#modern!cassian

[azsazz]

Change Your Ticket

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,264

Notes: I'm overthinking this now, I don't think I like it

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There’s no better way to wake up than buttery morning light drifting through the curtains, songbirds chirping outside cracked windows, and the warmth of your significant other surrounding you.

Unfortunately, that isn’t how you wake.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm, blaring its cheerful tune much too early in the morning. The sun isn’t shining in through your windows, rousing you from a deep slumber. Instead, thunder cracks loudly, drowning out the grating chimes coming from your phone, only for a second, before it sounds louder, alerting you that you have places to be.

Namely, at the airport, and not in the lovely muscular arms of your boyfriend in bed.

His cozy hold makes you want to sigh, snuggle backwards into him and sleep for a few more hours, but the blaring of your phone makes that difficult, even with the taunt of his morning wood brushing up against your backside.

Groaning, you slide from his arms. It’s a struggle, because his muscular limbs are heavy, but you manage to shove yourself from under the thick arm covered in swirling ink, stretching as far as you can in hopes to turn your phone off.

Another bout of thunder rumbles in the sky and you startle, knocking your phone over the edge of the table. It clangs loudly and you cringe, peering over your shoulder at Cassian. His eyes are shut and his chest moves up and down rhythmically. You sigh, shoulders relaxing at the sight of his bare chest, gaze snaking down his strong body to where the cuts of his hips dip under the sheets. Your mouth waters a little, but before you can make the move to slide the blankets back and get a full look, your phone sends out another screeching knell and you nearly dive from the bed to shut it off.

The time mocks you when the sound no longer does. It’s an ungodly hour and you’re hardly coherent, eyes gritty with sleep and hair curling in tangled waves around your face. You shove it back, collapsing for a moment, half off of the bed.

Warm hands search blindly in the bed before latching onto your waist, tugging you back into his solid body. You squeal as you’re so easily maneuvered, and it makes butterflies stir in the pit of your stomach.

Cassian grunts softly, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck. It’s early and he’s just as disturbed by your phone as he is. Neither of you have slept much at all, and with the warmth of his body holding tightly to yours, you find yourself resting your head against his, shutting your eyes and breathing in the scent of him—a comforting freshness cut with an earthy pine—drifting back into a light slumber.

Your eyes snap open later, something rocking you to your core. Not just something, the flight you’re supposed to be on, at the airport you should be at, sitting in your window seat and missing the body of your boyfriend next to you.

Cursing, you throw the covers back, ignoring the grunt Cassian lets out as you accidentally elbow him in the chest. You lunge for your phone, but it’s not on the side table where you’d left it. Fuck, you remember knocking it off and having to lean over the side of the bed to turn off your goddamn alarm when you should’ve hit snooze. You’re going to pay now; your mind supplies drily.

Frantically searching, you find it in the pile of clothes you’d left on the floor. Lifting your jeans to tug them on, it slips, clattering against the hardwood floors again. You don’t have time to wince, wonder if the screen is cracked, snatching it up and checking the time.

Holy fuck, are you late.

Shoving the phone back into your pocket, you scramble to get ready, tugging a black t-shirt over your head from the mound at your feet. It’s pools around you but you’re in no mood to care, shoving it into the waistband of your pants and stuffing your feet into last night’s socks. You grimace as you do so, the feeling of dirty socks making your toes curl. Switching with Cassian would be better, though they’d be scrunched in your shoes and you’d be tripping over them at the airport.

The sky is still dark with cloud cover, but there is no longer frantic lighttight brightening the sky, nor rumbles of thunder that would have delayed your flight. You haven’t gotten an update about it being late due to the nature of the storm, so it must be on time.

Perfect.

The heap of blankets on the bed jostles, and Cassian’s sitting up. The fabric falls from his torso like a waterfall of white, striking against his tan skin. As much as you’d love to climb right up onto him and wake him properly, you’re in too much of a rush to allow the aroused side of your mind to take over.

“Sweetheart?” he asks sleepily. His hair is mused from where you’d had your hands buried in it last night, and he brushes it from his eyes roughly, using the hair tie around his wrist to tie it back haphazardly. Cassian blinks around the room, hazel eyes clearing as he meets your panic-stricken gaze. “Where are you going?”

“I’m late for my flight,” you reply breathlessly, hopping on one foot to slip your shoe on.

“You’re leaving already?” Cassian asks with a frown. His voice is groggy with the aftermath of sex and sleep. It sends shockwaves zipping down between your thighs. “It’s only been two days.”

You sigh, forcing your other foot into the shoe. You know it’s only been two days since you’ve gotten into town for Cassian’s match, but you have to get back to work tomorrow, there’s just too much to do.

It’s difficult when he’s in the middle of the rugby season and you have to work. It’s hard to find the time to chat or even text sometimes, but the both of you love your work and couldn’t imagine giving it up. You do what you can to be at Cassian’s games. He flies you in privately and you meet at the hotel or the pitch, cheering from the stands with the other fans of the Velairs Stars, Cassian’s rugby team. But then you have to fly back home, only to do it again the next weekend over.

It's draining, which is why you’ve overslept like a damn fool.

“I have to go,” you answer, picking up your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Your carry-on sits packed by the door. “I have work in the morning.”

“Take that bag off of your shoulder,” Cassian pouts.

You groan, turning to look at him. “I can’t, Cass, I’m really late.”

Cassian slides from the bed. The duvet slips from his body, revealing the entirety of his naked body. He’s built like a Greek statue, minus the tiny cock. His tan body ripples with muscle and ink—broad shoulders to hard abs to his taut waist, down to thick thighs and a half-hard cock that twitches when your eyes roam over it.

Your cheeks heat and you turn your head away, gazing at the floor.

Cassian’s feet enter your line of vision and then his hands are on your cheeks, tilting your head up to face him.

You stare into those soft eyes, green and brown clashing like a tornado in the woods. His pink lips are turned down, the crease between his brow in concern something you never like to see on his face.

A strand of his hair tickles your cheek as he dips down, thumbs brushing soothing stripes across your skin.

“Please, don’t leave.”

Your heart cracks in your chest at the sincerity of his words. Your body slackens, tipping into his. You place a hand over his wrist, holding him just as he is you, and you let out a deep sigh. “I can’t. I really have to go.”

Cassian doesn’t respond, only tucks you tighter to his chest as if he may never let you go. You press up to the tips of your toes, catching him in a soft kiss. You can taste his yearning, missing you from miles away. The absence of him from your side, from your apartment, preferring your quaint place to his bachelor pad in the thick of the city. He’d disrupted your life in the best way, and it’s different to be by yourself in the place you’d spent so much time alone, before Cassian came rumbling in on a gust of autumn air with trophies the size of your head and rugby uniforms that never seemed to stay clean.

When you pull away you don’t stray far, placing your head on his chest. His heartbeat strums loudly, comfortingly as he places his chin onto you, hugging you tight.

And its bliss, the both of you tucked together like this. You don’t ever want to let him go but this is reality and you both have lives outside of each other, outside of this little bubble of heaven you’ve created for the two nights you were staying here. Cassian feels like coming home.

“At least let me walk you down,” he says finally.

You huff, pulling back to look up at him. He towers over you and you have to crane your neck back to meet his gaze. “As much as I would love that, you can’t. We can’t be seen together,” you remind him softly.

Cassian rolls his eyes, twining his fingers with yours as he leads you into the main room of the suite. It’s a lovely hotel, but eventually, all of the rooms start to blur together. There’s an empty bottle of victory champagne tipped over on the couch, your still half-full glass precariously perched on the edge of the coffee table from when Cassian could no longer control himself and your bubbly, giggly kisses turned into something hotter and heavier.

“I don’t care about any of that stuff, sweetheart. I just want to be able to show you off.”

“Well, I care,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not ready to tell the world yet.”

You spot your bra flung over the lampshade and grab for it, but Cassian’s quicker, taking it and hiding it behind his back with a cheeky grin.

“If you want it back, you’ll have to come get it. Two weeks, we’re playing the Sealions in Adirata.”

“Cassian,” you sigh, trying to reach around his thick torso for your bra. “I don’t know if I can make it—”

“You will,” he says, pecking you on the nose. You glare up at him but he’s grinning like a fool. “I need my best cheerleader there.”

You want to grumble that he never really can find you in the crowd. You don’t sit with the other players’ girlfriends or families because your relationship with the superstar athlete is your best kept secret. You aren’t ready for any of the drama that comes along with dating a public figure, and Cassian knows this, accepts it because he loves you.

“I’ll try,” you amend, and you don’t think his smile can get any bigger but it does. Cassian swoops down to kiss you on the lips. The eagerness takes your breath away and makes you clench your thighs together, his intrigued cock still seeking you out.

“Good,” he seems satisfied with your answer, unhooking the handle and raising it. He scoots your roller out of the way when you go to reach for it, tsking. “Let me help you with this, sweetheart.”

“Cass, we talked about this,” you repeat, “And you can’t go to the lobby buck ass naked.”

His grin is shit-eating.

“What? Afraid you might have to fight for my goods?” he wiggles his eyebrows as you wrench your luggage from his hand.

“Don’t start with this,” you answer, leaning up for one last kiss. “You and I both know that I’ll take anyone down who tries to get a look at what’s mine.”

Cassian hums against your lips, his large hands settling on your hips. “I like it when you act all possessive, sweetheart. Makes me so hard for you.”

You let out a breathless sigh, pressing even further into him, pinning his cock between your hips. Cassian bucks and you clench your thighs together, glaring up at him.

“I don’t have the time for this,” you say, sadly.

Cassian nips at the juncture of your shoulder and throat, already distracted by the sweet scent of the lingering perfume on your skin. He hums and the feeling rakes down your spine, rattling your senses.

“I’ll call you a car,” he says between open mouthed kisses that have you craning your neck to give him more room. “But please come back to bed until it comes.”

You bite your lip. This isn’t a good idea. You’re already late, and who knows how long the lines will be at security or how far your gate is. What if they’re moved up your flight?

But his eyes are just too eager, filled with the promise of one last good dicking down until he sees you again, in two weeks.

“Fine,” you give in. It’s early, maybe Cassian can get you on the next flight instead. He’s already helping you from your clothes, as much as he loves seeing you in them, they look much better on the floor. “But we have to make it quick.”

[hellodarling1357]

Modern!Cassian x Reader HCs - part 1/∞

This got a little out of hand but I just love the thought of Modern!Cassian so expect plenty more posts like this to come, and (as always) feel free to send in some requests!

It's for sure on the (much) longer side for a drabble but we've got Modern Cassian and reader becoming "official", skincare routines, date nights, couples who gym together (etc, etc), and a small little snippet of Cassian meeting reader's family

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 1.6k

You and Cassian had been seeing each other for a few weeks but it was nothing too serious, despite feeling as though you were falling hard and fast for him

One night when he’s cooking you dinner and his phone buzzes he asks if you can check it for him, which you do but you’re still shocked because none of your exes had been so open with their messages, especially this early into the relationship, or whatever it was between the two of you

You read out the message Rhys had sent Cassian, but what really had you well and truly shocked was his background image

It was a photo of you from one of the first times you had stayed the night with him

You had woken up to Cassian trailing kisses down your bare arms and across your stomach, but because it was your first day off in weeks you hit him over the head with his pillow and jokingly yelled at him for disrupting your sleep-in

You had foolishly tried to get back to sleep after that but the next thing you knew, Cassian was straddling you, strong thighs trapping your arms against your sides

He looked down at you with a wide, cheeky grin and then, to your dismay, started tickling you which had you fighting for your life as you heaved in air through your ongoing laughter

After he finally let up, you squeezed your eyes shut, a wide smile still spread across your face as you breathed in heavily and tried to catch your breath

You felt Cassian move above you, leaning over to grab something from the bedside table

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Cassian staring down at you with a look of complete adoration

You quirked your eyebrow but smiled up at him just as he raised his phone and snapped a photo of you

You objected and tried your best to hide from the camera, aware of your messy hair from last nights activities and your still naked body

But Cassian swiped your arms away as he kept taking photos, causing you to wrap your legs around him and, somehow, managing to flip the two of you over so that you were now straddling him, to Cassian’s absolute delight

But now, staring at the photo of yourself, sun gleaming across your still sleepy face but with a wide enough grin to show you didn’t really mind, you found a defensive wall coming up as you turned to Cassian, holding the phone to face him

Memories of one particularly bad relationship came to the surface, where you were constantly made to feel as though you had to chase after his approval and love, which he would smother you with, but then take it away the second something didn’t go his way

That relationship had also moved incredibly quickly and now you worried about repeating the same mistakes with Cassian

“What’s this?”

“Hmm?” Was his absentminded response as he juggled the different pots and pans that were sizzling away on the stove

“Cassian.”

Your blunt tone had him turning to you, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he tried to work out what had made you upset

“What’s this? Why do you have this as your background?”

Again you waved his phone at him

He studied you and his phone for a moment before lifting his eyes back to you as he put down the wooden spoon he had been using and lent against the bench, facing where you stood on the other side

“Because I like the photo?”

“Okay? But why?”

“What do you mean why? I didn’t realise I needed a reason or excuse to look at my girlfriend’s face whenever I pick up my phone.”

