A/N: This is the first time I'm posting a fic online so bear with me. If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. I might be planning to post more chapters, based on the comments. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!
Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.
Trigger Warnings: Nothing much if you don't count swearing
Nesta didn’t like her day if it didn’t start with coffee and breakfast. Breakfast always comes first; the tastier, the better. That was the only reason why she’s waiting impatiently for her order. The depressingly slow pace of the staff didn’t help calm her down, either.
She was getting late. She had plans. She had places to go to. She had things to get done. Unlike some people here, she mentally sneered. True, the limited number of people scattered around, were waiting, looking like they had nothing at all to do, happily scrolling through social media as if they didn't have a care in the world.
Nesta tapped her foot on the polished restaurant floor impatiently. Five minutes. If her order isn't complete in another five minutes, she's getting the hell out of here, her food and money be damned. No, maybe she'll try to get her money and shall personally have a chat with the manager. She'll probably get a chocolate bun and some coffee from the grocery store for breakfast later.
That was exactly when the girl behind the counter called out her order. She rushed forward to take her plate. The smell alone made her mouth water, the staff preparing her food the exact way she liked. It took her a moment or so to realise that there was a larger pair of tanned hands gripping her plate too.
She looked up to find a massive handsome man with half of his hair in a man bun, the rest brushing his collar. An enormous cocky grin was already splitting across his face, "Hello, gorgeous. Hope you're good. Unfortunately, I think that plate is mine," he said with a pointed look at her plate and damn her if the timbre of his voice didn't send a bolt of electricity through her. The plate in question was subjected to a subtle tug-of-war match, the end of its service nearing by each second.
Nearby, a throat was cleared. From the waitress behind the counter. Of course, they had an audience. Nesta turned to her —finally freeing the poor plate— and asked, "Is this order for table 22?"
The waitress quickly checked through the receipt and confirmed, "Yes, ma'am.” Nesta smirked “ I am extremely sorry for the confusion. Both tables; 7 and 22 ordered the same meal almost at the same time. The staff will try their level best to avoid this from being repeated." The last sentence was punctuated with a desperate glance at Nesta. A silent plea, please don't bring this matter to the manager.
Apparently, the man was too blinded by his ego to see the hidden request (she wasn't surprised).
“What?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Your fault,” she murmured.
“I came here long before her,” he trudged on, ignoring her. “How does she get the food first?”
The waitress swallowed, “I am extremely sorry, sir,” She disappeared to the door behind her and quickly came back with his order all while he scowled at her as if she was the bane of his existence.
The waitress reappeared with the man's order in hand, “Again, truly sorry.”
The man took the plate from the waitress, huffed, mumbled, “It's fine. I guess. I do hope you keep good on your promise to avoid repeating such situations,” and stalked away.
The waitress let out a relieved breath and repeated her apologies to Nesta. Nesta gave a curt nod and went away, hoping to get done with this narrative as soon as she could.
* * * * *
Cassian was mostly a nice guy. But today he wasn't that nice. He didn't know why either. He just knew that he should go and apologise to the waitress for freaking her out. And probably to the pretty woman there too.
He could probably say that he was in a shitty mood because he was preparing himself for the disappointment to come when he realises that Nesta, his sister-in-law, isn't coming to the family party coming around the corner too.
Focus, Cass, he mentally chastised. He strode through the mall, searching for the shop he needed to collect his brother, Rhysand's first-anniversary gift. His brother deserves that much. Well, brother of sorts. He, Rhys and Azriel weren’t actual brothers. But Rhys's mom took him and Az in 2 years before her cancer took her away which was probably 15 years ago. The three of them did almost everything together.
Cassian reached the shop he ordered Rhys's gift from, collected his gift and was heading to the mall's exit with a cup of cold coffee he grabbed on the way, when—
When he bumped right into the woman from the restaurant before. Bumped, as in, literally bumped. Oh and spilt his coffee gracefully on her blouse. White blouse. Wonderful.
She had her mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ before her eyes blazed in anger. Not the puny anger when one bumped into someone. This was the rage when you have coffee spilt all over your previously stainless fashionable white blouse. This was the rage when your purchase bag fell on the floor with your newly bought clothes spilling from the bag onto the floor.
Oh no—
Okay, calm down, Cass. Just, calm down. This will be fine.
And then the dam broke.
“What do you think you were doing?” she seethed. “Were you even looking in front of you? Or I suppose people like you don’t need to look. You’ll just slam into someone and talk your way out of it. Oh, wait, no, maybe you were too blinded by your ego to see it. Or maybe—”
“Or maybe you could just listen to me?” he cut in. She snapped her mouth shut. “Look, it isn’t as if I purposely spilled coffee on your clothes.”
“White clothes,” she murmured.
“It isn’t as if I bumped into you just to drop your bags on the floor,” he continued.
“But you did.”
“Though I am honoured that you think my wit is good enough to talk my way out of such situations—”
“I said no such thing.”
“Please, darling, I don’t like being interrupted,” he paused to see if she would say anything else. She didn’t. He let himself rejoice in this small victory. He bent down to pick her purchase bag from the floor and passed it to her. She jutted out her chin and hissed, “I do not need your help,” and stalked away.
He shrugged and watched as their audience dispersed and was about to head back to the exit when he noticed a lilac purse on the floor. The woman’s. She was still walking in his sight.
“Wait!” he called. She stopped but didn’t turn back. He supposed that was a good sign. When he didn’t say anything more, she started walking again at a much slower pace. To let him catch up to her, he supposed.
“Wait,” he repeated once he got much closer. She whirled mid-stride to face him, damn near bumping into her. Again. No, he would never want that to happen. He’ll at least hope.
“What do you want?” she fumed.
He held his hands up in innocence. He had no intention of dying before his brother’s anniversary.
“You left your purse,” he said, hesitantly giving her the purse. She snatched it from him. “I thought we established the fact that I don’t need your help?”
Cassian had enough of this. “What is wrong with you?” he snarled. “Here I am, trying to help you as compensation for this morning while you are acting as if I’m some… thing you’re disgusted about. You don’t need my help, huh? Go on. Keep acting as if you wouldn’t have rushed back once you find your purse missing. Keep acting as if there isn't a part of you —however small it is— which isn’t grateful to me for giving you your purse.”
She growled, a slight trace of red creeping up her neck. He growled right back.
She swung her free hand to his face. He caught her wrist with his hand and leaned closer. He whispered in her ear, “You wouldn’t want that, sweetheart. We’ve got an audience.”
“Let. Me. Go, ” she snapped.
“Uh-huh,” he loosened her grip and she pulled her hand back. Her face was getting a darker shade of red. “Thank you,” she grumbled as if she didn’t mean it at all. She probably didn’t. Still, it was progress. He grinned, “Anytime, sweetheart.”
* * * * *
Nesta felt like punching something. Or rather a certain someone. A someone with hazel eyes, a well-cut body, with stark black tattoos creeping over muscled arms and a—
Stop it, Nesta. Stop mooning over an insufferable bastard. You’re better than that. Get your shit together.
But she couldn’t. There wasn’t anything in her mind but his god-damned face. Someone like him shouldn’t look this good. No, it was highly illegal. There was also another reason she couldn't and wouldn't admit out loud; he was the only one who saw through her no-nonsense façade. That, made her want to do everything possible to double up her security system. Plus, she didn’t like someone like him. Arrogant. Ignorant. Insufferable.
There was a part of her screaming, kind, handsome, caring, generous. A part bigger than she’ll want to admit. She ignored that part and hoped she won’t be seeing his face again.
* * * * *
His encounter with the woman left him speechless. More mind-blown than he'd ever been. It took him some time to realise they hadn't even exchanged names, let alone numbers.
She was all he could think about through the rest of the day. Her storm-grey eyes which conveyed all her emotions she thought she kept well-hidden. Her hair, the correct mixture of golden and brown. Hell, he even liked her snarl, however feral it was.
