#acotar cassian

[stephsarchives]

Can people who make these “ACOTAR fancast” videos stop white-washing the bat boys and Lucien? Thx

[ophelia-vudenburg]

Should I attempt writing other characters other than Azriel and Eris? I have one Lucien one in the drafts but I mean like Cassian, Rhysand or even Helion?

I don’t see many fanfics about them which is totally understandable because they are not exactly my favorite either but I have some good ideas about them, are they in demand? Should I be taking advantage of that?

[erin-bo-berin]

I saw a post somewhere of someone saying what if Bryaxis actually just had a little crush on Cassian?

Hear me out: what if she initially requested a window just so she could look out and see Cassian fly by occasionally? 💀

[gh0stlylace]

Oh how I never thought you were my Cassian when I deserved an Eris..

[highprincessofthenightcourt]

The Lord of Bloodshed <3

Cassian looks so sexy here, damn. I need him rn.

Credit to Sunni_Rae_Art

[stardust-and-morningdew]

Bad to Worse (ACOTAR)

Masterlist

Cassian x gn!reader (platonic with potential)

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: reader with people-pleasing tendencies and self-esteem issues, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: It wasn’t just one thing that made you fall apart like a flaky croissant. And maybe it was more than just a bad-to-worse day that you needed to get off your chest.

______

You fell out of bed. Literally rolled right out in your sleep and were startled awake by the impact, softened only by a thin rug. You gasped as you flailed out of your blanket, thinking you’d been ambushed in your sleep to find the room empty. No injuries– just a racing heart and a rude awakening that left you feeling unbalanced the rest of the day.

That poor balance– mental and physical– ended up with you putting an elbow through one of Feyre’s canvases. She’d had the painting propped on an easel, and as you turned around to answer her question, you accidentally knocked it with your hip, and in a mad scramble to catch it, you and the nearly finished painting ended up on the floor. The painting was punctured in the center, gaping and ruined by your clumsiness. Your pride bore a similar gash.

“Feyre,” you breathed, covering your mouth with your hands, face burning. “I am so sorry.”

She offered you a hand, and you stood, setting the torn painting back on the easel, grimacing at how irreversible the damage was.

Her eyebrows pinched together as she examined the painting.

“Is there any way I can fix it?” You asked, but she was already shaking her head.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to stitch it back together. It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.” She smiled, despite the disappointment radiating off of her like body heat.

“I’m really sorry,” you said again.

“Seriously, it’s okay. Accidents happen.” She patted your shoulder.

Yes, they do.

After apologizing for the tenth time, you left quickly, not wanting to maul any more of her hard work with your body.

Needing a breather from the joyful commotion of Velaris, you collapsed on your bed. Even your eyelids could not shut out the shame you felt.

Accident, you repeated to yourself.

At lunchtime, you were unusually reserved, even as your friends tried to draw you into the conversation around the grand, wooden table. You could barely meet Feyre’s eyes, still seeing how disappointed she looked when you’d toppled the painting. Your answers were clipped and distant, though no one seemed to take much notice of that.

You followed Rhys to his office after the plates were cleared. The two of you sat across from each other, answering letters to concerned citizens, other High Lords, holding a light conversation in between penned words.

You two were talking about Tamlin when you said—well, you don’t actually know what you said that made Rhysand furious. And then he was demanding you out of his office, and you complied like a terrified puppy.

Even though you wanted to disappear, you had training with Cassian scheduled. He was insistent that you learn how to fight, and for the most part, you enjoyed his lessons. Especially the way he grinned when a maneuver finally clicked.

You could defend yourself in a pinch at this point, but the lessons continued, more for Cassian’s sake than yours, you privately realized. Knowing that you could hold your own gave him a little peace of mind in his already stressful position as general. And he normally needed to shave off some energy in the afternoons from his morning meetings.

So you donned your Illyrian leathers, cheeks heating at the memory of Cassian presenting them to you. Knowing how much his heritage meant to him and knowing that they were personally tailored for you was like eating porridge– it warmed you from the inside out.

