Soooo this all started when @janearts and I got to talking about rugby and how Cassian would def make a good rugby player, and here we are. I can’t stop looking at Rugby!Cassian.
Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist!
Snippet below the cut
RUCK ME
MAUL ME
MAKE ME SCRUM
Nesta stared at it for one full second, and thought, somewhat deliriously, that Emerie was a dead woman. She considered getting up and leaving, walking directly back into the Edinburgh night.
Then she looked at the man wearing it, and her staring took on a somewhat different quality.
His picture hadn’t done his size justice, since he was broad enough that two people could probably live comfortably on each shoulder. Whoever had assembled him had been working from a different set of specifications than the rest of the population. Dark-haired with mesmerizing hazel eyes and a jaw that had no business being that defined in ordinary life. She was sure he never once had to think about whether he could reach the thing on the top shelf, or punch the light out of someone’s eyes. Her gaze traveled lower, and all coherent thought left her mind. Good god. He had thighs like tree trunks. The man was wearing jeans which were clearly fighting for their lives. He could crush her skull with those things.
He was scanning the pub with an ease completely foreign to her. He found her, and his face broke into a smile. Immediate, unguarded, a little obscene in how wide it was, and it landed on her across the pub like something she felt rather than just saw.
Oh.
Oh. Right. Okay.
The smile was dangerous. Crooked. Easy. Like he knew exactly how charming he was.
Oh, this is going to be a problem.
He navigated between tables with the loose-limbed ease of someone who never apologised for taking up space. He arrived at her table and looked down at her—many inches of down, which was not something she was accustomed to.
“Please tell me,” she said dryly before he could speak, “you lost a bet.”
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
_________________________________________
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.”
Nesta had been a fan of her city’s rugby team, The Velaris Fighters, for years, all because of one man: Cassian Smith, the team’s captain.
Tonight, she was finally going to show Cassian why she was his biggest fan.
A very short and smutty Nessian fic. Inspired by a few influential tiktoks featuring some very handsome and big rugby men in short shorts and tight jerseys that instantly made me think that Cassian would be an excellent rugby player. No other plot, just sexy vibes.
Word Count: 2600
Rating: E
Read on AO3
XXX
“Yes! Just like that! Just a little bit more, just like that - yes!”
Nesta threw her arms in the air and cheered along with the thousands of other people in the crowd as the Velaris Fighters scored five final points before the sirens that signaled the end of the game blasted through the air. Besides her, her friend Gwyn threw her arms around her neck in a hug, while their other friend Emerie blew into a bright blue plastic stadium horn.
“What a game!” Gwyn exclaimed, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “I thought for sure they wouldn’t be able to come back!”
“That was the best scrum of the season. How Rhys managed to hook the ball after the other team nearly had it -“
“And then Azriel managing to grab the ball when Rhys got tackled -“
“But we all know who was really responsible for their comeback win,” Emerie said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, eyeing Nesta.
Nesta only hummed, too distracted by watching the man of the hour: Cassian Smith, front row prop and team captain of the Velaris Fighters. He had gone through two shirts over the course of the game to her delight, and had abandoned his latest shirt, choosing to go topless while he gave a media interview on the field.
She sighed wistfully, watching the overhead lights dance across his golden brown skin. This man was the only reason she got into rugby several years ago, when she saw an ad at a bus stop for the local rugby team with Cassian front and center.
Luckily she found rugby genuinely interesting, and enjoyed going to the games. Even better, she got to ogle the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Cassian was a tall brick house of a man, nearly 6’5” of pure muscle. His upper body - shoulders, arms, back, even his neck - was a mess of highly developed muscles. Each rippling ab was defined, and his thighs were thicker than tree trunks. Most of his glorious body was covered in dark, swirling tattoos that contrasted against his golden brown skin. His shoulder length wavy hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and Nesta watched, enraptured, as he slowly took the ponytail out of his hair and raked his fingers through his sweaty locks.
She licked her lips. It felt like a personal show, just for her. If all went according to plan, then she’d be putting on a show for him soon.
