#nessian sick fic

[vidalinav]

Part 2 of the Nesta gets sick, acofas re-write thing

This is not my best work honestly. It's more of my quick writing. But you know what? It is what it is. Not everything can be a masterpiece and I should post things even when I don't think it's perfect. Keeps me humble and keeps me brave. This was a pep talk for me.

Part 1

~

The icy wind scars his face, but it's a small form of torture. Her name sits on his tongue, but he has yet to see if the mountains will hear him or if the people of Velaris will point the way.

Which tavern? Which music hall? Which book store? Which person's bedroom will he find her in?

How drunk will she be?

Cassian wishes he was drunk right now, but...

Has he ever been sober since he's seen her face?

Cassian sees her and the words spill out his mouth. Nothing honest--no. If he were telling the truth, he'd have sunk to his knees. Human, fae, or... death.

She breathed life back into him.

Now Nesta's being haunted by her thoughts, drinking them away, so they may be silenced, so the ice on his face--the piercing slice of winter, is a small price to pay. A small sacrifice. A small revenge for he deserves more than this.

"Nesta!" he yells, but Cassian's sure the wind swallows his call, howling like a wolf to the moon.

Cassian doesn't like the thought of her traveling in this. The city is bright, but he's unsurprised that many of the businesses are closed. It is a holiday after all. Thankfully, the taverns are alight with patrons and noise. He's almost glad it's open if only to offer Nesta reprieve.

Because she isn't at home when he knocks on her door. He can't sense her at all. Cauldron knows her apartment must not have good heating, or at least the door felt as cold as ice. Quiet and mocking. For that alone, Cassian's sure she'd be somewhere here.

So which tavern will it be?

He clenches his fist, but he tells himself it's to warm them and not because the thought of her uncared for goads on his nerves. Not because the thought of her cared for in another's bed makes him want to gut someone brutally.

"We haven't seen her, my lord," the barkeeper says.

"Cassian," he quickly corrects, though he knows none of the workers will do as he asks, formality running heavy throughout town.

"We haven't seen her in a couple of days actually," a younger fae, who offers to pour him a drink, notes. "She usually sits right over there, nearest to the musicians. They've been traveling, you see, so perhaps she's tried another tavern."

"We hope she comes back, my lord. Our high lady's sister is always welcome."

Cassian is sure she is, since he's seen the bills collected on her behalf. "Do you know where she might be?"

The barkeeper shrugs, "maybe Blue Mill? Have you tried the Wolf's den?"

"She's not there," he says, though Cassian offers his thanks and moves on to another tavern down the way, much tamer than the last.

Nesta's not at that one either. The snow sprinkles down and it packs the ground in deep white. He can feel it in his boots.

Where can Nesta be?

Perhaps, he should have told Azriel to send his shadows, but he does what he knows, so he shoots to the sky, not bothering to think about how much his wings will ache from this weather.

He doesn't know how long he searches, before something starts eating at his gut. Something pokes and prods at his chest. Something is not right.

Something is terribly wrong, and it is not this storm or the sting against his wings. It's not the fact that the city sings even from above, as if nothing but him can sense this.

Nesta is nowhere in sight.

She's not at the bridge, the taverns, the trail to her house, the walk to the bookstores, along the Sidra. There is nothing that says that Nesta lives here, all he sees is white.

White is the color of death, he finds, and something morbid calls him forth.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

He thinks the wind calls her name, an echo of his voice. A chant. Cassian thinks of death gods. Of monsters. Of villainous people.

What is happening to her?

Why can't he find her?

Cassian circles the mountain, pulling at his hair.

There.

A scarf circles around a lamp post and it looks like the one Elain gifts to Nesta for her birthday last spring. Light blue and waving hello, come find me, I need you. When he grasps it, Cassian can catch the slightest whiff of her scent.

"Nesta," he calls, peering at the space as if she'll come out of hiding. He sees piles of snow, no footprints in sight. All he can smell is wind and winter and cold. "Nesta!"

He finds a shroud near the stairs, her head lying against the stone. Touches of brass and pale skin. Snow has already begun to pile on her body. A blanket of white. A funeral.

"Nesta," he gasps. "Nesta. Nesta!"

She is so perfectly silent, it fills him with dread.

"Talk to me, Nesta," he demands as he grasps her shoulders, and then her hands, blowing into them as if that my warm her from the inside out.

Her cheeks are a budding pink and her lips are tinged in blue. Cassian thinks of death, corpses, and pale flesh. He can't help it. Nesta lays so still, he wants to throw up.

Her heart beat is faint, but Cassian thinks it might just be the wind drowning out any noise. At least he keeps repeating that to himself, because pulling out his own won't help hers beat louder or stronger.

"I'm going to take you to the house," he says, though she doesn't make a sound. Nesta's head lulls into his neck as he holds her to his chest. Cassian's surprised to find a touch of warmth at her skin and for that he sends a thousand thanks to the Mother.

"I've got you Nesta," he says, kissing at the top of her head without thinking. "I've got you."

I'm never leaving you alone, again.

~

You see I have a very good memory, so I had this book series memorized like the back of my mind. But then I went into a PhD program, and brain dumped it all. SO I cannot remember some details or at least I can't remember which things happened in what book... just like SJM ( LOL ). So if this is not bookly accurate, just ignore it. Nothing about this is bookly accurate anyway.

Also this is hella dramatic. I should have really just started off with... he found her with no explanation... which is what I usually do. But I tried to give explanation. And... it's dramatic. But whateva.

You'll see her actually sick in the next part.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Omega Ours - Part 2 | Alpha!Cassian x Alpha!Nesta x Omega!Reader | Short Series 3.4k

Nesta and Cassian try to stay away from you, but your heat is just so irrisitable...

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, language & themes. Omegaverse dynamics including Alpha & Omega and the sexist assumptions/implications that go along with it, heat/heat cycles, claiming & knotting! Explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, anal sex, use of toys, oral sex, dp, creampie, dirty talk, bit of degredation/humiliation/teasing very much under-negotiated. NSFW. Filth.

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources patient beta reading and mutual squealing from @christywantspizza ❤️

Created for @polyacotarweek - prompt 7 free day so ... Have some disgusting smut because I wish I was in a Nessian sandwich!

Cassian & Nesta - from Pinterest

Part 1 | Masterlist | Poly Fics | Cassian

“Nesta -” Cassian’s voice was a low warning growl, you kept your eyes closed as the bed dipped. 

You felt worse, if anything, not better. Their scent was everywhere. On the sheets where you’d heard them make love night after night, on the pillow where the scent of Nesta’s soap lingered. Your heart was racing, your palms hot and sticky with sweat and that sick, dizzy feeling made the room spin. You couldn’t open your eyes if you tried. 

Then there was a cooling hand on your forehead, fingers long and delicate, Nesta. Without thinking, you sighed into the touch, rolling towards her. 

“Nesta, we talked about this, we need to get off the bed now.” Cassian’s voice was so far away, floating from the doorway, but Nesta’s was a balm against your aching mind, whispered in your ear. 

“She doesn’t want me to leave, Cas, and you don’t want to leave either.” 

“No, I don’t, but she made it quite clear -” 

You were drowning in them, their presence, their very beings, the hum of magic that Nesta seemed to emit wherever she went, the swell of power behind Cassian’s syphons, it called to you. Your body was its own, separate from your will, arching off the bed with a whimper. 

“Fuck,” Cassian was closer now, his hand touching your cheek, you nuzzled into it, the callouses on his hands were rough but his palm was a dry warmth, comforting. 

The throbbing that had started in your chest moved down and you recognised the dull ache between your legs. A flush rippled over you, sending goosebumps in its wake and the humiliating feel of slick between your thighs. 

“Hmm - exactly, Cas, fuck.” Nesta sounded as gone as you did, her nose tracing the line of your jaw. “I know you’re awake, sweetheart,” she cooed. Her hands slid over your body, tracing down your side and then up over your stomach and between your breasts. Naked under the blankets, your nipples pebbled when she rubbed a thumb over each nub. 

The bed moved, and Cassian’s hand joined Nesta’s, cupping your full breast and squeezing gently. You moaned in response, trapped between them, your thighs wet with arousal, sliding over each other. 

And then your eyes flew open and the reality of your situation dawned on you. 

“What-?” 

Nesta’s head dipped to nuzzle at your neck, her teeth scraping over the delicate skin and that primal side of you wanted to go lax, to let her scent you and bite you and claim you. But you wouldn’t allow it, couldn’t allow yourself to give in. 

Cassian’s hand was still holding you, his wings flaring behind him, taking up every inch of your eyeline, each movement sending tingles down your spine. His smile was low, hungry and his hazel eyes flicked down to your lips before looking over your shoulder at his mate. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll take good care of you,” his voice rumbled. 

Angry, you sat up, your head swimming, and pushed their hands away. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you insisted, "I can take care of myself.”

With difficulty, you scrambled from the bed, dragging the sheet with you to keep your naked body covered. “If you insist,” Nesta purred, her finger trailing down your back as she passed, moving slowly towards the door. “You can probably deal with this alone, omega.” 

Cassian followed, towering over you as he tipped your chin up with one long finger. “You could deal with it alone, this is your heat after all. But if you need some help, you only have to ask.” He ran his hand over your cheek and down your neck before following Nesta from the room. 

As soon as the door was shut, you threw yourself back on the bed. You knew from their own activities that there were toys and oils in the little table by the bed and it was here you went first, pulling open the drawer and rummaging around until you found a beautiful crystal toy, it was long and phallic, not an unfamiliar shape, but you’d never been able to afford something beautiful before. 

It was blissfully cold against your heated skin, sliding between your folds and you welcomed the stretch as you eased the toy inside, sighing as you lazed back into the bed. You moved the toy slowly, finding a rhythm that had you clenching on the unrelenting material. The haze took over again and you allowed your eyes to close, revelling in the relief of being full. 

Cassian was right, this was a heat and you were sure you could handle it yourself, even if you’d never had to deal with a heat near an Alpha, let alone two, where their heavy presence remained even when they were gone, their scent, the feel of their hands. You tugged at your own nipple, remembering the feel of Nesta’s fingers. Before you could stop yourself, you were sighing her name, imagining that she was still curled up behind you, taking control of the toy between your legs. Then there was Cassian. When you were feeling so vulnerable and dizzy he had kept you steady, his agreement that this was something you could weather seemed genuine, but so was his offer to help. 

They hadn’t been what you expected, this strong, warrior like couple and you moaned again. “Cassian.” 

The toy stopped, a delicate hand moving yours away and taking over, the new angle brushing against your swollen clit. 

“I knew you wanted us,” Nesta’s clear voice made it through the haze, your will to fight fading as she worked the toy harder, pressing up just as a large hand smoothed over your lower stomach. Stars exploded in your vision and you reached out grabbing at them both as you rode out your orgasm. 

Above you, Cassian leaned over, cupping Nesta’s face and pulling her into him. They kissed with such passion you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

Hazel and blue-grey eyes turned towards you, their gaze piercing, taking in your sweaty forehead, open mouth and pleading eyes. 

Nesta ran a thumb over your lip. “Do you require some help, sweetheart?” Her voice was a tease, making you throb with need. You didn’t hesitate to nod. Her thumb was replaced with her tongue, teasing along the seam of your lips before dipping inside, claiming and tasting you. Cassian continued moving the toy slowly inside, the ripples of your orgasm still making you twitch. 

Nesta’s lips were replaced with Cassian’s, his pressure harder, more insistent and you luxuriated in the feel of them moving around you, taking control of your body. Cassian slid the toy from you and the feeling of emptiness made you whine with need, grabbing at the two alphas. 

“I knew you’d be wet for us,” Nesta hummed, and you opened your eyes in time to see her lick your arousal from the length of the toy. Her hand cupped you between your legs, fingers teasing. “Your pussy’s so wet you’ve soaked the sheets, I knew it.” Her grin was feral, like a cat after cornering a mouse. 

“Let me taste.” Cassian brought Nesta’s fingers to his lips and sucked lewdly. 

You were empty again and this time your whimper did not go unnoticed. “Does someone need their pussy filled?” Nesta pouted at you, her eyebrows raised. 

“Yes, yes, please - I - please,” you begged, the fog of your heat taking over your ability to think. All you could see was them, all you could feel and all that you wanted. 

Nesta turned you to face her, cradling your body into her chest. Instinctively, you licked at a rosy nipple, taking the bud into your mouth and sucking hard until Nesta gasped. 

“Good girl,” she soothed, petting the back of your head, “You’ll need to bite down on something when he pushes in.” Her hand hooked your thigh up over her hip, opening you up and then you felt the blunt, wide head of Cassian’s cock nudging at your entrance and - she was right. 

“Oh Gods,” you moaned, pushing your face further into Nesta’s chest, breath heaving as you adjusted to his size. 

“You’re doing so well.” She stroked your back over the curve of your bottom and then back up with her nails, soothing then scratching in turn. The mixture of pleasure and pain was enough to confuse your already addled brain and, before you could register it, Cassian was flush against your back, panting in your ear. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good on my cock, so tight.” He kissed behind your ear, the gentle gesture so at odds with the rough cant of his hips. “We’ll fuck you through this heat, don’t worry.” 

“I can- I can do it on my own,” You insisted meekly, meeting Nesta’s storm grey eyes. 

“Of course you can.” She bent and kissed you gentle. “You’re doing so well, getting through this heat. It’s okay to ask for help. We’ll help you, won’t we, baby?” 

“Of course we will,” Cassian grunted, his thrusts slow and steady but deep, so deep, so full. 

When their eyes met, Nesta mirrored Cassian’s smile, knowing and understanding and teasing and Alpha. They’d take care of you, you knew they would, and you’d be satisfied and satiated by the end but you would be theirs, there would be no arguing your way out of this. 

Your eyes rolled as Cassian hit a particularly delicious spot, sending shooting pleasure up your spine, “Gods, Cassian - I” 

“Come for him,” Nesta instructed and you couldn’t stop yourself, your body obeyed before your mind could argue, pleasure washing over you so fast you had to dig your nails into Nesta’s arms to hold on, so sure you’d be pulled along by it. 

You recovered slowly, floating in a daze of post coital bliss only to find yourself sat above Cassian, the general sprawled below you, his hair like a devilish halo on the white pillow cases and his handsome face contorted with pleasure. That deep ache was still inside, making you grind your clit down against him and it was then you realised he was still buried inside of you, his cock twitching with every movement of your hips. 

“You look so pretty when you come for us.” He held your hips in his hands, keeping you seated despite your surprised attempt at getting up. “You can’t pretend anymore.” 

Nesta’s hands joined Cassian’s, twining together to hold you down, her chin resting on your shoulder. How did she move like that, so silent and stealthy? “I know what you need now, you need to be fucked and filled, isn’t that right?” 

You keened, leaning back into her arms, allowing her hands to travel up to your breasts and circle your nipples again. 

“I said, isn’t that right?” Her hand moved over your collarbone, coming to rest at the base of your throat where her fingers pressed down on your pulse. 

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes - I - I need to be -,” you stuttered, still reluctant to give in to the omega side of you that really did need this, needed to have their body used and filled and be given pleasure. 

“Come on.” Cassian thrust up inside, his cock so deep you were sure you could see it in your belly.

“I need to be fucked and filled.” 

“Good girl.” Nesta rewarded you with a kiss to your cheek. “Now for the last part, you need to be fucked and filled, by…” 

“I need to be fucked and filled by my Alphas. Oh Gods, please, please, I need to move.” You ground your hips again and Cassian obliged, fucking up into you, his feet planted on the bed to keep him steady. 

Behind you, Nesta moved again, her fingers tracing down your spine and the scent of lavender oil filling the room. Her hands cupped your bottom, helping to lift and lower you onto Cassian’s cock, controlling each movement. Cassian’s hands covered hers, spreading you open and pulling you forwards so you were completely exposed to Nesta’s hungry gaze. 

“Such a pretty pussy.” She dipped her finger into the slick flowing over Cassian’s cock. You couldn’t stop the feel of it, dripping between you, easing the way for him. Her finger returned, circling the tight pucker of muscle Cassian’s exploring hands exposed. “Let’s see if we can fill you some more.” 