He had a wide grin on his face when you showed up to train, choosing the tranquility of the forest over the usual sparring ring. Hot air bloomed from his mouth, dissipating into the freezing winter air.

“Thought you weren’t going to show,” he teased. “Afraid I’m going to beat you again?”

“Of course,” you answered dryly, making him laugh and rub his palms together in anticipation. “But maybe I’ll land a hit on you today.”

You warmed up with a slowed-down spar, settling into the flux of offense and defense. Your and Cassian’s punches were light and friendly, and you only took a few soft blows to the body.

But after a short water break, Cassian insisted you train at full speed.

And then it went to hell.

Your punches were uncoordinated. He detected your untucked elbows and met your attacks before you fully extended your arms. He answered with his own onslaught of punches, which you were blocking at the last second possible. Knuckles collided with your face, hard at first, and then softer– he was pulling his punches.

You wanted to crumble, knowing that he was going easy on you. So you channeled all of your frustration into your offense, albeit volatile.

And then you threw possibly the worst kick of your career, sending you completely off balance and almost to the dirt, had Cassian not pinned your leg to his side, holding you up. You hopped, trying to yank your leg back from his grip, but you knew the second that your leg had left the ground, you’d lost the fight.

“Stop, stop,” He commanded, pulling you closer until the arm that wasn’t clenching around your leg could hold your hip. “Out with it. What’s wrong?” His hard stare searched your eyes for the answer, as you held back the well of tears that had been threatening to fall all day.

You swallowed, commanding yourself not to cry. “I didn’t use my core to generate the power for my kick. I didn’t pivot my foot either.”

His grip only tightened. “That’s not what I meant. You’re off your game. What’s going on with you?”

The genuine concern mixed with his disappointment hurt more than his knuckles did.

“Nothing. I’m good. Let me go, please. I’ll do better.”

Cassian set your leg on the ground, but instead of stepping back into his stance, he laid his hands on your shoulders. “Let’s take a break. Ten minutes.”

“No,” you blurted, knowing that if you took a break now, you would fall to pieces. Keeping face in front of the Cassian was the only thing holding you together. “No, I’m okay, really.” You took a deep breath, grounding yourself slightly. You swiveled the balls of your feet, rooting yourself into the ground, trying to find the balance that you’d been without all day.

Cassian nodded. “If you say so. Alright, I want you to take me to the ground using whatever means you can. Get to mount and end the fight. Hide your vulnerabilities and maximize mine. Understand?”

“Yes,” you said through chattering teeth. You trembled with more than the cold as you raised your hands to your face in defense.

You threw a distraction jab at his nose, which he swiftly countered, but you were already hinging at the waist, aiming for his hips. You struck his beltline with the blade of your forearm, your other hand blocking the back of his heel. The opposing forces resulted in a plume of snow coating the air in white magic as his back smacked the frozen earth.

Then you were throwing his legs to the side and sliding your knee over his chest, your cry catching in your throat as he took advantage of your teetering balance. He flipped you over, his knee digging painfully into your sternum as you gasped.

Cassian’s hands pinned your wrists beside your head as you writhed to get out of the hold.

“Relax,” he purred. “You know how to get out of this. Just like I taught you.”

Racking your mind, you found nothing. He had taught you this, but everything was foggy just like the biting air. “I don’t remember,” you whined, still thrashing.

“Yes, you do. Think. Use your leverage. Use my weight to your advantage.”

Even his hints couldn’t help you. You were so far beyond rational thought, just barely keeping your sobs caged behind clenched teeth. And the unrelenting pressure of his knee in your chest wasn’t helping either.

“Cassian, I don’t know! Please, stop!” Your breath puffed erratically from your mouth at the beat of a butterfly’s wings.

“Deep breaths, Y/n. I know you can–”

“I don’t know!” You yelled, and the dam broke.

Tears and ragged, gasping breaths poured out.

You sobbed and shattered at long last.

The tightest, warmest embrace you could remember replaced the uncomfortable pressure on your chest as Cassian cradled you in his arms. Frozen fingers stroked your hair. He said nothing.

But his quiet presence meant everything. Though you were tempted to brush off the first wave of tears and fortify your fallen shields, you didn’t. The barricades remained down, gates open. Vulnerable and held.