But what he felt when he was near her, a seed threatening to blossom if they had another encounter, was dangerous. Very, very, dangerous. Cassian likes danger. But this is not the danger one should indulge in. So, even though he had a feeling it would kill him, he hoped he'd never have to see her again.
my taglist is currently non-existent (just send an ask or dm me if you wanna be in my taglist) so just tagging some mutuals who have read acotar:
A/N: DO inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!
Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.
Cassian was waiting. And waiting. And waiting. He waited for the day he would forget the woman’s face. He waited for the day he could close his eyes without seeing her blue-grey eyes blazing in anger. He waited for the day he wouldn’t burn his bacon because he was thinking about her.
He had mused, how the face of a stranger was branded into his mind vividly. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered if they’ve known each other before or have seen each other somewhere, anywhere before the day in the mall—even if on photographs or at an event or at another shopping mall. Still, he desperately wanted to forget about her. He wanted to forget that she ever existed. He wanted to forget their encounter in the mall that day. He wanted to forget everything about her, even though deep down, he knew what he wanted was far from forgetting her.
But he couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t afford to think about her at all times. He was getting distracted at work. His part-time job as a martial-arts instructor and as a sommelier was in a precarious position if it went on like this. He nearly tore one of his student’s muscles in his centre and got at least 5 orders wrong at the restaurant he was working at.
On a Saturday noon, Cassian decided the best way to clear his head was to dive into a war book or reread Secrets Of The Sommeliers for probably the millionth time.
* * *
Nesta flinched at the sudden ping of the oven timer. Again. She’d been thinking about him again. This was the fourth time in the whole week when she burned her cheese sandwich and she was getting so tired of this. She urgently needed a way to stop thinking about him. To stop seeing his insufferable grin whenever she closed her eyes. To stop thinking about him at almost all times.
It struck her as odd, the fact they didn’t even know each other’s names but she kept seeing his face as if they’ve known each other before. She gasped. What if they had known each other before? What if they were probably neighbours from Nesta’s old house or classmates or maybe they went to the same college. Nesta shook her head.
But why should she care? No, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care what his name is or if he even has a name. She doesn’t care if she’s had the misfortune of seeing him before or if that was the first she’s seeing him. Or so she kept telling herself. She couldn’t afford to have him occupy her thoughts. She had better things to do. But all these excuses weren't enough to stop her from still thinking about him.
Nesta looked at her clock. It was a Saturday, almost noon. Maybe reading a spicy book or two will help.
* * *
Cassian loved the House of Wind library and bookstore. They had a variety of books in almost any genre. He'll admit though, that some of the librarians here are better left alone. He was lucky he came here often and therefore knew a handful of the merrier librarians. He made a beeline for his favourite section, books related to wine, best books for sommeliers.
On his way to the shelves he had committed to memory, he realised that there was a big poster about their annual Free Premium Membership Fest where 20 fortunate, early birds would get their membership card updated to premium with a number of privileges. Cassian's whole being was elevated. He missed the last fest they held and had been waiting for the next fest. He wondered how he could forget such an important thing. Oh. Right. Of course. A certain lady was occupying his thoughts. He sighed. He forgot about that too.
He was quite disappointed when he reached the counter. The fest started yesterday and the computer stated that there was only one person left till 20. What truly disappointed him was that Clotho wasn't at the counter as she usually was. Maybe she'll be in the—
“If you're done staring at the computer maybe you could deign to move so it can really serve its purpose of being a public property?” Cass froze. He'd know that voice anywhere. This was the voice taunting him at all times. “And if you have coffee in your hands, I'd suggest you turn slowly.”
He smirked. So she knew who she was talking to.
“Well, looks like the damage would be lesser this time since your clothes aren't white,” he observed.
“I figured black would hide stains caused by ogling, clumsy people better than white,” she said. “Now, if you could move, I want to register for the Membership Fest.”
“Register? What do you mean by ‘I want to register for the Membership Fest’?”
“A register, you know,” she teased, “Something like a form where you fill your details if you want to join something?” She smirked at his glare.
“Well,” he said, “if there is a register let me fill it first.”
“Because your ego is bigger?”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” he dead-panned. “I came here first.”
“Here as in the counter or the library? Because I’m pretty sure I stepped into this library first.”
Cassian quickly checked the database where the information of all members appeared. He turned back to her with a self-satisfied smirk. “The database shows otherwise, sweetheart.”
She scowled. “I don’t believe you. You might’ve tampered with the information.”
He moved slightly to the side to give her a better view. Her scowled deepened.
She rounded on him. “You,” seethed. “You did—”
“Hello,” a new, shy voice said.
“Hey, Gwyn,” they both said in symphony.
A look of surprise crossed over her features before it faded away. When the woman turned to Gwyn, she wore a huge smile. “Oh, look, she smiles,” he muttered, earning him a glare.
“Is the fest still on?” Cassian asked.
Gwyneth Berdara, one of the joyful librarians here, said, “Unfortunately, not. We just got our 20th member.”
Cassian’s face fell. He noticed the same of the woman too. Gwyn, always the optimistic one, said cheerfully, “Maybe we could reserve one for the both of you next year?”
They both murmured their assent before Gwyn offered her farewell and went back to the staffroom.
The woman turned back to him. “This is all your fault,” she hissed and stalked out of the library, leaving Cassian more confused than ever.
* * *
Nesta went to the library to find solace or at least a semblance of it. Seeing the man there, however, left Nesta more rattled than she would care to admit. Rattled, and angry. Angry at the universe for giving them these unfortunate encounters. Angry at him for following her wherever she went. Angry at herself for feeling such futile emotions. Angry at her body for reacting to him.
She was also upset that she didn’t get a free premium member cr
Nesta was so occupied with her thoughts and emotions that she didn’t realise she was taking the wrong route. She wasn’t familiar with this part of Velaris. She also didn’t realise she was being followed. It was distinct, the sound of hushed breathing, of the soft thuds of footfalls. The footsteps sounded heavier which most probably meant it was a man. She couldn’t really be sure, though. This was a person who was not experienced in stalking but was trying hard enough.
Nesta knew she shouldn’t panic but couldn’t help the bout of fear that crashed through her. Nesta tried to stay calm. She tried to make sure she didn't quicken her pace. She tried, cauldron, she really did. But her fear was slowly overpowering her senses. She felt the urge to run away from her stalker.
But that wouldn’t be wise. Running away from her stalker isn’t a good choice. It wasn’t smart. Who’s to know he wasn’t armed? What if he was faster than her? What if her stalker was faster than her? He might be stronger too. He could over power her and cage her in. She didn’t even know what his motive was.
Then, Nesta made a ridiculously huge, dumb mistake. She turned to an abandoned alley. At least it looked abandoned. She let out a frustrated breath. Running away was at least better than getting stuck in an alley. So much for ‘that wouldn't be wise’. She looked around, trying to get a sense of where she was or if there were any means of escape, however meager it might be.
Suddenly, she was slammed to the alley wall. The rough cold stone was unforgiving and unyielding under her cheek. Her windpipe was closed off and she was struggling to get some air in. She fought to get free but her captor —a man, as she guessed— was too strong. Somehow, his hands felt familiar to her. As if she were long acquainted with this person’s touch.
“What do you want?” she gasped out.
He chuckled, the sound grating through her very bones.
“My little Nesta,” he whispered, his hot breath ghosting the shell of her ear. “Ever the stubborn one.”
That voice. It was one that she couldn’t forget as hard as she tried. Tomas Mandray, her ex-boyfriend, was someone not easily forgotten.
“Tomas,” she said. She couldn’t bring herself to be nice. Not now, not after how he treated her. “What the fuck do you want? Let me go.”
“I see you haven’t changed at all.”
“I can say the same of you.”
“Mhm. You broke up with me and then you called the police. Got me stuck behind bars for two fucking months.”
“Good riddance,” she muttered.
He slammed her head against the wall. Hard. Blinding pain shot through her. He yanked her hair so hard she was afraid chunks of it came out. Her head only throbbed harder.