The first press of her fingertip felt strange, but as she curled and worked her finger deeper pleasure spread up from your back. She was right, it felt so good to be full, a second finger joined her first, scissoring until the pressure was gone and only pleasure remained. 

“Nesta - please,” you begged incoherently, unsure of what you even needed from her, chasing the feeling. 

“Shhh, sweetheart.” Her fingers were replaced by the still body warm head of the crystal toy. 

“Fuck, Nes, push it in harder.” Cassian gritted his teeth, his grip moving you lightly and then you both shouted in pleasure, the toy pushing against the thin wall separating it from his cock. 

“So full, so full, so ful,-” you babbled, much to Nesta’s amusement, her dark laugh in your ear had you clenching around the hard cocks inside of you. 

Cassian’s hand took over from Nesta’s keeping the toy inside and allowing you the freedom to grind down onto him again. 

Free to move, Nesta appeared before you. 

“There’s our little cock hungry omega, nice and full and satisfied.” She ran a finger around your open mouth before dipping it inside to tap your tongue. “Now you stay there,” she instructed, moving up the bed to hover over Cassian. 

“Yes, Nes, you come here. Been working so hard to take care of our little omega, come and sit down.” 

Cassian’s face vanished between Nesta’s thighs, the muscles tensing and relaxing as she lowered herself. You watched, fascinated, as her perfect face twisted with pleasure, the controlled look in her eyes and crooked smile gone. She closed her eyes, cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples as she’d done to yours. You ached to reach out and touch her, to lick the dusky bud again, to taste her and feel her, to run your fingers through her hair. 

Your hand twitched forwards, grabbing her thigh and squeezing. Nesta moaned in return, her eyes shooting open and locking with you while she rolled her hips, taking her pleasure from her mate, using his mouth and tongue until she bit her bottom lip and tipped her head back, panting and moaning through her release. 

She fell backwards onto the bed, resting her head on her arm and continuing to gently circle her nipple, riding the waves of her orgasm. 

You watched, catching Cassian’s eyes as he too turned to view his mate, her legs spread and wet pussy glistening in the candle light. With a tap to your hip, you reached up, releasing his cock with an obscene squelch, but you had no ability to be humiliated by your position, half full of her toy, crawling towards her as if possessed. Your own legs were so wet they slid as you moved and Cassian took the opportunity to nip at your thigh as you made your way to Nesta. 

She was smiling, long lashes fluttering on her cheeks as she rested, but she must have felt you approaching because she beckoned you on, cupping the back of your head and pulling you down for a sloppy kiss. 

Her long fingers gathered your slick, smearing it over your folds, your clit, back towards where the toy still split you open, and cupped your cheeks, parting them for Cassian. 

The male was behind you again and gave the toy a few experimental thrusts, revelling in the way you whimpered and moaned, depending on how he angled the head. You could practically feel his grin when he pressed a kiss to the base of your spine, nipping at the round globe of your ass and pulling the toy free, leaving it to roll off the bed onto the thick rug. 

You whined, completely empty and still needy, humping forwards into Nesta’s teasing hand, her kisses just as biting, just as harsh, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth and worrying the delicate flesh. 

Cassian’s voice was gravelly when he whispered in your ear, “Ask us nicely, omega. Ask us to fill your wet little cunt and your greedy hole.” 

“Please, please, fill me, please, fuck me!” you panted, hips moving of their own accord, seeking any friction they could find. 

Nesta cupped your cheek. “Open your eyes.” You obliged, meeting her own lust filled gaze. “Now beg.” 

You cried out in frustration, “Please, Alpha, please I need it, I need you, I can’t do it - help me - please - help me. Fuck me, please, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me-” You dropped your forehead to hers, pleading, praying. 

Then, you felt Cassian’s cock again, not parting your folds as he’d done before, but running it between your cheeks and pressing against the gap left by the crystal toy. 

“You want me to fuck you?” he asked again.

“Yes, Alpha, fuck me, take me, please, I need your cock - I need - ahh.” The first push was long and deep, he was merciless, splitting you open. 

“Gods, you feel good everywhere, ‘mega.” Cassian’s kisses returned, wet and hot along your shoulders. “Nesta -,” he grunted and the female slid her hand back between your legs, shoving three fingers into your already sloppy pussy without hesitation. 

“Look how well you take us, sweetheart. Letting your Alphas use all of your holes like a good little omega. Just a hole for us to fuck aren’t you?” she cooed, pinching your cheeks again. “Cassian’s been dying to fuck me like this for years, haven’t you?” He only grunted in answer, his pace increasing. You could barely breathe now, every inhale punched out of you by the force of his fucking. “But I wouldn’t let him. Good job we’ve got our own little plaything now. You take him so well, made for it, aren’t you?” she continued to tease and you burned with the humiliation of it, the deliciously dirty feeling of being spread open, used, vulnerable under their hands. And yet you had never felt pleasure like it, the complete surrender of your thoughts, your body, to your two Alphas. 

The thought had you tingling. Were they yours now? Were you theirs? 

Cassian’s pace slowed, his hips faltering as he hurtled towards his release. His long hair brushed against your cheek. “Never letting you go, omega. You’re ours now.” His teeth scrapped down the side of your neck and you shivered, making the decision in a split second, and tilting your head to the side. Cassian’s bite was strong, his teeth breaking your skin quickly before his tongue lapped over the sore spot. He nuzzled into you as he sucked the bruising kiss, inhaling your scent. 

Nesta reached up, guiding your head towards Cassian’s and exposing the other side of your throat before biting down too. Her claim was rougher, her teeth tasting, exploring before biting down and sucking. 

“Yours - yours - yours -” You allowed their claiming bites to consume you, to wash over your senses, and felt the calm of being mated rising to meet you, buoying you up. 

“Good little omega,” Nesta praised, tapping your cheek until you opened your eyes. Hers were surprisingly soft, her mouth wet and lips pink. 

“Such a good - fuck - good fucking omega, our omega,” Cassian grunted, sending you over the edge.

“Yours - yours - yours -” Your orgasm ran towards you and you clenched down on them both, forcing Nesta’s fingers out as your walls rippled. You bent and sucked on her collarbone, needing something, anything, to ground you. 

“Fuck -” Cassian followed, his hips driving forward, pushing you down further into Nesta’s chest and painting you with his release. His cock swelled, impossibly large and pressing against your entrance. His cum leaked around the edges of his knot, mixing with your own release in a sticky, claiming, mess. There’d be no denying your feelings now. 

He withdrew slowly, carefully, his hand cupping your swollen sex as he did and the gentleness of the touch surprised you. 

The three of you lay there, panting and sweating, slick soaked and satisfied until Cassian broke the silence. 

“Does this mean you’ll sleep in the damn bed now?” You turned into his chest, resting your face against his tattoos, and laughed, nodding. Behind you, Nesta curled over your back and smiled into your shoulder. 

“Good.”

[bookstantrash]

A/N: This took a while to post even though it had been written for quite some time lol sorry. It is also the last already written fic I had and the last RED TV titled one (for now, I’ll absolutely write more in the future, one day)

I have an Emerie centric fic that I hope I can finish writing soon now that I am on a break from uni, but I make no promises given my record track I also plan to start studying for my bar exam so there’s that

Anywaaaaays hope you guys enjoy some soft Nessian!

But I don't wanna dance (if I'm not dancing with you)

It had not escaped Nesta’s attention how her husband sometimes left their bed in the late nights. After their talk about his nightmares —  after how he had promised to wake her up and talk when he had a bad dream — his disappearances had become irregular and rare. But recently he had begun to take longer to go to bed, finding excuses to make her lay down before him, or even waking up before the sun had even risen. Nesta knew Cassian was used to waking up with the first rays of sunlight, while she preferred to sleep in — although the early morning training sessions with the Valkyries made her wake up a bit earlier then she would have preferred. However, now he was awake before even the sun had made an appearance and well, she would be lying if that did not bother her.

She had tried to wake up early with him to discover what he was up to, but that had proved to be impossible very quickly. She was not a morning person at all, and all it took was Cassian leaving some kisses on her neck and shoulder, whispering for her to go back to sleep and promising pancakes to make her burrow herself in the furs and mumble that “they better have chocolate chips or else”.

Nesta had also attempted to find where he disappeared to late in the night, something that was turning out to be more difficult than she had expected. Although the House was big and had more rooms than they would ever use, she had made sure to investigate each and every one of them whenever she had the time.

She found nothing. It was as if Cassian’s disappeared to a different dimension, making her reach one conclusion: the House was Cassian’s accomplice in whatever it was that he was up to.

The fact that the House —  who in nine out of ten cases sided with her — had decided to cover up whatever it was that her mate was doing left her puzzled. And, if she was being honest, a little shocked. And betrayed. But if Nesta Archeron was known for something it was for her cunning mind and ability to charmspeak her magical house with smutty books.

So she bid her time, waiting for Cassian to slip off of their bed at midnight while she pretended to be asleep, leaving a kiss on her temple. She waited for a few heartbeats, her Fae hearing making it possible to listen to his footsteps disappearing completely. When she was sure he had left, she threw back the covers and, opening her bedside table’s drawer, grabbed a wrapped package.

“I know that you and Cassian are hiding something from me” Nesta said to the House but all she got in response were the faelights flickering thrice.

“No? You don’t know what I mean?” she shrugged, waving the package around “And here I was, debating letting you read Sellyn Drake’s newest romance before me…”

That made the faelights turn on and shine brightly, and Nesta knew she had gotten Its attention. Having two younger sisters — one of them who liked to prove herself at every opportunity available  —  she knew exactly what to say to get what she wanted done. She didn’t even have to resort to the courtier techniques her awful mother had drilled into her since she learned how to talk.

Nesta could still remember when they lived at their mansion in the human lands, their mother and father gone for the weekend for some stupid engagement party of some even stupider high ranking noble family at their snobby generations old countryside manor.  By some small miracle their horrid grandmother was absent and the governess had gotten sick at the last minute, and with little time to hire someone, they had to make do with only the maids, who were less rigid and mean than what Nesta and her sisters were used to.

And they had enjoyed that weekend to the fullest. Nesta thought that had been the only time they had truly been able to be just children and enjoy themselves. And with that came a closeness and sisterly attitude that was usually lacking between the sisters.

Feyre had pulled pranks on them, hiding behind doors and jumping to scare them, or leaving fresh paint in Elain’s porcelain tea set, making her get her hands all dirty.

Elain had retaliated by baking Feyre’s favourite muffin — an indulgence reserved solely for her birthday, given that “ladies do not eat sweets all the time if they wanted to maintain a proper figure” — but using salt instead of sugar, adding a bit of some spice their father had brought back from one of his travels. Feyre had spit the muffin and chugged an entire glass of water to wash away the taste.

Nesta remembers the cook’s dejected face after seeing the mess Elain had left in his kitchen, having listened to Elain’s pleading eyes and letting her roam free in the otherwise forbidden space.

Meanwhile, Nesta had simply said to five year old Feyre that they “would play statue” and had gotten herself the rest of day to read in peace as her littlest sister was set on “winning the game”.

In conclusion, all she had to do was apply a similar tactic to the House.

“But well, if you insist that there is nothing going on…” she shrugged, opening the drawer and putting the book inside again.

Nesta was about to close the drawer when the book disappeared, the door to her room opening and the lights flashing, as if to say “follow me”.

Works every time, she thought with a sly smile, sliding her robe on as she left her room.

The House guided Nesta through the hallways, making her stop in front of an empty guest room she had previously checked.

“Are you sure Cassian’s in there?” she asked, for a second doubting whether the House knew where Cassian went or if It only wanted to read the smutty book first.

The fae lights outside flicked twice, and Nesta saw the door changing, becoming wider until it was a double door, definitely the kind that did not open to guest bedrooms.

“You glamoured yourself?” she said in disbelief, but the House merely opened a sliver of the door and flicked the fae lights again, as if to say ‘go on, I told you where your mate is now let me go back to my smutty book’.

Shaking her head, she approached the door, spying the room through that tiny crack, her eyes widening at the scene she saw.

Her husband and mate was dancing.

Nesta could see the Symphonia playing in the corner of the room while Cassian danced, stepping on glittering footsteps that showed what he should do and where he should go.

“I think I might be getting the hang of it,” he said with a small satisfied smile “But I don’t know about my arms… It is a bit weird to keep them in position without holding something…”

Pursing his lips, Cassian shook his head.

“Maybe I should have asked for a dummy to practise with…” he furrowed his brow “House, do you think you would be able to make it happen, please?”

However, the House had other plans. No sooner had Cassian spoken, the door suddenly opened all the way, making Nesta stumble into the room and come into her mate’s view.

“You little traitor!” Nesta hissed under breath.

“Nes? What are you doing here?” he arched an eyebrow “I thought the House was on my side for once, but I guess I was mistaken.”

“Well, It did end up bringing me a rehearsal partner so I suppose I am not completely upset at my surprise being ruined.” Cassian added with a lopsided smile, walking towards Nesta and grabbing her hand, bringing her closer with a slight tug on her waist.

The faelights inside the room flicked once, the door closing and the Symphonia starting a new tune. Nesta figured that was the way of the House saying ‘my job here is done, do not bother me until I am done with my book’.

With the Symphonia playing a new melody, Cassian pulled Nesta into the song with him.

“This is the first time you’ve led,” Nesta noted. Usually, she would be the one to take the lead and Cassian would follow her.

It was a bit unusual for the male partner to be the one following instead of being followed, but that had never bothered him. Cassian always let Nesta take the lead, not just when they danced. He knew her strengths and weaknesses. He knew she could take on her own fights and defend herself, but that did not mean that he left her all on her own. He was always there beside her, cheering her on, being there to support her but also give her a different perspective on things. Sure, they argued sometimes, just like every couple. However, they would not have gotten where they were and their relationship would not be what it was if they didn’t. At the end of the day, they always reached an understanding after voicing their opinions. And well, if that sometimes led to some makeup sex neither of them were complaining.

“Am I doing it well, Nes?” he asked, twirling her. 

“You are doing okay I guess,” she answered, trying not to fuel his already big ego even more. But Cassian was indeed dancing more smoothly than the other times. Now, it resembled like when he was lost in the dangerous and deadly dance of fighting he displayed in training. Like when Nesta had stood atop a little hill and watched silently as Cassian rained down upon Hybern’s armies.

“Liar,” he purred, spinning her so her back was against his chest, “I would like to think that I am doing it well after all that practising, but shadow dancing is definitely not the same when you dance properly with a partner.”

Nesta could not see his face, but she knew. She knew just from the way his voice trembled a little, some false bravado and swagger put on it. She knew from the way his end of the bond seemed to waver in uncertainty, just a bit. And she remembered the very first time they had danced together, when he had all but pushed Eris aside while asking for her next dance. At the time, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her when she saw his hand trembling slightly but maybe… maybe it had not been her imagination.

Did Cassian also practise in secret before that day? Had he been nervous that maybe it had not been enough and that he would end up embarrassing himself in front of her? Had that been why he had seemed so unsure and anxious despite the brave face he portrayed?

“You are right, it is different to dance with someone in comparison to dancing alone.” Nesta said, turning around so she could look into the hazel eyes she loved so dearly “But you are my mate, so of course you are dancing well.”

That had Cassian opening one his brightest smiles, his end of the bond singing and shining.

“But why not ask the House for a dancing partner from the start? It is not the most impossible thing for It to do” she wondered, thinking about all the things the House had made out of thin air on other occasions.

“Well, I am a mated male now,” Cassian answered, dipping her in time with the last note of the song “I was hesitant to dance with anyone else”

“Cassian, it would not be a real partner” Nesta replied, rolling her eyes fondly at him.

He brought his face closer to hers, still holding her in the dipped position. But Nesta was not worried about falling. She knew that her mate's strong arms could hold her that way all day if she asked.

And she also knew that he would break her fall if he was to lose his balance somehow.

“What can I say?” he kissed her, smiling against her mouth “I don’t want to dance with anyone apart from my wife.”

