HOW?! How Is This SO GOOD??? I Feel My Heart Breaking For Cassian!!!

HOW?! How is this SO GOOD??? I feel my heart breaking for Cassian!!!

But I'm Only Looking At You: Part One

A/N: It's officially here! Happy @cassianappreciationweek lovelies! I'm super excited to see all the amazing content that everyone will be sharing this week, and I'm extra excited to share this fic with you all. We may be stretching the prompts with this, but doesn't that make it more fun! I mean, Rhys visits Cassian in this first chapter, so doesn't that fit the Brother theme? Maybe? A very big shout-out to @separatist-apologist who so graciously gave me this prompt. This fic is dedicated especially to you, fandom-sanctioned bestie! :)

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Don’t say yes, run away now. I’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the back door

Three Years Ago

Cassian’s eyes flit across the grass that stretches out across the meadow. The tall, green stalks sway gently in the early summer breeze, twisting and twining together like dancers moving to the melody of the wind. Purple and white wildflowers bloom in small batches, a burst of color against the blue sky overhead. A willow tree stands tall and proud beside the small creek that burbles and weaves its way around the dirt and stones, and sitting beneath it, half hidden by the drooping branches, is Nesta.

Just where he expects to find her.

He takes a moment to admire her, the sight already stealing the breath straight from his lungs, already pulling a soft smile across his face. She has her knees curled up toward her chest, a book balanced perfectly on her knees, her head bowed over the pages as she devours the words. The rays of sunlight that break through the leaves and branches of the willow cut across her in golden streaks. It leaves the braid of her hair looking like a true crown of burnished gold, and Cassian knows once he gets closer, he’ll be able to count every faint freckle that’s sunkissed across her skin too.

It’s on quiet feet that Cassian makes his way over to her, using the sounds of the water to his advantage as he follows along the creek until he reaches the willow. He curls around the trunk of the tree until he can peer down over Nesta’s shoulder, until he can watch her deft fingers turn yet another page in her book.

“Hello, Nes.”

Cassian is slightly disappointed when Nesta doesn’t jump at his voice, but when she lets out a long sigh, his smile grows wide again. He steps around and settles in the spot beside her, daring to sit close enough that his shoulder brushes against hers. Nesta doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even bother looking up from her book, but Cassian doesn’t miss the way her lips are slightly pinched.

In the years that he’s known Nesta Archeron, he’s learnt every one of her expressions, every look, every tell. He’s categorized them all and tucked them close to his heart. The long withering sigh to hide a soft, amused laugh. The pinched lips to keep away the fond smile. The way those blue gray eyes of hers will blaze and narrow at him until his heart is skipping over itself in excitement.

“Enjoying the warm weather?” Cassian asks innocently, reaching forward and tugging one of the wildflowers free from the ground.

“I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” Nesta shoots back, and though Cassian can’t quite see her face from his spot beside her, he’s sure she’s rolling her eyes at him.

“Well, then, don’t let me disturb that,” Cassian tells her, neatly tucking the flower into the braid of her hair.

“Oh, believe me. I don’t intend to.”

Cassian has to bite back a smirk at the remark. Nesta always has to have the last word. He stretches his hands back behind his head, leaning against the trunk of the willow and letting his eyes flutter shut. He counts the second in his mind, already feeling Nesta’s annoyance growing with each passing second of silence. His blood practically sings in anticipation, leaping at the chance for another round of their game.

Nesta snaps her book closed loudly. “What do you want, Cassian?”

“Can’t I just enjoy your company?”

“Last time I checked, the only thing you enjoy is the sound of your own voice.”

Cassian chuckles, but he sits up properly again. “I had my final lessons today. My boarding school days are officially behind me.”

Nesta finally turns to look at him properly, and she leaves Cassian feeling as breathless as she did the first time he met her. She’s so damned beautiful, and Cassian is so enraptured that he almost misses what she says next.

“And have you decided on Cambridge or Oxford?”

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly, dropping his gaze to his hands before he explains, “neither. My father has fallen ill, and now that I’ve finished my schooling, I’ll be returning home to learn the trade and prepare to take over for him.”

“I see.”

