#vidalinav

[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.

[vidalinav]

Another fic idea but where Nesta doesn’t change her body for reproductive purposes which is the most inane concept I have ever read with my own eyes and believe me I’ve read the minotaur milking book. Instead when Nesta is pregnant, Cassian gets very very very worried that something will happen to Nesta so he hopes that their children don’t have wings. He says it all the time and he gets pissy when someone mentions wings to him, because he’s adamant that their children should not and will not have wings. And when Madja confirms she can’t see wings, he is so happy and relieved that he’s literally over the moon with happiness. He’s like now we can really celebrate, because Nesta is safe. Except Nesta is very upset about this news, because she wanted them to have what he has and experience that freedom and joy that he expresses every time he flies and Feyre was okay-ish. She’s likely to be okay, she’s survived worse things. So Cassian and Nesta have a heart to heart about this. However, between you and me, It wouldn’t matter in the end anyways, because I would repeat what I made in a prior headcanon, where the baby(ies) are born without wings, but have them and just magically hide them because they’re fickle like that. 

[vidalinav]

Do you have any idea how much I want a scene with Nesta in a fight with some big bad where idk if a talon or a sword is what does it, but her braid gets chopped right off and suddenly Nesta has short hair? 

Does Nesta like it? Not really, but when she comments on it to Cassian, all he does is literally take her in his arms, holding her so tightly, because in his view, that hair could have easily been her neck. So he kisses there, right at her pulse, and when he’s calm again and Nesta’s thoroughly confused by his antics, Cassian only goes, I love your hair, Nesta. You’re beautiful. 

[vidalinav]

Cassian’s never seen her room before and it seems like an invasion of privacy to do so now, but Nesta plops onto her bed, tucking herself beneath her blue comforter.

Her whole room is filled with blues and creams, and it looks exactly what he imagines Nesta’s room to look like. The large calendar, an agenda on the desk, bookshelf after bookshelf lining her walls. There’s also things he doesn’t know of her yet. Pictures and posters and a.... stuffed lobster. Cassian holds it up. 

“Would you stop looking around?” Nesta groans. She has her arm resting over her eyes, and he wonders if it’s because she doesn’t want to see him looking or if she feels that bad that the light is bothering her. 

She should be getting some rest, he thinks.   

“Where did you get a stuffed lobster?” 

Nesta coughs out her response. 

The sound makes Cassian grimace, his chest ache with need, but he doesn’t rush over like he wants to. This is her house, her room... and this is Nesta who doesn’t like be coddled by anyone. 

“It’s a heat pack,” she says at last, after she catches her breath.

“A heat pack?” Cassian looks to the soft red claws that dangle. He’s never seen anything so soft be a heat pack. 

“For cramps,” she says as if it’s obvious. Nesta must take his silence to mean ignorance for she lifts onto her elbows, raising a judgmental brow. “Please tell me you know what periods are or am I am going to have to go back to teaching you biology?” 

“No,” Cassian draws out, “I know what periods are.” 

Nesta mumbles a thank god and Cassian watches as she shifts under the covers, pulling them up until they hover just beneath her mouth. 

“Are you cold?” Cassian asks, looking around her room. He spots his burgundy hoodie neatly folded and nearly yanks it from her desk. “Here, wear my sweatshirt.” 

“I just washed it,” Nesta whines, “I was going to give it back to you.”  

Cassian’s confused by the words, but he merely gestures for her to budge up. He’s thankful when she doesn’t argue. He rolls the sweatshirt over her head and Nesta fits her arms through the sleeves.  

“You didn’t have to wash it,” he says, watching as she pats down her hair. If only he could pull it up for her, comb his fingers through it. She could use his scrunchie too, if she wanted.

Nesta rolls her eyes and he can only imagine what she thinks. He can practically hear the words. Of course, you wouldn’t care about clean clothes. 

Her expressions practically give her away--everything she feels and thinks. Cassian wonders if he knows how open she is to the rest of the world. He wonders if she’d hate him if he told her this. 

“It was going to smell like me,” she frowns. 

Cassian wants to huff out a laugh. That is perfectly fine by him.  

~

Will this hold you over for like… a month?

Also I want you to know everything I write is from experience… I have a stuffed lobster that’s a heat pack.

[vidalinav]

Life’s a Beach (1)

I underestimated how long this fic was, so I smashed them together. I will continue just posting snippets and writing it like that (and then smashing them together), but since most of you will already have read it, I will include a bonus scene at the end. My thank you for putting up with my unconventional writing process. 

Summary: Tarquin comes to town and Cassian is jealous. 

~

Cassian doesn’t like when Tarquin visits.  

Never mind the ban from the Summer Court or that at one point, blood rubies pilfer their court. Never mind that Summer crowns him holier than the seas and the sun. Cassian doesn’t like the ease in which he walks. He may not have his usual royal garb, but he glides along the Sidra. The mighty king out for a stroll.  

Nesta looks like his queen.  

His mate is bright and beaming, huffing laughs and smiling wide as she praises his ideas. Cassian has ideas, too.  

But Nesta isn’t interested in his ideas as he follows them around. Nesta just continues smiling. Her skin glows with the sun, the apples of her cheeks turning a pretty shade of apricot as Tarquin notes the dying rays. Are you a poet Tarquin? Cassian wants to ask, but knowing the High Lord, he just might be and Nesta fucking loves poetry.  

Her cheeks remain pink and Cassian resists grabbing her hand and dragging her back to the house. You’ll die of heatstroke; he might say if she protests. But no.  

He won’t.  

He promises to be on his best behavior.  

Even so, Cassian can’t help eyeing buildings as they pass. Just break one, he urges. One and we can ban you from the Night Court. But that might mean, Nesta spending some time in Summer, with her good friend Tarquin, who makes Nesta beam like that, make her cheeks red like that.  

All Cassian sees is red.

All Nesta looks at is Tarquin.  

“You know, I never thought someone as young as you would be so conniving.”

Conniving? Cassian isn’t paying attention, but at the word, he’s ready to deem it insulting enough to fight Tarquin if Nesta so much as gives him a look. But Nesta only listens as Tarquin speaks. Cassian can’t even read her expression. It’s blank as she stares.  

“I admire that quality,” The little high lord says.  

Admire someone else, buddy.  

Nesta only snorts, the words making her laugh.  

The light plays with her eyes as she smirks. They look bluer today. Less silver. Cassian has to think that it has something to do with Tarquin. Tarquin who brings out the blue in Nesta’s eyes, who brings pink to her cheeks. Never mind that it probably has more to do with how bright it is today.  

“You’re too smart,” he remarks, and Cassian wants to roll his eyes. Nesta is too smart, too smart to be hanging around with some pompous flatterer. “No wonder you’re good at this game.”  

“What game?” She asks, lightly, but even Cassian can hear the caution. Her voice slowing as if coaxing an answer from his lips.  

“The game we all play. These situations that have us playing with life whether we want to or not.” Nesta lilts her head curiously, waiting for further explanation and Cassian waits too, because he’s not sure he understands. Tarquin looks like he’d rather not speak of it, but he continues even so.  

“Fae are good at games–invented them really. Court politics, morality, marriage, and bargains. I have to believe you’re good at them. Not just because I’ve seen you, but because I know what Eris offered as soon as he had you in his arms… It’s always the smart ones who win these games–the most clever.”  

