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separatist-apologist · 2 years ago

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Straight To My Head

I want to be where you are

Summary: All Nesta wants is to live outside of London in peace. She would like nothing more than days filled with books and quiet- a dream made impossible by the Scotsman determined to relive past battle glories on her front lawn

Big thanks to @dustjacketmusings who gave me the idea of LARP-ing Cassian, and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant once again.

Part 2: Where You Are, I Call Home | Read AO3 | Part 1

Nesta didn’t want to stay the night and as it turned out, neither did Elain. Nesta might have missed her sister sneaking out of the castle had she not been heading to the kitchen for tea, certain it was far too early to bother her. Elain hadn’t been able to meet Nesta’s eyes as she said she had things to finish and a deadline to meet, and Nesta didn’t push her.

Though, she was curious as hell.

And though she and Cassian had left things at a mostly decent place, Nesta was strangely embarrassed by the entire thing. It had been a moment of weakness, kissing him, and if she hadn’t just been bombarded by Tomas, she might have resisted him.

She felt immense shame Cassian had guessed what had happened with Tomas and more shame still that he wanted to avenge her. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need him.

Elain and Nesta drove in utter silence. It was so unlike Elain not to fill the void, but everytime Nesta looked over at her younger sister, Elain was chewing on her bottom lip, her knuckles white from how tightly she gripped the steering wheel. And Nesta knew better—would have wanted the same silence had it been her lost in thought. Maybe Elain was regretting her choice to leave Graysen. Nesta could admit Feyre and Rhys seemed very in love, and their wedding had made her heart thud, had made her conscious of just how close Cassian was on that altar or how every time she dared to look at him, he was staring back with those burning eyes.

More brown than green.

Shut up, Nesta.

Elain dropped Nesta off at the train station, though she offered to take Nesta the entirety of the way. Nesta could see Elain wanted to get back—was already so far out of her way, and another three hours would be cause for Elain to spend the night before she could head back. So Nesta said no, pretended like Elain’s relief didn’t bother her, and finished her journey just in time to beat sunset.

She crawled into bed and tried very hard not to think of Cassian’s mouth, or his hands, or how he’d stopped her when she’d tried to find out what was under his kilt.

She failed, of course. Nesta was wound up, had used her fingers instead of getting up to dig out a vibrator, while imagining it was Cassian’s mouth between her legs. She’d come, and though it was hardly satisfying, it did help her sleep. Nesta meant to sleep in. There was nothing on the schedule, and Cassian was a good three hours away from her. He’d be drinking with Rhys or Azriel—maybe flirting, maybe—

A pounding on the door pulled Nesta from sleep at seven am. She could hear it echoing through the castle, so loud she swore the walls shook. Nesta kicked off the blankets, still in a thin strapped, too clingy red night dress that cut just to her mid-thigh. Still foggy from sleep, it didn’t occur to Nesta that it wouldn’t be the police on the other end, come to warn her of some terrible tragedy.

Just a very, very irritated Cassian. She yanked open the door, eyes wide to find him with one hand raised. It fell the second he saw her, his lips parting as if to say oh.

“What?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest in both an attempt to hide her breasts and to convey her irritation. “You scared me half to death.”

He was staring at her face like he’d never seen her before. “Ye left, ye…yer hair.”

Nesta blinked. “Yes? What about my hair.”

“I’ve never seen ye wear it down,” he finally said, cocking his head to the side. Nesta swallowed, resisting the urge to touch it. Her hair was long, the tips touching the swell of her ass. Nesta’s mother had always cut her hair, brushing the strands with gentle fingers all the while cooing how lovely Nesta was.

My pretty girl.

Usually such words were reserved for Elain, but in those moments, Nesta had all her love and affection. After she died, Nesta had tried only once to go to some woman in London. She’d been fine, but when she called Nesta pretty, Nesta had started screaming at her to never say such things again, and afterward, refused to let anyone touch her hair. And while Feyre had kept her hair just beneath her shoulders, and Elain at her waist, Nesta would have let her hair fall to the floor before anyone ever took another pair of shears to it.

“It’s a nuisance,” she said to Cassian, wishing he could just be normal and ogle her.

“It’s lovely,” he breathed, taking a step toward her. Nesta slammed the door between them, stopped by his foot wedged between the frame to keep her from pushing her out.

“I thought we were done with this,” he said, some of his anger returning. That was better. She could work with that.

“Why? Because you pushed me against a wall and kissed me–”

“Ye kissed me back,” he all but growled. Nesta scoffed, as if she hadn’t touched herself to that very mouth now twisted with anger.

“A moment of weakness,” she replied, holding his gaze. “It won’t be happening again.”

His brows shot up. “Oh? Is that so? Won’t be happening again, ye say?”

“Yes, Cassian.”

“Is this because I wanted tae take it slow? Ye’re mad—”

“No!” Nesta snapped, hating how her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “That would have been a mistake. It’s all a mistake.”