Cassian looks up at her again, his eyes tracking the flower that still sits in her braid. The softness to her blue eyes that he swears only he gets to see. Those constellations of pale freckles that he knows must be echoed across her skin elsewhere. A strand of hair has fallen free from her updo, tumbling down along her temple, and Cassian’s fingers twitch with the urge to brush it aside.

One day. One day, he’ll be able to, he’s sure of it. He swears it. One day, he’ll have fully taken over the family business, will have made a name for himself, and he’ll speak to her father and finally ask the question that burns on the tip of his tongue.

“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Cassian asks instead.

Nesta lets out another long sigh. “And what if I don’t wish to write to you?”

“I’ll just have to write to you then. I’m sure you’ll miss our witty repartee.”

“I assure you that is not what I will miss.”

Cassian smirks, daring to ask, “my handsome face, then?”

“You are quite full of yourself, aren’t you?” Nesta snaps, clambering up to her feet.

Cassian jumps to his feet as well. He catches Nesta’s hand before she can walk too far, stopping her steps. Her eyes snap down to the contact, fingers flexing for just a moment, a pretty dusting of pink spilling across her cheeks.

“Promise you’ll write, Nes,” Cassian requests, his voice quiet.

He’s not above begging, would drop to his knees right there in the meadow for anything she’s willing to give him. His fingers slide along her wrist where her hand is still clasped in his, and he swears he can feel her heart fluttering away beneath that touch. He wonders if she knows the way she holds his.

“I promise.”

~ * * * ~

Today

Cassian rushes down the main staircase of his home just as Mrs Reynolds closes the front door with a soft snick. His heart pounds away between his ribs, pressing a lump up into his throat, but he uses all his willpower not to let his nerves show. He clenches his hands tightly into fists and plasters on his best, easy smile as Mrs Reynolds turns back around, not a lick of surprise on her face when she sees Cassian waiting eagerly.

“Any letter today?” Cassian asks, praying the desperation licking through his veins doesn’t bleed into his tone.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Mrs Reynolds apologizes, sympathy lining her brown eyes. “Nothing today again.”

Cassian nods, not even bothering to try and push words out. He beelines for the kitchen, quickly grabbing some food before locking himself away in his office. He falls heavily into his chair, letting out a long breath. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, his fingers getting caught in the tangled strands which only adds to the dark storm cloud brewing in his chest. He feels stupid, but there’s no stopping the way his heart twists and squeezes, betraying the emotions he’s trying desperately to shove back down.

Even worse, he can’t seem to shut up that voice that claws its way through the back of his mind. It digs in and won’t let up, dark whispers feeding into Cassian’s every insecurity. He still remembers every word, every name, he heard back when he was in boarding school, from the boys, from their mothers. It didn’t matter that his family had money, didn’t matter that his father had made a name for them, didn’t matter the factories they had and everything they produced. He would always be looked down upon by all that old money of London.

With another sigh, Cassian finally shakes himself and pulls his papers close to him, determined to get some work done and take his mind off those swirling thoughts and swirling emotions. He scratches out a reply to one of his suppliers, but as soon as Cassian has signed his name, his hand pauses, grip tightening on his pen.

His gaze dances down to the bottom drawer of his desk. Taunting him. Beckoning him.

He shakes his head and goes back to writing out another response, but he barely makes it halfway through before once again his eyes are drawn to that damned drawer. Cassian lets out a groan and tosses his pen aside. He yanks open the drawer and pulls out the letters stacked neatly inside.

Just as he’s done for the past few weeks, he pulls out the most recent one, dated a month ago. He traces over the lines and loops of the ink on the page, smiling as he once again reads Nesta’s story about her sisters. He tries to find some hint, some clue, to understand Nesta’s sudden silence, the lack of a letter since his last reply, and yet he can’t find one. The letter reads just the same as all the ones she’s been sending since he left London.

A knock at his office door finally pulls Cassian away from Nesta’s letters. He looks up, ready to call out to Mrs Reynolds that he doesn’t need anything, but before he can, the door is opening. Cassian blinks a few times in surprise, his brow furrowing.