Nesta rolls her eyes as if his words offer no great importance, “It’s never the smart ones who win.” She counters. “Not the ones who are strongest or the most magically gifted or the one who smiles the sweetest while she glides across the floor. There is no game that you can win by being the most beautiful person in the room… No game I’d want to play anyways.”  

“Then who does win?” He urges. Tarquin almost sounds desperate for the answer, and Cassian has to wonder if Nesta has woven a spell around him too just as much as Eris.  

“Whoever’s luckiest,” Nesta shrugs simply, “So there’s no point in trying so hard… We all end up in the exact place we were always supposed to be in.”    

She doesn’t sound happy about that either, and something about the tone makes Cassian want to hold her close. Make her remember that it’s a joy to be here. To be together, even if it is with another male who skin beams with the summer sun.

I’m lucky to have you. 

He hopes she knows.  

“Then you’re lucky,” Tarquin notes, “And blessed. You’re blessed and lucky. Smart and clever.” He laughs as if brushing the seriousness off, “Is that why you’re so good at cards? Azriel was moping last night. I thought that had something to do with you.”  

Nesta lifts a casual shoulder, a soft smile playing on her lips. Cassian thinks even that is a play–some move she knows will help her counter his attack. “Azriel loses because he wants to win and it’s easy to win against someone who’s already shown their cards.”  

“Motivations are everything.”  

“Yes,” Nesta nods frankly, “so why are you here?”  

Cassian wants to know, too.  

Actually, Cassian wants to push him into the Sidra and see if pretty fishman can float, but he’ll take Nesta’s verbal spar in any case. If he runs back to the House with his tail between his legs, Cassian will consider it a win for the both of them. His lovely strategist.

But Tarquin doesn’t run. Cassian doesn’t think Tarquin will ever run from Nesta and that simple fact makes him furious. That there is another male in this world who will see Nesta and not balk, who will know Nesta and not grimace.  

Cassian is not the only male who stays. Not for the power or the beauty or the poise, but because underneath all of that is a female who can conquer as much as she can tame. Whose voice sounds like the sea, whose eyes are crystal clear waters, whose mind rages against the tide.  

Tarquin breathes in ocean air.  

Every morning, he fishes on the coast. Every evening, he sleeps to the humming sea. Who would know Nesta better than someone who dreams of waves?  

So, it doesn’t come as any surprise when Tarquin looks to him, as she asks her question. Why are you here?  

“Because I want to know you.”  

A fool’s choice.  

“I’m not foolish enough to claim you,” He adds, “and I’m not foolish enough to think you’ll ever be claimed, even if you have a mate. No offense, Cassian.”

Offense taken.  

“I’m not even foolish enough to think I can even begin to know who you are or what you’ve been through… But when you looked at me that day in the Summer Court, and asked me to help your family, offered me anything that you could give me alone.”  

What? Cassian looks to Nesta, but she promptly ignores him, staring at Pompous Prince Tarquin.  

“I’d never seen anyone want so badly. I wanted to know what that felt like. Know what stirred so deeply in your heart that you looked at me like you’d give me the entire world for just one yes.”  

Tarquin raises a shoulder and Cassian tries not to swallow so loudly. He thinks he might have to shove a fist down his throat to stop his screaming, “You’re a question I keep mulling over and I’ve yet to figure out what the answer is. I don’t even know if I could know the answer if it stared me in the eyes, but I would like to learn. To feel half of what you feel, to learn how to love so truly.”

~

Cassian replays her answer as he sleeps. He goes over it and over it and over it again. At some point, he wakes her up in the middle of the night, shaking her shoulder.  

“Nesta,” he whispers, “Nesta? What did you mean?”

His mate only groans, her brows furrowing, as she burrows further into blankets. Cassian knows he’s playing in dangerous territory, but he can’t stop thinking about. It’s driving him insane.  

“Nesta, what did you mean?”  

He says it once louder, shaking her again. Nesta only juts out her elbow, hitting him in the rib. Cassian holds in the heavy moan as he clutches his chest, and Nesta settles in her sleep.  

Still, Cassian can’t give up now. “When you told Tarquin you’d think about it, what did you mean? Nesta?”  

Cassian grasps her shoulder, shaking her lightly, “Nesta!”  

“What?” Nesta yells, leaning up so fast, she almost hits her head on his chin. “What do you keep yelling about? I’m trying to sleep!”  

Even furious and half-asleep, she looks beautiful. The strap of her nightgown slips down one shoulder, and he trails the movement as if his own fingers push it down. Nesta crosses her arms, and he swallows down the want. Not an appropriate time, Cassian.  

She raises a brow, “Well?”  

“I wanted to talk,” he says simply.  

Nesta looks to the clock on the wall, glaring at him exasperated. “At two in the morning?”  

“Good a time as any.”  

She looks mad that much is true, and Cassian wishes to appease.  

His mate is tired, so he’ll fluff her pillows, rub her shoulders while she relaxes enough to tell him exactly what she means when she tells Tarquin she’ll think about it. As if his I want to get to know you is an offer she can’t refuse.  

But as he fluffs her pillows, Cassian can only think of Tarquin.  

He would have waited to speak to her, prioritizing Nesta’s health over his wants. Just this morning… or yesterday morning, the High Lord of Summer makes sure to ask Nesta if she’s eaten as she reads her book on the couch–a fact he finds rude to say the least–and when she says no, he offers to make breakfast for her. Oh, so generous of him. Never mind that they have a House who cooks their meals.  

Cassian scoffs as he thinks about it. What High Lord plays chef? And who is he to ask if Nesta’s eaten as if his mate isn’t being taken care of?  

He yanks at the pillow, beats at it, punches it. He can’t help but imagine Tarquin’s face. He can see feathers jutting from the cushion, and still he hits. The cloth lays in the cinders on the bed before he stops.  

Nesta sighs at the mess, grabbing one of the pillows from his side, clasping it to her head.  

“What are you doing?” Cassian asks.  

“Hoping I suffocate enough to pass out.”

Her voice is muffled, and he grasps at the pillow. Her hair is a ruffled mess. It splays out on the pillow in waves. Cassian can’t help but breathe at the sight of her and the sound is a sigh of relief.  

She’s his… Or as much as Nesta can be his.  

She chose him.  

Nesta with her matted hair, the side of her cheek pink from where she pushes up against the pillow, her silver nightgown making her skin glow in the light of the moon, chooses him.  

Shouldn’t that be enough?  

Cassian rubs at his face, feeling all too shameful. “I’m sorry. I just–” He takes in their bed, feathers littering the duvet. Suddenly, he feels like a little kid. What was he doing beating a pillow like that? Waking Nesta in the middle of the night? 

“You’re jealous,” Nesta says.  

Her voice echoes in the room, and Cassian frowns at the words. Of course, he’s jealous. That much is obvious. He’s always jealous.  

Nesta is beautiful and powerful and smiles like she grants the sun its light, and males flock to her like moths. Not just any males either but stupid princes and arrogant High Lords and stupid, arrogant Tarquin!

Nesta only grabs at the pillow in his hands, setting it under her head as she closes her eyes. He waits for her to speak, but he can only hear the ticking of the clock, on and on as time passes.  

Nesta doesn’t say a thing.  

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say. You’re jealous and you go back to sleep.”  

