Sublimecoffeefestival - Coffee In An IV, Please

I have no words (in the best way).

I know it’s Cassian appreciation week, but I’m appreciating you

But I'm Only Looking At You: Part Four

A/N: And we're back to Regency Cassian! And this time, there's no squinting needed for the prompts because Lion Hearted was the original day this fic was meant to be posted back when it was still meant to be just a one-shot and not 5 parts.... Anywho! Hope everyone has been enjoying @cassianappreciationweek and this fic. As a warning, this chapter is NSFW ;)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

It’s over a week of being in Glasgow before Nesta wakes up to sunlight streaming through the windows, golden streaks dancing across the floors and the blankets on the bed. The bright, early morning light paints the gardens and the blue skies above in soft hues, the faintest hint of fog still yet to be chased away.

The gloomy gray clouds and rain had stuck around longer than Nesta would have liked, clinging to the skies with a stubbornness that she swore rivaled her own. It had certainly matched the gloominess in the manor at least.

If she and Cassian weren’t screaming at one another, it was tense silence scraping its nails down their skin, burrowing into the expanse between them and stretching it wider still. Most days, it left Nesta feeling untethered, lost in those roaring waves that separate them. It seemed the only thing missing was claps of thunder, but even the weather seemed hesitant to mirror their sharp words.

With more energy than she’s had in days, Nesta throws the blankets off her legs and clambers out of bed. She steps on light feet closer to the window, eying the way the blades of grass twist and dance in the summer breeze. When she finally pulls herself away from the window, she calls for a lady’s maid to bring her a fresh, warm pitcher of water, setting about her morning routine of washing and pulling on a fresh dress.

When she walks downstairs and into the breakfast room, Nesta is surprised not to see Cassian there. Instead, the head of the table is decidedly empty, the member of staff clearing away the dishes the only sign he was ever there. Despite her best attempts to squash the feeling down, disappointment still churns in her gut, still twists and squeezes around her heart.

“I’ll be taking my morning tea in the library, thank you,” Nesta declares before turning on her heel and marching right back upstairs.

Unfortunately, the library doesn’t offer the sanctuary that Nesta is hoping for once she’s inside. Despite being in the large armchair that’s become her favorite, become her chair, Nesta still has to take a deep stuttering breath, still finds herself pressing her hand against her chest to soothe the sting there.

If she closes her eyes, she swears she can feel the slide of gentle fingers down her temple, down her cheek. Swears she can hear the gentle whisper of her name, a caress in that deep timbre. Swears she can feel strong arms slipping beneath her knees, her shoulders, can feel the warm chest she was cradled against as she was carried to bed.

She opens her eyes and spies her book from last night sitting on the tea table, a ribbon caringly placed between the pages so she wouldn’t lose her place. The sight has warmth spreading through her at the same time that ache that’s taken up home between her ribs grows and twinges.

The sound of the library door opening makes Nesta almost jump out of her skin in surprise, her traitorous heart filling with hope for just a moment. She snaps her attention toward it just as Mrs Reynolds steps inside, a tray with tea and toast poised in her hands.

“My lady,” Mrs Reynolds offers, dipping into a small curtsy before setting the tray on the tea table. When she straightens again, she reaches into the pockets of her skirts. “This arrived for you this morning.”

Nesta takes the letter that Mrs Reynolds holds out to her, surprised to see the Archeron family seal pressed into the wax. She turns the paper over in her hand, her breath catching when she sees Elain’s familiar, looping scrawl. She wastes no time breaking the seal and unfolding the paper, barely even noticing the housekeeper seeing herself out.

She devours Elain’s words, all of the updates her sister has provided. Apparently, in the time since Nesta’s marriage and departure to Glasgow, Elain has gotten engaged. Nesta always knew that Elain had a thing for Duke Helion’s only son. It was one of the things she was worried about after Cassian had so thoroughly ruined the Archeron name, that Lucien wouldn’t sully his own family’s name, that he’d stop his courting, but it seems the Duke’s son didn’t care and asked for Elain’s hand anyways.

Nesta can’t help but smile as she continues to read, at how Lucien simply laughs any time someone dares bring up that they think he’s making a mistake, when they try to warn him off. Honestly, if anyone should be reconsidering, it’s me because he can truly be such a rake sometimes. But I love him anyways. The last line has Nesta chuckling softly, pressing a hand against her mouth.

