Look I debated giving you a taste of another fanfic I'm writing... because it is a little too close to home. In that it is literally my life for the last two years. But I'm taking creative liberty and mixing it up, and it gives me slight second hand embarrassment. It's a fic like Stu(died) but in graduate school and Cassian wears glasses sometimes in this fic. So it's not as innocent. It's quite... well you'll see. Don't judge me too harshly because I swear to god I'm fucking stupid.
~
Her next door neighbor is a meathead or at least that's what Nesta tells Emerie when she rants about the party he'd thrown last night that kept her up until 3 am.
He's a meathead who disobeys the unspoken social rules that they've set all those months ago.
"You mean the rules you made up when you moved in, which no one knows about but you?"
Nesta waves the information away, with a flick of her wrist. "He's obeyed them all this time, so I don't know why he suddenly wants to party. Why couldn't he stay a friendless loser who never invites anyone over?"
Emerie snorts, pulling out her laptop. She's about to start working and Nesta knows she should be doing that too and finishing up the PowerPoint of her proposal, but how can she when she's tired from staying up all night instead of sleeping like a normal person? 3 am and she listens to boys yelling and their tasteless music and their loud laughs as if there's anything to be laughing about at 3 am.
"A rager has gotta be better than hearing him go at it through the walls."
"No! That was better," Nesta decides, grimacing at the countless memories that accost her mind of the girlfriend who just wouldn't leave. "At least that only lasted for five minutes."
Emerie laughs at that, already knowing the stories that have plagued their work sessions. It may not be his fault that the walls are thin, but it is his fault for having sex the minute she gets home. They may share a wall where they sleep at night, but they do not share the same taste for propriety and proper neighborly ethics.
"You know, you know too much about this guy when you don't even know his name."
Nesta huffs, "I think his name is Cassian. I heard his roomate yell it out in the yard when he came back last week."
"Cassian," Emerie says, humming like she's considering the quality of his name. "It's not the name I would have thought of for a meathead who only lasts five minutes."
"Did I also tell you he's a gymbro? That rat! With a perfect fuckboy face."
Emerie lifts the screen of her laptop and stops, "Perfect?"
Nesta merely shrugs because she's not blind.
She's also not stupid.
"He's perfectly irritating and I wish him total demise. I think his girlfriend broke up with him—which is about time since they argued twice a week—and on a regular day that would suffice, but now he's inconvenienced me and I want him dead."
"Mhmm," Emerie nods, smirking where she sits across, "and he's got such a perfect fuckboy face."
Nesta scowls, but doesn't move to get her laptop or change the topic of conversation. Emerie only gives Nesta an assessing look. "You don't even go to sleep. You'd have still been up at 5 editing your thesis."
"And I couldn't because I was too distracted by the sound of their partying. Who parties on a fucking tuesday?"
~
The difference between this and Stu(died) is that Nesta actually has a crush on him and goes through great lengths (ignoring him) to get his attention.
Okay, part 1! Though it doesn't include sick Nesta yet.
Oh! Also this is an acofas re-write basically.
~
"Maybe she decided not to come," Elain whispers to Feyre, peering through the window as if that might summon their sister--a ghost in winter white.
Cassian pretends not to overhear, but one look from Rhys tells him they're all aware of the missing Archeron sister who's decided to not grace them with her presence.
Mor claps her hands, moving to stand with a drink in her hand--probably to remind Feyre of birthday wishes and solstice celebrations--that life is not lived staring out of windows. Rhys only takes a sip of his wine, his eyes growing darker as he stares at burning firewood. Ashes and dust collecting at the bottom.
Not for the first time does Cassian wish he could peer into his brother's thoughts, like he can hear into his mind. He has a vague inclination as to what he might find, and Cassian can't help the feeling welling up in his chest, howling like the winter wind.
Nesta said she'd attend, but she's nowhere in sight.
She does have an act for haunting them.