“But…”

Wait, what?

Your words left you as you processed what he had said

Still feeling somewhat wary, you asked

“Girlfriend?”

“Well yeah,” Cassian started to blush (the open vulnerability doing something to your insides) “I mean, well... yeah?”

You walked over to him, all doubts leaving as you reminded yourself of the man who stood in front of you. He was not your ex. He was nothing like your ex

“I hadn’t realised we’d made it official.” You said in a coy voice as you looped your arms around his neck

“Well, I’m not seeing anyone else, so if you’re down…?”

“How romantic” you teased with a laugh before leaning up on your toes to kiss him

You definitely got Cassian onto the skincare bandwagon

He was at your apartment one night watching a sports game that you had zero interest in so you got bored and went through your bathroom cupboards

Hiding a hair mask behind your back, you walked into the lounge room and straddled Cassian’s lap

He automatically wrapped his arms around you but still craned to see the TV screen

You pressed a kiss to his exposed neck and murmured “close your eyes”

“Hmm?” He still wasn’t paying attention

This time you trailed your lips up to his ear, tugging on it slightly with your teeth as you said again, “close your eyes”

That got his attention, but also coincided with an ad break which you chose to ignore

Cassian leant back on the couch, a smug and expectant smirk on his face as he waited for whatever you had planned

What he didn’t expect, however, was the glob of a hair mask you splattered onto the top of his hand, running your hands through it to coat the long strands

“What?” Cassian spluttered, raising a hand to touch whatever you had put on him

You swatted him away, “Stop. You’ll get it everywhere.”

You went back to rubbing the treatment through his hair and he eventually relaxed into the feel of your fingers across his scalp, eyes drifting back to the TV screen as the game started up again

Once you were done, you leant back to inspect your work

“Right, leave that on for twenty minutes. Don’t touch it.” You warned before climbing out of his lap without another word, this time heading to the bathroom to find a face mask

You didn’t bother to hide the small container as you climbed onto his lap again

“This stuff smells like you,” He said absentmindedly, playing with a strand of his hair. “It’s nice.”

“I told you not to touch it” you chastised with a small smile, letting him relax back into the couch and pressing a kiss to his lips

“You trust me?” You asked against his mouth

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound so sure”

He lent forward and kissed you again

“Yes. Do your worst” he indicated to the face mask, unable to hide his hesitant expression

So you happily leant back and started applying the mask all over his face

“Y/N, I don’t like this”

“Shhhh, 15 minutes then you need to wash it off”

“But the game—“

“I’ll help you”

Your suggestive smirk as you ground your hips against him had his pants tightening

But you just jumped back up, saying over your shoulder “15 minutes. Bathroom”

After that night, whenever you were both getting ready for bed and you were washing your face, Cassian would jokingly ask, “Are you gonna put more of that stuff on my face?” to which you would nudge him with your shoulder and continue your routine of serums and moisturisers, ignoring, what you thought, was him teasing you

However, a week later he still hadn’t let it go so you asked “What? Do you want some of it?”

He was silent for a moment but then “Yeah? I don’t know, maybe?”

You tilted your head at him in the mirror, your raised eyebrow prompted him to sheepishly continue

“Well, my face felt really nice after it. And your face is always glowing and soft so…”

You broke into a grin, so excited at the thought of sharing your nightly routine with him

“Why didn’t you just say so from the start!”

A few weeks later you were out for dinner with Cassian and your friends when Rhys, after studying Cassian for a moment said “Somethings different about you. I mean, you look different? Like all glowy.”

This caused everyone’s eyes to roam over Cassian’s face who nervously shifted in his seat

“Just been getting out in the sun a bit more…” He trailed off, shooting you a look that told you to keep quiet as he quickly changed the subject

However, six months later, Cassian gifted Rhys and Az a starter kit of the skin care you had got him onto for their Christmas presents

Cassian is definitely the type of boyfriend who pretends to act all pervy towards you at the gym by making flirty comments purely to embarrass you in front of the other gym-goers

(You've definitely fucked in the changing rooms on more than one occasion: abs, muscles, sweaty Cassian - how could you not??)

Him helping you with exercises and standing really close to you is just foreplay at this point

Leaving together and he just slings a sweaty arm over your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temple, proudly showing you off and not finding it in himself to care whether or not the other gym-goers know what transpired not even 10 minutes ago ;)

Cassian for sure drives one of those big 4WDs and he loved picking you up in it when you first started dating

He still makes sure to open the door for you every time you’re driving around together

Just picture, overnight dates where you pack up the car and sleep in the back of it on a pile of blankets and pillows, just watching the stars together and whispering about your future before drifting off to sleep

Then there’s Cassian meeting your family for the first time and being so incredibly nervous because he didn’t have a stable family growing up but little does he know, he’s already won them over before even meeting purely based on everything you have told them about him

(I need to stop because this will be a whole post in itself and I could just go on forever)

[azsazz]

Change Your Ticket (Part 7)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: ALL SMUT, shower sex, oral (f receiving)

Word Count: 3,405

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Notes: Starting of 6 updates for 6k with this one because it's been way too long for rugby cassian 💙

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“Well, I’d planned on making you something extravagant,” Cassian says, frowning down at his phone. You wonder if it’s something related to your picture appearing in the media, but your shoulders loosen as his continues. “But I didn’t make it to the store before coming here. Is pizza okay with you, (Y/N)?”

“Pizza is more than perfect,” you sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. You’re both sitting at your kitchen island, glasses of wine filled to the brim. “I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

You watch as Cassian places the order. You grumbled about how two pizzas were too much, and he’d reminded you just how much he needs to eat as a rugby player.

“I don’t think they meant that about pizza, Cassian,” you tut, bringing your glass to your lips for a sip of sweet wine. His eyes glitter when he looks down at you, stirring that feeling of want in your gut.

He shrugs, “I think that whatever my trainer doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.” Cassian pushes from his chair, taking your hand. “C’mon, let’s have a relaxing shower, wash the day off of us.”

As blissful as that sounds, you’re not sure you’ll be able to join. “What about the pizza?”

Cassian tugs on your hand a little, more than ready to abandon the kitchen in favor of getting you into the shower with him.

“We’ll make it quick, be out before they get here.”

“Nothing involving you or showers is ever quick, babe.” You roll your eyes and he winks.

“Then, hopefully he has the common sense to leave it at the door because there’s no way I’m letting you go right now. You can accept my stink until after we eat or I can eat you out in the shower while you shampoo my hair. What do you say, baby? I am pretty smelly.”

His words slide down your body like soap, bubbling between your thighs.

Cassian leans down, peppering kisses across your face. The action make you giggle, setting down your glass in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck. He does smell, but it’s the musk of his sweat and it makes your thighs clench, arousal making your cunt wet.

You squeal as he lifts you into his arms with ease. He’s strong, and you can feel the way the muscles packing his back bow and flex when he lifts you. Gods, does he have the perfect body.

You kiss along his neck as he walks, licking up the salt from his skin. It makes Cassian shiver; his fingers press harder into your flesh. He breathes out a curse when you bite, then suckle at the perfectly tanned skin beneath your teeth.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, kicking the door to the bathroom shut behind him. “I’m so fucking hard for you.”

His words have you moaning in response and your fingers find his hair, tugging the ponytail out before burying your fingers in his still-damp strands. It’s tangled from his practice but Cassian likes the pull, making a noise of pleasure in response to your desperation.

Your lips find his a moment later.

Cassian sits you on the edge of the counter but you’re not ready for him to pull away yet, wrapping your legs around his waist to haul him closer. His hands slide from your hips upwards, thumbs brushing across your pert nipples where they’re pressing hard against the fabric of your shirt.

His ministrations continue upward until he’s grasping your jaw between both of his large hands and dipping his tongue into your mouth in a claiming kiss. His fingers thread through your hair and he devours you like you haven’t seen each other in years.

Like you’ve just admitted to him for the first time that you love him.

You can’t hold in the whimper he sucks from your mouth as his tongue brushes yours. It’s a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing with each other as you drag your hands down his muscular chest.

Cassian bucks his hips a little, the strain of his cock in his pants heavy with need. He’s completely focused on ravaging your mouth, but he sneaks his hand down your body, dipping into the waistband of the sweats you had changed into upon arriving home, and flattens his hand against your heat.

“Touch me,” you beg, unable to resist your boyfriend, rocking desperately against his hand.

He does as you say, teasing his middle finger into your wetness. It slides in with ease and you keen at his touch, the palm of his hand grinding against your clit when his finger enters you all of the way.

You’ve missed this, missed his fingers brushing against your skin, touching you and tasting you in the places you both love the most. It’s been too long since you’ve been in his arms like this, even if it had only been this morning, you were holding each other so close. It seems like a million hours away now, with the draining day you’ve both shared. But you’re together now, and you know that Cassian will be by your side throughout the entirety of this media hellscape you’ve found yourself in the center of.

He pulls his finger out slowly, teasing you with it, in and out and in again until you’re a keening mess in his arms, cunt dripping into the palm of his hand and nails scratching down his fabric covered chest for more.

“Easy now, baby,” His breath is warm against your lips. His taunt is paired with a circle of your clit and your body presses further into his in response. “We haven’t even gotten you all wet, yet.”

“’M so wet for you,” you mumble your disagreement, kissing him between words. “Please!”

Cassian laughs against your lips and it sparks sunshine in your chest. You need to feel that chuckle against your skin, that mouth against your cunt.

You cry out sharply when Cassian removes his fingers from your pants. He’s pecking you softly, murmuring sweet words that keep you all worked up as he slides your shirt up your torso.

His name leaves your lips on a breathy moan when he ducks back down after removing your shirt, lips attached to that sweet spot on your throat that makes you melt. His touch turns more aggressive as he undoes your bra, his lips following where his fingers are removing it from your chest and flinging it over his shoulder.

Sucking one of your nipples into his mouth makes your see stars. You throw your head back in pleasure as he massages your free breast, kneading it with his rough hand.

You arch into his body when he rolls your tight nipple between his teeth. He loves the way your fingers dig into his shoulders in response and all he wants to do right now is get down on his knees, throw your legs over his shoulders, and taste your cunt like he’s been thinking of doing all day.

The morning session he’d spent in your bed didn’t sate him in the slightest. It only made him hungrier for you.

“Cass,” you hiss when he begins kissing across the skin of your stomach. His tongue lathes around your navel as he works your sweats from your hips, nipping, sucking at the expanse of skin that appears, fresh for him to mark. “Hurry up, baby. I need you.”

You shift your hips and kick your legs, helping him rid you of the rest of your clothes. Cassian groans like a man felled in war, utterly weak for you.

His hands part your thighs, fingers spreading your lips so he can get a full view of your fluttering, wet cunt. His hazel eyes are bright with arousal, and he licks his lips, tutting when you slide your hips closer, needing his mouth on you.

The tip of Cassian’s tongue brushes ever so lightly against your clit that it has you howling with pleasure. It zips up your spine like fire and you arch away from the counter, but he’s pulling away completely, his warmth lost from your body.

“Baby,” you plead, eyes going wide. You hadn’t realized they’d fallen shut with the first caress of his tongue on your cunt, and they open to the view of Cassian ripping his shirt over his head as fast as he can. Before the fabric even hits the ground he’s already working at his pants, stumbling a few steps to the side and reaching into your shower to start the spray.

“I’m coming, sweetheart. Be good for me.”

Like you could be anything else but good for him. You release a pleased sigh, lids lowering over your eyes as you watch the love of your life flailing around the bathroom, setting the water on high as he struggles at the same time to hop out of his pants.

Your mouth waters when his cock is finally released for the tight confines of his sweats. It bobs, slapping against his tight abdomen, and it’s already thick and full, pink and beading precum at the tip, ready for you.

“Come here, stinky,” you reach out to Cassian, still leaning back against the mirror. Splayed out like this, all his for the taking…Gods, he’s never loved you more.

He’s drawn to you like the sun is drawn to the moon, like love to a cupid. In three great strides he’s pressing back up against you, slanting his lips over yours in another hot kiss.

You arch off of the mirror, your hands finding his body thoughtlessly, as if a magnet is pulling you in. His cock nudges against your folds and you’re gasping against his mouth as Cassian pulls you fully off of the counter and into his arms.

You hold tightly to him, crossing your legs behind his back. Cassian keeps you suspended right above his cock and with every step he takes it teases you, a brush of warmth against your wet cunt. You keen against his mouth, nipping his lip in frustration, but the man only laughs in response.

“Oh, how I love when you beg, baby,” he says, distracted by kissing the skin of your throat. He steps into the hot spray and you hiss, surprised. “Go on, grab that bottle of shampoo over there. I have a promise to keep.”

Gently, Cassian sets you on your feet. Your legs are shaking and he doesn’t let you go, instead sliding his hands down your body, following the lines of warm water as it drips down. His touch is searing, more so than the rain pouring from the showerhead and the sight of him sliding to his knees before you nearly makes you cum, untouched.

He looks up at you with hazel eyes, raising a brow. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to hold yourself together if he’s looking up at you like this. He’s waiting, a silent demand in that heady gaze that has you snatching the nearest shampoo bottle from your shelf. Cassian hums in appreciation, hearing the top snap open, and he taps your thighs, a signal for you to open them wider.