She flips to the next page of Elain’s letter, learning about how Cassian’s friend from school, Rhysand, of all people has started calling on Feyre more often, clearly intent on courting her. But with each new sentence that Nesta reads, the looping letters of Elain’s scrawl start to blur more and more, tears slipping free past Nesta’s eyes and splashing down onto the page until she has to set the letter down lest she completely ruin the ink.

She presses her knees against her chest, against the pressure building there, against the way her heart seems to writhe and crack between her ribs, and lets out a stuttering breath. Her mind feels like a jumble of emotions, threads tangling tighter despite her best attempts to unravel the mess.

She can’t stop thinking about when her mother told her about Tomas’s proposal, how when Nesta tried to tell her no, her mother reminded her that Tomas’s title would save them. Save their family. Save her sisters. Nesta could save her sisters. She can’t stop thinking about when her mother found Cassian’s letters that night, the way her mother laughed in her face and told her that love was for fairytales, not ladies, before tossing them into the fire. She can’t stop thinking about when they got back home after the failed wedding with Tomas, when her mother had spat and shouted at her. Told her she was a failure, that she’d failed her sisters, that Elain and Feyre would end up on the streets now, no better than common whores. She can’t stop thinking about the way Elain had cried that night.

And now both her sisters are perfectly well. Elain is engaged to the son of a Duke, and if Rhysand has his way, soon, Feyre will be engaged to a Duke. It fills her with such immense relief, knowing that her sisters will be okay, that despite everything that’s happened, they aren’t ruined. That she hasn’t ruined them, hasn’t been the cause of her sisters’ misery.

But there’s no denying the anger that simmers low in her gut too. If their mother had her way, Nesta would be married to Tomas right now. She would be crumbling under the hands of a cruel man, and it would have all been for nothing because what is a Viscount compared to a Duke? She would have given up happiness and love, a fairytale as her mother said, for what?

Although, perhaps, she’s already given up happiness and love anyways.

Because beneath the relief, beneath the anger, it’s regret that sinks its claws in and twists. She’d been so frightened for Elain and Feyre’s fate, so furious at the way that Cassian hadn’t even cared about the repercussions of his decision, that she’d pushed him away. She’d ignored him and snapped at him and threw cruel words at him and burned and burned and burned. She burned herself from the inside out with that fiery rage. She burned the bridge between her and him. She burned it all until here she stands, in the ashes, cold and alone with a letter from Elain and nothing else.

With a determined huff, Nesta scrubs her hands down her cheeks and straightens her spine. She swipes her forgotten book off the tea table, tucking Elain’s letter neatly inside the cover, and strides out of the library. Her heartbeat starts to thunder in her chest as she makes her way downstairs, but when she reaches the ground level, the manor is quiet. Too quiet. Her eyes flicker toward the door that leads to Cassian’s study, and it’s a sinking realization that he must be at the factories again today.

She swallows hard around her hurt and annoyance, letting out a quiet scoff that seems to echo through the quiet hall. Just her luck. Perhaps, this is the Mother’s way of punishing her. Determined to at least take advantage of the nice weather, Nesta turns on her heel and heads for the bowels of the manor instead. She glances around when she reaches the kitchen, her mouth twisting as she considers her options.

“My lady?” Nesta whips around to find Michael, the cook, watching her curiously, his hands buried up to the elbow in a large bowl of dough. “Can I help you find something?”

“I was planning to take advantage of the sunny weather,” Nesta explains. “And I’ll admit I was hoping to take a treat with me to enjoy while I read.”

Michael offers her a friendly smile and a nod. “Of course. I will have someone bring something out to you.”

“How will they know where to find me in the gardens?”

“Will you not be under the willow tree?”

Nesta’s heart skips a beat, the breath stolen straight from her lungs. “There’s a willow tree on the grounds?”

“Aye. Cassian was still a young lad when he had it planted. He said it was for someone special.”

Nesta doesn’t even know what to say to that, words and emotions clogged in the back of her throat. Somehow, she’s able to nod her head in thanks. She heads out of the kitchen and out of the manor house, winding her way through the gardens until she finds where the willow tree stands, leaves and branches gently swaying in the summer breeze.