And a month later when the Night Court went to a ball being held in Winter Court to celebrate the birth of Kallias and Viviane’s daughter, Cassian showed off the results of his practice, dancing with Nesta the entire night.

•

tag list: @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @letstakethedawn @katekatpattywack @nestaarcheron @imagine-me @sv0430 @starryblueskies7 @live-the-fangirl-life @valkyriewarriors @readskk @wannawriteyouabook @imwritingthesewords @rainbowcheetah512 @moodymelanist @castielspelvis

[Reblogs/likes/comments are always welcomed!!]

[sapphire-reads]

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.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

@thesistersarcheron wins and you all get fluff for WIP Wednesday 😌 hope everyone is getting excited for Nessian Week because I sure am! And I can't wait to share this fic about Cassian versus Nesta's dog that hates him.

“I know I look like shit and that you could be spending your day doing far better things.”

“First of all, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen even when you’re sick. Second of all, I want to spend time with you. And third of all,” Cassian tells her, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Nesta’s face starts to scrunch up, but she steps closer and hides it against his chest. “I love you too.”

He can feel Nesta shiver against him, so Cassian wraps his arms tightly around her, allowing her to leech as much of his warmth as she can. But after a moment, he guides her out of the kitchen and onto the sofa, grabbing one of the spare blankets and draping that over her as well. A quick glance around and he spots Bingley watching him curiously, the dog’s head tilted slightly.

“Come on, Bingley,” Cassian requests, patting the cushion beside Nesta. “Come watch over our girl for a few minutes.”

Surprisingly, the Australian shepherd listens, ambling into the room and jumping up onto the sofa. The dog settles his head in Nesta’s lap, so content to know that Nesta’s in good hands, Cassian heads out of the living room. He makes a brief pitstop in the kitchen before stepping into Nesta’s bathroom, running her a hot bath. When the tub is full, he adds some epsom salt and a few drops of eucalyptus oil to mix with the steam and help with the congestion. With a satisfied nod, he goes to retrieve Nesta, finding her right where he left her.

“Did you run a bath?” Nesta asks from beneath her pile of blankets. “I heard the water running.”

“Just for you, sweetheart.” He scoops Nesta up and into his arms, carrying her down the hall and into the bathroom. “You soak, and I’ll make you some soup, okay?”

[acourtofladydeath]

Hello, it’s Santa! Just checking in to tell you I am SO excited to write for one of my favorite people in this fandom ❤️

I hear you have a list of information for me…even though that’s Santa’s job!

OMG HI!! So excited it's this time of year again.

If you know me (which it seems as though you might *cue the bombastic side eye*) you know I always have a list. But what information are you looking for? I'll start simple and you can ask me questions based on that...

My favorite ships are Nessriel (my loves), Nessian, and Azris.

I'm a sucker for the Vanserra brothers

I'm a plot over porn person. Gimme a storyline with the smut pleaseee. Also, there does not need to be smut at all, it's not always what I'm looking for in a fic. I'd rather there be plot first, then they can fuck.

I enjoy angst with a happy ending. LET THEM CARE FOR EACH OTHER. Sick fics, cycle fics, hurt w/ comfort/healing fics are some of my absolute favorites.

I really enjoy in universe fics, especially those that explore outside canon. Read between the lines sorts of fics iykwim.

...Ok so maybe my definition of simple is a little different from other people's. I'm gonna let you take it from here and ask some questions before I get carried away and say more than I need to. But I will ABSOLUTLEY tell you more details. I'm all about details.

COLOR ME INTRIGUED, SANTA. Can't wait to hear from you again!!!

P.S. Thank you for saying I'm one of your favorites 🥰

[unhealthyfanobsession]

📚, ❄️, and 🍬 for the ask game!

📚 ⇢ what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app? 

Luckily enough it actually was fandom related haha - not sure if I’ll ever expand this out into a real one-shot but just a little ACOWAR Nessian I’m playing with:

“I need your head firmly on that battlefield,” Rhys said, seemingly without prompting. Cassian raised an eyebrow, certain he wasn’t addressing Azriel.

“I should think my sword is more important.” Rhys gave no indication of amusement at the easy joke.

“I wish that were true.” He ran a hand down his face. “Your mind is worth far more than your sword, brother.” Touching, but Cassian had the Sense Rhys was about to ruin this nice moment. “And your mind has been otherwise occupied for months now.”

Cassian swallowed. Cast his gaze to the tightly tied tent flaps and almost swore he could see her beyond them. Feel her. Wherever she was in the camp. It was true, he’d felt that way for months now. There was no point in denying the obvious. “Perhaps I allowed a brief distraction, but rest assured brother, this war is the only volatile lover I intend to focus on.”

“Lover,” Rhys rolled the word around on his tongue. “If only it were that simple.”

“Don’t.” Cassian warned. Some things, Rhysand was entitled to question. To pry into and pick apart under the jurisdiction of being a thorough High Lord. That, what his words now hinted at, was not one of them.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

I feel like this is pretty much my whole account but let me think of a good one … Oh, I think Azriel is the least mature bat boy and he really needs to grow up. Probably doesn’t get much more unpopular than that …

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

There is a small sick part of me that wants to see full evil Nesta ruling over everyone with Lanthys like in that vision and I think @moodymelanist would crush a dark Nesta like that but idk it might be too powerful to truly exist

[writtenonreceipts]

WIP Title Game

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks for the tag @the-lonelybarricade !! ❤️❤️

I've got way too much going on, haha. Here are some new titles, different from the usual suspects just to throw a bit of spice in the mix...

A Glimpse of Sunlight (elucien week)

Sunshine, Sunshine, Sunshine (elucien week)

A step In the Right Direction (elucien week)

RegencyAU (elucien week, titles are dumb)

Grumpy X Sunshine (elorcan week)

Hauntings&happens pt2 (elorcan week)

Brothers in Chaos (cassian week)

The Lady in the Water (nessian)

Yvette (nessian)

Sick fic (nessian)

Vodka Man (feysand, title pending)

All I Need (rowaelin)

Hopefully I won't get burned out again...but with so many fun event weeks coming up I really wanna have some fun!

Tagging: @goddess-aelin @sarahjswift @empress-ofbloodshed @backtobl4ck and anyone else who wants to hop on!

[belabellissima]

✨💭🍰 for the ask game!

✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing:

Y’all started with the hard stuff 😅 alright uhhh

1) emotional - I feel like I'm really good at conveying what characters are feeling (at least when its angst) and bringing readers along on that journey

2) hopeful - except for my one mcd fic (but even then I wrote a second ending where it was happy and hopeful again), i only write happy endings. Like no matter how bad it gets, there's always something good waiting beyond that. Because life would suck without hope - it's imo one of the strongest things in the universe, and I like my writing to reflect that.

3) physical - i was told one (1) time during one of my classes that I was very good at writing the physicality of the characters during a fight scene, to the point that the reader had absolutely no trouble or confusion what-so-ever about where the character was, what they were doing, which hand the weapon was in, etc. and proceeded to make that my entire writing personality for years. Any time i write an action scene specifically, i think back to their complement and try to judge whether the new scene would get that same commentary, and if I think the answer is no, i go back and edit it to that internal standard. Which i think leaves the writing very easy to understand and easy for the reader to feel when reading.

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

ooh this one took me awhile to come up with! I don't really know if it means like... about my writing as a whole? or just one of my fics? So I'm going with the second. I 100% headcanon that azris is real in my State of Grace series (ace!Elain and amnesia!Feysand). I have more fics planned in this series and hope to get azris' story one day, but i don't have any ideas at all for them yet so it remains headcanon. I also headcanon that when Nesta finds out Feyre thought she was a puca she finds it hilarious (though she'll never admit to it), and doesn't let Feyre live it down for at least a decade.

🍰 Name one eight of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

I have so many for all the different ships let me try and narrow it down😫 and put them below the cut!

Feysand:

The A Court of Faded Dreams series and The Outlier, both by the-lonelybarricade. ACoFD is so good at making the angst of UTM and the fallout of time travel be heartwarming, and is definitely a favorite of mine to reread. Meanwhile The Outlier is adorable and definitely a comfort fic when I want to read something short and sweet with flustered!Rhys.

A Court Outside of Time by Sonata_IX - I reread this one so often its not even funny. Feyre trying to seduce Rhys while he's still wearing his UTM mask is hilarious, heartbreaking, heartwarming, and all around amazing. And the Starfall scene???? Rhys learning he's going to be a dad?🥹

What Dreams May Come by as_with_a_sunbeam - sick fic with feyre taking care of Rhys. What else is there to say? Feyre's desperation to save Rhys, only to be as self-sacrificial as him and give him up? It's so good I can feel Rhys' heartbreak every time I read, which makes the happy ending so so sweet.

Nessian:

Anything by TheTeaQueen - she writes Nesta so fucking well and has put out phenomenal fics focusing on Rhys and Nesta bonding. I'm in awe with every single one. Of Death and Resurrection specifically is amazing, and one I return to over and over again.

Begged and Borrowed Time by daughterofthesea - seriously go read this fic. Its so good and heartwarming and heartbreaking all at the same time. One of my favorites hands down - Cassian noticing the embroidery right off the bat? Seeing something that even her sisters haven't noticed? Nesta admitting the truth to him when she can't to anyone else? I die in the best way. 🥹

Elucien:

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room and Don't Blame Me by separatist-apologist are my go-to fics when I need a pick-me-up. I think don't blame me was actually the first of mb's fics I ever read (it is I just checked), and SDIABR will always hold my heart with the fake-courting to real-feelings pipeline, and the way Lucien reacts when he learns of the truth, running around all night to help them out.

Literally the reason it took so many days to post this is that I got sucked into rereading these fics as I linked them😅

[perseusannabeth]

Hello lovey!! It’s your acotar gift exchange Secret Santa here!! A little birdie told me you love Nessian, is that true? ;)

Also… what are your favorite tropes?

I’m so pumped to start working on your gift!!! 💜

Omg hiiii!!! I'm so excited to meet you! And yes I love nessian so i can't wait to see your gift!!!

I could pretty much read anything for nessian, but if you wanna know my true weakness, I just love sick fics. Like, that stuff is like crack to me I just wanna read about one idiot getting sick and then the other taking care of them over and over again. It's a disease.

I don't wanna limit you tho! Like writing fics is hard. I love anything nessian, even angst (as long as it has a happy ending). Also like, if you're feeling a little steamy then smut is always welcome. But it depends!

[serotoninseekermuse]

i FINALLY changed my ao3 username after procrastinating for centuries.

btw I'm about to publish the first chapter of my first stendy fic.

don't come at me for not posting nessian yet, i'm still working on those fics

ANYWAYS there aren't enough stendy-focused fics in the sp fandom and i got sick of that so i wrote one lol

it's going up in a few minutes

[acotardarling]

NESSIAN FIC - A Court of Gold and Soot

Chapter 1

Pride filled Nesta’s heart as she watched the last spar of the day wrap up. The Valkyrie warriors exiting the ring were glistening with sweat. More and more Priestesses had joined their ranks and Nesta was at peace with the small dent she made in the world. She, Gwyn, and Emerie started cleaning up the training ring once all their students had departed.

“Did the mint leaves help?” Gwyn asked, heaving the split logs to the side to be used as firewood. She was referring to the suggestion to use them as a home remedy.

“A little, I think,” Nesta said. “I don’t think they’re strong enough.”

“Even Cassian can’t get your mind off of your ailments?” Emerie teased, raising an eyebrow. Her two best friends had relentlessly teased her after she’d told them that her favorite remedy to get her mind off of soreness from training was a good fuck from her mate.

“Unfortunately, Cassian’s penis isn’t a certified healer,” Nesta said with a smirk. “I don’t know if we’ll ever have the kind of sex that can cure stomach aches.”

“Too bad!” Emeries chided.

“You haven’t felt well in a week,” Gwyn said, concern on her face. It was true – for several days now Nesta’s body had been run down. Her appetite was gone, she was tired at all hours, and she’d get waves of nausea if she’d trained too hard or eaten too quickly.

“Do Fae get sick?” Nesta asked. It took her friends a moment to realize she was serious.

“We can, yeah. Not really human things like colds or flus, but some have allergies, and there are other things we can contract,” Emerie supplied. Nesta thought it over.

“Well if it gets much worse, I’ll send for a healer,” Nesta said. Gwyn smiled.

“Maybe you’re just pregnant,” Emerie laughed, elbowing Nesta in the ribs. Nesta’s expression dropped for a half of a second.

“She’s on preventatives,” said Gwyn. Nesta said nothing as the trio made their way to the library.

Nesta had been distracted by what Emerie said for the first hour or so they were in the library, even thoughs he knew there was a distinct improbability of her being able to conceive. As she walked through the aisles shelving books, the fear loosened its grip on her. Pretty soon it was forgotten entirely.

Cassian was home before Nesta, which was a shocking surprise as of late. He gave her a huge grin as he sat at the dining table. Deep happiness spread throughout her, but she refused to indulge him.

“Nice of you to show up,” she said taking a seat across from him.

“Thoguht I’d grace you with my presence.”

“Whatever you say, bat boy,” Nesta said. She let her eyes roam over him – slowly. She knew what she was doing.

Cassian took note of her eyes traveling over his broad chest, chiseled stomach, and resting on what she could see of his hips. He folded his hands behind his head and gave her a devilish smirk.

Nesta’s body heated at the sight of Cassian across from her. His leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head so that his hips were the focal point. An offering.

“I don’t know if I remember how to do it,” Nesta teased. “It’s been so long.”

“You’re the best at it,” Cassian said. Nesta realized in that moment how much Cassian wanted her lips around him – usually their banter lasted much longer. He wasn’t challenging her, he was too full of desire.

Nesta rose from the table and knelt in front of her mate. His desire was in full view now. She palmed him in a long stroke over his pants and he writhed in response. This would be fun. Her fingers found the laces of his pants and worked out the knots, freeing him. She’d worked him with her hands until his hips bucked towards her face. She smirked and reached behind his head. She tugged at the leather band that held his hair in a knot and released it, quickly using it to tie up her own long locks.

“Fuck, Nes” was all Cassian could manage.

With her hair out of the way, Nesta gripped the base of Cassian’s cock and put her lips round the tip.

She promptly removed him from her mouth and let go. The pressure of him on her tongue made her gag. Twice. Her eyes watered and she begged Cassian realized it was the reflex and not embarrassment (although she was extremely embarrassed).

Cassian lurched forward in shock, fumbling to help his mate. Nesta sat kneeled before him gagging of all things. They’d never had this problem before. Cassian had the problem with other females on multiple occasions, but he’d never been too big for Nesta.

“Shit, babe, are you okay?” Once she recovered she glared up at him. He realized she was fine, if not humbled. Oh this was fantastic for him.

“Don’t. Say. A word.”

“I wouldn’t dare mention how I gagged you with my cock. I thought you liked it rough, Nes, you barely touched me.” He couldn’t help the cocky grin he knew she despised.

“Oh don’t let this go to your head, you Illyrian baby.” Nesta gave him her best doe eyes to try and salvage the mood. “Lean back,” she said, voice as husky as she could muster.

“Don’t even think about it.” Both Cassian and Nesta whirled around to see shadows drifting from around the corner. “This is a dining room, not a sex dungeon,” Azriel reprimanded. Nesta stood up and quickly tore out the leather in her hair, tossing it at Cassian a little harder than she should have. Cassian felt no remorse, he was too entertained by the whole event.

“Sorry, Az. It’s been a while since you flexed your chaperone hat,” he quipped. Azriel rolled his eyes.

“I’m starving,” Azriel said changing the subject and sitting down. He served himself from the House’s elaborate spread – roast, asparagus, fried lemons, and mashed potatoes. Nesta’s mouth watered. She speared some of everything and dug in.

“You like fried lemons?” Azriel asked her.

“I’ve never tried them, they never appealed. They’re delicious,” Nesta said between bites. It wasn’t like Azriel to inquire about her food choices.