“Come on, let’s go.” Gwyn bumped Nesta out of her daydream. Shaking herself, she gathered her bag and followed her friends out of the stands, joining the throng of people waiting to exit the stadium.
“You still going to go to the player’s entrance and try to get an autograph?” asked Gwyn.
“She’s going to try to get a lot more than that,” quipped Emerie.
“Be safe!” Gwyn said. “Let us know if you need a ride home or anything! Keep us updated -“
“She’s not going to have time to give us play by play updates when she’s getting railed -“
“OK, bye!” Nesta called, turning away from her laughing friends to walk towards the side player entrance where the players entered and exited the stadium. A small crowd had already assembled outside the doors, people anxiously waiting for a chance to see their favorite players.
Nesta forced her way up to the front railing separating the crowd from the door. She didn’t have to wait long - soon, players from both teams began filling out, some stopping to sign autographs. Craning her neck and standing on her tiptoes, Nesta kept her eyes trained on the door, hoping she didn’t miss him.
Finally, the door swung open and Cassian emerged. He was even more beautiful up close: his hair was damp around his face, his form fitting t-shirt clung to his body and the fading sunlight highlighted his rugged face.
Nesta lost her breath as she watched Cassian briefly look around the crowd before his eyes met hers. He looked her up and down, head to toe, before sauntering over.
“That’s a great shirt you have on. Did it come pre-ripped like that?”
Nesta grinned. She was wearing a replica of one of his jerseys, with several rips along the shoulders and sides to mimic how his uniform often looked after a particularly rough game. She had also cut a deep V-neck into the shirt to show off her impressive cleavage.
“No, I had to cut it myself. Wanted it to look more like the real thing.”
Cassian gave her a one sided grin. “Like the rest of my jerseys, it would look better shredded on the ground.”
Nesta snorted, dragging her eyes down his toned chest and lingering on the junction on his thick jean covered thighs. She lazily brought her gaze back to Cassian’s face, noting the slight blush grazing his cheeks.
“This shirt has a lot of sentimental value to me, so I don’t think I’d be willing to risk having it destroyed. I think I’ll keep this one… unless you can give me something special in return.”
She could have sworn she saw him shudder. “I can think of a few things I could give you,” he said huskily. “How about you come back to the team locker room with me? I can give you a personalized jersey, a private tour of the facilities…”
“That’s so generous of you,” Nesta purred. “I think I’d be more interested in a private tour of you , though.”
Cassian cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you can take that? Most people can’t quite handle… all of me, like that.”
Nesta stared up at him and licked her lips. “How about we go somewhere private and I can prove to you that I’m more than capable of handling a big boy like yourself?” she shot back.
He smiled. “That can be arranged. Come on.” He single-handedly moved the heavy metal barrier out of the way, letting Nesta slip through. “My friend and I are going to the locker rooms,” he told the security guard at the door. The man nodded lazily, letting them back inside the building.
He quickly led them to the back of the stadium and into a large locker room. It was much nicer than Nesta expected - each player had their own personalized locker lined around the room, with a wide, wooden sitting bench in front of each cubby.
Cassian spun her out of her observations and took her face in his hands for a claiming kiss. Nesta sighed as his tongue swept inside her mouth. He broke away from her suddenly, a cocky grin on his face.
“How long were you waiting outside?” Cassian asked, sitting down in front of his locker and spreading his legs.
“Not long,” Nesta shrugged, her lips still tingling from his intense kiss. “I’m your biggest fan, so I was willing to wait a while for you.”
He smirked. “My biggest fan, huh? What else are you willing to do for me?”
Nesta hummed, then went to her knees between his spread thighs. “If you take your pants off I can show you.”
Cassian grinned, standing up to his full height so he towered above her. “I’ve already worked so hard today - how about you put in a little work and show me how much my biggest fan truly appreciates me.”
Grinning, Nesta reached up and undid the button of his jeans and slowly pulled the zipper down. A considerable bulge had already formed between his thighs, and it only grew larger as her deft hands dragged Cassian’s skin tight pants down his legs. She took her time undressing him, letting her hands wander over the hard muscles in his quads and hamstrings and calves. He kicked his pants away when they bunched around his ankles.