Her steps are slow as she walks closer, hand reaching out to slide along the bark. For someone special. Nesta can’t help but smile as she thinks back to the willow tree near the stream by her family home. It was her favorite place to sneak off to. A place where her mother couldn’t bother her with more lessons, a place where she could read, a place where she could relax and be herself without any expectations or worries weighing her down.

Cassian would always find her there.

Sometimes they would tease each other back and forth. Sometimes they would talk. Sometimes he would just sit there beside her while she read her book. It was there that Cassian found her after one of her grandmama’s particularly harsh lessons before the older woman passed, gentle fingers helping to wrap her hand. It was there that he told Nesta about the letter he received from his father, about the news of his mother, Nesta sitting with her head on his shoulder to comfort him.

Nesta swallows hard and shakes her head of the memories. She settles in the grass beneath the tree, tucking her knees up to her chest and balancing her book there. As she opens up to her last page, she lets the memories, the emotions of the day, the world, fade away. The only thing there is is the sun high in the sky, the rays of light breaking through between the leaves and branches to create a kaleidoscope of gold. All there is is the breeze that tickles across her cheeks and ruffles the stray strands of her hair. All there is is the characters and the story splashed in ink across the pages of her book.

“Hello, Nes.”

Nesta’s head snaps up from the chapter she was engrossed in at the sound of that voice. She finds Cassian standing in front of her, a small, almost nervous smile tugging up the left side of his lips. There’s a basket clutched in one of his hands, and he uses the other to push his fingers up and through his hair.

“I should have known I’d find you here,” Cassian continues, stepping forward beneath the canopy of the willow tree. He settles in the grass beside her and places the basket down near their legs, removing the cloth that’s been draped over the top and revealing a chocolate tart. “I was given very strict instructions from Michael to bring this to you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Nesta tells him, closing her book and setting it aside.

“I wanted to.”

Cassian pulls out a small plate from the side of the basket, setting it neatly in the space between them. He grabs the knife tucked into the basket next, cutting a piece of the chocolate tart and placing it on the plate. Nesta’s eyebrows dip in confusion as she eyes the slice, the larger than normal serving size of it.

“Are we sharing?”

Cassian chuckles quietly, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging up his lips. “We both know that if I ever try to steal a bite from your chocolate treat, you’d chop my hand off. Just for you, sweetheart.”

“It’s quite a large piece.”

“Chocolate is your favorite.”

He says the words so matter-of-factly, so simply, and Nesta can feel all those emotions from before bubbling back inside her again. All that relief and anger and regret, it twists in her stomach and squeezes through her chest. She still remembers all those times her mother would scold and remind her of the expectations of a good wife. Still remembers seeing Lady Mandray in town, the almost gaunt look to her face, the implication, the promise of the future clear. Still remembers when the Mandrays came over for dinner after the engagement was announced, the shameless comments her mother and Lady Mandray had made right then and there in front of her.

Nesta doesn’t even realize she’s started to cry again until Cassian’s hand reaches up, his touch so gentle, so warm as his palm cradles her cheek. His thumb slides across her skin, catching the tear that slipped free.

“Nes…” Cassian whispers, his voice almost pained. “I’m sorry. You came out here to be alone, for some peace and quiet, and I’m ruining it.”

Cassian pulls his hand back, and Nesta feels the loss like a crack through her chest, the cold needling at that spot on her cheek in the absence of his warmth. Cassian starts to clamber to her feet, and desperation claws at the back of her throat, words tangling into a lump, until all she can do is reach for his wrist, fingers curling into the sleeve of his shirt.

“Please don’t,” Nesta chokes out, not releasing her grip until Cassian settles back into his spot.

Cassian sighs softly, his hazel eyes swimming with sadness, with wariness, with shame, as he watches Nesta. “I’m still sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry. For all of it. I’d take it all back if I could.”

Those words have Nesta’s stomach sinking as she whispers, “do you regret it then?”

“No… I don’t know… I just…” Cassian lets out another soft breath, reaching up and dragging his thumb along her bottom lip. “I’d give anything to see you smile again. Just once. I told myself I was okay with you hating me forever as long as it meant you were safe, but I think it might be killing me.”

“I don’t actually hate you,” Nesta promises quietly. “I could never hate you.”

Nesta gently pulls Cassian’s hand away from her face, but she doesn’t let go of it, settling their joined hands instead in her lap. She traces the lines and calluses across his palm with the tip of her finger, the touch grounding, keeping her steady, as she finds her courage, finds her words.

