see on his face without seeing him at all.  she kind of loves when he actually has a good time ; the poor guy hasn’t had any fun in way too long.

“ loud and clear, tin can. ”

the cat’s got a leg dangling over the edge of a building. she loves her a good ol’ fashioned heist. the kind that’s supposed to be simple, easy in and out. there is something breathlessly exciting about showing off her skills to someone who trumps her in most areas. selina aims to (dis)please, but sometimes the cat’s absolutely salivating at the opportunity to impress. a legend, no less!

a heel tings constantly against brick as she bounces it off and on, off and on, back and forth. clawed nails click together rhythmically, and she awaits tonight’s partner in crime.

but, like, take the phrase literally and figuratively.

it takes only the sound of a translocator to break her out into a vibrant red smile, one that glints in her soft eyes. she speaks without turning her body at all. she doesn’t have to see to know.

“ hey, pretty, come here often? ”

[saphie3243]

Sympathy for the Devil, Chapter 45 - Service

Summary: It’s the first real battle of the war with Hybern, and Nesta finds ways to be of service to the war effort. (Nesta POV of the first full battle in ACOWAR)

Notes: this the first chapter of my fic that really doesn’t need the other 44 chapters to make sense. And it’s mostly fluffy nonsense, so I wanted to post the text here. The Elain conversation might be a bit confusing, but it’s really short at the start.

Word Count: 6000+

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334061/chapters/69611046

Their tents went up before even Rhys and Feyre’s. Morrigan’s orders. Nesta picked up her sister once more while camp-mothers erected Elain’s tent for her and summoned in the furniture. As soon as it was done, she brought Elain inside and tucked her into a warm cot. Nesta’s tent went up next to it, followed by Az’s on Elain’s other side, Mor‘s out front, and Cassian’s flanking Nesta’s tent. Perfectly insulated from the camp at large. Good. No one else needed to see this.

Nesta sat in a chair next to her bedside, legs crossed, watching. One of the camp mothers stopped at the entrance. “Milady, your tent is up.”

“Thank you,” Nesta responded. The woman was the closest thing to middle-aged Nesta had ever seen a fae. Magda was a crone, and the rest were young no matter how old. She, too, was youthful in her face, but hard work had given her lines. Either labor or Illyrian heritage gave her mass, and a long day made her tired. She bowed her head and turned around. The scars on her wings gleaming as she left.

Nesta watched the entrance for a moment longer and turned back to her sister. They had not been alone since Graysen’s rejection. “Are you here or in the memories?” she asked.

“He’s going to ask Tabitha,” she said shamefully, turtling her head deep into the covers.

“I could have told you that,” Nesta crossed her arms.

“I saw it when he asked for the ring. Him on knees in front of her,” she blinked away some tears. “I don’t see her with him though.”

“You don’t?”

“I see… I see them sometimes- our friends. Tabitha is always with a boy, but never a man.”

Nesta whispered, “George.” Elain craned her head up in question. “Her son,” Nesta explained.

“She had a son?” Elain asked, slightly more animated, causing some covers to fall from her shoulders.

“Did you not know?”

“I thought it was just a rumor,” Elain whispered, then with more solemnity as she sunk back down, “I thought a lot of things were just rumors.” More tears came. So many more. Nesta pulled up the fallen covers to tuck her in, then stroked her cheek gently. Elain turned away, pulling the covers up higher.

“Elain?”

“This is the last time,” she said. “But can I just… be alone?”

Nesta nodded even though Elain couldn’t see it. “I’ll be next door, ok?”

Cassian was standing in front of her tent, arms crossed in front of him, leaning on one leg, waiting on his tent, apparently. It was cold. She opened her tent and held the flap open, “Want to wait inside?” She offered.

He looked back at his half-erected tent, the snow around them, nodded and followed her in.

“How is she doing?”

Nesta stretched her neck, looking at the wall of her tent as though she could see through to where Elain lay. “Three sisters, three broken engagements, and Elain had to be the one that didn’t end it on her terms,” she sighed and rubbed between her eyes. “Tea?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Her tent was identical to Elain’s, if slightly different colors. Not as big as the High Lord tent, but it was cozy. A table against one of the sides had a small oil lamp-stove, teas, and a kettle. Next to it was buckets of water for whatever purposes. Her trunk and a chair were on the other side. The cot in the middle was as nice as Elain’s. She lit the stove and started heating the water while Cassian sat tentatively on her trunk.

“I’m surprised you aren’t still with her.”

“She wants to be alone. I don’t blame her.” She set out the cups and filled little tea balls. The beauty of magic stoves, the kettle whistled almost immediately. She handed him a cup and took a seat on her cot.

