miss you nesta


“Everything about this woman was both hard yet soft, delicate yet bold, wild yet calm. She was a storm that called to Cassian; it beckoned him into its grasp. A storm that he didn’t want to avoid anymore. He wanted to give in to the urges that pulled him to Nesta and he wanted her to do the same. So he let go of all pretense, closed his eyes, and leaned in to finally, finally, kiss the catastrophically beautiful woman below him.”

/enlarge images for HD/
A bad idea

Nesta runs away after the war. This turned out different to what I expected and I couldn’t get it right but here it is anyway.


Nesta knew it was a bad idea. Everything happened so quickly in the war that she hardly noticed her relationship with Cassian evolving into something more than their snide remarks to each other and constant back and forth of verbal swordplay. They were such a bad idea. But she felt a small part of her refusing to care. She was drawn to this arrogant bat for some Cauldron-damned reason.

But she was never meant to exist within this world, this world of magic and high fae and quick tempered Illyrians. She should have stayed human and unimportant and completely irrelevant. But she was forced into this new world kicking and screaming and cursing that damned king to oblivion. It had been clear for some time that Feyre was always meant to be high fae. Elain would survive because she always found a way to turn a bad situation into a good one. But Nesta had achieved her purpose, she had watched as the King of Hybern died and she had made sure to sever his head from his body. But what was supposed to happen next? The only thing she could think of that would give her purpose in this new world was to be there for Elain, but her sister didn’t need her anymore. Elain had wormed her way into the hearts of Feyre’s new family and no longer needed her older sister to guide her and protect her. The only other thing keeping Nesta in Velaris was the strange way she was drawn to the commander. 

But she knew Cassian was not hers to claim. He flirted with her for fun and thought he held deeper feelings for her, but that must have only come from the thrill of war. Her own feelings were just signs of weakness, signs of manipulation that she promised herself she would never be swayed by.

So Nesta decided to leave. She only seemed to bring death and pain so it seemed a logical course of action to slip away in the middle of the night and make a new life for herself, away from those that seemed to tip-toe around her all the time, away from those who would thrive once she was out of their way. She would find her own purpose, a new purpose. Because if you can’t find one, you make one. She would find her own way of thriving, in isolation and peace.

She had managed to escape into the forests on the edge of Velaris, wandering through with ease as she scared off the creatures that may have wanted to feast on her blood or rip her apart for joy. She made sure to keep walking for as long as possible each day, then on the fourth day she found the cottage with a roof of hair and the smell of death hanging over it - the Weaver’s cottage. She expected the smell to be enough to hide her scent long enough for her to figure out her next move and keep anyone away. It was off-putting but effective, no one bothered her and she soon got used to the place. She had to throw out some particularly nasty items and used the hair stored in the cottage to create a sort of warning barrier around the area. She lay the hair down in a circle surrounding the clearing in which the cottage sat, using techniques she had found in a book before she left to procure a sort of warding spell with the barrier to keep passers-by out. She then set about cleaning out the remains of bodies from the cottage. She was not willing to live any longer surrounded by so much death, despite the fact that she was cursed with it.

After a while she assumed that the initial shock of her disappearance would have worn off for the Inner Circle of the Night Court and they would be settling back to normal, grateful for the reprieve she had given them. So she managed. She learned to hunt well enough to get the appropriate meat and wandered around looking for berries and such to keep herself healthy and fed. It was going well for the eldest Archeron sister, but she needed to move on and find a dwelling more permanent and less horrific. However, as much as she deliberated what to do next she could not think of where to go next. She didn’t know where she was welcome or what sort of work she would be willing or able to do to make a living. She started to worry that she would be stuck in that cottage for the rest of her impossibly long existence, and she stayed there for a long time before anything happened to change her path, or rather, a long time for a human.

After five months of living in solitude, cooking and cleaning and hunting and repeating, a boom sounded just beyond her circle of hair, behind the cottage. Nesta thought little of it as she continued to read a book on weaving, likely perused by the Weaver herself at one time, but then she heard footsteps passing over that line of hair, towards her. She stood and gently placed that book on the chair before wandering softly over to the back of the house, hoping to peek through a window and observe the intruder before deciding what to do with them. The footsteps began to circle around towards the front of the house and she decided to abandon her plan and snatch up a large, thick stick waiting to be cut up for the fire. She quietly ripped off some of the smaller twigs branching off the stick before standing close to the front door with her back to the wall in a defensive position she had seen the others do in the past. She prepared to swing as the door handle turned and a crack appeared, letting a minuscule breeze through. She thought she caught a whiff of some familiar smell but wasted no time deliberating over it as the door opened wide enough for a hulking male figure to fill the doorway and take a step forward.