Her absence is here in this room, and no amount of ignoring that simple fact will stop Elain from checking the windows or looking up at the door. Feyre keeps looking at the envelope he knows is filled with money--a bribe for coming to her own sister's birthday.
A bribe for coming to a place she'll know he'll be.
Because he hasn't forgotten that part. Cassian hasn't forgotten how Nesta throws him away, telling him in no uncertain terms she wants nothing to do with him. Nothing but... laying on his body to shield him from a fatal blow.
Nothing but almost dying together.
He can hear the crisp crackling of the fire. A snap and a twist, like bones and blood. A war that took from them all--but somehow left a ghost where Nesta Archeron used to be.
"She said she'd come," Feyre says, certainty in her voice. A certainty that no one in this room must share--not even Cassian who keeps thinking of her name as if that alone will call her forth.
Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.
The wind howls it.
Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.
The winter sings it.
Where must Nesta Archeron be?
"Do you think something happened to her?"
"I'll go look for her," Cassian says, standing abruptly in response to Elain's question.
Amren scoffs, sniffing at her drink like it might be blood. He wonders if she wishes she still had a taste for it. "You're probably the last she wants to see."
Cassian looks to Elain and then to Feyre, who stands by the door, the envelope tucked closely in her hand. "Do you want to go look for her?"
Mor huffs, grasping Feyre's arm. "It's Feyre's birthday. Should we not celebrate? Azriel can send his shadows."
At the mention of his name, Azriel peers towards him. Cassian can't read his mind, but he thinks he knows what that look means--knows that it's something he'll never say aloud.
"You should go," Azriel says, his voice strong if not quiet.
"But you'll be missing the celebration!"
Feyre only looks to Cassian at the words, her look stern and commanding. He is her loyal soldier after all.
"I want her here," she says.
It's Elain who offers her sister reprieve, a placating, soft palm resting on Feyre's shoulder. "What if she doesn't want to come?"
"She doesn't have a choice," Rhys grits out from his seat on the couch, his drink swirling in his hand. Cassian thinks of tornados and storms, a rumbling earthquake trapped in glass.
Feyre stands taller as she faces her mate. "She'll always have a choice."
Cassian doesn't wait to hear Rhys grumble or his muttering apologies or what he'll say about Nesta. He doesn't know if Rhys will keep quiet or not, but something tells him his brother is getting close to putting his foot in his mouth rather than biting his tongue.
So Cassian goes for his coat, and the scarf he knows Elain had meant to gift Nesta at the beginning of the season. It sits in the closet collecting dust, and so too does her name in his mind--calling and echoing, never silent. Never answered.
"Take my coat, too," Feyre calls. "Just in case."
Cassian gives one firm nod at his high lady, one grimace to her sister, and one glance to his family who look at him as if they've never quite seen him before. A look he's seen plenty. A look that means they just don't understand why.
Cassian isn't sure himself, if he's honest.
Or perhaps, it just hurts too much to be honest.
That this human turned fae, this woman turned saint, cauldron blessed or cursed, had not just taken from the cauldron.
She had taken his entire soul with her too.
~
He finds her lying in the snow with a fever in the next part. bye!
Nothing about Helion had ever made Cassian upset. He remembered even being entertained by his antics at some point. The High Lord of Day might have been a massive flirt but he was also harmless… mostly.
Still, he'd never lose his innate power or esteem, but Cassian had been on the receiving end of his come-ons for years.
They all had.
Mor and Azriel and him. The three of them. Thick as thieves, but never willing to bear witness to what exactly a foursome would look like with a high lord in the mix. They were not too keen on the idea of a threesome either, and cauldron knew that would have been a disaster. Azriel still barely looked at Mor most days.
So Cassian knew that Helion was mostly all talk. He wasn't overly pushy, and there was nothing past what he'd seen with Mor that suggested that Helion would go above and beyond to attain their time romping in the sheets. He'd agree certainly. He'd suggest, most definitely, but he wasn't forceful.