“My family lost everything right before the season started. There was a bad storm, and my father’s ships went down at sea, with everything on them. It left us with nothing. We barely had enough to pretend nothing was amiss and get through the season, and Tomas is a Viscount. He could save us. I could save Elain and Feyre so they didn’t end up on the streets. It’s all I could think about it. I was willing to do anything if it meant my sisters would be alright. And I didn’t know how to say all that in a letter, to explain it, so I simply never wrote back after your last one arrived, and I hoped you would simply move on, that you'd forget about me, but then you showed up anyways, and still all I could think about was Elain and Feyre and what it would mean for them, what would happen to them.”

“Nesta, I swear I—”

“But I received a letter from Elain this morning. The Duke, Helion, his son, Lucien, has proposed to her. It sounds as if he’s quite smitten and doesn’t care about anything that’s happened. And apparently, your friend, Rhysand, keeps calling on Feyre.”

Cassian’s free hand tilts Nesta’s chin up, forcing her gaze back on his face and his growing grin. “So, it’s all worked out then. No more worries for that pretty little head of yours.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because I love how much you care for your sisters,” Cassian explains, shifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “Because you said that you don’t hate me.”

“It's you that should hate me. I said some awful things to you.”

“You think I care about that? It’s all part of our witty repartee.”

Nesta huffs fondly but still annoyed. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” Cassian assures her. He moves the plate between them out of the way, his hands curling around Nesta’s ankles and tugging her closer until her legs are draped over his lap. “I love you. I’ve loved you for years. And I’m going to keep loving you for years to come no matter what you throw at me. I told you, I can take it.”

Nesta smiles softly, reaching her own hand up to trace the scar that runs through Cassian’s eyebrow, fingers sliding along his cheek and the stubble of hair there before settling her palm along his jaw. “I love you too.”

“Really?” Cassian asks teasingly, his smile especially wide and hazel eyes glinting.

“Stop looking so proud of yourself and kiss me, you idiot.”

“That’s the Nesta I know.”

One of Cassian’s arms wraps securely around Nesta’s waist, his other hand cradling her face. Nesta’s breath hitches in her lungs, and for a moment, she swears she’s not breathing, her heart skipping a beat before it starts to thunder. It’s as if the whole thing happens in slow motion, Cassian leaning in close until his nose bumps hers, until their breaths mingle in the small space between them. The first brush of his lips against hers is sweet, almost tentative, but then he firmly slots their mouths together.

Nesta had often thought about what it might be like to kiss Cassian, but her imaginings were an ill comparison to the real thing. With every slide of their lips together, warmth floods through her chest, sparks ricocheting through her nerve endings all the way down to her toes. Cassian’s arms are a steady, welcomed weight where they’re wrapped around her, and when Nesta buries a hand in the dark curls of his hair, he groans into her mouth, hauling her closer still until she’s fully in his lap.

Nesta settles her knees on either side of his hips, pressing her chest against his and meeting him stroke for stroke. Cassian pulls back enough to press searing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, Nesta releasing a gasping moan when his teeth scrape along her pulse point.

“Cassian,” Nesta pleads, tugging at his hair again.

Cassian groans against her skin, his whole body shuddering at the sound of his name falling past her lips. “You're going to be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“Good.”

Nesta uses her grip on his hair to pull him into another kiss, but Cassian laughs against her, nipping at her bottom lip in retaliation.

“Haughty witch.”

Nesta can't help but laugh at the return of the teasing nickname. For a moment, Cassian's eyes widen at the sound, the gold of them so bright, until a soft smile settles easily across his face. Nesta matches that smile with one of her own, happiness light and bursting between her ribs.

“Gods, you're so beautiful,” Cassian says quietly, his voice awed, reverent. “I must be the luckiest man in the whole world.”

Heat creeps up Nesta's neck and she can feel it threatening to spill across her cheeks. Rather than answer, she crashes her mouth back against his. Cassian's grip tightens around her, his tongue slipping past her lips as the kiss deepens. Nesta starts to rock her hips, and she can feel his desire for her nestled against her. It only spurs her on more, chasing the heat building within herself, the friction. One of his arms shift to under Nesta's ass and then Cassian is clambering up to his feet with Nesta hoisted up against him, Nesta letting out a squeal of surprise.