When the downpour became a drizzle, Cassian spoke. “You were quiet at lunch today. I should have asked you then if everything was alright. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“You’re sorry?” You asked in disbelief, about to spout your own string of apologies.

Damp, black strands of hair fell from behind his ears, framing his sculpted jaw. “Please don’t think that I don’t care about you, because I do, Y/n. I care deeply. We all do.”

You shook your head, trying to peel yourself out of his firm grip. “I don’t deserve your apology. I’m the one who can’t do anything right. Everything goes wrong when I’m around.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I put an elbow through Feyre’s painting.” You sighed deeply. “And I can’t fix it.”

“Alright. But what if that piece becomes super popular and all of the artists start tearing up their canvases to copy you?”

His attempt at consolation did not cheer you up. “I don’t think it’s that type of accident.”

Cassian patted your head. “Well, that’s not so bad. Feyre’s forgiving.”

“Oh, it gets worse. I messed things up with Rhysand, and he yelled at me.” You smushed your face with your hands. “I don’t blame him. I’m always putting my foot in my mouth.”

“Rhys is under a lot of pressure right now. Don’t take it personally.”

You situated yourself next to him, knees curled into your chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“You know we’re not just going to abandon you because you put your elbow through a painting or said something wrong.” His brows pinched. “Don’t you?”

“Why shouldn’t you? Seems I’m the only one who fucks up on the regular.”

His laughter was humorless. “That’s so far from the truth. I fuck up all the time. Friendship isn’t just about having fun and teasing each other. Forgiveness is a big part of it. We accept each other and our faults. We love you for who you are, not what you do.”

“And what if who I am is a mistake?”

There it was. The question that you’d never had the vulnerability to voice. The one that kept you awake at night and paralyzed with fear during the day. And now it was floating between the two of you, waiting to be answered.

Snowflakes blurred as Cassian turned your chin to face him. “You are not a mistake. No matter how many things you might mess up, you are always deserving of love.”

Minutes passed in silence. The two of you watched snowflakes touch down on the blanketed earth. After a moment of debate with yourself, you rested your head on Cassian’s shoulder, the frostbitten leather gnawing at your cheek.

Cassian’s head leaned on yours. “This is about more than what happened today.”

You shrugged, even though it was definitely true. “Maybe.”

“I don’t know why you think that everyone holds you to an impossible standard, because we don’t. And maybe someone did hold you to that once, but you never have to be ashamed or afraid that we will hate you for making mistakes. You don’t have to be perfect.”

“I just need to be good enough.”

“You are. Always.”

“Maybe,” you repeated, feeling into his words.

Out of nowhere, he asked, “Why were you in Feyre’s painting studio today?”

Your eyebrows raised. “To bring her some tea because there’s no furnace. At least I didn’t drop the mug.”

“What were you doing when Rhys snapped at you?”

You frowned in confusion. “Answering his mail.”

“So what you’re saying is that you were helping people out all day when a few unfortunate accidents happened. What about all the good you did?”

“Does it even compare to what went wrong?”

“It only matters how you add it up in your head." He squeezed your shoulder, grinning. "I’ve never been good with math, so it's easy for me.”

A cautious smile crept up on your face. “You want me to fudge the numbers in my favor?”

“Yep.”

This time, your sigh was accompanied by a light laugh. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he said, arm leaving your shoulders in a cool wake. “Because I have a secret ‘bad day’ ritual that I’ve never shared with anybody. And if you’re up for it, you can be the first.”

You brushed off your clothes as you stood. “You’re okay to finish sparring?”

He grinned. “I get the feeling that you were here to help me out, too, huh? I appreciate it, Y/n, but I’d rather show you this.”

A ten-minute flight (clinging to Cassian’s neck like a squirrel) later, you washed away your relentless shivers with the best hot chocolate you’d ever had. Cassian sat across from you at the table, cheeks, nose, and ears red with the cold, chipping off pieces of a peppermint stick with his teeth.

