could you do cassian with a shy mate who doesn't know how to react to causal intimacy??
sure. now, i sort of assumed with casual intimacy you mean like physical touch? sorry if i misinterpreted!
Cassian x shy!reader who is getting used to Cassian's touch [859 words]
CW: fem!reader, mates, Cassian's love language is physical touch, reader hates being perceived, rhys won't stop perceiving her, fluff
You try not to react outwardly when Cassian’s large hand lands on your knee, but you doubt that you do a very good job.
The touch itself isn’t particularly scandalous; his palm doesn’t stray anywhere impolite, yet it feels like a branding iron all the same.
Cassian is simply a touchy guy. His job is physical in itself, requiring him to help warriors get into proper positions, sparring, stretching, the whole shebang. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you’ve seen the way he is with his family.
The male constantly has an arm thrown around whoever finds themselves within grabbing reach. Flipping a lock of Mor’s hair up into her face, clapping Azriel on the shoulder, hip-checking Feyre out of his way, brushing his shoulder up against Rhysand’s like the two of them are conspiring (they probably are).
So of course, it should come as no surprise that Cassian is equally as tactile with his mate.
Yet, it manages to surprise you every time.
It’s likely due to a combination of factors. Your family was never overly affectionate in this way; hugs and kisses fizzled out rather quickly in your youth and now, hugs are merely reserved for hellos and goodbyes.
It’s also probably in part that you’re a horribly shy creature and don’t wish to be perceived in any capacity, and Cassian’s hand landing on your knee only goes to alert you to the fact that you are, indeed, a perceivable being.
If it’s at all possible, you shrink even further into yourself, hoping to eventually blend into the cushion of the loveseat that you’re currently occupying. You’re silently chanting don’t look, don’t look, don’t look as you scan the room to see who might be looking in your direction.
Cassian must hate you, though, because he lets out a sharp bark of laughter that has the majority of the room turning to look at him; sitting so close to him, you’re thus perceived by association.
He launches into some story that apparently requires both hands to accurately recall it, lifting his palm from where it was warming your knee and leaving it cold in his wake.
Great, now you miss his touch. You – ever so slowly – shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other in a poor attempt to recreate some of Cassian’s warmth.
You fail, and you look up to find that Rhysand has witnessed your hopeless aim at self-soothing, the male sending you a comforting wink that brings you no comfort at all and sees you subconsciously shifting further into Cassian’s side, wondering if he might not extend his wing for you to hide behind.
Cassian must’ve felt you thinking about him, or maybe he really does just hate you, because he chooses that moment to turn in his seat in order to look at you. It requires him to shift his entire body since you’ve all but melted into the cushions behind him.
“You doin’ okay, gorgeous?”
You hum in the affirmative but the sound is all wrong; pitchy, high, and a little bit wobbly.
“What’re you doing back there, hm?”
Busted.
“Hiding,” you admit, knowing better than to lie to him (again).
This time it’s Cassian who hums the affirmative, turning even further in his seat until his knees brush yours and you are granted the entirety of his attention. “Rhys said you look like you’re trying to figure out how to winnow.”
You turn to look at the offending male who has the audacity to wink at you.
Squealer.
Rhysand throws his head back in laughter; you might have thought that particular thought a little too loudly.
“Awe, don’t be mad at him, sweetheart,” Cassian chuckles, calloused fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before hooking underneath your chin and tilting your face up towards him. “He can’t help but notice the most beautiful fae in the room.”
“Cassian,” you hiss, face heating at his blatant flattery and you’d like for his hand to move away from your cheeks lest he realize what effect he’s having on you. “His mate’s sitting right there.”
“I said what I said.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” You whisper, closing your eyes in resignation though you can’t help the smile that dances at the corners of your lips.
“Doing what?” Cassian replies with a laugh that fans across your face. “What am I doing to you, huh?”
“Torturing me.”
“I’m loving you,” he counters proudly. “You’ve got a problem with that, sweetheart?”
“Maybe I do.”
Cassian lets out a huff of acknowledgement. “Yeah? Well, tough.”
He punctuates the sentiment with a gentle kiss to your lips before he finally lets go of your jaw, but he takes a moment to bump his nose against yours before pulling away as a silent apology for any discomfort. You both know if you truly had an issue, though, that he’d back off.
His hand doesn’t stray far, however, returning to your knee as he jumps back into the conversation happening around him, this time the touch is paired with the occasional squeeze or a stroke of his thumb along your inner knee.
Cassian x reader who had a bad past, and CANNOT sleep anywhere except for her bed moves into house of wind and can't adjust so she's having sleepless nights, somehow falls asleep on Cassian's shoulder after dinner in front of EVERYONE
You haven't gotten a wink of sleep in six days, so it's really no surprise that you pass out, but everyone else cluelessly quiets their chatter the second your head slumps onto Cassian's shoulder.
"Oh-" The general glances down from where he'd been reaching for the dish of potatoes, sure to displace you if he moves another inch, "Uh- Azriel? Can you pass me the potatoes?"
Azriel does so wordlessly, and one of the man's shadows coils up your torso, running laps around you until it can prod carefully at your face.
Azriel calls it back to his hand, and whatever it whispers to him has the shadowsinger's brows furrowing.
"She's exhausted." He says, and Cassian's wings tense briefly behind him, pulled tighter in towards his spine, "Let her rest, Cassian."
"I'm going to." He grunts, near-affronted that his brother seems to think he was going to shove you off and into Feyre on your opposite side, "What's the deal, she stays up all night reading or something?"
"Sometimes." Feyre admits, but her voice isn't teasing or light. It's subdued, something that drains Cassian's usual playful energy and leaves him with a sick feeling inside, "She reads because she can't sleep, though. She doesn't lose sleep over reading."
"She has nightmares, Cassian." Rhysand hums, staccato and terse, and Cassian is really starting to resent that his brothers treat him like an untrained animal- he wasn't going to pry, thank you very much!
Though, he would have spent quite a lot of time worrying over the possibilities if Rhys hadn't told him. And knowing you struggle with night terrors- maybe even like the ones he faces himself, endears him to the way your face is smushed up against his bicep. He's extra careful not to jostle you now, and he begins eating with his non-dominant hand, sacrificing only one stray spinach leaf to his lap in the endeavor.
"It's just really hard for her to sleep anywhere but home." Elain comments, and no one wants to note the way she says home like she's not there now. It's a stark reminder that the House of Wind might be Feyre's home, but her sisters are still adjusting. And Cassian reckons you might have a lot more adjusting to do, if you can't even sleep on the massive mattress laden in silken sheets Rhysand surely paid an arm and a leg for.
But- if his arm works, it works. And he finishes his meal with only a bit of a struggle, a few meager carrots left on his plate that he wasn't able to scoop up with his mismatched coordination. Everyone begins clearing plates, and Azriel seems to be the only one who remembers you've been passed out on Cassian's side throughout the entire meal.
He lingers as everyone moves into the sitting room for wine and gossip, his shadows rushing to blanket you in their cool solitude. You shift, humming in your sleep as they fit themselves to your form, calming you with their wispy presence.
"They'll block out noise." Azriel hums, his eyes oozing with seldom-seen sympathy from the terrifying shadowsinger. Cassian knows it's because all three of you lie awake sleepless each night, and he briefly entertains the idea of a midnight book club for all of the House's miserable inhabitants. For now, though, he'll let you sleep- he'll wake you to discuss some of the finer details when Azriel's shadows let your head up off of his shoulder.
"I don't want to wake her," Cassian murmurs, "But she can't be comfortable."
"She's comfortable enough." Azriel shakes his head once, "Don't break the spell. She might be able to sleep in a bed later, or on the couch, or whatever works. But she's sleeping now, so don't ruin it."
"She's lucky I've been stakeout trained," Cassian gripes, but the ire in his tone is forced, and he feels the chair beneath his ass magically sprout a cushion that settles the dull ache he's beginning to feel down south, "She's going to have the worst neck pain of her life tomorrow."
Your chair promptly grows a cushion too, against the back of your head to cradle your bent neck. It's not perfect, but it's the best the House can do, and Cassian settles in for a long night of staring at the silverware.
"I'll bring you a book," Azriel smirks, eyeing the way the House clearly wants you to sleep after so long watching you lie awake, "Just promise you'll mind your wings. She doesn't need a claw to the eyeball."
"Will do," Cassian ruffles the appendages, keeping their sharpened tips far away from your snoozing form. Another glance down at you reveals your soft breaths fanning the shadows away, and it's comforting to watch them billow back and forth; they'll always protect you, and your chest will always be rising and falling. Cassian feels some of that tightness in his own chest ease, and he glances softly up at Azriel, keeping his voice just above a whisper in order to be heard but to not disturb you, "Az? Bring me a few books - she's long overdue."
hi sol coming to u w another cassian request (there’s a serious lack of fics for him it hurts my heart :( )
but i always see this trope done w az where he’s confused between elain and reader, can we do one where cass is confused between nesta and reader? cass and reader have been together for decades, and maybe cassian starts to train nesta and in his fear of actually letting someone love him, he pushes his affections towards nesta because their relationship is difficult and that’s what he knows love to be. that’s what he feels comfortable in so he breaks it off with reader. telling her he think nesta might be his mate.
reader, as devastated as she is lets him go because she knows she and cass are mates, but she takes the approach of “as long as he’s happy i can live with that.” and as time passes cassian realizes like no, this isn’t how love always is. it can be peaceful and light and lovely. and that he and nesta find peace within each others friendship but he knows she isn’t it for him. and then so much groveling. begging on his knees, pleading for his sweat heart to take him back. maybe the bond snaps for him and since reader isn’t used to his knowledge of the bond and him feeling her feelings she accidentally projects all her sorrow down the bond and he takes his time proving that he’s sorry and that he loves you.