“Cassian, what are you doing? Put me down!”

“Sorry, Nes,” Cassian tells her, moving back toward the manor. “But the things I want to do to you are not proper for the gardens.”

“That doesn't mean you have to carry me. I can walk just fine.”

Cassian makes a big show of sighing dramatically, but he sets Nesta back down. Once her feet touch the grass, he grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together and rushing toward the manor. A few of the staff eye them curiously when they all but burst through the doors, but Cassian doesn't seem to notice or care, leading them up the stairs and to their bedroom.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Cassian is back on Nesta, hands cradling her face and kissing her with a fever that has Nesta's head spinning. Just their mouths pressed together has her melting against him, fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt to hold herself upright. His own fingers slide down from her cheek, along her neck, her collarbones, and a shiver rakes its way up Nesta’s spine in response, goosebumps pebbling across her skin.

Cassian pulls back enough that he can press his forehead to Nesta’s, those fingers tracing along the neckline of her dress and his voice quiet and breathless. “May I?”

Nesta nods her head, stepping back enough that she can turn around. Cassian’s hands make quick work of the stays of her dress, and when the laces are loose enough, Nesta tugs the sleeves down her arms and lets the dress go so it pools at her feet. She goes to turn back around, but the feel of Cassian’s hands in her hair gives her pause. Slowly, he tugs the pins free until her hair falls in soft waves down her back and around her shoulders.

“Beautiful,” Cassian whispers, and Nesta half wonders if he’s speaking to her or to himself.

He gently pulls aside the neckline of her shift, dipping his head down to press a kiss to her exposed shoulder, to the constellation of freckles splashed across her skin there. The touch is so gentle, the gesture so tender, and Nesta’s heart skips a beat even as her blood starts to simmer and warm. She spins back around and presses up onto her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him properly again. Cassian walks them back until the backs of Nesta’s knees hit the bed, and she breaks away from the kiss to slide up onto the mattress.

Cassian takes a moment to tug his shirt free from his pants, reaching a hand back to fist in the fabric and pull it off. Nesta’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him, her eyes tracing down the expanse of golden brown skin on display. The bulge of his arms. The ridges of his abs. The deep v-lines. The tented proof of his arousal.

“See something you like, Nes?”

Nesta’s eyes snap back up to his face, taking in his wide, cocksure smirk, and rolls her eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to…”

Nesta’s words trail off as Cassian suddenly pulls his pants down and kicks them aside, and she has to swallow hard. She’s never seen a naked man before, and Cassian is certainly something else. His thighs are thick, large cock standing hard and heavy between them, the tip already glistening in the low burning candle light.

“You were saying?” Cassian teases, kneeling up onto the bed.

“Always so full of yourself,” Nesta fires back, but the breathless quality to her voice betrays her.

Cassian's hands find home at her shins, sliding up over her knees and pushing the hem of her shift with them. When he looks back up at Nesta, there's a clear question swimming in his gaze, and Nesta answers it, sitting up enough that she can tug her shift up and off. The movement brings their faces close together again, and for a moment, Nesta can do nothing but stare, feels captured in his gaze. The golds and greens of his hazel eyes have melded together around his blown out pupils, hair a tousled mess from her fingers where it falls around his face. And the slow smile that tugs its way across his face, it has her heart skipping a beat.

She wastes no time pulling him back into her, their mouths moving together in what is quickly becoming a practiced dance between them. Nesta leans back down against the pillows, dragging Cassian with her until he's cradled comfortably in the space between her thighs, her legs hooked around his hips and her hands buried in his hair.

One of Cassian's hands slides up to her breast, and Nesta moans into Cassian's mouth as his fingers knead at her flesh. He breaks the kiss to move his mouth's attention to her other breast, tongue swirling around her nipple until she’s practically arching up into him.

Nesta's entire body feels like it's blazing. The graze of Cassian's stubble against her skin, the way he's moving his mouth, she can do nothing but toss her head back and moan, nothing but give in to the electricity sparking through her veins. She gets a small reprieve when Cassian pulls back with a soft pop, but he merely switches to lave attention to her other breast.

“Cassian,” Nesta pleads, nails scraping against his scalp.