Soon enough, the meal ended which saw Azriel retreating to his room and Cassian and Nesta lazily cuddling in bed. Most nights, this was the most Nesta could expect. Cassian’s light snores filled the silence soon enough. He’d been adapting to his Courtier duties the only way he knew how – to work relentlessly until it was second nature to him. If he wasn’t off in some far away land or overseeing progress at Windhaven, he’d either be in the training ring, keeping up strength and appearances, instructing Priestesses, or hanging out with his nephew. Lately he’d been complaining of how few hours there were in the day. Nesta didn’t necessarily feel like an afterthought – she knew how this work fulfilled Cassian. She just missed him. She knew if she voiced this he’d drop what he could to be around more, but she refused to be a pining wife. First of all, they weren’t married yet. Second of all, Nesta’s schedule was anything but bland. She maintained training in the mornings – sessions for herself to exercise her mind as well as sessions where she instructed. She also worked in the library, helped Emerie in the store, and visited Windhaven when Cass couldn’t. She’d also promised Cassian last solstice that she’d make more of an effort with her sisters, which apparently meant weekly meals with both of them.

It was a busy time to be alive, but Nesta knew how lucky she was to be busy. She used to rot all day in poverty, insecure and freezing cold. She never would have pictured savoring moments with those around her.

The thoughts comforted her as she drifted into sleep, wrapping her body around Cassian’s.

Nesta bolted upright in bed. Based on the darkness seeping in from the windows, she could tell it was early morning. The contents of her stomach were churning aggressively. She reached out to her bedside table for a mint leaf to chew on. The smell of mint only made it worse. She sat stiff as a board and focused on breathing until the nausea subsided.

Next to her, Cassian stirred but thankfully stayed asleep despite the commotion. After earlier’s incident in the dining room, Nesta couldn’t take anymore humiliation.

The peak of the nausea passed her, although the subtle taste of acrid bile remained. Nesta carefully got up to retrieve a glass of water.

She and Cassian had left much of their house the same after it was gifted by her brother in law, but she couldn’t help adding some personal touches. She’d added some squashy chairs to their personal library, where she, Emerie, and Gwyn spent much of their leisure time. It was while crossing through the library that a secondary stomach pain struck. She plopped into her favorite armchair as vomit rose in her throat.

No. she thought. Not on her new rug. She willed everything inside her to remain where it’s supposed to be.

“Here,” she heard a voice say. She jolted, just as Azriel revealed himself from the shadows, a delicious looking glass of water in hand. She said nothing, but outstretched her hand. She liked Azriel, and usually gave him the grace of starting the conversation. This time she didn’t feel up to it.

Azriel stood leaning against a nearby wall. The quiet didn’t bother him. He noted Nesta appraising him and noted the hesitation in her face.

“You’ve been ill,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Nesta was aware of Az’s instinctual interrogation tactics – make claims until your interviewee either corroborates or denies and go from there. She wasn’t surprised Azriel noticed she wasn’t feeling good. Besides his gods-given talent for noticing details, his shadows told him what was happening in the house, and he kept especially close tabs on those he cared about. He’d really started to appreciate Nesta in the months since her and his brother mated. Cassian brought a lightness to her and a gentleness that he supposed even her sisters had never known. Accustomed to being an outsider, Nesta noticed when Azriel got too in his head and was always able to draw him out. They had a sort of symbiotic relationship.

“A shame the lemons didn’t help,” he said with a smile. Something clicked within Nesta. Emerie’s joke replayed in her mind. Maybe you’re just pregnant.

A cold sweat shivered down Nesta’s spine. Nausea, sensitivity to smell, fatigue, inhaling foods she’d never cared for before. She couldn’t go down this rabbit hole in front of Cassian, who was starting to question the silence.

Several beats passed before Az asked, “Do you need anything else?” Nesta composed herself, dragging up her defenses.

“No,” she said. A forced calm masked her voice, but Az noticed her shoulders stiffen.

“You sure?” he prodded. The corner of his mouth quirked up. He didn’t mind providing the extra nudge, knowing Nesta oftened required more than one offer of help.

Nesta adjusted her posture ever so slightly, maintaining the picture of ease. “I’m fine, I actually think the lemons disagreed with me. Cassian doesn’t need to know.” The words were heavy in the air.

“I wasn’t going to tell him,” Az said. He assumed she would – her knew for a fact that her and Cassian were open with each other. He’d heard more than his fair share of pillow talk from the pair. But Nesta’s request weighed on him. Why would she take special care to keep this from her mate? He wasn’t as overbearing as Rhysand was towards Feyre, and he’d probably be happy to help in any way she’d allow.

“He’s been so busy. He doesn’t need to worry about this.” She waved a hand, feigning nonchalance as she surveyed Azriel just as much as he surveyed her. The Shadowsinger was standing so still it’s as if he could vanish in a blink – like if she didn’t stare him down he’d disappear.

Azriel couldn’t – wouldn’t – lie to his brother. But if Cassian didn’t breach the subject of Nesta’s health, Azriel supposed he’d have no reason to bring it up. Even though his shadows felt that she was yielding Cassian’s busy schedule as an excuse, Az knew there was truth to it. It’d been decades since he’d seen Cass worked so hard. He also knew that both Cass and Rhys would take on additional tasks for him, sparing him burden. Azriel thought this situation much the same – he’d swallow this truth to lighten Cassian’s load.

“Goodnight, Nesta,” he said. He let his shadows linger just a moment before they, too, retreated. As Nesta tiptoed back into her room, she was startled to see Cass looking back at her, grinning.

“Where’d you go?” he asked grinning.

“Thirsty. Didn’t have any water at the bedside,” was all she replied. Her eyelids suddenly felt so, so heavy.

The male in her bed stretched out his arms and wings. “Apologies, I’ll make sure there’s a pitcher of water and a glass from now on. Or maybe I’ll ask Rhys if we could get a well installed,” he said, his smile growing. Although he was more awake than Nesta would prefer, she still noticed the evidence of sleep on her mate. Slow, deep breaths, a cozy, warm temperature, and sleep dusting his waterline. All she wanted was to lay in bed, absorb the heat from Cassian’s perfectly chiseled body, and close her heavy eyes. She didn’t even have the energy to worry about what might be wrong with her.

He beckoned her to him and she obliged, happily slipping under the covers. He wrapped a broad, callused hand under her waist and pulled her close, nuzzling her neck right where she loved. She felt his fingers glide through her long, unbound hair, until eventually flowing past her ends and resting on the swell of her ass. Nesta noticed a familiar pressure pushing against her from behind. The nose that was nuzzling her was replaced by a tongue. Nesta felt her breasts tighten in response.

“It’s 2AM Cassian,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, but it’s you, Ness,” he replied. His hand snaked toward her chest, but she stopped it in its path.

“No, Cassian,” she said. He stopped immediately, pulling back a little to take a better look at his mate. The peaceful sleepy haze cleared around him.

“Are you okay?” he asked her. This was the first time Nesta had ever denied any of his advances. They’d had romps at much more inconvenient times and places.

“Mhm, is it really so hard to believe anyone might resist you for some decent sleep?” his mate replied. He wasn’t buying it. He flipped Nesta over effortlessly and let his eyes assess hers. Physically, she seemed fine.

“Did I hurt you last time?” guilty already started to bubble up.

“No, of course not,” Nesta said quickly, “you should know by now I can handle you. All of you.” Her gaze dropped below his waist for a fraction of a second and he felt his body respond. He was powerless against her. Always.

Ignoring the response of his body, he didn’t give her a smile. He continued to hold her gray-blue gaze. She marked the concern in his eyes.

“Okay,” she conceded. “I might be a little sore.” The lie burned her throat, but that seed of defense eased as Cassian’s’ smirk returned.

“Sure you don’t want me to kiss it better? I’d be more than happy.” She returned his smile and planted a quick kiss on his lips before turning over and closing her eyes. The thought that she didn’t deserve Cassian echoed in her skull until sleep over took her.

When she awoke she was in the middle of their bed, Cassian’s absence almost palpable. She knew he’d be with the Illyrians. Devlon had been making sure that every spare moment Cassian had was spent in the frigid mountains thanks to his refusal to comply with Cass’s orders to train the females. Sometimes Nesta would join, but today she needed to see a healer. Rhys had wanted his Inner Circle to use Madja but Nesta didn’t want anyone whose allegiance was more towards the High Lord than their patient to oversee her healthcare.

She slipped on a comfortable pair of leather leggings and a warm sweater before heading out. Without sending for Madja, she’d have to go into Velaris on her own. As she prepared to take on the 10,000 steps to the city, her stomach lurched much worse than last night’s bout. She ran to the bathroom and vomited until nothing was left. As she rinsed her mouth she realized the stairs weren’t an option. She was too weak, and didn’t want to risk being ill in the stairs. Cass had once told her of a time he, Az, and Rhys had gotten sick on the stairs and how putrid it was.

“Azriel,” she said aloud. Those nosey shadows would fetch him if he was home. Soon enough, quiet footsteps entered the room. Azriel stood there, bare chested and skin flushed. Her caught her eyes roaming him over.

“Training ring,” he said as both greeting and explanation. The warrior was still catching his breath. Nesta quickly snapped her eyes to his face and kept them there.

“I need to speak to Feyre,” she said as evenly as she could. As much as she trusted the Shadowsinger, she didn’t want him to know she was off to a clinic. She figured Feyre taking her to Velaris posed a better chance of her transporter not knowing her final destination. Her sister was so recognizable in the city, it’d be much easier to slip away from her in the crowd to find a clinic that it would be to sneak away from someone who controlled the shadows.

Az nodded and tugged on his shirt before carefully laying his scarred hands under Nesta’s knees and around her waist before lifting them skyward. The wind felt fantastic in Nesta’s long hair. She turned her face towards the sun and let the warm rays kiss her face.

Before long, the River House came into view. Nesta knew by the hollow gaze in Az’s eyes that he was sending a mental message to his High Lord and Lady about their arrival. Knowing them, it was also most likely doubling as a warning to get decent for company.

Azriel’s landing was impeccably smooth. So was his swift but secure release of her from his arms. Nesta nodded her head as a thank you before stepping through the front doors.

Feyre and Rhys stood in the foyer, seemingly awaiting her arrival. As she felt Az’s presence enter behind her she knew she’d been right about the mental messaging.

“Glad you got the smoke signal –Lady Death has arrived,” Nesta said, knowing the coldness in her tone got under Rhys’s skin. Feyre said nothing, but wore a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Are you available for a trip into the city?” Nesta cut to the chase.

Her youngest sister shifted against her mate whose hand rested on the small of her back. Always protecting. Always around Nesta.

“I could make a trip,” Feyre replied. “As long as Rhys doesn’t mind watching Nyx alone.”

“I never mind being with my son,” Rhys said. “Besides, Cerridwen and Nuala are always available in urgent matters.” He shot Nesta a look, as if letting her know that he could be at Feyre’s side in a heartbeat. Evil Nesta was the constant refrain.

“Wonderful,” Nesta said, completely void of emotion. She turned on her heel, content to end the interaction there. A moment later Feyre joined her outside. Nesta silently offered her hand. Feyre winnowed them into the Artist’s quarters in town. If she hadn’t been so horrifically dizzy and ill from the winnowing, Nesta would have noticed they’d landed near Feyre’s public art studio. But unfortunately, Nesta’s already uneasy stomach was spiraling. As soon as her feet felt secure on the cobblestone, her guts tried to empty again, producing only bile and a terrible cacophony of retching.

“Nesta,” Feyre gasped, rushing forward to gather Nesta’s long hair.

“Don’t tell them,” Nesta choked out between heaves. “Do not message Rhysand.” Her voice was an icy command. Feyre’s hands which had just been re-gathering the hair at the temples of her sister’s head froze. Faltered. But she said nothing, which Nesta knew amounted to an agreement.

Nesta straightened, summoning every bit of dignity in her as passerbyers ogled at the high Lady and her vomiting sister.

“I’ll send for Madja when we’re home,” Feyre offered.

“Not necessary. I’m here to see a healer. I’m not involving Madja.” Nesta knew the words would hurt Feyre. They were laced with an inherent mistrust of Feyre’s Inner Circle. Of her true family, the one Nesta never would fully amount to. She hadn’t planned on Feyre knowing her whereabouts at all. She hadn’t counted on being ill so publicly.

“I’ll walk you to a clinic,” was all she said, her voice revealing no evidence of the hurt Nesta seemed to so easily inflict. Nesta was grateful Feyre asked no follow up questions. The silence between them gave way to the guilty thoughts that always seemed to lurk in Nesta’s head.

The eddy of dark thoughts only disappeared from her head as she registered that Feyre stopped and motioned towards a front door. “Do you want to be alone?” Feyre asked. Nesta sensed the forced indifference. She opened her mouth to say yes but the words caught in her throat. Something cracked inside her. The defense that was telling her to keep secrets from Cassian and Azriel turned into fear that stuck in her chest. She didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t

“Come with me.” The words surprised Feyre. Nesta let the genuine fear rise in her eyes, letting them express what her words couldn’t. Something was wrong and Nesta didn’t know what.

Feyre sat in the corner of the room, present, but not overbearing. The healer had stunning amethyst eyes and beautiful brown skin. Her nails were long and accented the deep wrinkles in her hands. This healer was experienced. Probably not as experienced as Madja, but enough to earn Nesta’s innate trust.

“You’re pregnant,” the healer said matter of factly. “Barely two weeks. I’m surprised you’re having symptoms. Your scent is barely noticeable.” The words rolled out of the healer’s mouth and slammed into Nesta. Pregnant? How? She’d been taking a contraceptive tonic. She didn’t want this

Besides her Feyre gasped. Fuck Nesta thought. She was deeply regretting asking her sister to come.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the healer said, likely noting their pale complexions and blank expressions. Feyre composed herself and gave the old female one of her most diplomatic smiles. Nesta didn’t bother. The healer paused at the door to say “There are options, Ms. Archeron. Just so you’re aware.” The door closed behind her.

Feyre quickly threw up a block of air, shielding their conversation from any unexpected listeners. She reinforced her mental shields as well. Right now, this was none of her High Lord’s business.

“Nesta,” she started tentatively. “This is good. Cassian will be thrilled. I didn’t know you were trying.” She was optimistically giving Nesta the benefit of the doubt.

Nesta’s head turned, shadows clouding her eyes. It was as if a flame of that freezing abandoned fire flared.

“We weren’t trying. I’m on a contraceptive drink.” The words struggled to escape from the tight-lipped expression of Nesta’s angular face. Feyre absorbed the info, unsure of what to think. As someone who’d previously taken the medicine, she knew the rules. Every month, same time, the whole drink.

“Did you miss a day?”

“No,” Nesta said. “Well yes. By one day, but Cassian and I hadn’t been together the day I missed it. It shouldn’t matter, I took it the very next morning after the effects expired, and didn’t even have a male to bed the one day I wasn’t protected.”

For the first time in Feyre’s memory, Nesta looked unsure. She wasn’t sure what thoughts were unfurling but she noticed her chest heaving quickly up and down, followed by a tremor through Nesta’s whole body. Tears slipped down her cheeks and broke Feyre’s heart.

Here was her strong, unrelenting sister. The one who’d beheaded the King of Hybern, completed the Blood Rite, and stolen from the Cauldron. She became the picture of undiluted terror.

The need to protect overtook everything else. That spark of power filled Feyre with light, allowing her to take on wings. Her body protested as she tucked Nesta in her arms and took off. Flying wasn’t her strong suit, but she knew she needed to get Nesta far away. That thought propelled her through the sky, pumping past the burning in her shoulders. There would be time once they landed for Nesta to explain exactly what caused such an intense panic.

Feyre flew and flew and Nesta cried and cried for miles until Feyre’s back was protesting so fiercely she worried they’d fall right out of the sky. She spotted a cave tucked in the expanse below. She knew they were headed towards Ramiel. The image of Nesta strong and powerful conquering the Blood. Rite pounded in Feyre’s head. It was early summer, meaning that this year’s Blood rite concluded not long ago, ensuring there would be no rogue Illyrians. Even the monsters seemed to be out of season.

Once they landed, Nesta stood still. She didn’t move or talk or blink. For a moment, Feyre worried she’d been foolish to run away with Nesta. She was out of range to use her Daemati power and she barely knew the area. They had no food, water, or weapons save the dagger Feyre never left home without.