Fool For You
pairing: cassian x reader
warnings: angst, swearing, breakup/makeup vibes, possible smut, implied suicidal ideation, implied drug abuse, heavy themes, fluff is sprinkled in there but will be more prominent in part 2 , ugh i fricken love when you guys request the angsty stuff, brings me a special kinda happiness
—
You feel it before you ever see it coming.
This rift that forms, grows; solidifies between you and Cassian.
He doesn’t shuffle in as close at night like he used to, hands gripping at every inch of bared skin as if touch alone would brand his name against the surface. Instead, he sneaks under the covers, freshly showered and hair braided in a way that you’ve never taught him.
You wait for the kiss, the rumble of his voice and the whisper of his breath as lips form the words I love you.
He never says it.
His back faces yours and never once does he reach for you in his slumber. “Is everything alright?” You muster up the bravery to ask the following morning, sheets gripped near your chest like armor as you watch him strap the holsters for his weapons against his back and thighs.
“Fine.”
Even inch of you wants to believe him but his words are short, clipped; utterly uninterested. “Are you sure?”
His mouth purses, parts, closes again as if he’s got something to say but isn’t sure how to word it. “Everything’s alright—just distracted is all.”
Your head nods robotically, hearing but not believing. “You hungry? I can make you something before you go.”
“No need. I have plans.”
He doesn’t stay to watch the way your face falls. Doesn’t linger for a kiss or to brush pillow-mussed hair out of your face. Cassian’s gone before your lungs can even complete the process of a full breath.
You try to brush it off. To busy yourself with fixing the sheets, fluffing pillows and tidying up the space you share. But, instead of finding peace, your cleaning becomes obsessive; reorganizing the closets, shining shoes and sifting through the clutter in bedside drawers.
You don’t even mean to find it—you have no intention of snooping but the folded piece of parchment finds you anyway, catching on the bracelet dangling from your wrist and slicing at the soft skin beneath it. “Ow,” You hiss, inspecting a cut so shallow blood doesn’t even draw. Not until your focus shifts back to the crumpled paper that was shoved in the shadows.
Any comfort you’d accumulated promptly burns to ashes when you read its contents. The hope you’d latched onto smashes like glass, littering the space around you in glittering shards as you read Cassian’s blocky scrawl. It’s filled with confessions of a love not meant for you. Addressed to a name that’s not your own.
You’re not even sure when the tears start, just distantly aware of trails of wetness dampening the slope of your cheeks, traveling down the curve of your chin and neck.
The love note is damn near memorized by time Cassian finds his way back to the room, hours having passed in the blink of an eye and he stands as still as a board when he finds you in a crumpled heap on the floor, paper pinched between your fingers, eyes studying the words as if it’ll change who they’re meant for. He says your name with such caution, clearly expecting you to greet him with anger and malice but that would take up too much energy—energy that had been leached from your bones, leaving behind nothing but the husk of who you’d once been.
“How long?” You finally croak out, voice void and lifeless.
Cassian is too quiet for too long, clearly searching for the right words until the truth takes the reins and spills itself before you. “A few months.”
“A few months.” The way your shoulders cave in is devastating. You look like the sun with no light. A flower with no stem. A bird with no wings. “Then this isn’t just you being overly flirtatious. This is…there’s feelings involved here.”
“I can explain.”
You can’t help but cut him off before he finds some charming way to explain himself out of your ire. Taking the reins of the conversation is all too easy—the power entirely too addicting. “To explain, not apologize.” The breath you take is heavy, settles in your belly like lead. “You’re here to end this?”
Cassian takes a step closer and instinctively you take a step back, arms crossing over your chest in attempts to hold yourself together. “I have to.” It’s then that you pick up on the scent that sticks to him. One you recognize. One that doesn’t belong to you or the bottles of perfume you keep. “I think she could be my mate.”
You can’t work up the nerve to look him in the eye, fearful that the simple act of eye contact would be enough to have the tears bursting free from the dams working overtime to keep the current at bay. A deep breath fills your lungs, spine lengthening as you force strength into the fibers of your tone. “Okay.”
He reaches for you, fingertips millimeters away from brushing the curve of your cheek but you flinch away—creating space. His spine sags with remorse, shoulders set with shame, hand falling limp at his sides with regret pooling at his fingertips and you’ve had enough when hazel irises fill with pity. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“Don’t be sorry, Cassian.” Your voice breaks, your smile shakes but it still doesn’t rob you of the kindness that drew him in in the first place. “Just be happy.”
—
The shift that follows is immediate, all of his things boxed up and left in front of the door of his old room. You don’t fuss or fight, you don’t even break anything. You just pack it up and return it to its rightful owner.
You remove yourself from family breakfasts and avoid shared dinners like the plague in fears of seeing Cassian flaunt his love with Nesta without a care in the world.
You ignore your found family’s attempts at comfort, brushing off any and all inquiries on how you’re feeling. Turning down invitations for nights out to try to get your mind off things. Shutting down irate rants from your friends as they ramble about all the ways you didn’t deserve this—how they wanted to make it right for you. “Don’t bother,” The words come out so softly, laced with such defeat its devastating.
“No!” Mor can barely contain her disdain, brows furrowed and lips twisted in a sneer. “This is wrong. What he’s doing—what they’re doing is wrong. You and Cass have loved eachother for decades all for him to throw it away over some cauldron-made floozy? I can’t just sit back and watch that happen.” She’s pacing, heels clacking against the hardwood floors so harshly you’re sure dents begin to mark their way through the shinny finish. “Why are you so damn calm?”
“Because, what’s the point?” You shrug, red wine swirling in your glass. It’s strong, a little bitter but it numbs you so gently, like morphine injected directly into your veins. “How foolish do I already look as the female who feels too much for a male who clearly felt nothing for me. Making a scene about it would just add insult to injury.” Your eyes are distant, fixed on a random spot on the freshly painted walls in the new apartment Rhysand insisted on funding. It’s bare; empty, walls void of character and atmosphere sucked dry of all care. “He thinks she’s his mate Mor. Her. I just don’t understand why he can’t see—“ Your head shakes left to right, chest caving in. Wine quickly fills that chasm, glass refilling every time you reach the bottom.
You don’t even mean to say it really.
Drunk words being sober thoughts and all that.
But, Mor latches onto the unfinished sentence like glue. Eyebrows furrow, pupils expand in confusion before dilating to pinpricks when realization settles in. “Can’t see…that you’re his mate.” Puzzle pieces fuse together, a perfect picture being painted right before her very eyes but the image is distorted; the wrong face on a familiar figure. “There is a bond. You are his mate—he just doesn’t know. You never told him.”
You don’t so much as flinch at her conclusion. Only sigh, prettily painted toes grazing through the fluff of your throw rug. “Doesn’t matter much now.” More wine fills your glass until the decanter runs empty, the corners of your mouth tugging down in a frown. “I don’t think it ever even mattered at all.”
The flowy fabric of Mor’s dress billows as she plops down beside you, weight sinking into the soft cushions of your couch. A fresh bottle appears in her grasp, cork releasing with a pop but this one she doesn’t share, just drinks straight from the source. It’s cradled to her chest, eyes trained on the side of your face, cataloging the lifelessness of your skin, the bags growing under your eyes, the way your cheeks begin to thin out from lack of true sustenance. “Just say something to him.” She urges, her tone pleading; eyes begging. “Say anything. I can’t stand to see you like this.”
“Say what?” Your head falls back in something worse than defeat; something more like acceptance as your neck rests on the lip of the couch. “No bond forces two as one, and he wants her.” Fresh tears gather in your waterline, sliding down your cheeks so silently you barely notice them. “He wants her.”
She says your name, vocalizing the syllables so softly, so full of pity it lurches you from your spot before the sorrow roots you in place.
“You know what, if he’s happy, then I’m ecstatic. I have so much free time now.” Clammy hands wipe against linen sleep shorts as you stand, shifting over to a pile of boxes in the corner. You occupy yourself with unpacking, finding new homes for items collected in another lifetime. “I can pick up a hobby or travel or something—I’ve always loved Summer and I’m sure Rhys could use someone to start mending the rift between the courts. It’ll be like a paid vacation.”
It’s obvious your friend wants to object. Wants to call you out on the avoidance that begins to take place but for some reason she doesn’t bother. Maybe she see’s that you can’t take much more—that the flame of your fight has been snuffed out and you’re barely able to keep the remaining embers alive. Instead, she nods, crossing her legs under her and silently watches the way you convert your emotions into finding the perfect place for pictures and obsessing over which wall best suits a rack full of throw blankets. “How long of a vacation?”
“However long it takes to be able to be in the same room as them without feeling sick to my stomach.”
You say it like a joke but nobody laughs.