You obey, because you need to feel his mouth on your cunt, his fingers plunging into your wet heat. You squeeze some of the soap into your hands before he can begin, because you know there will be no focusing once he’s laid those pretty lips upon you.

There’s hardly any focusing right now as you look down at him. The expanse of his tanned, broad shoulders and dripping hair plastered to them. You have the perfect view of his thick thighs, powerful where he kneels. He is every bit of a stature right now, one built outside of temples that people used to worship.

Just like how you’ll be worshipping him tonight.

Rubbing your hands together to activate the suds, you dig your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp with brash strokes. Cassian’s groan bounces deliciously against the tiles and you’re guiding him forward, straight to your weeping cunt.

You shout when he gets right to work, tongue scraping against your clit before he’s craning his neck and plunging it deep into your cunt. You choke, fingers faltering in his hair but he’s growling, large hands pushing your thighs further apart so he can dig his face further.

His nose digs into your clit and you whine, grinding your hips against his face. You don’t think your hands are moving besides where they’re clutching his locks tightly. Cassian fucks you with his tongue and you throw your head back, the motion smashing your skull into the tiles behind.

“Fuck,” you whimper, but the pleasure drowns out the throbbing in your head. Water skims down your body, its warmth satisfying against your sensitive nipples. The room is filled with steam already and it’s a struggle to take the laboring breaths you need to with Cassian’s tongue stuck so deep. “Right there, baby.”

Cassian listens, drinking down your wetness like a parched man. He’s thirsty for your taste, for the way that your body responds to his, for your words. Every sound that you make sends shockwaves to his cock. He’s desperate to get a hand on himself but he wants you to cum first. Needs you to cum first.

He sneaks a finger to your cunt, replacing his tongue with his thick digit. You sink lower, your feet slipping on the tiles but Cassian is holding you up without an ounce of effort. He’s much too concerned with making you feel good, suckling at your clit with a hum when your nails rake through his hair, letting him know he’s doing a good job.

The downstroke of his index finger turns into an upstroke with his middle and you keen at the feeling of more. He feels so good, knowing right where to touch, the bundle to caress and curve his fingers against so that you’re a shaking mess. Heat gathers low in your gut when he brushes against that spot again before pushing his fingers deep and hitting your womb.

“Cassian,” his name is a cry, a prayer. You can’t form words beyond that with the feeling so hot, so tight in your loins. He begins moving his fingers faster, fucking them in and out of you with vigor. “I’m cumming, baby! Keep doing that—” your breath catches in your throat as you see white hot, orgasm flooding you. Your fingers turn harsher against his scalp but you don’t even notice because Cassian’s picking up the pace even more. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

Your boyfriend doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop flicking his tongue against your clit because the noises you’re making right now are music to his fucking ears. Doesn’t stop pushing his fingers into your cunt even though he has to use a touch more effort now that you’re trying to clamp down around his fingers like some wicked trap. He’s been waiting all day for this and he’s going to revel in it, even if you’re already whining from sensitivity.

When you’re squirming, begging him to pull away, he does.

“Have I satisfied you, sweetheart?” he asks, leaning back only slightly. Your hands fall from his hair to his shoulders as he presses light kisses to your thighs, rubbing light circles into them with his thumbs to ease their quaking. “Or are you all ready for my cock now?” Cassian tilts his head back to look at you but hisses as the water falling from the showerhead washes soap into his eyes. “Oh, fuck! Ow, ow ow!” He rears back, nearly losing his balance completely as he slips.

Your hands find him, coaxing him under the water. Your chest still heaves with your orgasm, but you brush the hair from his face and lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder while he tries to rub the soap from his eyes.

“Are you alright, Cass?”

He groans in response, trying to blink the sting from his eyes. They’re all red rimmed now, and when his vision clears, it’s to you biting back your laughter.

“At the time, I thought that was going to be so hot,” Cassian admits with a huff, but you see the smile cracking his lips.

“At the time,” you tease, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “It was.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The pizza is good but the sex that follows is even better.

Cassian is gentle with you, loving you like he had the first time you’d ever slept together; caring and tender. He takes his time mapping his way across the planes of your skin with his hands, with his mouth, tracing the hills and valleys of your body like he has all of the time in the world.

And you let him, not because you already know you’re dodging your work tomorrow, but because anything that this man does utterly enraptures you.

It’s passionate and slow, each roll of his hips sensual and intentional. The words he presses into your skin are soft and meaningful, ones that bring tears to your eyes. You don’t know how someone who has been through as much as he has can love you so openly like this, and you’re thankful every day for it.

“I love you, Cassian,” you exhale, fingers raking down the expanse of his back as you try to hold him closer. Your back arches off of the bed and you throw your head back in bliss, sparks igniting behind your eyes with every thrust of his hips.

Cassian peeks his head up from where it’s buried between your breasts, licking and sucking his way from one nipple to your other. They’re hard as rubies, red like them too, surrounded by mottled marks left by his mouth.

His hazel eyes are dazed, sparkling with adoration. Your chest constricts as your heart swells with joy, with love for the man willing to rush to your side and make sure you’re okay. He’s shown you that you’re his first priority in all of this, that he will put you before even the game he loves so dearly.

He surges forward with a brutal thrust of his hips that has you seeing stars. He loves the way that you clutch him as if you never want to let go. He won’t ever let you go either, and that thought only has him more ravenous for you.

Cassian catches your cry of pleasure against his lips. You taste like a dream, in more ways than one. His strong arms snake surround your body and you squeal as he rolls, holding you tightly on top of him while he plants his feet into the mattress and fucks up into you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he pants against your mouth. “Want to take care of you like this every day. Fuck you so good you won’t be able to run away.” His hips jerk and he’s hitting that spot that sends a tsunami of pleasure throughout your body.

Roughly, he grabs your ass, helping you move yourself up and down his cock to prolong your pleasure. It’s so good, he’s so hot and long inside of you, his girth filling you completely but it’s not enough, you want his cum too.

“Never,” you gasp, riding out the orgasm that’s wracking your body. “I’m never leaving you, Cassian. Never ever. I love you too much for that.”

It those words that have him growling, sucking harshly at the juncture of your throat and shoulder as he cums. His warmth fills you to the brim, and you’re shuddering on top of him from the pleasure of it all, collapsing against his chest when the grinding of his hips comes to a halt.

Cassian doesn’t pull you though, and you don’t want him to. You want him to keep you plugged up with his cum inside of you. You’re on the pill and normally you’d be more worried that he’s not wearing a condom, because the pill isn’t 100% effective, but you needed to feel his bare cock buried deeply into you tonight, need to feel his warmth in your cunt and leaking down your thighs.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Cassian breathes, brushing a strand of damp hair behind your ear. You’ve already showered but you’ll both need another when you feel like finally getting up. “Until the moon no longer rises.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Change Your Ticket Taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starsinyourseyes @jdeclerc @indiedash @kennedy-brooke @tothestarsandwhateverend @azsteris @obsessivereaderchick @aalxrose @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover @bookishbroadwaybish @itsinherited @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @vellichor01 @mischiefmanagers @queerqueenlynn @justdreamstars @mayemperess @wallacewillow0773638 @microwaveallthedemons @natashachelsea @stayinglow-exploringworlds

[azsazz]

Change Your Ticket (Part 6)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,300

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Notes: I rlly need to stop overthinking this...so I'm just going to post it.

_________________________________________

Cassian don’t know why he’s running myself into the ground. It’s been a great morning, and although you’d had to leave for work, he’d enjoyed getting the little time seeing those pretty eyes, how your cheeks had pinkened with his taunts.

He almost had you climbing right back into bed with him.

He had loved the way you moaned and groaned about work, how you tried to hide away from him by running into the bathroom. How you tried to block him out by starting the shower, trying to mask how wet you were for him by drenching yourself under the hot spray.

Cassian bets it didn’t work.

His cock stirs at the thought of finishing he’d started, lingering in the space between the both of you like a thread winding tighter and tighter. And he thought it might snap when you’d come out all ready for work, eyes a little bit dazed as they avoided his lounging body on your bed. Cassian had all of the time in the world to tease you.

It was something after your sheepish goodbye, still reveling in the fact that he’d been so close to breaking through your routine. And if your boss dared fire you for spending a little time with him, well, Cassian isn’t too sure he’d be all that mad.

He wouldn’t mind taking care of you. In fact, it’s what he desires. And it’s not some manly expectation for you not to work, if that’s what you truly want, then so be it, he will be your best cheerleader. But he always aches when he’s away from you. He wants you by his side because he’s never had that, never had the rush that someone who actually cares for his wellbeing watches him play the game he loves, will caress him and speak encouragement, no matter if he wins or loses.

He doesn’t have a mother to call when things go sour, a father to seek advice from, nor siblings to playfully banter with. Sure, he’s had the children who’d he seen grow in the system with him, but oftentimes he’d be separated by a foster home that would only last a handful of months before they sent him away again, no matter how much he tried to stay. He’d help in the kitchen, with chores, jumping at the chance without even being asked because if someone were cleaning or cooking, maybe they’d keep him around a little bit longer.

His attempts were futile, at best.

“Bring it in, gents,” Coach calls and Cassian jogs over with the rest of his team. He snags a water bottle with thanks from the young boy handing them out, spraying a large gulp into his parched mouth before tilting the bottle back and wetting his already damp hair.

“Thanks, kid,” he grins, and the little boys’ cheeks turn red.

Cassian joins the rest of the team, forming a semi-circle around the coach. He finds his place between Azriel and Rhysand, the captain of the team. They are his best mates, brothers in every sense of the word, except literally. They’ve all played for the Velaris Stars for two seasons now, and are almost inseparable, both on and off the field.

“Great practice, eh?” he asks, getting down on one knee like the rest of the players as they await Coach Devlin’s words of wisdom. Something the coach has been trying to instill in his team for a while now, according to Azriel, who’s been with the Stars the longest. There isn’t a practice nor game that goes by without a morale boosting chat from Coach.

Azriel cuts him a glare from the side of his eye, and Cassian winces. His teammate hadn’t gotten to practice with them, ankle still not quite healed after the last match. That was poor wording on Cassian’s part.

Rhys brushes his damp hair from his eyes, toweling the sweat from his face as he responds. “Eh, still could work on some more scrums, but we’re in pretty good shape for Saturday’s game.”

“Oi, Third Degree,” Devlin’s snaps, startling the three of them. Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys have become known to the team and the fans as Third Degree because the group of them dominate on the field. It had a nice ring to it, if he does say so himself. Devlin stands with hands on his hips, lips curled around his whistle as if he was about to blow it to gain their attention. “We interrupting your little chit-chat?”

“No, sir,” the three answer in unison, and Cassian notes the difficulty his coach has to not roll his eyes. He bites back a smirk, giving him his attention.

“As I was saying,” Devlin continues with a pointed look in their direction. It slides off Azriel’s shoulders but Rhysand has the gall to look innocently at their coach, as if he’s nothing but the angel captain Devlin thought he was when he’d been chosen for such a position. Cassian snickers and Rhys elbows him. “We’re playing the Autumn Rangers this weekend. Now, since it’s a home game, I expect all of you on your best behavior. You will welcome them to Velaris with sportsmanlike conduct and will not be brawling outside of this stadium,” he says, eyeing Azriel, who had gotten into a fistfight with Lucien Vanserra in the hotel lobby last season.

Cassian never did hear about what had happened, though he did wonder if it had anything to do with Lucein’s older brother, Eris, who is the Stars’ athletic trainer. The younger Vanserra was estranged from his large family, all connected to the sport in some way, shape, or form. Something about a distasteful relationship in the public eye his family was not proud of. In the end, Lucien had lost her heart anyway. Cassian feels a twinge of pity for the youngster, only in his second year in the sport. He has no one, either.

“He better not let me catch him off of this grass, then,” Azriel mutters, arms crossed over his chest. He won’t be playing in the game this weekend because of his ankle, and Cassian knows how hard he’s taking the news. While they were practicing, he’d been on the sidelines with Eris, working on stretching and testing the muscles of his rolled ankle. The red-headed trainer told Devlin he was going to have to sit out for another game, much to Azriel’s utter annoyance.

“He’d probably go straight for that fragile ankle of yours,” Rhys answers quietly, violet gaze still on their coach.

Azriel kicks him with his good foot and Rhys winces, biting back a grin.

Coach Devlin’s speech wraps up with some words of wisdom. The same one’s Cassian hears after every practice, before every game, and even in his nightmares. “Stars help the moon light up the universe. That’s the power of teamwork. Now get off my field and get into the showers, you all stink.”

“To this day, I don’t understand what that’s supposed to mean,” Cassian mutters to his friends, nodding at Balthazar as they make their way towards the locker rooms. He catches Eris eyeing Azriel, a pair of crutches in his hands, but the latter doesn’t seem to notice, or is avoiding eye contact with the trainer as he limps from the field. “You good, man?”

“Peachy,” Azriel grunts, the fringe of his hair falling into his eyes. He’s trying his best not to limp, but there’s a twist of pain in his ankle and he hisses uncomfortably. He’d rather it gives out than use those fucking crutches Eris is lugging around for him. He can fuck right off with those. “It’s just another bullshit waying of saying ‘team work makes the dream work,’ Cass.”