She's not even sure what she's begging for, but she knows that she needs more. Cassian, at least, seems to understand her unspoken request. He presses kisses down her sternum, down her stomach, sliding down her body and the bed. His hands slide tantalizingly slow up her legs, goosebumps pebbling across her skin in their wake.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

Nesta takes a moment, a breath, to try and calm her racing heart. “Yes.”

It's the truth. In the privacy of her bed chambers, particularly late at night, she would sometimes slip her fingers beneath the blankets, between her thighs. Especially when she got her hands on some of Sellyn Drake's more salacious novels. Although, sometimes, she found it difficult to imagine the heroes of those stories. If the hero was a little too blonde. If the hero had blue eyes.

“And who did you imagine?” Cassian dares to ask, his hands sliding up her thighs, so close to where Nesta really wants him.

“If you're expecting me to fuel your ego, you'll be waiting a long time. It certainly wasn't you.”

Cassian's smirk is beautiful, but Nesta bites her tongue around that thought. “Have I ever told you that you're a terrible liar?”

“And you're a terrible tease.”

Cassian chuckles, but his fingers tighten their grip, spreading her thighs wider until she's on full display for him. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re already dripping for me.”

Nesta whines high in the back of her throat, her hips trying to buck up, but Cassian’s hold on her is firm. He dips his head down, hot breath fanning across her, and Nesta is about to make another remark to urge him on, but any words die in the back of her throat when Cassian presses the flat of his tongue against her. He groans, the vibrations skittering all the way down to her toes, and then he absolutely devours her.

His tongue alternates between swirling around her clit and licking long thick stripes, and Nesta can do nothing but hold on. She rocks her hips against his face, pressing closer still, and uses the hand in his hair to keep him where he is, but from the way he moans and groans against her, she has a strong suspicion that Cassian is right where he wants to be already.

He sucks her clit between his lips, and Nesta practically bows off the mattress, a choked off moan of Cassian’s name tumbling past her lips. He shifts one of his arms so it's draped across her hips, keeping her still. His other hand slides up to join his mouth, and he sinks a finger into her. It's certainly thicker than Nesta's own fingers ever were, but the stretch feels too good, and when he presses in a second finger beside the first, when he curls those fingers, Nesta is sure she's not going to last much longer. Already, she can feel that familiar heat coiling tighter and tighter in her gut, can feel herself climbing closer and closer to that blissful precipice.

He pulls his mouth away to look up at her, fingers continuing to pump in a steady rhythm, and the sight shouldn't be as erotic as it is. His eyes are almost completely swallowed up by his pupils, the hazel color that remains a molten gold. His lips are swollen and pink, a combination of saliva and her arousal smeared around his mouth and through his stubble. The smirk he settles her with is downright devilish, eyes pinned wholly on her as he pointedly licks his lips.

“My sweet wife is better than any chocolate tart or dessert,” Cassian tells her, his voice a deep rasp, before he leans down and licks another thick stripe from where his fingers are buried to her clit, almost as if proving his point.

“Fuck,” Nesta whispers, unable to form any other coherent words. Unable to form any other coherent thoughts. The sensations are somehow too much and not enough. The feel of him. The sight of him. His words.

“You're already so tight around my fingers,” Cassian continues, squeezing in a third finger, eyes tracking the way Nesta arches and keens. “Can feel you squeezing and fluttering around me. Are you close, Nes?”

“Yes,” Nesta moans, her hand reaching down to curl around Cassian's wrist, nails digging into his skin. “Don't stop. Gods, please, don't stop.”

“You sound so pretty when you beg, But I'll bet you look even prettier when you come.” Cassian curls his fingers again, leaning down to drag his tongue over her clit. “Come on, sweetheart. Be my good girl and come all over my fingers.”

The praise finally breaks the last tether. Nesta practically shouts Cassian's name as release tears through her. He works her through it, fingers continuing to move until she melts boneless back into the mattress. He presses sweet and soothing kisses along the inside of her thigh, tracing a path up over her hip bone.

He spends extra attention at her breasts when he reaches them again, languidly swirling his tongue and suckling at the flesh there. It pulls a whine deep from Nesta's chest, her blood already beginning to heat again under his ministrations. When he's finally had his fill, he continues up over her collarbones and to her neck, teeth and lips nipping and sucking at the skin until Nesta is sure she'll have a mark tomorrow.