She swung just as the figure stepped fully into the shade of the cottage and almost succeeded in hitting his skull before strong arms caught the branch and swung it out of her grasp. She was too slow to twist away before he caught her in a crushing grip, her back to his chest, which allowed her the use of only her legs and head. Nesta began to thrash about, feeling as if she was being forced into that Cauldron again but then she heard the male speak.

“Oh thank the Cauldron,” he breathed as he maintained his grip.

Nesta recognised that voice but couldn’t seem to piece together what it was doing here of all places. She continued to wriggle in his arms before he let her go and spun her around to face him, his giant hands on her upper arms. As soon as Nesta caught sight of that face she froze, confused. After a moment she stepped out of his looser grasp and spoke to another person for the first time in months.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded of Cassian.

Cassian only stared at her in a mixture of relief and anger. “What the hell do you mean? I’m looking for you you difficult woman. What the hell do you think you’re doing running off like that and coming here of all places? We’ve been worried sick out of our minds for months and all this time you’ve been in this nightmare place? I only came here on a whim, even Azriel’s shadows couldn’t pick up on your location.” His nostrils were flaring but he couldn’t stop looking her up and down as if searching her for injury.

“I left a note.” She responded flatly.

Cassian stared at her face again in utter bewilderment. “You think that sufficed? My gods Nesta I never expected you to be this dim.” He ran his hands over his face, distorting his features as he tried to release some tension.

She became defensive immediately. “Excuse me?! What exactly is wrong with you?”

He looked outraged. “What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! A note to say you’ve decided to leave is not exactly the explanation or goodbye we deserve Nesta! Why did you leave? Why come here of all places? And don’t you ever think of doing something like that again.” His voice was stern and commanding enough to shock Nesta into silence. She didn’t expect a reaction like this. “Why, Nesta?” He repeated in a softer voice, his eyes showing a hint of hurt.

“I didn’t think anyone would care.” She finally breathed, her face showing Cassian exactly how astonished she was.

“Why on earth would you think that? Elain and Feyre have been beside themselves with worry ever since you left.”

“Well they shouldn’t have been. That note would have told them I left of my own free will.”

This only succeeded in angering Cassian again. “That doesn’t stop them from worrying about you. It doesn’t stop any of us from worrying about you.” His eyes were so intent on hers that she felt regret emerging deep in her soul.

“I just thought it would be easier this way. That you would be better off.” She couldn’t bring herself to place that mask of stone over her features as she would have done before the war. She was too tired and shocked to pretend to be anything but confused and mixed up.

“Come home with me,” he pleaded.


“Because we miss you Nesta. You’re family.”

“I’m Elain and Feyre’s family.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Not just theirs, ours. Please.” His eyes were pleading with her as much as his voice.

“There’s no room for me in Velaris. I’m not needed.” She argued, not sure what she was trying to achieve since she technically had no place anywhere else either.

“Of course there’s room for you there. Why on earth would you think any differently?” After a pause he continued in a gentler tone. “Look, you don’t have to stay forever, just come back with me and we can all figure out your next move as a family. If you really want to leave then you can, but let us help you, let us set you up and stay in contact at the very least. Please Nesta.”

“Ok,” she breathed. “Fine, I’ll go back. But you must know that there’s nothing left for me there. I don’t have any purpose there or anywhere.”

Realisation finally dawned on Cassian. “I understand now. It’s the war isn’t it? You had purpose then to keep you going but now it’s over you’re at a loss. I know what that is like Nesta. I know because I go through the exact same thing after every Couldron-damned war we have.” She didn’t know why she was so surprised by that but she was, staring at the warrior with her regret growing with each word he spoke. “We’ll find your purpose, I promise you that, but please don’t scare us like that again.” Anger was still simmering just below the surface of his eyes, but it was clear he didn’t want to risk upsetting her enough that she refused to return with him. Because once those two got into a shouting match it could go very, very wrong.

Nesta eyes began to swim at what a fool she had been. So she simply nodded and went about collecting the few belongings she had carted along with her all those months ago before heading back to Cassian and allowing him to fly her back to the family she didn’t realise was hers.

Address in the Stars

I apologize in advance.

“Nesta! Nesta!” Cassian came running into the house in a full blown panic. He could feel Nesta’s heart racing, he could feel her panicking. He had left the camps, in the middle of sparring, because he had to make sure she was okay.

“Nesta!” He called for her over and over again, his own heart racing. His hands shook as he searched for her. He was sure she was here, the bond had led him to this very place. But their bedroom was empty, so was the living room.