“Worried about tomorrow?” she asked him at the same time he asked her, “Three engagements?”

There was another silent pause. She repeated her question, “Worried about tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “No. Azriel verified Jurian’s intel. They aren’t expecting us, and we will be very ready for them. It’s just… the buzz.” She cocked her head in question. “Before battle, the atmosphere changes. Apprehension, excitement, it all blends. Makes it hard to rest.”

Nesta nodded. “How did you deal with it?”

“Drinking and fucking, usually,” he said with a shit-eating grin. She raised an eye-brow at him.

“Not in this tent, you’re not.”

“Of course not. I can’t go two nights without sleep before battle, anyway,” he kept his smile. “We’re not all you.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” she countered, taking a sip of her tea. Between Elain, the Wall, and battle tomorrow, she’d highly doubted she’d be getting to sleep tonight.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked, she- along with most of them- didn’t touch their lunch.

“Not since… breakfast,” in the Dawn Court, because this day was just so very long.

Cassian was immediately at the entrance, sticking his head out and asking for food. “Two plates, please Marta. Thank you.” He turned back around and smiled again. “I heard you slapped that little shit.”

“Of course that makes you smile,” she rolled her eyes. The same woman who set up her tent brought by dinner more quickly than Nesta would have thought. Things must happen faster when the general asks for them. Marta brought them bowls of stew and a loaf of crusty bread.

“Thank you,” Cassian said, taking the food from her. Nesta parroted from deeper inside. Cassian set the food on the table and indicated she join him with a jerk of his head. She came over and took the seat as Cassian pulled up the trunk to sit with her.

She broke the bread, placing the bigger piece next to his bowl. “I wasn’t going to do anything. If he just turned her down, I was going to let it go.”

“Really?” He didn’t seem to believe that for a second.

Nesta rolled her eyes again. “I’d rather he turn her down than stay for obligation. I can’t fault someone for their feelings,” she sighed, “but he just kept going.”

“I can fault him. Not wanting to marry because she’s fae-”

“I know you don’t understand it,” Nesta interrupted. “But you aren’t human.” They were silent again. Nesta ripped off a piece of bread and dipped it in her soup - time to change the topic. “Did you know Jurian?”

Cassian considered. “I was in the front lines then- a foot soldier. I fought with him, certainly, but I was one of hundreds. The others knew him better, I mostly knew him by reputation… and after Clythia, I didn’t want to know him better.” The disgust came back, the one they all had when speaking of the actions that practically won the war. “I take it from your scowl, you disagree?”

“You’re not-”

“Human?” His voice rose, not much, but enough. “That’s not an excuse. And if you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, you aren’t either.”

Nesta slammed her spoon on the table. “I am well aware what was done to me,” she snarled. “And I am also aware that is nothing compared to what Hybern did to his slaves, and what he will do if he has them again.”

“So the ends justify the means?”

“Your history books refer to humans as chattel. You get offended at being called ‘lesser fae’. Was his action underhanded, manipulative, and horrible? Absolutely. But it worked. And it turned the tide of the war.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t expect you to believe in victory at any costs,” he shook his head and picked at his stew.

“When the other outcome is desolation? Damn straight.” Nesta took another bite of her dinner.

“So why not train with me?” Cassian flicked his gaze up to hers. He leaned in, getting close- too close. Nesta froze. “If you believe in victory at all costs, why not learn to fight, join the battle yourself.”

He was so close, looking at her with such intensity. This was too much. She couldn’t just look away. She couldn’t dismiss the question. Why did she keep letting him do this? And this time was entirely on her. They spend one night drinking to escape raucous sex noises and suddenly they’re what, “friends?” The fuck was she doing inviting him in? She was practically asking for this.

“I won’t turn the tide,” she finally said.

He stayed close. “You are stronger than you think, Nesta Archeron.” He backed away, back to dinner. “And with me as your teacher, it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

They finished dinner and Nesta took their empty bowls and set them outside the tent. By the time she turned around, Cassian had moved to her cot and was lounging across it.

“Your own tent is set up, you know.”

“But I like your tent,” he beamed. “And I was thinking I’d call in my favor.”

“What favor?”

“I’ve been flying all day,” he turned over onto his stomach, wings falling down on either side of the cot. “And it’s made me very sore. I sure could use a massage.”

Nesta felt red fill her cheeks, but somehow kept her cool. “I didn’t realize you demand payment for your services.”

He turned his head to her, resting it on his folded arms. “I’m not demanding. You don’t have to do anything. But I do think it would be a pleasant thank you for saving you last night.” His wings flared and settled. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my shirt on, wouldn’t want to work you up,” he winked. This… was a bad idea. This was a dumb idea. She should just tell him to leave, or walk over and steal his tent for the night. Or leave and tell on him to Azriel. Really anything. Anything other than what she was currently doing.