The pretty pink of her lips purse, but she doesn’t even open her eyes as she says, “If you were looking for comfort, you shouldn’t have woken me up at two in the morning.”  

Well… damn.  

Cassian settles back at his side, crossing his arms as he stares at the ceiling. He’s one less pillow down, but that doesn’t bother him much. It’s the thoughts that don’t quiet even for a second. Stupid mating bond.  

That thought though has him looking to Nesta. No, he loves that mating bond. He loves her. And even if Tarquin wants to impede himself like a wall between them, Cassian will still love Nesta Archeron.  

He closes his eyes repeating those words as if they’re a lullaby that will let him drift off to sleep. I love Nesta Archeron. I love Nesta Archeron. I love Nesta Archeron.  

The words don’t comfort him even a little.  

But Nesta sets her head on his chest. She tucks herself in to the crook of his arm and Cassian squeezes gently–he tries not to hold on too tight.  

She must sense his surprise. Whether that be from the bond or because Nesta knows him like that back of her hand, he doesn’t know. But she blinks one eye open, looking at him with bright grey and all his fears are assuaged.

“You should hold me since you woke me up.”

Cassian can only blink, nodding his head as she wraps his arms around her, and he settles in. He can hear her heart beating and he can hear her soft breathing and Cassian can go to sleep to this. He can.  

Cassian will hold her until she tells him let go. Cassian will not let go.  

Still… he can’t help it.  

“I bet Tarquin can’t hold you like this.”  

Cassian only gets mouth full of feathers.

~

Tarquin tells Rhys that he’s going to stay for two weeks. During this time, they’ll talk of treaties, draw up some plan of trade, some easy comings and goings of Night Court and Summer Court residences. Cassian tells Rhys that they don’t need a treaty. Throw him out now, he thinks.  

“Is something going on with you?” Rhys asks, leaning back in his chair, ever the High Lord. Cassian is starting to hate High Lords.  

Cassian crosses his arms, grinding his teeth. He’s in the sitting room in the estate. Amren solves a puzzle as if nothing about this meeting is important at all. Mor talks to Feyre by the dining room, gossiping rather than listening to Rhys moan about Tarquin and peace treaties. Nesta, not that she goes to these meetings, is out doing gods know what with Tarquin who wants to view the city.  

Take me to all your favorite places, he says. Cassian rolls his eyes just thinking about the way Nesta’s light up. Bookstores and restaurants and museums. She knows them all. Nesta goes with him, first. Why does Tarquin care? Is he planning on buying a winter house in Velaris?  

Cassian’s blood runs cold at the thought.  

“He’s jealous,” Azriel says, throwing a scroll at Rhys which he easily catches.  

Mor’s head jerks up at the word, even Feyre smirks with interest.  

“No,” Cassian dismisses, but he’s never been a good liar. His voice pitches high and Rhys eyes him with humor, “I… just think that we don’t need Summer Court resources, when we have an abundance of them already.”  

“You’re also banned,” Amren comments helpfully, “I would say that makes you the most biased towards these dealings.”  

“Your boyfriend is from the Summer Court; wouldn’t that make you the most biased?” Mor asks. Amren simply shrugs.  

“I mean have we considered that. That male banned me and now we’re opening our borders?”  

“Our borders have always been open,” Feyre says, not so helpfully. The look she gives him has him sinking in his seat. “Also, you wrecked the central magistrate.” 

“They’ve rebuilt it,” Cassian argues.  

“You mates are all the same,” Amren groans loudly, “She’s not going to fuck Tarquin.”  

“Shut up Amren!”

“That’s the best you can do? I’m sure Tarquin’s more eloquent.”

“Amren,” Feyre says, giving her that motherly reprimanding look. An expression that Cassian supposes comes with the motherhood package.  

It does the trick.

Amren sneers, but she settles back where she sits on the floor, picking at her puzzle. Cassian has the sudden urge to knock the pieces off the table, just for the comment alone.

“Nesta loves you, Cassian,” Feyre says, her voice light and calming. Too bad it doesn’t calm him, and he doesn’t want to talk about this now even if she goads. “What’s there to be jealous of?”  

Cassian already knows this answer. He knows this answer this morning, the other night, the minute summer enters Velaris spring. It’s not that Nesta loves him. Cassian knows Nesta loves him. It’s that he lets his guard down. He forgets the most crucial information of all–

Nesta is easily lovable.  

Sure, she might give a sneer or two at someone who annoys her well enough or beat the living daylights out of someone who threatens those she loves, but Nesta is an easily lovable dork.

She laughs at stupid things and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. She’s a goofball! He swears she knows every book in that library. She absorbs information like a sponge, will rant for hours about everything she learns. Her thoughtfulness knows no bounds. They’ll be off at the market and if she sees something that looks like Gwyn or Emerie or himself or whoever, she has to have it. She has to give it to them. They go to get cinnamon buns and she orders enough for the priestesses. She remembers everyone’s birthday. She learns the name of every patron and their families and their language and their holidays. It’s not hard to love Nesta.  

Who would not love Nesta?  

So yes, he has something to be jealous of.  

“You look stressed,” Mor notes, her eyebrows raising.  

Amren nods, “You look like you’re going to fight someone.”  

“Or puke,” Azriel adds.  

“Just don’t fight Tarquin,” Rhys concludes, “I can’t ban you from the court, but I can certainly make sure you’re away in Illyria while he’s here.”  

“You guys are really supportive, you know that?”

“Well at least we’re not trying to steal you’re girl,” Mor teases.  

“Yet.”  

Cassian gives her a glare, but she only laughs a bright sound.  

“I’ve never seen you jealous,” she says.

“I’m not jealous.”  

Azriel raises a pointed finger, “what about that one time you threw that rock at that window?”  

“Or when you broke that male’s nose,” Rhys suggests.  

Amren rolls her eyes, setting down a piece of her puzzle, “How about the last time we all went to a bar.”  

Mor, Azriel, and Rhys look to each other, contemplating the words. Cassian watches as they nod their heads slowly.  

“Oh yeah.”

“You’re right.”  

“You were jealous then, too.”  

“I was not jealous,” Cassian insists.  

Thankfully, Feyre–sweet Feyre offers him relief. She raises her hands, and Cassian thinks he’s glad to have such a loyal sister-in-law. “Guys, he was not jealous.”  

Thank you, Feyre.  

“He was territorial.”  

The others voice their agreement before Cassian has a chance to speak–to defend himself from this defamation of character.

Not that he can defend himself.  

He remembers that day all too well…

It’s the first Nesta goes to a bar with them. The first time she goes to a bar in a while, and she’s nervous. But she looks beautiful. So damn beautiful that he thinks he might suggest staying in. She has on a black dress with these tiny straps and a necklace that makes him want to trace her neck with his tongue until she’s mewling and soft and pliant. But she’s nervous, so he only kisses her forehead.  

We don’t have to drink he says. I won’t drink either, he promises.  

Cassian turns out to be a bold-faced liar.  

He’s drunk by the time the first band plays. He keeps gobbling down the drinks. Nesta gets them for free. Martinis, vodka sodas, gin, and whiskey. All manners of shots. Every alcohol keeps floating her way. The males seem to think they only need to find the right one. The one Nesta prefers and they take it as a challenge. He remembers asking if she even needed their money all those months ago, and she only shrugs a shoulder. Haughty and much, much too beautiful.  