“Ye know what I think?”

“I think you’re going to tell me, regardless of my opinion,” she said dryly, though in truth Nesta wanted him to push open that door and force his way in. Wanted him to shove her back against the wall and kiss her until she didn’t hear the sound of her own thoughts.

“I think ye talked yerself out of me. I think yer scared I’m like tae other bawbags—”

“I’m not scared of you,” she lied. His eyes flashed, a smile creeping up his face.

“Ye are. Ye don’t need tae be, but ye are. Why, mo chridhe?”

“You’re delusional,” she retorted, heart hammering in her throat. “You’ve convinced yourself there is something between us—”

“There is something between us,” he replied, smug and self-assured. “And ye ran off yesterday instead of talking tae me about it.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Cassian withdrew his shoe, stepping back into the Highland gloom. She knew what he expected—for her to slam the door in his face, to shut him back out. She wanted to want to do that…but the idea of closing Cassian out entirely made her stomach churn. So Nesta kept the door cracked, looking at him through the sliver, and Cassian remained where he was.

Watching.

Waiting for her to slice him to ribbons—she could see the set of his shoulders, the way he held himself, slightly hunched as though he were physically preparing himself for a physical blow. Had she done that? Nesta swallowed.

“I’m not that kind of girl, Cassian. Alright? I just…let it go.”

“Ye are,” he murmured, his voice so impossibly soft. “Yer mine, Nes. Ye don’t have tae be that girl for anyone else—ye already are, tae me.”

“Cass—”

“I’m not going anywhere. Even if I have tae stage loud battles all day, every day just tae get ye to come out and shout at me.”

“I will,” she warned him.

“I’ll hold ye tae it,” he replied, an easy smile gracing his features.

-*-

Nesta ought to have known she was way over her head the moment Cassian first kissed her. Certainly, by the time he’d come to her door to declare she was his. Nesta had always been good at lying to herself, and for a week, she managed to convince herself that he’d tired of her and her refusal and moved on. Sure, he kept coming back to the lawn with his canons and guns and tourists, yelling louder than before in a bid for her attention.

And yes, he was walking groceries up to her door each evening, clearly hoping she’d eventually invite him inside. Unaware she watched from a window overhead, willing herself to thank him but never actually doing it.

Nesta could have done that forever, had she not had to go into town. It was, as usual, all Elain’s fault.

“What do you mean, masquerade ball?” Nesta hissed, the sun beating down on her neck as she made her way down the drive.

“I didn’t think I needed to explain,” came Elain’s snappish voice. What had gotten into her, Nesta wondered. Perhaps her tenant had finally chased away her sweetness. That, Nesta thought, wasn’t such a bad thing.

“I’m not going—”

“You have to go,” came Elain’s no-nonsense tone. “People already say we ran away, that we’ve become spinsters—”

“Maybe they’re right. You go, tell them I’m…dead—”

“Nesta! Don’t make me do that. It’s one night. Bring anyone you like or no one at all. Feyre will be there with Rhysand and he’s still shiny enough to distract people from your non-existent love life—”

“And your broken engagement?” Nesta asked, trying to get a rise out of Elain. All she got was an exasperated sigh.

“Exactly. People will stop gossiping about us so much if they see us looking healthy, and they get to talk to an actual duke, and you won’t have to come back until Christmas.”

“And you’ll be there?” Nesta confirmed.

“Of course. Where else would I be? I love parties, after all.” But there was a sour note to her words that Nesta couldn’t decipher.

“Is everything fine?”

“Of course,” Elain, that liar, replied. As if Nesta, the queen of lying about her feelings, didn’t recognize what Elain was doing. “Make sure you’re there. If you need a dress, send me your measurements and I’ll have one shipped to you.”

And that was that. Elain ended the call before there could be any more questions and Nesta didn’t particularly care to push. Nesta made her way to Emeries, thinking of this end of the summer party her father was hosting. It was so transparent, so pathetically obvious he was trying to use Feyre’s new husband to enrich himself that Nesta nearly texted Elain she wouldn’t go before turning her phone off for a week.

She didn’t trust Elain not to march across the country and drag her there herself, and that seemed humiliating. Nesta would go, just to see her sisters, drink on her fathers dime, and vanish before anyone had the chance to question her about how many cats she owned.

None.

Yet.

“Ye alright?” Emerie asked when Nesta pushed in, rising up from the chair behind the counter.

“Just my ridiculous father and his ridiculous parties. My sister wants me to go–”

“What kind of party?”

“A masquerade,” Nesta replied glumly. “I don’t understand why people love them so much.”

“Romantic, I suppose,” Emerie said with shining eyes. “Yer going, then? Do ye need anything?”

“Not unless you know someone who can make me a floor length dress in a month and a half. In black,” Nesta added, cackling privately to herself. Everyone would be in warm colors—except her, the spinster.