By the time his mouth finally finds hers, Nesta is practically putty in his hands. She moans at the way she can taste herself on his lips, pressing her tongue against his greedily.When Cassian finally breaks the kiss, both their chests are heaving again, and Cassian rests his forehead against hers, eyes closing as though he needs a moment to gather himself.

“We can stop,” Cassian promises quietly. “We don't have to do anything more. We have time.”

“But I want to,” Nesta assures him, lifting her legs to lock around his hips. “I want you.”

“I'll go slow.”

Nesta reaches her hand between them, palm cradling his cheek. “I trust you.”

Cassian kisses her again, but it's softer, sweeter, every emotion between them seared into that press of lips. It feels right in a way that's as terrifying as it is thrilling. In that moment, Nesta swears a golden thread winds around them, tying her heart as surely to Cassian's as his is tied to hers. In that moment, she swears some part deep within her soul lets out a relieved breath, whispers home. In that moment, she swears she sees those same feelings reflected in Cassian's own eyes.

Cassian shifts his hips and reaches his hand down between them, lining himself up. As promised, he sinks into her slowly, Nesta gasping at the stretch, the fullness. Her arms wrap tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his back as she tries to get used to the feeling.

“Relax, Nes,” Cassian murmurs, pressing kisses along her neck and kneading at her breast until he draws a moan out of her. “That's it. Fuck, you take me so well, sweetheart.”

Inch by inch, Cassian sinks into her, until their hips are pressed flushed together, until Nesta feels so incredibly full. She clenches down around him, almost testing, and Cassian groans, his head dropping down to her collarbones.

“So big,” Nesta whispers, clenching down around him again.

Cassian chuckles, and Nesta can feel the rumble of it everywhere they're pressed together. “What happened to not wanting to fuel my ego?”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me, remember?”

“I’d love you more if you’d move,” Nesta bites out, trying to buck her hips up against him.

Cassian lifts his head enough that his lips brush against hers when he speaks again, “So demanding today.”

“Cassian, please.”

“And still so pretty when you beg.”

Despite his teasing words, Cassian pulls his hips back just to press back forward again. The drag has Nesta’s toes curling, has her moaning as she moves her hips to meet Cassian’s every thrust. And yet it’s still not enough. She still needs more, ready to tumble headfirst and give into the fire blazing through her veins and begging to be released.

“Cassian,” Nesta begins, but when Cassian’s movements pause completely, his eyes clouding over with concern, Nesta reaches a hand to run soothingly through his hair. “I won’t break.”

“Fuck me, Nes…” Cassian pushes out between gritted teeth, his words trailing off into a groan.

He crashes his mouth back against hers, fingers digging into her thigh and hiking her leg higher against his waist, and then he starts to snap his hips against hers in earnest. Each press into her is hard and deep, and it’s exactly what Nesta needs, Cassian’s name falling past her lips like a prayer.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you. You feel so good, so perfect.”

Already, Nesta can feel herself racing closer to that edge, but at least Cassian seems to be teetering there with her, his movements beginning to stutter. He reaches a hand between their bodies, finding her clit with ease and moving his fingers in time with his building rhythm.

“Come on,” Cassian continues. “Be my good girl and come around my cock. Want to feel you squeezing me.”

Cassian continues to play her body like an instrument, sending her careening through another orgasm. Cassian works her through it, keeping his hips moving until he presses in deep and stills, warmth spreading through Nesta as he finds his own release.

They continue to lay there, tangled up together as they catch their breath, before Cassian carefully moves off of her. He pads over to the bathing chamber, returning with a damp cloth to clean them both up. Once that’s discarded, he pulls back the blankets and encourages Nesta to slip beneath, sliding into the bed beside her. His arms curl around her waist and tug her close, Nesta shifting until she can comfortably lay with her head pillowed on his chest.

Cuddled up this close together, Nesta can leech all of the warmth that always seems to radiate off Cassian. She can relish in the strength and comforting weight of his arms secure around her. She can hear the beat of his heart beneath her ear. It has Nesta sighing contently, and when Cassian turns his head enough that he can press a kiss to the top of her head, she doesn’t even bother biting back her smile.

“So, what happens now?” Nesta asks, tracing senseless patterns across Cassian’s chest with her fingertip.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess…” Nesta lets out a soft breath, tilting her head so she can meet Cassian’s gaze. “I just spend so much time worrying about Elain and Feyre, so much time being angry, that I almost don't know what to do now.”