Yet, Cassian had his arm wrapped around Nesta’s waist and it took no small effort to stop himself from pulling her onto his lap like Helion, at any moment, would steal her away.
"I hear congratulations are in order," Helion said, practically purring in his seat as he looked at the two of them--at Cassian's hand. Cassian didn’t know if the gesture was meant to lay claim, a "she’s mine," or if it was meant to threaten the high lord... he had hands large enough to pummel his face in.
"This is your first visit to Velaris," Nesta noted, taking a small sip of her wine and ignoring the press about their mating bond.
She was careful in both the number of sips and the amount she drank, Cassian had noticed. Ever since her birthday celebration, he'd begun to wonder if he should offer some assurity on her behalf--certainly they all couldn't judge the insistent need to be drunk, to forget the memories that bombarded their thoughts. They'd all been in that dark place before and Nesta was young. She'd have years before she figured out what was her best way of dealing with those periods. Though, Cassian also should have asked if there were other reasons why she was so hesitant.
Nesta never asked for anything but what everyone else was drinking, though, so Cassian stayed silent.
He wished he could stay silent right now, but every now and again, Feyre would whisper in his mind that he was once more grinding his teeth.
Something about Helion was goading at his nerves.
It didn't help that Nesta was so beautiful. Always, but especially tonight in a gown so silver she glowed like starlight. The dress only had tiny straps and Cassian couldn't help the thought that one pull from him, one tug with his teeth and he could drink in the moonlight of her breasts. He could kiss down her skin. He could be celebrating their mating, honoring his mate, just as he had all month long.
She had her hair down too, and he resisted swiping it to the side so he could bite at her neck. Maybe he could leave a mark there, another sign that she was taken just like his hand and just like her ring. An eight pointed star set in diamonds on a silver band. A reminder of their first bargain but not their first bond.
Maybe he'd make her a few more bargains, so those magical marks would cover her entire body in she's mine.
"I have always wondered why Rhys guarded this city so highly. Though his court is filled with enough beauty, I shouldn't have been surprised."
“I always knew you were this sweet,” Cassian hums.
Nesta writhes and her hair is a mess of tangles as she tugs him back to her lips. The ones underneath her skirts, that weep, desperate for him to taste and suck. If only he had all the time in the world so he could map out her body to paper. If only Cassian had any artistic ability at all, that he could keep the image of her permanently. Delirious, wanton, and red.
His favorite color and she’s perfectly pink everywhere he touches. He runs a finger down her breasts where her corset sits askew, and she flushes. He runs a hand down her stomach where the ties are already busted and she gasps. Cassian smirks, absolutely giddy at how much she craves his touch.
She’s always so in control. A snob. A haughty witch. A queen sitting immaculate on her throne of prejudices and here she lies. Flushed such a pretty pink.
“Greedy,” he muses with a low laugh, “but so sweet. Look at you. Is this all for me?”
Cassian lays a kiss on her thigh, and he has the faintest urge to bite. To litter her perfect skin, to mark her as his, until no one will be able to look at her without seeing him there. One right here and right her and right here. Another right here where he presses his tongue, that precious pink nub begging for him to taste. Cassian suckles and Nesta’s breath hitches. She grabs at his hair.
“You’re demanding too,” Cassian says, slowing his movements until Nesta is all but clawing at his scalp. “But I already knew that. You’re the most demanding female I’ve ever met. Impatient. Selfish.”
“Murderous,” Nesta pants, yanking.
Cassian wonders if she can feel his smirk. “Though I can think of worse ways to go than being suffocated by your thighs.”
I am on my knees for more Omegaverse Nessian, bestie 🧎♀️🧎♀️🧎♀️ when will Cassian's patience snap? When will he finally give in to pillow princess Nesta's wishes to be filled?