Which was slowly, but surely, without taking her eyes off of his, walking towards him. She got to the edge of the cot and extended a hand, slowly tracing a line down the outside of his wing. He shivered. She pressed the rest of her hand against the surface. It was an odd texture, the same as skin, and she could tell it was supposed to be smooth like it. But there were so many little scars that bumped on the pads of her fingers. Some from Hybern, some must have been from before.

“As lovely as that is, it’s my back that-” his breath caught in a simply delicious way as her finger traced up to the bones. Oh, she thought, locking that information away for later. Later? What? Nesta shook the thought from her head and changed her target. She moved her hands to his back, starting with the shoulder closest to her.

She didn’t realize he wasn’t wearing his leathers when he came in, just a thick wool undershirt. She could feel the mass of muscle underneath the clothes. The very hard, very thick, mass of muscles. She explored a bit more with her touch, digging in the way he did for her that night, and this time the soft groan was from relaxation, not… whatever the wing did to him.

From wear she stood, with his sheer mass, there was not much else she could reach. And well, she had already come this far. “Don’t expect this again,” she said as she climbed on top of him, sitting down on his (very round, very firm) ass and bracing her legs on either side of him. She felt him about to say something and cut him off, “Can it or I stop.” He said nothing.

Nesta went back to working his shoulders, this time both at once. It was a bit of a challenge, as she had to lean forward, but not accidentally put weight on his wings. And he was so tall she had to stretch to reach. She moved down to the blades of the shoulders, digging deep into a bump just inside the bone. It ground under her ministrations and Cassian let out an absolutely sinful moan. “Shh,” she scolded.

“It was a good spot!” he defended.

“Shh!”

“Can I at least ask a question?” The silence was a little awkward. She allowed it. “You said three engagements. I hadn’t realized you and Clare-”

“Not Clare,” Nesta dug her knuckle into his knot, causing another groan - he bit this one off. She eased up a bit, going lighter on that spot for a bit.

“Then who-”

“A nobody. We were engaged for convenience, I broke it off when he no longer was.” She didn’t know how he always saw her, especially now when he wasn’t even looking. But he, so quietly, so gently, asked:

“Was he the one who-”

“I said one question,” she interrupted, going much too hard on a bone, causing him to cry out. But he didn’t say anything else about it.

He just bit his lip and let Nesta go back to work. When she finally got down grinding out the knots on his upper back, she found a new issue, the wings. They grew out on either side of his spine, going down most of the length of his back. From how he laid out, they were blocking most of the sides of his back, so she just took to gently rubbing little curly-cues up and down what little space was exposed on either side of his spine.

She got to the bottom and could have stopped, but this was oddly meditative. So she kept going. From the bottom of the spine, she fanned out and curved up, starting a path underneath the wings. Her knuckles brushed on the underside of his wings and he shuddered again. She kept going. Another shudder and then he was on his side, his hip digging between her legs.

His head was propped up on his hand. “If you keep going there, this night might have a very different ending than what you have in mind.”

“Then we are done,” Nesta said, pushing off him before he shifted again and she let out a noise from the friction.

As she got her leg clear of him, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his lap on the bed just long enough to give thanks. “Thank you. I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he whispered in her ear just before kissing her cheek. He let go immediately after, allowing her, in her outrage, to twist around and try to whack him in the head. He grabbed the hand that went for his jaw and held in place, his other arm going around her waist, holding her so she was sideways, with her legs up on the bed.

“Let me go,” she said, hoping it sounded firm despite the heat on her face.

“I taught you - just today, I might add- how to escape a hold. Can you really not get out of this?”  

“Cassian!” she hissed.

“Ok, fine,” he nodded, and then looked back up with a gleam in his eye, “Only if you promise not to hit me.”

She glared at him. One second passed. Then another. And another.

“Guess I’m sleeping here then!” He threw his body sideways down on the cot, bringing Nesta back with him.

“You are not sleeping here!” She wiggled in his arms, turning so she could push off of him, but it just left their bodies facing each other.

“Why not? It’s cold and I’m so hot.” Said with the confidence of a man who knows exactly how attractive he is.

“You’re a brute.”

“A very relaxed one now, thank you,” he smiled right into her face.

“A giant brute.”

“Nesta,” he said her name with a whisper. Her nostrils flared. “You haven’t told me to leave yet.”

No, she hadn’t.  

“I can’t sleep like this!” she argued.

“That’s not telling me to leave.”