—
Turns out, Rhys has a soft spot for broken women. Big brother instincts running on overdrive at the sight of your watery eyes, composure crumpling at a voice that cracks under the weight of the world on your shoulders. One look at your torment and you’ve been granted permission for an all expense paid trip for his favorite —only— emissary. The paperwork is drafted hastily, sent out to neighboring courts before the ink even has the chance to fully dry. A few responses return within the hour, requests granted, a list of stipulations attached and agreed upon before basic necessities are packed away and winnowed off to your first stop before the sun even begins to peak its head above the horizon.
You don’t even linger long enough to say goodbye.
Given the fact that there’s no timeline listed in the fine print of your extended leave, guilt lives in your gut at the abrupt departure but Rhys promises to handle the fallout in your absence and you can’t help but admit the distance is a indescribable relief. Perhaps, it’s the way Summer Court accepts you, although a bit hesitantly at first. Tarquin watches you like a hawk your first few weeks, cataloging your every move until he’s certain you truly are there to rebuild trust instead of being some pretty Night Court spy slinking about in search of their secrets or weaknesses.
Six months pass and instead of hovering out of necessity, he deigns to keep you close by choice; your quarters no more than twenty steps away from his own and filled with radiant opulence. Early mornings are spent with breakfasts shared, treaties discussed, plans made for leisurely strolls through his city until a genuine care is curated for his people and the customs they share. “Do you ever come up for air?” The High Lord muses over his fork, sausage speared through the shiny silver prongs.
Fluffy eggs are piled on jammy toast, crumbs catch on the corner of your mouth but you make sure not a speck stains the packet of papers your free hand holds onto, eyes skimming over trade agreements and a list of needs personally extracted from skilled healers, fresh market mangers and dock workers. Things they require from Night Court that they’ve lived without given the strain. “I can hold my breath for quite some time, you know. Nowhere near the end of my reserves yet.”
It’s a cheeky response. A little dry. Comfort in your environment bleeds through your tone and the High Lord before you grins at your casual banter.
“I can see that,” He shrugs casually, leaning deeper into his chair. Ankles cross under the table, his hair tumbling over the bare chest exposed in his unbuttoned linen top. “I suppose, I’m just worried you’ll burnout if you keep at this pace.”
“The wellbeing of your people is important,” You insist, one hand blindly reaching for a flute of champagne and orange spritz. “They’ve gone without for much too long.”
He hums, nodding softly in agreement. Under the table, his foot nudges your own, forcing your attention to him. “And you? What of your wellbeing?” Your brows furrow in confusion. “You haven’t mentioned a word of your family since the first week you arrived. No letters, no visits—your birthday is tomorrow. Were you planning on going back to celebrate?”
You bristle at the reminder, toast falling back onto to your plate, now forgotten. Champagne is sipped as you struggle to clear the knot beginning to form in your throat, guilt gnawing in your belly, forcing you to acknowledge the radio silence you’ve upheld towards the people you love back home. “How do you know about that?”
“Rhysand sent over a summons for your return for the special occasion.”
You groan, papers abandoned in favor of holding your head in your hands. A tension headache begins to form right between your eyes, vision already going blurry at the irritating thump, thump, thump that takes root beneath the surface.
“Well, some greeting that is.”
You jump at the sound of a familiar voice; it’s melodic, sultry, accompanied by the rhythmic click of high heels against polished floors. Wide eyes catch on the approaching figure clad in red, blonde hair falling down in waves down her shoulders. “Mor? What are you doing here?”
“I’m your summons.” She grins, not-so-subtly taking you in from head to toe. A little pout forms when noticing the weight-loss, the eye bags, the way you’ve let your roots grow out. “Rhys had a feeling you might ignore him if he only sent a letter.” You’re too stunned to stand but it doesn’t seem to deter her in the slightest as she continues her appraisal of you, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a hug. One nearly too tight.
Patting the arm around your neck, you shoot daggers at Tarquin but he pointedly ignores it, occupying himself by stuffing his mouth with fresh fruit topped with sweet whipped creams. “How proactive of him.” The words grit out like sand stubbornly stuck inside a shoe. “But, I hadn’t really intended to come back until I finished things here.”
“Boo!” She protests, swiftly snagging the glass of champagne you’d been nursing before her arrival. “If I accepted that answer, you’d never come home!” Mor says it like a joke but you can hear the truth in her words, the concern beginning to bleed into her tone, the desperate way she keeps her hands on your shoulder as if she’s afraid you’re going to disappear without a trace. “Please? It’ll be fun, I promise. I ordered a whole case of that good wine you like and I convinced Az to smuggle an ounce of mirthroot from the dealer he refuses to share with us.” She goes on for a few minutes, words running a mile a minute, more pretty promises spilling free until she see’s your walls begin to crumble.
You hate yourself for it, yet somehow, someway, Mor cons you into returning home for your birthday. The domino effect of your agreement is immediate and overwhelming. You, being dragged away from the table and led to your room so she can riffle through your closet and pick out enough clothes to last you a week. “Mor, I’m only going to be home for the night, two nights max—you’re packing my bag like I’m gearing up for war.”
“Just wanted to make sure you have options.” A white lie that’s easily detected, especially when she spends too much time collecting your usual jewelry from the dish resting on your bedside. “Speaking of options, how often do you and the High Lord of Summer spend breakfasts together?”
Shoulders shrug, your ass plopping onto the generous cushion of your mattress. “Everyday.”
A perfectly plucked brow raises. “Oh, really?” A conspiratorial smirk lives in the glossy corners of her mouth. “And does he always arrive at these breakfasts so….scandalously dressed?”
“This is Summer Court if you hadn’t noticed—can you blame the male for showing off a little chest?”
“A little chest?” Mor scoffs, hair flicking off one shoulder. “There’s nothing little about that male, anyone with eyes could get lost in the abs and a v-line peeking through that sorry excuse of a shirt. Don’t even get me started on his piercing.”
Eyes roll, a hint of a blush growing along the curve of your ears. It’d been so long since you’d had anything remotely close to girl-talk. “It’s perfectly normal here for males and females to have their belly’s pierced.”
Breezy pants, skimpy skirts and barely there shirts are robbed from your dresser, neatly folded and stowed away. Dresses with tummy cut-outs and generous necklines, thin tube tops and shorts so small their only purpose is to conceal the naughty bits are waved in the air with a pleased nod. “You’re going to give the boys back home a heart attack when you come through wearing these.”
“I don’t wear them to catch attention, I wear them to work on my tan.”
“And tan you are, one could mistake you for an Illyrian with that hue—it’s pretty. Makes your eyes pop.”
“You know what’ll really make my eyes pop? Some of that mirthroot. Did you bring it with you or was it just a bribe to get me back?” You’re being a brat, you know that. Mor knows that too. Either way, she supplies your needs, procuring a pretty velvet bag and tossing it your way. The scent smacks you in the face the moment you loosen its ties and a giddy little grin smears itself across your face. “Happy birthday to me—have you any clue how hard it is to find a reputable dealer here? Liqour, powder and mushrooms? Easy peasy. Anything else was next to impossible.”
Content with her pickings of your items, Mor leaves them by the door, following your lead to the balcony attached to your chambers. There’s a comfortable seating arrangement, brightly colored flowers blooming in golden pots that soak up sunlight and reflect its beauty. A spiral copper staircase leads directly to a rooftop pool that overlooks Tarquins personal gardens. Birds chirp, fish swim about in man-made ponds and crickets sing their song in the neatly trimmed bushes below. “Since when do you dabble in powder?”
“Since I found out my mate had been cheating on me with another female.”
It’s said so casually Mor freezes in place. Blue eyes slowly flicking over to you but you’re otherwise occupied, fingers breaking up buds, blunt paper unwrapped and catching the ground up plant. Your motions are fluid, practiced; something you seem to do often enough to have it completely rolled and sealed in under forty seconds.
“Don’t worry, I don’t have a problem or anything. Powder didn’t agree with me much.” One hand reaches over and a box of matches and an ash tray is procured from a little nook in the wall by the balcony doors. “Mushrooms were fun at first, until I started hallucinating images of my ex making out with his newest conquest in vivid detail.” The spark of flame to wood is like breathing for the first time again after swimming underwater for hours. Relieving. A saving grace. A life raft in the middle of a turbulent storm. “Liqour was my safest option but after a few times being caught belligerently drunk around town in the dead of the night, Tarquin started following me everywhere I went like he was afraid I was going to take a tumble off the cliffside.” You finally meet her gaze. “That’s why we have breakfast every morning—why we seem so close? He’s babysitting me so I don’t do something stupid to myself.”
Mor’s mouth opens, closes; tears welling up in her waterline. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Legs cross over the other, frame situating itself in the floating wicker chairs cushioned with pillows the shade of teal. “Wouldn’t be great for Court diplomacy if Night’s emissary died on Summer’s turf.” Your shrug on the topic is annoyingly flippant, worryingly detached, painfully numb. “Anyways, how’s home? Anything new?”
She swallows thickly, searching for composure, pushing blonde hair away from her cheeks as the summer breeze shifts through the fabrics of her dress. “It’s really not the same without you there. Things are quiet—tense even. Like a machine trying to move without a vital piece.” Fingers gently pinch around the passed blunt, smoke flowing past her lips when she keeps speaking, eyes memorizing the lush sight of a trim garden, waterfalls and fountains, walkways encrusted with gems that sparkle where the light touches. “You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t write. Didn’t visit. I—we miss you, you know?”