🙄🙄🙄
She was filled with him, the remnants of their frantic fuck leaking out of her and soaking her thighs.
“Again,” she moaned, her head tossing in her pillow, her hair all brassy and tangled. She looked eager to be devoured with her lips so red and plump from where she pulled at them with her teeth.
Cassian supposed she’d always thought of him as the wolf. She was human after all… A contentious human. A bold human. A human who knew her own power—knew that she had already ensnared him, and he was powerless to do anything but dive back between her thighs.
“You taste so sweet,” he gasped, his lips nipping where she ached the most.
Cassian was hungry… starving… insatiable as he found himself shifting, already hard for another round.
“I don’t want your tongue,” she pressed grabbing at his hair and pulling. “I want to be fucked.”
“Please fuck me,” she added lowly. Soft and almost concerned. As if he wouldn’t fill her, as if he wouldn’t destroy the world if she asked.
Cassian only hummed his pleasure at her words. “That’s the nicest you’ve ever spoken to me, sweetheart.”
I just wanna say that if omegaverse Nessian was a thing the chances of Nesta humping Cassian’s thigh during her heat and him just letting her and praising her for it are very very high
Ps: please keep the snippets coming, they’re marvellous.
I've decided that when I feel like I suck at writing, I'll write a little something I suck at.
~
Nesta writhed against him, gasping and grasping at his waist as if she meant to keep him still, hold him right there where his thigh met her clit. Cassian could already feel the wetness soaking through his pants, but no amount of Nesta was ashamed of her movement. Her face was made of pure ecstasy. She was pure torture. Sin and saving all at once.
"Touch me," she called--demanded, really--but Cassian instead took hold of her hands. He rubbed his thumb across her palm. Calm, he thought to himself. He had to be calm, had to be careful, because even if she was filled with enough fire to wage war, she was still only human.
And her heart beat too fast.
She was too small for him to let loose and bury himself inside her like he wanted. She could beg, but Cassian would tear her apart. He would snap her neck if he just gripped her too quickly.
"Yes," Nesta moaned at his cautious expression. "Do all of that. I want to be filled with you. I want to feel you in my throat."
"You want to be fucked," Cassian confirmed, every bit of him trying to remain clinical. "But you'll regret it. You'll hate me for it."
"Not if your good," she pressed, circling her hips. "Not when I'm this soaked and ready for you."
"You're trying to tempt me."
Indeed, her skin was flushed a pretty red, his new favorite shade, and there was nothing her nightgown could do to hide those generous breasts. He wanted to bite, tease, suck on her tits until she begged for his cock, by then... he'd only give her his fingers.
He'd make her work for it, make her beg until the only word she could manage was his name over and over again, like a rhyme. A poem. Some prayer.
Say you want me even after this is over and I'm yours.
"I can get you a tonic," he managed instead, even as his heart seemed to squeeze at the words. He could hear the word idiot replay in his mind. "It'll suppress the heat hormones and it'll be good for you."
"You look upset," Rhys says as he smacks Cassian with a handful of tinsel. "Is she ignoring you again?"
Cassian doesn't speak, and he's not keen on gossiping about Nesta to the one brother who despises her. Rhys will go away, Cassian thinks. He'll keep flipping through movies and shows and with enough time, Rhys will find someone else to bother. Cassian won't say a word, even if the groans want to spill out of his mouth.
"Honestly, I never would have pegged you for a masochist," Azriel offers, stealing the remote from his hand. "And yet here you are, still pining."
Cassian merely sinks into the couch.
On normal days, he might have fought Azriel on it or complained of watching another episode of Love Island, but there is no love on his island today. Love is trapped in the soul of his tutor, under lock and key, heavily guarded, and Cassian is an hour away, checking his phone every few minutes to see if he's gotten a text.
So far it's been silent.
It's been three days--a week since she kissed him in the library. He keeps checking Snap Chat and sure enough Nesta replies to Emerie and Gwyn, even Azriel! But as soon as he texts, she goes silent.