“Would you even stay?” she accused. There was no way he would actually stay the night here. He just wanted to annoy her with the possibility. There was no way-

“If you let me,” he answered in that raspy voice of his. He wasn’t looking anywhere but her eyes, holding her close, deadly serious. Nesta gulped.

“Are you that worried about tomorrow?”

“Not at all,” he smiled.

“Do you feel bad about what happened today?” She meant the Wall, maybe her sister...

“Not why I’m here,” he answered.

“Then why would you stay?” she asked.

His eyes flared, the dark flare she’s seen in her bedroom, the quiver of his smile. But it was his forehead that he pushed to hers as he answered. “Because you let me.”

Nesta took in a breath, and with him holding her like this, all she breathed in was him. Leather and the wind and the grass and him. Today sucked. It royally sucked. The Wall fell, her sister was next door crying, and she was laying in this bat’s arms, comfortable and warm.

“I’m still wearing my shoes,” she mumbled. He let go of her. Nesta pushed off him and got up. She pulled off her belt and placed it - and the dagger attached to it - on ground next to the head of the bed, earning a grunt of approval from behind her. She kicked off her leather boots and put them at the foot of the bed. She threw a glance over her shoulder at him, he had sat up now, and was watching her very carefully. With a steadying breath, Nesta bunched up her wool dress and pulled it over her head. She heard a sharp intake from behind her, but didn’t turn around as she neatly folded the dress and placed it in the clothes trunk. She pulled the pin from her hair and placed it on the table.

When everything was in its place, she turned around to him again. It wasn’t like she was naked, she still had on her chemise, her bloomers, he regularly saw more of her sister and Morrigan. Cassian was sitting on the cot, watching her very carefully. His boots now neatly dwarfing hers at the foot of the bed, a set of knives by on the ground by where his head would be, and his leather breaches discarded haphazardly on the ground. He kept his shirt on, and his linen under breached were modest enough to cover everything, but her eyes still caught on the budle between his thighs.

She approached the bed and he backed up a bit, to make sure she had space. She stopped just as her legs hit the edge. “Just sleeping,” she said definitively.

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Because it’s cold.”

“Sure,” he said, sarcasm re-entering his tone. But he agreed. So Nesta climbed in with him. They lay down facing one another, one of Cassian’s arms acting as a pillow. With this position, she found her face very comfortable nuzzled into his chest. He pulled the furs up to cover them both, creating the perfect cocoon of warmth. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, to breathe in and sleep. His free arm wrapped around her and she fell asleep like that, feeling perfectly safe for the first time in… for the first time.

She decided that the bond had nothing whatsoever to do with it. It had to be because he gave her a knife.

___

Staying in camp while everyone went to battle was the torture Hybern failed to do when she was in a dungeon.

She woke in Cassian’s arms. More accurately, Cassian woke her gently to get her off of his arm so he could get up and get dressed.

“Nesta, Nesta, it’s time to get up.” She yawned into his chest and started to rise, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. By the time he had gotten out of bed and was pulling up his pants, she had fully woken up and realized what the hell she had done last night.

She slept with Cassian.

She soberly slept with Cassian.

In his arms. All night. Snuggled.

“Cassian.”

“Yes?” he asked, sitting next to her and pulling on his boots.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

He paused in the tying of his laces before agreeing. “Sure.”

“I don’t want 50 questions with Feyre.” Or judgement from Mor. Or looks from Rhysand. He looked back at her and nodded. He reached behind and grabbed his bandolier. Strapping his knives to himself, he nodded to her and headed for the door.

“Cassian,” she said again.

“I won’t let anyone see me,” he answered.

She shook her head. “Win.”

He met her gaze for a long moment. With an evil grin he responded, “As you wish.” And then he left for war.

And so began a long day of waiting. Elain wasn’t crying anymore, but she was sleeping. Whether it was because she had been up all night mourning or because she was wandering her memories, Nesta didn’t know. But watching her sleep peacefully got boring pretty damn quick. Doing nothing got pretty damn boring pretty quick.

Nesta walked around the camp. It was empty, but not devoid of people. The camp-mothers flitted about, some prepping dinner, others cleaning linens, some were pre-packing, in case the order to move was given. If there were jobs for non-combatants to do, then maybe she could help here. Nesta approached the one that seemed to be giving orders to the others.

“Hello…?”

“Nonnie,” she answered the unspoken question and bowed her head. “Lady Nesta.”

“Nice to meet you, Nonnie,” Nesta bowed her head back. “Is there anything that I can do?”

The thin, stern looking Illyrian woman seemed surprised by the question, but nodded. She sent Nesta to a group of women preparing medical supplies. They were filling vials with vats of potions, tearing bandages, assembling suture kits, anything that would make it easier for healers to do their duty when the battle ended. The women all nodded to Nesta as she came over, and if they thought it was odd that the High Lady’s sister was volunteering to work, they didn’t voice it.