“Manners were never your cup of tea,” he hissed.
“You were not that kind either. You were an empowering, possessive bastard and I don’t regret watching you grovel to the police for freedom for one fucking moment and I won’t ever.”
He growled and slammed her head against the wall again. She cried out and was pretty sure she heard something crack. She felt the metallic tang of blood on her lips, streaming from her nose freely.
“Oh, you will. You’ll regret everything. Every. Single. Thing. For your whole god-damned life. I’ll make sure of it, bitch,” he promised.
He tightened his grip on her hair that sent another wave of agony through her. She caught the glint of something in the fading sunlight. A knife. Of course he had a knife.
He had a knife while she was a mess, kneeling on an alley, completely at the mercy of one of the people who hated her the most. Pathetic. So, so, pathetic. She hated herself for whimpering. She hated herself for being this weak. She hated that she had gotten panicked enough that she turned to an alley, where no one would know.
Here, in this unknown alley, with the person she hated the most, Nesta Archeron was going to die. She was going to die a death as unknown as the place she was in. Maybe even without her sisters knowing. Shit. Her sisters. If only she showed all her love to sweet Elain and brave Feyre, if only she even went to meet her brother-in-laws, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian, maybe things would’ve been different. She closed her eyes, fighting the emotion in her throat. I’m sorry Elain, Feyre, Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian, I’m so, so sorry, was the last thing in her head before she felt acute pain and succumbed to the dragging talons of oblivion.
A/N: Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!
Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.
Trigger Warnings: none ig
2097 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3
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Wearing a tee is fairly simple. Just bunch it up and pull it over his neck, then, put his arms through. That's it. This is the third time he was trying to get himself in this damn t-shirt. The first time, he wore it the other way round. The next time he accidentally tried putting his neck where his arm was meant to go. He got snarled in the t-shirt in the process. It's a miracle the garment hadn't ripped off. His brushed hair also got mussed and tangled in the process.
Cassian sighed and held his dark brown tee up. His mind was still playing his memories with Nesta on loop. It just wouldn’t stop. Not when he was sulking, bathing, changing—
The doorbell rang. A quick glance at his wall clock confirmed that the hour was ungodly enough that most would be asleep. Wondering who exactly it was, Cassian opened the door—
—and his mind blanked out. There, standing in front of him, in all her glory was Nesta. Nesta, who had snapped at him earlier. Nesta in a white oversized sweater and black tight-fit leggings. A small bag was slung on her shoulder. He was pretty sure he was gawking like an idiot. He forced his mouth to shape her name.
***
“Nesta,” he breathed. Nesta could hear awe and reverence in his voice. So much that she shivered. There was pain in his voice too. Tears pricked her eyes. How selfish of her to run to him even after she hurt him. But she couldn’t turn away. Not now, not after walking from her home to here. She closed her eyes and swallowed. His bare torso didn’t help matters either. His torso was a wonderful masterpiece. His tattoos were starker in the moonlight. She longed to trace them with her fingers. Nesta immediately shut that train of thought. She didn’t come here for that. She came here because of Tomas. That’s it.
Cassian was peering over her shoulders when she opened her eyes. Frowning, he asked, “How did you come here? Has your cab left?”
“No,” she said. “I walked here.” His eyes snapped to her face. He took a step back and opened the door wider, “Come in,” he said.
Nesta could feel his eyes on her while she stepped through the threshold and took her time to look through his house. It wasn’t as big as Feyre’s but it was bigger than her apartment. She saw a rumpled t-shirt discarded on the dark blue couch and reigned in a smile. She heard the click of the lock and turned to face him. He looked at her and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further. Her eyes tracked the wispy strands moving in between his slender, long fingers. Cauldron, she thought, this was going to be very difficult, indeed.
He nodded at the couch, “Have a seat. You must be tired. How long was the walk?” he queried.
She took her seat on the soft couch and replied, “Around half an hour including a short break I took.”
He nodded. The pained expression, mixed with one of longing, didn't leave his face yet. “Why are you here Nesta? Truly? Just a few hours ago, you were screaming in my face and now, you’re in my house looking rattled. What do you want?”
Nesta stared at her hands resting on her lap, took in a ragged breath and said, “Tomas.”
The shock was evident on his face. “Tomas?” he repeated. She saw as the shock on his face bled and became anger. “Did he disturb you again?” he demanded.
“No,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. “No. He wasn’t really even there. I was on my bed. Trying to get some sleep. I couldn’t sleep, I kept tossing and turning on my bed. Sleep felt so far away. But after sometime I think I fell asleep. Then I felt like I woke up. It was bright. It all felt weird to me. And that was when I saw him. He was in my room. His hand was around my neck, squeezing. He was talking and talking.” The words were gushing out of her now, a panicked flow of words. She continued, “Then he slapped me. He also had a knife with him. He kept threatening me. Telling me about the way he said he wanted to kill me. And—and he used his knife on me. He stabbed my arm and kept dragging upward slowly. It hurt like hell. That was what I didn’t understand. The pain. It all felt very real. Most of all, my pain.” She looked back at Cassian. He was silently listening, she was grateful for that. “That’s why I came here,” she admitted. “I got scared. The vulnerability I felt… I want to be ready when he comes back. And he will come back. He isn’t the type to let things go. I need your help. Help me,” she pleaded. She wasn’t aware of the tear escaping her eye.
Cassian got up and seated himself beside her. He cupped her cheek. Unconsciously, she leaned closer to him. He gently brushed her tears away. “I’ll help you,” he said gently. “You’ll be ready. When the time comes, you’ll be ready. I’ll make sure of it. Only if you call me Cass.”
She grinned. “That wouldn’t be very difficult,” she said.
***
Cassian felt like he was selling his soul in a bargain to the devil. He knew. He knew that this wouldn’t end well for him. He knew he’ll end up having his heart broken. But he couldn’t resist. He couldn’t bring himself to say no to her.
Nesta wrapped her arms around his middle. He froze. The sensation of her hands on his bare skin was a shock to his senses and elicited a shiver down his spine. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much. Really.” she gave him a playful smile. “Cass,”she said with more emphasis than necessary. And Mother, he didn’t regret letting her call him Cass one bit.
She yawned and stretched like a cat. He liked that too, he decided.
“Have you slept?” he asked.
“A bit. You?”
He shook his head. He gestured to her to follow him up the stairs. “You can sleep here till dawn in Mor’s room. You know, the room you used the last time.”
“Cass,” she said. He halted, turning back to face her. “I really need to say this. I’m sorry. Truly. I shouldn’t have said what I did last night.”
He didn’t say it’s okay because it really wasn’t. He just nodded, acknowledging her apology, showing her that he couldn’t forget how much it hurt him but he’ll try to come to terms with both of their mistakes. They reached Mor’s door.
She hesitated. “I don’t have any clothes to change to,” she said.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Mor’s clothes would fit you, though it would be slightly loose. You can also use the bathroom to wash up or anything else you want to do. I’ll be in the room down the corridor—” he said, gesturing to the second last door— “so just knock if you need anything, okay?”
She nodded and thanked him again before closing the door and preparing for bed. He entered his room and plopped on the bed. It might’ve been how tired he felt or it might have been her presence two rooms away, but in mere minutes, Cass was fast asleep.
***
A few fast and hard knocks on his door woke Cassian from his sleep. Groggily, he opened the door to find Nesta in a tank top and shorts. Very short shorts. She looked disturbed, though.
“What happened?” he asked her.
“I can’t sleep,” she said, her voice small.
Cassian’s heart, or at least, what was left of it, broke. He hated to see this. Cold, sharp Nesta now, standing in front of him, scared and afraid. He felt a surge of protectiveness in him. He wanted to tuck her to his side and shield her from every and any harm that would come to her.
He held his hand out for her and brought her into his room. “Sit,” he gestured to his bed, “What do you want to do?”
She smiled tentatively, “Would you tell me about yourself? We haven’t introduced ourselves properly. I think I want to hear more about you from you yourself. And if you want… I could tell you some things about myself too.”