Nesta offers to send them back, but Cassian gulps them down one by one before she can even call over the waitress. I can take it, he says.  

Once again, Cassian is made a liar.  

They have to carry him out of that bar. At some point, he remembers flying over the city as Rhys and Azriel chase him through the streets.  

The only way they get him down is by Nesta calling for him. An easy trick, he thinks. If they asked him, they should have tried that first. Of course, he answers his mate when she calls.  

When he meets her, crawling back with his wings drooping to the concrete, Nesta only opens her arms as if she wants him to hug her. Cassian hugs her. He… climbs on top of her, really.  

But she combs her fingers through his hair and Cassian hunches over to lay his head on her shoulder and the next thing he knows… he’s lying in bed, a glass of water and some headache powder on the side table.  

She’d hit that nerve in his neck.  

Cassian wants to scoff just thinking about it.  

“Where is Nesta anyway?”  

The question has Cassian grinding his teeth, he can hear the noise in his ears. With fucking Tarquin.  

“She’s out,” he says instead.  

“Out where?”  

“Out to museums,” He lists thinking of all the places Nesta enjoys. “Or picnics.” All the places that Nesta will smile at. “Or restaurants.” All places Nesta will bubble up with laughter, that she’ll blush with glee, that she’ll gaze at wistfully with that bastard Tarquin. “Or maybe romantic boat rides. The one in that fucking swan.”  

Cassian doesn’t even know he grabs on to the throw pillow, but the next thing he knows the cushion is torn in half and the stuffing falls out like billowing snow.  

The others look at him strangely, but it’s Feyre who takes a cautious step towards him, taking the pillow from his hands.  

“And when will they be done?”  

Cassian rolls his eyes, looking to the clock. “I meet them in a half an hour. We’re getting lunch,” he mocks in a voice that doesn’t sound anything like the High Lord of Summer.  

Feyre hums in answer, her eyes widening innocently. Cassian stares in suspicion.  

He watches as the others look to each other, too. Azriel to Mor. Mor to Rhys. Rhys to Feyre. Feyre to Amren. And then all of them look back to him.  

It’s Mor who bounces brightly, “I want to go!”  

“I’m going, too,” Rhys announces.  

Feyre crosses her arms, “You can’t go. I’m going! Someone has to watch the baby.”  

“Let Nuala and Cerridwen watch the baby! I’m supporting my brother.”  

“I’m supporting my sister!”  

“Oh, for cauldron’s sake,” Amren groans, “just bring the boy!”  

Cassian frowns as they start packing up around him, yelling at each other for their coats and… baby carriers.  

Amren only pauses to laugh at the look on his face.  

“It could be worse, you know,” She says, her voice something she probably thinks sounds soft and comforting, “Tarquin could have already made some move. What do males say these days? Oh right, I want to get to know you or something equally as vomit inducing.”  

Cassian simply picks up the throw pillow to his left and screams.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BONUS SCENE 1: 

The evening of their first outing, Cassian can’t button his shirt. He should've taken that as his first sign that things would inevitably go wrong. 

“Are the buttons winning?” Nesta asks lightly. Cassian huffs a curse, hiking the shirt over his head. It gets stuck around his neck and he groans out a response.

Fine, he thinks. I give up. 

Nesta laughs at his slumping shoulders. 

“It’s the wings,” He says, muffled through the cloth. His wings drift up and down as if huffing themselves, showing her that they too are thoroughly annoyed. “This shirt isn’t made for Illyrians.” 

That’s a lie, but Nesta only hums. 

“Well... as much as I like you topless and I do like you topless.” Cassian can feel her hands trailing up his ribs and he squirms at the ticklish touch. “I don’t think it would be appropriate for public outings.” 

“You mean you’d be jealous,” He breaths. Nesta pulls the shirt down, unbuttoning and buttoning it again. His mate makes it seem far too easy, and she smirks up at him when the shirt is fully on. Her lips painted in red. 

The fresh air is cool in his lungs without the noose of dress ware, and he winds his arms around her, breathing in her scent. “All those females looking. Males too. What would you do if they propositioned me?” He urges, holding her closer, bringing her hips to his. “Cassian, Cassian, take me in your arms.”

He dips her low as if they’ve finished some waltz, and lifts her high until her leg is around his waist. That’s when he notices the slit in her gown, running all the way up her thigh. 

“They’ll chase me through the streets, you know. I’m a very hot commodity.” 

Nesta doesn’t even laugh. In fact, she merely lifts her eyes, her expression blank in that very Nesta way of hers.  

She fingers the collar of his shirt and Cassian can’t help but follow her hands. He thinks of every place those fingers can touch. “You wouldn’t be so difficult to catch. All it’d take is some buttons.” 

Cassian roars with laughter and Nesta smiles at that. A small turn of her lips. 

She turns back to the vanity, though he can’t say she’s not already perfect. He’s about to say so too, but that’s when he notices the dress. 

It’s hugs her every curve... the way Cassian only wishes to hug her. The black brings out the gold in her hair, in her sun-kissed skin. There’s a slit, Cassian knows, and tiny, tiny straps. 

Cassian moves towards her without a second thought. How anyone can think when they look at Nesta Archeron, he doesn’t know. He grasps her arms, dipping his head low. He places a reverent kiss on her shoulder and Nesta looks at him through the mirror, blinking up at him with those big, magnificent eyes. 

They’ve never fucked in front of mirror before.  

Cassian makes a note. 

“You know, we can always skip this... thing. Who would even notice if we're gone?” 

“Considering it’s for us, I’d say plenty.” 

She says the words with enough disdain that Cassian frowns at the tone. She  looks away as he catches her eyes.

“Do you not want to go?” He asks, dropping his hands. 

“I want to get this night over with,” she says, with a certain bite that has him backtracking. He runs over the day and all things she can be mad at him for, but he finds nothing, so he doesn’t understand.  

The night is for them. 

To celebrate her more than anyone. There’s been so many celebrations for her these past months as if they’re making up for lost time. Cassian doesn’t mind. Nesta should be celebrated. And Nesta doesn’t seem to mind, though she’s rather quiet during those outings. 

That’s not unusual. 

He used to think Azriel was the most introverted of them all. But Nesta beats him by miles. 

“Why--”

“I just don’t like that we always have these. Why can’t everyone just leave us alone?” 

Cassian stares at her reddening skin. The way her eyes dart back and forth, trying not to look to him. His frown deepens at the way she hides. 

He thought they were past this. 

Cassian is the first person to admit that he doesn’t know Nesta. Not in the way he wants to and Nesta seldom tells him much. But he at least knows her well enough to know that when she gets upset, it’s rarely what she says it is.

So Cassian takes inventory. 

They’re going to a get-together. They’ve done that before. They’re wearing formal clothes. They’ve done that before. They’re meeting the same people. Yes, that’s correct. The only thing that’s different is... the location? 

“You have a problem with the restaurant,” he guesses. 

Nesta merely lies her chin on her palm. 

“It’s new... they have good food... so I hear. It’s got great music, which you like. It’s got a bar,” Cassian’s gaze whips to her, “Is it the bar?” 

Nesta rolls her eyes, but he can see the way her cheeks flush a bright pink. The color softens something inside of him, makes him want to hug her and hold her and get rid of every bad thought in her head. 