Cassian considers his coaches words. He thought they’d played as an impeccable team during the last match that they had, but they’d still lost anyway. He’s not going to think it’s because his own shooting star wasn’t there in the city, watching him play.

“Maybe he needs to work on it a little,” Cass answers, “Shit’s confusing.”

“More confusing than the Rangers chant? ‘Allez les rouges?’ What does that even mean?”

“It means ‘Go Reds,’” Azriel answers, and Cassian didn’t know he knew French. Maybe he should pester him until he can teach him something worth saying to you to make you swoon. Then, he thinks that Azriel would teach him to say something naughty instead, and Cassian changes his mind.

He tugs the hemline of his shirt up and it sticks to his skin. It’s tight so that other players can’t easily grab it, but it often gets stuck over his broad shoulders. With a breath of frustration, the constricting fabric finally gives way, and Cassian rolls his shoulders, tossing it onto the bench in front of his locker before he digs around for his phone.

He can hear it buzzing against the wood and his brows furrow. Most of the people he knows are from the team, you, and a few others in the league. There’s his media manager, who he has weekly meetings with, and very sparse social media notifications on.

There’s a giddy stir in his stomach, hoping it might be you. He needs to shower, set up a grocery delivery, and head to his house to begin preparations for the extravagant dinner he’s planning on making you.

Cassian’s smile morphs into a frown upon seeing his lock screen. It’s not a call from you, but notifications cover his screen, from his manager, telling him to call him immediately, to a few friends he has outside of his team, texting him about something that’s happening on Twitter.

He unlocks the phone, heart kicking up in speed. If he’s being mentioned and called out for something in the media, it’s usually not a good thing. He wracks his brain as his fingers move on their own accord, motions robotic as they click the blue icon.

The first thing he sees when the screen refreshes is a photo of you, and his world stills.

The noise in the locker room turns to static in his ears. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins, that he thinks he may drop the phone to the ground. His vision tunnels in on the photo of you from this morning, wearing his black t-shirt stuffed into your trousers. You’re pulling your hair into a clip, your work bag slung over your shoulder. You look good, of course you do, it’s exactly how he remembered you when you’d left him this morning. But what is going on?

The caption above the photo reads:

            Cassian Bailey’s Love Try: Secret Girlfriend Revealed!

Fuck. Oh, fuck.

Cassian’s hands shake as he scrolls. Post upon post of you headed to work fill his screen like a tidal wave of coverage. Most are the same photo, and he doesn’t dare look at any of the comments or reposts. There’s a grainy one of you at what must be your work, eyes round and tinged with fear as you stand in the lobby of the building.

He exits the app, pulling up your number instead. He shoves his phone between his shoulder and ear, digging around frantically for his clothes, wallet, and keys. He needs to get out of here, needs to find you, because your phone is going straight to voicemail no matter how many times he calls.

“Fuck,” he mutters, swinging around only to run face-to-face with Azriel and Rhysand.

“Cass?” Rhys asks, reaching his hands out as if not to scare him away. He can barely even focus on them right now, mind reeling with thoughts of if you’re safe, how you’re taking all of this, if you’re over. “You alright?”

“Is it true?” Azriel adds, hazel eyes a touch softer now.

He looks frantically between his friends. His mouth can no longer form words but all he knows is that he needs to get out of here right the fuck now.

Cassian can only nod. It’s more of a jerk of his head, and then he’s shoving his way between them and beelining for the door. It’s all he can do to pray that there isn’t media waiting to follow him, because he’s going straight to your home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“(Y/N), it’s definitely not the paparazzi.”

You place your freshly refilled glass on the table and shove to your feet. The blanket falls from your lap onto a heap on the floor, but you couldn’t care less as you make your way to the front door, Mor on your heels.

You freeze when you round the corner, meeting a worried hazel gaze that makes your aching heart crack. His eyes are red-rimmed, brows pulled tight with worry. Cassina’s hair is a mess, from both practice and running his fingers through where it was pulled back in a sloppy bun for practice.

He pushes gently past Feyre, but he’s still a wall of a man and she jumps out of his way.

It seems like time slows when he reaches you. Your vision vignettes so it’s only Cassian, standing before you like a child scared of the monster under their bed. He reaches out but thinks better of it, worried you don’t want him to touch you at all.

Your name is a whisper across his lips, and it makes you break, falling into his strong arms.

“I can fix this, I swear.” His voice is raw, cracking with his words. You hug him closer. His heart is running rampant in his chest, so you stroke soothing but shaky circles into his back. A touch of relief floods you, knowing that Cassian is as worried about all of this as you are. People know your name, your face, and they’ll be digging into your past, predicting your future, forever, now.

“Cass,” you offer gently, pulling away slightly to look up at him. He doesn’t want to give an inch, hands clamped like iron around your waist. “I don’t want to break up.”

“You don’t?” he asks, like he can’t quite believe it. His frantic gaze searches yours, and you let him see the truth in yours. His shoulders relax only slightly after he finds your words sincere, moving one large hand to your cheek to caress your face.

“No.”

You watch him swallow and force out the question he doesn’t want to ask. “Not even now that everyone knows you’re mine?”

No, you don’t want to be in the media, don’t want anyone to know who you are or try to get close to you only because of Cassian. The thought of people with ill intentions coming after you makes you sick, but you don’t want to stop this relationship with Cassian.

“I have no idea how I’m going to come back from this one, but no, I don’t want to leave you.”

Cassian releases a shaky exhale and because he can’t help himself, he dips down and kisses the hell out of you. You breathe him in, salty with sweat and part your lips, allowing his tongue to dip into your mouth, brushing softly against your own. It feels like an apology but he doesn’t need to give you one, it isn’t his fault you left the house this morning in a t-shirt you’d assumed no one would connect to the rugby player.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he breathes, lips brushing your own. He’s still holding you close, and the cocoon of his arms keeps you steady. None of the outside world matters right now, not when he’s holding you like this. “I’ll do whatever I can to fix this. I promise.”

You nod, an unsure feeling stirring your gut. You don’t know how he might begin to even attempt fixing something like this, but you trust Cassian, and there will be time to talk privately when your friends aren’t staring at you while your boyfriend kisses the daylights out of you.

Speaking of, Mor has the biggest grin on her face and Feyre’s eyes are wide, glass of wine halted halfway to her lips. At least she’s shut the door.

“Hey, Mor,” Cassian nods, and you stare up at him incredulously.

“Hey, Cass.”

Wait a minute.

“You two know each other?” you ask, just as shocked as Feyre, who’s jaw hangs low.

“My uncle owns the team,” Mor shrugs, and now your jaw is touching the ground. “I know all of the players.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Feyre exclaims, elbowing Mor in the side. She groans dramatically, rolling her eyes as she snatches her friend’s glass from her hand to take a sip.

This is certainly news to you. You can’t believe all this time Mor and Cassian have known each other. When you were in the bar last week for the game and your friends had attended, Mor didn’t act like she even knew what rugby was.

“Because I didn’t think you were that into rugby,” she tuts, saying exactly what you’re thinking. She sends a pointed look your way, “And I didn’t know you were dating Cassian Bailey!”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You do feel bad for not telling your best friends, but you haven’t told anyone, not even your family.

Oh no, your family. Have they seen the social media storm that you’re now in the eye of? Have they been trying to contact you to ask their own questions or see if you’re okay?

You try to dislodge yourself from Cassian but he refuses to let you go, turning to you with a frown.

“Why are you wearing a Sealion’s hat?” His question serious, and there’s a slight scrunch to his nose, letting you in on his distaste. Fuck, you forgot about the hat.

You laugh, but it comes out thickly. “It’s Tarquin’s. He let me borrow it after the paps showed up to my work.”

“Should I be worried about this Tarquin?” Cassian asks, genuine concern on his face. So much so that your wet chuckle turns a touch more real.

“He’s more into you than me, so I’m wondering if I’m the one who should actually be worried,” you tease, hugging him tighter before pulling away. Cassian pouts, but you pat him on his chest. “You stink.”

“I thought you liked when I’m all musky and sweaty,” Cassian responds with a touch of suggestiveness. So much for figuring out what to do about your face in the public tonight.

And it’s fine, for now. You’d much rather spend your evening allowing Cassian to comfort you, and you him. You can still see the weariness in his gaze, how he may not want to talk about this in front of an audience. He cares for your opinion and your opinion only.

“Okay, ew,” Feyre says, sliding from her spot at the counter and reaching for her shoes. “I’m Feyre, by the way, and we’re totally leaving, right Mor?” she asks over her shoulder to a smirking Mor.

“No, wait, you guys don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do. We do not want to be around while the two of you make-up,” Mor agrees with Feyre, slipping into her own shoes. Expensive trainers that she must’ve slipped into quickly when she’d found out the news. She snatches her purse off of the counter, key ring jingling with keychains and keys. “Call us when your phone stops blowing up. See you later, Cass.”

“I think your captain is really hot by the way,” Feyre yells as Mor shoves her through the door with a laugh.

You sigh, turning back to your boyfriend who’s grinning down at you like a creep.

“What?”

“I like your friends,” he says earnestly, pulling you back into his body by your hips. “Now, how about some dinner?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Change Your Ticket Taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starsinyourseyes @jdeclerc @indiedash @kennedy-brooke @tothestarsandwhateverend @azsteris @obsessivereaderchick @aalxrose @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielover @bookishbroadwaybish @itsinherited @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @vellichor01 @mischiefmanagers @queerqueenlynn @justdreamstars @mayemperess @wallacewillow0773638 @microwaveallthedemons

[azsazz]

Ace of Hearts

Modern!Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian has always been there for you, best friend until the end. Harboring deep feelings for you without realizing it, he watches you navigate your love-life from the sidelines.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence (memories)

Word Count: 2,082

Notes: Fluffy modern Cassian for the win! Shoutout @writingsbychlo for the title <3

_________________________________________

“A royal flush,” Azriel smirks, placing his cards on the table for them all to see.

Rhysands mouth drops in shock and Cassian groans, tossing his head back on his shoulders. His hair pulls and he winces. It’s getting longer and he should get it cut soon but he’s too lazy, and besides, he kind of likes the way it looks when he pulls it into a messy knot at the back of his head.

“Are you shitting me, Az?” he exclaims, all but throwing his cards onto the velvet of the poker table before him. He’s lost the last five hands and Azriel’s on a hot streak, but then again, the quiet man always is. He has better luck than anyone Cassian’s ever known, and he himself is just biding his time until the smirking man across from him wins the lottery. “You have to be cheating!”

Rhys grumbles, letting his measly pair sit face up, mocking him. He reaches for a handful of salty chips, the only thing that will make him feel better about his quickly dwindling wallet, and stuffs them into his mouth. His stomach growls in thanks, but it’s not enough. He clicks on his phone, biting back a smile as he responds to his girlfriend's cheeky text, before hitting the app for Velaris’ local pizza shop – Moon Pie – and adding his saved order to the cart.

Azriel smirks, leaning forward to drag his winnings back to his side of the table. The chips clack in a taunting manner, and Cassian can only glare at the betraying tokens. His friend is quick about it, the marred flash of his skin a beacon for all attention under the dim light of the table. Rhys nor him would ever stare. They’ve known Azriel long enough, had been the ones he’d run to when he was young and his step brothers made a game out of torturing their little brother, burning his hands with their father’s cigar lighter and a bottle of gasoline they’d snuck into the garage to get.

If he thinks about it, Azriel’s terrified scream still rings in his ears, even after all these years. Rhys and him had come running to the next yard over at the screeching but they were both too young to know what to do, and Azriel’s step brothers had turned to them with such wicked grins there was no doubt in hell that Cassian knew he was next to suffer the same fate.

It was Rhysand’s mother who had come to the rescue, dropping the plate into the sud-filled sink at the commotion and sprinting to where her son and his best friends’ screams were coming from. Cassian remembers her looking like a true superhero that day, calm as she helped Azriel stifle the flames. Nychta was on the phone quicker than he’d ever seen someone move, calling for both the police and an ambulance, screaming something about third-degree burns on a child and to get there as soon as they could.

She had always been a light in their lives, and became a mother to all three of them. Azriel’s own was away too often to be a stable parental figure in his life, and after what had happened with his step-brothers he was bound to be put into the system if Rhysand’s mother hadn’t stepped in.

Cassian was just another malnourished child from the trailer park, running around the neighborhood barefoot and holes in his shirts with a father that had run at the first sign of trouble and a mother he couldn’t remember. Nychta had gladly taken him into her home without complaint.

But she had died when they were teens, when all they wanted to do was graffiti walls down by the highway and didn’t give a shit about what any figure of authority had to say. She’d been driving Rhys’ younger sister to her dance recital and Rhys had reluctantly talked them into attending, saying he’d let them drive the brand new car his father had gotten him for his seventeenth birthday, when he’d gotten the call. There was an accident, Cassian heard through the phone…mother and sister are gone…my condolences.

None of them had driven that car for an entire year after that.