“Rhys? To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Really?” Rhys teases, stepping fully into the office and settling easily into one of the chairs opposite Cassian with all the casual grace of a Duke. “That’s how you greet me?”

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you,” Cassian chuckles slightly. “It’s just unlike you to travel all this way. What could have possibly pulled you away from London? And without a letter informing me either.”

“I can’t simply want to come visit one of my closest friends?”

“Rhys.”

Rhys lets out a soft sigh, shifting in his seat. The serious look that takes over his face has Cassian’s stomach dropping. There’s been only a very few instances that Cassian has seen that expression on his friend’s face, and none of those times ended well.

“It didn’t feel right putting this in a letter,” Rhys begins, leaning forward and meeting Cassian’s gaze head on. “I’ve known you since we were kids in school together, and you know I see you and Az like brothers.”

“You’re starting to worry me, Rhys.”

“I care about you, Cass. And I know you. I know how you feel about Nesta Archeron, how you’ve felt about her for years, so I want you to hear it from me… she’s engaged now.”

For a moment, Cassian swears the world stops tilting beneath his feet. Everything comes lurching to a hard and painful stop, throwing him off balance and sending him spiraling down and down. There’s a ringing that takes up home in Cassian’s ears, a lump pressing into his windpipe until he feels like he can’t breathe.

“What?” Cassian chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Everything he had ever built up in his mind shatters right there, right before his very eyes. The way he imagined finally going back to London this summer, courting Nesta properly and the way she deserves outside his letters. The way he planned to speak with her father to officially ask for her hand. The way he could perfectly picture Nesta here, in this house, with him.

“I’m sorry,” Rhys continues, offering a sympathetic grimace. “It was only just announced, and I had no idea she was being courted, or I would have told you sooner.”

“I guess that explains why her letters stopped,” Cassian grumbles, scrubbing a hand across his face. “So, who’s the lucky gentleman?”

“Tomas Mandray.”

The humorless laugh tears free from Cassian before he can stop it. “That prick we went to school with? And Nesta agreed to his proposal?”

“Her father did. Tomas is a Viscount following his own father’s passing.”

“I’m sure no one misses him. We all knew what type of man he was.”

“Rumor has it Tomas is the same.”

That comment has Cassian’s fists clenching, anger beginning to simmer just beneath his skin. Everything within him rebels at that idea, at Nesta being subjected to someone like the fucking Mandrays. His own soul seems to snarl and growl in agreement, instincts screaming at him to do something, to stop this, to protect her.

Cassian stands up and starts gathering all of the papers and things he’ll need to spend time away in London. “Have they already started reading the Banns?”

“Tomas has apparently put in for a Bishop’s License instead,” Rhys explains, eyeing Cassian with narrowed eyes as he moves around the office. “You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

“How do you feel about a party?”

~ * * * ~

The music of the string quartet stationed in the corner wafts through the ballroom, the light, lilting melody swirling amongst the sea of bodies in the room, around the crystal chandelier hanging high above their heads. It seems all of London’s best has come out to Velaris estate, all dripping in the latest fashion and practically clamoring for some gossip as much as excitement.

The newest ladies to be out in society and their mothers circle around the ballroom like sharks on the hunt, some even daring to eye up Cassian where he stands, but he only has attention for one woman tonight. His gaze sweeps across the room until he spies her, standing with her youngest sister, Feyre.

She still takes his breath away just as much as the last time he saw her, as the first day he met her. Her hair is styled in her usual braided crown, not a strand or pin out of place, but the golden brown color still glints beneath the chandelier’s lights. Her dress is a deep green color, a shade that contrasts well with her eyes, and there’s the faintest hint of rouge on her cheeks, drawing attention to the cut of her cheekbones.

Cassian has to swallow hard as he watches her across the room. His heart thunders away in his chest, and he can feel the way it wants to lurch right into her waiting hands, can feel the tug right between his ribs drawing him into her. He quickly glances around, but there’s no sign of Tomas Mandray, so with a deep breath to try and calm his fraying nerves, Cassian strides across the ballroom to the only woman he’ll ever want.

“Hello, Nes.”