The bogwitch.

“Actually, I do,” Emerie said brightly. “I could, if ye like. My mum was a seamstress and I’m pretty good with a needle.”

“I’d love that,” Nesta replied. It was that easy to make Emerie happy, to set down roots in the form of friendship, and annoy her father, all at once. Which was all Nesta wanted, truly. She returned later that evening for a pint in the privacy of Emerie’s shop where Emerie gave Nesta a history of the gossip she normally provided, and convinced Nesta to stuff herself with cheese while taking her measurements. Nesta was used to the opposite—being told to fast for a solid day in order to seem thinner for the gown.

She much preferred Emerie’s way.

The downside was, by the time they finished it was incredibly dark, not that the tourists had gotten the memo. Nesta didn’t want to tell Emerie she was afraid of the dark, nor did she want to walk up that hill. That left her with the Ensnaring Snake’s hidden passage, and the packed crowd inside. She kept her head down, trying—and failing—to not see Cassian. It was impossible not to notice him lounging in a chair like some conquering hero.

Nesta made it all the way to the bar before she was stopped.

“Where’re ye going, lass?”

“I—”

“She’s with me, Angus,” Cassian’s smooth, if not unwelcome, voice replied. He slung his arm over her shoulder, pulling her intimately close which earned a wolfish grin from the bartender.

“Aye, behave then,” was all Angus thought to say.

“What are you doing?” Nesta demanded, shoving his arm off her shoulder the moment they were in the back,

“Walking ye home,” he smiled, pulling open the door that cut through the hillside. “And putting ye in bed.”

“Alone,” Nesta replied, though some part of her very much wanted to see him in her bed.

Is that a question? Because I’ll hold ye tell ye fall asleep, tae. Ye only have tae ask.”

“I’m never going to ask, Cassian,” she said, plunging into the darkness with a boldness she felt only because he was with her.

“Yes, I’m starting tae think so, tae.”

“So maybe you should move on,” Nesta said, inhaling the scent of musty air in an effort to escape the richness rolling off him.

“Impossible,” he replied, grabbing her hand as they began to walk over loose stone and dirt. “I don’t know how anyone gets over ye.”

Nesta felt as though she couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on her, pressing her closer and closer to Cassian until she was gripping his hand so tightly she might have been hurting him. In the dark, unable to see him, Nesta could say all the things she didn’t dare when his eyes were on her.

“No one feels that way about me. They never have. This will pass.”

“It won’t,” he replied, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Stop speaking for me. Ye don’t know how I—ye don’t see yerself right. Ye see what those bastards see, because they’re scared of ye.

I’m not, Nes. And ye cannae make me change my mind, either.”

“So what, then? You’re just going to be at my doorstep until we both die?”

“Ideally you’ll be letting me inside, but yes, that’s exactly how I imagine us.”

Nesta stumbled over the first step. “Imagine us?”

“Ye don’t?”

“I–”

“Don’t lie to me, Nes.”

“I can make it the rest of the—Cass—”

Cassian pulled her against him, stopping mid-step to kiss her in the dark. Nesta raised her hand to slap him. She swore she did. His audacity knew no bounds, he was utterly ridiculous. Which was why, when her fingers found his skin, she plunged them into his soft hair and yanked him closer.

Cassian groaned, hauling her up easily, like she was little more than a sack of feathers. Eyes closed, Nesta used her hands to map him, forgetting where they were��though she had the sense he was somehow still walking. Not that it stopped him—Cassian was a man possessed, his tongue in her mouth, tasting her with near mindless enthusiasm.

“Like when ye call me Cass,” he groaned against her neck. How, she wondered, had they made it to the top of the stairs? Cassian was pushing open the iron door of the dungeon, still holding her in one arm though she knew he couldn’t continue on as he was. He’d have to set her down.

And he did, if only to grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her again. His teeth grazed against her bottom lip, hands cupping her face.

“Show me yer room,” he growled, eliciting a shiver from Nesta. They were still in the brutal dark, close enough she could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Cass—”

He reached for the top of her dress and without preamble, ripped clean down the middle. Buttons flew in every direction, scattering loudly over the stone. Heat flooded between Nesta’s legs, her breath catching roughly in her throat. Neither of them moved, breathing softly as they waited for the other to make a move.

He’d done it, though. Hadn’t he? Her dress was ruined and his hands were hovering between them, waiting for her to say something.

“You’re a fucking animal, Cassian,” she told him, unable to hide how breathless she was.

“And yer pussy is dripping, isn’t it?” he all but purred in response.

“Fuck you,” she whispered.

“Take me upstairs.”

Nesta grabbed him by his kilted waist, hauling him forward like she held a leash. Their teeth crashed together, inelegant and messy and yet she’d never been more turned on in her life.