Numbly, without speaking, Nesta shuffled into the nearby cave. Feyre winced as she tucked her wings in tight enough to fit through the mouth of the dwelling.

Watery eyes peered up at Feyre. She was struck by how clearly her sister’s expression reminded her of Nyx. She recognized that vulnerable, innocent sadness that painted her son’s expression after a bad dream now on her sister’s face.

“Nesta,” was all she said as she folded her into her arms. It had been ages since they’d hugged. Nesta’s body was so different since the last time they’d hugged. She was sturdier, with muscle packed on from hours of training with Cassian.

Cassian… he was blind to this. Of his child’s existence, of his mate’s sadness.

Nesta rested in her sister’s arms until the sky turned into a pinkish sunset. She appreciated the silence that Feyre allowed. She appreciated the solid hold around her. She slid her mental shield low enough for Feyre to notice and understand the gratitude.

“Always,” was all Feyre said. “What do you want to do? Immediately, I mean.” Nesta loosed a breath, not ready to face the biggest of her several impending decisions.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to see Cassian.” Feyre’s heart ached for Cass, but she understood that Nesta needed time to think.

“Alright. What should I tell Rhys? He’s been prodding at my shield for hours.”

“I don’t care,” Nesta snapped. In a way, Feyre was glad to see anything but the shell Nesta was sliding into. “Tell him we’re camping. Tell him I’m running away. Tell him nothing for all I care.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could consider them -- consider that whatever Feyre told Rhysand was what Cassian would be told.

Feyre’s eyes were scanning the blue-gray eyes that mirrored her own. Nesta seemed to be searching for a right answer, but she wasn’t sure there was one.

“Tell him I need space,” she started again. Timidly. Gently. “Tell him I’m questioning my relationship. I needed to leave. That you took me away to stay sober.” The words tasted like acid as they left her lips. She had cried enough today. Weak. She pushed that dark, destructive feeling down until it no longer weighed enough to suffocate her.

Feyre’s jaw hung open. “They’ll never believe that.”

“They will. He will,” Nesta countered, referring to Cassian. “Cassian wanted sex last night and I refused him. He knows it wasn’t normal and he knows I broke my sobriety, he’ll figure staying is a true risk. I’ll need to be away.” She felt her heart tumble towards her stomach and couldn’t bring her gaze to meet Feyre’s.

“I didn’t know,” Feyre whispered. She wasn’t asking for more details, Nesta knew, but it felt right to explain anyway.

“A few weeks ago I drank. It was the first time doing so since I went to train with Cassian. My tolerance was so low. Even after one glass I was tipsy. But there was also euphoria. That drink turned into a second. I don’t even remember how many. My memory turned into blackness. I don’t know how the night ended, but I woke up at home. This was the night I missed taking my tonic. It had expired that night. Cassian wasn’t home.”

The truth of what Nesta was saying sank info Feyre like a stone dropped in water. The panic made sense. If Nesta could have only gotten pregnant on a night when Cassian was gone then that meant…

“It’s not Cassian’s’ child.” Feyre’s heart clenched as she whispered the words aloud. Nesta’s face betrayed none of what she was feeling. “I’ll send Rhys your message.”

[theladyofbloodshed]

Prompt-

Nessian sickfic ( cause I love angst and fluff and sicfics are my ultimate guilty pleasure ) where maybe Nesta is sick but she ignores it (cause she is stubborn and refuses to admit that she's unwell & she doesn't want to bother anyone) and goes about her day as normal ( training and all that ) continuously covering up for any ' slip-ups ' (like being slow during training and brushing it off when it's pointed out or something) and then she like maybe passes out infront of everyone at family dinner ( with the IC and the valkyries and all) or something and they all freak out ( cause I've decided that Nesta is truly cared for and loved in this fic ) and go mother hen on her cause she deserves to be coddled.But then there is also Cassian whose upset she didn't say anything and all that stuff...idk I think you can execute this idea better.

It is one of those fics I've always wanted to see (where nesta is coddled and cared for in a domestic sense) but have never found one.

It's okay if you don't want to write this though.I understand that it can be a weird request for some😅

Thanks for the prompt!

Black dots swarmed Nesta’s vision. She gripped the ledge harder, willing her body to right itself. She took another drink of water to steady herself.

‘You alright?’ Emerie narrowed her eyes at her, eyeing the shake in her hand as she pressed the cup to her lips.

‘I think my cycle is coming,’ she grumbled.

A look of sympathy passed Emerie’s face. Nesta still wasn’t used to fae menstrual cycles. They were less frequent at least than when she was mortal, but they were much, much worse. She had woken with dizziness. For once, she was thankful that Cassian had left the bed earlier than her because he’d only fuss at her staggering steps or the way her hip collided with the door frame. Nesta had pressed her face to the cool tiles in the bathroom, tamping down the temperature that had bubbled up in the bedsheets.

Since being turned, she’d only experienced two cycles and they’d been hell. This one was different however, already making her toes feel numb, her movements slow and laboured before it had really begun.

‘Do you need to stop?’

The other priestesses were still hard at work; Azriel oversaw the new recruits with his quiet, patient manner, while the tyrant was barking orders at the other end. Nesta had already snapped at Cassian for taking his bad mood out on the rest of them. For that, she’d had to drop and do twenty push-ups. Not doing them meant she was undermining him – and Cauldron forbid she endure Emerie and Gwyn’s teasing over preferential treatment if she didn’t. So, Nesta had gritted her teeth and forced her body down then back up, even when the whole roof was spinning in her vision. She thought her mate might have noticed her struggling when he put her out of her misery and stopped her at eighteen then ordered her to take a drink.

‘I’m fine.’ But she wouldn’t be if Cassian carried on drilling them this hard. He’d had an argument with Rhys over something and had taken it to heart. ‘I’ll speak to the slave-driver.’

Cassian had his arms folded, brows furrowed, watching the priestesses sparring with each other. Nesta came to stand beside him. The arm she looped through his was not a comfort – it was for her own stability.

‘Will you tone it down?’

‘Going too hard on you, sweetheart?’

‘You know exactly how hard I can take it,’ she murmured, admiring the way his pupils flared at her words. ‘But you’re working with priestesses from the library, not battle-hardened Illyrian males. Ease up or when you’re pushed off the roof, I’ll feign ignorance.’

Sweat ran down the females’ faces. Gwyn was puffing and panting, too breathless to even talk. The harsh din of their swords smashing together was beginning to make Nesta wince. Each clang struck against her temples.

‘Why don’t you show me just how gentle you want me to be?’

The challenge in Cassian’s eyes would have been something Nesta would rise to meet usually, but she wanted to be under a blanket. If she voiced any sort of hurt, he’d fuss too much. A few weeks earlier, she’d twisted her ankle and he’d acted like her life was hanging by a thread, forcing them all to stop, carrying her across the roof, demanding Azriel fetch Madja. Nesta shuddered at the memory.

It was just a cycle. It was normal to feel absolutely horrendous, but everybody got on with it. And so would she. Nesta let out a sigh and retrieved her sword. ‘Must you turn everything into foreplay?’

Cassian grinned at her. ‘One track mind.’

It was not unnoticed by Cassian that she moved more sluggish than usual or that her arm continued to drop. He only chided her for staying up late with her book. When he managed to disarm her lazily, due to her slow reaction times, he forced her to pick up her sword again and again.

‘Complacency will get you killed.’

‘That’s preferable right now,’ she muttered. The throb in her head was growing worse. If there was anymore pressure, her head might explode. She told herself to toughen up, that some of these priestesses might even be on their cycle right now and they were not causing a fuss. It hadn’t felt like this before though, she hadn’t been so nauseous and dizzy, so hot then cold.

‘Again,’ Cassian demanded. ‘Try and disarm me.’

Every time that Nesta lunged at him, her stomach churned more. Her whole body was drenched with sweat. The sage advice he offered went over her head because she was too focused on staying upright.

When she had finally managed to disarm him – thanks to a distraction tactic from Emerie and Gwyn – Nesta raced towards the nearest bin and hurled up her insides. Black encroached on her vision again as she sucked in air, kneeling with her arms wrapped around the bin.

Cassian’s hand was too hot, too heavy on her neck although he meant well. Worry nibbled at his expression already. ‘What’s wrong? Are you sick?’

‘I’m fine,’ she clipped, pushing up from the ground. ‘Pushed through a stitch.’

A cool shadow brushed across Nesta’s forehead then returned back to Azriel. He watched her carefully then said, ‘It’s probably time to stop for today.’

The priestesses who’d been drilled by Cassian all sagged with relief or dropped to the floor clutching their stomachs, making her lie more believable. This was the time where her mate would go around offering generous praise sprinkled with advice while they stretched to ensure each priestess left satisfied rather than groaning. They had started letting whichever female was bravest lead the cool down too which helped grow their confidence.

It had become a ritual to wait until all the priestesses had departed before she went inside herself, to not leave them with Cassian or Azriel alone. The males would never touch them, but if her presence eased their worries then Nesta was happy to stay.

‘What time should I come for the dinner?’ Gwyn asked, rubbing her hands together.

‘Six,’ Azriel replied swifter than Nesta could process the question.

‘You’re welcome to come earlier,’ Cassian added. He gestured to Emerie. ‘Emerie will be here too.’

They had only had a few dinners altogether; Nesta had spent them sandwiched between the two females at the far end of the table enjoying their own private conversation. Usually, she’d look forward to it – to at least have fun while the inner circle stroked their own egos – but with every passing moment, she felt worse and worse. Taking that excitement from Emerie and Gwyn’s eyes was an abhorrent thought though, so Nesta straightened up and continued on.

In the few hours that followed, Cassian returned to Illyria – likely to run off the end of his bad mood on some poor unsuspecting male there. In a sheepish voice, Emerie asked if she could take a shower and a nap in a spare room since she was exhausted from training. Nesta almost tore her arm off in eagerness at the offer.

Instead of seizing the opportunity to catch up on sleep in a tranquil House of Wind however, Nesta ended up clutching the toilet again. She had tried to breathe through the cramps squeezing her stomach while the bed felt like a boat on a tumultuous sea, until she’d raced to the bathroom to retch up every last drop of that morning’s breakfast. If she fixated on a spot on the wall then the whole house didn’t feel as if it was tipping on its side. One moment she was fevered, tearing at her clothes for some relief and the next, her body trembled beneath a blanket. Just a cycle, she told herself again.

When they were all seated at the table, the smells wafting from the kitchen heightened her nausea. The conversations swirled around her. Mor’s ringing laughter was like the peal of a high-pitched bell scraping in her mind. The deep rumble of Cassian’s voice shook her eardrums so violently that Nesta fought the urge to clamp her hands over her ears. She did, however, grip her forehead.

‘Are you well, Nesta?’ Elain asked, her hand stilled as it reached for a dish.

‘Fine. I forget how loud those two are.’ Cassian and Mor were like a pair of hyenas together, one high-pitched and yipping, the other capable of shaking the room with his voice.

Lucien smiled. The motion had the scar on his face tightening. ‘I’m glad we picked this end of the table.’

The heat from the dishes rose around the table. Nesta had worn a plain grey gown, suitable for the autumn day, but it suddenly felt too thick on her body. Her armpits were turning into a swamp and she fanned her face.

‘You don’t look good.’

Nesta blew out a breath through her pursed lips. ‘That was rude.’

Gwyn shook her hair from her face. ‘I mean that you look sick, Nesta.’

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she lied, reaching for the dish of buttery parsnips.

The idea of putting anything in her mouth already had her gag reflex pulsing, but Nesta was nothing if not iron-willed. She forced down a forkful of her dinner then another. She sliced into the tender cut of lamb on her plate, barely chewing before swallowing that too. Heat radiated from her skin. Her dress was clinging to the sweat pooling on her back.

‘You’re sweating,’ Gwyn whispered.

‘Meat sweats,’ replied Nesta, waving away her concern. She jerked the cut of her dress from her chest, flapping it a few times to try and cool herself. Her skin was clammy, speech slurring. ‘It’s hot in here, isn’t it? I need a window.’

It was a mistake to stand so quickly. The floor shifted under her feet so the table appeared as if it was rising into the air as her vision swam. Nesta took a step closer to the window, forcing her feet to move, hoping the blurriness marring her sight would right itself.

Black swamped her. At first, she thought it was Cassian engulfing her with his mighty wings, but her feet kept moving, almost running forwards to save herself. Each beat of her heart was slower, weaker, like a feeble fluttering in her chest.

***

‘Has she been drinking?’ Mor murmured, kicking him under the table.

Cassian jerked his head towards the far end of the table where Nesta was rising unsteadily. Feyre frowned. Beside him, he felt Rhys tense.

‘Hot here. I’m need. Window.’

Nesta’s head lolled to the side as she slurred her speech. Cassian shot from the chair, hurdling towards her, but not quick enough. Nesta fell forwards as she fainted, face smashing into the windowsill on her way to the floor.

‘Shit.’

‘Cauldon, is she alright?’

‘I’ll get Madja.’

‘Oh my goodness!’

Cassian turned Nesta over. She’d taken a chunk out of her eyebrow and the gash was bleeding steadily, but she remained unconscious.

‘Lift her legs,’ Lucien advised, joining him on the floor beside her.

He followed the male’s commandment, raising Nesta’s legs by the ankles and holding them aloft. His throat was dry. Blood pounded in Cassian’s eardrums.

‘She’s only fainted,’ he reassured though it didn’t help. He’d not been quick enough to get to her.

It could only have been thirty seconds at most, yet each one was drawn out to an eternity. Finally, Nesta’s eyes opened groggily. She tried to push up then flopped back down, groaning and clutching the handkerchief Lucien had pressed over her wound.

‘I’m not sick,’ she announced.

‘Like hell you’re not,’ Cassian fumed.

Azriel appeared by them, face knotted with concern. ‘Carry her to bed, she needs to be somewhere soft.’

Elain hurried ahead of them opening each door then peeled back the duvet for Cassian to tuck his mate into – but her skin was like a furnace. The window latch clicked as Emerie opened both to allow the cool evening breeze in.

‘How long has she been sick for?’ Feyre strode from the bathroom brandishing a damp cloth and pressed it to her elder sister’s forehead.

Guilt writhed in Cassian’s stomach. She’d been lethargic in training, but he’d put it down to the fact she’d been awake until the early hours with her book. Damn Azriel for buying her that tiny faelight booklight which meant she’d lay there with the blanket over her head reading and reading until exhaustion took over her body.

‘I’m fine,’ she protested. ‘We can continue dinner.’

The dribble of blood down her face together with the rapidly swelling lump did nothing to convince any of them that Nesta was fine. Her golden hair was damp with sweat. Nobody missed the way she screwed her eyes shut and took shaky little breaths each time she adjusted position.

A rumble of power in the room alerted them to Rhys’ return with the kindly healer, Madja. They swept the growing crowd from the bedside and Cassian inwardly grimaced at the mess he and Nesta had left it in. If she was in a fit state, she’d be shooing them all out of the room rather than let them see her personal things.

‘How long have you had symptoms for?’

‘I’m not sick,’ Nesta repeated. ‘There’s no need to fuss.’

‘Let Madja clean your eyebrow at least,’ Rhys suggested. Feyre had come to stand by him, her mouth twisting with worry. He rubbed her arm with soothing circles.

Dependable Nesta who never let anything pin her down for long, was still putting up a fight. She forced herself upright, clamping her jaw together as she did so. After steeling her nerves, Nesta swung her legs onto the floor and pushed herself to a standing position. The simple move had her sweating with exertion, but she would not meet the eyes of any in the room.

‘There,’ she said shakily. ‘Fine.’

Madja made a noise that could have been a laugh. ‘Walk to the bathroom for me, Nesta.’

The healer jerked her chin towards Nesta as a sign they should flock around her. His mate made it all of three steps before her knees began to quiver and she fainted again. This time, Lucien and Elain had their arms around her, guiding her unconscious form back to the bed. Gwyn lifted Nesta’s ankle and wedged a pillow beneath them.

‘Why won’t she let us take care of her?’ Feyre murmured.

