Water Under the Bridge: A Nessian Smut Fic
For @blogtealdeal, who loves Nessian wing sin and who has blessed this fandom with Moriel fanart I never thought we would get to see. You are an absolute *blessing* Nicole. Thank you for all of the amazing work that you do. I wish there was more I could do to say thanks because that Moriel fanart killed my heart and brought it back to life again. <3
comes from the Adele song. It doesn’t totally fit lyrically for this
fic, but it’s all I listened to while I wrote it and I don’t really do
music while writing, so… yeah.
discovers in a fit of rage that Feyre isn’t the only one who can summon
Illyrian wings at will. After a particularly long day of flying leaves
her body aching, Cassian is there to sooth the pain in ways Nesta has never experienced before. Featuring Illyrian!Nesta and much wing sin. NSFW.
Water Under the Bridge
The first time Nesta discovers she has wings - she’s screaming at Cassian.
Not just a faint whine of annoyance. Not a simple shout over some shallow disagreement. Not torn up words spat inches from his face.
But top of her lungs, blue in the face, going to kick his ass into the new year screaming.
The argument was stupid, as usual. And when it’s over, she can’t even quite remember what horrible thing it was about. The war had ended. Cassian had fought what little he could. Nesta had left to do her part. Maybe there were bitter words exchanged over still bleeding wounds. Maybe not.
All Nesta knows is that one moment she is so absolutely enraged at the jab Cassian let slip (that she knows he did not truly mean) and the next, her back feels the way her lungs do drowning at the bottom of the ocean, swimming up, up, up in a desperate search for air until finally that bubble of water bursts, and the muscles of her back split open in agonizing pain and -
She has wings.
Great, glorious membranous wings that stretch wide around her and seem to absorb all that wasted energy she spent and threaten Cassian for her.
Cassian - whose jaw had promptly hit the floor at the sight of those wings as they unfurled and cast red and gold shadows about the ground in the sunlight.
Nesta had stood back smugly that day at the way Cassian
stared at her. She didn’t even fight him or pretend to stay angry when
he stepped close, slid his hands around her waist and up along her back
to the base of the wings as if to touch them, and she saw the sparkling
in his eyes like diamonds as he whispered, awestruck, in her ear, “Nesta.”
That had set her grinning ear to ear.
It takes weeks for Nesta to figure out how to summon the wings at will. Whatever magic the Cauldron gave her over them, it’s not easy to figure out. And once she has mastered bringing the wings out at will, they’re weak and untrained. The muscles are loose and imbalanced, unable to support the size of her wingspan and Cauldron is her wingspan massive.
(Cassian eyes it for weeks trying not to compare.)
At first, Cassian insists she refrain from flying. She has to do stretching exercises to build up her strength, but Nesta grows restless rather quickly. Another shouting match between them - You may literally die if you attempt to jump off that cliff Nesta Archeron - has her threatening to have Feyre train her, or Mother help him, Rhys. And so finally, Cassian relents.
And then… Nesta is flying. Soaring high into the sky over Velaris.
She can only handle a few minutes at a time, but fuck if it doesn’t feel glorious. The world is stretched out below her and she feels like she could control it all from where she swoops and bellows above it. Every time she lands, every time the muscles scream with pain and tiredness, she hates it and forces Cass to help her keep training, keep going because damn it - she is going to master this.
It only takes one time - that first time in the air and Nesta doesn’t know how she can live again if the Cauldron hadn’t given her this gift. Maybe this was the Cauldron’s way of making up for the other awful things it did to her. She doesn’t quite mind.
Minutes eventually stretch into longer episodes. An hour. Then a few. Until she can fly just as long as Cassian. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could go longer than him.
But it’s a struggle getting there. Her wings are so large and her body has become one hell of a beast to support up in the air. And all Nesta wants to do for months on end is fly. So naturally, Cassian finds himself on the receiving end of many an endless, salty landing with Nesta.
“Again,” she snaps at him.
“Nesta,” and it’s a warning.
Nesta swivels on her feet and those wings flex behind her, Nesta’s own brand of warning. “I said, again.”
Cassian crosses his arms with a wide berth at his legs and tosses one of those taunting little smiles she both loathes and adores. “You didn’t say please.”
But Nesta doesn’t back down. Not by a long shot. She doesn’t even stand still. She takes two great strides bridging the distance between them and leans right up into his face as far as she can on the tips of her toes, her leathers groaning around her body as she reaches. “You didn’t earn it, sweetheart,” she snarls. “I want to go again.”
He knows she’ll kill him if he lets out the chuckle he has locked inside his chest. So instead, he gently grips her shoulders and leans down until their foreheads are almost touching.
And thank the Mother she doesn’t pull away from that touch.
“Nesta,” he says. “You just flew for an hour straight. That’s farther than you’ve ever come before and Cauldron, I’m proud. But you need to rest. I’m not joking when I say you could kill yourself if you go too far.” His hands slide slowly, sweetly from her shoulders to her neck until he cups her face, but Nesta feels so tight - so tense in that hold. His little spitfire in all that raging spirit always. It makes him feel light as air. “I’d really prefer it if you didn’t die, hmm?”
eyes soften for just a moment, her shoulders slumping. She dances up on
the tips of her toes again and Cassian thinks she might lean into him
finally, maybe even kiss him the way she sometimes does after she’s been
flying for the day and the wind has left her breathless and she takes
Cassian home to discover entirely new ways of feeling the rush flying
creates in them both…
But just when her lips graze his own, Nesta teases out, “I said again, Commander,” and Cassian curses, “So we go again.” And Nesta can tell by how close they’re standing that Cassian’s other Illyrian skills are kicking into overdrive.
He takes a great breath, adjusting his stance and likely certain other parts beneath his pants, but releases his hold on her. “Alright, Ness. We go again.”
They do. And with the wind in her hair and the sun on her skin, it is heaven.
Cassian insists they limit themselves to ten more minutes only.
So naturally, Nesta flies for twenty.