“You feel better already, don’t you?” He asked with a cocky grin on his face. “It’s impossible to be upset when drinking hot chocolate, not to mention the best in Velaris. He took a sip from his steaming mug, replacing it on the table.

You giggled at the chocolate line above his upper lip that he seemed totally unaware of.

“What?”

You smiled, leaning across the table. He met your touch as your thumb swiped the chocolate, pausing despite yourself on his lip. Dark eyes connected to yours across the table as you knew you should remove your thumb from his lips, but were unwilling. The chatter of the little cafe couldn’t break through the still moment, until–

Like a lizard, his tongue shot out and licked your thumb, making you recoil in surprise.

“Gross, Cassian!” You scolded, wiping your hand on your pants.

He laughed at your disgust.

You found yourself laughing easily with him. The magic of the hot cocoa and the magic of a friend were working. But the real magic was in the choice you made.

As Cassian crunched on his peppermint stick, you fudged the numbers.

[dapucha]

The most problematic fact about Rhysand and all the protagonist faeries being over 500 years old is not the age gap but the fact that between 500 years ago and the start of ACOTAR, the HL had done anything to change the things he claims to despise.

"Change takes time"

In the last 500 years:

We went from monarchic kingdoms to the shaping and developing of republics and democracies.

We went from colonization to decolonization

We went from agrarian, to industrial to digital society

Concepts like freedom, civil rights, LGBTQ+ rights, indigenous and environmental activism.

And don't get me started on the advancement of technology in the last decades.

And all of these changes? Some were made in the same decades, with different generations of people suffering the changes for good or bad.

So, seriously, Rhys. I love your morally grey ass, but if the Illyrians, your people, are "backwards", is because the guy in power is keeping the society backwards. I mean, you are the most powerful Illyrian, right?

SJM should have done Rhysander, Cassian, Azriel, Mor and all those characters with less of 200 years if she wanted to keep a sense of immortality and still make them more realistic to what's going on.

Make faeries live five times more than humans and they could be in the "young adult" stage at 150s, more or less, to keep them older but still "younger". Make them being the children or grandchildren of the faeries who were the slavers of humans. In a long-lifespan society, "change takes time" could be still justificable with so many faeries being older than them in places of power. They are the young adult generation that is with the burden of knowing their kind were masters of humans just a few generations ago. Rhys could have started being the HL a few decades ago when he was just leaving the adolescent stage, and as a half-breed, would explain why it's so difficult for him keep order in the CN.

Because 500 years is too much time to have been living and done nothing. Honestly, what happened in the last 500 years besides Amarantha taking over the UTM in the last 50? Why have Azriel, the "best shadowsinger" and Cassian, the General Commander and another of the "most powerful Illyrians" in history and done nothing? If you ban something, punish the offenders and you will see how miraculously people will stop commiting crime if there's a force capable of stopping them. Create schools to educate the younger generations to know how to be civil members of your society.

How does a society change? We are raised by our parents who teach us the customs and traditions of our country but also our home. Then we go to school and not only we have our teachers but also our peers that give us new perspectives. So if I'm a female who knows that a the first moment I bled I will have my wings clipped because that's what my parents tell me, but my friend for school listens to my fears and tells me "Let's go to see the High-Lord/one of his representants. I heard they can stop this" to get help, there's a good chance I will go to see him/them.

The first years probably most girls didn't go, but once one of them have the courage and witnesses the HL beating the crap out of her "backward" father, and the story get spread, you will see in a few years this will be normal, and in a few decades clipping wings to females will be something considered backwards and immoral by most, with those children who were protected by their HL knowing that it won't happen because he banned it...

Honestly, I don't fault Rhysander because it's how SMJ wrote his story. Which is lacking.

[stardust-and-morningdew]

Solstice Gifts

Masterlist

Cassian x reader (they/them, but a mention of breasts)

Word count: 2.5k

Tags: very suggestive and self-indulgent, fluff, worry, goofiness idk

Summary: Cassian is your friend, but he wants to be so much more. It makes the selection of your Solstice gift that much harder for him.