Because Nesta never wanted that to be held over her, Cassian thought. Because Feyre had hunted for her, and all of them had used that to guilt-trip Nesta for a couple of years. She hated depending on anybody. It had taken months before she would let him make her something to eat or help her with sharpening weapons. She’d always eye him suspiciously, worried that he might only be doing it because he wanted something in return.

‘Do you know what symptoms she’s been displaying and for how long?’

At the healer’s question, Cassian could feel his cheeks burning. No, he hadn’t realised his mate was sick. If she’d felt that way for a while, she’d hidden it from him. Shame washed over him.

In the corner, Emerie cleared her throat. ‘She said her cycle is coming.’

‘She vomited during training,’ added Azriel.  

Madja placed the back of her hand to Nesta’s forehead. Her magic crawled over her, seeking an ailment. ‘It’s not her cycle. She has a virus. A nasty one. And because of this,’ she gestured to the gash on her brow, ‘I’d wager a concussion too.’

Her magic, a pale, yellow glow, knitted Nesta’s skin back together once the wound had been cleaned with antiseptic.

‘There’s nothing to do except let the virus run its course. Fae sickness is different to mortal ones - it is good if she is able to fight it with her own immune system.’

‘What can be done?’

‘Rest,’ Madja replied to her high lord. ‘For the nausea, bland foods. Try and get her to eat small amounts at a time. Plain toast, bananas, apple sauce. Don’t force her to eat if it makes her sick.’

‘Tea?’ Mor suggested.

‘Ginger can settle a stomach. Peppermint can be useful. Keep her in bed.’

‘Cass will have no issue with that,’ Rhys joked.

Over the laughter, Madja continued, ‘She must rest. No intercourse. While her body fights it, she’ll need lots of sleep. I can provide a tonic that will help her to sleep through fevers too, and another for the pain.’

The room quietened down with Mor, Azriel, and Lucien filing out with the healer. Mor had rustled through the cupboards but only found black tea, which she’d brewed anyway and rested on the bedside table before departing. Feyre loaded up a tray of leftovers and brought it into the bedroom. They picked at food quietly while Nesta slumbered in the bed. Elain perched on the edge of the mattress, holding the cold compress to her sister’s head and taking every opportunity to smooth the blankets around her body.

‘What can I do?’ Rhys asked.

Feyre drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair she’d dragged in from the living room. ‘We have ginger at home, I think. Maybe even peppermint tea. Could you fetch that?’

‘Anything else? Bananas? I can ask one of the twins to make fresh bread. What kind does Nesta like?’

‘Seeds,’ Cassian said. ‘She loves the loaves packed with seeds.

‘Emerie, do you want to stay? Or I can take you back to Illyria?’

At the address from her high lord, Emerie blushed but held her head high. ‘Could I return? Can I come back in the morning? Before training?’ Gwyn nodded eagerly at her side.

The two Valkyries departed, leaving Cassian with all three Archerons. Feyre had taken up the space on the other side of Nesta; both sisters keeping a vigil by the eldest who was stirring slightly. Cassian sat in the chair, fighting against the instinct to move both Feyre and Elain away from his mate so he could be the one beside her. But she hadn’t told him she’d felt unwell. The pain of it was a raw wound, sensitive to touch. He’d forced her to drop into push ups for complaining. Pushed her hard enough that she’d vomited because Nesta would never back down from anything.

‘She never gets sick,’ Feyre mused. She’d folded together a loose sheet of parchment into a fan which she used to gently waft a breeze over Nesta’s blazing skin.

Cassian hadn’t known her to get sick either. Mortals generally were sicker than fae; their bodies were weaker, more prone to picking up illnesses and infection. Even at her lowest, with not an inch of fat or no food in her stomach, Nesta still wasn’t sick.

‘She does,’ Elain countered. ‘But she tells her body she’s not and pushes through.’

‘Only Nesta’s mind could disagree with the rest of her body.’

‘One time when you left… to Prythian, Nesta had the flu but she still went out and chopped wood for the fire. She wouldn’t take a rest, just snapped at me in that way of hers that she was fine.’

Cassian wanted to ask why their father hadn’t gone out to do it, to let his daughter rest when she was unwell. Or why Elain herself had watched Nesta do it rather than volunteering. It was not the time to reopen old wounds, but Cassian still carried grief over the struggles Nesta had been forced to endure in the broken-down cottage they called home.

Rhys returned with an entire banana tree. Its leaves brushed against the ceiling and the house seemed to stretch upwards to accommodate its size.

‘A whole tree, Rhys?’

‘Day Court,’ he puffed, dragging it into the bedroom by its large, ceramic pot. ‘It will be better for Nesta if the fruit is fresh.’

‘A whole tree?’ Feyre repeated.

From thin air, Rhys produced a bag. ‘Ginger tea. Peppermint tea. Peppermint and spearmint tea. Ginger and peach tea. Lemon, ginger and honey.’

‘Fuck, Rhys how many did you buy?’

He set them all out on the desk, swiping away Cassian’s carefully organised paperwork. ‘The shop was closing, but stayed open for me. I'd feel guilty if I only purchased one kind.’

‘So, you purchased every kind they sold?’ Feyre queried.

‘Nesta’s unwell.’ That reason seemed to cover everything.

Before they all departed for the night, Rhys had brewed another pot of tea. Feyre had sliced up bananas and lightly toasted bread while Nesta groggily woke in bed. Elain helped her to sit up through the protests that she was fine to do it herself.

‘Why is there a tree in my bedroom?’

‘Rhysand was worried about you.’

Nesta blinked at Elain, the reply not quite answering her question.

‘Madja recommended bananas to help settle your stomach,’ Cassian explained, sitting in Feyre’s vacant position on Nesta’s left. He stroked a wide hand across her face, feeling the searing heat beneath. ‘Do you want to try and nibble on toast? Feyre’s making some for you.’

‘There’s ginger and peach tea here too. You used to love peaches.’ Before Nesta could protest, Elain was lifting the cup to her lips and cradling her jaw. ‘You must keep your strength up.’

‘I have strength. I disarmed my mate earlier.’

‘Through cheating.’  

A spark lit up Nesta’s eyes as she caught his own gaze. ‘It doesn’t matter how the battle is won, as long as it is.’

Once the final three departed, Cassian slunk an arm around Nesta in bed. Her skin had cooled, but she remained sleepy and lethargic. He fed her chunks of cold toast that took her an age to chew. Her eyes were closed, head tilted towards his chest.

The question had been brimming on his lips for a long time. He had waited until the others had departed to give his insecurities a voice. ‘Nes, why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I didn’t want you to fuss. I’ll be fine tomorrow.’

‘Maybe I wanted to fuss over you,’ he said. ‘Maybe I want to take care of my mate. It hurts me that you didn’t think I would take care of you. I feel horrendous that I made you train today. And do not say that you are fine.’

Nesta let out a long sigh after sipping at her tepid tea. ‘I know you’d take care of me. You flap around like a mother hen if I get a papercut.’

‘Because I love you. And seeing you in any pain causes me distress. I just want you to be safe and happy and well.’

‘It’s just my cycle.’

‘Madja said you have a virus. And you are staying in bed tomorrow. Maybe even the next day.’

‘What about training?’

‘Az will do it. I’ll be here with you. Emerie is coming in the morning along with Gwyn. So let us take care of you like you deserve.’

[illyrian-adventures]

Mental Health Day

Gwyn is late for her dagger lesson and Azriel goes to find out why. He comforts her while she cries it out and decides to have a sick day with her.

It was already 10 minutes past dawn and it was unlike Gwyn to be late to her morning dagger lesson with the shadowsinger. They were both extremely competitive about beating each other to the training ring each morning. Azriel began to worry and tried to remind himself that she probably just overslept. After the blood rite Gwyn decided that she wanted to take the next step toward recovery and move out of the library. Since growing up in a temple at Sangravah her life was always somewhat sheltered but she has been working on healing, one day she hopes to have her own job and apartment in the city. For the time being Gwyn is staying in Nesta’s old room. Nesta and Cassian moved into his room since he has a bed built for illyrian wings.

Az continued waiting for five more minutes, pacing around the practice ring. After waiting in silence he decided to walk down into the house to check on her. Az sends his shadows to searching for her while trying to shut down his instincts wanting to tear apart the whole house. He often feels protective over her and has never mentioned to any of his friends the primal rage that has been buried in him since seeing Gwyn tied to the table in Sangravah. He even asked Mor to welcome her into the library under the house of wind knowing she would be safe there.

Az goes utterly still when he hears muffled cries coming from the other side of Gwynn door.

“Gwyn” Azriel said softly, not wanting to startle her and began knocking lightly against the door frame.

After another moment trying again with no answer he began to panic. His mind starts to wander, worry filling his system that she injured herself and was unable to move. Azriel began to open the door to check on her. What he did not expect was to see Gwyn seated on the window alcove with her back to him. He can hear small gasps and tiny wimpers coming from her.

Wondering what he should do, Azriel stands there for a moment staring at her with the strong urge to run over, wrap his arms around her and tell her everything is going to be alright. He wants to have that kind of relationship where her problems are his problems. The last thing he wants to do is scare her considering she hasn't even noticed him walking in and it’s her own private space. He doesn't want her to feel like she doesn't have a place to seek solace. He just wished she knew she could always come and find it in him but he knew better than anyone how hard it was to come forward with things that haunt you.

“Gwyn” Azriel speaks softly.

She immediately freezes and tries to hide that she has been crying trying to come up with what to say. Something inside her tells her that it's okay and that Az would never judge her but she can't bring herself to say anything.

“Gwyn, what's wrong?” Azriel says softly while kneeling on the ground beside her. She turns and sees his eyes filled with worry. He reaches up with his scarred hand and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. This is the first time they have interacted with each other alone outside of their morning training ritual.

“I'M SO SORRY! I lost track of time. I will be right up in 10 minutes if it's alright. I am sorry for wasting your time, shadowsinger. I hope you are not upset with me.” She frantically hops up stumbling and landing on him. Az grabs her waist situating her so that her back is pressed gently into his chest. He knows from personal experience it can be easier to open up when you are not staring at someone. His biggest concern is Gwyn's comfort; he leaves her positioned so she can easily leave his grasp if she doesn’t feel comfortable.

“Gwyn, don't worry about it. I hope you know I would never be upset with you. Especially when I can tell you have a lot going on. Has someone been giving you a hard time lately? I don't want you to be too hard on yourself.”

“I'm sorry I just don't like inconveniencing people. I really did not want to be late. I try not to mess up. Lately it has been especially hard. Merrill will yell at me or send a wind storm my way if I make a mistake even if I correct it she will scent that it was not done right the first time. You’re supposed to be one of the deadliest warriors in all of Prythian and are a kitty cat compared to how she is.”

“One, I am Prythians deadliest warrior. Unless you think you can take me.” Az said with a smirk. He raised his scarred hand and began making long soothing strokes down her arm trying to calm her. “And two, Merrill should not be allowed to speak to you that way. The library is supposed to be a sanctuary for healing. It is not meant to add to your worries. I will have Rhys talk to Clotho about her behavior. I'm sorry that's happening Gwyn.”

“No! Please dont tell him. I don't want her to have any more reason to be upset with me. She has increased my workload since I decided to move into the house of wind. I can't stop wondering if maybe this was a mistake. If I would have just stayed in the library with my head down these things would not be happening.” Tears continue to trail down her face. Azriel pulls her tighter against his body tucking her head beneath his chin.

“Gwyn, this isn't the first time this has happened. I know Nesta has mentioned the way Merrill treats you is not okay and we will do our best to make sure that this doesn’t keep happening. Don’t believe for one second Berdara that you were not meant to leave the library. I am so proud of you for how far you have come since the day I found you. I watched you conquer everything you have put your mind to including the Blood Rite and that's a huge accomplishment in itself only a handful can call themselves Carynithian out of the thousands that have spent their lives preparing for it. You are powerful, courageous and strong. Do not let anyone make you believe you are not enough. You are perfect.”

Gwyn stayed silent for a moment processing what Azriel said. She was not used to letting anyone see her when he is upset but she always felt naturally calm around the shadowsinger. “Thank you, the last person that told me they were proud of me was Catrin, my sister and I really needed to hear that. I am proud of you Az. You have so many amazing accomplishments. I hope one day I can make a difference like you have. You did save me after all. I just hope even if you don't feel special you’re the reason I am here today. I just want you to know that.” He let the weight sink in. She reached out and took his scarred hand in hers giving him a gentle squeeze. He could not remember the last time anyone said anything so wonderful about him. Most people think he is a soulless villain. She turned and looked up at his face, seeing his eyes cloudy with tears, reaching up with her other hand to wipe them off.

“Thank you Berdara.” Az leaned down and placed a kiss on her temple. Her body shuddered at the contact snuggling closer into his warmth. “Do you want to have a sick day with me? I think we all can use one every once and a while.”

“What do you have in mind? I dont want to keep you from your work and I know you’re supposed to help Cassian-”

“Don’t worry about them, love. Cassian can handle the priestesses today. I will have Rhys let Clotho know you won't be in the Library this afternoon. You need a break from it for today. A sick day is when we go to the private library on the third floor reading and having the house pamper us with all kinds of treats while we stay in our sleeping clothes all day. Just because you’re not physically injured doesn’t mean we shouldn't take a mental day break. I haven't had a sick day in a few thousand years.”

“That sounds amazing. As long as I am not intruding. Thank you shadowsinger.”

“Of course not Berdara, you are always welcome. Today, tomorrow and everyday. Please come to me the next time you feel down.”

“Thank you shadowsinger, the same goes for you too.”  Gwyn smiled.

Rhys.

Everything alright, brother?

Having a sick day today. I will have my spies reach out if any issues arise. They should be all taken care of.

Are you sure you’re alright? I can’t remember the last time you took a day off.

Positive. Also can you let Clotho know Gywn won't be in the library today for personal reasons and Merrill needs to be spoken to again about how she treats a certain red head.

I will swing by the library this afternoon and see what I can do. Enjoy your day off Az. I have hope for you brother this will all work out. Azriel could almost see the knowing grin on his brother's face.

Az stood up taking Gwyn with him in one swift motion heading towards the library. He sat them down on one of the plush chaises big enough for illyrian wings. The house covered them with a soft blanket and Az began reading one of his favorite adventure novels. He picked up on it also being one of her favorites over the past few months,  

_________________________________

“CASS” Nesta shouted at him from across the training ring running towards him.

“What Nes? Is everything okay?” He frantically scans her body for injuries while tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“You have to see this! I never thought this was something I would see!”

“Okay just for a moment. Rhys let me know Az is having a sick day today and I don't want to leave the priestesses for too long.” Nesta grinned with a knowing look in her eyes.

She grabbed Cassian's hand tugging him with her. Stopping abruptly outside the library. “Shh. Okay? I went looking for Gwyn because I began to worry when she didn’t meet me at our usual breakfast time.” Cassian nodded and quietly followed Nesta into the library.

Cassian couldn't believe the sight in front of his eyes. Azriel was laying back on the chaise while Gwyn had her back flushed against his brother's chest, both of them sleeping. Azriel had his arms wrapped around her like he was holding onto the most precious treasure with his lips turned up at the corners. Shadows were shielding them in their own protective cocoon. He turned to Nesta and whispered “Az has never slept so deeply. He always wakes up the moment someone is on the same floor and I've never seen him so peaceful.”

She tilted her head towards the door heading out of the room before they woke either of them. Cassian followed and when he caught up to her in the hallway they faced each other with huge grins. “I have been waiting for this day! I knew he liked her.”  