“My, my,” Nesta murmured appreciatively, staring at the outline of his cock straining against his underwear. “What a big cock you have. I can’t wait to see it dripping for me.” She pressed a series of delicate kisses along his clothed cock, kissing up his shaft. Cassian’s abs and legs tensed in anticipation as Nesta’s mouth drew nearer and nearer to his tip.
“I can’t wait to see it stuffed down your throat,” he gritted, tearing off his shirt and tossing it by his discarded jeans. “You’ll do that for me, right? Take my fat cock down your throat? Prove to me that you really are my biggest fan?”
“Anything,” Nesta said, lightly sucking the fat head of him through his underwear. She tasted a bit of his salty precome and had to close her eyes as her desire nearly toppled her, Cassian’s deep groan reverberating through her entire body. Her center throbbed and Nesta felt wetness gathering in her underwear.
She was tired of teasing him. Yanking down his underwear, Nesta lightly pushed Cassian back so he sat down heavily on the wooden bench in front of his locker and spread his legs. She groaned. His cock was long and thick and heavy, leaning towards his stomach. Nesta took him in her small hand and gave him a few pumps.
“You did such a good job today,” Nesta said. “Let me show you what you deserve.” She dragged the flat of her tongue up from the base of his cock to his tip, then took his head into her mouth and sucked.
Cassian groaned as Nesta bobbed her head over his dick. A thrill went through her. She was really doing this. She had flirted and teased the most handsome man she had ever seen, whom she’d been lusting over for ages, and now she was sucking his cock with more determination than anything she’d ever done in her life. Nesta had reduced one of the strongest men she’d ever seen to his knees with a few licks of her tongue, and she’d never felt stronger in her life.
Her hand stroked what she couldn’t fit in her mouth - his was the largest cock she’d ever sucked, and she briefly wondered if she would have to eat her earlier words of proving she could handle someone as large as him. Nesta took half of his length in her mouth and sucked hard.
“Fuck Nesta, you’re so fucking good at this.” A large hand pressed against the back of her head, forcing her down on his cock. “Just like that, I know you can take all of me.”
Eyes watering, Nesta relaxed her throat as much as she could as Cassian gently pressed her head down until her nose met the wiry curls between his legs. Breathing through her nose, she looked up at Cassian.
“You’re so fucking pretty right now,” he moaned, watching her struggle to keep his length within her throat. “Didn’t think seeing you cry while you take my cock would be so hot but fuck, it is.”
Nesta’s pussy throbbed at the praise. A few tears gathered in her eyelashes and she blinked up at Cassian, begging him for anything: to let her move her head, to continue praising her, to touch her, anything.
He seemed to understand how desperate she was. Guiding her off his length, Cassian pulled Nesta up and pressed his lips to hers. His tongue tangling with hers, Nesta relaxed in his arms and against his body. His big hands made quick work of her underwear and jean shorts before he trailed his fingers longingly over the rips and tears of her shirt.
“I really want to tear this off you - it’s already ripped, it’d take so little for me to destroy it.”
“Don’t you dare!” Nesta snapped. “I told you, this shirt is special to me!”
“I can get you a dozen just like it.”
“Are you going to argue with me about a shirt or are you going to fuck me?”
Cassian shrugged. “Have it your way.” Bending down, he grabbed Nesta under her ass and lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the wall so her back was against the surface.
Nesta gasped. It was hot, his casual display of strength. She felt the tip of his cock brush her soaking folds and she shifted her hips, trying to bring him even closer to her.
“You’re fucking soaked,” Cassian hissed. “Did sucking my cock make you this wet?”
“And watching you play,” Nesta admitted, a slight blush staining her cheeks.
“You poor thing,” he crooned, shifting his arms so Nesta’s legs settled in the crook of his elbows, “you’re been a desperate, wet mess for hours, haven’t you?”
“Yes!” Nesta gasped. “I’ve been so desperate for you! Please, fuck me!”
“So needy you’ll let me fuck your pussy raw, hm?” Cassian mumbled, leaning down to kiss her as he pushed his length into her tight cunt.