The bar. Of course. He sees the way she cringes at alcohol, the way she shifts in her seat when a dinner turns into an after party. She doesn’t even like most of their holidays for that reason, because they all get drunk and she sits in the corner not knowing what to do. Nesta hates being embarrassed.

She can drink if she wants, he tells her, it’s her choice. They won’t judge her for it, he affirms, but... Cassian can’t guarantee that and Nesta knows that’s a lie. Nesta doesn’t even touch liquor. 

Cassian feels his chest start to sink and he must show it on his face, because she scoffs. 

It’s bad enough she doesn’t want to go to the city most days. She’s told him it’s because she’s scared to face who she was, afraid that she’ll be back there soon enough. Cassian can’t reassure her well enough. We can face it together, he says. We can face it all. But it’s been baby steps and these outings are the only times she pushes her limits. 

Cassian shifts her around, laying his hands on her cheeks, rubbing at the heated skin. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want.” 

“I don’t want to be a coward.” 

Cassian shakes his head, “you’re not going to be one if you go and you’re not going to be one if you stay.” 

Nesta sighs, and Cassian kisses her forehead because he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how to instill in Nesta that she’s the strongest, bravest person he knows. How does he convince her of a truth that’s so obvious?  

She isn’t going to change her mind that much he knows, but damn him if he let’s her wallow alone.  

“I won’t drink,” He offers, “We can play cards, dance a little... I promise I’ll try not to step on your toes again.” 

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” She says, her lips pouting in that way that makes him want to kiss her nose and her cheek and every place that he can touch. “To have fun.” 

“You are fun and I enjoy myself plenty with you.” 

Little does Cassian know that the enjoyment of the night is him knocking back barrels of drinks, stripping to his underwear, and running head first through the streets. 

To be continued... 

~

LOL. This fic is insane. Because not only do you get snippets before you get the final chapter, you get snippets in the final chapters. Snip-ception. 

~

Tagged:  @my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @highqueenevankhell, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph, @angelicvoice19, @bo0kmaster69, @drielecarla, @generalnesta

I think that’s it. Also know that if you asked to be tagged on snippets, I am going to tag you MANY TIME throughout the day... so be cautious about that. 

[vidalinav]

Whatever you do, do not imagine Nesta with her hair down wearing the most vintage slinky nightgowns. The ones made of silk and a touch of lace, that go down to the floor or to the ankle, and cling to her curves. Don’t imagine Cassian not knowing what do with his hands, because he so wants to touch her but he also cannot stop admiring her, and it’s a conflict of interest, his brain going Woah what do we here? What do we do? and Nesta just laughing and teasingly telling him she has 30 more of these, and Cassian pouncing, winding his hands through her hair as he thanks the mother, because one for everyday of the month. 

[vidalinav]

A Drinking Song

Chapter 1: Wine Comes in at the Mouth

Summary: Two months after ACOFAS, pre ACOSF fic. If Cassian had actually tried reaching out to Nesta during these months.

Masterlist, Chapter List 

Slip and slide this into your Wednesday evening.

~

Nesta was drunk on ale, and Cassian was drunk on the sight of her. Not because she was beautiful, but because she was a walking disaster and all he could do was drink her in. 

She wore calamity like a navy-blue dress that clung to her figure, sleeves rolling down her arms. To hide those bones of hers, Cassian thought, but not well enough to distract him from how she’d become smaller then when he’d seen her last. 

She blinked up at him, and he opened his mouth, nothing witty or wise escaping his lips. All he could think was that she was here. In this place between tavern wall and tavern wall. The bricks quieting the maudlin voices to dull throbs.  

Cassian hadn’t seen her since solstice, after he’d thrown that present in the Sidra and hoped that the ache he’d felt had been carried out to sea, along with the words he’d stupidly said out loud… because he couldn’t help himself—couldn’t stop himself from hurting where he’d been hurt but it hurt to see her like this.  

How are you, he wanted to say.  

Let me help you.  

Are you okay, he wanted to ask.  

Let me help you.  

Do you want to go home, he inquired in his thoughts.  

Let me help you. Let me help you. Let me help you.  

Instead, Cassian swallowed as Nesta blinked a bored stare. “You come here often.” 

It wasn’t a question, gods help him, but it sounded like one. As if he was a young boy who just had his first run in with a beautiful female and that was the best pick up line he could come up with. Nesta raised a brow.  

“I meant, I’ve seen you around here before.” In this tavern, walking these streets. Because he had seen her. 

So many times he’d looked, hoped to happen upon her, where her eyes would light up with recognition. You’re finally here, he wanted her to say. I’ve been waiting all this time. 

But even the shadows knew this to be an impossible dream. 

How many times did he wish to forget her? To get the feel of her skin off his, the soft touch of her lips as they lay dying.  

He wondered if Nesta remembered—if Nesta could forget.  

She merely stared at him, glazed eyes and all, and Cassian shuffled in his boots. He had too many flaws, he decided, for the way she looked at him as if she could count them all. Name them and proclaim them if he said one word out of place. 

No, Nesta did not remember. Nesta would not want to remember. 

“Why do you come here?” Cassian managed to get out. Some voice in his head answered for him. You know why, why do you keep coming back?

“Because I can’t stay away—”  

“What?”  

“I told you to stay away,” she repeated. The arch in her brow was filled with enough queenly arrogance that she might as well have banished him right then and there.

Cassian smelled the stale liquor in the air and wanted to laugh, some half-mad sound. Sweat stuck to his skin, his hands were shaking as he clasped them together, and the female in front of him looked as if he’d already been mad, insane from the start. 

It was fitting that this is what he would remember. Velaris’s summer heat flaming his cheeks. No sunshine. No soft rains. Just darkness written on her face—drawn in her protruding cheekbones, in the shadows under her eyes.  

He could hear the tap of her shoes on the cement, but he didn’t move—didn't let her see that he was frozen in place, trapped in creation instead of the chaos that Nesta had held onto like an outstretched hand. 

Cassian opened his mouth to speak. Tell her! His mind screamed. Tell her that she means something, that you feel like she does, that you know what she’s going through!

Cassian turned to face her, but her figuring was already cutting through the shadows, flittering through the pale light of the streetlamps. 

Gone, but not so easily forgotten.  

“I can’t,” he choked. “I can’t.”  

~

Cassian stood in front of her apartment door, practically breathing on the surface. He was already tired, and he’d only walked up the stairs. Perhaps he was out of shape, but no... it was that the mere idea of this that made his body ache and his stomach turn uncomfortably.  

He might have laid his forehead there, if he could guarantee he wouldn’t make a sound on the trembling wood. Cassian didn’t want to make a sound. He wanted to be invisible, to float through the walls, to be in her presence without having to beg for it. 

In truth, he hoped she knew he was there, her sensing him enough to open the door to her apartment as if he was welcome. Even if he was not. Cassian took a breath, eased himself out of his thoughts, before lifting his fist where it lied on the green peeling paint.  

Just knock.  

Cassian lowered his hand.  

No, he couldn’t do this. Couldn’t make himself reveal what he already knew—that she wouldn’t open the door and even if she did, she wouldn’t be happy to see him. She’d slam the door on his face, and he’d run away with the confirmation that he’d been right all along. 

Cassian didn’t want to be right.