[autumnshighlady]

I’ve Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 1)

NESTA ARCHERON X FEMALE!READER

summary: Your friend, Lucien, saved you from Hybern in the Spring Court and brought you to Night. There, you meet Nesta Archeron, and the two of you face the Night Court together.

warnings: MAJOR inner circle slander, if you love Feysand and will defend them please do not read this fic for your own sanity, also some angst

word count: 3.5k

request: (y’all wanted some Neris x reader and most of it was smut, this will happen later on but I went wild with the Neris requests so this will be a long multi part fic I am so sorry lmao)

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: seriously, do not read this fic if you are upset by Rhys, Feyre, IC slander. It will be upsetting, I do not want to get complaints about it. I do not hate those characters, but I do think they are hypocrites and I am sick of them not getting called out. Also, this WILL BECOME A NERIS X READER FIC, so if you’re hoping for any Nessian it will not happen. Also none of it follows the canon haha

read on ao3

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Today marked three months since you ended up in the Night Court, courtesy of Lucien. One month since your old friend had found you half dead in your village in the Spring Court, which had been massacred by Hybern soldiers. Lucien had gone to check on Tamlin, trying to rebuild their relations that had been shattered upon the redhead’s switching of courts. On his way out of the Spring Court he had decided to drop by your village, not having seen you in over a decade, only to find it in ruins. You were the only survivor, but barely. All you remembered was the sound of Lucien’s panicked voice, and the sensation of a world spinning as he winnowed you away.

You did not remember much about your arrival in the Night Court, aside from the occasional scents of ointments as healers tended to your broken, starved body. You were in and out of consciousness for a few days, never staying awake for more than five minutes at a time. Lucien had explained that you were at a fortress called the House of Wind, in the mountains above the main city. After a week you were strong enough to get out of bed, strong enough to meet with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.

To say it had gone poorly had been an understatement. You could see the disdain in their eyes as they learned you to be from the Spring Court, their judgment as if you were the one who had locked Feyre in that manor after the escape from Under the Mountain. Rage coiled in your cut as you stared down the High Lady, hating how she lived her life without remorse for what she had done to your people.

“Glad to see you are awake and well.” Rhysand had said, no warmth to be found in his violet eyes.

“Lying is not a good look on you, High Lord.” You had spat out in response. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Lucien giving you a pleading look, begging you not to start this argument now.

But you had anyway. You did not want to be in the Night Court, forced to rely on the generosity of the female who destroyed your court and the male who delighted in cruelty. Everyone knew what Tamlin had done to Feyre, how he locked her up in the manor. You could not blame her anger – it had been wrong for the blonde High Lord to lock his fiancee up.

But she had taken her revenge out on the people of Spring Court. She had deliberately opened it up like a wound, allowing Hybern to take advantage of its weakness and go on a slaughter rampage, one that had almost gotten you killed. And yet Feyre was hailed as a hero for destroying a court of innocent people just to get back at its leader. Your stomach churned, remembering the faces of your friends and family as their throats were slit by Hybern soldiers who laughed as their blood spilled onto their armour. All because of the High Lady of the Night Court.

You did not hold back your hostility, letting your hatred and anger spill from your lips. “Am I supposed to thank you?” You had snarled at her.

“That would be a start.” Feyre had said, looking down her nose at you. “You are in my court, after all, being taken care of by my healers.”

You had snorted, letting out a dry laugh. “You are the reason I am here, High Lady. Because you let your petty revenge fantasies destroy my court and slaughter my village, my family, everything I loved.”

Feyre had stiffened, eyes shifting to her mate for support.

“You will not speak to her like that.” Rhysand had growled, letting his power fill the room in an attempt to intimidate you.

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” You had bit back. “You have no problem letting people from Spring Court die, so go for it. Maybe killing another one of us will make you feel better.”

Lucien had intervened at this point, trying to ease the tension before it got out of hand. But you continued to stare down at the High Lord and Lady, wishing you were anywhere else but in this wretched court. You knew the only reason you were still alive was because if they killed you, Lucien would be less inclined to work with them and for whatever reason, they needed him on their side.

And that is how you had ended up at the House of Wind. The High Lord and Lady claimed you were not a prisoner, but you knew they were well aware you were too weak to tackle the 10,000 steps down into the city. So yes, you were essentially a prisoner, and you had told them this much right before they winnowed away. Lucien had promised he’d come visit you, but when he didn’t you expected the High Lord and Lady had deliberately been keeping him busy.

So you wandered aimlessly around the estate, filled with resentment that you were stuck in the court ruled by the female who had torn yours apart. You barely ate, your time mostly consisting of sitting on the reading nook by one of the large windows, staring out at the mountains beyond.

One day, things changed. Normally, nobody bothered you while you stared out your window, the only other signs of life in the room being the occasional servant passing through. On a rainy afternoon, you had decided to crack open one of the books on the shelf and begin reading. You were a few chapters in when you heard footsteps approaching, stopping a few feet away from you. Normally you would have ignored the other presence in the room, but something in your chest pulled at you like a string, urging you to turn around where you were faced with the most beautiful female you had ever seen.

She was tall and lean, dressed in a dark blue gown with long sleeves and a collar around her elegant neck. Her face was sharp and her hair was a rich caramel shade, braided in a crown around her head. Those slate-coloured eyes glinted, staring you down with an intensity that you imagined made most fae shuffle on their feet with uneasiness. But it was a different intensity than the High Lord and Lady’s gazes, and you did not feel fear, only awe.

“You are Lucien’s friend.” She finally spoke. Her expression was unreadable, and she was as still as a statue.

“Yes.” You had said, meeting her gaze. She was enchanting, your heart fluttering at the sound of her cool voice. She was silent for a moment longer before speaking again.

“I heard you caused some upset with my sister and her mate.”

A bell pinged in your head as you put the pieces together. Lucien had mentioned Feyre’s older sister, not that you needed an introduction. Everyone across Prythian had heard of the female who severed the King of Hybern’s head from his body, whose eyes glowed with silver fire from the Cauldron itself.

You were unsure of what to say. Part of you worried that Nesta would look at you with the same disdain as her sister, but the other part of you knew that she wouldn’t. For some reason, Nesta was in the same position as you, a prisoner in the House of Wind while her sister was free to wander the city below, painting away in her new grand estates. The thought made you seethe with rage, knowing so many fae like yourself were still suffering from the war, with no money and no support.

The silence slowly ate away at you, until Nesta finally spoke.

“Good.” Was all she said before turning away and walking out of the room.

And that was the beginning of you and Nesta. Over the next few weeks, you saw each other more. It started with Nesta asking what you were reading, and suggesting other stories for you to read. And then she began joining you, sitting in silence in the chair across from you as you both read your books. Eventually, you found yourself leaving the room and going to the library with the older Archeron sister, or sipping tea on the balcony.

For the first while, the two of you spoke little. It was not an uncomfortable silence though, you two simply sat contently in each other's presence. It was nice to have another female around, especially one that didn’t worship the ground that the High Lady and Lord walked on.

One day, the ‘inner circle’, as Nesta explained they called themselves, arrived at the House of Wind for dinner. Lucien had informed you earlier that morning, sheepishly explaining that not attending wasn’t an option. Apparently the rulers of the Night Court wanted to build relations with you – which you knew was just code for seeing if they could use your connections to the Spring Court to their advantage.

You stood in your room, examining the dress that one of the servants had brought you. It was black, with a deep V-neck and a thick band around your waist. The sleeves were made of sheer material that hung loose around your arms and gathered at the wrist. It was a nice dress, you admitted, but you knew it was selected to make you feel like you were part of the Night Court. Which you weren’t, and would never be.

Deciding to leave your hair unbound, you opened your door and exited your room. You saw Nesta in the hallway, her room being one down from yours, and your jaw dropped when you saw her.

Her dress was similar to the blue one you met her in, only it was a shade of deep grey, and the thin neckline plunged to her navel. Nesta’s hair was braided in her usual style, but dark circles haunted the skin under her eyes. You knew she had not been sleeping, often hearing her toss and turn all night from the other side of the wall. From what you gathered about her being in the same position as you, Nesta was dreading this dinner more than you were.

“Hey.” You said softly. Her gaze met yours, silver eyes glazed as if they were staring right through you.

Your heart nearly shattered at how broken she looked. You couldn’t imagine what she was going through, how awful it must have been to have been stolen from your bed and your bodily autonomy stripped away from you as you were turned into something else. She did not look like the fierce Kingslayer the rumours spoke of, or the mean, nasty female that cut people down with her words, but rather a shell of a person who was seconds away from crumbling into nothing.

“Are you ready?” You asked gently.

Nesta nodded stiffly, and you extended your hand before you could think. Part of you was afraid she’d scoff at the gesture, lashing out and storming away and leaving you humiliated. To your surprise, Nesta slid her hand into yours – it was ice cold and shaky, so you gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We can face them together,” You assured her. “I don’t know what went down between you and the Night Court, but I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Nesta’s eyes cleared as she turned her gaze back towards you. She blinked once, as if she was making sure you were real, standing there holding her hand.

“And I’ll be with you.” She said, her voice shaking slightly as she tilted her chin up. “Now let’s get this over with.”

The two of you strode hand in hand down the hallway towards the dining room, bracing yourselves for whatever the next hours would bring.

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

If you hadn’t been so annoyed at the Night Court rulers showing up you would have laughed at their expressions when you and Nesta walked into the room with your hands entwined. At the table, Rhysand and Feyre sat side by side at the head, the High Lord’s violet eyes simmering at the sight of you and Nesta side by side while Feyre’s eyes were wide with surprise. There was an empty space next to Feyre, no doubt intended for Nesta, and on the other side of the seat was a blonde female wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline. You recognized her as the Morrigan – her neck and wrists were cluttered with gold jewelry, and her face was undeniably gorgeous, save for the confused look that was written across her features. Cassian and Azriel sat next to the blonde, also looking surprised. Cassian, who you had met in passing a few times, paused halfway through sipping his glass of time. His eyes were wholly focused on Nesta, and you didn’t miss the jealousy pooling in them. Azriel, whom you had also met a few times and was the one member of the Inner Circle that you could tolerate, showed less surprise. He merely blinked once, an unreadable expression on his face, and a shadow curled around his neck.

To Rhysand’s right was a small female with short black hair and red lips. Amren, you figured. A look of disgust crossed her face, and you felt Nesta tense beside you. Clearly, something had gone down between the two of them. Next to Amren was a male with dark skin and white hair, looking very uncomfortable. Lucien sat next to him, looking like he was going to burst out laughing any second. Another empty chair was next to Lucien, clearly intended for you.

Silence filled the room for what could have been an eternity until Feyre spoke up.

“Nesta, (Y/N),” The High Lady said, voice light and airy. “We are so glad you could join us.”

Nobody else said anything, and you could practically feel Nesta’s panic. She was looking at the seat meant for her, between her sister who locked her up here and a female who clearly disliked her.

After squeezing Nesta’s hand, you let go and walked over to the chair beside Feyre. Confused, the entire table watched you as you grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it away, not caring about the ear splitting scraping sound it made on the stone floor. You pulled it to the other end of the table, opposite of Rhys and Feyre but next to the empty chair beside Lucien, who coughed into his arm to conceal his laugh.

You looked back towards Nesta, whose lips twitched upwards for a split second as she strode over to the newly placed chair, smoothing her skirts as she sat down in it. Satisfied with the new arrangement, you took your seat.

After more moments of dumbstruck quiet, it was the Varian who broke the silence, asking Feyre about her art. As servants brought food to the tables, conversation flowed everywhere but in the direction of you and Nesta.

You were fine with that, and you knew Nesta was too. The silence you two sat in was comfortable and familiar, but neither of you really touched your food. Being in the presence of the inner circle made your appetite nonexistent. So you pushed the veggies around your plate for the next half hour until plates were cleared, and your end of the table was addressed for the first time.

“How’s the training going, Nesta?” Morrigan asked. It seemed genuine enough, but from the way Nesta tensed beside you, you could tell it was a pointed question.

“Wonderful.” Nesta said dryly, meeting her stare.

“What training?” You asked, confused. Not once had you seen Nesta with a blade, but whenever Cassian left the House of Wind in the past while he was always in a mood, Nesta even more so.

“Nesta’s learning how to fight,” Feyre said. “That’s why she’s here.”

“The training she’s apparently refusing to do.” Rhysand added.

You snorted. “Doesn’t the Night Court already have armies? I don’t see them here, if she was going to learn how to fight wouldn’t it be, you know, where the armies actually are?”

Rhysand’s eyes met yours. “Yes, we have armies,” He said in a low voice. “But Nesta needs to train anyway.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Nesta hissed.

“You do if you are in my court.” Rhysand growled.

“I did not ask to be here.”

You surveyed the table. Feyre’s eyes were red, as if she were about to burst into tears at any moment. Cassian looked concerned, while Mor and Amren seemed annoyed. So many questions burned at you – why was Nesta being made to train to fight? Why here, locked away from the city? What happened between her and her sister?

Discreetly, you took Nesta’s hand under the table, rubbing a circle with your thumb, although you did not think the action went unnoticed.

I am with you, You reminded her. Deciding to take the spotlight off Nesta, you spoke up.

“But why am I here?” You asked. “I am healed now, why not send me back home? What reason do you have to keep me here?”

Another heavy silence filled the room, even Cassian had stopped eating. Eyes shifted, as if a silent conversation was occurring.

“We thought you might have some information about the Spring Court.” Rhysand began. “Since you are here–”

You laughed sharply, cutting him off. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“I am not, and I suggest you listen.”

“Do you seriously think I’m going to betray my own court?” You spat. “Besides, isn’t Lucien the one with the job anyways?”

Your red haired friend closed his eyes and sighed, knowing this was going to happen. You felt bad for him – you knew he wasn’t fully accepted in the Night Court, just as you would never be, not with his ties to Spring. He was balancing on a wire, trying to help two courts who hated each other.

“Your father is one of Tamlin’s advisors,” Rhysand continued, ignoring you. “And Tamlin is an enemy. We just want to know–”

Rage pulsed through you. You were glad you didn’t have any sort of power, because if you did you were pretty sure the room would have erupted into flames.

“My father WAS one of Tamlin’s advisors,” You growled. “Now he is dead thanks to your High Lady destroying his court and leaving them vulnerable to Hybern. If you think I’m going to help you, you’re insane.”

“You will do as we say,” Rhysand growled, placing his hands on the table and standing up. “If you do not want to share what you know, we have other ways of getting it out of you. I have no problem going into that pretty head of yours and—”

Nesta stood up. “Do not threaten her.” She said, with the most vicious snarl you had ever seen. Silver fire glowed in her eyes, and you almost gasped. This was the power the Cauldron gave her, you realized. She looked like a goddess of war, staring at the High Lord with a challenge to dare lay a hand on you.

“Or what, Nesta?” Rhysand asked, moving his arm to bring Feyre behind him. “What are you going to do?”

The entire table was still, as if bracing themselves to intervene if either fae launched themselves at one another. You had only known Nesta for just over two months, yet she was ready to challenge the High Lord in your defense, something which clearly confused the others at the table.

You were grateful for her support. The dynamic between the two of you was unique to any other friendship you had, although you did not know if you could classify it as such. You were two females who had slighted the members of the court and forced into the House of Wind like dogs being sent to the kennel. You wished you knew the whole of Nesta’s story, but you also knew better than to push.

The Night Court saved you without your consent and planned to use it as leverage, to try and get information on their enemy. It made you sick, how you were indebted to them and expected to be grateful. While the House of Wind was nice, you knew you could not leave it. You were a hostage there, just as much as Nesta. And you two needed to stick together.

Nesta’s eyes returned to their original shade, whether it be from the High Lord’s magic demanding submission or her own volition. She cleared her throat, throwing one last glare across the table before grabbing your hand.

“I think we are done for tonight.” She said, pulling you up.

Leaving the shocked table behind, you let her lead you out the door, shaking slightly. The two of you walked in silence down the hallway towards your room. As you got to your rooms, Nesta dropped your hand.

“Nesta, I–” You went to thank her, and to ask if she was ok, but she had already wordlessly stormed into her room and closed the door.