“Pizza will be here in thirty,” Rhys says, snapping Cassian from his harrowing memories. He’s grimacing, jaw clenched so tightly it aches when he opens it to choke down a swig of his beer. Azriel normally doesn’t miss a thing, but he’s focused on organizing his poker chips into neat stacks by color, five per pile.

He drags his gaze back to his own tokens, lips pulling downward when he sees how many he has left. They’ve only been playing for an hour but the hundred dollars he’d managed to scrounge up this week didn’t last him long, and he’ll be forced into watching if he doesn’t start winning soon.

“Veggie?” Az asks without looking up from his task.

Rhys rolls his eyes, answering, “Yes, Az.” He’s suddenly gone vegetarian for a girl he’d met in his earlier-than-even-satan-rises hot yoga class. The two haven’t even talked yet but Cassian has heard about it more times than he can count. He and Rhys have multiple bets going on: if Azriel will make a move, how long it takes him to start eating meat again, and he’ll be damned if he loses.

He’s tired of losing.

“Meat extreme?” Cassian asks, mimicking Azriel. His friend cuts him a sharp glare from beneath the dark fringe hanging over his eyes, gleaming gold like nocturnal animals, but Cassian only grins. He’s also made a pact that for every meatless meal Azriel eats, he’ll have double, and the way it annoys his friend is just the icing on his cake.

Rhysand puffs a laugh, dealing out another round of cards. “Yes, Cass, meat-heart-attack-extreme for you. Extra large.”

“Aces,” he sighs, grabbing a handful of pretzels to stuff in his mouth. He feels like the cat that’s got the cream but the emotion drains from his body when he sees the hand he’s been dealt.

“You fuckers can’t tell me that you’re not cheating,” he explodes, crumbles of pretzels spewing into the new pile of bets.

Rhys and Azriel share a look before they burst into a fit of laughter, wiping fake tears from their eyes and slapping their knees like this is the funniest thing they’ve ever seen.

Cassian can assure them that it’s not.

“I knew you could count cards, you fucking prick,” he grumbles to Azriel, shoving his chair back from the table as a knock on the door sounds. They’re at his and Az’s place tonight, not Rhysand’s mega-mansion because his long-term girlfriend is hosting a wine and painting party that Cassian knows is secretly a vodka spritzer and gossipping party.

He can hear his friends snickering all the way to the door and he nearly rips it off of its hinges, ready to take his budding annoyance out on the poor delivery driver.

But it’s not the kid in his teens delivering pizzas in his moms minivan standing before him. It’s you, glassy-eyed and streaks of tears cutting down your cheeks, even though you’d tried so hard to keep your composure after rubbing the droplets away.

Your smile wobbles but breaks into a desperate sob that has Cassian’s heart plummeting to the floor. “Hey, Cassian.”

His brows slant angrily and his grip on the doorknob tightens for a moment as he scowls over your shoulder. He’s quick to pull you into his chest and his warmth is as comforting as ever, even if his body is rigid with temper.

“Who did this to you? What happened?” he demands, hands finding your hair, twisting his fingers through your locks to scratch soothingly at your scalp as he drags you inside. His heart flutters at your proximity, the way you’re clinging to his shirt, but he mistakes the feeling as one of nervousness for you, furious on your behalf because his best friend shouldn’t be showing up at his house, crying.

“It’s nothing,” you snivel. “I’m just overreacting.”

“There’s no such thing,” he murmurs, squeezing your tighter. He can hear how his friends have gone quiet in the dining room. The sounds of your muffled sobs have caught their attention and he bristles because they shouldn’t be snooping. “Rhys and Az are here,” Cassian adds quietly, “Just so you know.”

You pull from his arms with a horrified look that would normally make him laugh. It’s not so funny when it’s paired with your puffy eyes and red nose.

“Oh my Gods,” you exclaim, trying to shove yourself from his arms. “I didn’t–I mean I really should have known, but please, Cass, don’t let me ruin your night. I’ll just go home and put on–”

His large hand caresses your chin, halting your words as he tilts your face to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes is stern, as is his voice when he says, “You’re never intruding. Rhys and Az can fuck off for all I care,” he adds, loud enough that conversation in the other room picks back up again. You roll your eyes fondly at his two friends that have also turned into yours.

Cassian’s voice drops again, thumb stroking across your tear stained cheek. “What happened?”

Tears brim your eyes again and your lip wobbles. Damn. He’d done a good job at distracting you and now you’re about to cry again. There’s a tug in his chest.

“It turns out Eris Vanserra isn’t all he cracks up to be,” you laugh wetly, and Cassian frowns.

He’d known it from the moment he’d seen Eris that the cocky asshole would break your heart. He’d spent days online looking into the man’s life when you had announced you were seeing him, and he didn’t like a thing he’d found.

But you’d been so happy that he told himself he wouldn’t ruin it for you. He was just being a jealous man, wanted what Eris had and had always been too cowardly to make a move. You hadn’t waited around for him either, didn’t know to.

You and Cassian had always skirted the line as something more, but that was just who you were, easygoing and ready to give anyone the shit they gave you.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says softly, but you scoff.

“Whatever, Cass. I know you didn’t like him.”

“No,” he agrees, “But I won’t do the whole ‘I told you so’ thing, don’t worry.”

You huff, shoving at his shoulder. “You just did.”

Cassian laughs and it warms your heart, stitching the pieces together in the only way a best friend can. You knew you’d come to the right person with your heartbreak. You’d rather be laughing through the pain than wallowing in it, and Cassian was just the person to pull you from your funk.

“Well, only the one time then,” he winks, giving you a squeeze as another knock on the door sounds. It’s the pizza this time and he thanks the driver before turning back to you, arms stacked with pies. “Why don’t you get settled in my room and I’ll meet you there for dinner? I’ll even make Az trade me half of his because I got meat extreme.”

“I don’t know how you eat that,” you crinkle your nose. “The cheese and bread are drowned out by the pound of meat on that thing!”

Cassian rolls his eyes fondly. “Spoken like a true carb fiend.”

Your soft smile turns serious, gaze flickering towards the wall that separates you from Rhys and Az. “It’s okay, Cass, have your boys night. I’ll be fine.”

“No,” he disagrees, balancing the pizzas in one hand while the other takes hold of your arm. He’ll drag you to his room if he has to. “You’re staying. I can see those assholes whenever.”

“Hey,” Rhys calls from the dining room and you laugh. He knew they were eavesdropping. “This asshole bought you dinner!”

Ignoring his friend, Cassian responds loudly. “They’re cheating!”

You scowl through the wall at them, as if they can see the way you’re mentally scolding them. “Well, in that case, we should take their pizzas and let them starve.”

Chairs scrape across the floor with protests and you squeal as they round the corner, zeroing in on you. Cassian gives you a gentle shove towards his room and puffs his chest, “Go! I’ll distract them!”

[azsazz]

Break Up in a Small Town

Modern!Cassian x Archeron Sister!Reader

Summary: Based off of the song Break Up in a Small Town by Sam Hunt: You and Cassian have broken up and everything in town reminds him of you. It's inevitable that he sees you around, and it's hard for him to be okay when he sees you with your new man.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, drinking.

Word Count: 4,489

Notes: Small town Cassian giving me life rn.

_________________________________________

Cassian knew he would see you around.

It’s hard not to see someone he knows every time he leaves his house—the town has less than a thousand people for fucks sake. There isn’t a day that goes by where someone doesn’t stop to talk to him while he’s putting gas in his beat-down Ford Bronco or chatting him up while he tries to pay for his food in the drive through. 

And normally, he welcomes it. He loves to shoot the shit with people he’s known since he was young. He’d run into Tarquin the other day at Walmart while he was picking up a rack of beer for tonight's party. He hadn’t seen the team captain of the high school football team since he’d heard Tarquin received a full scholarship to Ole Miss. He was the only one on their team to do so, though Cassian also had recruiters watching him at games. Thanks to a nasty red-flag tackle by Jurian which left his ACL torn during the championship game, they’d pulled their offers back quicker than a greased pig. Hybern High went all for nothing that year.

He still looked sheepish when Azriel’s mother had checked him out at the grocery store, even though he’s been of age for a few years now. Cassian’s cheeks flushed under her knowing look: she’d caught them more times than he could count when they were teenagers trying to find a way to sneak booze without her knowing.

The party is in full swing. Drinks are flowing and Kallias has taken over the speakers to play his mixtape. The bass is so heavy Cassian can hardly hear the words, but Vivianne’s vocals are grating, pitched too high and not on key with the rest of the notes. He shares a look with Azriel, who cringes, but clinks his beer against Cassian’s before throwing the whole can back.

Cassian follows suit, downing the cheap beer like it’s his job. It’s not his occupation, no, that would be working on cars down at Bryaxis’ Axles, but it’s pretty much his secondary one. He trails Azriel into the kitchen, wading through people gyrating on the makeshift dance floor. They round the counter laden with alcohol—tequila, empty fruity vodka shots that Mor has forced him to take with her, and some concoction of juices and multiple alcohols that nearly burned off his nose hairs when he smelt it—and make way for the fridge where he’d stuffed his beer. It better still be in there or there will be hell to pay.

“When’s Rhys coming down again?” Cassian asks, taking the beer from Azriel as he rises. He tries not to let his fingers brush his quiet friends. They’re marred and Azriel doesn't like when attention of any kind is brought to them, even though Cassian and Rhysand had never held it against him.

A house fire was the rumor around town. But Azriel had only set it straight with him and Rhys at a sleepover one night, when it was going on four in the morning and they were sleep deprived and drunk off their first beers. Maybe Azriel had thought they wouldn’t remember the next day, but there was no way Cassian could forget that his step brothers had taken the lighter fluid form the garage and set his hands ablaze because of their sadistic tendencies.

Azriel’s mother had taken him and moved as far as she could with the money she was saving up, but they’d only made it a few towns over, and Cassian is thankful. Azriel’s father had never shown his face in the years he’s lived here.

“No idea,” Azriel responds, stepping aside to let Thesean into the fridge. The fucker dips his hand right into Cassian’s box of beer, pulling one out before diving in for a second. Cassian grits his teeth but when the other man straightens he notices how glazed over his eyes are, and Cassian knows his threats won’t land. “You know he’s got that internship up in New York.”

Right, while Cassian could only afford to go to their local college, Rhysand’s parents sent him to the most expensive one they could buy him into. And Azriel’s had a job since he was a teenager, when hacking into cameras around town for fun turned into something that made serious money. He bought his mother a house and everything, even offered a room to Cassian, but Cassian wants to make his own way, even if he is living in a run down apartment across town. It’s his, and he worked hard for it.

“Shit, you’re right,” Cassian sighs. It turns into a full on glare when the backdoor shoves open and Balthazar stumbles through, arm wrapped around Emerie for support. The man’s eyes light up at the sight of him and Azriel, while Emerie parts with a sour look in his direction, slinking off into the living room.

“What’s up?” Balthazar slurs, leaning heavily against the counter. He looks like he might slide right off of it, but neither he nor Azriel do anything about it.

“Hey, Balth,” Az greets, popping the top of his beer so he has something to do. They’ll be trapped with the talkative man if they don’t think of an excuse to leave soon. 

Balthazar’s eyes light up at the sound of the can cracking open, but neither of the men before him offer to get him one. No matter for him, he pulls a joint from the pocket of his jeans and a bat shaped lighter from the other, flicking it to life and setting the tip ablaze.

“You guys hear Feyre might be pregnant?” He says through a deep inhale of smoke. Cassian shares a look with Azriel, who never seems affected by any of the small town gossip. He never seems affected by anything, really.

His heart skips at the thought of Feyre. Not because of her and whoever the father of this maybe child might be, but because he’s reminded of you, her sister, the girl he’d lost. Gods, did Cassian fuck up royally when it came to you. 

He takes the bait. Anything to get his mind off of you. “No fucking way.”

Balthazar smiles smug, holding the joint out their way. Cassian declines with a wave of his beer, but Azriel takes a hit, obviously uncomfortable with how crowded and rowdy the party has become.

“Yup. Apparently it was a one night stand with ‘the most beautiful man she’s ever seen,’” he bats his eyes like a simpering girl, voice pitched high in his best impression of the youngest Archeron sister.

Azriel answers through a puff of thick smoke, his voice already scratchy with it. “But isn’t she with—”

“Tam? Yeah, man, I thought so too.” 

Cassian sighs, looking at his beercan. It’s full, so there’s no excuse for him to turn away and grab another. He’s wracking his mind for anything he can use as an excuse to escape the conversation, his night gone sour now that his mind is on you. It likely will be for the rest of the night too, and he’d rather sit on his futon and wallow by himself than to stay at this party.

“Speaking of Archerons,” Balthazar says, taking the joint back from Azriel. “How are you and—”

Fuck it, Cassian thinks, because Balthazar is totally drunk enough not to notice his full beer. “I think I need another drink,” he states, and Azriel glares as he abandons him with Balthazar. That man can gossip for hours, and luckily, silent old Azriel is the perfect listener.

“Isn’t the fridge right behind you?” he hears Balthazar ask Azriel as he retreats, but he doesn’t care. He shoves his beer onto the counter as he makes his way towards the front of the house where his Bronco’s parked.