Cassian was right last night. If she wasn’t going to be able to help fight the war, then she was at least going to help support the ones that were. One of the women put a roll of linen in front of Nesta. She asked if she needed a knife. With a little smile, she shook her head and unsheathed the dagger Cassian gave her. The woman squinted at it, but nodded and told Nesta to make the bandaged three knuckles wide.

She didn’t speak as she worked the way the Illyrians around her did. But she listened. They chattered about soldiers, about the war, about what camps they came from. Some of them were married to soldiers, others to lords, it seemed Nonnie was even Devlon’s mother. Nesta smiled. That’s why they didn’t bat an eye, Nesta thought, it was just what these women did at war - whatever they could.

Where Devlon and his men seemed to be afraid of her, the women didn’t care. At most she had one old crone - the lady mixing the potions- ask her, “Are you really a witch?”

“Yes,” Nestaa answered solemnly.

“Been an age since I last saw a witch,” the crone nodded to Nesta’s work, “make sure those bandages are straight.”

And that was that. She still felt abuzz thinking about the battlefield, the progress, and wanted nothing more than to be there, watching, helping, but at least she was doing something. And there was dignity in what she was doing, however simple it seemed. She had been told that Illyrian women were mistreated, repressed. She could see the scars from where the older women had their wings clipped, but… they didn’t seem miserable. They smiled, they took pride in their work, their status. It wasn’t fighting, but it was essential, and they understood that. Nesta wasn’t an idiot, she knew that the lack of choice in the matter was what Cassian and Azriel had problems with, but she couldn’t help thinking that they didn’t understand this part, either. Not everyone is a fighter. It doesn’t mean their work isn’t noble.

Nonnie came back. “Battle’s over. Camp is moving to the battlefield. Medics first.” And that was it. Supply runners strapped up with packs of medical supplies, held onto healers and winnowed them out. Morrigan and Feyre came back to take on this roll as well. The rest of the camp began to break down.

The kitchen staff went next, so they could finish dinner prep, and finally the tents, armor, and spare weapons. Nesta went last with Elain. She had wanted to go with the medical staff, to continue her little job, but Morrigan pointed out that the battlefield hadn’t been cleared yet, and that Elain might not want to see the carnage. Nesta relented. At least Mor made it clear that the battle was a landslide victory with minimal casualties. That she didn’t bring up Cassian was enough to know he was probably ok. She still kept pacing though, waiting, twiddling her thumbs, useless.

Landing in the new camp was jarring against the peaceful work of just hours ago. It was warm, for one - they were in the Summer court now. But the energy was different. The soldiers around her buzzed, excited and gossiping about their general. How he tore through Hybern’s lines, how he made a miraculous throw of a spear, how he was Enalius reborn. “He has seven siphons, after all,” one said. She knew the siphon thing was a mark of power, but she’d have to ask him or Az about Enalius later. The excitement was a stark contrast to the ash and blood that still soaked the battlefield. Rhysand had cleared the corpses, but the stench of death and Hybern remained.

She tried not to linger on that stench for too long. She needed to get back to work. With a quick check on Elain - now sleeping just as she was only now in a new location - she asked where the medical ladies were.

Feyre, done winnowing people back and forth as Nesta and Elain were the final packages, joined her. The ladies all bowed quickly to their High Lady and handed them each a bolt of linen. With actual patients here, the staff was scattered about, no longer keeping around a single work area. As soon as they finished a basket of bandages, they were sent off to deliver them to a medic who needed them. Deliveries usually blended with some menial chores to help with treatment. Taking the used bandages, fetching water, washing the wound so the healer could finish up their current patient and immediately switch to suturing this one.  It was tiring, and mud caked on her dress as they stomped around, but it was a good kind of tired, and exhilarating one. That was new to her.  

Nesta felt Cassian’s approach before she heard him. She snapped her head up to him. He was filthy, covered in the blood of his enemies and the mud of the field. The dark plate mail still strapped to his body, but his helmet, at least, was off - tucked in the crook of his arm- his dominant arm.

It took her all of four seconds to piece together why Cassian, warrior extraordinar, the man who slept with his blades in reach and seemed pleased that she did, too, would carry his helmet in such a way that prevented easy access to the weapons strapped to his hip. She was walking over to him before she knew what she was doing.  “You’re hurt.”

“It’s fine.”

She glared up at him for a moment, she’d told him that once when she was bleeding, and she was lying. Without answering, she went for his arm. He lifted it to her. With a flash of his siphons, the armor receded enough to expose a swollen and broken wrist.

“You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhysand scolded behind them.