“I’ll show ye a fucking animal, mo chirdhe,” he breathed, licking the column of her neck as he said it. Nesta shivered, and just because she wanted to prove she had some control, rubbed the heel of her hand against his straining erection.

Cassian exhaled, biting the lobe of her ear. “Upstairs. Now.”

She thought it would be awkward to fumble their way through the dark, and worse still when the lights hit them. Cassian groaned softly when he saw her, breasts spilling over the ripped fabric of her dress. They collided again, this time his hands reaching for her, covering each breast easily. Callused fingers brushed her nipples, drawing what might have been an embarrassing moan had Cassian not ground himself against her.

“What’s under this?” she asked him, thinking maybe they ought to just fuck in the hall. Right up against the wall like they were no better than animals. Just like he’d promised.

“Find out, Nes, please touch me.”

Cassian couldn’t have been shorter than six foot five and was built like a celtic warrior. Nesta, at five nine, had always felt dainty beside him—and in that moment, Nesta swore their positions reversed. He was looking up at her somehow, pleading for her to give him something.

Nesta slid her hand beneath the fabric of his plaid to find he was wearing nothing at all.

She also found she’d been right about him. Everything about Cassian was large. Her fingers just barely curled around him, and that first pass told her he was not just thick, but long, too.

Cassian growled a string of words in Gaelic, spoken too quickly for her to make sense of. She didn’t care when he kissed her again, rolling his hips into her hand as she stroked. Nesta was careful to go slow, wanting to drag him out for as long as possible.

“Bed, Nes.” Cassian’s spoken order made her shiver.

“I like touching you,” she whispered, kissing just beneath his ear. Cassian moaned in a huff, like it escaped him against his will.

“Ye will just as soon as I have ye in bed,” he replied, hauling her up off her feet like he was so prone to do. Not over his shoulder, like usual, but in his arms like she was precious. Nesta ran her hand up his chest before directing him to the room they’d share tonight.

And maybe again, after that, if she worked up the nerve. She could find a way to keep him with her, ensuring they wouldn’t be separated, which meant they could continue to have sex until she died.

Cassian kicked open her door and Nesta felt like she was the heroine in one of her novels. This was happening. It was nearly the way she imagined when she was alone, made better by the look on Cassian’s face. Tossing her to the bed, Cassian whipped off that black t-shirt before Nesta had managed to even catch her breath.

“That day at tae loch,” he breathed, removing his shoes and socks quickly, all the while watching her, “I nearly had ye in the dirt. Was so close tae begging ye I had tae walk away. Yer eyes, mo chirdhe…”

“What about them?” she asked, her heart pounding in her throat. Cassian sank to his knees at the edge of the bed, reaching for her legs, hidden in her dress. Given the top half had been ripped open, it hardly mattered when he began pulling it down. It left her only in a plain pair of underwear and nothing else.

Cassian’s gaze flicked to her face. Running his palms up her thighs, he murmured, “I see yer eyes when I close mine. I used tae think ye were haunting me.”

“And now?” Her breath hitched when he kissed just below her knee.

“I know ye are now,” he replied, dragging his tongue up to the fabric still hugging her body. “There’ll be no getting rid of ye.”

She opened her mouth, unsure of what she was going to say. Cassian cut her off. “I don’t want tae be rid of ye, lass. I keep telling ye, but yer not listening. I think I need tae show ye.”

“Cass—” He kissed through her underwear, pouring warm air from his mouth against her aching pussy.

“Tell me tae stop.”

“Don’t.”

Cassian groaned, resting his forehead on her leg for only a moment before pulling the last scraps of fabric off her body.

He whispered something in audible, something that sounded distinctly like a prayer. Nesta was squirming, felt so exposed beneath his gaze, his fingers. If he didn’t do something, she was going to explode.

“Cass,” she said, trying it out for the first time.

He shook his head, his expression so utterly and thoroughly wrecked. “Don’t beg. Not yet.”

“Not yet, what does that—” she choked on the rest of her words the moment his tongue slid up the center of her. His rumbling groan vibrated through her, settling in her chest. Nesta drew her legs up, planting her heels against the edge of the bed to spread herself wider and Cassian seized on the opportunity to explore. His tongue was everywhere, teasing and taunting as he dipped into her body before dragging back up to her clit. There was a distinct lack of elegance to the act, something selfish about the way he was going at her—as if this were as much for him as it was for her.

Why had she denied them this for so long? Cassian’s mouth was bliss, pulling moan after moan from her until Nesta was grinding her pussy against his face, desperately chasing the gathering release that threatened to unmake her. Cassian gripped her ass, spreading her apart, kneading her skin as he drove her higher. Nesta didn’t want to be done, wanted to draw this out for as long as she could.

And she wanted to know what it would be like to have him inside her. Nesta reached between her legs, carding her fingers through his hair. Cassian moaned when she pulled while Nesta nearly screamed as one of his fingers invaded her body. She clenched tight around him, trying to breath through her nose, to calm herself down.