He hasn’t had that much to drink yet, not even a slight buzz has kicked in, or it’s been dulled from Balthazar's painful topic of gossip. Cassian slips through the crowd as easily as a six foot five man can, girls trying to lure him onto the dance floor and guys clapping him on the back, rallying him for the next game of beer pong. 

Cassain politely declines, reaching for the knob just as it pushes open and his heart stops. 

It’s you. 

His breath is forced from his chest by your beauty. You look amazing as always, hair done up to perfection and eyes alight with the shots you’d taken for confidence, a part of you knowing that you might see him here tonight. You’re laughing with Elain and Feyre who cling to your sides, and Nesta brings the Archeron clan to a close. Your steps falter and grin drops when you meet Cassian’s eyes.

Your mouth parts as if to say something, but Nesta’s interrupting and shoving you inside with a grumble and a curse spat Cassian’s way. His heart shatters again as he watches you walk deeper into the living room without a glance back at him.

He clenches his jaw and steps out into the cool night.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

You haunt him.

It’s a week later and Cassian hasn’t stopped thinking about you. How…good you looked, glowing and laughing whole-heartedly with your sisters when he’s hardly been able to even get out of bed. You’re still burrowed too deep in his heart. Your eyes, your nose, your lips, your hands, your—

He knows you haven't left town, but it feels like you have, with the way you’re avoiding each other. And you seem to be a professional at it, since it's been almost two months since the night you left him. He was a fool to let you go, not fight for you the way you surely wanted because he had accepted failure all too easily. You had made more than one good point. Cassian can’t be what you need.

Cassian hadn’t seen you at the football game tonight. The Velaris Stars had made it to the championship game of the season and everyone in town had come out for it, as the only exciting event for all to enjoy.

He’d gone with Azriel, of course, and even Rhysand had responded to his video of the winning touchdown. The popcorn had been fresh and the air was jovial, the night ending on a high note. The team is going to state.

Fiddling with the stations on his radio at the red light, he doesn’t realize that you’ve pulled up next to him until your giggles filter through the cracked window of your car and his heart stops. He thinks he hears you sometimes, telling him to knock it off when he’s had one too many beers or makes an ill-timed joke. The height differences in your small car compared to his tall one make it difficult to look, but he sits straighter and cranes his neck to see out the passenger window, and yep. It’s definitely you.

In your white Nissan he knows better than his own car. That thing is always breaking down. His heart pinches in his chest when he’s reminded of the time you’d taken it out into the fields to go stargazing. It wouldn’t start and your phones had died. Instead of walking ten miles back to town, you’d asked him to stay up with you all night under the stars, laughing and kissing like it was your last night on Earth.

Cassian wonders who's working on your car now that you’re no longer together.

He doesn’t know why you’re laughing, but he revels in the sound of it even though he feels like shit because he’s not the one making those noises coming from your mouth. Cassian wears a soft smile, thinking about all of the good times you’ve shared, until he notices the hand on your thigh.

The smile falls right off of his face.

His knuckles turn white from how hard he grips the steering wheel. The bright red of the streetlight pours into your car but he can’t see the passengers face, all he knows is that’s a man's hand holding your leg and soothing over it with his thumb. His teeth grind. 

You refuse to look his way. Surely, you must know that you’ve pulled up beside him at this Godforsaken light that for some reason will not turn the fuck green. No, they want him to sit here and see what he’s lost, how happy you are with someone new.

And when the light finally changes he can’t seem to move. He sees your fleeting smile as you take off and he’s left reading that silly bumper sticker Nesta had slapped on the back bumper when she was the one who owned the car, the ‘honk if you like reading smut’ in thick, bold letters laughing at him in the face.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

The worst part about this breakup is, everywhere he goes reminds him of you.

You used to hang out with the same group of people but since the breakup happened Cassian didn’t want any of them to be stuck in the betweens of your fucked up relationship. He couldn’t even suggest trying to be friends because the thought of that alone made him want to throw up. He could never be friends with you, he doesn’t want to, because knowing you in the way that he did and not being able to touch you and hold you and fuck you like he did was much too painful. He kept Azriel in the breakup and let you have everyone else.

When he goes to the McDonald’s for lunch he sees the booth you’d spent almost two hours in, wrappers from ice cream cone strewn about the table because you asked shyly if he would judge you if you went back for a second cone and he grinned mischievously and asked if you wanted to bet on who could down more ice cream. He won, of course, but it had been a valiant effort from you nonetheless.

When he went to the library to return the book he hadn’t even cracked the spine of. He thought reading would help take his mind off of the breakup but Cassian didn’t have the energy. Gwyn was at the front desk, glaring up at him as he slid the book across the counter for her to return. The workspace was filled with art supplies, a post-it note with Feyre and your names scrawled on it and he remembered that the both of you host a arts and crafts day for the children in town once a month. Gwyn had caught his eye and shooed him away. Nesta would have been proud of the shy girl.

When he drives down the country curves, avoiding the crossroads to your house completely. All of the places he’d haphazardly pulled over when you were searching for a place to have sex. But there’s no privacy in these small towns so the back of his Bronco would have to do. It was spacious, but never the place he really wanted to take you in. He wanted to give you a proper bed and worship you like you deserved. If you’d only given him a few more years he would have his own place, though you merit a plush, large bed instead of his paper thin futon.

Cassian stops into Alice’s cafe. It’s fairly early in the morning, but the place is still packed because it’s one of the only restaurants in town. Somethings off about him today, though, and maybe it’s because his mind hasn’t stopped working overtime, trying to figure out who was in that car with you.

Why hadn’t he been driving? Did you want to drive or was he so pretentious that he wouldn’t take you around town? Does he even have a car? He can’t stop overanalyzing the situation and he’s sleep deprived. All he wants is a fucking coffee and the town doesn’t even have a Starbucks yet, so he has to park his car in the overflow lot and go inside. He doesn’t want to be bothered, but the cafe is crawling with townies, so it’s inevitable he’ll see someone he knows.

He doesn’t expect it to be you. 

It’s not like you’re sitting in any of the booths that line his path to the ordering counter. His eyes seem to gravitate towards you no matter where you are, and your playful flirting is unmistakable. He knows, he’s been happily on the other side of that banter before.

Cassian’s gaze locks on you first. You look perfect, unfazed by anything happening in the loud cafe around you. Dishes clang together as the waitress gathers them. It’s Cerridwen, and her twin Naula is manning the espresso machine, Cassian notices when the waitress nods her direction, letting you know that your latte will only be a few more minutes.

“Take your time,” you reassure, eyes sparkling as they move back across the table. Cassian wishes that Cerridwen would move out of the way so he can see who you’re smiling at. “I’m in no rush.”

And then she steps away and his world comes screeching to a halt.

He knows who was in that car with you because he’s sitting across from you right now, a fox-like smile on his face.

Eris Vanserra.

The most pretentious of the Vanserras, if Cassian does say so himself. They’ve never gotten along, mostly due to the fact that Eris is a raging, rich, dick and he’s from the boonies. The Vanserra’s are some of the wealthiest folk in town, their father, Beron, a successful farmer. They own half of the land in this town and then some.

He knows that Eris can take care of you, money wise, but does the asshole please you in bed? He looks like he’s all take and not give. He knows that Eris has a working car, a nice one too, so he doesn’t understand why you were driving him around that night, but it doesn’t seem to matter at the moment when all of the thoughts racing through his head incinerate with his anger.

Cassian’s fingers curl into fists.

Of course it’s Eris. Of. Fucking. Course. It. Is. It couldn’t have been anyone else? Not Bron or Hart or even Lucien? The nicest of the Vanserras? Cassian knows he’s been in a steady relationship with Elain since they were in middle school, but still. Isn’t it weird to be dating the brother of your sister's boyfriend? Cassian sure as fuck thinks so.

This is utterly ridiculous and he’s raging. He needs to get out of here before he picks up your latte and brings it over to you, shoving Eris further into the booth so he can slam his hands down on that table and yell, “Why him?”

Cassian abandons the idea of getting coffee and spins on his heel, ignoring some of the people who try to greet him, leaving the cafe as quickly as he can. 

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

“You knew?” he asks into the phone. The bite of pizza in his mouth turns to sludge and he feels betrayed, but he’ll let Azriel explain because surely his best friend hasn’t kept the fact that you’re seeing one of the Vanserra’s a secret from him. 

Azriel shrugs, and something shuffles across the line. “I uh, I’ve been talking to Gwyn.”

Ah. So he’s finally trying to make a move on the fiery redhead from the library. He’s proud of Azriel on the inside, but it doesn’t reflect in his tone because he’s hurt by the subdued man’s actions.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“You never want to talk about her!” Cassian’s dumbstruck. He’s never heard Azriel so loud, irked by his sad nature. His mouth parts even though he doesn’t know how to respond but that’s more than okay because Azriel’s not finished yet. “It’s been months, Cass. You can’t expect her to wallow in sadness for the rest of her life.” And, ouch. That one felt like a direct shot at him. “She was bound to move on at some point and Eris treats her well enough, if that’s what you’re wondering.” It wasn’t, and that just stings more. 

Cassian’s reply is quiet, throat tight. “I’ve got to go.”

Azriel sighs down the line, sensing he’s fucked up. “Cass—”

“No, it’s cool, Az. I’ve just got shit to do. I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up on Azriel’s protest, making a face at the half eaten slice of pizza in his hand. Cassian tosses it back into the box and sits further back in his chair, running his fingers through his almost too-long hair.

Fuck. He can’t sit around and think about you and Eris together or he’ll actually go nuts. With a grunt he stands, swiping his keys from the bowl by the door. He has to work out his frustrations, and there’s only one thing that can help him with that.

He’ll go to work.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱

“Cass?” Helion calls, “What are you doing here?” 

“Just need to work off some frustration,” Cassian says, cringing at the hard edge to his voice. He flings his keys on the top of the tool box before slipping into his grease-stained shirt. He shoves his finger into the button to raise his car on the lift, snagging his safety-goggles from the shelf and sliding them on. 

Helion appears, sliding back into the open doorway of his office, a teasing grin on his face. “You know, when I was your age, working off frustration meant—”

“Now’s really not the best time, Helion,” Cassian responds, taking his quarter inch wrench and walking beneath his car, examining the underside. He knows exactly what needs to be done, all of the parts that he can’t afford on his meager wages means that he has to purchase them slowly, one at a time, and it’s likely that the new parts will be worn in and rusted by the time he even comes close to finishing this project.

Fucking small towns.

“Girl troubles?”

Cassian shoots him a sour look that only makes the older man laugh. “Isn’t it always?”

“When I was young,” Helion starts again and Cassian rolls his eyes. The owner of the mechanics shop always starts his stories with variations of ‘When I was your age’ or ‘when I was young.’ It’s annoyingly endearing at the best of times, but right now, it’s down right infuriating, especially since Cassian wants to be alone. “I had a girl too. She was everything to me, and I had plans to marry her.” The older man's tone goes soft, longing, and Cassian pauses his work to look over. “A pretty thing, long, amber hair and all soft smiles…”

“What happened?” Cassian asks, but is weary, already sensing how this story might end.

Helion shrugs, as if after all of this time it doesn’t bother him. Clearly, it's not the case and Cassain wonders if this is his destiny, to end up like Helion, alone and longing for the woman he’s lost. His heart aches.

“She got away,” his boss answers sadly, eyes dull. “I couldn’t be who she wanted me to be, so she left me. Found herself someone better off than me.” Cassian wonders who it could be. Helion was born in this town and never left, never wanted to, but he’s not sure if it’s because the woman he is still so clearly in love with is here and he’s waiting for his chance to be with her, or if it’s because the man has nowhere else to go. 

“Sounds similar to what I’m going through right now,” Cassian sighs, shoving his goggles up on his head. He’s clearly not going to get any work done, so he slumps into the extra chair by Helion's desk, a frown on his face. “Helion? Is there something you would do differently?”

The older man sighs, assessing him deeply. It makes Cassian shift uncomfortably in his seat. 

And when he speaks, it’s exactly what Cassian needs to hear. “I would’ve gotten the hell out of dodge, had I been smart.”

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱

The drink he had at Rita’s hadn’t been a good idea. His stomach is in knots, and the alcohol hadn’t helped loosen them in the slightest.

Is he really going to do this? 

He had the entire night to think about his plans, his future. Had Helion been honest when he said that he should’ve left town to avoid the heartbreak that plagued him? Could skipping out actually help mend his aching heart?

It might be worth a shot.

Cassian’s backpack is light, stuffed with only the necessities. He’d called Rhys on his drive back to his apartment, and he’d offered him the second bedroom at his apartment for the summer if the Bronco could make it all the way up to New York. 

It would be a change, a big one that makes his heart pound in his chest to even consider, but if fleeing town like a coward will help him heal from the breakup, it might be worth the shot. 

He decides that he has enough money to make it to New York, and he’ll call Azriel when he gets there, or when he’s on the road and bored of seeing only the highway. He knows Az will be hurt, upset that he didn’t tell him in person, but he’s still mad at the quiet man for keeping your relationship with Eris a secret.

Azriel was being a good friend to you, that Cassian knows, but it still hurts. It hurts to think about Azriel hanging out with you and your sisters and their boyfriends, how he might even actually get along with Eris somehow. The thought of being friends with Eris Vanserra has always been foreign to Cassain.