“I was busy.” If Cassian was taking that tone with Rhysand, then he was more tired and probably in more pain than he was letting on. “And it’ll be fixed by morning.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow at him, scowled and pressed a finger lightly into it, causing him to hiss. Better by morning didn’t mean it didn’t need attention now.  “How do I fix it?” She asked, since she certainly wasn’t going to let him walk around with a broken wrist.

“Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”

Nesta was already reaching for the pitcher of water and bandages. She had assisted enough already today to know how to wash it correctly, at least When she started wrapping it, she asked him for his help. “Tell me if it’s not right,” she requested. He nodded. She started the bandage two inches below the injury, holding it in place with her fingers - like she saw the medics do. She wrapped it around, down, and then started up.

“Too loose,” Cassian commented. She nodded and pulled tighter, he winced, “too tight.” She found a balance, he still winced, but it was from his injury being pushed back into position, not because she was hurting him. She got to the end and did the final tie off, tucking the bandages back into themselves. It was probably a sloppy job, but it was something.

He nodded at her work and let go of his arm, ready to be done with it. But his other hand shot out and grasped her finger. She looked up at him, gratitude finding and affection in his beautiful hazel eyes. “Thank you,” his voice was rough, deep. He said it the same way he had told her his reasons for staying with her the night before.

She wanted to cry as she looked over him. He had gone to war and he won, like she asked. He was a hero of the first battle, and he was standing in front of her with nothing more than a broken wrist. It was going to be ok. This man, this male, he could keep his promise. He could protect her people. He was Enalius reborn, apparently.

She was going to ask him to explain that one tonight when Morrigan’s voice came from behind them. She had forgotten they weren’t alone. Cassian had, too, from the way he jerked back his hand. But she could still feel it, the soft calluses of his fingers, the strengthening connection between them.

Nesta rushed back to the tent, making an excuse out of getting more water, trying very hard to remember why she had asked him not to tell anyone. It took longer than she would like to admit. Especially when she could hear him chatting away like it was nothing.

___

Despite it being a landslide victory, there were enough injuries to keep Feyre and Nesta up for hours after dark. They didn’t even stop to eat. They just kept working. Tearing up bandages, delivering them to sick beds, clearing the old ones, ferrying out tools, washing wounds, whatever they could do to help.

More than once, they were asked to help hold down the patients. Keep them from spasming out of surgery. It was hard, for those cases, to remember the difference between medicine and torture. But Nesta grit her teeth and held firm, sometimes whispering to the male some platitudes, sometimes letting them focus on their fear of being held by a witch rather than the pain of sutures.

It wasn’t until Nonnie sent them away that they finally went back to their tents to rest. Nesta stopped by Elain’s first, popping only her head in to check on her. The rest of Nesta was macabre enough that she was afraid it would scare Elain if she saw. Luckily, she was still asleep. There were dirty dishes on her table, so she had eaten at some point, then. That’s good then.

Nesta’s stomach grumbled and she ignored it, trudging the 6 feet to her tent flap. The first thing she registered when she stepped in was the smell of stew - the food she’d been informed would be the default meal for this war. The second was the goblet of water thrust in her face that she took and drank without thinking.  The third was the general standing over her with the pitcher and dinner.

“Cassian!” She whispered loudly - not wanting to wake anyone else in camp, also her throat hurt? How did that happen? She finished the water in the cup. He traded her the cup for food and guided her to a chair. “What are you doing here?”

“You have a habit of getting lost in your tasks. Eat.” He pointed to the food and refilled her water.

“You could have left it on the table,” she said between bites. Manners be damned.

“But then how would I repay you for my wrist?” he held up his arm and sat on the bed. She rolled her eyes and started inhaling the bread.  

She paused for a drink of water. “Aren’t you tired?” She could see it in his eyes. He was exhausted when she set the wrist, he had to be entirely on fumes now.

“Probably as much as you,” he smiled at her. “Nonnie mentioned you working with the females all day.”

Nesta drank down the last of the broth and wiped her mouth. “I cut bandages all day,” she said dismissively.

“From the state of you, you did a mighty bit more than that.”

She looked down at her filthy gown. She looked as bad as he did just hours ago. To say she needed a bath was an understatement. But it was already late, the ladies would be tired, too. She could change tonight and ask for hot water tomorrow.

“Thank you for dinner, but I think we both need sleep now more than anything.”

“You are not getting into this bed without a bath first.”

“Excuse me?”

Cassian pointed to the side of the tent. 2 buckets of water sat steaming with towels and soap arranged nicely next to them. “Figured that could cover your face, hands, and feet. Marta will get you a proper bath tomorrow.”