He sat on the bed beside her and said, “That’ll be fun.” He saw this not only as a means to escape the horrid things in her head, but also as a peace offering. He couldn’t forgive and forget the things she told him earlier but he could try to play along with her patching up.
“Who’s gonna start first?” she asked.
He dramatically placed his hand on his bare chest in a variation of a bow and said, “After you, my lady.”
She laughed and asked, “Do you ever wear a shirt at home?”
“Why? Getting distracted already?”
“Can’t you just answer my question?” she asked hotly, though a light blush was creeping up her cheeks.
The corner of his lips kicked up a notch, “I do wear shirts at home.”
“Good,” she said and opened her mouth to continue when he interrupted her.
“Wait,” he said, “Now, you haven’t answered my question.”
“I didn’t deem it worthy enough to answer.”
He pouted, “You wound me, Nes.”
“Stop being overdramatic. And don’t call me Nes!” she snapped half heartedly.
“Twice,” aggrievedly, he said, “you wounded me twice. Also,” he smirked, leaning closer to her, “you like it.”
“Like which?”
“Being called Nes.”
“I don’t.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now you’re the one who’s getting distracted. What did we plan for and what are we doing now? If this is how things are gonna be, I think you’ll prove to be a very bad teacher.”
“Now, Nes, you need to know that I’m good at many, many things and would prove to be an extremely focused teacher,” he said, voice husky. He knew she caught his meaning when the blush on her cheeks deepened. He leaned back on his palms, “Go on.”
So she spoke. She told him of her time when both her parents were alive; of the time when they grieved their mother’s death; when she kept herself away from her sisters after becoming orphans; when she made the mistake of falling for Tomas. “Honestly,” she had told him, “when I look at him now, I wonder how I fell in love with him in the first place.” She then told him of how her relationship with Tomas was a toxic one; him being abusive and controlling; how he made her feel low of herself; how he never respected her; how he kept cheating on her. She told Cassian of the day Tomas hit her and accused her of cheating just because he saw her paying for her groceries at a male’s counter. She told him of how she called the police immediately after and got him behind bars. By the time she was over, Nesta was curled by his side, tears silently streaming down her beautiful face, him rubbing soothing circles on her back.
Then he told her about himself. He decided to tell her the plain truth without any alterations. She deserved it. But it felt intimate, somehow, sharing the details he hadn’t spoken out loud. Even Az and Rhys had only seen what he did and never pushed afterwards. He told her as much before telling her about how much he loved his mother; of how he never knew his father and that was for his father’s own good; of how his mother was killed one day while he was at school; of how he beat the men involved into pulp; of how he was called a brute and a bastard there on; of how he first met Rhys and Az at his school; of how Rhys’s mother took him in as her own son; of the silly things and the trouble the trio would create.
“You are a very good friend, Cass. And an even better man,” Nes said
His heart warmed. He said, “Don’t care about what Tomas said. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, brave, witty and sharp woman. And I,” he paused, “I like you very much as a friend too.”
He didn’t understand the short pang of disappointment on his face. All he could think was, shit, I almost said I loved her.
A/N: I'm very(read: kinda) sorry for cliffhanger last chapter. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!
Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.
Trigger Warnings: Language
2094 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cassian never knew such panic. He knew he was being an ass for acting as if he had the right to be protective of her. Of the person he didn’t even know the name of. Of the person he felt drawn to and yet wanted to forget. Of the person who got under his skin so easily. Of the person whose beauty can bring the best of men to their knees and make even queens try everything possible to best her. He didn’t know her at all other than a few conversations that weren’t his best moments, but he still felt as if they had been together since they were just kids.
All of those were reasons good enough to get him to forget other females. But this woman, gods, this woman wasn’t like the others, was she? No, she wasn’t. He found her on her knees with a man standing before her in an alley on the way back home from the library. At first glance, his heart broke for different reasons. He started walking away, before he realised it wasn’t what he thought it was. When he caught the telltale whiff of blood and saw the glint of a blade from the corner of his eyes.
Undiluted panic and rage —both feelings he didn’t have the right to feel— spurred him forward, knocking the man unconscious and breaking a bone or two for good measure, only to find the woman laying on the floor, her heart beating too fast for her good. Cassian debated entrusting the man and woman over to the authorities. Somehow, Cassian felt that the man and woman were well acquainted before today. He felt all of this was planned from the man’s side. So he brought both of them to his house. The guy was shoved into the basement with a strong sedative. The woman was left in the guest room one of his brothers or friends slept in whenever they stayed over. He didn’t take her to his room. No, he won’t. That would rip open a wound he still struggled to keep closed. A wound that wasn’t even closed properly. That would remind him of images he didn’t want to admit was stored in his mind. One of those images rose, of the woman laying on his bed, golden-brown hair fanned around her flushed face, her eyes screwed shut in—
Cassian shoved that image away and sighed. He should probably have a little chat with the woman once she wakes up.
Today, when the woman didn’t wake up after one week of unconsciousness, when her face was ghastly pale, he felt the optimism that incentivised him slowly seeping out. He started regretting his decision of not handing things over to the police. What if Cassian’s first aid hadn’t been enough? Worse, what if he did something wrong? What if, because of his actions —done knowingly, or unknowingly— would be the reason why the earth loses a certain gray-eyed beauty?
Cassian was close to giving up. It pained him to see her like this. If not for the slight rise and fall of her chest he would think she was dead already. He slowly walked to her bed, crouched and tucked stray strands of hair behind the shell of her ear. He tamped down the emotion cresting in him. Her pulse was getting steadier day by day. He should be happy— his one week of taking leave from both of his jobs and tending to her was paying off. But his mind shot to the moment that day when they first met. When he was stunned by her beauty. Her side-profile, not even her full face, at that. That day, when he realised something deadly was brewing between them. It had been growing from that day, he realised. It was barely five weeks since he had known her— he didn’t even know her. They were just acquaintances. Still, Cassian knew he was falling hard for her. This time, he couldn’t contain the swell of emotion in him. He couldn't hold back the tear rolling down his cheek. He slowly slipped out of the room and sighed. To say he was screwed was a major understatement.
***
Everywhere hurt. Death was supposed to be one's liberation. No one mentioned that there was physical pain in death. There shouldn't be, right? One didn't even have a body to feel physical pain after death. Mental pain? Probably. Physical pain? A big no.
Nesta blinked open her eyes — which again, no one mentioned ghosts would be able to do.
Huh. She expected Hell —for the mistakes she'd atoned, she assumed Hell would be her place— to be all dark and gloomy. What she didn't expect was for Hell to have separate rooms— with furniture and bright blue walls, no less.
She wanted to sit up and get a sense of her surroundings and clear her still groggy head. That's when she heard muffled footsteps. She jerked upright —and immediately regretted it for her head hurt even worse than before — and her pulse raced. She paused. Pulse raced?
She cautiously placed her hand on her wrist, then her neck and on her chest to be sure. Pulse. She had a pulse. She wasn’t dead?
The door flew open revealing a hulking, heaving figure she knew all too well. What was he doing here?
Ohh. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of memories from the alley. Of Tomas. She opened her eyes to find the man sitting on a chair near the bed. Immediately she was keenly aware of the limited space between them. He silently passed her a glass of water she gladly downed, refilled and let her drink her as much as she wanted.
She set her glass on the bedside table and looked up at him, at the concern etched deep on his face.
“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” he asked.
Why is he being kind? Why is he making it difficult for me to hate him?
“Why am I here?” she asked instead.
“I asked you first,” he deadpanned. Typical.
“Mhm, nice way to deflect. Too kiddish, though,” she said.
“As if you aren’t deflecting,” he retorted.
“How about this? Your answers for mine.”
He huffed. “Whatever. So, are you okay?”
She smiled, “Me first.” At his glare she said, “I’m sick, aren’t I?”
“How nice of you to pull that card,” he murmured.
“Why am I here?”