Vision blurring, throat working over the emotion beginning to knot in it, you nod. “I miss me too.” You brush the vulnerability off as quickly as it appeared. “It’s nice to see you though, hadn’t realized how much until you got here.”
To keep your hands busy, you already begin rolling another, opting to let Mor keep the first to herself so you don’t have to keep passing back and forth. So you don’t have to explain why you inhale too hard and hold the smoke in your lungs too long. Why your hands shake or explain your dissociating when the thoughts get too loud.
All you wanted was something to numb the ache beginning to return in your chest.
“Do you know how much longer you’re going to be here?”
“I’m less than two weeks away from completing the re-organization of trade routes. Tolls and taxes have been reviewed, negotiated and signed off on. Just need to cross my t’s and dot my I’s before it’s time for me to move onto the next.”
Mor sits up straight, ash pooling into a little mountain in the tray. “To the next? You won’t be coming home right away?”
Utter silence fills the gaps, fingers fidgeting as you pick at your cuticles until they bleed.
“Are you ever going to come back?”
“We’ll be heading over after we finish these, I reckon.”
You know that’s not what she means.
You don’t look to see the way she deflates, attempts to fight the choice before giving up altogether. Frustration settles between her brows, sticks to the scrunch of her nose and smudges the corners of her mouth. Mor’s next pull is vicious, compulsive; smoke huffing out her nostrils like an angered dragon fighting not to breath fire. “Suppose I’ll just have to cherish you while you last then.”
It hurts. Stabs a sensitive piece of you that lacks proper armor but you take the hit. Eat the injury and take it to the chest like you do all the other punches thrown your way. “Guess so.”
—
The high that permeates through your bloodstream satiates your nerves long enough to muster up the strength to winnow back to the Court that raised you.
Too bad it doesn’t last nearly as long as you’d hoped.
Perhaps it’s the familiarity of this house and the people in it because your throat begins to swell shut when you step through the doors and are bombarded by a flurry of familiar faces.
Feyre is first to snatch you up, slender arms wrapping around your neck like a cobra ready to coil its body around you to keep you rooted in place. Tears wet your bare shoulders as muffled words of relief is breathed into your neck. “You actually came! I was so worried you wouldn’t.”
Rhys has to pull her back, intuitive to the way you try and fail to relax into the embrace. His welcome is far more tame, though the true extent of his emotion lives in his eyes—shown mostly in the way they scan you over, his smile there but weak as what he sees worries him to the bone. Your skin glows from all the sun but your soul withers like flowers who’d forgotten how to bloom. “I trust Tarquin’s been taking good care of you?”
“More than good,” You fix a smile on your face to soothe his concern. “He hovers worse than you do.”
Something in his posture implies he knows more about that than he lets on, hands rustling through your hair like a fond older brother. He memorizes the scrunch of your nose and the girlish way you struggle to get your hair back into place.
The sound of heavy steps forces you to turn, a tether pulling you taut until your eyes meet the ones that haunt your every dream. He’s a little smaller than you remember, hair cut a bit shorter than you used to do it. A braid you never taught him how to do is weaved behind his right ear, dangling like a reminder that another woman’s hands touch what used to belong to you. Cassian’s voice is all but a whisper when he finally works the nerve to use it. “You came back.”
“Didn’t have much choice, Mor wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”
Her arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you close like she can tell your knees are going weak at the sight of him. “Damn straight.” She pulls you along before you get the idea to retreat and even though you have to pass Cassian to get to your old room, Mor stands as barrier between you and him.
You can’t help the glance over your shoulder, eyes meeting his once more. All he can do is stare, frozen in place; mouth agape as whatever words he’d intended dies in his throat as he looks at you like it’s the first time but you’re already turning the corner before you dare to figure out why.
“Where’s Az?”
“Finishing up some final touches for tomorrow. You’ll see him later.” Excitement bleeds through her every move, the contents of your bag on the bed like a kid sifting through a candy store. “It’ll be really casual tonight, family only—just to catch up. Hope you’re hungry.”
A glass and a half of wine and a blunt later, you are actually quite hungry. Mor forces you into a change of clothes, a comfy tube top and breezy pants that sit low, showing off the shape of your hips and the cute new dermals pierced into the dimples of your back.
It’s the first thing Feyre brings up when you enter the dining room. “Do they hurt?”
More wine is poured, an abundance of food being portioned off and placed before you. “Couldn’t say, I was a little wasted when we got them.”
“We?”
“The High Lord of Summer is incredibly daring off of faerie wine.”
You feel eyes boring holes into the side of your face, hanging onto every word like a fly caught in a trap. Teeth grind auadibly. Strained smiles are carved in the corner of Cassian’s mouth asa you enthusiastically recount your time alongside Tarquin and his people. Nails bite into the palm of his hands beneath a satin table cloth so dark it resembles an abyss.
Everyone’s celebrating, conversations carrying, voices overlapping, laughs bleeding into one another and yet you cant shake the irritating hyperawareness of Cassian’s eyes on your body. Subtly, you search for Nesta, scanning the room for her steely gaze and perpetually elegant updo’s but her presence never appears. You try not to look too far into it, willing your heart not to care at all but the task is a fools arrand.
No matter how many’s attempts made, your line of sight continues to gravitate his way; admiring the line of his shoulders, the width of his chest, the dimples that appears in his cheeks when he submits to the smiles his family draws from him.
You suppose it’s your fault in the end when Cassian mistakes your stare for invitation, his boisterous voice cutting through the clutter of conversation to insert his own inquiries in the mix. “Are you with him?”
Your jaw clenches, lids narrowing. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“I think you and I both know exactly why it is my business.”
Instead of taking the bait and outing the mating bond you keep tucked away, you fixate on the soft plush of the rug beneath your toes. Over-analyze the obsidian rimmed crystalware holding specially procured wines. Inspecting the spices used in the roast and mash that used to be your favorite meal but now every bite disintegrates like ash on your tongue.
Fingers itch for a reprieve. A distraction. Another drink. More mirthroot.
A cross fade would ease the tension that lives in your shoulders, setting root in your spine until you sit like a statue in a place that should feel like freedom.
“I’m going to grab more ice, drinks getting warm.”
No one fights you even if they do follow your figure until it disappears into the kitchen. Grounding breaths are taken, hands braced against the countertops as you force your emotions in check, shoving them in a tiny little box so the ache doesn’t render you useless.
The double doors open behind you, a slightly annoyed sigh escaping you. “Mor I—“ Morrigan isn’t the one standing behind you. Elain is, watching you with a knowing look in her doe eyes. “Elain? I’m sorry —“
“You know,” Her soft tone cuts you off in a way that seems more charming than disrespectful. She takes her sweet time putting on her floral mitts before retrieving a fresh tray of baked goods out of the oven. “I dream about you sometimes.” Your jaw clenches, brows scrunching in slight confusion and yet you say nothing. “Of you and your mate.”
Your blood runs cold, heart all but stopping in your chest. “What did you just say?”
thinking about cassian with a shy mate who doesn't know how to react to causal intimacy 🥹
This is such a cute idea here’s a little phone drabble (meaning I’m writing it on my phone in bed lol)!!
~~
“What about this one?” Cassian boomed, his voice bouncing off the walls of the tiny decor shop.
You winced slightly, but your smile overtook the expression. “That one’s nice. Pretty colors.”
Cassian hummed, examining the vase with a subtle pride. “Would look good by the bed.”
You bit into your cheek as your face heated at his insinuation—that it wasn’t just your bed. It was “the bed.” That you shared more often than not.
You and Cassian hadn’t been mated very long; only a few months at most, but the Illyrian was very comfortable with you. And you were trying to mirror his enthusiasm, but you got timid at times. Not timid in your love for him, but… shy. Maybe a bit embarrassed after living so long being the meek thing at the back of a bookshop.
“C’mere,” Cassian teased, yanking you forward with his arm around your shoulder. You had missed the way he was looking at you—all fond and adoring as you fiddled with your fingers and thought about too many things. Cassian pressed a rough kiss to your temple. “My girl’s always in her head.”
Somehow, your face got even hotter. You softly pushed into his chest, but Cassian was unrelenting. His sound of protest made you giggle.
“Not getting rid of me that easily,” he spoke into your ear.
“Cass, it’s tiny in here. The staff will see you. And your wings are going to knock everything over, you big animal,” you chastised, but his incessant kisses over your cheeks were making it difficult for the words to come out clearly.
Cassian only hushed you. “Come on, let me hold you a little. We spent all day with Rhys and Feyre and you won’t even let me hold your hand in front of them.”
“I get embarrassed.”
“Mm I know. It’s okay.” Cassian brushed your hair back and smiled when he caught the full sight of you. “We’ll work on it.”
“You mean I’ll just have to learn to get over it?”
Your mate laughed, sliding his hands down to your hips and guiding you out of the store. You didn’t miss the knowing look the store owner shot you on the way out. You were going to melt into a puddle.
“No, never,” Cassian mocked-offense. He reached down for your hand as you took to the streets. “But you can’t blame me for holding you. I’ll never learn to get over having my mate.”
Heyy! Could you write just some domestic fluff with cassian?
My Home is You- Cassian x fem!reader
Summary: A battle-worn warrior finds his truest peace not on the battlefield but in the quiet, messy love-filled home he builds with you.
See masterlist
"You're coloring out of the lines."