Nesta sighed, gripping Cassian’s huge biceps as he worked himself into her. She slumped down a bit against the wall, securely held by Cassian’s hands under her ass and his arms supporting her legs.
“How lucky I am, for my biggest fan to have the tightest pussy I’ve ever felt,” he said, withdrawing then pushing back into her. “Like you were made for me.”
She smirked at him. “Told you I could take it.”
Leaning her head against the wall, Nesta lost herself with the feel of Cassian’s big, strong body around her and his thick cock pistoning within her. He hit places she’d never felt before, and she knew she’d never be able to take anything except his glorious length.
The only sounds filling the locker room were their moans and the wet slap of his cock slamming into her pussy. Nesta felt herself getting even wetter the rougher he got. Reaching down, she furiously circled her clit.
“You feel so good,” Nesta gasped. “So perfect.”
“And you’re such a good girl, letting me fuck you like this,” Cassian groaned.
Nesta looked up at him with wide eyes. “Since I’m your biggest fan, I’ll let you come in me. Just for you.”
Cassian cursed. “You want me to come in you?”
“Yeah, want you to fill me up.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” he moaned, thrusting so hard and deep inside her Nesta knew she’d be sore later. It was wonderful and everything she’d ever wanted.
“Cass, yes, right there!” She gave her clit one final brutal rub and she was coming, quaking in Cassian’s strong arms as he chased his own release.
“Fuck Nes,” Cassian groaned, emptying himself within her tight cunt. He gave her a few more weak thrusts before he stopped, resting his head in the hollow of her throat. Giving her a quick peck on the lips, he withdrew his cock from her body.
“I was worried you were actually going to destroy my shirt, you big oaf,” Nesta said as Cassian carefully set her down on shaky legs.
“I’d never destroy the first jersey I ever gave you,” he replied, gathering their clothes. “I know how much you love that thing.”
“Not as much as I love you,” Nesta said, leaning up to kiss him.
“I love you too. I don’t want to kink shame you, but when you asked me to roleplay with you as my biggest fan for some dirty locker room sex -“
“Oh, don’t say you weren’t into it right away!”
“I just thought it was a bit weird, considering my girlfriend should already be my biggest fan. Do you know the logistics I had to figure out to make sure we’d have the locker room to ourselves?”
Nesta rolled her eyes. “This just means you have a pretty big leeway for what you want the next time we roleplay.”
“Oh I’ve already decided what I want. Maybe some sweaty post-workout sex, with leathers and chains, stuff like that.”
Relationship: Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Gwyneth Berdara/Azriel (background)
A/N: Edinburgh has been hugely inspiring, lovelies. Get ready for lots of shenanigans in the coming chapters. Also, credits for Balthazar’s pick-up line go to @janearts.
Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist!
Snippet below the cut
Everything in Nesta had gone silent, her body perfectly still.
It was a particular kind of stillness she’d perfected over years. She looked composed from the outside, which was actually the physical manifestation of her brain moving at approximately four thousand miles per hour while her body remained frozen in absolute control.
Nothing serious.
Sometimes.
A club, nothing serious, keeps me busy.
Cassian’s words cycled through her mind on repeat, each iteration adding a new layer of what she was carefully not calling betrayal, but was definitely in the same postal code. On the pitch below, Cassian was doing a passing drill with three other players who were all built like industrial machinery. She watched him catch the ball one-handed, pivot, and launch it thirty meters to a teammate with the casual accuracy of someone who did this for a living.
Which he did.
For a living.
Nothing serious.
She kept her hands carefully folded in her lap, her knuckles white and her spine straight. She made sure she kept her face blank, giving away absolutely nothing. Inside, however, she was conducting a full internal audit of every conversation they’d had, every text message, every moment where he could have mentioned that he played professional rugby for one of Scotland’s top teams.
“Nesta,” Emerie said beside her, voice careful in the way it got when she was trying to assess blast radius.
“I’m fine,” Nesta said.
“You’re doing the face again.”
“I’m not doing a face. This is just my face.”