Nesta didn’t even hear him. She just sighed and stripped her outer dress as she walked over to the blessed hot water.

“Oh, might need to change that one, too.” Nesta turned to look at him and saw where he was pointing. One of the men she held down had knocked her into the dirt, and apparently the blood on the ground had soaked through to her chemise as well, getting both the front and the back. That’s why I felt wet. She had thought it was just sweat. There was that mixed in there, too.  

“Turn around,” she said to Cassian. Wondering why that was her order, and not “leave.” But he did as he was asked immediately and she was already starting to untie her chemise’s laces. She peeled the sweaty, bloody garment off, finding it had soaked through to her skin. She dipped a washcloth in the water and wiped her front down first. She dipped the washcloth in the second bucket, rinsing it, and when back to the first. With a wet splosh, she slapped the cloth to her back, trying to get the grime she felt there.

“Nes, that’s not going to work.”

“Don’t call me Nes,” she turned to see him walking to her. Nesta spun back around and covered her chest, red as a cherry. “I said turn around.”

“You’ve got a gallon of blood down your back, let me help,” he was behind her now. “I’m not looking at your- chest.” From the stumble, she could infer the “much” missing from the end of that sentence. His arm rested on her shoulder, his palm up and hand open. She huffed and placed the washcloth in it.

He didn’t say anything as he methodically wiped down her back. He didn’t take his time, he didn’t linger, though Nesta’s breath still hitched and she knew she’d imagine this night very differently in the future whether she wanted to or not. She could feel her pulse quicken every time the cloth met skin, every time a knuckle brushed on her spine. She hoped he didn’t notice. He didn’t seem to. He just got her clean and handed the cloth back. She listened as he walked back over the bed. “I’m facing the wall now,” he called.

Nesta took a stuttering breath and washed her arms and legs as quickly as possible. She wiped down her face last and pulled the towel around her. She finally turned around, and he was sitting on the far end of the bed, facing the cloth wall. She couldn’t be sure, but his ears were definitely red.

“I’m getting dressed now.” She stepped over to her trunk and pulled out another chemise and pulled it over her head. Once she had that coverage, she removed a pair of clean bloomers and changed them under the privacy of her skirt. “Ok you can turn around.”

He turned slowly to her. The red she saw on ears was everywhere on his face. It would be cute if he didn’t look so… hungry. He looked her up and down, eyes catching on the chest he’d now had the pleasure of seeing. But whatever pure male instinct made him zero in on her breasts, he choked down so he could look her in the eye. And she nearly melted at the heat in that look.

“Why…” he said slowly, “didn’t you ask me to leave?”

“Why did you stay?” she countered.

“I wanted to.”

She took a breath. “Well, I wanted you to... too.”

[misplacedxeggos]

Warmth

request: “a wyatt fic please where he plays baseball and reader plays softball in the same school and they steal each others jerseys all the time and everyone including their coaches think theyre dating but theyre just besties until one day that changes thank you!!”

A/N: I made this a stanley fic because I don’t write about the cast. The fics on my page of the cast are written by my friend and she’s going to rewrite them into character form. Hope you enjoy either way!

words: 1.5k

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You clenched your softball bat tighter as you looked out onto the field. The scoreboard showed that it was all tied up, and there were teammates on all bases. Even if you couldn’t get a home run, you just needed to get to first base as time ran down.

You hit the home base with your bat twice and brought it up in a hitting position. You watched as the pitcher wound up and released the ball.

Strike one.

You moved your arms to get looser and not focus on how well you needed to do. The pitcher wound up again and threw it underhand. You moved your softball bat forward, and the aluminum material met with the softball to fling it through the air.

You threw your bat to the ground and took off running while keeping an eye on the ball. You passed the first base and saw the ball fly over the fence. While you could’ve slowed down and walked the rest of the way, the adrenaline kicked in, causing you to speed up.

In only a couple of seconds, your team engulfed you in a group hug and bombarded you with words of praise. You took in all of the compliments and quickly took off in search for Stanley in the crowd.

You caught a glimpse of curly blond hair and before you can go look for him, you felt his arms snake around your waist from behind. He twirled you around until you twisted in his arms to face him.

“I’m so proud of you.” Stanley gushed as he pulled you into a hug.

Once you pull back you see your softball away jersey.

You tug on the shoulder material, “This is theft.”

“Pretty sure you gave it to me,” Stanley commented with his arms still laying on your waist.

“Okay, lovebirds break it up. I wanna hug too.” Richie pulled you away from Stan and into him.

You rolled your eyes as you were used to Richie constantly trying to get you to tell him that you and Stan were together. You wished you could tell him what he wanted but it didn’t seem to be in your favor yet.