Nesta’s attention snaps to him at his greeting, her eyes widening for a moment before she schools her expression back into cool indifference. Imperceptibly, her spine straightens, her chin raising that small bit higher, almost in defiance, but Cassian catches it all. Another of her many looks that he’s cataloged, a refusal to back down.

“Cassian,” Nesta offers coolly, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “What are you doing here?”

“Rhysand and I are good friends, if you’ll recall. Are you that surprised he extended me an invitation?”

“You traveled all the way to London for a House Party?”

Cassian chuckles, not bothering to bite back his smirk. “What can I say, sweetheart? I love a good party.”

Cassian doesn’t miss the way her lips pinch slightly together, the flare that sparks through her blue eyes. A tell tale sign that she’s fondly annoyed with him. It has his grin growing, but just as soon as that expression graces her face, it shutters away. He can practically watch as she stacks every icy brick back into place, as the mask slides firmly back on.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,” Nesta tells him, grabbing Feyre’s elbow and turning them both away.

He’s losing her. She’s going to walk away, vanish amongst the others in attendance, and Cassian knows he won’t see her again. This is his one chance before she slips through his fingers like smoke. His mind scrambles for something to say, something to keep her here, to keep her talking to him, to keep her eyes on him. His eyes land on her wrist.

“Your dance card,” Cassian blurts out before he clears his throat and finds his voice again. “I see your dance card is not yet full for the night.”

Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, glancing down to her own wrist. She tries to pull her arm out of reach, but Cassian is faster, fingers curling around the small booklet. He unfolds it carefully, scrawling his name along the first empty line he sees.

“I’m sure you don’t mind,” Cassian continues, releasing the booklet and daring to let his fingers brush against Nesta’s in the process. “It will give us a chance to catch up.”

“Nesta. Feyre. Where have you two been?”

The cool, clipped tone has Cassian finally tearing his gaze away from Nesta and meeting instead the strict and pinched expression of Eleanor Archeron. Cassian can’t say he’s ever been a big fan of the Archeron matriarch, especially with the way just her presence has Nesta’s spine straightening that inch more, has her fingers curling imperceptibly into the skirts of her dress.

The feeling is clearly mutual. Eleanor’s eyes sweep over Cassian’s frame with clear distaste, not even bothering to hide the way her lip curls. To her, he’s nothing more than a brute, but he refuses to let her ire get to him.

“Lady Archeron,” Cassian greets politely, dipping his chin in a bow.

She doesn’t show him the same courtesy, doesn’t even acknowledge that he said anything at all. Instead, the fingers of her hands curl around Nesta’s and Feyre’s elbows, and Eleanor leads her daughters away without so much as a backwards glance. Cassian can’t help but let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. At least, the night is still young.

At least, he still has his dance with Nesta to look forward to.

Though, it’s agonizing for Cassian to wait for his turn. Especially, since Nesta spends most of the dances partnered with fucking Tomas. It boils his blood watching the way Tomas’s fingers curl possessively into the fabric of Nesta’s dress, the way his hand sits dangerously low along her back, just toeing the line with what’s proper. Even worse is the Viscount’s expression, the knowing glint in his eyes, the smirk tugging up his lips. It’s all savage, male pride, and Cassian’s fists clench hard enough that his nails bite into the palm as Tomas twirls Nesta around the ballroom.

Nesta has always been the best damned thing that ever happened to Cassian. Those stormy, blue eyes had haunted his dreams from the moment they snapped to his gaze, burning with a fire that almost brought him to his knees right then and there. She never backed down from anything he threw at her, going toe to toe with him in a way that only served to further thrill and excite him, that always left him itching to go another round of their back and forth. He lived for every scoff, every eye roll, every haughty jab.

But even more so, he lived for every smile, every laugh he was able to draw out of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first time he ever made Nesta laugh, the way the air was stolen straight from his lungs at that light, melodic sound. He craved it like a starved man after that.

Craved her.

It was Nesta that drove Cassian to study as hard as he did at school, to devour every book and every lesson. Her that drove him to work as hard he did after his father passed, to build up the factories and his family name. To build up himself into the type of man, the type of gentleman, that deserved her.