"I am not," Cassian huffed, squinting at the cupboard door like it had personally offended him. "This is called technique."
Y/N folded her arms, trying very hard not to smile. "That's called a disaster. Feyre would cry if she saw this."
He shot her a look over his shoulder, wings twitching faintly. "Feyre isn't here. Which means no one gets to judge my artistic genius."
Y/N sighed dramatically, dragging her brush down the wood in a careful stroke. "We should've called her. Or at least taken lessons before deciding to repaint the entire kitchen at- " she glanced toward the window, still dark with night. " -whatever ungodly hour this is."
"You're the one who shook me awake," he reminded her, dipping his brush again. "Cass, the cupboards look sad," he mimicked, voice softening into a teasing lilt. "Cassian, we need to fix them right now."
'They did look sad," Y/N defended, though a laugh slipped through. "And now they look...worse."
He gasped, hand flying to his chest. "You wound me."
"Oh, please," she snorted. "You'll live."
For a moment, the two of them worked in companionable silence--soft strokes of brushes, the sudden kisses Cassian planted on her cheeks, the faint creak of wood, the quiet hum of Velaris still asleep beyond their walls. There was something almost peaceful about it, despite the mess, despite the fact that there was already paint on the floor, Y/N's hands, and, udging by the streak across Cassian’s cheek, definitely not just the cupboards.
Y/N glanced at him again, biting back a grin. "You missed a spot."
"Where?" he leaned closer to the cabinet, frowning.
"Right...there."
Before he could turn, Y/N flicked her brush. A soft splatter of paint landed square across his jaw. Cassian went very still and slowly, he looked at her.
Y/N's hand flew to her mouth, already giggling. "Oops."
"Oops?" he repeated, voice low, dangerous in the way that meant you were absolutely about to regret your life choices.
Y/N backed away, laughter spilling out. "It was an accident- "
"You're dead, little trouble."
She yelped and bolted, bare feet slipping slightly on the floor as she darted across the kitchen but didn't make it far. Cassian caught her easily, an arm wrapping around her waist as he hauled her back against him, Y/N's laughter dissolving into breathless squeals.
"Cassian- no- "
"Oh, I think yes," he murmured, far too pleased with himself.
Before she could twist away, his brush dragged lightly across the front of her shirt, leaving a bold streak of colour. Y/N gasped, staring down at it. "You did not just- "
He turned her in his arms, clearly ready to deliver some smug remark but the words never came.
Because Y/N surged up and kissed him.
It caught him off guard for exactly half a second before he melted into it, hands tightening at her waist, pulling her closer as the brush slipped forgotten from his fingers. The faint scent of paint mixed with the warmth of him, the quiet of the kitchen wrapping around them both as the kiss deepened: slow, soft, familiar.
When Y/N finally pulled back, slightly breathless, his forehead rested against hers, a grin tugging at his lips.
"You're a menace," he murmured.
"But you love me."
"I do," he said easily, like it was the simplest truth in the world. "Even when you attack me with paint."
Y/N huffed a laugh, nudging his nose with hers, "You started it,"
"I absolutely did not."
"You absolutely did."
He leaned in like he might argue more, then just pressed a quick kiss to her lips instead. "Come on," he said after a moment, glancing back at the half-painted cupboards. "If we don't finish, you'll wake up tomorrow and decide that the walls look sad too."
Y/N shot him a look, but a smile threatened to come out. "Don't give me ideas."
He laughed, grabbing another brush and pressing back into her hand. Side by side again, they returned to the cupboards, still bickering, still teasing, occasionally bumping shoulders or stealing quick kisses in between strokes.
The paint wasn't perfect, he lines definitely weren't straight. But the kitchen felt warmer somehow. Lived-in.
Summary: She’s the teacher Nyx can’t stop talking about, and when Rhysand and Feyre leave for a three-week trip, Cassian is put in charge of drop-offs and pick-ups, but she quickly becomes more than just Nyx’s favourite.
Warnings: mentions of past emotional trauma, mild language, jealousy, slow-burn tension, eventual smut
Word count: 3,400
Part 1 | Masterlist | Part 2
I already felt a headache forming as I watched eleven children scream and run in every possible direction like tiny feral creatures.
I let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of my nose.
A sharp knock sounded at the door.
I straightened, forcing a warm, welcoming smile onto my face as I turned toward the entrance.
The High Lord and Lady of the Night Court stood there, looking far too put together and cheerful for this early in the morning.
I waved them inside and walked over.
“Good morning, Nyx,” I said, bending down to his height. His eyes sparkled like starlight, full of excitement. “Go put your things away, sweetheart. We’ve got some exciting things planned today.”
He smiled up at me before quickly joining the group of kids gathered around the bookshelf. As soon as he joined them, the noise increased: laughter, squeals, and tiny feet running across the floor.
Rhys chuckled under his breath.
“Has it been a long morning already?” he asked, his hand resting gently on Feyre’s back.
I nodded and glanced back at the children.
“On days like this, I have to remind myself that I do, in fact, love my job,” I whispered, earning two sympathetic looks.
“Nyx talks about you nonstop,” Feyre said, her expression soft as she watched her son. “You’re the only teacher he actually likes.”
I smiled at them, and pride swelled in my chest. “Nyx is amazing. I’m thankful to be part of his life.”
Rhys smiled and said, “We wanted to inform you that we will be away for a few weeks. Nyx’s uncle will come to pick him up.”
Rhys glanced at Feyre, who rolled her eyes with a soft laugh.
“Cassian. He’s about seven feet tall, and when he speaks…” Feyre sighed, leaning into Rhys. “You’ll see what I mean.”
I let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Rhys suddenly glanced over my shoulder, eyes widening. “Um…”
I turned and found three children happily emptying the entire bookshelf onto the floor.
I gave Rhys and Feyre a tired smile and a wave. “I’ll see you both when you get back.”
I clapped my hands twice, loud and sharp. The kids instantly clapped back, wide-eyed and waiting for whatever I was about to say next.
By the afternoon, I was exhausted. A whole day of screaming, crying, and keeping small children alive.
On top of that, Nyx’s uncle was late.
Nyx, bless him, spent the last hour helping me clean the classroom and set up tomorrow’s activities, humming happily as if this were the world’s best after-school club.
I opened my mouth to ask him to put the papers on my desk when the door opened, and a man walked in.
His shoulders almost touched the doorframe, with his wings tucked tightly behind him.
Cassian.
It had to be.
God, Feyre really hadn’t been exaggerating about the size of him.
Our eyes met. His lips parted slightly, his eyes went wide, and his hand shot out to the doorframe, as if to brace himself.
Nyx screamed, “Uncle Cass!”
He dropped his stack of papers and launched himself across the room. Cassian caught him with one arm, his eyes still locked on mine.
“You’re late,” I said, crouching to gather the papers scattered across the floor.
“Let me help,” Cassian said immediately, bending down, still holding Nyx in his arms.
“I’ve got it,” I snapped, snatching the papers out of his hands.
Cassian gathered the last few sheets, holding them out to me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes flicking over my face. “Training ran long—”
“I expect parents and caretakers to be punctual,” I cut in, holding the papers against my chest. “Since this is your first time picking him up, I’ll let it slide this time. But, if it happens again, I will have to charge a late pickup fee to Rhys and Feyre’s account.”
Cassian let out a rough laugh that sent tingles down my spine. “You can’t be serious; I was only a few minutes late!”
I turned, narrowing my eyes and crossing my arms over my chest.
“You were more than an hour late, Cassian. Do you think I don’t have a life outside of this classroom?”
The humour in his eyes had disappeared. He shook his head. “No, your time is important. I didn’t mean—”
“We’re done here,” I said, cutting him off. “Drop off and pickup need to be on time. If that’s too much, there are other relatives listed on Nyx’s file. Maybe they can manage to get here on time.”
He shook his head again. “I’ll be on time.”
I ignored him and smiled down at Nyx instead.
“I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart,” I said.
Nyx looked between us with wide, confused eyes, then smiled and nodded.
“Bye, Miss.”
Cassian turned to leave. At the door, he glanced back, our eyes met for a moment, unreadable and tense, before he stepped out into the hallway.
I spent another few hours organising and finishing my work before starting the journey home.
My apartment was on the river and wasn’t far from the school, but far enough to give me the separation I desperately needed.
I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders as I stepped into the streets. A shiver ran down my spine as the breeze came off the Sidra.
As I walked past the restaurants that lined the streets, my stomach growled at the scent of warm spices drifting through the air.
It had been a long day, too long, my mind tangled with work and thoughts of my family back home.
Sometimes, I still find it hard to believe everything I left behind.
I had been a scholar, an academic at the top of my field, and now I was teaching high-ranking Night Court children.
It felt bittersweet.
I truly loved my job; the kids were far more entertaining than the fae I used to debate endlessly back home. I was an advisor to a high lord who pretended to listen but never actually did.
My thoughts were interrupted by laughter echoing across the street.
I scanned the crowd, and of course, there he was.
Cassian.
His massive form was impossible to miss. He sat with a group of fae, a glass of whiskey in hand, and his wings were tucked neatly behind him. Nyx sat on the knee of the blonde next to him.
Nyx’s voice echoed through the air.
“Miss is teaching us about Starfall!”
“Is she? Are you having fun?” the blonde asked, smiling down at him.
“She’s the best!” Nyx said, bouncing on her knee.