_____

Cassian’s POV

Another snowflake landed on his siphon, melting instantly into a droplet. Whether from the power crackling within or his body heat, Cassian wasn’t sure. He lowered his hand to his side and surveyed the storefronts. He wasn’t one for window shopping. Or any kind of shopping. But Solstice demanded sacrifice.

At least his brothers held the same aversion. They could all face the fatigue of trudging around the streets, finding gifts for their loved ones together. Except Rhysand seemed genuinely enthused, probably because he was living his dream life with his mate. And Azriel didn’t appear nearly as miserable as Cassian expected him to be.

It wasn’t that Cassian wasn’t grateful for Solstice. He knew they all needed the reprieve from the horrors of the past year. And he loved spending time with his family. They were just difficult to buy for, and though his years of training in the Illyrian war camp had equipped him for most everything he did… it was totally useless here. Gift shopping required ‘intuition’, as Mor had doted once. And even though Mor was a worse gift-giver than he, her statement wasn’t false.

Certain people on his list were harder to shop for than others, especially when he didn’t know what he meant to them. How could he get them an appropriate gift if he didn’t know if they were friends or something more? He needed a present that said, ‘I love you and respect you as a friend… But I’d love to be inside of you too.’

Cassian dragged his hand down his face in exasperation. An hour at this already, and he’d found nothing for you.

“Alright, spit it out,” Rhysand said, breaking the comfortable silence as they walked, examining windows and stands from a distance. “What are you brooding about?”

Cassian blew out his breath. “I’m still trying to figure out what to get Y/n for Solstice. I’ve got everyone else’s gifts, but they are… impossible to shop for.”

Rhys snorted. “Y/n is the easiest person to shop for. You could write them a nice note, and they would cherish it forever.”

Azriel nodded. “Y/n likes functional gifts or sentimental tokens. Nothing big and flashy.”

The Illyrian sighed, breath curling into the crisp, sunny winter day. “I know that, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. What would they find useful? What’s too big a gift? Too small?”

The shadowsinger chuckled, realization dawning. “Oh.”

“Oh, what?”

Rhys supplied the answer, jabbing a finger at Cassian’s chest. “You want to get them something super sweet and romantic, but you don’t know what they’re getting you, and if they don’t feel the same, then–”

Cassian shoved Rhys into a snowbank, a cloud of white consuming the High Lord of the Night Court. When the plume of snow settled, Rhys picked his head up, blue-black hair powdered with snow, a charming grin on his lips.

“I’m going to chalk that up to your lovesickness,” Rhys lilted, brushing snow off his clothes as he stood. He shook his wings behind him, blowing frosty air through Cassian and Azriel’s hair.

They explored a while longer, Azriel popping into a few shops, and reconvened on the street. Rhys had finished shopping a while ago and was just dodging paperwork now.

“I’m done,” Az said, rifling through a bag to make sure he’d gotten something for everyone.

“What did you get for Y/n?” Cassian was desperate. Maybe it was cheating, but he would use any means necessary to get through this holiday with the person he so desperately yearned for.

Az pulled a tome from his bag. “This book of recipes from their homeland.”

“Fuck!” Cassian cursed, turning a few heads. He lowered his voice when Rhys sent him a look. “That’s the perfect gift! Sentimental and useful. How much did it cost you? Let me buy it from you and give it to them!”

The shadowsinger pulled the book out of reach when Cassian lurched for it. “Over my dead body.”

Cassian gave him a look to say, I can make that happen, but his brother was not intimidated in the slightest.

“The best gift is the one that comes from you,” Rhys said, clapping Cassian on the shoulder.

If only there were another snowbank nearby…

The High Lord grinned like a bastard, knowing how much Cassian felt for you. But his smile faded into something a bit more genuine as he said lowly, “Think how fortunate we are to be able to get and receive presents from each other this year. That’s the real gift.”

Az clapped him on the other shoulder, too. “They love you, no matter what you get them.”

Growing cold from the biting air, Rhysand winnowed him and Azriel to the townhouse moments later, leaving Cassian to find one more present.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered the streets without a destination. A clear mind was what he needed more than anything right now. Even just thinking of you could set his heart into high gear.