“Cassian,” she pleaded, though for what, Nesta didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he was going to stop. He began to work that finger, and then a second, into her, pumping in and out as he licked and sucked at her clit. Gripping the sheets so tightly she pulled one from the corner, Nesta could do nothing but take this onslaught of pleasure.

Nesta was grateful there was no one but them atop this hill. When she came, it was with a strangled scream that betrayed her. No one but Cassian bore witness to it, which was exactly how it ought to be. Nesta was on fire, was made of nothing but pure heat in that moment, drowning in pleasure so exquisite she could have died right there.

Cassian kept going, discovering a secret only Nesta knew about herself. Given he was the first man who’d ever made her come, or who’d ever been interested in making her come, she supposed it made sense he’d figure it out. Cassian was still licking, his fingers curled in her body as he fucked her. Nesta had only barely come down when she was dragged right back up, shattering tight around him.

Cassian’s head snapped forward, lips glistening in the warm lamplight. “Did ye—”

“Come here, come here,” she said, wiggling further up the bed as she beckoned him. Cassian crawled after her, eyes wide and dark.

“Have ye done this before?” he whispered, laying himself over her, still in his kilt.

“No,” she finally admitted.

“And…” he bit his bottom lip. “And has anyone taken it from ye—”

“No,” she breathed, cupping his face in her hands. “No. Just you, Cass”

His eyes fluttered shut.

“Only me,” he agreed, rising up on his knees to undo his kilt. She’d never realized it was merely one long, pleated piece of fabric until he unwound it from his hips. He was naked then, his cock resting over her still convulsing pussy. Feeling and seeing were two wholly different things. Nesta raised up on her elbows to look, to drink in how obscene they were, how thick and long he was.

“I want this,” she told him, pushing aside her nerves. “I want you.”

“I’ll go slow,” he swallowed, taking himself in his hand.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” Nesta replied, holding his gaze. He nodded, notching himself against her, only to rub the blunt head of his thick cock through the silken, wet mess still dripping from her pussy.

“Are ye always this wet for me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, because there was no use lying to him.

“Wasted time, mo chirdhe,” he grunted, pushing himself into her. Nesta gasped, digging her nails into his biceps. It didn’t hurt—but the stretch was uncomfortable. Cassian halted, eyes searching her face.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta managed, certain the discomfort was short lived. Even women liked sex, which meant she merely needed to get through this hurdle and then she’d be free to enjoy him the way she’d been imagining. “Please, don’t stop.”

It was the please that got to him, just like she knew it would. Cassian’s emotions were all over his face. He’d never been able to hide them, but now he might as well have been screaming what he felt to her. He wanted to make her happy—wanted to do whatever she said.

So he kept going, pushing himself into her while Nesta closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. To let go, just this once.

He wouldn’t hurt her. He’d stop if she told him to. He’d get dressed, he’d walk out the door right that second if Nesta changed her mind. It was that realization that allowed Nesta to let go, to invite him into her body until she’d adjusted to the feel of him.

Cassian seated himself with a soft grunt and a jumble of swears in both English and Gaelic.

“Is it how you imagined?” Nesta asked, betraying her own insecurities.

“Better,” he kissed, withdrawing only an inch. Nesta gasped when he pushed back in, delighted to know she’d been right. That stretch faded into pleasure, frazzling up her spine like a shock of electricity.

“Do it again.”

“Don’t think I could stop,” he admitted, pumping his hips. He kept his eyes on her face, memorizing her reactions. As if this was the last time she’d invite him into her bed. Nesta didn’t know how she’d manage it, but she knew she wanted him here, just like his, for the foreseeable future.

Forever.

She clung tight to his tattooed shoulders, face buried in his neck. It was all going to be over soon, so Nesta indulged in the feel of his muscles shifting beneath his skin, drinking in each ragged groan, each whisper of her name. Cassian was becoming erratic, his careful movements rougher, almost punishing as he pounded himself into her.

Nesta turned his face, her own building orgasm threatening to make a fool out of her. She wanted to say too much, to reveal all the messy, ugly parts of herself to him and see if he kept looking at her like that. She kissed him instead, chasing away her fears with the taste of him.

She came, not with a scream, but whispering his name into his mouth. It was pleasure unlike anything else.

Cassian was unlike anything else. He would be her ruination, and as Nesta drifted in the warm abyss, cradled in his arms, she thought there were far more terrible things than falling in love with this man.

“Nesta,” he whined, thrusting deeper into her. “Tha gaol agam ort, Nesta—”

He came, clutching her so tight there was no escaping.

Nesta was exactly where she wanted to be.

-*-

The thing about Cassian, Nesta learned, was his work ethic. She’d woken after that first night pleasantly sore, hoping to go again only to find the sounds of battle echoing up from the lawn. Her bed was empty, though Cassian’s presence lingered. He’d left his socks on her floor and a note on the side table.