Unlike Tomas Mandray.

Nesta is the best damned thing to happen to him too, and the bastard clearly doesn’t even realize it, doesn’t appreciate it. He certainly isn’t the type of man to deserve her.

The music of the string quartet comes to an end, and finally, Nesta and Tomas pull apart from one another, Nesta dipping into a polite curtsey. When she straightens again, her eyes scan around the room, landing right on Cassian. Just as it always does, his heart gives a longing pang deep in his chest, and he just hopes it’s not too noticeable on his face.

Rhys and Az have always teased him for the way he tends to wear his heart so plainly on his sleeve. And his chosen brothers have certainly teased him for the way he tends to become a fumbling idiot wherever and whenever Nesta Archeron is concerned. But he’s determined not to fuck it up this time. Determined not to fuck things with her up. This is his chance, and he prays it won’t be his last.

With slow, careful steps, Cassian makes his way across the dance floor of the ballroom, not taking his eyes off Nesta’s face for a moment. When he’s standing before her, he holds his hand out between them, palm up and waiting. Nesta slides her hands into his, and that one simple touch has sparks skating up Cassian’s arm. He gently curls his fingers around hers, relishing in the warmth and weight, in the rightness, of having her hand in his. His other hand slides along her waist to the small of her back, fingers flexing almost subconsciously. He swears he can hear Nesta’s breath hitching in her throat when he tugs her closer, but any sound is drowned out by the string quartet beginning the next song.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Cassian says as he begins to lead them through the steps of the dance with ease. “On your engagement.”

Nesta’s hand tightens minisculely in his, but she gives no other sign that his words have struck a chord, that mask of hers still firmly in place. “Yes. Thank you.”

“How curious that you never mentioned Tomas in any of your letters.” Cassian keeps his tone light, his comment almost idle, but knows he’s hit his mark from the way her mask starts to slip, the way a flame sparks within her eyes, her mouth pinching down in a frown. “So, tell me, what is it you love about him?”

“Excuse me?” Nesta asks, her steps stuttering for just a moment.

Cassian doesn’t let it deter him, continuing through the steps of the dance as he continues speaking. “The Nesta I remember used to swear that she’d only marry for love, just like the women in her books.”

“That was a fairytale.”

“So, you don’t love him then?”

“How dare you,” Nesta hisses, stopping her steps abruptly and stepping out of Cassian’s hold. “How dare you come back to London after all these years and think you know anything.”

Cassian steps closer again, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing anymore attention to them. “I know more than you think, sweetheart.”

“You know nothing.”

That fire is blazing in her gaze now, but before Cassian can say anything more, she turns on her heel, stalking away. Cassian is quick to follow her, not giving up that easily. He follows her out the large, french doors of the ballroom and onto the terrace. The moon shines bright and full in the sky above, wispy streaks of silver blanketing some of the stars. The floral scent of the gardens floats to them on the evening breeze, the strands of Nesta’s hair blowing gently around her face.

“I know nothing?” Cassian laughs humorlessly. “Fine. Correct me, then. Tell me how much you want this marriage with Tomas Mandray.”

“You should go home, Cassian. Go back to Glasgow.”

“Not until you look me in the eye and tell me this is what you want. Not your father. Not your mother. You.”

The request hangs in the air between them, each second of silence that ticks by stifling. The music from inside pours out through the opened french doors and onto the terrace, but all Cassian can hear is his own heart thundering away, the blood pounding in his ears. He tries to will Nesta to understand, to realize that all she needs to do is say the word, that he’d do anything for her. He’d burn the world and place the ashes at her feet if she asked him to. For a brief moment, an emotion that looks dangerously like grief passes across her face, but just as soon as it appears, it vanishes, that mask sealing back firmly in place.

“Go home, Cassian.”

Nesta brushes past Cassian and back into the party, leaving him standing there alone on the terrace. He turns to watch her go, to watch her melt into the moving bodies of those dancing and mingling about. As she vanishes out of sight, he wonders if she knows she’s taking his heart with her, bloodied and bruised and straight from his chest.