“You can do whatever you want,” Cassian assures her, reaching a hand up to gently brush the hair away from Nesta’s face and tucking the strands behind her ear. “You can come to the factories with me. You can spend all day in the library until you've read every book in there.” His expression morphs into that cocksure smirk of his. “We can spend all day here in this bed.”

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly at him. “Spending days on end in bed sounds like a terrible business model.”

Cassian chuckles, the warm sound curling around Nesta’s limbs, but then his face turns serious again, that soft look Nesta knows is only for her flooding through his hazel eyes. “Whatever you want, Nes. I told you all I care about is you, and I meant it. As long as you're here with me, as long as you're happy. That's all that matters.”

Nesta’s smile grows even more at that, her heart fluttering with so much joy, so much love between her ribs. “Cassian MacLeod, the big sap. Who knew?”

“Only for you, Mrs MacLeod.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @girl-of-many-floods @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head

A lot of people think you have to read these physical copies of giant, expensive, non-fiction tomes for reading to be beneficial. And you don’t!!! This idea that you must read whatever dry historical text (as someone who reads a lot of dry historical accounts and analyses for academia) is rooted in the intersection between misogyny, racism, classism, ableism, and access to education.

don’t let stuffy people mock you for how you chose to engage in reading. Read for pleasure. Read fanfiction! Read ebooks. Read used books (it’s better Read the Ice Planet Barbarians, Heartstopper, City of Brass, Beach Read, Bridgerton, Six of Crows, Legendborn, Yellowface, etc. Listen to the audiobooks (that counts as reading!). If you don’t like the modality in which you read , try a new one! And don’t feel bad if you’re having a hard time with it!!

the idea that reading is 'supposed to be' some kind of unenjoyable gruelling intellectual penance is also so goofy because like, good fucking luck disciplining yrself into cultivating a habit you hate and that makes you miserable i guess! it's like if you insisted people's food should be bland or unpalatable in the name of Health and anyone who ate something tasty was morally inferior and a societal danger. oh wait

i just saw a video on tiktok of someone complaining about fanfic writers who have the ✨audacity✨ not to complete a fic. that it’s rude, it’s inconsiderate, it’s disrespectful of the readers emotional investment. and then a whole bunch of commenters saying underneath that this is why they won’t read incomplete fics, that they’ve seen authors go from updating every week to horror of horrors only every month. and because i am a wise and mature individual i’m not going to stitch the video dragging them to hell but instead i’m coming here to you beloved tumblr dot com to bitch behind their back

because i know we’ve said this before but the emerging culture of fanfic writers as content creators and readers as consumers is fucking disgusting. it breeds attitudes exactly like this and turns something that is fundamentally anti-capitalist into another cycle of produce compete exploit where your worth is based on how quickly you can meet consumers needs

it’s called archive of our own for a reason. its about repurposing these stories for ourselves, for our own enjoyment and interest whether thats i want to right the wrongs of this author or i want to see what happens if this one tiny plot point changed or i want to make these characters tie each other up and fuck until they cry. its about sharing as a community, leaving these stories in a communal toy box so people who come along in a few months or few years can enjoy them too

tl;dr keep your fucking capitalist little mittens away from our stories

can we talk about how AWESOME it is when the light hits nimona's eyes?

It's the same effect you get when you take a flash photo of an animal!!! it is an incredible detail to demonstrate that she is not human !!! I loved it

I have a headcanon where Nesta and Lucien are competitively polite. Like, they were both raised with high expectations of what it means to be a gentleman/lady and they both turn it up to a 100 when the other is around.

Like "oh, you pour milk before tea? Barbaric."

"Starting a conversation talking about the weather? Revolutionary."

"Are you buttering bread or painting a picture?"

"Was that a bow or are you having a stroke? Should I call a healer?"

And Lucien brings all the sisters flowers. Elain and Feyre get unobjectional friendship flowers and Nesta gets ones that mean bereavement.

And they also spar bc everyone else in the NC hates them and they do the same thing.

"You call that a block? I've gotten marriage proposals that were less inviting."

"Thay blade is as dull as your conversation."

Etc etc etc.

And the goal is to get the other to laugh but neither EVER breaks. Bc they're professionals ofc.

🥹🥹🥹🥹