Lunch?

Dinner?

My whole life?

-Cass

He’d given her his phone number, too. Nesta shot him a quick text, thinking ahead.

How about we start with dinner?

After all, if he came over later in the evening, he was less likely to spend the night in the tavern with his friends, with the other women always fawning over him. He’d spend the night with her, and she’d get him all to herself.

He didn’t respond until he was long gone from her lawn. One word was all it took to make Nesta’s heart pound.

Done.

And he came, with a bottle of cheap wine they drank on a balcony. It was here that Cassian told Nesta about his life, clearly hoping she’d reciprocate. He told her about his mother who’d died at the hands of his violent father, who’d left him in the care of relatives that didn’t particularly care much for him. It was how he’d met Rhys, a snotty boy at a stuck-up boarding school trying to live Cassian’s life for a few hours.

Cassian laughed when he told Nesta how he’d beaten the piss out of Rhys, stolen his wallet, and taken off with all the money inside. And how surprised he’d been when Rhys came back with a bruised eye and bloodied nose for his wallet the next night—and Cassian had liked him enough to give him the alcohol he'd been trying to smuggle back in. How they’d become friends, and Cassian felt like he had actual family for the first time in his life. A brother.

She wanted to tell him about her life, too. And what was there to say? That she felt overlooked and neglected as a girl? Buried under the pressure by responsibilities and expectations she’d never once actually taken on. That had been Elain, ultimately, who scooped up all their fathers wants and heaped them upon her shoulders with a smile.

She felt ashamed to tell him her problems, even when Cassian turned those bright, hopeful eyes onto her. Lips curved in a smile, hand balancing on her knee.

“Ye don’t have tae tell me anything,” he finally murmured, and she knew she was a coward for wanting to pretend he didn’t mean anything to her. Especially when she pulled him back into her bedroom and spent the night silently apologizing with her lips, and tongue, and teeth.

It was like that every night. Cassian did most of the talking and Nesta listened, her head in his lap while he’d run his fingers through her hair. She learned that the laughing, likable man was a facade, a wall he put up so no one really saw him, much like her own. Cassian needed everyone to love him to prove he was worthy.

And in turn, she couldn’t allow anyone to love her in order to prove she was exactly as awful as she’d always suspected she was. Only, Cassian didn’t seem to think so. He kept coming back night after night, kept telling her all his secrets knowing full well Nesta could use all of it to break his heart.

Nesta woke two weeks after her and Cassian had begun to the shrill ring of her cellphone. She’d been charging it again, if only to know when Cassian was making his way up to her—and to tell him good morning, not that she’d ever admit it.

“What?” Nesta grumbled. It was early enough that Cassian was still there, one arm flung over her back, face pressed into a pillow.

“You haven’t RSVP’d,” came Elain’s too cheerful voice.

“Elain, it’s six in the morning. Go back to bed.”

“Are you going? And who are you bringing?”

Cassian opened his eyes, mouthing, going where? She could invite him—and watch her father eviscerate him for being a bastard born no one.

“I said I would. I’m going alone, and I’m not staying so don’t bother making up my room.”

There was a beat. “You’re not going to invite Cassian?”

Cassian had heard. “Don’t,” Nesta retorted. “I said I’d be there. Let it go.”

She hung up before Elain could press her.

“Go where?” Cassian asked instantly. This was a test and she knew she was going to fail it. Knew the minute he dragged her back against him and pressed a kiss to her neck that she was going to fuck this all up.

“Back home. It’s nothing, Cass, really—”

“But I’m invited?”

“No.”

The easy smile on his face faltered. “Ah. Ye’d rather go alone?”

“I’d rather not go at all,” Nesta clarified, untangling herself from his grip to rise from bed. “I never want to go back and I certainly don’t want to subject you to my family—”

“I’ve met yer family.”

“No, you met Feyre and Elain. They don’t count.”

Cassian sat up, muscles gleaming gold in the early morning light. “So what, then, Nes? I’m just…I’m just the bloke yer fucking out in the country that yer London friends can’t know about?”

“What London friends, Cassian?” she snapped, pulling a robe around her body. “I have no friends back home. If I don’t go, no one would miss me—except Elain, which is why she won’t let this go.”

He watched, eyes tracking her around the room. “Are ye ashamed—”

“No,” she hissed before softening her tone. “No. I’m not ashamed, Cassian. I…”

Nesta curled her hands to fists, trying to find the exact right words that would placate him.

“I can handle myself around that lot,” Cassian told her, and of course he could. He was best friends with a duke's son, after all. The problem was her. Nesta took a breath before walking back to the bed. She sat on the edge, looking over at him.

“I know you can. It’s me, Cass. It’s just…”

“Yer father?” he guessed.