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[c-e-d-dreamer]

Falling For Your Fools Gold: Chapter 1

A/N: Me? Starting another multi-chaptered fic? Why, I never. Anyways! Who doesn’t love sexy pirates? This fic was inspired by a prompt sent to @sjmkinkmeme​ of “Nessian pirates AU. Like Nesta can come from a wealthy family and her ship gets attacked by Cass crew, and they develop a relationship when she gets imprisoned in his boat”. And of course, this first part is my fic for Day Four: AU Day of @nessianweek​ ;) Fair warning, this whole fic will have violence and crime and pirating so please read with care if you’re not into that sort of thing! I will be sure to tag specific trigger warnings for each part. This one, the only trigger warning is graphic violence. Enjoy, mateys! :) 

Chapter Masterlist // Next Part 

The ship rocks hard, sending Nesta tumbling into the wall. She holds her hand out to try and brace herself but the force has a jolt of pain shooting from her wrist up her arm. With each dip and rise of the waves, Nesta’s stomach heaves right along with it, and she has to swallow hard around the bile tickling the back of her throat, to breathe through the sickness threatening to overtake her. Another hard list of the ship, and Nesta swears that over the pounding of the rain and the roar of thunder she can hear the dangerous groan of wood.

Nesta stumbles back across the room and plops down onto the bed in her cabin. She squeezes her eyes shut, but that just seems to make things worse. She presses a hand to her head and considers sending up a prayer to the gods that this storm passes quickly. A particularly large wave sends water cascading hard against the small window in the room, and then Nesta can hear shouts coming from up on deck. Nesta hops to her feet again, hand already reaching toward the door before she remembers Captain Kittington’s words from earlier demanding she stay below.

With a soft sigh, Nesta returns to the bed, lying down properly this time. She closes her eyes again and wills her mind to calm, wills sleep to overtake her and offer her some blissful reprieve. The storm continues to lash outside and against the ship, the shouting overhead also continuing, but if Nesta focuses hard enough she can almost imagine she’s back at her family’s manor house. She can imagine the softness of her bed and the silk sheets against her fingertips. She can imagine the quiet that overtakes the house after the sun sets and many of the servants have turned in for the night. She can imagine the sweet smell of summer flowers that drift in from the opened windows.

When Nesta opens her eyes again, the ship is still, rays of sunlight spilling through the small window and into her cabin, leaving patterns of light and shadows dancing across the wood. Nesta sits up and rubs the last remaining remnants of sleep from her face before slipping off the bed. It takes her a moment to find her footing, slightly unsteady as if last night’s storm still haunts the ship.

Nesta quickly freshens up before heading out of her cabin. She follows the steps up onto the deck, blinking against the sudden brightness after being below deck. She presses her hand to forehead to shield her eyes, and when they adjust she takes in the mess that is the deck and the ship. The crew rushes around her, but Nesta’s eyes are glued to the main mast. Or more like, what’s left of the main mast. The top half hangs limply, the wood splintered and blackened as though it were struck by lightning.

“Lady Nesta.”

Nesta turns to find Captain Kittington standing beside her. He looks the least put together she’s ever seen him, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up, hair tousled, and worry lines digging deep into his skin. Despite it all, he still stands with his hands neatly tucked behind his back, his chin raised regally.

“I see that the storm last night was worse than I thought,” Nesta comments, looking again toward the broken mast. “The damage looks quite extensive.”

Captain Kittington sighs softly, dipping his chin in a small nod. “Indeed. I have the crew working to build a fix, but it’s safe to say, your father will have to wait a bit longer for his gold.”

“I’m sure he’ll love that,” Nesta mutters, already imagining her father’s annoyance when they make it back to Adriata. She can already picture him and the way he’d pace back and forth in his office, checking over his books again and again like a dragon counting his gold. Can imagine the way he’ll try and blame her for the delay as if she’s a witch and has any type of power over the weather and oceans. She wishes.

“There’s not much else we can do,” Captain Kittington continues, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe at his brow. “If we can’t find a solution soon, we may have to resort to rowing despite the distance to the nearest port.”

“Perhaps another ship will pass by and can help? Is there any way we can signal?”

“It’s not friendly ships you’ll find in these waters, Lady Nesta,” Captain Kittington tells her, his tone grave. “And we’re sitting ducks out here.”

Captain Kittington turns swiftly on his heel, barking out orders as he walks across the deck. For the rest of the day, Nesta tries to help out where she can. She ties knots in ropes and tears fabric, sewing patches to mend the sails. By the time Nesta makes it back to her cabin after the sun sets, she feels almost dead on her feet. Her hands are red and sore, and she drags herself toward the basin of fresh water set up in her room to gently wash them.

It felt good to help out, but the ship being at a standstill meant spending the day under the beating rays of the sun. It’s left Nesta feeling especially drained and she’s sure her cheeks and nose are now tinged red. She makes quick work changing into her sleep dress and slipping beneath the cool sheets, her eyes falling shut as soon as her head hits the pillow, a blissful, dreamless sleep awaiting for her with open arms.

When Nesta steps up onto the deck the next morning, she finds almost all of the crew huddled on one side of the ship, leaning against the railing and staring out across the blue expanse of sea and sky. Nesta steps closer and squints toward the horizon, trying to determine what exactly the whole crew seems set on looking at. It’s then that she sees it, the ship.

But not just any ship.

A ship with sails as black as night.

And it’s heading right for them.

The mood on the ship is anxious and frantic for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. The cannons are loaded and prepared, each member of the crew armed and ready. With every hour that passes, the black sailed ship gets closer and closer. Nesta finds herself glued to the railing, watching, waiting. Her heart rate ticks up faster with every mile the distance shrinks, and yet she can’t look away. Her eyes track the way the black sails shift and wave in the wind, the way the wooden hull slices through the water and rocks on the waves.

“Lady Nesta, I must urge you to go below deck,” Captain Kittington implores when he finds her later, still in that same spot along the railing. “You should go to your cabin, lock the door, and block it if you can. There’s no reason for them to know there’s anything but gold to be taken from this ship.”

“What do you think will happen?” Nesta can’t help but ask, her voice quiet. “When they reach us?”

“Nothing good, I assure you. If we’re lucky, they’ll merely loot us of the gold and leave us alone, but as a Lady…”

Captain Kittington lets the end of that sentence hang in the air between them, but Nesta doesn’t need him to finish that thought to know. She’s heard enough stories of the pirates that roam these seas, what those men are like. What those men are known for doing in ports and to ships. As if on instinct, Nesta’s hand flies up to press at her chest. Her heart still pounds a furious beat just beneath her finger tips, and all she can manage is a nod to Captain Kittington before heading for the stairs that will take her below deck.

Nesta almost trips over her own feet in her haste to make it back to her cabin. She passes a few of the men on her way there, their faces solemn with muskets poised in their hands and swords ready at their belts. The sight makes her stomach lurch, a dark promise of what’s to come.

Once Nesta makes it back to her room, she’s quick to lock the door behind her, setting the key aside. Her eyes dart around the small space, desperate to find something to push in front of the door as Captain Kittington had suggested. Her cabin is quite sparse in terms of options. Both the bed and the wardrobe are built into the walls, so neither can be moved. But the desk…

Nesta rushes forward, moving the chair out of the way. She starts to tug on the desk, but the thing isn’t exactly light, weighed down in hopes of it not sliding too much when the ship is moving. She pulls until the desk is moved enough away that she can step between it and the wall. Then, she throws all her weight into pushing the desk. Luckily, that’s easier going, and soon, she has the desk pressed up against the door.

Her chest is heaving by the time she’s finished, and Nesta sits down atop her bed as she tries to calm herself. It’s quite difficult to do with the threat of pirates looming over her, as dark and as menacing as the storm that wrecked the ship. Nesta has never been one for praying, but she finds herself squeezing her eyes shut and sending up a silent one to the Mother anyways. When she begged her Father to allow her to join the crew of the ship on this journey, she certainly hadn’t imagined this. He had been so reluctant too, going on about proper ways for ladies to behave and none of them involving adventures to the continent on a ship. Perhaps this is her punishment.

Or perhaps the true punishment is the waiting.

Nesta paces back and forth across the small space of her cabin. Her lip is practically a bleeding mess from how much she’s worried it. The ship had been quite close when Nesta was up on the deck, but how long will it take the pirates to reach them? How much longer before—

Shouting echoes down from the deck to her, and Nesta’s heart lurches so hard to a stop that she swears it’s going to shatter right through her ribs. She steps as far away from the door as she can get, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream and desperately willing her breathing to calm, but her fingers shake against her lips. The shouts turn into agonized cries, and Nesta has to squeeze her eyes shut, sending more prayers, more pleas up to the Mother.

It’s silence that follows.

Somehow, the silence is worse. It’s deafening and presses in against Nesta until her skin feels too tight, until she wants to claw at her own lungs. She listens for any hint of a sound, any sign of what might be happening above deck. She wonders how long she should wait until she leaves the safety of her cabin, but before she can even consider that, she hears voices. She can’t make out what they’re saying, but they sound close.

They seem to get closer still and then the handle to the door rattles. Nesta’s gaze snaps to the piece of metal, watches with wide, fearful eyes as it shakes but the lock holds. She presses both her hands to her mouth now, hopes that whomever is outside her cabin can’t hear her shuttered breathing.

“What?” an unfamiliar voice comes from right outside the door, and Nesta finds herself swallowing hard.

“This door appears to be locked,” a second voice adds. “Bet the best loot’s hiding in there.”

“So bust it down then,” the first voice demands.

A loud thump follows the voice’s request, the wood of the door shaking with the impact. The desk wobbles and scapes back an inch, but it holds firm.

“There must be something blocking the door,” that first voice comments.

“Must be mighty precious cargo they’re hiding,” the second voice comments, the sneer to his voice causing the hairs on the back of Nesta’s neck to prickle. “I’ll go get the Captain.”

Nesta can hear the sounds of retreating footsteps, but she’s not stupid. She knows they’ll be back. She uses what little time she does have to desperately search her room for something to defend herself with. With a start, she remembers the dagger Feyre had gifted her before she set sail. Nesta practically throws herself at the trunk nestled near her bed, digging around until she finds it. The hilt is intricately designed in gold, ruby jewels embedded in it to create an eight point star.

Nesta pulls the dagger free from the scabbard just as another loud thump sounds from the door. A grunt follows and then the desk is pushed away, scraping against the wood floor of the cabin, as the door is forcibly shoved open. Nesta’s whole body freezes up as a man steps inside, his large frame taking up almost the entire doorway. Dark curls hang down to his shoulders, a scar cutting across the tanned skin of his cheekbone. And when his hazel eyes hone in on Nesta, she can feel fear clawing up her throat, bile coming right along with it, but she swallows both down.

Instead, Nesta Archeron looks this pirate straight in the eye and holds up her dagger between them.

“Now, what exactly are you planning on doing with that, sweetheart?”

“Kill you.”

The pirate laughs at that, the sound loud and booming in the small room. It’s clearly mocking, and it grates against Nesta’s skin until she’s scowling at him. Her eyes narrow even more when he seems unperturbed by her, by her obvious threat. She watches infuriated as a slow smirk tugs its way across his face, as he spreads his arms out wide.

“Go on then,” he tells her, his tone practically oozing smugness. “I’d like to see you try.”

Nesta sizes up the pirate before her. He has about a head on her, and his shoulders and chest are wide, pushing against the fabric of the shirt and jacket he’s wearing. A dagger requires close contact, the safety offered from a sword or gun not possible. And Nesta has a feeling this pirate could crush her if he wanted to, if she got close enough. From the glint in his eyes, he knows it too.

“So, what’s your name?” the pirate continues, taking slow, deliberate steps as he circles around Nesta, a shark in bloodied waters.

Nesta bites her tongue against an answer as she turns in time with the pirate’s movements, always holding that dagger between them. She’s not stupid enough to give the pirate the leverage of knowing her name, or to give him any ideas. She knows the Archeron name has traveled far and wide. Her Father is called the Prince of Merchants after all, his fleets in almost every waters. Who knows what this pirate will do if he knows she’s one of the Archeron daughters, if he thinks she’s some sort of precious daughter.

“It’s quite uncommon to find a woman on a ship. Some would even say it’s unlucky,” the pirate comments, swiping up one of Nesta’s books and flipping through the pages aimlessly. “Warming the Captain’s bed?”

“I am a lady,” Nesta seethes.

“So you are,” the pirate agrees, closing the book in his hands with a soft clap. It makes Nesta’s skin prickle, the fear that she’s playing right into his hands. That she’s somehow giving him exactly what he wants.

Nesta swallows hard, steeling her spine and her voice. “And as a lady, I demand that you do not harm the crew and release us. You can take the gold and go.”

The pirate chuckles lowly, the sound completely devoid of any humor. “That’s not going to happen.”

Nesta starts to take a step forward, the dagger still brandished in her hand. “I said you’re going to—”

Before Nesta can blink, the pirate’s fingers wrap around her wrist, squeezing until a pained gasp tears free from her throat and her fingers open reflexively. The dagger falls but the pirate’s free hand is there to catch it, sliding it easily onto his belt. Nesta expects him to let go now that the threat is gone, but instead he uses his grip to tug Nesta closer, until they’re barely a breath away from one another. This close, Nesta can see all the colors that make up his hazel eyes, all the greens and browns and golds. She can see the way they seem to flare as his gaze sweeps over her face.

“You certainly have fire in your blood, princess,” the pirate taunts, his chest brushing against Nesta’s arm with every inhale.

“Don’t call me that,” Nesta snaps, trying to pull away but his grip is too firm.  

“What else am I meant to call you when you won’t tell me your name? Would it help if I told you mine?” the pirate asks, reaching his other hand up to toy with a strand of hair that’s fallen free from Nesta’s braid. “It’s Cassian.”

“I didn’t ask,” Nesta sneers, jerking her head back before she can think twice.

But a second too late the name registers, and she wishes she had thought twice. In an instant, her blood runs cold, her breath stuttering in her lungs. Nesta had been scared before, when she’d first spotted the ship on the horizon, when she’d heard the pirate above on the deck, but this… this is true fear, and it sinks like icy claws into her spine.

Cassian.

Everyone knows that name. The Lord of Bloodshed, they call him. The man who leaves a sea of red wherever he sails.

“Time to go, princess.”

Nesta’s still reeling from the gravity of who she’s dealing with that she doesn’t even register when Cassian moves his hand to circle her bicep. It’s in a numb, dazed state that she lets him lead her out of her cabin and toward the main deck. She practically trips over her own feet as they take the steps up, and once again, Nesta is left blinking against the brightness of the afternoon sun.

Except this time when Nesta’s eyes adjust, it’s to the sight of bodies strewn about the deck, their unblinking gazes glued to the blue sky overhead, bright red blood mixing with sea water and staining the wood of the deck. Nesta is sure she’s going to be sick at the sight, a tremble wracking its way down her spine. She never knew every man on the crew’s name, but now she wishes she had, wishes she had taken a moment to speak to them all.

A tug on her arm has Nesta moving again, guided toward the other end of the ship. With every step that she takes, she can feel eyes boring into her and under her skin. She turns her head and finds Captain Kittington on his knees, a blade pressed firmly to his throat. Despite the threat to his life, he keeps watching her, tracking her as she’s all but dragged away.

A large, wide plank of wood has been set between the two ships, creating a walkway, and Cassian walks gingerly across it even as Nesta warily eyes the churning sea below. Once her feet touch down on the deck of the pirate ship, it all hits her, a wave of awareness crashing over her and jolting her back to her senses. She’s on a pirate ship. She’s being kidnapped by pirates.

No.

Nesta Archeron refuses to be a damsel in distress. She may be a lady, but she’s always had claws. She wrenches her arm free from Cassian’s grip and whirls on him, letting her anger blaze bright in her eyes as she settles him with a scowl.

“Get your hands off me,” Nesta seethes.

She straightens her spine and raises her chin, looking down upon Cassian despite their height difference. She expects the flash of shock that skitters across his face at her reaction, at her boldness. But perhaps she should get used to the smirk his expression morphs into, the golden flecks of his hazel eyes glinting with amusement under the afternoon sun.

“There’s that fire again,” Cassian mutters.

He takes a step closer, leaning forward until he’s practically in Nesta’s face, but she refuses to back down or be afraid. Instead, she continues to hold her ground, continues to glower at him.

“You’re on my ship now, sweetheart,” he tells her, breath skating over her skin as he says it. “That means you belong to me.”

“I don’t belong to anyone, least of all a dirty bastard of a pirate.”

“We’ll see about that.”

—

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