“This is your ‘I’m about to eviscerate someone with words, but I’m still choosing with which specific knife’ face,” Emerie corrected. “I’ve seen it before. Usually right before you destroy someone’s entire thesis argument in a seminar.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Gwyn leaned forward, looking past Emerie. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Apparently not.” Nesta’s voice was pleasant, controlled, giving away nothing of the spiraling happening beneath her sternum.
Because she was spiraling. Quietly. Internally. With excellent posture.
He lied.
No. He hadn’t lied, technically. He’d just… omitted. Significantly. He’d let her believe he was some sort of weekend warrior, playing for fun, when actually he was a professional athlete. She watched him execute a tackle on a teammate during the drill that looked like a controlled demolition
Why?
That was the loudest question cycling alongside the others. Why would he hide it? Was he embarrassed? That made no sense. He didn’t seem like the type of man that would get embarrassed about being excellent at things. Was he testing her? Seeing if she’d figure it out? Was this some sort of game?
Her mind supplied an image of his face in the pub, the easy warmth of him, the lopsided grin. The way he’d looked at her when she’d mocked him about walking toward the castle. The absolute lack of pretense.
The way he’d asked her to marry him, like her being mean to him was the best thing that had happened to him all week, all month, all year.
She pressed her lips together.
“Nesta,” Emerie said again.
“I’m fine.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Because I am. Fine. Completely fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” She could hear her voice getting sharper, the way it did when she was decidedly not fine. “So what if he conveniently forgot to mention he plays professional rugby? So what if he let me believe he was just some—some hobbyist with a recreational interest in getting concussed? That’s fine. That’s completely fine. I’m fine.”
Relationship: Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Gwyneth Berdara/Azriel (background)
A/N: Credits for the dish Cassian cooks for Nesta go to @janearts, who so kindly lets me yap about this story endlessly, making me cry-laugh every single time. Ty queen!
Taglist: @alexof90s @jsmelodies @misstyfikacja @freyjascatchariot @something-xoxo @heyluuu @musty-old-claptrap @pham-tastical @heirtotheshad0ws @spilledcoffeechronicles @wolfnesta @frostystarlight @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @acourtofladydeath @theteaqueendom @acourtofbatboydreams @spookypersondinosaur @nus4yy (Scottish Cassian with the big rugby thighs bb)
Let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist!
Snippet below the cut
Thursday arrived too slowly and then suddenly, all at once. Nesta had selected her outfit Wednesday evening with methodical efficiency, and had hung it on the back of her wardrobe door. She’d gone to bed, staring at the outfit and lying awake for over ninety minutes thinking about Cassian’s hands on her waist and his lips moving against hers, before firmly redirecting her attention to her dissertation methodology chapter, which was considerably less fun. It did put her to sleep in the end.
By Thursday at six, an hour before Cassian was supposed to pick her up, she was showered, dressed, and standing in front of her full-length mirror conducting a rigorous assessment. She was wearing a dusty pink camisole tucked into her dark tailored trousers she’d owned for two years and knew was perfectly adequate. She looked fine. She looked appropriate, even. She also looked like a woman attending a professional obligation, which was—
“You look like you’re going to submit your viva,” Emerie said from the doorway.
“Shut up, Em.” Nesta put in her small diamond studs.
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Emerie was in her sweats and a tank top, a mug of coffee cradled in both hands and her wildly curling hair loose and enormous around her shoulders. She pushed off the doorframe and came to stand behind Nesta, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “The camisole isn’t quite right.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s fine in the same way that a cheese sandwich is fine. Technically, it’s adequate, but it’s not what you actually want. We want him to lose his mind, babe.” She crossed to Nesta’s chest of drawers, knowing she needed to search the second drawer from the top. She’d been navigating Nesta’s wardrobe for years without invitation or apology, and she began sorting through it again with focused efficiency. “You have that navy one. The silk one with the scoop neck that makes your collarbones look—”
“I know which one you mean.”
“Then you know that that’s the one you should be wearing.” She produced it and held it out. “Here.”
Nesta took it and looked at it, before looking back into the mirror, at the one she was wearing.