My heart twisted, warm and aching at the same time.
I looked back at Cassian. His eyes were already on me, his glass paused midway to his lips, his body completely still. He looked like he was about to speak, maybe even call me over.
I lifted the hood of my cloak and turned away, continuing down the street before he could say a word.
By the time I reached my apartment, my head hurt, and my feet ached.
I pushed open the door and stepped into my tiny space, filled with more books and scrolls than actual furniture. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch. The fire crackled to life, and I lay there thinking about my day.
The chaos the kids always brought, especially sweet Nyx with his endless energy, and his painfully irritating uncle.
Cassian.
The handsome man who somehow managed to get under my skin faster than anyone I had ever met.
I groaned and buried my face in a pillow, questioning what I was doing with my life.
By morning, after a long and overflowing bubble bath with the expensive bath salts my new coworker had gifted me, I found myself running late.
I shoved my feet into my boots, grabbed my satchel, and slammed the door behind me.
The weather had turned; the sky was a dull grey, and the wind bit. It was going to rain, of course, but I had forgotten everything.
No umbrella.
No coat.
My skirt got tangled around my legs as I hurried down the cobblestone street.
By the time I arrived at the school, I was out of breath, clutching my skirt in one hand while trying to push my wind-tossed hair from my face with the other.
I had just placed my bag down when there was a knock at the door.
My head snapped up.
Cassian stood silently. Nyx held his hand while he carried a paper bag in his other hand.
“Good morning,” Cassian said.
Nyx bounced into the classroom, waved at me, put away his things and immediately sat at the art table.
“Running late?” Cassian asked, stepping further into the room, a smirk forming on his lips.
“It was only a few minutes, and you’re the first one here,” I said defensively, leaning against my desk as I tried to tame my hair with my fingers.
“Oh?” he hummed. “So does that mean I get to charge you a late fee?”
I rolled my eyes and said, “That’s funny.”
His smirk widened as he stepped closer, close enough for me to smell pine and a hint of cinnamon.
He set the paper bag down on my desk.
“Here’s an apology,” Cassian said, gesturing toward it. “I’m sorry for being late yesterday.”
I looked down, crossing my arms as a breeze seeped in from the hallway.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, glancing back at him.
God, he was handsome. His hazel eyes softened as they met mine.
“Nyx told us staying after school yesterday was the best part of his day,” he said, a slow smile forming.
I hummed in response. “I’m glad he had a good day.”
I glanced over his shoulder at the clock by the door.
“Thank you once again for the treats,” I said. “The other parents will arrive soon.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window, wind-tangled hair, goosebumps along my arms.
I looked like a disaster.
“Well, I’ll see you this afternoon,” Cassian said as he stepped back.
His eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer before he turned and called to Nyx.
Nyx waved at him with a wide grin.
The door closed behind them, and I exhaled, bracing myself against my desk.
“Uncle Cassian asked about you last night,” Nyx said suddenly.
My spine straightened as I looked at him, but before I could say a word, another pair of parents knocked on the door.
I smiled, greeting them warmly. Despite my thoughts, however, they were absolutely not where they should’ve been.
Cassian.
The paper bag of treats still sitting on my desk.
That look in his eyes.
By the time the day ended, my mind felt like it had been twisted into knots.
“Please place your artwork on my desk before you leave,” I instructed the class. “I’ll hang them up tonight. Tomorrow, we will learn about constellations.”
The children packed their things while their parents waited at the door. All I could think about was Cassian and that stupid face of his.
My back was turned to the door as one by one the children and parents left.
“How was your day?” a voice asked behind me.
I jumped, clutching my chest as I spun around. Without thinking, I shoved at the person, or at least I tried to. My hands met a solid, unyielding chest.
Cassian.
“God, you scared me.” My heart was pounding as I looked up at him, his eyes far too amused.
I narrowed my gaze, glaring as his eyes flicked from mine to my lips, then down to where my hands were still pressed against him.
“My apologies,” he said, a smirk growing on his face. “I thought you heard me come in.”
I immediately stepped back, turning away and pretending to organise the stack of papers on my desk.
“Nyx,” I called, my voice tight, “get your things, please.”
“You don’t like cinnamon?” Cassian asked.
I glanced over my shoulder. He was still behind me, his eyes focused on the paper bag I had left untouched.
“No, I do,” I said quickly. “I just haven’t had time to sit.”
“I heard you say that you still needed to hang the solstice drawings,” he said. “I can drop Nyx off with his aunties and come back to help.”
I shook my head and said, “It’s fine.”
He said nothing. Nyx was already by his side, waiting.
“I’ll see you soon,” Cassian said as he tossed Nyx over his shoulder.
The boy shrieked with laughter as Cassian strode out.
“No, Cassian, please don’t—”
The door shut with a loud bang.
I groaned at the chaos of the room, the dozens of drawings still needing to be hung, and the stupid paper bag waiting on my desk.
As I sank into my chair, I reached for it.
I hadn’t even looked inside.
I slid the bag open.
A cinnamon scroll.
Perfectly glazed.
Exactly the kind I loved.
My mouth watered.
God, I hated him.
I hated that I warmed the pastry with my magic.
I hated that when I took a bite, it was sweet, soft, melt-on-the-tongue perfect.
I hated that I groaned, slumping in my chair.
I hated that I was excited about him coming back.
I brushed crumbs off my dress as the door slowly opened, and a voice called out.
Mira was leaning against the doorframe, holding an armful of papers.
“How’s the larger class going?”
“It’s… fine,” I said, straightening in my seat.
“I keep telling the director that just because families request you doesn’t mean you can take them all,” she sighed.
“I’m honoured they like me so much, but… It’s a lot. Managing the kids and the parents.”
That wasn’t a lie: the kids were lovely. The parents, who had more money than I could ever dream of, were the ones who were exhausting.
“We really need to get drinks sometime,” she said with a smile. “You need a life outside of work.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine, really—”
“You stay late every day, come in early most mornings, work through weekends, or spend your time advising some diplomat. Come on! Join me for a night out. I even have a friend you’d like.” Mira said, rolling her eyes.
I groaned. “I’m not looking to date. I’ve had enough bad relationships to last a lifetime.”
“Come on,” Mira whined. “He’s great. Smart, just like you.”
My lips parted to argue, but then Cassian’s broad frame appeared behind her.
My mouth snapped shut.
Mira turned, following my gaze, just in time to see him smile.
He murmured a polite “excuse me” and stepped around her, placing a coat on my desk, as he belonged here.
Her eyes widened as Cassian looked between us.
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” she whispered.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I growled, glaring at Cassian, whose smile only widened as he winked at me.
He didn’t say a word, just settled on the edge of my desk, crossing his arms as a smug, infuriating smirk tugged at his lips.
My face turned red, and Mira’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Well,” she said cheerfully, “I’ll leave you and not-your-boyfriend alone.”
She pointed directly at Cassian, smiling widely and mouthing, He’s hot, before slipping out the door.
“Did she just call me hot?” Cassian said, glancing at the door before looking back at me.
“She’s single and definitely your type,” I snapped, jealousy flaring deep within me.
I grabbed the stack of drawings from my desk and walked toward the empty wall.
“And what is my type?” Cassian asked, his voice low as he followed.
“I’m going to guess a petite, skinny High Fae,” I said sharply, not looking at him. “Like the blonde you were with last night or one of the golden-haired girls who had to be Feyre’s sisters.”
My hands trembled as I picked up the next artwork, fury burning under my skin.
I rose onto my toes, struggling to reach the top of the wall.
“Mira is incredible,” I continued, my voice strained. “She’s funny, loud, and bright.”
“You sound jealous,” Cassian said calmly.
His warmth pressed against my back as he reached over me, taking the paper from my hand. Pinning it easily to the highest spot.
“I am not jealous,” I snapped, spinning to face him, only to be pressed against the wall as Cassian caged me in.
“No?” he murmured, bracing his hands on either side of my head, leaning down until he filled every inch of my vision. “Then why do you sound jealous?”
“Because you’re a self-obsessed bat, that’s why.”
I glared up at him.
He stepped back just enough to grab another drawing.
“Keep talking, sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping. “You look good when you’re jealous.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
“You’re such an ass,” I hissed, planting my hands on his chest to push him, but he didn’t budge.
He just chuckled, reaching easily above me to hang the next drawing.
“What else am I?” Cassian teased, glancing down at me with that stupid grin of his.
“Infuriating,” I muttered.
“Mhm.” His eyes dropped to my mouth again. “What else?”
“Overconfident.”
He took a half-step closer.
I let out a sharp exhale and turned away to grab the next drawing, but Cassian reached for it first. His fingers brushed against mine as he took the paper, and sparks shot up my arm when I pulled away, as if he had burned me.
“You know,” he said, pinning another drawing onto the wall. “For someone who insists she doesn’t care, you have a lot of opinions about who I’m with.”
“I don’t care,” I said flatly.
He made a low sound in his throat, disbelief, amusement, something warm.
“Sure you don’t.”
I glared at him. “I don’t.”
“Then look me in the eye and say it.”
I opened my mouth and froze because he wasn’t smirking anymore.
He was just looking at me, hazel eyes softened in a way that made my chest ache.
The air shifted between us, thickening, pulling tight.
I forced my gaze away, heat crawling up my neck.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.
“I’m not jealous. I just know your type.”