“I found you on your knees, your nose slightly broken, bleeding here and there with a man holding a knife to your throat in an alley.” He shrugged. “I brought you and healed you as well as I could without gaining attention from the authorities. This is my home.”
She opened her mouth to ask her next question.
He cut her off with a smile and said, “My turn, sweetheart.”
She clenched her jaw. His audacity.
He leaned forward on his elbows. “Does anything hurt?”
“Yeah,” she allowed herself a small smile, “My head feels like it's being hit with a hammer by a particularly unkind person. My nose feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. My scalp feels like it’s being used as a cotton reel. I’m in dire need of a bath. Other than that, I’m fine I guess.”
He nodded, “Well, I’m glad you’re fine.” There he is, being all kind and caring to me again. He chuckled. “No need to give me that look. I’m just glad my one week off didn’t go down the drain.”
That was what she wanted to hear. But it still stung. Her head snapped up as realisation struck. “Wait— has it been one week already?”
He smirked, “Yes. Now, my question—”
She frowned, “It’s my turn.”
His smirk only grew larger. That bastard. “ ‘Has it been one week already’ is a question, my love.”
Shit. She should’ve thought about that. He was correct but still, “How dare—”
“Calm down, darling, calm down. If you want—”
She sighed and said, “Bring it on, then.”
His jaw ticked. He’s angry, she realised. “Who was he?” he asked quietly.
She drew in a breath. “That was Tomas. Tomas Mandray. My ex-boyfriend. He probably wanted revenge for putting him in jail.” She didn’t explain. She didn’t want to and he seemed to understand that. She slightly dreaded the next question. She put on her no-emotion face and asked, “Where is he?”
His face said he saw right through her facade. He pursed his lips, “In the basement. I figured the both of you had some sort of personal history so I wanted to wait for you to wake up before I did anything. He’s not awake; I’ve taken care of that but I don’t think he’ll be unconscious much longer. Do you need anything?”
She nodded, she was still in the same clothes as that day. There were blood stains throughout her black shirt. The mere thought that she hadn't cleaned herself for one week made her shudder. He didn’t change her clothes and she appreciated that though it seemed her face, neck and hands were wiped with a cloth. “I’d like a bath.”
He seemed to consider this before saying, “Sure. You can use my friend's clothes from the closet. The bathroom is there. Take a bath, use whatever you want. I'll get breakfast ready.”
He turned to leave. “Wait,” she called.
He arched his brows, waiting. “Thank you. For everything.”
He gave her his signature half-smile, “Anytime, darling.”
***
Making breakfast was normally very easy. Today, however, it was proving to be a very, very difficult task. Apparently, your brain turns to mush when the woman you've been drooling behind is bathing under the same roof. Also when you're talking to her. He found it a miracle that he didn't make a fool of himself earlier.
But he was sober enough to see the vulnerability behind her guarded expressions when they were talking about her ex-boyfriend. Gods, her ex-boyfriend. The anger he felt when he saw him in the alley was less than a tenth of what he felt now. He didn't know why he was angry. He just… was. He knew she was smart and brave and strong. But that didn't wipe off the fact that somewhere, beneath the tigress exterior, there was a scared little rabbit. He knew what he was going to do might be stupid. He knew it might not work out. Still, Cassian was going to arm the scared rabbit, consequences be damned.
***
Turns out, he makes delicious breakfast. There was steak, salad, boiled potatoes and a number of other foods. Nesta didn't know when she last had such mouth-watering steak. Not that she'll admit it though.
“Did he see you?” she asked after a hearty meal. “Tomas,” she clarified.
“No,” he replied, “I came from the back. His guard was down so he wasn't ready. I don't think he's trained in this kinda stuff. He probably knows a little but not good enough. Why?”
She shook her head. “I don't think I want anything to do with him. Would you mind sending him to the police? Maybe you could just attach a note saying you found him abandoned somewhere or something like that. I really don't want to get you into trouble either.”
She didn't dare look at him, afraid he'll say no.
“Fine,” he said. “You can call a cab whenever you're ready to leave. Take my first-aid kit if you want. Anything else?”
“No, no, nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks. Again
For, uh, everything.”
Gods, why was she getting so flustered?
She packed her old clothes and some medicines he recommended for her headache, ignoring the pang of disappointment. Before she left, he passed her a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on it.
“What is this?” she asked.
“It's a centre I run with my brothers. In three weeks from now, after that Sunday, do you want to come? It's a self-defense arts centre. We could teach you a bit here and there. If you want. Totally no pressure.”
Nesta was stunned. That was exactly what she was thinking about in the shower earlier. Learn how to fight. Learn what to do. Then, payback time. She really didn't understand how he managed to read her mind. She smiled. “I'd love that.”
He grinned. She felt happy. Soon, she was going to give back suffering for all she got. Tomas was so going to pay. She's going to learn how to fight. Never again, she vowed. Never again would she be vulnerable.
A/N: I know I haven't been able to update as fast as you'd want me to but I'll try to fix that. Your comments and feedbacks are very much appreciated. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!
Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.
Trigger Warnings: None really
1652words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3
The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to do something they liked. That was the only way Cassian kept from spiraling. Since sending the woman to her own house, Cassian had more than a few moments when he wanted to repeatedly slam his head against a wall. That’s why he spent most of his time sparring with Azriel. He won’t admit he was simping for that woman in his free time too. Or maybe that was always.
Now, sprawled on a couch in front of the TV, with nothing to do but stare at a blank screen, Cassian led his thoughts to the box he kept all unwanted thoughts locked in. He thought about Tomas, her ex-boyfriend. Funny, he thought. I know her ex's name but not hers.
It took him a little too long the other day to realise they didn't exchange names. Again. He once thought that maybe she was purposely not giving him her name. That maybe, for her, he was just a random stranger who happened to save her life. He snorted. Surely anyone would know the name of the person they saved or was saved by— stranger or not. He supposed he'll have to make do with pronouns for now.
After she left his home, it took every scrap of self-restraint not to beat this Tomas dude to pulp and let him rot in the same alley he had the misfortune of meeting him in. He may or may not have been the cause for some extra injuries. Cassian appreciated the woman’s attempt at mercy. He, however, didn’t trust Tomas at all. He was dubious about just handing him over to the police. Who’s to know he won’t frame him and the woman for absurd things? Anyway, he left a note in Tomas’s house saying something like “Step out of line, lose your favourite part of anatomy. Name it and have it for your meal.” He made sure he printed so that no one would recognise his writing. Yet, all this didn’t calm his nerves one bit. He presumed he’ll have to stay on guard for some time now.
Now, back to the girl. He sighed. He didn’t dare change the sheets in his guest bedroom. He didn’t even let Mor use the room when she came over last weekend— which he could bet created suspicion. No, that room was only open when he craved her scent. He even realised one of his shirts was missing. He shrugged it off thinking he would've left it somewhere and just couldn't find it. Once she came to his house, he was constantly thinking about her. So much that now he started pinching himself often. It was the only way he could stop thinking about her— by creating physical pain.
Cassian glanced at the clock on the wall. 2.30 in the afternoon. He walked to the refrigerator and checked his freezer compartment. Huh. No ice-cream. He sighed, grabbed his jacket and keys and headed to the mall to get an ice-cream with a pout. He’ll have to leave for Rhys and Feyre’s first anniversary only around 5.30 to prepare everything. He has enough time to get an ice-cream and probably hang out for some time. Good enough to stop thinking about her. Or so he thought.
***
Nesta wasn’t sore anymore. Her headache was gone almost a week after the incident. Her nose didn’t hurt anymore. Okay, maybe a little bit. It didn’t hurt unless she bumped her nose against something. Today, her nose was dully throbbing because she hit her nose against a pillow yesterday. A very, very soft pillow and yet it hurt this much.
The man’s first-aid and medicines were really helpful.
It really wasn’t fair that he excelled at basic first aid too. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good. With black tattoos swirling over generously muscled arms and shoulder-length dark hair curling at the edges and gloriously tanned skin and hazel eyes with minute flecks of green and brown when taken a closer look at and dimples and—
A quiet “Who is it?” snapped Nesta out of her moping. She looked up to see Gwyn walking to her.