He turns back toward the gardens and leans his hands against the railing that borders the terrace, fingers curling against the stone as he tightens his grip. He closes his eyes as he lets out a stuttering breath, tipping his head up toward the sky as if the stars may provide the answers he’s looking for.

She never answered his question, never fulfilled his request to declare that Tomas was what she wanted, and Cassian doesn’t think he’ll ever get that moment, that brief flash of anguish marring her face, out of his mind. He’s sure he’ll see it every time he closes his eyes. And it’s with startling clarity that Cassian knows. He knows that there will never be anyone else for him. He knows that he’d go to the ends of the earth for Nesta.

He knows that he’s about to do something very, very stupid.

—

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AH NO!!! Nesta!!! poor Cassian!!!

Living for the heartbreak you’re doling out this week.

Baby, Now We Got Bad Blood

A/N: So, we're told in ACOMAF and ACOWAR that mating instincts ride the males hard and that you should never come between a male and his mate, but one of my biggest gripes with ACOSF is that we never really see that from Cassian. Like come on, SJM! I want to see the Lord of Bloodshed go into Mate Mode(tm)! And so, I decided to write this. I recognize it may not be everyone's cup of tea, so remember that the back button is free, but for everyone else, enjoy! :)

Read on AO3

The tug between Cassian’s ribs is so sudden, so harsh, that he almost drops to his knees right then and there. That golden thread securely tucked there squeezes tight enough that it steals the breath straight from his lungs, twisting and writhing in his chest until he can do nothing except press a palm against his side in hopes of alleviating the pain, until he's sure that he must be bruised. He’s half aware of Devlon watching him curiously, of the other camp lords still sitting around the table, but all Cassian can focus on is the way his blood has run cold, on the ringing that’s taken up home in his ears all from that one tug.

Tentatively, he reaches for the golden thread within himself, sending his confusion and concern down the bond. He skates a finger along it, keeping his touch featherlight, before he plucks, a small, urging question. And then, with bated breath, he waits. Waits for the tug in response. Waits for the soothing feeling that’s not his own to rush through him and calm his worry.

But it never comes.

In fact, there’s almost nothing on the other end of the bond. Just silence. Just an empty, yawning void that has the hairs on the back of Cassian’s neck standing up, that has the pounding in his ears turning into a deafening roar. Genuine fear sparks through his veins, ice cold where it digs its claws into his mind and sends his heart stuttering. He reaches for that golden thread again, tugging more urgently this time, but still nothing.

Something’s wrong.

Cassian knows that Rhys had sent Nesta and Mor to the human lands on some sort of reconnaissance mission. Azriel’s network had gotten some concerning information through the vine, so the High Lord sent Nesta and Mor to blend in with the women of some village and see if they could get more details. It was supposed to be an easy in, easy out mission. He’d even arranged this war meeting in Illyria for when she was gone so he’d be back in time to welcome her home, even had tickets ready for them for the Velaris ballet.

But now, all he has is a silent bond, that single moment of fear twined in that hard tug that festers and burns with his own.

Without a backward glance, Cassian storms out of the room, ignoring Devlon calling after him. As soon as he steps outside into the biting snow of Illyria, Cassian unfurls his wings wide behind his back and takes to the skies. He keeps a hard and fast pace as he tears through the clouds, pushing himself and pushing himself and pushing himself. His back and wings ache with the exertion, but it’s nothing compared to the ache that throbs in his chest like an open wound. Nothing compared to the bloodied and bruised shreds of his heart at the thought of something happening to Nesta.

His mind keeps playing an endless loop of possibilities, each one worse than the last. He tries to imagine a scenario where it’s all a big misunderstanding, where he arrives back in Velaris and Nesta is there with that softness that takes over her stormy blue eyes when she sees him, with that sweet smile meant only for him, and they’ll laugh about this whole thing. But there’s no denying that niggling doubt, those whispers in the back of his mind. They fuel his fear, taunt him, and soon all Cassian can see each time he blinks is the sight of Nesta’s eyes open but unseeing, the color completely leached from her face, seared on the back of his eyelids.

It drives Cassian to push himself even harder, to fly even faster. Each beat of his wings, each thunderous hammer of his heart, it all pounds in time with that twisting thread between his ribs, in time with that call that blazes through his soul.