You were oblivious as to how Stan’s eyes lit up when you entered a room and how he always insisted on greeting you first. It seemed like second nature now to sit on his lap when there weren’t any open seats and whisper comments in his ear to make him laugh.

God his laugh was music to your ears.

After pulling back from Richie’s arms you went over to your rightful place next to Stanley.

“Party at my house!” One of your teammates yelled in the middle of the field.

“After I change can you drive me?” You looked up at Stan.

He gave you a small nod along with a smile. You went into the locker rooms and went to take a quick rinse-off shower. Afterwards, you pulled out Stanley’s home baseball jersey and loosely tucked it into a skirt.

“I see you’re still denying you like him.” You teammate commented while changing.

“And I see you’re still poking your nose in other people’s business.” You fired back while gathering up your items.

You didn’t want other people’s opinions on yours and Stanley’s relationship. You worried that if too many people commented that they thought you were together then he would be repulsed by the idea of you.

“My god, could you have taken any longer?” Stanley teased as you got into his truck.

“You don’t want me to stink up your truck do you?”

“I don’t think a shower fixed that.”

You playfully laughed and hit his shoulder in retaliation. Your brain glazed over and didn’t take in the slight blush that spread across his cheeks when he saw you in his jersey. You simply thought that he had got too much sun that evening watching your game.

Songs on the radio softy played in the background as you looked out the window and admired the small town scenery of Derry. Occasionally you would hear Stanley either mumble along with the song or softly sing. After a while of trying to find parking on the crowded street and finally deciding to park at the park then walking, you had made it to the party.

People started to shout your name as soon as you passed through the threshold. A wave of people pulled you away from Stanley and straight onto the dance floor. Stanley went to go get you a drink since you knew that though you were somewhat of a people person you could get overwhelmed easily.

When he came back to the living room where the makeshift dance floor was, he found you swaying to the music and admired how carefree you looked. Of course, Richie had to find Stan staring at you and make fun of him.

“Oh don’t worry a lot of good is going to happen tonight.” Richie winked at Stan and made his way to the punch bowl for the third time that night.

Stan had gotten used to brushing off things Richie said under the influence and just on a normal day to day basis, but for some reason, he couldn’t help to think of what he had meant. He didn’t have to think for long as Richie had made his way to you on the dance floor and started to pull you to where Stan was.

“Y/n, do you have something to say to mister Stan the Man?” Richie slurred out as he looked expectantly to you while you reached out to take your drink from Stan’s hand.

“Um, thanks for the drink?” Your thanks came out more of a question as you didn’t quite know what Richie was going on about.

“Come on Y/n you can do better than that, just tell him what you told me last Monday during math, about what you really think of him.” Richie gave you a knowing smirk and waited.

Your eyes grew in realisation to what Richie was talking about. During the boring lecture in math, he asked you what you thought about all the losers. You had stupidly thought that Richie was too hungover and stoned to remember anything that had happened that day, so you confessed your feelings for Stanley. You let out everything you had been thinking for years.

That you felt like you were floating on air around him, he felt at home with him, a certain warmth of comfort spread through your chest seeing him and that you couldn’t grow a pair and ask him out.

You let out an uneasy laugh and disregarded what Richie just said. You prayed that he wouldn’t bring it up the rest of the party and he didn’t. Through the whole game of truth or dare, he avoided asking you about it but still had a light in his eyes that said he could whenever he wanted to.

You were tense for the rest of the party and decided to leave early. When you told Stan this he got out of the conversation he was in with Bill and told you he would take you home.

An awkward presence that you had never felt with Stan was very apparent the whole drive to your house. Stanley was scared that you were suddenly going to come out and say that you didn’t want to be friends anymore. He had thought about this almost as much as you saying that you had feelings for him.

He would go back and forth in his mind about how you would react if he asked you out. Seventy-five percent of the time you rejected him and the other twenty-five percent you agreed to go out.

While he was in his head that you were going to dump his friendship on the curb, you were swamped in thoughts that he would ask you about what Richie had said. If he did what were you going to say? You could come out and say the truth to finally get it off your chest or you could deny it and potentially hurt your closest friend.

Stan parked his car in front of your house and sucked in a deep breath. You both tried to talk at the same time and after a few awkward hand gestures, you both decided that you would talk first.

“So hypothetically speaking, would you ever date a close friend? Cause I think that I would and I didn’t know if that was normal or if it mattered on the situation you were in or-”

Stanley cut you off with a short and soft kiss.

“So you’re not into Bev?” You joked as Stanley leaned forward for another kiss.

“Man you are oblivious.” Stan chuckled.

You had Richie to thank for bringing up Monday math class and the fact that you had met the perfect guy that always made you smile and feel warm throughout.

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