Nestas fingers twisted around each other violently, nostrils flaring as she tried to get her temper under control. “When mother got sick, he withdrew. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer. And all she wanted was him. She’d beg me to go get him, and I would and he’d tell me to tell her he was coming right up…but he never did. Sometimes I’d hear him walk to the door but he’d never come in. It was grief, but…”

Cassian ran his hands over the tops of her arms.

“But ye were a wee girl, Nes.”

Nesta nodded her head, swallowing so he wouldn’t see her cry. Cassian crept forward, pulling her between his thighs so she could rest her back against the solid wall that comprised his muscled chest. She sighed.

“I can’t stand the thought of you going and standing before him, a better man than he could ever dream of being, and still being forced to endure his scrutiny. It’s one evening, Cassian. I’ll be back in the morning and I won’t have to go back for months.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Aye. If that’s what ye want.” It wasn’t. Nesta so badly wanted Cassian to come with her. She wanted to go everywhere with him. Nesta forced herself to twist, to smile and say, “You’d hate it, Cass. There is so much dancing–”

“Do ye dance?” he asked, eyes alight.

Nesta nodded. “Until my mom died. I had lessons, I—” She almost told him that she loved it.

Cassian smiled, kissing her cheek.

“It’s nice tae learn something about ye, Nes.”

“You’re not angry?”

He kissed her again, dragging her back to the mattress. “Mad at ye? Mo chirdhe, that’s not possible.”

-*-

But maybe it was. Cassian had begun skipping their evenings together in favor of seeing his friends. He still came, but not as often, or far later than before. He said he was finishing up the end of the season, that it was always hectic in the last few weeks of August, but Nesta was afraid that Cassian was pulling away.

Nesta had to leave without telling him goodbye in person like she’d hoped. Instead, Nesta texted him, feeling stupid for letting her guard down. For believing that he liked her just as much as she liked him.

She couldn’t stop herself from texting him.

See you tomorrow?

Cassian was quick with a response.

Yes. Miss you.

It was, she supposed, enough for now. Nesta made her way back to London, miserable and moody and wondering why she couldn’t just tell Cassian the truth.

I’m in love with you.

It was too late to invite him, but not too late to tell him she missed him, too. Nesta waited until she was in the dress Emerie had made for her—beautiful, shimmering black with a plunging neckline that was going to absolutely make someone’s aging grandfather angry—to text him back.

I miss you.

She had to slip her phone into her clutch. Nesta wasted an inordinate amount of time putting on makeup and pinning half her hair off her face before she finally called a cab and made her way across the city for the theater her father had rented out to host the absurd event. With a lacy black and red mask careful stuck to her eyes, Nesta made her way into the open atrium. Feyre was there and had clearly the same thought Nesta had, if the gauzy black and silver dress all but painted to her skin was any indication. A pretty silver mask clung to her skin, making her eyes seem like concentrated starlight.

Beside her, Rhys’s unnerving blue eyes cut around the room with amusement, his hand firmly on Feyre’s bare shoulder as though she were his shield from the nearby people looking in his direction. Desperate, Nesta thought, to talk to him. He wore a kilt with a suit jacket, which felt perfectly normal given the limited information she had about him.

“Oh, thank God you came,” Feyre breathed, making her way to Nesta while Rhys trailed just behind like a dark shadow.

“Where is Elain?”

“Phone off—missing,” Feyre said, eyes narrowed. “After begging and pleading for me to be here, I think she skipped out.”

Nesta only laughed. “Not Elain. She’s probably caught in traffic.”

“With a dead cell phone?” Feyre demanded archly.

“She’ll be here,” Nesta said, only because it felt impossible that Elain would go to so much trouble to ensure both Feyre and Nesta came knowing she had no intention of coming herself. “I’ll bet she’s already inside and you just missed her.”

“She’s not,” Feyre protested as Rhys swept an errant curl from her ear.

“I’ll prove it,” Nesta said, gliding over the glossy marble floor toward the man who’d checked her. A line of guests waited to enter, all fascinated by the dark haired Rhys still casually touching his wife.

“Has Elain Archeron checked in?” Nesta asked, ignoring everyone as though they were little more than dirt beneath her shoe. An exhausted man dressed in tails and a top hat, flipped through his sheets before nodding.

“See–”

“She’s not in there,” Feyre repeated, clearly annoyed. Behind her, Rhys nodded silently which only served to annoy Nesta. She hadn’t asked for his smug agreement. Elain was here.

“Fine. Let’s go look, because it says she’s here.”

Feyre fell into step with Nesta, clearly wanting to be there when Nesta was proven wrong. Ordinarily that would annoy Nesta—the only person more stubborn, more obstinate, more competitive than her was her baby sister. They elbowed their way through the golden archway, half jogging down the sweeping steps to the open ballroom teeming with people. A massive chandelier glittered overhead while rows of white lace tables were arranged around dancing couples, served by a staff of waiters in the same tails the man at the door wore.