Nesta Nesta Nesta

He lands hard enough that his knees groan and ache, but he doesn’t care. He presses his hand against the wards, an incessant flash of red sparking in front of him, and steps inside the River House. Rhys steps into the view at the top of the stairs almost as soon as he’s through the front door, as though he was expecting him. The wariness pinching the corner of his brother’s eyes, the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, it confirms all of Cassian’s worst fears. Bile claws up the back of his throat, tangling with the lump already lodged firmly there.

“Where’s Nesta?” Cassian forces out.

“Cass…” Rhys starts slowly, holding his hands up placatingly. Cassian doesn’t miss the way his brother shifts his feet, resetting his stance like he’s expecting a fight.

Cassian is about to ask his question again when Madja comes bustling into the River House behind him, rushing up the stairs and past Rhys. The sight of the healer jolts Cassian into action, and he follows hot on her heels down the hall and into one of the bedrooms, but his steps stutter to a stop when he realizes it’s Mor sprawled across the blankets, holding her hand against a wound in her side.

Cassian whirls back around, ready to check every other bedroom until he finds his mate, but he comes face to face with Rhys again. His brother is still wearing that cautious expression, face still pinched and body still tense like Cassian is some sort of wounded animal he needs to treat with care.

“Where is Nesta?” Cassian demands again.

Rhys holds his ground and raises his chin, his eyes glancing over Cassian’s shoulder only briefly before landing back on Cassian’s face. “There was an ambush. I don’t know how the mortals knew we’d be there, knew who Mor and Nesta were, but there were two dozen of them… with ash arrows.”

“That didn’t answer my question. Where is she?”

“When I got there, Mor was already badly injured. She was going to bleed out if I didn’t get her out of there and to a healer.”

Cassian can feel his patience hanging on by a thread, stepping closer to Rhy and growling out, “where is my mate?”

Cassian feels the press of Rhys’s magic against him, the darkness that begins to creep and rumble from the corners of the room, as Cassian stares his brother down, but Rhys is unmoving, undeterred. He continues to meet Cassian’s blazing gaze, his face and voice an even calm that grates against the last shreds of Cassian’s nerve endings, the last of his sanity.

“I had to make a choice, and I made it.”

It takes a moment for the words to really sink in, to understand exactly what Rhys is telling him, and when it does, it’s a bucket of ice water over his head. He stumbles back a step in his shock. His stomach roils and drops all the way to his shoes, his blood crystalizing into ice, as he chokes out, “what?”

Rhys looks away then, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I used too much of my magic winnowing there already, and Nesta was too far away. I couldn’t get to her without risking Mor, without risking both of us, so I did what I had to do and winnowed us out of there.”

Cassian doesn’t think he’s breathing. He’s sure that his heart isn’t beating because it’s lost somewhere in the human lands, lost with Nesta. “You…” Cassian swallows hard, finding his voice again. “You left her there? In the middle of an ambush?”

“I’m sorry, Cass. I really am.”

“No, you’re not.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Cassian has always known that Rhys isn’t exactly Nesta’s biggest fan. From the moment they met the sisters, from that first meeting at the manor in the mortal lands, Rhys has always held a certain animosity for the eldest Archeron. He’s always held onto that cool resentment on Feyre’s behalf for what happened when the sisters were young. And despite what happened with the human queens, despite what Nesta did during the War, despite what she did for Feyre and Nyx, that tension has never quite dissipated, that contempt is still there.

“If you were really sorry, why didn’t you go back for her?” Cassian continues, shaking his head in disbelief. “After you got Mor back to Velaris, why didn’t you go back?”

Rhys sighs as if this whole conversation is exhausting. “I just told you. My magic was depleted by winnowing that far, and they had ash arrows. I couldn’t risk it.”

“But you could risk Nesta, right?”

Cassian can feel his disbelief at this whole situation quickly morphing into anger. He can feel the heat of it just beneath his skin where it blazes through his veins. The beast deep within his soul thrashes against its restraints, hackles raised at the idea of any harm coming to Nesta. That rage burns and roars as it twists in dark, crackling tendrils in his chest. It urges him to fight, to raze the whole world to the ground until the debt is paid, until all of Prythian understands the mistake of risking the Lord of Bloodshed’s mate.