Cassian let out a warm, deep chuckle.
“My type,” he said, his wings rustling as he stepped even closer, my back pressed against the wall, “is not some tiny, little High Fae.”
He kept going, voice dropping.
“And it’s definitely not someone who giggles and bats her eyelashes because she thinks it looks cute.”
He was so close I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“My type,” he said softly, “is you.”
My breath caught.
“A woman,” he went on, his gaze sweeping down my body slowly, deliberately. “With curves. Soft skin. Hips made to grab and hold.”
My face burned.
“And a mouth,” he added, eyes flicking to mine, “as sharp as her mind.”
My heart pounded so hard my body began to tremble.
“A smartass,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t melt when I walk into a room. Someone who’ll argue with me, push me, challenge me…”
He leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek.
“…someone who isn’t afraid to put me in my place.”
My stomach twisted.
Hard.
“And you,” he murmured, “are exactly my type.”
I opened my lips, but nothing came out.
He smiled, slow and triumphant.
“That’s the first time all day you haven’t had something snarky to say.”
“Shut up,” I managed, shoving at his chest.
He stumbled back, only because he let me.
His grin widened, bright and devastating.
“See? Sharp tongue.”
I turned towards the wall, my back to him, but Cassian’s voice dropped to a purr behind me.
“Want me to tell you what else I like?”
“No.”
He chuckled. “You’re cute when you lie.”
“I’m going to drown you in the Sidra,” I muttered.
“You’ll have to catch me first.”
He leaned in, his mouth warm against my ear, and my pulse stuttered.
“And sweetheart?” he whispered. “You’ve been staring at my mouth for the last two minutes.”
A soft huff escaped me, my skin prickling. His coat brushed against my back as I drew a sharp breath.
My eyes fluttered shut as I felt his hand slide toward my waist. Just as his fingers brushed the fabric of my dress, I slipped out from beneath his arms.
I moved to my desk, grabbed my satchel, left the coat he had brought, which was clearly meant for me, and walked out.
“Wait,” I heard him call as I pushed open the doors.
I didn’t.
I moved fast, his voice echoing after me, but the moment my feet hit the street, I disappeared into the afternoon light.
A/N: Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! 🎄✨Last year, I shared a collection of short drabbles imagining how the ACOTAR men would give the reader a Solstice gift. The following drabbles are a continuation of last year's. Enjoy!
Please note: the Rhysand drabble includes brief explicit sexual content.
Azriel
Last year, Azriel left the gift he brought you in your room because he didn’t know where the boundary was.
This year, he decided to gather his courage and knock on your door, hands trembling slightly, shadows restless. He didn’t want to give you his gift in front of everyone.
He wanted to be the only one to see your reaction. Wanted an excuse to see you…alone. But part of him was also afraid of how you’d react.
You opened the door in your cozy winter robe, your face dimly lit by the fireplace. You were surprised to see him at this hour, and it was as if he could read your mind. He was trained in reading facial expressions, and yours said it all.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I shouldn’t have come at this late hour. It wasn’t proper of me.”
You shook your head, giving him a polite smile. “It’s alright. I just didn’t expect to see you. That’s all.”
“Oh…” His gaze dropped to the floor before he finally lifted it to meet yours. He wanted to say something, but then he got lost in your eyes. Every thought gone.
He pressed the wrapped present into your hand without saying anything.
“What’s this?” you looked down at it, breaking eye contact.
“It’s something I wanted you to have. Have a good night, Y/n.” He turned to leave, but you stopped him.
“Az, wait.” You reached out, grabbing the hem of his leather sleeve.
He froze, shivers running down his spine. He wasn’t used to this. He turned to look at you once more. “It’s late. I don’t want to disturb you further.”
“You’re not,” you quickly added. “Would you…like some hot cocoa? It’s not much, but if you’d allow me, I’ll make you the best in Velaris as my gift to you.”
The faintest smile curled at one side of his lips before he nodded. Then he gestured with his palm for you to lead the way.
“So, are you gonna tell me what’s inside?”
“Open it and see,” he said dryly, though he meant it teasingly.
“I’ll wait until I finish making your cocoa. We’ll exchange our presents at the same time.”
As you began your preparations, Azriel sat on a stool, watching your every move. He was drowning in the way you moved, how you concentrated, how you looked, smelled, swayed. He was utterly lost, pulled back only by the sound of your voice.
“Your cocoa is ready.” You handed him a mug with a softness that made his chest tighten.
“Thank you.” His mouth curved faintly in response, then gestured to the wrapped gift on the counter. “Open it...please.”
And so you did. Inside was a delicate light blade that was easy to carry and conceal. It was adorned with a single blue gem at the hilt. His color.
“It’s beautiful, Az. Where did you get it? I’ve never seen something so simple, yet elegant. And it’s not heavy. Perfect for protection.”
His heart fluttered at your words. “I forged it myself. I wanted you to always be able to protect yourself.”
“Thank you.” You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. The ever-stoic Shadowsinger’s expression faltered, his cheeks turning a slight shade of red.
You hesitated before uttering the next words, “The gem at the hilt makes it even more beautiful. And gives me a sense of extended protection.”
When he found his voice again, he asked, “How so?”
“You made it. The blue of it will always remind me of you. And that if I truly needed you, you’d be there.” You reached for his hand, closing your palm around his clenched fist.
“I’ll always be here when you need me, Y/n,” he said sincerely, eyes searching yours.
“I know.” You held his gaze, but then your eyes dropped to his lips for a split second and he noticed immediately.
“Y/n,” he started.
Somehow you knew what he was going to say, so you interjected, pulling back. “You haven’t tried your cocoa yet.”
His jaw ticked, but he nodded before taking a slow sip of his mug.
You looked at him eagerly, trying to gauge his reaction.
After a moment, he spoke. “It’s delicious. I’m not usually a fan of sweet things. But this, this is good.”
“I’m glad.”
The two of you drank in silence, both reluctant to finish, knowing it would make the excuse that brought you together vanish.
Eventually, Azriel finished his drink and stood up. “It’s already late. I won’t hold you back longer.”
You nodded in understanding.
“Good night, Y/n. And happy Solstice.” He turned and started walking away.
“Az, wait.” You stood up abruptly and crossed the short distance between you.
When he turned to face you, there were only inches left between your bodies. Your chest rose with a quiet breath, almost brushing his as his warmth washed over you. You could feel the ghost of his breath along your cheek, feel how still he’d gone.
“Y/n,” he said slowly, a warning in his tone.
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed your nerves. “Az,” you murmured, softer now.
He shut his eyes, jaw tightening as if he were holding himself back. When he finally looked at you again, you were still there, close, eyes openly asking for what he hadn’t dared take. “Screw it.”
Then his lips crashed against yours. The force of it drove you back until your spine hit the counter, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. His mouth was hot and demanding, all restraint he’d held onto unraveling in a single, heated moment.
He started to pull away, but your arms were already around his neck, dragging him back down, urging him closer as you deepened the kiss. A low sound escaped him as his hands found your waist, calloused fingers gripping, pressing you flush against his body like he needed the contact to ground himself.
Only when your lungs burned did you pull back, panting softly as you looked up at him.
“Happy Solstice, Az,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced.
He huffed a quiet, breathless chuckle against your lips, forehead dropping briefly to yours. “This might be the best one yet.”
Cassian
Cassian noticed you wearing the necklace he gifted you last year. He pretended to play it cool, but inside he was absolutely gone.
He plunked down next to you on the couch with another one of his infuriating grins, brows raised in greeting, settling in close enough that his shoulder deliberately brushed yours.
“Cassian,” you greeted back, a subtle smile playing at your lips.
“Pretty necklace. Whoever gave it to you has good taste,” he remarked arrogantly, eyes flicking to it for just a moment too long.
You rolled your eyes. “Mmh, yes, probably.”
“Probably?” He raised a hand to his chest, feigning heartbreak dramatically.
You slapped his chest playfully. “Grow up, you Illyrian baby.”
He looked far too pleased with himself as he handed you your present, clearly enjoying the anticipation.
“What did you get me this time?”
His grin sharpened into something wicked. “Open it while everyone else is distracted with their own presents.”
That made your heart skip a beat, and you quickly unwrapped it. It was a short red silk robe. The sexy kind. The fabric slid cool and smooth between your fingers as you lifted it free.
Your tongue flicked against the inside of your cheek as you slowly turned to face him, expecting an explanation.
“I’d have gotten you a classic black,” he said lightly, “but then again, red is the color of passion…and it’s my color. I wanted you to remember me every time you wear it,” he teased.
“Cas!”
“What?” He feigned innocence.
“Friends don’t give each other that.”
“What’s wrong with it?” He pretended to play dumb.
You glared at him. “You know exactly what.”
“Do I? I’m but a mere innocent Illyrian baby, as you so often remind me.”
You continued to glare at him, but then hugged him tightly as if to punish him. It backfired immediately, his arms locked around you as he relished it, squishing you and burying his face against your shoulder.
“So,” he murmured, amused, “what’s my gift this Solstice?”
You pulled away slightly before pressing a soft kiss against his cheek, far too close to his lips, then leaned back against the couch as if nothing had happened, watching his reaction from the corner of your eye.
“This is your gift.” You shrugged with a too-innocent look.
“You’re evil.”
“Learned from you,” you said nonchalantly. “Happy Solstice, Cassian.” Your tone softened despite yourself.