The crunch of packed snow under his boots paused as he surveyed a certain shop. One he’d only ever looked at from the outside, but was very curious about. The snow squeaked as he pivoted, hand closing around the icy knob.

A bell chimed as he entered, and immediately, he felt like an imposter. Between racks and racks of lingerie, Cassian deduced the shop was mostly frequented by females. Some had male partners with them, and some shopped alone.

Certainly, males sometimes buy gifts like this for their partners.

Partners, maybe. Friends, maybe not.

Cassian brushed the idea off, strangling his ego as he perused the selection. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. When you opened your gift, he would gauge your reaction and adjust accordingly. If you’re interested, then it’s a serious gift. And if not, then it’s a gag. Cassian hummed to himself, feeling awfully proud of the idea.

It took him a while to find the right pair, but when he laid his eyes on them, he knew. An aquamarine set with lacy edges that would stand out beautifully against your skin (if you ever wore it, and if you ever allowed him to see it on, that is). He paid for it and tucked it securely into his coat so that the lacy garment didn’t catch on the wind as he flew to the townhouse.

Y/n’s POV

Your nails were nubbins now. Mor had slapped your hand away from your mouth three times this evening, but your nerves were eating away at you, and so you ate away at your nails. Cassian’s gift was hidden with all the others, but your mind kept drifting to it and it alone.

What would he think of it? Was it too personal?

You’d never really worried about this kind of thing before. The meaning of a gift was always I love you, whether to a friend or family member. But Cassian… there was more that you wanted to say with this gift. More, that you’d set aside because of the war with Hybern. But the downtime offered time to think, and worse, time to feel those delicate spindles of longing wrapping around your heart, tugging it in all directions. Every time Cassian smiled, laughed, or breathed, your heart jumped. Solstice brought a new kind of peace that made you horribly aware of just how smitten you were with the Illyrian general.

You laughed and chatted with the group, but there wasn’t a good moment to talk to Cassian alone. Not that you would know what to say. I love you. Do you love me?

So when everyone migrated to the sitting room and Rhys transported all of the presents onto the rug, you realized that your gift would have no preface, no explanation until the moment.

You adored the presents you received from your friends, especially Azriel’s recipe book and his promise to cook some of the traditional meals from your hometown with you. You threw your arms around his neck, rustling the mala that you’d made for him, beads the same color as his siphons.

When you were making Azriel’s mala, your first instinct was to make the same for Cassian, in the red of his own siphons. But if you gave him the same gift as Azriel, he might think that you didn’t think of him differently, and…

The thought spiral led you to the wrapped box that Cassian now examined, shaking softly by his ear.

“That’s from me,” you said softly, as you hadn’t written a tag.

Cassian grinned, ripping off the paper like a savage cat.

The lacquered box underneath seemed to surprise him.

“A box.”

“Open it,” you giggled, nearly shivering with anticipation.

Cassian flipped open the lid of the beautifully crafted box, staring blankly at its contents. He tilted his head to look at it from another angle. “It’s beautiful…” He looked up to you. “What exactly is it?”

You felt more sets of eyes on you than just Cassian’s. “It’s a hairpin. Made in my village. I-I just thought it would look nice on you, if you ever wear your hair up.” You pulled at a loose string on the sleeve of your knit sweater. When you looked up, Cassian was holding up the hand-crafted pin for everyone to see.

The craftsmanship was beautiful, the metal perfectly sculpted. Though it was traditionally a more feminine fashion, when you saw it at a booth, you immediately thought of Cassian. How pretty he would look with his dark hair pulled out of his face.

Who were you kidding? He was always pretty.

“Thank you,” he said, clenching the hairpin to his chest. “No one’s ever bought a gift for my hair before.”

You crushed your lip between your teeth. “Would you like me to put it in for you?”

His lips curled, and Rhys seemed to be hiding a grin behind his hand. The room was oddly devoid of chatter as you crossed from one couch to the other, Cassian angling himself so that you had access to the back of his head. You ran your fingers along his scalp, pulling the top half of his hair back behind him, twisting it. He handed you the hairpin when you gestured for it, metal warmed from his hands. The pin slid through the ring easily, clasping his black hair in place.