“I already ironed this one,” she said somewhat petulantly.
“The navy one doesn’t need ironing, it’s cut on the bias.” Emerie said this with complete authority despite being a person who had never, to Nesta’s knowledge, ironed anything voluntarily.
“How do you know that?”
“I have eyes and I’ve borrowed it twice.” Emerie settled back against the doorframe, mug raised. “Wear the navy, Nes.”
Especially for you bestie @dustjacketmusings, I present you Cassian freaking out:
—————
Cassian didn’t sleep much.
This wasn’t particularly unusual for him. After a match, his body had its own recovery timeline, which was different every time. But this wasn’t anything like that. He wasn’t lying awake replaying tackles, or trying to find a comfortable position because of some gnarly bruises. He was lying awake replaying the specific sound of Nesta’s laugh over his choice of dinner, and the way she’d looked at him, soft and helpless and completely unguarded, and the way that expression had then turned into something else on his sofa, something that had nearly stopped his heart entirely.
He kept replaying the moment she’d gotten up, when the blissful feeling of everything being right, of the world making sense with her in his arms, bringing her pleasure, had shattered.
He stared at the ceiling.
His phone was on the nightstand. He’d looked at it eleven times. He knew because he’d counted, with a grim type of self-awareness. The last two messages in the thread were hers, from just before midnight.
Made it home safe. Thank you, for everything.
I’m really sorry.
He’d read the messages over and over, and did so again, reaching for his phone. He opened the thread and stared at the blank text field beneath it. He started typing.
glad you got home safe. I’ve been thinking about—
He deleted it and put the phone down.
He picked it up again and stared at the empty box, desperately hoping for some inspiration that didn’t come. Because what could he say that didn’t make this worse?
He put the phone on his chest and looked back up at the ceiling. He had a brief but sincere conversation with himself about the concept of patience, which he had in almost every other area of his life, even though not many thought of him as a patient man. On the pitch he could hold a line without flinching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to score a try, or tirelessly creating the perfect opening for Az to do so, even when everyone else had given up. He had spent his entire career making a virtue of not moving before the right moment.
He stayed like that for another ten minutes. The radiator clicked. Outside, Edinburgh was waking up with the familiar sounds of early morning — the first buses hissing, the distant industry rumbling, the early risers jogging and clicking along the streets.
He thought about her hands on his chest. The specific weight of her in his lap. The sound she’d made, low and unguarded, that had gone through him like a current.
He looked at his phone again, realizing he’d been awake all night when it said 6:22 AM. He pushed the duvet back and got up. He went downstairs and filled the kettle. He looked at the table where they’d sat for two hours while the candle burned down, and at the two wine glasses still there.
He picked up his phone and called Azriel.
It rang four times before his brother’s gravelly voice sounded on the other side.
“It’s six-thirty.”
“I know.”
“In the morning.”
“I’m aware.”
A silence followed, the particular one with which Azriel could convey more than most people could with full sentences. Cassian knew he had about forty-five seconds to justify what sounded like waking him up.
“She left,” Cassian said. “Last night. Nesta. She — it was a good evening. Really good actually, until she panicked and left.”
When Azriel spoke again the tone had shifted, the irritation replaced by something softer. “What do you mean, she panicked?”
“I mean she jumped up as if set on fire and her voice went about eighty miles an hour and she was—” He leaned against the counter. “She was frightened, Az. Not of me. Just — of the whole thing. She said she’d been alone for three years for good reason, and that—”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything! We just… Made out a wee bit and she jumped up and left.”
“Right. How did you respond to that?”
“I gave her space. I didn’t push. I did her coat up and saw her out.”
“You did her coat up.”
“Her hands were shaking.”
Another silence followed. “And then?”
“Told her to text me when she got home, which she did.” He looked at his phone. “I’ve been lying awake since.”
“And you’ve texted her how many times?”
“None.”
“How many times have you written something and deleted it?”
Cassian paused.
“Cassian.”
“Several,” he said. “A number of times. A not-insignificant—”
“How many.”
“Seven,” he said. “Possibly eight. There was one I’m not sure counts.”