“Who is what?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. Gwyn's pursed lips and glare conveyed that her act wasn't enough.
“Who are you thinking about?” Gwyn clarified.
“What makes you think I'm thinking about someone?” Nesta retorted.
Gwyn sat on the chair next to her and started assisting with classifying the unceremonious heap of books on the table to be kept back in its correct positions on its own rack.
“Nesta,” Gwyn sighed, “Clotho assigned you this stack almost an hour ago. And you've barely finished a third of the stack. Normally, you'd finish stacks bigger than this in an hour. So there's clearly something.”
“It wasn't anyone,” Nesta mumbled.
As usual, Gwyn saw through her lie. “You were twirling your hair,” she said flatly.
Heat inched up her neck. “I was not!”
Gwyn murmured a “uh-huh” and they lapsed into an easy silence till they were almost over.
Gwyn's eyes lit up as it normally did whenever she got an idea. “Is it him? The guy you came with that day?”
Nesta scowled, “How do you know…” she broke off when she realised which 'that day' Gwyn was talking about. Nesta fought back a blush. “No, no, this isn't about him. We don't know each other. Much. Like, we've seen each other a number of times? That's it. Nothing else.” Cauldron, the first part was a complete lie. But at least the rest are true. Will Gwyn happen to know his name? Maybe I ought to ask her. Or maybe I shouldn't.
She should, she decided. She cleared her throat. “Uh, Gwyn? Do you happen to know his name?”
Gwyn frowned and asked, “He hasn't told you yet?”
Nesta shook her head and answered, “No, we, uh, forgot. I guess. We haven't really exchanged names.”
Gwyn nodded and smiled. “Well, he is—”
“Gwyn!” a voice called. “You can't expect me to come over to you and beg for you to help me. Help me only if you want to or don't work under me.”
Gwyn’s eyes widened. She abruptly stood up and mouthed, “Merrill. I gotta go. I’m so sorry.” She all but ran to Merrill, the very strict librarian Gwyn was working under.
Nesta sighed and continued her work. There wasn’t much left so she was able to finish fast. She picked her things and left the library with a word to Clotho, heading to the mall.
***
The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to also eat something they liked. So, ice-cream it was. After having his ice-cream, Cassian was aimlessly walking around the mall. Here, not more than a month ago, he met her for the first time. Almost a month ago. He huffed out a breath. The fact that he was pining for her this long blew his mind off. He—
“This is your fault— not mine. I’m not taking the blame for this,” he told her. They bumped into each other. Again.
Her lips quirked up. “It is kind of my fault. But blame this—,” she poked his chest, “— for making my nose hurt again.”
Just like that, his mood sobered. “How are you?” he asked.
She pointed at the cafe to her left. “Coffee?”
He nodded. Who was he to say no to her?
So they ordered coffee and talked about everything and nothing. He grinned and she laughed. He laughed and she smirked. He wouldn’t say he knew her well but he’d never seen her so carefree. Her laugh was like nectar for a starving man. Her eyes bright and welling up with tears from laughing.
“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much,” she said.
Cassian put a hand on his heart dramatically and said, “I know, I know. I’m very funny.”
Her lips kicked up a notch. She straightened as if she just realised something. He was about to ask when she drawled, “So I just realised that we still haven’t exchanged names.”
Oh. Right. Of course. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Usually, when people meet, they start with introductions but in our case we’ve literally bumped into each other three times and still we don’t know each other.” He shook his head and extended his hand. “Well, hello there. I’m—”
His phone rang in his pocket. Fuck. He was going to kill whoever was calling him now. He was so close to knowing her name. He pulled out his phone to see an incoming call from Azriel. He apologetically looked up at her and said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could choose not to take this call and instead kill this idiot but I can’t. Just give me a moment, okay?”
She nodded and he picked up his call.
“What do you want?” he hissed.
“It’s 5.30 already, you idiot. We’ve got to get the things ready for the party. Mor already went to get the cake and you’re not even at home. Where on all earth and hell are you?” came Az’s faint voice.
“15 minutes only? Mother above, I’m coming.” he said.
Az’s “make it fast” was the last thing he heard before hanging up. “I wish we could stay here and talk forever,” he said to her, “but I have something up in a short while and I totally didn’t realise time was passing this fast. I’m so sorry. It was nice talking to you. Really. And I wish we could meet again. Though without the bumping part.”
He grinned when she smiled and said, “Bye. Have a nice day.”
“You too,” he called back. He didn’t want to think he imagined the subtle look of disappointment on her face because hell, he was a walking epitome of disappointment right now.
A/N: Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!
Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.
Trigger Warnings: Swearing, an angry Nesta and a heart-broken Cassian
2094 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3
Nesta had never been one for small talk but in his presence she spoke as if she was excellent in small talk. They spoke of all unimportant things and ended up forgetting the important stuff; their names. Again.
Feyre sent an invitation for her first anniversary party as she did for every other occasion. The only thing different was that Nesta never bothered to pay heed to her invitations before. After the day in the alley, however, she decided she was going to turn over a new leaf. This was her first step.
She checked her reflection on the side-mirror. She tried to keep her outfit and make-up as simple as possible. She only wore a white ruffled-sleeved blouse with a black pencil skirt. Her hair was braided into a coronet. She looked good, but not as good as she’ll look if she took her own time to do a detailed make-over. She let out a breath and braced herself for the inevitable little chat with her sisters.
“Nesta?” a bewildered voice breathed. She whirled around to face her younger sister, Elain, looking up at her, a small smile playing about her lips. “You’re here,” she said and flung her arms around Nesta. Nesta automatically wrapped her arms around Elain’s smaller frame. Eventually, Elain pulled back.
“No offense, but I really thought you wouldn’t be coming,” Elain said.
Nesta felt as if the smile on her face couldn't be wiped out for the next few hours. “Honestly, I didn't think I'd come either. But here I am.”
She nodded and pulled Nesta to the garden the party was held at.
“I did this,” Elain said. “This garden, I planted and groomed all this.”
“No wonder why it looks so beautiful,” Nesta replied.
She flushed and said contemplatively, “You're so different now, Nesta.”
“I hope in a good way. Where's Feyre?”
“Let's go meet everyone first.”
Nesta shook her head. “I— I need to talk to both of you before I meet everyone else. ”
Elain hesitated then said, “Can you wait in that room? I'll fetch Feyre and come.”
Nesta nodded and headed to the door at the end of the garden Elain pointed at. The room was classy, much like the exterior of the house. She was struck by the simple yet grand theme of Feyre's house. She knew he and his brothers were rich but she just didn't understand the extent of their wealth. Till now.
“What are you thinking?” Feyre wasn't the type to blindly trust people. It took more than coming for her anniversary to persuade her that Nesta's intentions were good.
Nesta faced Feyre, her youngest sister, who stood before her, gorgeous yet fierce in a simple but elegant blue gown. She shrugged, “Just thinking that I'm glad my sisters were well-provided when I couldn't take care of them.”
Feyre’s face didn’t change, she just gestured towards the couches. “Have a seat,” she said.
Nesta sat down, “You both look splendid,” she said. Feyre said that the gown was a gift, Elain thanked Nesta and offered the same.
Nesta cleared her throat. “I need to tell the both of you something. Many things, actually.”
Elain nodded encouragingly. Feyre said, “Go on.”
So Nesta spoke. She apologised. For how she wasn't there to fulfill the role of an elder sister. For how she failed to attend Feyre's marriage and many other occasions. For all the rude words she spoke to them. For shunning them. She apologised for being self consumed. For everything else.
She also promised. To try harder. To become better. To be a good sister and sister-in-law. To be with them at all times, especially when they needed her. And they listened.
“I know these words aren't enough, but I'll try to make it so,” she finished, her hands clasped with both her sisters on her sides.
“You said you'll try, Nesta. We will too,” Feyre said.