You slid off the couch and onto the floor, kneeling to look at the front. If you were ice, you would have melted at the sight. Cassian always had a ruggish charm to his features, but now, there was a refined elegance to his strong jawline and handsome bone structure. You coughed and looked away, offering a simple compliment as you retreated to the safety of your old spot.

“Looking good, Cass,” Feyre offered, hand snaked in Rhysand’s.

“Damn, you really do,” Her mate said with a whistle.

Cassian sent him a rude gesture, but flicked the still loose hair behind him like a diva.

Azriel set a box on your lap. You raised an eyebrow at him, having already received his present. “From Cassian.”

You glanced across the rug littered with wrapping paper to said Illyrian, whose eyes widened when he saw the gift in your lap.

“Wine, anyone?” Cassian said as though he hadn’t seen that you were about to open the gift from him.

“Stay, Cass,” Rhys said, waving him off. “I’m eager to see what you got for Y/n.”

Everyone seemed to have a similar thought, all waiting patiently as your eyes flicked from the messily wrapped box to the general. Your fingers plucked at the paper, sliding it out as neatly as possible. You sliced through the tape with one of the fingernails you had not chewed off.

“Oh.”

It was all you could say. Even as you stared and stared at the contents of the box. You didn’t need to pull it out to know what kind of risque clothing you were looking at. It took you so long to react that Azriel leaned over your shoulder to see what was inside.

“Oh,” he said, surprise lacing his voice. He looked across the couch to see Cassian covering most of his face.

“What is it?” Mor whined, craning her neck to see inside the box.

You blinked away your surprise and donned an amused smile, lifting the delicate straps of the bralette.

“No one’s ever bought my breasts a gift before,” you said, remembering his comment about your gift to him. “Thanks, Cassian.”

He wore a confident smirk. “Just your breasts? Did you not see that it’s a set?”

You held up the panties on a finger. “The real gift here is imagining you in a lingerie shop buying these for me.”

The others laughed as you held his gaze.

You smiled and joked, but underneath it… Was it just a joke to him? Did he give you lingerie because it was a genuine gift, or because it seemed like a safe joke since there was no way he’d ever have feelings for you? You weren’t sure, and it made your heart clench.

The answer came later that night as the party raged on. You’d stepped out to use the bathroom, but on the way back, you heard your name in a hushed conversation, leading you to hover in the hall for a moment.

“You should just tell them how you feel,” Azriel muttered.

“I did! With the gift!” Cassian retorted.

Rhysand scoffed. “You know you picked the most ambiguous gift you could think of, and you played it off as a joke. What are they supposed to think?”

“Ugh, I don’t know! I wasn’t thinking, I just– I was scared.”

You didn’t need to hear anymore; a plan was already simmering in your mind. You rushed to the stairs where you’d set your pile of gifts to take up to your room on the next trip up. You snatched the lingerie from the pile and dashed up to your room, making quick work of putting it on and pulling your clothes back over.

When you re-entered the main area, Rhys and Azriel had rejoined the others in a sorry attempt to clean the floor of wrapping paper. Mostly, they were just kicking it around.

You joined Cassian in the kitchen with a bemused expression, hopping up and back to sit on the countertop.

“So you like me, huh?” You mused with no warning whatsoever.

Cassian nearly spit out his drink, choking on it instead. “Wh-what?”

“You like me, and as it just so happens, I like you too. A lot.” You weren’t sure where the boldness was coming from– perhaps the lingerie you sported.

He instantly stopped coughing, as though you’d pulled the moisture from his lungs. He studied your face, looking for any discrepancies in your words and eyes, but found none. “Seriously?”

You leaned closer to him. Quieter, you whispered, “Guess what I’m wearing.”

He pulled back with a start, lips quirking up as he examined you from head to toe as though he could see through your clothes. “You’re not.”

You nodded, reaching out to brush a hand over his hair. “You’re wearing my gift. Seems fitting I should wear yours. Care to see?” You fiddled with the hem of your sweater. An invitation in itself.

His hands found your waist as he slid in between your knees. “Gods, yes.”

Perhaps a bad gift could turn into a beautiful night.