“Happy Solstice, Y/n.” His tone matched yours, warm beneath the bravado. Then, because Cassian couldn’t help but be himself, he added, “Can’t wait for you to wear that for me.”
“In your dreams,” you scoffed, elbowing his ribs.
“Oh, I will be dreaming about it,” he winked, utterly unapologetic.
He leaned back against the couch, still grinning to himself, eyes following as you shifted closer to the others. The necklace caught the light again, and his smile softened just a fraction.
Some gifts, he decided, were worth waiting to see worn.
He stayed quiet for a moment, just watching you laugh with the others, the occasional brush of shoulders grounding him, though silence never lasted long with Cassian, and soon enough instinct took over, and he reached out to touch your arm, grinning as he slipped right back into flirting.
Rhysand
When you entered your shared bedroom, you did not expect to be met with the sight before you.
Rhys was sprawled across the black silk sheets, completely naked, propped casually on one elbow, violet eyes bright with mischief. A single red ribbon was wrapped around his hips, just barely preserving the illusion of modesty, and doing very little to help your composure.
Your lips parted as you blinked, momentarily stunned. “Rhys?”
“Hello, darling. I’ve been waiting for you,” he said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Mm hm. I noticed,” you replied dryly. “Care to explain this?” You gestured vaguely toward him, taking in the deliberate display.
“Oh this?” He glanced down at himself, unbothered and proud. “This is one of your gifts this Solstice.”
You clicked your tongue. “Rhys, I see you naked every day. I know every inch of your body.”
“True,” he agreed easily. “But it’s not about that.” His gaze softened, though the teasing never quite left his eyes. “Tonight, you have me. No politics. No duties. No expectations. Completely and utterly with no conditions. Just me, entirely yours. Whatever you want, however you want me.” His gaze held yours, unflinching. “Tonight is all about your pleasure.”
“Rhys,” you began, already wary of where this was going.
“I know, I know.” He cut in lightly. “I always leave you satisfied.” He shifted slightly on the sheets, watching your reaction closely. “But this is different. I want to dedicate this night to you and only you.” A pause, intentional. “And after that, I’ll take you to see and open the rest of your presents.”
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips, before moving closer and crawling onto the bed.
His hand reached out, catching yours before you could settle, and with a playful tug he drew you forward until you were straddling his stomach. He laughed softly at your startled breath, clearly pleased.
Then he leaned back, placing his hands behind his head, utterly at ease beneath you, expression smug. “Do whatever you want with me, darling,” he murmured. “I’m all yours.”
And so you did…
You tugged at the ribbon, undoing the bow with slow indulgence. Rhys watched, hardening against you.
You shifted your hips, slowly sinking down onto his length, the stretch drawing a sharp inhale from you both as you adjusted to the fullness of him.
He let out a groan, hands reaching up to hold your hips, not controlling or guiding, just grounding. He let you set the pace, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm, earning ragged praise from his lips.
Heat coiled in your belly as you rode him, relishing the way he filled you completely.
“I’m all yours,” he rasped.
His words were all it took. Pleasure tore through you, a breathless cry spilling from your lips as you came undone around him. He followed with a low groan, driving up into you one last time, hands anchoring your hips as he held you there through the aftershock, steady until the tremor finally eased.
When your body relaxed, he drew you down against him, lips brushing your temple, then your ear.
You shifted against him, still catching your breath, and he smiled warmly. “Now,” he added, voice dropping into something lazy and satisfied, “if you’re ready, I believe I promised you something else, but don’t think for a second we’re done here. I’m just giving you a break to recover before I worship you properly.”
With a lazy stretch, he reached for the discarded ribbon, looping it around his fingers before offering you his hand. “Come on, darling,” he said, eyes sparkling. “The rest of your gifts are waiting, and I’d hate to keep them from you any longer.”
Lucien
This was your first Winter Solstice together as mates. Lucien was never late, yet somehow he was nowhere to be found.
He had told you to go ahead to Rhys and Feyre’s house, promising he wouldn’t be long. But midnight was fast approaching, and he still hadn’t arrived.
You tried not to let the worry settle too deeply, but today mattered. It marked your first anniversary of accepting the bond, and you wanted him here, wanted to share this moment with him.
You had baked his favorite food this Solstice, spending the year perfecting the recipe as your gift to him.
Outside, the weather worsened, a blizzard swallowing the streets, and still there was no word from him. At this point, all you could do was hope he was safe.
Then the doorbell rang.
Feyre moved to answer it, but you were faster, rushing to the door with your heart hammering in your chest. When you opened it, a blast of icy wind rushed in, and there he was. Your mate. Breathless, snow-covered, and smiling.
You pulled him inside quickly, shutting the door behind him. Snow clung to his hair and coat, his body trembling faintly despite the fire in his veins.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. And you’re safe.”
“Did I worry you?”
You nodded.
He muttered a curse under his breath. “It was never my intention.”
“I know. It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” he said softly. “You’re my mate. I should’ve told you.” He hesitated, then added, “I was out getting your gift. There were some delays, but I have it now.”
He pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it to you.
You opened it carefully. Inside lay an intricate pocket watch, elegant and clearly expensive, engraved with both your initials.
“Open it,” he urged.
You did. The numbers inside shifted upward, changing with a steady rhythm, while a single number at the bottom remained fixed. You looked up at him, confused.
“It’s enchanted,” he explained. “Synced to my heartbeat. So even when I’m not by your side, you’ll always have me with you.”
“Lucien,” your voice caught. “That’s—I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you like it.”
“I—I love it. It’s perfect.” You surged forward, arms wrapping around his neck, feet lifting off the floor as you kissed him with unrestrained affection. He stumbled back a step before instinctively catching you, arms tightening as he lifted you fully off the ground.
Someone whistled from the living room, another laughed outright, followed by quiet commentary, but Lucien ignored it entirely, not breaking the kiss or so much as glancing their way as he carried you through the house, setting you down only once he reached the kitchen.
Once you were there, your gaze drifted to the dish you’d prepared earlier on the counter. You handed him his gift, pouting. “It’s probably cold now. And not as good.”
“Anything my mate makes is perfect,” he replied, already reaching for it.
“Happy Solstice, Lucien.”
“Happy Solstice, Y/n.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your temple, eyes closing, content to simply have you there.
Eris
Again this year, Eris sent for you, claiming there was an urgent matter to discuss. You knew it had something to do with Winter Solstice, but you played his game anyway.
You arrived at the clearing between your courts fashionably late. And there he was, as always, leaning against a tree, arms crossed.
When he saw you, his breath caught. You were dressed differently, but instead of letting it show, he commented, “Don’t you think it’s a little cold for such clothes?”
You smirked, approaching slowly. “You said it was urgent. I had to leave immediately.”
He tsked in disapproval. “If you did, you wouldn’t have made me wait.”
You rolled your eyes. “You know, a little compliment every now and then wouldn’t hurt.”
He scoffed. “You want compliments from me now? What happened to you?”
“Why am I here, Eris?” you asked, folding your arms as you studied him.
He straightened before picking up a heavy, wrapped package from the ground behind him.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously as he placed it in your hands. “It’s heavy.”
“You can carry it.” You couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or simply a fact.
“Aren’t you gonna open it?” he prompted, impatience flickering across his expression.
“You want me to?” you teased.
“Do whatever you want.” He turned to leave, but you stopped him.
“Wait. I’ll open it, and you can see my facial expression before you run away again.”
“I didn’t run away,” he countered.
“Sure, you didn’t. You just couldn’t handle staying an extra minute after handing me last year’s gift.”
“My time is valuable,” he said coolly. “And I had other things to do besides giving enemies gifts.”
“Enemies don’t gift each other things,” you pointed out, arching a brow.
“Just open it,” he said dryly, jaw tightening as he looked away.
Once you removed the wrapping, you found an old leather-bound book.
Seeing the confusion on your face, he clarified. “You always said you wanted to learn fire magic. Well, this is a collection of spells I annotated myself. You’ll find the ones you could master with a bit of practice.”
You blinked. “You–you’re giving me an Autumn Court book on fire magic? You do realize the consequences of that if anyone found out?”
“Don’t read into it,” he said flatly. “If you don’t tell, no one will find out. And I know for a fact that you won’t, considering you kept us a secret for this long.”
Your lips twitched. “Us? I didn’t know there was an us.”
“You know what I mean,” he replied shortly, gaze sharpening on yours.
You stepped closer until the only thing separating you was the book. “Well, in that case, take this.”
You pressed a dagger into his hand, freshly drawn from your boot, fingers lingering against his for a moment too long.
“A dagger?” he scoffed. “I have plenty. I don’t need a gift just because I gave you one.”
You exhaled. “It’s not just any dagger. It would allow you to enter the court without being stopped or questioned, so you can visit whenever to do what enemies do in each other’s private quarters.”
That earned a low chuckle. “Alright then. You’re on. Expect me to test this new power tonight.”
He turned to winnow, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “And Y/n? Wear that bracelet I gave you last Solstice.”
You smiled, lifting your arm and tugging your sleeve back to reveal it. “I never took it off.”
“Good.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face before it vanished just as quickly.
And with that, he was gone. But not for long.
You glanced down at the bracelet on your wrist, lips curving despite yourself. Enemies, he’d said, but neither of you had bothered to pretend that word still fit.