“I see a very bright future ahead of us,” Elain said.
Nesta couldn't help the tears anymore. She folded her arms around her sisters and tucked them close. Her sisters. Her beloved sisters she now knew she'd do anything to protect.
“I see a very bright future too,” Nesta said.
Nesta pulled back after what felt like an hour and looked at her sisters' tear-streaked faces.
“I love you,” the three of them said simultaneously. Nesta giggled. Elain laughed. Feyre stared.
Nesta gently brushed the tears from both of their cheeks. “I don't want to see any of you crying.”
She hugged them again, willing the hug to convey everything she didn't say out loud.
“Now, now, enough snuggling. We've got a party to attend and people to meet, remember?” Feyre said.
***
Cassian was anxious. He had always hoped Nesta, his sister-in-law, would come for the gatherings they had; be it family dinners, or birthday parties, or the random meetings they had when they just got tipsy and played games. He hadn't seen her face-to-face before. All he knows about Nesta are from the descriptions from Feyre and Elain. That, too, was minimal. One of them would quickly change the topic to something pleasant the moment traces of an emotional breakdown were visible. Every time he hoped, he was let down. She never came. He vowed he would stop hoping and instead just go about and act as if she didn't exist. But that never happened. Every time his family met, his treacherous heart would start hoping only to have a chunk of it fall off when she failed to attend. Today was no different.
Then there’s the woman who he’d been talking to the whole afternoon. He was a tangled up mess of emotions and doubt and confusion. He had been sort-of pining after Nesta. She was exactly the person he’d like. Apparently she was drop-dead gorgeous, witty and… feral. Feyre said that. Feral. She’d be someone worth seeing. She was totally a worthy opponent. It’d be fun. But the other woman? Mother above, she was ethereal. More than ethereal, in fact. Words can't contain what he had to say about her.
He was damn near killing Az for calling him right when they were about to exchange names. He really can't believe he was a hairsbreadth away from knowing her before it was all ripped away. Now they were back to square one. He didn't know anything about her.
Azriel clapped him on his back so hard that he almost stumbled and fell. Or probably that was because he was too distracted. “All good Somm?”
“Mmm-hmm,” he replied noncommittally. He busied his hands with re-rinsing the champagne flutes and wiping them clean again. He did this two times already. Still.
“Mood is sour today, Cass?” Az teased, mock-frowning.
“Nah,” Cassian said wryly, “it's as sweet as honeydew. Especially today, when my chat got interrupted.” He glared at Azriel.
“Now, now, that is a story for another day. For now though, I think I've got something that can cheer up your brooding self.”
“What is it?” he mumbled.
Az grinned. “Nesta is here.”
***
Feyre and Elain took Nesta on a quick tour around the house. Feyre’s paintings were hung on the walls throughout the whole house. Nesta grimly noticed that there wasn't a single picture of her. There were even paintings of their father whose heart had long stopped beating. But none of hers. If only she didn’t push herself away, Nesta would’ve been a happy part of her sisters’ lives.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Feyre took her hand in hers. Elain tucked herself to Nesta’s side, wrapping her arms over her slender shoulders.
Nesta already met Mor, a stunning blonde woman, and Amren, a slightly intimidating and short person. Now she only had to meet her brother-in-laws.
“Let’s go meet the boys!” Elain said brightly.
We walked back to the garden. Feyre seemed to get more and more elated the closer we got to the garden. Huh. Probably falling in love would do that to someone. Anyway, as long as her sisters were happy.
They stepped through the doorway. The garden was decorated with more banners and streamers hung on the back of chairs and on the low branches. Again, it looked opulent in a simple way.
There were three men in the centre of the garden, gathered around a table. They all were slightly similar, broad shouldered, tapered waists, muscular limbs. Three of them wore formal shirts and pants clinging to their frames. The one in the middle was Rhysand, she supposed. She smirked internally. Of course Feyre ended up with this guy. She's got a good taste. Must've gotten it from the oldest sister.
The one on the right, though. His figure felt familiar. Very, very familiar. She couldn't quite put a finger on it yet.
“The one on the left is Azriel, the one on the right is Cassian,” Feyre said, and Nesta nodded.
The boys must be really engrossed with their conversation. They hadn't noticed the three of them yet.
The guy she thought was familiar threw his head back and laughed. She gasped. That laugh. She'd know the laugh anywhere. Indeed, when he angled his face so that she could get a glimpse, she knew she was done for. She swallowed with much difficulty.
“I need to go,” she said quickly.
“Go? But— but we haven't cut the cake yet. It's still early. We've got lots more fun stuff,” Elain said.
“You said you'll try, Nesta. Only, this doesn't feel like 'trying',” Feyre said.
They sounded… hurt.
Mother above, I'm doing this wrong.
“Nesta?” Elain asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah,” Feyre added, “you look pale.”
“Y-yeah it's f-fine. Kinda. My head hurts,” she said, accidentally clutching her stomach. “I-I mean, yeah my head hurts. Very badly. I gotta go.” She looked helplessly at both of them. “I'm so sorry. I really am. It's just— I think I need rest. I'll recompense. Probably dinner in three days?” They both shared a look and agreed.
Nesta was already walking away. “Love you both,” she threw over her shoulder.
***
“Feyre!” Rhys called. He beckoned Feyre and Elain to the table. He didn't see Nesta.
Cassian lightly kissed Feyre on her cheek once they made their way to the table and said, “Gorgeous as always. Happy anniversary!”
Feyre grinned, but it showed traces of disappointment.
He frowned. “Hey, what's wrong?”
She just shook her head and mumbled, “Nesta.” Rhys's face hardened. His brother was never fond of Nesta. He said that she was why Feyre was always worried.
“Where's Nesta?” Az asked, craning his neck to see behind farther.
“She… left,” Elain pointed, revealing a figure disappearing behind the gates. A figure he knew all too well. Shitshitshitshit.
His head snapped back to his brothers. “That is Nesta?” he damn near shouted.
Rhys scowled, “Yeah.”
No wonder why she's so beautiful, he thought dumbly before running after her with a quick “I'll be back.”
***
Nesta was wrong. In all her happiness of being reunited with her sisters, she completely forgot how even a small thing can break one's smile. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She kept her calm demeanour, but inside, she was a raging storm of emotions.
One step in front of the other, she kept reminding herself.
She kept walking. Even when she heard footsteps. Even when the steps got louder. Even as he got close enough to cease running.
But not when he called her name. She halted. Locked up her emotions. She knew she shouldn't but she turned around anyway.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“Nesta,” he breathed. She tried to hold back her shudder. It was from the night air, she told herself.
“If you have nothing to say, do let me know. I'm not going to wait forever,” she said. Harsher than she intended to. But she didn't care, at least, that's what she told herself.
Cassian winked, “I'm honored you came, sweetheart. I'll pass the credit to my influence on you. ”
She ground her teeth against the truth threatening to fall off her lips. Yes, I came here because you made me happy. And I thought that if I tried, as I did with you, I can rebuild my relationship with my sisters.
***
Cassian did something stupid. He grabbed her hand. Her eyes snapped to his, burning with anger. Like the day they first met.
He gave her a crooked grin that he knew would drive her mad. Well, more than she already was. He tilted his head to the garden, “The party is that way, love.”
She snatched back her hand at continued walking. Like a fool, he followed. “I spoke to my sisters. Told them I won't be staying tonight. And that we'll have dinner in three day's time. Does that satisfy you? Now, can you stop following me?”
“Something's wrong. What's wrong, Nes?”
“One,” she ground out, “don't call me that. Two, I'm a grown-ass woman; I know how to take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter.”
“You did. That day,” he said quietly.
She whirled on him, “Is this you taking back favours? Because I'm not interested. You want money? Take it. Tell me your price and fucking take it! Don't tread on my heels because you helped me, okay? I've got way better things to do.” She paused, “And don't follow me, Cassian.”
She turned and stalked away.