Cassian wanted to be wrong, begged and prayed he was wrong... begged and prayed she wasn’t even in the room to hear him pacing in his thoughts.

It had been a wrong choice to come here. 

So, Cassian walked away. He had to walk away, or he’d never recover. Five flights turned into four, then to three. There was a whole world ahead of him, that he could see in the window of that little door at the bottom. A world that didn’t seem to include her. 

Nesta didn’t want to be a part of it and Cassian ached at that too. But a thought entered his mind. Some revelation that made him pause in his steps. What if she did want to be included?

What if she wanted to experience it all? 

What if she was scared—too scared to reach out a hand—too scared to do something before she finally go the nerve? What if it passed her by—a missed opportunity that she’d never get back? 

She didn’t have to be scared, he wanted to tell her, and neither did Cassian have to be frightened. 

And maybe...  Nesta could sense him there. Was perhaps waiting for him to knock, because she’d wanted this as much as him. Because she’d cared for him. He knew she did... or just because she wanted the company. He’d take that too. Anything she’d give him.  

It was that thought that made him want to run back up there. Try once more. 

So Cassian turned back, his feet pounding on the steps until he stood in front of green. A color that made him nauseous. He tried to breath, to imagine fresh air and the wind on his face—in his wings.  

His hand was poised to knock...  

Just knock.  

But, no. 

He should have brought food. The last time Cassian had seen her, she was thin. Nesta had always been on the small side, but she’d been smaller and thinner lately. She could use some muffins or... What was her favorite food?  

Cassian didn’t know, but he’d ask Feyre or Elain, and come back with food and... tea. She liked tea; he knew. She’d always gotten peppermint at the townhouse. Always drank it when she was at the House of Wind.  

Tea and food, he could do that. It was early now anyway, Nesta could be asleep for all he knew. She did always have late nights. He’d get food and tea, and when he came back Nesta would surely be awake.

Cassian lowered his hand. A mission on his mind as his feet pounded along the stairs with the smell of baked bread in his nose, the feel of hot tea on his palms, but but Cassian paused, halting as he neared the last step.  

What if she wasn’t there when he came back? She could have something to do during the day. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about her. He didn’t even know what she liked to eat!

Ask her what her favorite food is, his mind roared, tell her your coming back!

So, Cassian ran up the stairs once more. The clinking of metal and concrete and the sound of his steps filling his ears. He wouldn’t lose his nerve.  

He was almost at the last step, and then he'd knock. He’d knock this time.  

“Would you stop that racket,” a fae yelled from beneath the stairs. 

Cassian peered over the railing only to be met by a stout male carrying a broom stick like he was brandishing a sword. The male hunkered back at the sight of him.  

Cassian couldn’t help the way he stepped along each foot as if the nervous movement might somehow make him seem smaller. He never liked being so tall and the height of the stairs didn’t make him seem less intimidating. On a battlefield and in the bedroom, his physique had come in handy—advantageous even. To trapezing through the city and through Nesta’s tiny apartment building, his size had made him no friends.  

“Oh, it’s… you again.” Cassian chose to ignore those words, didn’t let them hit him like a door to the face. 

He had been there, hadn’t he? Too many times. Too many pep-talks that went unrecognized for he could never find the nerve to knock—to be what she needed.  

The fae male lowered the broom, sweeping casually, moving back and forth as if the interaction—Cassian being there—wasn't odd at all... or perhaps it was too odd, and he couldn’t fathom not doing anything while the minutes passed by.  

The male started to whistle. A tune that reminded Cassian of old days, though he couldn’t remember which. There’d been so many, too many that Cassian wanted to forget. The melody drifted past his ears until he could only hear shouts... screams... war tunes... and drums. There’d been too many who whistled that tune until they could whistle no more. Cassian couldn’t remember them all.

He could only think of one--who’s voice had quieted so much that he would have taken any shout, any cruel word to hear her again. To see her awake, alive, and fighting. Because she had stopped fighting, hadn’t she?  

He watched as the male paused, looked at him, and began the sweet tune once more.  Cassian turned back to the door, raising his fist to the wood. Just one knock.  

“She’s not here, you know.”  

Cassian knew that was a lie.

He felt her there as he always had. A string pulled taut and tight to where she lied in that room of hers. He wanted to grasp it as he did his excuses, tug on it and see if she’d answer. 

Cassian couldn’t bring himself to wonder what he would've done if she’d ignored it—if she tore it apart like the rest of her.  

And it was that thought that made him lower his fist.  

He’d try again another day.  

~

Cassian didn’t try another day. He merely came back when he knew she wasn’t there, when he couldn’t feel her in the pit of his stomach and the nausea had gone away. He’d given the crotchety fae male a bag of coins to turn a blind eye, so he’d have free reign to sit there and wallop while Nesta gallivanted through taverns, males, and wine.

Knowing Nesta she was probably scamming some rake out of his wallet, because he knew she was good at cards. Or at least that’s what Feyre had told him when he’d seen her last.  

Cassian had no doubt that Nesta would win, of course. Why wouldn’t Nesta win when she was so good at games?

Cassian could only sigh in the dark. Unfortunately, he was the only one playing them right now. Three days in and she was already winning... perhaps had won already if Cassian never got the nerve. 

He didn't want to think about what that meant—what it cost him by not knocking on her fucking door. So instead, Cassian imagined Nesta and that cunning mind of hers at work. Cards splayed out like throwing knives, as if she’d choose the perfect weapon before she slaughtered her opponent. He imagined the look the male would make as he lost, as each lethal card sliced through him because he was too busy staring at her breasts or her lips or her neck. Cassian imagined the smug satisfaction that would chase her for days, her eyes brightening like she’d known all along how to bring a male to his knees.  

He already knew what to call that look and Cassian couldn’t help his laugh. The sound was too fond for his own ears.  

But then he thought of where the night would inevitably lead, and the stairwell seemed to darken at his mood.  

Cassian stared at the door where he’d watched for hours now, the rain streaking across the window. It was almost peaceful, the echoing sound drumming across the rooftop. Maybe this is what Nesta found appealing about this place. Cauldron knew he kept trying to find a reason. She didn’t seem like the person who would settle for anything less than mansions or gleaming chandeliers and here she was living… here.  

Not that there was anything wrong with here, he thought, chastising himself for sounding like a snob. He’d been spending too much time with Rhys, Cassian reasoned, or maybe it was Mor. She always did have a taste for the flashier things in life. He’d been raised on nothing so he shouldn’t have hated this place so much, but he did and Cassian didn’t want to think about why.  

Cassian didn’t want to think about why he was here either. 

Maybe it was because he knew she’d be drunk again, and a drunk Nesta was a Nesta that was bound to send him away. She’d leave him standing there after a few harsh words or just a cold lingering stare that would chase him all the way back to the House or the townhouse, whichever he chose tonight to get that feel of her gaze off his skin.  

Cassian had chosen to lose today and that’s why he sat here. That’s why he couldn’t sit here any longer. He had to leave. Before she came back. Before she saw how her look—her words would slice right through him.  

Cassian jumped up, his wings rising as his heart raced unconsciously. As if it could sense her there—

As if she was near—

As if —

The door opened with a slam on its hinge.

Nesta walked in and she was not alone.

Cassian watched as she kissed the male and the male gripped the skirts of her dress, bunching them up in his fists. Cassian bunched his hands into fists at the same time that he looked around for some place to hide.  