When he found her the tightness in his chest loosened as he stepped out into the backyard. She was facing away from him. Her scent wrapped around him, calming his panic. He could still feel hers, but it was nothing compared to what his had been. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“Cass,” tears were on her cheeks as he pressed soft kisses against her neck, “I didn’t hear you come in. You’re early.”

He kissed the back of her neck, making her shiver. Cassian smiled, “I felt your panic. I felt you, I didn’t think I just followed the bond.”

Nesta went stiff in his arms, “the bond.”

Cassian then realized where her fears had come from, why she had been panicking. Because she felt the bond snap into place. She felt him, she felt everything the way he had felt her for months. He didn’t know why it had happened now, when they had been doing everything exactly the same as before. But Cassian had never been happier. Or more terrified in his life.

Cassian ran the tips of his fingers over her arms. Waiting a full minute before speaking. He knew she would push him away, keep him at a distance like she had before. She never wanted the mating bond, she told him that the day she was remade and he woke up to broken wings. But somehow through the bluster and bullshit of their life, they had found each other.

They had chosen each other.

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Nessian Collab. Part 12

Collab with the oh so brilliant @cataclysmic-star

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11 (Part 13)

Cassian POV (1038 Words)

Kissing Nesta was unlike kissing any girl I had ever kissed before. I was still a little out of breath from the flying and lying on my wings meant that I was balanced uncomfortably where the muscles jutted out from my back, Nesta was inexperienced and lying on top of me, so by all accounts, most people would have viewed the kiss as awkward and sloppy, but with the intensity of the mate bond sitting between us, it was magical. I was still out of breath from the flying so I had to pull away sooner than I would have liked, but that wasn’t the only reason I regretted it. With her lips free of mine, Nesta resumed her speech and I was powerless to stop it. As she spoke, she sat up and though I was glad of the release of weight from my wings, every inch of me mourned the loss of contact.

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If You Want To Go To Heaven... A Mor/Nesta Fic

Can’t remember why I wrote this now, I think the lure of mesta sin was enough. Thank you, @pterodactylichexameter, @aelin, @blackbeak for cheerleading this piece/reading it over for me pre-posting.  

Title: If You Want To Go To Heaven…

Summary: Mor has spent the day in the Court of Nightmares and returned raw and exhausted. She sets about trying to finish her report but Nesta, woken by Mor’s frustration, joins her wife and takes matters into her own hands in order to calm her down. F/F NSFW. very NSFW. This is just…..like…over 10k words of sin. Enjoy. 

Teaser: Mor has to bite her lip to contain her whimper at this words. Reaching up again she very firmly grips her desk once more, fingers biting into the wood so hard they turn white. Her other hand braces around Nesta’s waist, the tightness in the gesture, the way she pulls Nesta against her, at odds with her next words, “I have to finish this report for Rhys, Nes.”

Nesta glowers darkly at this. “Rhys took you away from me all day.” She whispers, running her hands softly through Mor’s hair. “He can wait.”

Link: AO3 

Mor curses violently, slapping her hand across the table and allowing it to connect with her ink pot. The little bottle soars across the room before striking the wall and shattering. Ink leaks down the walls like black blood and the sight of it only causes Mor’s frustration to peak. Slumping forwards, elbows balanced on the desk she digs her fingers into her hair, holding her head up.

Her body trembles, exhaustion and fear gnaw at her nerves like rats chewing on the walls and she’s slowly starting to be worn away by it. The letters on the few lines of the report in front of her that she’s actually managed to write blur and meld together and it’s with great difficulty that she avoids giving up entirely, resting her head in her arms and calling it a day.  

It’s been a long one at that. The Court of Nightmares always leaves her feeling raw, even now, centuries after her escape. Going back down in there always feels like descending into her own nightmare. Memories inevitably swarm around her like flies around a corpse and she wants nothing more than to leave. The act of the cold, ruthless queen she plays as she sits upon her throne and presides over them all is just that, an act, one she finds increasingly difficult to maintain.

Today she had been trapped down there for nine hours with various unsettling petitions, disputes and arguments that had needed to be resolved. She still carries the tension of the visit in her locked, knotted muscles. All she wants is a hot mug of strong tea, with perhaps of pinch of the whiskey Cass gave her last solstice, a warm fire, and soft arms around her.

As though in answer to this she feels Nesta’s small, delicate hands slide up around her shoulders, massaging, thumbs working the hard knots out of her muscles. Mor can’t suppress the groan that comes from her at the feeling of her partner’s hands on her.