“All this for your stupid husband?” Nesta hissed, earning a smack against her stomach from Feyre.

“And Elain. Father things she and Graysen will reconcile and he’ll have two daughters distantly in line for the throne,” Feyre replied without any true ire.

“Ugh,” Nesta scoffed.

“Of course,” Feyre mused, eyes sweeping the room with a creeping smile. “Elain is living with a Vanserra—”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Nesta interrupted, thinking of that dickish old man harassing their middle sister.

Rhys laughed, stepping from behind his wife with a delighted smile. “Ye bastard.”

Feyre was grinning, and when Nesta turned, she understood why.

Cassian.

In his kilt and a black jacket. The waves of his hair had been carefully brushed while his beard was neatly styled and trimmed against his truly beautiful face. He was looking at her sheepishly, apology etched against his expression.

Cassian and Rhys embraced loudly, two Scots among the polite, quiet English. Their raucous laughter made several people near them jump, which earned a very exaggerated eye roll from Feyre.

Nesta crept forward, trying to make sense of Cassian—he’d had to have left hours before her. “How—”

“Yer sister,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She ah…she called me a couple weeks ago, asked if I wanted to go. Said ye were too proud tae ever ask and that she wasn’t coming—”

“I told you!” Feyre crowed.

“Why isn’t she coming?” Nesta asked.

Cassian only shrugged his shoulders. “I didnae ask. I ah…I wanted tae surprise ye.”

“It worked,” Nesta said, realizing Cassian was without a mask. Rhys had foregone one, too, so Nesta supposed it would be a Scottish tradition, then. As if anyone didn’t know exactly who they were.

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders set in that familiar, defensive stance. He’d come, knowing it was likely to make her angry all because beneath all that, she’d wanted him to. Nesta swallowed, nearly as tall as he was in her heels, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m glad you're here.”

And she was when people finally became curious enough about Rhys to ignore how rude they were, interrupting the four of them sitting at a table drinking and otherwise trying to while away the time so they could respectively escape. Elain never did come, and Feyre was too busy smiling beside her husband to be a fun conversationalist once things picked up in earnest.

Nesta would have been alone—again. Miserable and frustrated until she inevitably snuck off, all the while wishing she was with Cassian.

“Dance with me, mo chirdhe,” he murmured, pulling her from her chair.

“Since when do you know how to dance?” Nesta demanded, though she followed him all the same.

“Ye don’t ask me any questions,” he said with a smile, pulling her into the proper stance for the waltz currently playing. Of course her father would have hired a live quartet, trying to seem posher than he was.

“What questions should I be asking, then?”

He lowered his face until his lips brushed over the shell of her ear. “What I’m doing at night when I’m not with ye.”

Nesta jerked, looking up at him. “You were with friends, right?”

“I was doing this,” he explained, stepping so precisely it was clear he’d only just learned the steps and wasn’t yet comfortable enough to be fluid. “I know ye said ye weren’t embarrassed but I figured ye’d be steaming, and I didn’t want tae give ye any more reasons tae be angry.”

“Oh, Cassian,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “I’m not angry. I was wishing you were here right until I saw you.”

“I know,” he agreed, glancing at his feet for only a moment. He was doing so well that he almost seemed effortless. But even if he’d been tripping over his feet, he still would have been the best partner she’d ever had. “I can see yer feelings on that bonnie face of yers.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“It is,” he replied smugly, handsome as ever.

“Then you must be aware that I’m in love with you? And there's no need to say it?”

Cassian stumbled. “I—ah—what?”

Nesta’s cheeks burned. She’d never said those words before and the flustered look on his face did little to calm her nerves.

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he said, something he’d been saying since they’d first had sex. She remembered it so clearly, had been too afraid to look it up. Foolish.

“Oh,” she murmured, unable to stop the smile creeping up her face.

“Maybe since I first saw ye,” he added, his steps falling out of time with the music. Nesta didn’t care, so long as he kept his eyes wholly on her. So long as he kept his arms around her. “I was stupid, though. Couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t keep away from ye.”

“You sure know how to make a lady feel special,” she teased, still holding his gaze.

“Let me make it up tae ye when we leave,” he replied, eyes glinting with mischief. “We’ll play sexy Scottish prisoner, cruel English—”

“Oh, stop it,” Nesta interrupted with a laugh. “We’re always roleplaying that.”

“That’s right, mo chirdhe,” he said, taking their joined hands and pressing it against her heart. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The music ended, though neither of them moved. Barely breathed. “Good,” she replied, swallowing hard. What else could she say to that?

Cassian grinned. “Now. Where’s yer father?”

And Nesta, smiling so wide it threatened to split her face, merely pointed in his direction. She’d take Cassian to him.

They’d go together.

#nessian #nesta x cassian #sorry i forgot about this #i took today off so im playing catch up with my usual stuff #anyway

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