He takes a last look around his apartment. Azriel will send down the rest of his stuff later, he knows it. His lease ends soon anyway, so if he’s going to leave town, now is the perfect time.

There isn’t anything in this apartment he’ll miss. He’d thrown away the things he kept from your relationship in a fit of rage when he found out about you and Eris. He’d regretted it immediately after.

Cassian loses a breath. A fresh start in a completely different state. This is what he needs.

He shuts off the lights and turns the knob one last time before stepping into the new chapter of his life. New York, here I come.

The streetlight spills through the open crack, illuminating the figure on the other side, hand poised to knock. 

Cassian stills, hand so tight on the knob he thinks it might warp, the sight of you in his doorway a shocking surprise.

You’re twisting your fingers together nervously, shifting on your feet like you’re not sure what you’re doing here at all.

“Hey, Cass…”

[azsazz]

Dial Drunk

Small Town!Cassian x Archeron Sister!Reader

Summary: Cassian can't get you out of his head. The alcohol doesn't help, either.

Based on the song Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan

Warnings: Drinking, fist-fighting, police, mentions of cheating (not cassian), mentions of a boy dragging a girl upstairs (not cassian), angst, break-up.

Word Count: 4,070

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“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Cassian grumbles, shoving some of the sopping wet hair out of his face. He doesn’t care that it’s raining, that droplets bead at the tip of his straight nose, that his clothes are soaked through and sticking to his skin or that he’s standing in front of the entrance to Ritas, he doesn’t care about any of it. 

The only thing he does care about is the fact that you’re not answering his calls.

He curses as your cheery voice chimes in his ear, tinny through the line. It’s your voicemail, telling him something about sticking around and about how you can’t get to the phone right now and that you’ll call him back. It’s utter fucking bullshit, is what it is. You’ve been dodging his calls for weeks now, ever since you’d told him you wanted to stop seeing him.

Cassian’s heart has been aching ever since.

He doesn’t leave a message this time—mostly because there’s no room in your inbox, filled with messages long left from him. He grunts and shoves his phone back into his pocket. The bitter taste of his drink is thrown back with a grimace. Rita would have his balls if she found out he took one of her glasses out here, and it’s all he can do not to chuck it into the street in frustration.

He just wants a chance to explain.

The door behind him shoves open and hits his back. Cassian spins, a remark on the tip of his tongue, fingers curled around the glass, ready to use it as a weapon if he needs to.

It’s Rita herself, bar owner and roughened with years of dealing with drunken regulars. The short, stocky woman glares up at him as if he’s not three times her size. She’s wiping her hands on the towel hanging from the pocket of her apron, then crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Knew I was missing a glass,” she comments, nodding to Cassian’s hand. He grimaces, shoulders falling and swallowing back the rude retort he had prepared if it were anyone other than her. Anger itches at his skin, his fists aching to smash through something as the alcohol burns through his veins.

“Sorry,” he grits, handing over the glass. Rita gives him a knowing look that he ignores and holds the door wider for him, inviting him back into the dank warmth of the bar.

He trudges inside. He doesn’t want people looking at him like that, with pity because he’d let the best thing he’d ever had go. Everyone in town knows by now how one of those sweet Archeron sisters broke his heart. 

Broke is a loose term. It feels like you’ve done much more than that. Ripped it out of his chest and doused it with your favorite alcohol, lighting it on fire in the streets for the whole town to see. It feels like you’d let it turn to ash and picked up the soot and threw it into the river, washing your hands of him. 

Fuck, did he mess up. Again and again and again. He can’t blame you though, you’d put up with enough for him and you never had to. Nesta nor Elain cared for him, he knew from the moment you’d first brought him home, when all they could do was share secretive looks with each other, uncaring if he caught them. It was almost as if they wanted him to see. Feyre and he got along, if only for the fact that she was nicer than the other two and actually gave him a chance.

Cassian’s sure the Archeron household was filled with cheers when you told them you’d left him.

He slumps back into the seat he’d been occupying since he’d gotten off of work. He didn’t want to go back to the meager apartment he calls home. It’s littered with dirty clothes and old pizza boxes, and there’s no food there anyway. He’s even drunk the last dregs of any of the alcohol he has, and he hasn’t been to the store yet to restock. He hasn’t had the energy to. At least Rita has a bowl of nuts sitting on the bar. Cassian takes a handful and shoves them into his mouth, but they sit uneasily in his alcohol filled stomach.

“Careful, the old men suck the chocolate off of those,” the bartender says, swiping at the bartop with her towel, sweeping away the drops of water dripping from his hair.

He gags and she laughs. “I’m only joking.” Cassian sizes her up. She’s pretty, he supposes, chestnut hair pulled high into a ponytail at the back of her head, tiny hairs framing her face in a way he’s not sure is intentional or not. Her green eyes sparkle with mischief and she’s wearing a cropped black t-shirt with the bar's logo on the front.

If he were more inebriated he’d probably let her take him home, let her ride him and forget your memory in her cunt.

He forces a laugh. “Another bourbon, please.” 

“You cutting that with anything?” She presses, raising a perfectly trimmed brow. “Water, perhaps?”

“The ice is enough, thanks,” he answers, polite as he can. He’s trying to be patient, but the longer he sits here with no drink in his hand the more sober he gets, and at least if he’s drunk he can blame it on that when someone finally reams him out about calling you nonstop. 

The bartender nods, and he can’t help himself, watching her as she works, eyes trailing down her body, over the curves of her plump ass as she bends over, probably for his benefit. 

Cassian averts his gaze before she turns around, taking in the room. 

Rita’s is packed with townies, as it always is on Friday nights. He prefers it over any of the other spots in town: the boujee new gastropub right up the street or the po-dunk watering hole with shitty pop-country music and a line dancing floor that he used to frequent with you and your friends. He’d adored watching you out there on the dancefloor, living it up with a beaming smile on your face. Everyone loved you over there, and a part of him wonders if you still frequent there, or if you’ve found somewhere else to be, all to be sure to avoid him.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the bartender winks, sliding the glass across the countertop. He catches it and lifts it in response, saluting her before bringing it to his lips, savoring the bite of the spicy liquor.

One more turns to two turns to three and a shot here or there. The bar fills steadily as the night grows later. His ass is numb in his chair, but so are his lips, and it must be the alcohol’s doing. His phone lies open on the counter, texts from his friends gone unanswered in favor of your smiling face staring back at him—his wallpaper from ages ago. It’s the most recent picture he has of you and he hasn’t had the guts to change it yet. 

He finds himself wondering if your hair still looks like that, if your smiles are still as bright or if your eyes still sparkle without him. If your laughter is the same or different now that you’re no longer hanging around him, Rhys, and Azriel. He wants to know if you still wear the sweatshirt you stole from him on your first date, or his shirts to bed, or his socks because they were much more comfortable and cozy than yours. He never believed that, but seeing you in them is one of his favorite things.

Was one of his favorite things.

Cassian puts his head in his hands, trying to shut out the memory of you. His head is spinning a little, but if he’s still thinking about you it means he hasn’t had enough. 

He’s about to order another when two men sidle up to his side. It takes him a moment to clear his vision, a harsh blink, then two, and it’s then that Cassian can focus on who stands before him.

Tomas and Grayson. 

Both victims of an Aercheron breakup.

Both fucking pricks. 

“Those Archeron sisters are fucking bitches, man,” Tomas claps him on the shoulder in greeting. Cassian’s fingers tighten around his glass and his jaw clenches tightly. He doesn’t want to be around these two. He’d seen Tomas and Nesta when they were together, how he’d been trying to drag her upstairs at a party after she’d had one too many. Gwyn and Emerie had come running up to you and Cassian, begging him for help. 

He can’t be surprised that Tomas doesn’t remember the incident, since he’d knocked him out cold. Nesta was furious with him either way, not because he’d stopped the man, but because she’d been clutching a vase in her hand and wanted the final hit.

The incident didn’t help Cassian get on her good side.

And Grayson, the boy who vowed to marry Elain one day, then cheated on her with some girl from the next town over. It was when they were freshman in high school, so no one really thought they would last forever anyway. Well, except for Elain, but the cheating had been messy, and she’d broken up with him only to find Lucien soon after, the both of them inseparable to this day.

“Especially that one you were with,” Grayson adds, and Cassian knows they know your name. “She doesn’t like anyone, dude, don’t take it to heart.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Cassian grits, shouldering Tomas’ hand away, “And get the fuck off of me.” 

“Woah, bro,” Tomas responds, holding his hands up in surrender. His drink sloshes over the edge of his glass a little, and it catches Cassian’s attention. He’s drinking a sex on the beach for fuck’s sake. He needs them to go away. Now. “Just stating the facts.”

Ire grinds his bones, streams through his body like snakes, coiling around him tighter and tighter until he’s so close to losing his grip on his anger that the glass cracks in his hand. It’s not shattered yet, but it just might, and he catches the spearing eyes of the bartender, flicking to Rita who’s working down the bar, before settling on his again, softly shaking her head.

He blows out a breath, letting the glass drop to the counter with a thud. Cassian shoves from his seat, stumbling a little, and he doesn’t like the way that both of the men flank him. He feels like a trapped dog, and he’s just waiting to snap.

“S’not facts,” Cassian slurs. The room spins, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s had to drink until this very moment, because the two men in front of them become four and then two and then four again, exchanging smirks with each other, ready to poke the beast. “She’s the best.”

“Not from what I’ve seen,” Grayson says, and Cassian never liked this kid. His voice is fucking gating, grinding on his brain in the worst way. “You should hear the shit she does for Eris now that she’s dropped your dumbass.” 

Grayson doesn’t see Cassian’s fist coming, but he sure as fuck feels it, even if it only clips his jaw because Cassian’s swaying backwards, the alcohol skewing his momentum. It makes the drink in his hand spill, glass shattering on the floor, and the next thing Cassian knows, Tomas’s fist is coming straight for his face.

He hardly feels the punch land, either because the prick is weak as fuck of because he’s had one too many. Cassian doesn’t feel his lip splitting open, catching on his teeth, nor does he taste the blood bursting into his mouth. He grins like a feral dog as he rights his balance, more than ready for a fight.

The bartender and Rita are yelling, and she’s whipping her towel across the bar in their direction, threatening something about calling the police but none of the three young men listen. Cassian’s already tucking in, a shot aimed straight for Grayson’s stomach. A cheap one, but it makes the little bitch bend over, groaning in agony, and Cassian feels triumphant for a moment before someone’s trying to pull him away.

Cassian’s nowhere near ready to stop, though, shoving the man behind him off. When he turns back to the two assholes making his shitty night worse, Tomas tosses Grayson’s drink in his face. The fruity alcohol burns slightly, stinging the split of his lip, but Cassian only raises a brow.

“That all you got, you fucking pussy?”

He catches the way their wide gazes go from his pulled back fist to over his shoulder as the door bangs open, then to each other, before they cower away from him, smirks hidden as they duck their chins.

“Cassian,” a deep voice calls over his shoulder. It’s one he’s too familiar with. One that he hates more than this gods damned break-up. 

Slowly, he lowers his fist, teetering around on his heel. Devlin stands behind him, decked out in his pristine police uniform. He has one hand on his hip. The butt of his gun glints in the lowlights of the bar. The other is on his walkie, speaking softly into it and Cassian’s stomach drops. He knows those words cutting through his drunken haze. 

Devlin’s going to take him in. 

Fuck his fucking life.

“Turn around, and put your hands behind your back,” Devlin says, dropping his hand from his walkie-talkie to the cuffs at his belt. His face is hard but Cassian can see the mirth swimming in his eyes clear as day. “I’m sure you know the drill by now.”

He does. It’s not the first time he’s been taken down to the station for fighting. Rhys, Az, and he have gotten caught for spray painting city buildings, underage drinking, fist-fights after school—normal small town shenanigans that almost everyone’s participated in once or twice.

He turns around, doesn’t resist as Devlin clips the metal around his wrists unnecessarily tight. Tomas and Gayson share matching smiles, and the younger asshole has his phone out, recording the events. Cassian bares his teeth, knowing that they’re going to blast it on social media for everyone in town to see. 

If you catch a look at it, it will only solidify your decision to break up with him.

He curses at them, but it does nothing. Devlin drags him from the bar by the scruff of his neck and shoves him outside. He’s met with a facefull of rain and the flashing red and blue of the police car sitting out front. They’re so bright they’re blinding, and he stumbles when Devlin pushes him forward, opening the door for him so he can slide into the familiar backseat. 

The ride down to the station is silent, except for the soft sounds of the transmitter radio. The town is pretty quiet tonight, so far, so the night must still be young. The streetlights glow red and green as they pass, and Cassian thinks that he should’ve just gone home and gone to bed, wallowing in his sad life. If he’d done so he wouldn’t be in handcuffs, on his way to the police station, still thinking about you. Always thinking about you. 

Devlin puts the car in park and leads him into the station. Balthazar is sitting at his desk, feet propped on top as he pushes off his paperwork a little longer in favor of snacking on a pack of powdered donuts from the vending machine. 