Reaching back, she clumsily pats Nesta’s hand with her own. It’s the only feeble greeting she feels capable of, mired as she is in this heavy darkness that clings to her limbs like thick, black mud, sucking her down. As she does so however Nesta leans forwards, kissing at her neck and nuzzling there with an affection few ever see. The knowledge of that, that this roaring hellcat is a pliant, warm little kitten just for her always sends a pleasant little rush through her, no matter what else is going on.

“Hey,” she breathes quietly onto Mor’s neck, resuming her gentle nuzzling a moment later.

Mor lets out a pathetic half-whine, half-groan in response, breath huffing out as Nesta’s arms wrap softly around her neck and she drapes herself against her back. “Did I wake you?” Mor asks, and isn’t surprised to find her voice hoarse, throat scratchy and raw.

“Yes,” Nesta says simply, hot breath tickling the back of Mor’s neck. Never one to sugarcoat things. Her bluntness coaxes a faint smile from Mor. But there’s no anger or irritation in her answer, she knows, only fact.

“What did that ink pot do to you?” she asks, eyes suddenly becoming heavier, full of a deep, stirring emotion. Her voice drops too, sliding into that rich, sultry purr she uses when she wants to make heat flood straight between Mor’s legs, smooth as honey, soft as velvet.

Mor suppresses a shudder as, on top of that, Nesta snakes forwards and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. “It was the only thing that’s pissed me off today that’s been breakable,” she grinds out instead.

Nesta stiffens against her, barely, but enough to tell Mor that she’s bothered by where she spent her day and what she had to deal with. Nesta might be aloof sometimes, might come off as cold even, but she isn’t emotionless. Mor can feel her rage burning through her, can almost see the pure, undiluted hatred in those blue eyes that must now burn like chips of ice.

“You could break all of those bastards,” she says, the faint trace of a snarl in her voice. Her fingers trail idly through the hair at the nape of Mor’s neck, a warm tenderness at odds with the frigid steel in her tone when she snaps, “All of them. For how they think of you, how they look at you.” Nesta’s hand grips her waist possessively and Mor feels a rush of affection pulse through her for the female at her back, arms around her, where she wants to be right now, where she needs to be. “Rhys wouldn’t mind.”

Mor sighs faintly. No, Rhys wouldn’t mind. If one day she lost her temper and allowed her magic to purge everyone in the Hewn City he would likely ask if she had to be quite so dramatic about it…Before he gave her a sharp, razor-edged smile and set about smoothing things over. But…

“I could,” she agrees, carefully, trying to resist responding to Nesta’s subtle but tangible advances, “It’s much more fun to have the bastards kneel before me and doing my bidding.”

Nesta lets out a delighted little purr at this, nuzzling against Mor’s neck. “How about you leave this desk and I’ll do your-“

Nesta,” Mor says, unable to keep the growl from her throat. She wants her, Cauldron she wants nothing more than to kiss her wife, feel her tongue in her mouth, wrap her arms around her and pull her close, let her brush away the harsh stains left by the Court of Nightmares and bring her back into dreams again.

Nesta huffs irritably against her neck then withdraws. Mor has to work hard to suppress her sudden whine of longing and something like pain as she feels Nesta’s slender, warm body leave her. She wants to beg for her back, wants to beg for her arms around her again but she doesn’t have the chance. Nesta pads to her side and nudges at her until she pushes her chair back enough to let her stand between her legs.

Lowering herself down slowly, hitching the hastily tied nightgown out of the way, she straddles Mor, settling into her lap, arms draped easily around her neck. Now that Mor sees her she smiles and can’t help herself from tucking a stray strand of Nesta’s burnt gold hair behind her ear. She’s dishevelled, which isn’t something everyone can claim they’ve seen from Nesta Archeron. Her hair is full of static and unbound and the robe she has on is uneven and roughly tied. She must have woken to the sound of Mor’s frustrated assault on her ink pot and hurried to find her, knowing something was wrong.  

“I missed you,” Nesta says quietly, her eyes deep and soft and warm.

Mor immediately feels her rigid body melt. She might have laughed had that been said by anyone else in any other way than the words had just left Nesta’s lips; so full of tender compassion and heart-stoppingly sincere concern. She might have insisted they were being ridiculous, she had only been gone for a few hours, not even a full night apart but…But she knows that Nesta understands. Understands in a way that no-one else truly has, what being in that court means for her. She understands that, for Nesta, too, the day had felt more like an eternity, as it had to her, counting every second, measuring every heartbeat, begging for just the next minute to pass.

So she only leans forwards and presses a gentle kiss to Nesta’s lips, stroking back her hair, thumbs caressing her cheeks, then whispers, “I know, Nes.”