You want money? Take it. 'Take it.' As if he were a beggar, asking for alms. As if they weren't laughing at each other's jokes not more than an hour ago. As if he didn't spend a week taking care of her as if she were a part of his soul. Maybe she was.
But that was before, Cassian thought as his heart cleaved into two perfect halves. No— it smashed to a million tiny pieces.
He waited till Nesta was out of his line of sight. He turned and walked back to the garden, leaving his heart behind.
A/N: I'm sooo sorry I haven't been updated in more than two weeks. I had exams :/ Also, do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!
Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.
Trigger Warnings: Language
1572 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3
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The smile Cassian plastered on his face didn’t reach his eyes. His brothers saw that. Feyre and Elain saw that. Mor and Amren knew that. He himself did. But they didn’t say anything. If it weren’t Feyre’s anniversary, he would’ve even gone home. He couldn’t though. He wouldn’t do anything that would hurt his family. So he stayed. Smiled. Joked. Laughed. Did everything he could to keep his mind from straying to a grey-eyed masterpiece.
Az and Rhys saw, he knew. They always seemed to realise everything about each other. Even if one of them had a minor headache, the other two would know. Tonight, however, none of them pushed him. They probably thought he wanted to be alone. But did he? Truly?
He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to be alone. That would make memories of their lunch rise. Of her shirt splattered with coffee on one day and blood on another. Of her pale form laying on his bed. Of her, enjoying his food. Of their shared jokes. He didn’t think he could take that.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to be around people either. He didn’t know if he could stay around people who laughed and teased. He didn’t know if he could laugh with them and actually mean it. He didn’t know if he could anytime soon.
Cass glanced at the clock. 3.00 a.m. He smiled. Whenever they gathered around in the living room, retiring early was totally off the table. The earliest they dispersed was four in the morning.
To his right, Rhys sighed. “It’s late,” he said, tucking Feyre close to his side. “Gotta go to bed.”
He smirked, but held back the joke on the tip of his tongue. After a chorus of goodnights, Rhys and Feyre told them they could stay here tonight if they wanted to and rose to go upstairs. Feyre laughed at something Rhys said and Cass felt a pang of sadness hit him.
Sadness… and something else. He knew he shouldn’t, but he envied the both of them. How easily they bantered and teased. How smooth their relationship was. He remembered how Feyre locked herself in the cabin after Rhys proposed. He remembered how she asked Mor not to let anyone in, especially Rhys. He sighed. He felt an amount of the jealousy dissipate. Probably Nesta would get together with him after their slight misunderstanding passed. If it did.
He got up to leave when Az stopped him. “You sure you’re going back?” Cass didn’t remember telling Az that he was going back. Then again he didn't need to. Az always saw everything. “You're not that… somber.”
Ah. Cass smiled. “I'll be fine, ” he reassured. Az still didn't let him go. “I'll send you a text once I'm home,” he tried. Az sighed.
“I'll be waiting for it.”
Cass looked at Mor, drunk and blabbering before stepping out of the house. He kept replaying that memory till he reached home, keeping his mind occupied. He was scared of what would happen if he kept his thoughts idle.
He informed Az that he reached home. He didn't know why going back home felt like preparing for a battle. It probably was a battle. Between her and his self-restraint. What was at stake here was his sanity. Cass sighed. He stepped in through the threshold and welcomed the darkness that enveloped him.
***
Stop crying like a baby, Nesta repeatedly reminded herself. Why should she cry? Nothing here was her fault. Nothing.
Not the fact that she let his charmed smiles bring her guards down. Not the fact that she felt alive when he said something stupidly funny. Certainly not the fact that she was slowly falling for him.
None of it was her fault. So why should she cry? Why should she stop herself from attending her own sister's anniversary? When it was all his fault.
She shouldn't be crying. She should be thinking about ways of exploiting his weaknesses. She should think about how she would portray him as the weak one. She should think about how she was going to make him regret everything.
But how could she make him regret it when she never regretted a second of it? She hated that this was where her thoughts went first. To scheming and plotting. She thought she changed. Did she regret her wish to be good? No. She reveled in it. No, she vowed herself, I would not scheme to make him beg. I'm not that Nesta anymore. I'll never be.
She was proud of herself. She never realised her self restraint was this good.
But apparently not good enough. Her thoughts drifted back to him. No, not him. Cassian. Cauldron, it'll take some time to get used to calling him Cassian. Or maybe Cass. Feyre and Rhysand called him that. Probably she would too. She thought about what he called her. Nes. She flushed. That stupid name did stupid things to her. She pretended she didn't like it. In fact, she loved it. Somehow, she wasn't ready to tell him that yet.
***
Nesta blinked open her eyes against the morning light. Her eyes were closed? It was morning already? Huh.
It took her some time for her eyes to adjust. She screamed at what she saw. Nesta scrambled back from the looming figure of Tomas, leering at her face.
“Nesta, Nesta, ” he said in his eerie voice. It became scarier with his sing-song tone. “My Nesta.” He paused. “Though I suppose you aren't mine anymore. You were still mine last time, you know. When you handed me over to the police. ”
She bared her teeth, opened her mouth to say something when his hand closed around her throat.
“But now, I suppose I can't call you mine anymore, can I? That reminds me. Where is your bodyguard? Or is that brute your boyfriend?” He spat the last word. His hand tightened around her neck.
“Do you know what he did to me? Your bastard. Did you know how he threatened me? Did you know that he smashed my bones, that it took me this long to heal?”
Some sort of savage satisfaction filled her. The fact that Cassian did all this… she smirked. It didn't go unnoticed by Tomas. He growled, the sound sending icy fingers ghosting down her spine. She hoped she didn't have to hear it again.
His hand around her throat pushed her farther back on the bed. He drew back, she let loose a relieved breath. A mistake.
His hand cracked on her cheek. He came infinitely closer to her, his hot, rancid breath glancing off her cheeks. His hand kept tightening around her throat and she wondered how she wasn’t dead yet. It was certainly bruised now.
“Look at you. So vulnerable. So killable. I’ve imagined how I would slit your throat. So many ideas. If only I could kill you in all the ways I imagined. But do you know what is the best way I could kill you?”
Nesta let him talk. He loved to hear himself talk. She subtly looked around her room, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. She looked back at Tomas. He wasn’t talking. Did he ask her a question?
“Tell me, Nesta. Do you know what is the best way to kill you?” Nesta shook her head, his hand pressed around her throat. Tomas smiled. She cringed mentally.
“I think the best way to kill you and make it hurt is to kill you slowly. You know what makes it better? Having that bastard watch you die. Let him watch the life seep out of you. And then I’ll kill him too.” he said and she felt the room closing in. Panic was slowly rising in her.
“Now, now,” he said. She supposed he meant to be cajoling but the effect his voice gave was the exact opposite. “There’s no need to panic. I told you I’ll kill you only when your bodyguard is there.”
He pulled out a knife. She gasped and pain erupted around her throat. Her lungs were burning.
“But darling,” he said. She whimpered. She hated this. She hated that she was vulnerable here. She hated that she couldn’t do anything when her death was slowly nearing. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Then his knife struck. Nothing hurt at first. Then, fiery pain whipped through her, beginning at her arm. She screamed. Pain. There was so much pain. She screamed so loud she pondered how the whole neighborhood didn’t hear anything.
***
Nesta gasped. Her eyes darted through her room. Nothing. No one. She looked at her arm. No pain. No scars. No blood. She touched her throat. It wasn’t sore. It wasn’t swollen. She got out of bed and looked at her mirror. No bruises. She let out a frustrated sound. It was a dream. A fucking dream. Or she supposed it was a nightmare. Still. It wasn’t real.
It was still five in the morning. Still quite early. She released a breath. She wouldn’t find a cab now but she could walk. It wasn’t that far. She fixed her hair and changed her clothes. She wasn’t going because she missed him. She just didn’t want to be vulnerable again. That’s all. She just wanted to know how to defend herself. Nothing else. So Nesta went to Cassian’s house, hoping that she’s making the right choice.
Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.