“It’s what she would have wanted,” Rhys continues, still using that too calm voice. “You know that. Nesta understood the mission, the importance.”

“Don’t you dare!” Cassian snaps, stepping forward again until he and Rhys are toe to toe, glowering down at him. “Don’t you dare speak of her when you left her to die.”

“Calm down,” Rhys speaks slowly, violet eyes flickering in warning.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What if it was Feyre? What if I left Feyre in the middle of an ambush surrounded by ash arrows? What if I left your mate for dead?”

“Don’t.”

The low tone of Rhys’s voice lets Cassian know he’s hit his mark. That magic and darkness presses a little bit harder, those violet eyes turning cold, clearly unimpressed with the underlying threat toward his mate. Cassian almost wants to laugh hysterically, seeing his own feelings mirrored back to him. It’s a sickening type of vindication.

“That’s the difference, isn’t it?” Cassian continues to drawl, not backing down, the red of his siphons flickering in time with Rhys’s own magic. “I would risk it for Feyre. I would go back for her because I know how much she means to you, but you don’t care. You’ve never forgiven Nesta, not really, and now, you finally got the chance to wash your hands clean of her.”

“Cassian—”

“Where?” Cassian interrupts, taking a step back finally and adjusting the straps of his leathers and preparing for a long flight. “Give me the coordinates. I’ll go get Nesta myself.”

Cassian side-steps around Rhys and heads for the stairs, but Rhys is hot on his heels. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you fly all the way to the mortal lands and potentially walk head first into an attack.”

“Try and stop me,” Cassian dares, whirling around with a snarl of warning. “Being mated and a father has made you soft, Rhysand. Do you really think you could take me?”

The temperature in the room starts to drop, Cassian’s siphons flaring brighter in response as magic scrapes along his spine. He’s been itching for a fight since the moment he stepped through the doors, instincts gnawing at his every nerve ending and riding him hard until his hands are clenching into fists, his fingers twitching with the urge to drive into Rhys’s face.

But he doesn’t have time for this.

Nesta is gods know where in the mortal lands, in the Mother knows what state, and he needs to get to her. He waited five hundred years for her. Five hundred years to hold her. Five hundred years to love her. And he’ll be damned if he loses her now. Damned if he fails her again. Damned if he doesn’t save her when he wasn’t there to protect her in the first place.

He turns back around and storms down the stairs, striding toward the door without looking back. His blood has already started to thunder again, that same beat of Nesta Nesta Nesta as he stretches his wings to warm them up.

“Cassian, stop,” Rhys calls after him, but Cassian merely rolls his eyes. “I am ordering you as your High Lord.”

Cassian can feel the magic of the order as it slinks across his skin, taste it on the back of his tongue, but he’s quick to shake it off with a scoff, yanking open the front door. “Fuck off.”

“You step out that door, you won’t be welcome back in this Court.”

Cassian turns over his shoulder, settling Rhys with a deathly cold look. “Good luck finding a new General then.”

Rhys looks genuinely taken aback by that, blinking a few times in surprise. “You’d really throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for? Everything you’ve ever wanted?”

“Nesta is everything I’ve ever wanted. And you knew that. And you still—” Cassian can’t choke the word out, can’t fathom a world where Nesta, his Nesta, his beautiful, smart, amazing mate is gone.

A world where Rhys killed her.

With one last shake of his head, Cassian steps out of the River House and onto the streets of Velaris, the door slamming behind him. It feels strange and wrong to step onto these streets knowing Nesta isn’t here. Knowing that her quiet steps won’t fill the bookshop in the Rainbow. Knowing that her soft laughter won’t fill her favorite bakery by the river. That fear from before grips Cassian tight enough that his steps almost stumble, but he stretches his wings out wide behind him nonetheless, siphons flaring in anticipation.

He’s going to get her back. Even if it’s the last thing he does.

—

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can you stop making kissy noises at the malevolent entity, please. you’re scaring it

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.”

—

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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