This was a mistake, and Cassian breathed deeply, trying to quell that part of his chest that wanted to roar like some unhindered beast. Cassian was not a beast and Nesta was free to do what she wanted—whoever she wanted. But damn them both if it did not make him see red where the male’s lips met her neck, where her hands lingered on his chest.  

They turned, heading towards the stairs, their lips interlocked, and Cassian sat there utterly frozen. Nesta blinked as her eyes opened and she met his gaze. Cassian could only hold up a hand in greeting.  

He watched as her brows furrowed as she continued kissing the male, staring at Cassian as if he’d grown two heads. But Cassian couldn’t control himself, his brain shutting down as his mouth opened wide. “I hardly doubt your partner would be happy about you staring at another male.”  

The male in question shrieked at the sound of his voice.

He pulled away from Nesta and Cassian took in the brown hair, the built frame, scanning his face as if he wished to memorize it. He hadn’t seen him before and maybe that was for the best, because if he knew where this male lived, he might have found himself circling above that place. He could almost hear the rumors of some big crow in the sky.  

“Ow! You bit my lip,” Nesta said as she held a hand up to her mouth. Indeed, Cassian could smell the welled-up blood, and he had to clench his fists even tighter.  

“Com--Commander—General—Sir?”  

Cassian only looked up to the male, painting on that calm, stoic expression. The one he knew would make this male shit his pants. He didn’t give him an answer as the male squirmed, only looked to Nesta who was still touching her fingers to her mouth, pushing on the perfect pink skin to stop the bleeding.  

Her eyes were glazed over like they had been before, and Cassian could tell she’d been drinking heavily as she bunched up her brows, tilting her head to look at him. Her hair stuck to her skin from where she’d been caught in the downpour, and Cassian wanted to give her his jacket, sure that she must have been cold.  

“What do you want,” she asked, her words slurring together.

“To make sure you came home safely,” he replied, his voice rougher than he meant.  

“Go away.”  

Cassian turned to the male, “You heard her. Scram!”  

The male lunged for the door, looking to Nesta only for a moment, “I’ll—”  

Cassian glared harder. He could smell the fear reeking off of him like the ale that stained his clothes, and Cassian’s wings flared unconsciously. Promises of talons and teeth and fists if he did not bolt. . 

“See you around,” he added and ran. 

Nesta crossed her arms even as she frowned at the male disappearing into the night. Cassian could name that look too, and he couldn’t help the accusatory tone that came out of him. “That male is not nearly as drunk as you.”  

“Why would I want them drunk,” she mused, not turning away from the door. “They can barely keep it up as it is.”  

She must have found that amusing, because she smiled lightly as she looked to him and Cassian stored that look away, even as he grunted at her vulgar mouth. 

“I said go away.” She went to lay a hand on the railing, and Cassian shot up. 

“Let me help you,” he called, “you’re too drunk to be climbing up four flights of stairs. I can carry you.”

“I can do it myself,” she responded petulantly, holding on tightly as she pulled herself up. “And I’m not drunk.” As she said the words, Nesta leaned forward where she’d tipped too far ahead. Her hand settled on a step above.

“Yes, I’m sure you always fall over like this.”

But Nesta continued the climb and Cassian watched as she gripped the rail harder when her foot caught on the step below. He reached for her arm then—couldn't help himself. “Don't you ever worry you’re going to break your neck on these stairs?”  

She huffed a laugh, and the sound surprised him enough that he accidentally tripped on the next step, himself, banging his knee. He tried to keep Nesta upright when she moved with him. Cassian grunted, “you would choose an apartment on the fifth floor. I’m guessing you don’t tell this to potential suitors.”

Nesta frowned sweetly, waving a hand. “You talk too much.”  

Something about that look, too, made him chuckle and Cassian cleared his throat, swallowing down the discomfort—the need. He supposed he was talking too much, but he’d barely talked to her before, and the sound of her voice comforted him in a way that nothing else could. He wanted to keep her talking—wanted her to talk his ears out.  

He might have bit a little, the image of the male still fresh in his mind—but Nesta... Nesta smirked and huffed and frowned. The longer he stared at her, the longer he knew it would be harder to leave. He didn’t want to touch her, feel her, look at her for too long.  

Still, he reached out a hand, “You really want to climb up the rest of the way?”  

Nesta looked to the top, where it curved to three more flights. Why the building had to be so tall, he’d never know. She sighed, a loud sound that had him swallowing a smirk, and leaned her had back in defeat. Cassian steadied her then, too.    

“Fine,” She drawled, holding out her arms.  

Cassian picked her up easily and as Nesta wound her arms around his neck, he tried not to pull her closer, once again remembering that male. He bet that louse wouldn’t have been able to carry her up four flights.  

“Where are your keys?” Cassian was lucky Nesta didn’t ask how he knew it was her door. Only centuries of training had kept him from dropping her as her scent washed over him. Alcohol and lavender. He didn’t know what he’d do if she started asking questions he didn’t know how to answer.  

Nesta patted at her shirt and then her waist. When he heard the jingle of keys, he sent a thanks to the Mother that he didn’t have to go searching for them through Velaris or worse, wake that crabby old fae. He certainly didn’t have another bag of coins floating around his pockets.  

Cassian kicked open the door with his boot and nothing about the scenario made this seem matrimonial. He almost laughed as he imagined it. A drunk Nesta with a veil and permanent scowl. 

Her apartment was freezing, and Cassian zeroed in on the windows. Open and letting in the cool night air. Nesta tucked herself closer to him, her hair brushing his neck where she’d laid her head.

“You’re cold,” he said as she started shivering.  

“You’re cold,” she huffed back in challenge. Cassian wanted to roll his eyes.  

He refrained from brushing her hair away from her face as he set her back down, refrained from pulling off her coat to hang it on a little knob he’d seen by the door, refrained from helping her with her boots as Nesta plopped on the floor, untying them haphazardly, and swaying backwards in an effort to pull them off.  

Cassian almost smirked at that too.  

“Let me help you.”  

Nesta didn’t argue this time, just sighed in defeat as her brows set into fine lines. It was an annoyed look that he would think of a name for later. 

Cassian gestured to her wet clothes, “you should change into something warmer. You’ll catch a cold sleeping in that.”  

Nesta blinked up at him, but began stripping off her jacket. She threw it on the ground, and Cassian took a good look at the rest of her apartment as he picked it up behind her.  

Her apartment was large and empty, high ceiling which explained the stairs. There was a bed in the far corner, cut off from the living room only by an archway. It had not been made, and just like last time, he could smell that she did not wash her sheets. Clothes were strewn across the floor, but she didn’t have much. He thought she should have had more than this.  

“Stop snooping,” she said as she pulled down her skirt.  

“What are you doing?” He asked in a rush, holding up her jacket to block the view. Her shirt was too big, so it covered her lower half, and Cassian realized it was because it was a male’s shirt. How nice, he thought, that the males in the bar didn’t care about such things.  

“Changing,” she said as if it were obvious.  

“In front of me?”

She shrugged, not the least bit perturbed, “Someone was going to see me naked at some point tonight.”  

Nesta laid her fingers on the top button, pausing to blink up at him. “You ruined it.”  

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, though he could muster no guilt. 

She stared up at him as if she didn’t believe him, but Cassian held up his hands. “Not my fault he ran off.”