In response, Nesta starts to slowly rock her hips against Mor’s, moving in closer to her. Dipping forwards she starts to trail kisses across her skin, like a line of constellations, each perfectly placed. She begins at her collarbone and moves up slowly, her hand settling at the nape of her neck, her fingers sliding deep into her golden hair.

Mor lets out a faint groan and allows herself to indulge for a moment in the heat of Nesta’s mouth, the feel of her tongue pressing against her skin. It feels so good and it’s near overwhelming her today. The coldness of those people, that hall, the stares on her, stripping her out of her clothes, and then out of her skin, down to her bones until she was nothing, less than nothing, before them all again. Nesta’s warmth, her quiet fierce love that she can feel in every kiss, every touch, is the best and only balm she could ever want to the horrors of that court.  

“Nes-“ Mor groans, eyes closing, hand reaching blindly behind her, fisting itself messily in her hair, needing something to hold on to, to ground her.

Her other hand tightly grips the edge of her desk for support but it slips when Nesta finally reaches her ear, nibbling gently on it, before she growls thickly, “I want you.”

Mor has to bite her lip to contain her whimper at this words. Reaching up again she very firmly grips her desk once more, fingers biting into the wood so hard they turn white. Her other hand braces around Nesta’s waist, the tightness in the gesture, the way she pulls Nesta against her, at odds with her next words, “I have to finish this report for Rhys, Nes.”

Nesta glowers darkly at this. “Rhys took you away from me all day.” She whispers, running her hands softly through Mor’s hair. “He can wait.”

Mor groans faintly again at that. “Nes-“ she begins once more, hopelessly. But Nesta suddenly sits straighter, back arching slightly, her hands slipping away from Mor’s body. All of the breath is knocked out of her lungs, stealing any words of protest that get immediately trapped in her throat. Slowly, her hands go to the tie of her robe and Mor feels heat flood between her legs just at the realisation of what she’s about to do. With near painfully deliberate motions, aware every second of what she’s doing, she starts to undo the tie of her robe.

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Last Call: Part II

hey guys! finally, fINALLY last call part ii is here! i took my time, but it paid off i promise. as always, it was so much fun. i swear, nothing brings me more joy than writing nessian. and finally, FINALLY I GOT TO WRITE NESSIAN FLUFF. as always a big thank you to @nightcourthighlordrhysand for proof reading and a nod to the Skype Court for helping me as well. you guys are the best! Hope you all enjoy! Feedback is always really truly appreciated.

Part I / AO3

Cassian was looking at her with pure shock in his eyes, a hand buried in his shoulder length hair and the other in the pocket of the cargo pants he was wearing instead of the usual ripped jeans. He seemed livid, as if this surprise was almost too much for him, as if he’d had too many of them already in his life. But it was a hopeful look, like something good had just happened, like this was the best news.

Nesta’s own mind was reeling, wondering what the hell was going on. What was he doing here, and how did he know her sister?

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Home to Me

Yay! finally sharing my beast of the fic @togreblog asked for! I hope you like it, I put a lot into it. I have a part two that I’m working through. Can’t wait to share. Thanks for reading =)

The town was tiny but it was everything Nesta wanted. It was close to her sisters, close to the only people she cared about after the damn war. But it was far enough away from them, from the constant reminders of this new life she had to live. So it was the perfect place to build the home Nesta had been dreaming about. It was the perfect place to clear her head and to stop thinking about him.

Feyre had given her more than enough money to build the perfect cottage. She had enough left over after it was finished to live off of until she decided what to do with her long existence. So she didn’t have to rush into anything. Which was what Feyre wanted, she was always looking out for her sisters.

She had found the perfect field the first day she came to this little town. It was close to the edge, lining the forest. It was overgrown with weeds and sunflowers. The sun sat right above it and she could hear the rustling of water. Nesta paid the construction team to start building that very day.

The cottage wasn’t huge. It was bigger than their tiny cabin, but nowhere near as big as the houses Rhysand had. She didn’t need big, she just needed cosy. So there were three bedrooms, a living room with a large glass window, and her favorite part, a wrap around porch. She loved the wrap around porch, the two little rocking chairs that were out front. It was her favorite spot to watch the day pass, to read and try to clear her head.

This was her home, the perfect home she had never dreamt of having, human or fae. It had taken a huge life changing moment to bring her here, but most days Nesta wouldn’t change a thing. She had fought a war and somehow come out stronger. She had survived death and her sisters were happy.

That was all she had ever asked for in life. For Feyre and Elain to be happy.

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