Azriel huffed a laugh, which sounded mildly exasperated. “What did they say?”
“They don’t matter, I deleted them.”
“What did they say.”
“One of them was about the shortbread I made her.”
This time it was definitely a laugh. Brief and genuine, which from Azriel was essentially a standing ovation.
“I deleted it!”
“Right.” Cassian could hear him shifting, sitting up probably, laced with the particular sounds of Azriel’s flat, which he knew well enough to map blind. “Okay. Listen to me.” He suddenly sounded serious again. “You did the right thing.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know, I think so.”
“You gave her space when she needed it, you didn’t make her feel bad about leaving, and you made sure you knew she got home safely without making it into a big deal.” He stopped, letting silence fill the space.
“What?”
“Nothing. Honestly quite good. Well done.”
Cassian didn’t respond.
“It sounds like she has some things to figure out, Cass,” Azriel said. “It doesn’t sound like you were the problem, though.”
“I guess.”
“Give her time.”
“I’m giving her time. I’m giving her time right now. I’m giving her time while lying awake the entire night composing stupid texts—”
“Seven texts,” Azriel said.
“Thank you, yes.”
“Eight, possibly.”
“Az.”
“I’m just—” He huffed another laugh. “Cassian. You pulled out every register. You cooked for her. You picked special wine and made her dessert and everything. Honestly I kind of hate you for it, because that's pretty close to a perfect date, and Gwyn will definitely have expectations now.”
“Gwyn?” Cassian couldn’t help the smirk pulling at his lips. He knew it. He knew there was something between Az and Nesta’s best friend.
“Shut up, Cass. Focus on your own shit.”
“I’m trying!”
“Just admit that you’re gone for her, mate,” Azriel said simply. There was no judgment there, just plain fact. “You have been gone since approximately the first date, possibly before it, and she’s — she’s trying to catch up. That’s all. Give her time to catch up.”
Cassian looked at the kitchen table. The two glasses. The stub of the candle.
“What if she decides it’s too much?” he said. “What if she thinks about it and decides—”
“Then she decides that,” Azriel said. “And it’ll be awful. But—” A pause, and Cassian heard something in it, something careful. “I don’t think she will. She ate the cock-a-leekie after all.”
“I don’t know why I told you about that.”
Az huffed another soft laugh. “She’s not indifferent, Cass.”
Cassian exhaled.
“You know, you could just text her. A simple ‘thank you for letting me know’ would suffice,” Azriel said. “And then you give her space. Don’t text her before she texts you. Let her come back to you in her own time.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“She will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” Azriel said. “But she will.”
Cassian sighed deeply.
“Go back to bed,” Azriel said. “Or go for a run and clear your head. It’ll do you better than staring at your cluttered kitchen.”
“I’m not—” He looked at his phone for a second before putting it back to his ear. “How did you—”
“Because I know you.” The statement came out flat and certain. “Go for a run.”
“Yeah,” Cassian said. “Yeah, okay.”
“And Cassian?”
“What?”
“Next time you call me at six-thirty in the morning,” Azriel said, “it had better be because something is on fire or someone is dying.”
WAIT!! One more for the ask game (if allowed & not already asked): mouth
Of course you're allowed! A little preview for the next chapter of Blind Side for this one:
“No terrible shirt,” she said.
“I must admit I considered it.” His eyes moved over her—a single, unhurried assessment, lingering on her face, and his expression was unambiguously warm. “I decided against. Thought the night asked for less bold font.”
“Sound judgment.”
“I have my moments.” He looked at her a second longer than was strictly necessary. “You look—” He stopped to clear his throat and started again. “You look devastating, Nesta.”
The look in his eyes made her blood warm. “According to Emerie, it’s the jacket,” she said.
“The jacket is doing very little of the work,” he said. “For what it’s worth.”
She forced herself to maintain eye contact, looking at him steadily. He looked back, unabashed, a slight curve at the corner of his mouth.
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)
Notes: Starting of 6 updates for 6k with this one because it's been way too long for rugby cassian 💙
_________________________________________
“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.”