“You scared him away.”

“Me?” He gestured to himself, incredulously, “I'm harmless.”  

She gave him a look, and Cassian couldn’t help but grin this time. But he dropped his smile as soon as she started fiddling with those buttons again.

He searched for the bathroom, anything to distract himself. Just the small part of her skin had him ready to combust and he doubted Nesta would have liked to clean up his ashes... or that she would based on the trash bin that hadn’t been emptied.  

“Do you have aspirin?” He called out. Cassian didn’t want to search through her cabinets. That might have been taking his luck too far.  

“Kitchen,” she answered, without further explanation.  

Cassian frowned at that, but he went looking, only glancing at Nesta quickly to see that she hadn’t taken the shirt off, just merely loosened the collar. Cassian should have loosened his too.

Her kitchen was not at all messy, he found, but that might have been because it was mostly empty. When at last he found the bottle of aspirin, it too was empty... and so was her cabinets and her refrigerator, save for an apple tart, a loaf of bread, and a jar of what he could tell must have been jam. Grape? He would pick up some more of that. 

“I’m going to go get you some,” he called, waving the bottle as she looked over. “You’re out.”  

Of food, he thought. Because she certainly needed some of that. He doubted she’d like him grocery shopping on her behalf, but Cassian couldn’t find it in himself to care. Better a grumpy, full Nesta than a grumpy, hungry Nesta.  

He’d stop by Sevenda’s too and get her some hangover soup. Some spicy broth that had always helped him. Did she like spicy food? Cassian didn’t know but the worse she could do was not eat it.

Actually the worst thing she could do was throw it at him, Cassian thought, but he shook it away. His thoughts wouldn’t deter him this time.  

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to get some supplies.”

“Don’t bother,” she said, waving him off, a pin in her hand. Nesta was unraveling her braid, and Cassian stopped short as he neared. He watched as she set the pin on the little side table, where it collected with the rest. She combed through her hair with her fingers and it fell down her back in waves and Cassian had to force himself to swallow. To breathe.   

“I’ll be right back,” he repeated, his mouth tasting like cardboard, “I’ll... I’ll uhh leave it outside your door if you’re not awake.”  

Cassian wondered if her hair was as soft as it looked.  

“You’ll lock the door,” he made himself ask. 

“Course, I will,” she said, her voice haughty and a little more like the Nesta he knew. He wondered if she’d regret this in the morning, and some part of him already knew that she would not be awake when he returned—that she would not welcome him back inside even if she was not.  

“Okay.” He fiddled with his jacket, not knowing what to do with his feet rooted to the spot. “I’m going to leave it outside.”  

“You said that already,” she huffed, moving towards the door. Cassian followed her, watching as she opened it, standing over like a dutiful guard. A beautiful guard with her hair down and in another male’s shirt. His wings dropped on their own accord. The situation settling back in. 

Cassian was never supposed to be here. He was not and had not been welcome, so he walked through that doorway though his body screamed to stay. 

Nesta, thankfully, didn’t slam the door immediately on his face. Instead, she raised a small hand, her face drawn and tired. “Good night, Cassian.”  

He tried not to react at the sound of his name.

Nesta shut the door with a quiet click, and Cassian waited for her footsteps to retreat but they didn’t. He could almost feel her right across from him.

Only the green of the door laid between them, now a cool dark color with the mixture of the night’s shadows. He leaned his head there—couldn’t help it even if it creaked from his weight. He could only think of his name on her lips.   

“Good night, Nesta,” he whispered. 

~

“What are you doing here?” Nesta asked, her voice straining with accusation.  

Cassian settled back into his chair, lifting his chin in greeting—casually, like the sight of her didn’t make him want to order five drinks. He gestured to the table in front of him, where the red set was already splayed out and ready.  

Choose your choice of weapon, he thought.  

“Playing cards,” he said as if it were obvious. “Someone told me I would be in for a good game with some of the players here.”  

“Didn’t someone also tell you to leave them alone?” She sneered, her voice practically venomous, and Cassian knew Nesta was not far enough along in the night to be loose lipped and incautious. 

Cassian didn’t want her to be either. He wanted her to see him, to talk to him again, to know that he came to play a round of cards at this public tavern where everyone was welcome as long as they brought cash.  

“I didn’t hear that part, unfortunately.” He picked the deck up at the center, the checkered print on the back distracting him for the moment.  

Keep talking, he urged. But Cassian didn’t know if the words were meant for himself or a wish to Nesta Archeron, who crossed those navy-blue sleeves.

Cassian split the deck apart, bending them so they’d fall together. It was a move he’d seen Az do, and... Cassian wished he’d practiced this trick. The cards fell haphazardly on the table, and Cassian gathered them back together, feeling the skin of cheeks burn.  

Nesta scoffed, “Do you even know how to play?”  

The words came out of him before he had a chance to breathe, and he nodded to the seat across from him. “If you wanted to see the extent of my skill, sweetheart, you only had to ask."

Her brows furrowed, but Cassian continued in a rush.  

“Loser buys the next round of drinks,” he said, already counting out the cards, placing one by himself and what could be Nesta’s seat. His hands felt sweaty, but he continued—couldn’t stop himself from moving forward as if that alone might stop her from noticing how much he seemed to shake.

But Cassian was cut off by a small, pale palm. He paused; the cards still stuck in his hands. It took every ounce of power in his body to not reach out and grasp it in his own.  

Nesta tapped her foot impatiently. “Give them to me. You can’t shuffle for shit.”  

~

Fin. 

~

Fic Taglist: (If you are on this list, it’s because I don’t remember if you told me you wanted to be tagged in everything or just this fic. If you do let me know)

@champanheandluxxury,  @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @lovelynesta, @spoilersteph, @teagoddess99

Permanent Taglist:

@my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @simpingfornestaarcheron, @drielecarla, @regolithheart

~

I finally edited this and it sounds so much better.  

[vidalinav]

I have this headcanon that Cassian is so bad at romance that he’s actually very good at romance because instead of going to anyone for advice Cassian goes straight to the source. Not Nesta mind you but her romance novels. Cassian reads them “for research purposes.” He does technically try to get advice and goes to Mor and Feyre first, but they snicker at him in a way that embarrasses him and he swears that he will NEVER do that again. Gwyn and Emerie are a great help when he asks them, but he’s still so lost. So they’re the ones who suggest the romance novels. They’re actually very giddy about him reading them, especially Emerie, who’s like when you read them, let’s talk. Gwyn suggests asking the House and the House gives him the smuttiest, sappiest ones. The ones that are heavy in corny words and gestures and lots and lots of smut. Cassian is like wow, is this what she likes? Nesta has no clue about any of this. But Cassian does learn how to make romantic gestures from them. He leaves her notes, buys her flowers, writes her letters if he’s away for a while. He’s like “Oh, maybe I could make her dinner and have the meal in the training area, so we can see the stars.” He’s so cute and sappy. 

I LOVE imagining Cassian as so unashamedly in love with Nesta Archeron... and I love imagining Nesta finding out he’s reading them, because he tries something or says something from one of her books, and record scratch moment, Nesta’s like “you’ve been reading my books haven’t you?” Cassian is never more embarrassed in his whole life and he turns seven shades of red. But Nesta finds the whole thing very sweet (because she’s as sappy as him).