“Cass?” he questions, boots thudding loudly on the linoleum as he stands from his chair. He licks the white around his mouth, and normally, it might make Cassian smile, seeing his old campmate looking like a deer caught in headlights, but he’s in no mood to laugh right now. “What happened now?”

“Bar fight,” Devlin grunts, searching him for his things. He pulls out his wallet, flat and sad, and a hard candy he stole from Helion’s desk on his way out of work. “Where’s your phone, kid?”

Cassian’s heart swoops and he’s twisting around so frantically that Devlin takes a step back, hand going straight to the weapon holstered at his hip. “What do you mean? It’s not in my pocket?” 

“Son, if it’s not anywhere I can feel it, it’s not here. Unless you’ve shoved it up your ass,” Devlin grinds out, mouth flat.

Cassian rolls his eyes. He should be telling Devlin to stick his head up there to find it, but he’s too worried about his phone. What if you call him back? He bites back, “You left it at the fucking bar, then.”

“I didn’t leave shit,” the officer responds, his voice grating on Cassian’s nerves. It makes his fingers curl into fists, his hazel eyes glaring daggers at the stupid cop in front of him. “I’m not the one who didn’t make sure I had all my shit with me before starting a brawl.”

He tugs him roughly by the arms to one of the cells. Cassian’s shoulders pinch and his hands are going numb from how tightly the handcuffs are around his wrists. He growls, letting the police officer corral him through the door, pretending he’s broken the wild beast for the night.

“I didn’t start it. It was those fucking pricks in front of me.”

Devlin hums, unlocking the cuffs through the bars. “And how many times have I heard that one before?” 

Too many. Always too many.  

Cassian huffs, choosing not to respond. Devlin won’t believe him anyway, and he’ll be stuck here for hours in his wet clothes in this freezing jail cell until he’s sobered up or someone comes to get him. 

He wonders if Tomas and Gayson have stolen his phone.

“You may as well make yourself comfortable,” Devlin snaps, and the click of the door locking rings in his head. “Think over what you’ve done.” 

Cassian wants to spit at him, but he keeps his jaw locked tightly, glaring instead. The look rolls off of Devlin’s shoulders with ease, used to the looks the townies give him for protecting their citizens, and the officer leaves him without a second glance. 

Balthazar steps up to the bars, a concerned look on his face. Cassian doesn’t want pity right now, he wants to be left the fuck alone. He turns away, all but collapsing on the metal bench, leaning against the wall and tipping his head back with a long sigh.

“Who can we call, Cass?”

“You mean while Devlin writes up his report?” He laughs but there’s no humor in it. “I’ll be here for hours, B, you know how he is.”

Balthazar gives him a look that tells him to cut the shit, and Cassian sighs.

“Call (Y/N).”

The rookie's brows shoot straight into his hairline. “You sure about that?” 

Cassian peeks open an eye to glare. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have asked it.” 

Balthazar nods, leaving him alone to make the call. If you won’t answer his messages, maybe you’ll answer the stations. He’s not in his right mind, of this he knows, but he misses you so deeply he’s desperate to hear your voice. 

Cassian doesn’t know how long he sits there. The bench is uncomfortable and cold underneath his soaked pants. It helps to sober him a little, but his limbs are trembling with the iciness running through them. The tips of his fingers are white, and his jaw aches from keeping clenched so tightly shut so his teeth don’t shatter.

Eventually, Devlin returns with his clipboard, leaning against the wall and watching him like he’s a fucking zoo animal that had to be tranquilized and brought in. The officer looks like he’s actually filling out the paperwork in his hands, but Cassian knows the fucker isn’t. He fucking hates him, so he glares through the bars and crosses his arms over his chest.

Balthazar’s presence breaks the glaring contest. His cheeks are pink, and he looks between them both, uneasily shifting on his feet.

“Spit it out, B,” Cassian sighs, because his night can’t possibly get any worse than this.

Balthazar wrings his fingers together. “(Y/N)...she didn’t answer.”

Okay, maybe it can get worse.

“What?” he asks, voice flat. Of course there was a chance that you wouldn’t pick up the phone call, but from the police? Cassian is thoroughly surprised. “She didn’t answer?”

“Well, she did,” Balthazar corrects, looking anywhere but at him. He checks out the wet spot in the ceiling tiles, the chipping paint on the wall. Someone should really fix that. Devlin watches his partner, brows furrowed. He looks just as confused as Cassian feels. “But she, uh, hung up when I mentioned your name.” 

Cassian blinks, registering his friends' words. You answered, and you hung up. On the police. He feels like he’s been slapped in the face or shot in the chest or something equally as painful. Like his heart has been torn out of his body all over again. Even more so when Devlin throws his head back, wolf-whistling.

“Now that is fucked up,” he comments, turning to Cassian who sits frozen, staring at Balthazar. “You must’ve fucked up good, huh, kid?”

Cassian doesn’t even have it in him to growl at the prick cop who shakes his head, stalking away. 

“Cass?” Balth asks, timidly stepping up to the bars of his cell. “Do you want me to call Mr. Cunningham? Or perhaps Ms. Teller?” 

“No,” he answers gruffly, finally snapping from his stupor. He doesn’t want him calling Rhysand’s father or Azriel’s mother. He’d run rampant between their houses when he was younger, but he’d never really belonged with either family. Rhysand’s father was too strict, and he couldn’t get into any trouble there. Dolian had never liked him and most likely never will, which is fine, because Cassian feels the exact same way. And he wouldn’t dare allow Balthazar to call Pax Teller. She’s probably in bed right now anyway, the sweet woman. Cassian definitely doesn’t want to see the look in her pitying gaze, matching her sons. He doesn’t want the lecture, the parental support he’s never wanted and never had.

“Helion?” the police officer presses, worriedly. At least if Cassian is here, under their watch, he won’t get himself into more trouble. 

But still, Cassian’s mind whirls. He doesn’t want Balth to call a fucking soul. Not Rhysand, not Azriel, especially not his boss. He doesn’t want him calling anyone. He wants to be left alone to wallow in the swirling of his alcohol riddled mind, the thoughts of you picking up the phone, finding out what the call was about, and then hanging up on repeat in his head. 

“Maybe I can talk to her,” he says gruffly, grasping onto the tiny shred of hope he hasn’t lost yet. 

Someday, when you are back in his arms, he will remember how strong he was in this moment, not willing to give you up. Maybe you’ve hung up because you thought it was a prank call. “Let’s wait, she’ll call back.”

“Cass, are you a danger to yourself?” Balth asks like he hates to do it, but he’s worried about the man sitting in his jailhouse. Ever since he’s known Cassian, he’s never seen him act like this. He was always bubbly, a permanent smile on his face, laughter in his eyes. This Cassian…he doesn’t even recognize. 

“Fuck that, B. Let me call.” 

“I can’t let you do that,” Balthazar shakes his head.

“I swear she’ll call me back,” he presses, hopeful. His head is thudding dully and the bright lights are making his head pound a little. They can wait for your call in the dark, right?

“Cassian,” the way Balthazar says his name, dripping with pity, it shakes him to his core. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

It hits him like a fucking semi-truck. He lets his body slump. He can hardly feel it now, numb with the thought of you totally abandoning him. You aren’t together, you don’t have to come swooping in, saving him. You’re not his job anymore.

Yet another reason why you were right to leave him. 

Will he ever learn?

[azsazz]

Dogfight

Fighter Pilot!Cassian x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Lowkey, I think that Modern Cassian would be a fighter pilot.

I.E. A rewrite of a Top Gun scene but with Cassian as the pilot. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,193

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The sky is an ethereal thing, vast and wide, hues of all colors brushing the heavens in luxurious strokes. Cassian always loved it, sleeping out under the stars as many nights as he was allowed, finding shapes in the billowing clouds and connecting stars into forms, learning stories to go with them. 

He always knew he’d find himself up here one day, a pilot after years of training, best in class.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters, steering the jet away from the fighter on their tail. The plane lurches severely to the left, wings tipping sideways to avoid enemy fire. “Shadow, where are they?”

His wingman twists around in his seat from behind Cassian, scouting the clear skies for the two jets behind them. There’s nothing but tense silence for a long moment before one of the planes careens into sight and he’s shouting through the comms, “On our six!”

Cassian yanks the yoke and the jet pulls upwards with enough force that he feels his heart in his gut. With a well-practiced maneuver, the plane twists and he’s pulling the trigger, releasing rounds of ammunition on the plane that's clear in sight.

It happens quickly. He watches with hawk eyes as the bullets land, tearing through the pristine metal and ripping open its body. A lucky shot destroys the stabilizer and the plane spirals out of view, the carcass dropping faster than a box of rocks.

A picture taped by the fuel gauge calms his racing heart. A photo of the girl he’d left back home, the woman he swore he’d propose to on his next leave. A pretty young thing that has stood by his side through all of his endeavors, even this most dangerous one.

He takes a breath. One down, one to go.

“Let me know when you see smoke in the air, Shadow,” he exclaims, righting the plane after a precarious turn. 

Shadow, his wingman that he’s been working with since he joined up, scours the area for signs of movement. He’d been teased a lot, having the quietest recruit on his team being the one calling positions, but his eyes are as sharp as they come, and Azriel can be loud when he needs to be.

A jet lines up just behind, locking them into its sights, and within a split second it fires a missile their way. 

“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!”

“Hang on,” Cassian calls back, taking the jet into a steep nosedive. The missile follows, agile as ever, but it’s Cassian who’s quick to fly by the already downed jet, the missile striking its side with an explosion he doesn’t stick around to see.

“Yes, Bloodshed! Direct hit,” Shadow calls, bracing his hands against the windows as he seeks out the plane again. It cuts through the black smoke like an avenging angel and his heart pounds in his chest as the pilot fires again. “Here comes another one!”

Cassian uses both hands to pull the plane up again, helmet sticking to the back of his seat as the plane climbs at a fast rate. “Boost the flares, now,” he orders, and Azriel does, letting them rain down for the missile to connect with. 

His plan works, but they’re not out of the woods yet. Cassian splits the throttles and the jet swings around, flipping upside down for a moment of sheer terror they’ve become accustomed to. It puts them at the advantage, coming up behind the enemy plane. “Coming around!”

“You got him, Bloodshed, you got him!” 

And he does, sights locking onto the enemy. “Taking the shot,” he says, pulling the trigger and setting their own projectile loose. He prays the missile lands but the pilot in the other plane is a skilled one, and maneuvers his jet in a way Cassian’s never seen before. The missile misses by a hair's breadth and the plane free falls for a moment, careening past their windows like an assailant of stealth.

“What the–”

“Holy shit. What the fuck was that?”

“Hang on, we have to get low,” Cassian grunts, flipping them so the belly of the plane is facing the sun and they’re dipping down, down, down at unnatural speeds. “We can try and dodge his attacks from between the mountains.” 

Indeed, the large mountains he stared at for nights on end are enough to be able to do so, the plane nimble enough to avoid the rocky edges. Cassian pictures the three stars that are always settled over the peaks of the mountains and hopes that their other friend, Nightstalker, is doing okay. He lets them lead his way.

“Here he comes,” Azriel warns, and a second later they’re being fired at blindly. Cassian grunts, sending the jet into a series of jerks and twists to avoid the fray.

“Tell me where he is, Shadow!”

Azriel’s checking behind them again, watching the enemy burst through a cloud of debris with ease. “He’s still on us!”

They’re being shot at again, and this time, one makes their mark, he’s told by Azriel. Cassian curses low, steering through a wicked curve, not slowing down. Again, the pilot behind them fires, and Azriel’s calling out to him. “C’mon, Bloodshed, do some of that pilot shit!”

“Brace yourself,” Cassian warns before he’s pulling levers and the wings sweep open. He tugs on the yoke again and the lever switches, sending their jet into a steep climb that has both pilots struggling for breath before he’s leveling them out and nose diving towards the rushing river below.

The skill of the pilot takes them behind the enemy once more, weaving around the expanse of mountains, dangerously close. 

“I’ve got a shot, I’m taking it,” Cassian says, pulling the trigger on the steering again. The missile soars through the air with undisturbed grace, locked on the enemy jet trying to outrun it. They let their flares fly and in an unfortunate turn of events, the missile strikes the rogue flares.

“Shit,” Azriel spits, “Out of missiles.”

“Switching to guns,” Cassian responds, hazel eyes flickering to your photograph for the split second they’re smothered by the missile's smoke. But as quickly as it’s cleared he’s taking his shot, firing round after round in hopes to take down the enemy plane.

He pauses for a breath as he takes in the amount of ammunition he has left before firing again and again. 

None of his hits land.

“You’ve got him, Bloodshed,” Azriel encourages, peering over his shoulder to watch the battle.

“It’s not over yet,” Cassian mutters, pulling the trigger again. The ammunition is dangerously low, this is his final shot. “One last chance.”

By the grace of the Gods his hits land, flaying metal from the flaps and engines. Cassian watches the pilot eject from the plane just before it careens into the side of the mountain in a ball of fiery explosion, thick smoke coating the air. 

“Yes!” Azriel cheers from the back, and it’s all Cassian can do to try and calm his breathing, the picture of your smiling face a beacon of brilliance.

Another day survived, another day closer to coming home to you.