She's ignoring him, just like Rhys says.
But he won't tell his brothers this. He doesn't even tell them about the kisses. Not the first one the day after thanksgiving and not the few he's stolen in the library when Nesta must have had a mental breakdown.
Maybe it was the pressure of finals. That's why he gets to feel the press of her lips and the soft bite against his neck. She's shorter than him and she has to reach to get a good grasp, but Nesta can do anything and her fingers weave into his hair, pulling at his scrunchie, pulling at his neck until he just melts.
He can still taste chocolate on his tongue. It's fitting, really, that Nesta would taste like cake.
"You're blushing," Rhys notes with a raise of his brow. "New house rule--You can't sleep with the enemy."
Azriel huffs, still scrolling through seasons. "She's your enemy. Not Cassian's and besides I doubt Nesta's itching to get into Cassian's pants."
"You're right." Rhys shrugs easily. "At this point, he's practically ripping them off."
Azriel wags a finger, momentarily distracted from tapping at the remote. “Just never strip for free,” he advises.
Pillow princess prompt: Post heat whatever when Nesta comes back to her senses
So you see the problem with writing omegaverse nessian is the fact that I haven't gotten the voice down. Because omegaverse is so modern and acotar is not (mostly). I can't figure it out. I can't figure if I want it to be desperate smut or romantic or plot specific or lyrical. So I'm trying it out until it fits.
~
Nesta raises her hand to the bright beaming sun and in the movement there's a soft hello. There's a low how are you? in its passive graze. A quiet did you sleep well? in its gentle heat.
There's also a perusal. A whisper of some wondering thought that she must be different now. She must be someone entirely new to be admiring the sun.
But Nesta is not different.
Her skin is pale and her body aches and if nothing else she feels sticky with sweat and something else she might have wrinkled her nose to once upon a time.
She feels different.
The sun is too harsh, too alive, too wide and blinking, peering at everything she's doing--something as childish as raising her hand to grasp at a ray like she can't do with his hand.
Because of course, Cassian is gone.
And in his place he leaves the sun.
In his place, he leaves an imprint of his body in her sheets, he leaves his smell, he leaves his phantom fingertips along her body, grazing at every inch of her, his lips kissing at her skin.
She wonders if he's cursed her. Some ancient fae magic writhing around her limbs, keeping her slow and drowsy with sleep. Nesta should be cursing. Should be shouting. Should be upset... but she feels different somehow.
That too should fill her with ire. She is not sweet and simpering. She will not be so easily won with good sex.
But it isn't just the sex.
It's...
An ancient spell quite possibly. Something that shakes her at her core. Makes her remember why people are important.
No man is an island, and no woman lays as still as statue only to be admired as she turns to stone.
She was stone, Nesta supposes. Sediment pieces packed tightly together, shaped by dutiful if not clumsy hands. Trapped inside all along, waiting to be revealed for when she's smashed along thick pavement.
Someone push her, she thinks. Someone break her until she's nothing but dust.
In the morning, there is no dust. No broken pieces lay on her mattress. She doesn't cough up debris, finally free of civilization. She doesn't sit so still or smile until the pain in her cheeks dull to cement.
There must be something magical flowing in her veins.
There must be something new.
Strangely, it feels like an added lump in her throat. Feels like a grasped fist in the sun, holding onto something intangible. Feels a little like sweat and scent and something else that coats her skin like cool sheets. Nesta pulls the blankets closer to her, tucks them to her chest where her heart is calm and she can breathe and there is nothing more important than to bask in the sun.
Should she be grateful, she wonders, that she did not suffer alone.
Should she angry to be left behind.
So many questions collect in her throat--conflict in her unwavering hand that grips the sun as if to say something she has not yet learned the words to.
But Nesta will save them for tomorrow. She'll put them in a letter like the one addressed to the queens. One she'll never send. One that reads:
