#illyrian

The name stiles me immediately, and I was a fool for not immediately putting it together the second I saw him. Cassian. Lord of Bloodshed.

He turns his gaze to me, openly assessing, and I take the opportunity to do the same. There's something about the way he looks at me, like he's mapping every detail—filing it away for later.

"I didn't know we'd have company," I say, forcing my focus back to the present. "I would've brought another coffee."

Cassian huffs a soft laugh. "Oh, no need. I've been up for hours." His voice carries the same warmth as his grin, rough yet inviting. "But that's a kind gesture."

I nod, offering a small smile in return.

"I don't believe you two have officially met," Feyre chimes in, shifting her attention between us. "Cass, this is my very talented friend. She keeps this place running."

"She gives me too much credit," I say, shaking my head.

Cassian, however, tilts his head, his expression unreadable. "I doubt that." The certainty in his tone knocks something loose in my chest.

"This is Cassian," Feyre continues, grinning. "Rhys' brother and the best guy to call for lifting heavy things."

Cassian makes a sound of protest. "Don't forget hilarious, intelligent, devastatingly handsome—I mean, the list goes on."

I huff a quiet laugh as he extends his hand.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Cassian." I smile as I take his hand.

His fingers close around mine, warm and calloused, his grip firm but not overwhelming.

"Likewise, sweetheart." His smirk deepens, and before I can pull away, his thumb brushes ever so slightly over the back of my hand—a touch so fleeting, so deliberate, that I almost convince myself I imagined it. Then he winks, a quick, knowing thing, before finally releasing me.

I swallow, ignoring the odd flutter in my stomach. I've heard the stories from Feyre, how when she originally arrived in the night court she may as well have ended up with Cassian with his relentless flirting. He's joking, I remind myself. That's just how he is.

Cassian dusts his hands off on his leathers before flashing me an easy grin. "You must be the one keeping Feyre sane around here."

I huff a quiet laugh, setting down the paints. "I do my best. But she keeps me busy."

"She does that," he muses, glancing at Feyre. "Though I didn't realize she had such a beautiful assistant."

I blink at him, caught off guard. "Oh—I'm not really her assistant. More like a glorified errand runner."

Feyre scoffs. "That is not true."

Cassian's gaze flicks back to me, assessing. "You're an artist too, then?"

I nod while shucking off my winter coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. "That's the idea."

His grin widens. "Now I'm definitely going to start hanging around more. I could use a few painting tips."

Feyre snorts. "You paint?"

"Not yet," he says, unbothered. "But I'm a fast learner. And I've always appreciated a good work of art."

Something about the way he says it, about the way his hazel eyes flick over me like he's taking his time, makes my stomach flutter.

But before I can respond, he flashes me a smirk, turning back to Feyre. "Anyway, mission accomplished. Boxes are in, and I fully expect my reward."

"Which is?" Feyre asks dryly.

Cassian smirks. "Your eternal gratitude. And maybe a good bottle of whiskey, if Rhys is feeling generous."

Feyre rolls her eyes, but I can't help my smile.

"How about next time we need your help, you'll be the first one we call?" I suggest, noticing Feyre's playful disinterest in rewarding him for being a good friend.

Cassian grins like I've just made his day. "Oh, sweetheart. You can call me anytime."

His voice drops just enough to send an odd warmth curling through my stomach. But before I can overthink it, he turns toward the door.

Cassian turns slightly, glancing at me and Feyre. "I'll be seeing you around, hopefully." He directs at me. "See you for dinner, Feyre."

And just like that, he's gone, leaving only the scent of wind and cracking embers in his wake.

I shake my head, amused, as I turn back to Feyre—only to find her already watching me over the rim of her coffee cup.

"What?"

She only smirks, taking a slow sip. "Nothing."

I frown but brush it off, reaching for the new paints.

Cassian was just being friendly. That's all.

Right?

—

From that moment on, Cassian made every excuse to come to the studio. Half the time, he didn't even bother with a valid reason—just threw out a casual "I was in town" when, in reality, he always was. Velaris wasn't nearly as big as he made it out to be.

The bell above the door rang, and I didn't need to look up to know whose footsteps were approaching behind me.

"Is that supposed to be a bird?" Cassian mused, leaning over my shoulder.

I scoffed, shoving his face away. "It's a dog, and you know it."

He chuckled, easily dodging my half-hearted push and settling right back beside me. "Mmm. If you say so." His wings rustled as he peered at my work again, this time with something softer in his expression. "It's amazing, sweetheart. You're so damn talented."

The sincerity in his voice made my stomach flutter. I tilted my head back to look up at him, caught off guard by the rare note of awe in his tone.

That awe melted into something else—something warm and teasing—as he placed both hands on my shoulders and started kneading gently.

I nearly groaned on the spot. "Gods, you're perfect at that." I exhaled, practically melting under his touch.

Cassian hummed, his thumbs working expertly over the knots in my shoulders.

I sighed blissfully, rolling my shoulders into his hands. "You should've been a healer."

He chuckled, his breath fanning against my ear. "I'd rather just take care of you, sweetheart."

I smiled, tilting my head further into his touch, completely missing the way his fingers stilled for a beat before continuing their slow, deliberate strokes.

"You really are tense," he murmured, pressing into the tight muscles just beneath my neck. "Is this what happens when you spend all day hunched over, painting little dogs that look like birds?"

I smacked his arm lightly. "If you're going to insult my work, at least pretend to be subtle about it."

"Who said anything about insulting?" His thumbs dug in a little deeper, his voice dropping just enough to make my skin heat. "I love watching you work. All focused, biting your lip, completely lost in it."

I wrinkled my nose. "That makes me sound like some kind of absent-minded hermit."

Cassian grinned. "A very cute absent-minded hermit."

I rolled my eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Cassian."

"That's funny because I feel like it's getting me everywhere," he mused, his hands still kneading at my shoulders. "You're practically purring."

"I am not purring," I argued, though I made no move to stop him.

"Cassian, stop distracting my employees!" Feyre's voice rang from the back room, laced with exasperation.

Cassian smirked, straightening up from where he'd been massaging my shoulders. "Employee," he corrected with a lazy grin. "And I'm motivating her."

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth of his hands still lingered on my skin, a phantom pressure I refused to dwell on.

He chuckled, stepping back, stretching in that way that made every muscle in his absurdly broad body flex just enough to be noticed. His wings flared slightly, shifting behind him like an afterthought before he shot me another smirk. "I'll let you get back to it, sweetheart." Then, with a slow tilt of his head—"Unless you'd rather take a break and let me keep working these magic hands?"

My breath caught for half a second before I forced myself to scoff. "No," I said, ignoring the small blush creeping up my neck. "But... could I ask you a favor?"

Cassian perked up instantly, arms folding over his chest. "Anything, gorgeous."

I hesitated, suddenly second-guessing myself, but forged ahead. "I need to paint an anatomical feature I've been studying. I have a few reference images, but..." I swallowed, glancing at his wings. "I was hoping I could use you as a live model?"

His brows lifted, hazel eyes gleaming with intrigue. "My wings?"

I nodded. "Your wings are far more magnificent than the sketches in my book."

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized how they sounded—how appreciative they were—and my face went hot.

Cassian, of course, took full advantage. His wings stretched slightly as if preening under the attention. "You just trying to get me shirtless, sweetheart?"

A very unhelpful image flashed in my head—of him, shirtless, all sculpted muscle and golden skin, wings fanned out behind him in the studio's soft light.

"No!" I blurted, before catching myself. "I mean—it's just for the wings."

Cassian barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Only teasing, sweetheart. I'd love to."

I exhaled in relief. "Good. Are you free tomorrow?"

He tilted his head, grinning. "I'm here whenever you want me."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach flip.

I bit my lower lip slightly, nodding. "Thank you."

"I wouldn't thank me so fast," he mused, gaze flicking to me with unmistakable mischief. "You owe me after this."

I narrowed my eyes. "Owe you what?"

Cassian made a show of looking away, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. "Haven't decided yet," he hummed, lips twitching. "But don't worry, sweetheart. I'll think of something."

I huffed, waving him off. "Go bother someone else, Cassian."

He gave a dramatic bow, smirk firmly in place. "As you wish."

And with that, he sauntered off, wings twitching ever so slightly as he disappeared into the back of the studio—leaving Feyre standing there, watching me, amusement dancing in her eyes.

I turned back to my canvas, heat still prickling my skin.

—

I wasn't nervous.

There was no reason to be nervous.

It was just a painting. Just a model session. Nothing different from the dozens I'd done before.

Except, of course, this time the model was Cassian. And he was currently standing in the doorway of the studio, a lazy, devastatingly handsome grin on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Told you I'd be here whenever you wanted me."

I cleared my throat, turning away quickly to gather my supplies. "Yes, well, I'd rather not have students knocking over easels trying to get a look at you, so we're setting up in the back."

He let out a low chuckle as he followed me. "What, afraid they'll get distracted?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, but I know you will."

"Fair point."

Once we stepped into the back room—where there were no prying eyes or interruptions—I pointed to the stool in the center of the space. "Sit there, facing away from me."

Cassian obeyed, but not before flashing me a smirk. "Getting bossy already?"

I ignored him, busying myself with setting up my canvas. "You can take off your shirt now."

"Damn, sweetheart—at least buy me dinner first."

I froze mid-motion, whipping my head around. "That's not—I didn't—"

Cassian just laughed, reaching over his shoulder to grab the back of his collar. In one smooth motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto a nearby table.

I regretted looking.

Because Mother above.

Cassian was made of solid muscle—thick, powerful shoulders, his back broad and sculpted as if the Cauldron had taken extra care in crafting every ridge, every dip, every inch of him. His wings, folded neatly against his back, only added to the sheer size of him.

I swallowed hard, thankful beyond belief that he was facing away.

"You good back there?" Cassian teased.

"I'm fine," I said, maybe a little too quickly.

I turned my attention to his wings. The pose needed to be just right—relaxed but natural, something that would emphasize their power without looking stiff or unnatural. I stepped forward, lifting my hands, then hesitated.

"Can I touch?" I asked softly, if there was one thing I learned from studying Illyrian anatomy it's that their wings were sensitive, sacred.

Cassian went still.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—so quiet I almost missed it—his breath hitched.

When he spoke again, his voice was different. Lower. "Yeah, sweetheart. Go ahead.

I exhaled slowly before pressing my fingertips to the strong, leathery membrane of his wing. Warmth radiated from him, the muscle beneath my touch twitching slightly as I carefully adjusted his positioning.

It was... exhilarating, in a way. To be granted access to something so personal.

I stepped back to assess the placement. "Are they too heavy to hold like that?"

Cassian laughed. "That's adorable."

I frowned. "What?"

"Sweetheart, these wings have carried me through battle, through storms, through the Illyrian mountains at full speed. I think I can manage to hold them still for a few hours."

I huffed. "Fine. But will you be able to sit still?"

That earned me another chuckle, this one softer. "Guess we'll find out, won't we?"

I shook my head and finally picked up my pencil, settling in front of my canvas.

"Alright," I murmured to myself, letting my nerves melt away as I focused on the work ahead. "Let's begin."

The soft scratch of pencil against canvas filled the room, steady, rhythmic—an anchor keeping me grounded as I worked.

I started with the shape of his wings, mapping out their vast expanse, the way they framed his body like an extension of his very presence. The leather stretched taut over powerful muscle, lined with delicate veins and faint, nearly imperceptible scars.

I shouldn't have been staring so intently.

I shouldn't have been so utterly captivated by every detail of him.

And yet, as I let my pencil glide over the page, shaping the curve of his shoulder blades, the slope of his spine, the corded muscles of his back... I couldn't stop.

He's just a model. Just another subject.

Then why did my fingers tremble slightly when I shaded the deep ridges of his scars? Why did my chest tighten at the thought of what he must have endured to earn them?

Cassian shifted slightly, flexing his shoulders, his wings twitching.

I snapped out of my daze, scowling. "Sit still."

He huffed a laugh. "I don't think I've ever sat this still in my entire life."

I hummed in response, refocusing. Carefully, I traced the lines of his back, the contours of muscle that spoke of centuries of battle, of training, of dedication. My gaze flicked up to his wings again, and a quiet sigh escaped me.

"What's that sound for?" he asked, the amusement clear in his voice.

I hesitated, then admitted, "They really are beautiful, you know."

Cassian stilled for a fraction of a second before letting out a soft chuckle. "Careful, sweetheart. Keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you actually like having me here."

I rolled my eyes. "You act like I don't."

Silence.

A pause, just long enough to make my stomach flutter with uncertainty.

Then, "Good. I like being here."

I pressed my lips together, pretending that warmth hadn't bloomed in my chest at his words. Pretending that I wasn't getting lost in the strong, elegant lines of his body.

I dipped my brush into the paint, moving on from the sketch to the first careful strokes of color.

Cassian's voice broke through the quiet. "You know, if you wanted a full anatomy study, you could've just asked."

I blinked, pulling back slightly. "...What?"

He turned his head just enough to smirk at me over his shoulder. "You're painting my back, too, aren't you?"

My cheeks heated. "Well—yes, but—"

"Seems unfair to only get half the view."

I huffed. "I don't need the full view, Cassian."

His smirk deepened. "That's a shame. I'd be a very cooperative model."

I nearly choked on air. "Just—shut up and sit still."

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, settling in my bones.

I shouldn't have been enjoying this so much.

I shouldn't have been admiring the golden-brown glow of his skin, the way the light cast soft shadows over the planes of his back. I shouldn't have let my eyes linger on the scars that marred him—proof of all he had endured, of everything he had survived.

And I certainly shouldn't have wished that all his teasing, all his flirtation, was anything more than just casual banter.

Cassian was like this with everyone.

Wasn't he?

I was not going to let Cassian distract me.

Even if he was currently sprawled in front of me, shirtless, his wings stretched just so, his body the most stunning thing I'd ever painted.

Even if his words curled around me like smoke, warm and teasing, making my thoughts race in ways they shouldn't.

I swallowed hard and turned my attention back to the canvas, forcing myself to focus.

I just had to finish the painting.

And ignore the way my heart had begun to beat just a little too fast.

The rhythmic strokes of my brush filled the quiet space, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of bristles against canvas and the steady sound of Cassian's breathing.

Nearly an hour has passed, and to his credit, he'd been holding still remarkably well. Mostly.

"You're awfully quiet back there, sweetheart," Cassian mused, his voice carrying just the hint of a smirk. "Not getting bored, are you?"

I huffed, dipping my brush into a deeper shade of pigment. "I'm working, Cassian."

"I am your work right now."

I rolled my eyes. "And you're a very high-maintenance subject."

Cassian chuckled. "I prefer engaging. You should be thanking me, really. Keeps things from getting dull."

I let out a soft laugh despite myself. "You're half-naked in front of me, Cassian. Things aren't exactly dull."

Silence.

A beat too long.

I froze as I realized what I'd just said.

Cassian's wings twitched. Then, "Well, well."

I groaned. "Forget I said that."

"Oh, absolutely not." He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the smug curve of his lips. "You just admitted to being entertained by me. I'm savoring this moment."

"I said forget it."

"Nope. It's mine now."

I sighed, glaring at the canvas like it had personally wronged me.

Cassian chuckled again but thankfully let it drop, settling back into his position.

A few minutes passed in something almost resembling peace. I worked on layering in the first washes of color, the warm tones of his skin against the deeper hues of his wings.

Then—"So, do I get a say in how I'm portrayed?"

I lifted a brow. "Are you worried about artistic liberties?"

"A little."

I fought back a smile. "I could make you look very dramatic, if that's what you're asking. Add some storm clouds in the background. Maybe a tragic tear rolling down your face."

Cassian snorted. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather not be mistaken for some brooding, tortured soul."

I hummed. "That is Azriel's aesthetic."

"Exactly. We can't both have it."

"I don't know," I mused. "I think it could work. Maybe a single candle for dramatic lighting—"

"Absolutely not."

I grinned, but before I could make another remark, Cassian stretched, his wings flexing slightly before tucking back into place. The movement was so fluid, so casual—so utterly him.

I quickly went in with another light sketch, wanting to capture the way his muscles moved, the effortless strength in his frame.

"You still with me back there?" he teased, amusement lacing his voice.

"Yes, Cassian. Some of us are capable of focusing."

"Some of us just don't need to focus that hard to admire what's in front of us."

I frowned slightly, not quite catching his meaning. "What?"

He chuckled. "Nothing, sweetheart."

I shook my head, deciding not to press it.

"Alright," I finally said, leaning back to study my work. "I have the basics down. You can put your shirt back on now."

Cassian made a low, exaggerated noise of disappointment. "Damn. And here I was hoping you'd need me to pose for a few more hours."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't sound too heartbroken. I will be making you sit for another session later."

His grin was wicked. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?"

"Shut up and put your shirt on, Cassian."

He laughed, grabbing his discarded shirt—but the knowing look in his eyes told me that he'd be holding onto this moment for a long time.

And for some reason, I didn't mind one bit.

—

Cassian came in for many sessions after that.

I probably could've finished the painting on my own after the first few sittings, but he insisted I get all the colors right, all the details perfect. And, well... I wasn't exactly going to complain about having him shirtless in front of me for hours on end.

So, day after day, he showed up, sauntering into the studio with that insufferable smirk, stretching his wings like he owned the place. And I let him, indulged him—indulged myself—until the painting was finally finished, until there was no reason for him to sit for me anymore.

The thought left a strange hollowness in my chest, but I ignored it, focusing instead on adding the final highlights to his wings.

Cassian shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders.

I glanced up. "Getting restless?"

He grinned. "You gonna keep me trapped here all day, sweetheart?"

I smirked. "You're free to go anytime." I glanced at the painting. "But you'd be leaving unfinished art behind, and that would just be tragic."

Even though all I had left to add was a small, near-invisible highlight, I liked the idea of keeping him there just a little longer.

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, fine. I'll sit still for you a little longer."

Something in the way he said it—for you—sent a ripple of warmth through me, but I shoved it aside. I exhaled, finally setting my brush down.

"Alright," I said, stretching my arms. "You're officially free."

Cassian groaned dramatically, standing and rolling his neck. "Finally." He grabbed his shirt, but instead of putting it on, he slung it over his shoulder, turning toward me with that insufferable smirk. "Is it done?"

I turned the easel slightly toward him.

It was hard to admire my own work. After staring at it for so long in every unfinished form, I wasn't sure if I loved it or if I just loved the image I had painted. But I could say I was proud of it. That was enough.

Cassian stepped closer, blinking at the still-wet canvas. His brows lifted, his mouth parted slightly. He didn't speak, didn't crack a joke, didn't smirk like he usually did.

I shifted under his gaze. "Well?"

He inhaled, slow. "Sweetheart..." He sounded almost reverent. "It's... it's beautiful."

A laugh bubbled from my lips. "You're only saying that because it's you I painted."

"No—I mean, I am beautiful, but this is... magnificent." His voice was softer than usual, quieter.

Something flickered in his eyes as he turned toward me, something warm and fond. It was enough to make my stomach flip.

I swallowed. "Thanks, Cass."

His grin returned. "Proud of yourself?"

I nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah. I am."

His wings twitched. "Good. You should be."

A comfortable silence settled between us for a moment, the weight of his words pressing into me in a way I wasn't sure how to handle.

Then Cassian cleared his throat, stretching his arms over his head. "Now that it's finished..."

Something about the way he said it sent a prickle of anticipation down my spine.

He grinned. "...About my favor?"

I groaned. "You actually kept track of that?"

Cassian scoffed. "Sweetheart, I'd never forget a promise like that." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyeing me like he was scheming. "And I know exactly what I want."

A slow, lazy smirk curled his lips.

And for some reason, my stomach flipped all over again.

I raised a brow, waiting.

Cassian took a step forward. Then another.

My stomach flipped. "Okay?"

"I want you to go out with me."

I blinked. "What?"

His smirk deepened. "That's my favor. You and me. A date."

I stared at him, sure I'd misheard. "You're joking."

"Nope."

My heart did something strange, something uneven, and I let out a short, breathy laugh. "Cassian, you flirt with everyone."

"Not like this." His voice was quieter now. Steady.

I swallowed. "But—you're just messing with me. You've been messing with me this whole time."

Cassian sighed, running a hand down his face. "Gods, you're impossible." Before I could react, he stepped closer, hands coming up to cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks.

My breath hitched.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, tilting my chin up slightly. "Listen to me. I have not spent weeks finding every excuse under the sun to come here, sitting shirtless for hours just so you'd look at me, calling in a whole-ass favor just to take you out—just to mess with you."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Cassian's thumbs brushed against my skin again, his hazel eyes locked on mine. "I like you. I want you. And I swear to the Gods, if I have to spell it out anymore, I'm going to start carving it into the damn walls."

I let out a breathless laugh, my face burning. "You're serious."

His lips curled. "Took you long enough."

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. "I—"

"Just say yes, sweetheart," he murmured, voice teasing, but there was something else in his gaze—something warm, something steady. Something real.

I swallowed hard. Yes."

Cassian grinned. "Good choice."

His hands lingered on my face for just a second longer before he pulled back, grabbing his shirt off his shoulder and throwing it on. He shot me one last smirk as he backed toward the door.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow after your class."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me standing there—heart racing, mind spinning, trying to process the fact that Cassian had actually just asked me out.

That all this time, he hadn't been messing with me at all.

Feyre was going to laugh at me for not catching on sooner when I tell her.

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You felt uncomfortable in the training leathers your body was molten into, your hair in a single braid tickling your cheeks when the wind picked up.

You barely caught your breath when Cassian lunged towards you, clearly working on your reflexes, but when they failed for the third time in a row, you were sent to your ass very quickly with a sting bruise on your cheek.

You had no self defence.

No inner strength to fight back, to protect yourself.

Cassian couldn’t wrap his head around why. He thought you’d come around once he started handing your ass to yourself, riling you up to fight back, anything to ease his rapidly beating heart from the lack of reaction from you. He was eager to get something out of you, but the tears that started to flow down your bruised cheeks was not that.

“I don’t want to do this,” you rasped, pushing yourself up on shaky legs, wrapping your arms around your midsection like that could save you.

Making yourself smaller could save you.

“Why don’t you fight back?”

“What’s the point in doing that?”

You were broken.

You were an Illyrian born female, and your only luck in your whole life was that your wings weren’t clipped.

You flew before your father could’ve laid his hands on you.

Your mother died during childbirth, and as the only female of your family, you were a slave before you turned 5. Your brothers grabbed every chance to make you suffer, to make you remember you wouldn’t survive without them, or your father’s cruelty. You watched as the other women got beaten, spit on, ordered to different camps to play the soldiers current whore, but it was rare someone got back in one piece. You felt lucky enough to never be let out of your home, always had to remain at first sight if your father or brothers needed something. You were your own family's slave, and if you didn’t do something they wanted, they constantly laid their filthy hands on you. You knew the colour black before you got your hand on a crayon, because black only existed on your body. When you came to age, your faith was already sold out, ready to be a homemade slave for someone else. Your father talked about clipping your wings, eliminating the possibility of ever flying away.

But you had enough. You had enough of pushing around, beating to unconsciousness, starting your days feeding the men of the house before you could mend your body. You flew once at midnight, escaping from your fathers deadly grasp. You slept in inns, used fake names, and spent the waking moments flying or walking through the woods before someone could recognise you, until one cold evening, you stumbled across the Lord of Bloodshed and the Shadowsinger.

It was unheard of for females escaping from Illyria. You begged them not to hurt you. Deep down you knew they would never, but you couldn’t stop the flinching when Cassian raised his hand. He was devastated and equally sick to his stomach, when he saw you raising your hands to your head with a blink of an eye. He exchanged a look with Azriel, who also seemed torn, considering his eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was ticking furiously as he looked at the girl standing in front of them.

You were brought to the High Lord, who soon used his Daemati powers on you after you had ensured him your agreement, and after a long silence, he ordered Madja to heal any remaining wounds or injuries you still had left on your body.

Since then, you were a resident of Velaris, hidden from your own blood.

You once heard Cassian seething to Rhysand about your father and brother’s cruelty, how they should suffer long, just like they did with you. You wished them a slow and painful death, but that alone could never undone the years of damage.

Cassian was hard on self defence. He wanted you to learn how to dodge, how to throw a painful punch, how to make someone faint with just the right pinch on their shoulders.

He wanted anything, just to never see you flinch again.

But he couldn’t wrap his head around why you never fought back.

“Y/n,” his voice still as calm as the Sidra was, and that gentle tone threw you off guard even more.

He was begging.

“Leave me alone,” you cried, wings painfully tucked away from him. You escaped before he could mutter another word out, leaving him defeated in the sparring ring.

You were eternally grateful for them letting you stay in Velaris, letting you have a permanent room at the House, but you were never meant to fight back. All of your life you knew abuse, cruelty, betrayal and pain. You received them with open arms, because if you don't, then it is game over.

You got rid of your leathers, and entered the bathing chamber with hot and salty tears rolling down your cheeks furiously. You didn’t wipe or lick them away, because what’s the point in doing that, if the pain wouldn’t go away?

You washed your wings and hair and soaked your body until the water ran cold and your eyelids grew heavy, only then you made an attempt to move, limbs heavy with throbbing pain once the shakiness and aching sensation of adrenaline wore off.

You were not mad at Cassian.

Never was.

And probably never will be.

However, you felt incapable of facing him anytime soon.

You skipped lunch, even though your stomach grumbled so loud, the walls of your room shook, but forced yourself to sleep, where the nightmares made it easy to forget about your hunger.

Every single day you woke from light sleep and the consistent nightmare of your brothers breaking you apart.

Dreaming about your father clipping your wings, and with each shaking breath you reminded yourself this never happened, and never will happen.

But you never relaxed your wings.

Dinner was served and spent in silence, only the forks clinking against the plate echoed.

Until Cassian came.

He looked at your plate and his lips pressed into a painfully tight line, eyebrows furrowing deeply over dark eyes.

“That’s not enough for you.”

“That’s plenty enough for me, thank you,” you white-knuckled the fork, spine stiffening.

“That’s plenty enough for a baby,” he retorted, walking closer to you. Each step was taken carefully, but before he could reach you, you stood to make the distance even bigger.

He sighed.

“Sweetheart -“

“I told you to leave me alone, which I also meant for this!” You exclaimed with rapidly moving hands over the plate that now left abandoned with the two bites of potato and chicken.

At least there was some protein involved.

“You’re neglecting your own body!” Cassian shouted.

Neglect.

You swallowed the growing lump in the throat, the burning sensation behind your eyes growing with each rapid blink.

“Because neglect is all I know,” and when Cassian stepped forward, you didn’t make any attempt to step aside.

His dark and unrelenting gaze was full of remorse as he towered over you, and when he started begging to let him help you, you continuously shook your head.

“I don’t know how to let you in and not regret it,” your chin wobbled, vision blurred as you met his gaze.

You were not used for help.

Pain was always there, ever since your tragic birth.

But Cassian interlaced your fingers with his, and lowered his head until his forehead pressed against yours. “I will spend every waking moment earning your trust.”

And he did.

He did, when he came back from Madja with a soothing salve for your bruises and stayed until you smeared the cream where it was necessary, until he was the one who smeared the ointment with delicate fingers when your shoulder got dislocated from an unfortunate incident.

He earned your trust, when he stayed with you at dinner times, and encouraged you to eat more, because no one will take away the plate from you. Because you no longer had to eat scraps of leftovers, and be afraid when those so called leftovers got dumped into the trash, not caring if you had anything to eat.

He stayed with you, when a nightmare again woke you up in the middle of the night, and met Cassian on the balcony, with unshed tears and a shaky voice.

He stayed, when you told him about how you feared your father would emerge from the darkness and take you away, take away your wings, your freedom.

He stayed, when you fell asleep and woke up once more, because you saw the mental image of your brute brothers, threatening you to dump you out for the remaining soldiers stationed at your home.

He stayed to brush your tears away, and reassured you the pain you once felt will never come around again.

He stayed until your hiccuping turned into soft snores, your body light against his broad chest, until the first sunlight surfaced and your fingers clutched his shirt with an iron grip.

Cassian earned your trust, when he no longer insisted, but waited for you to come for him, when you were ready to take control over your own life.

You still felt weak. You still had to smear ointment all over your broken skin, but not once were you so scared of fighting back anymore.

You trusted him, when you asked him to fly with you one night.

You haven’t flown since your escape from Illyria. Your wings remained strictly tucked away, but it felt so good spreading them wide, that goosebumps travelled all over your body.

“It has to be you two.”

“Absolutely not-” You turned to Cassian, shooting him a glare.

Feyre sighed, rubbing her temples with the free hand that wasn’t cradling a fussy toddler. “Okay, well, Rhys and I are taking Nyx out to trick or treat, and I don’t trust Nesta-”

“Or Eris,” Rhysand tacked on.

“Yes, or Eris-” Feyre confirmed, “-with handing out candy to the kids. They already went through a whole bag by themselves.”

Of course, how convenient. Everyone knew the elephant in the room. You had sensed the mating bond awhile ago, as did Cassian. He had tried to reach out to you, but it was just… not something you were ready to discuss. Brushing him off had left a bit of a poor taste in his mouth. Not anger per say, but you and Cassian bickered like children most days.

Cassian’s lip curled, avoiding your gaze as he thought of something. “What about Elain?”

“She and Lucien are… indisposed.” Feyre glanced toward the front door, where the drunken couple were giggling to each other as they hurried home to… well… it didn’t have to be said. “You two don’t even have to talk to each other, just, I don’t know, take turns or something.” She waved a hand, carefully putting Nyx’s chubby arms back into his pumpkin costume.

You ran to your sister’s side, eyes wide and pleading. “Feyreeee you can’t leave me with him.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassian said, his brows raising. “You think you’re gonna suffer? I was supposed to be out with Mor taking shots at Rita’s.”

You didn’t even try to stop your eyes from rolling. “If you wanna go third-wheel her and Emerie, be my guest. I doubt they’ll be out long before going home.”

Cassia merely scoffed. Feyre sported her own glare now, directed at the two of you. “That’s enough. It’s only for a few hours. Just don’t bicker in front of the whole neighbourhood, please?”

“Fine.”

“Thank you. Rhys, let’s go.” Rhys cursed as he struggled with opening a stroller, following his mate out into the chilly October night.

As the door shut, the Velaris Townhouse fell into silence. It was just you and Cassian now.

“I can hand out the candy.”

“Well, so can I,” Cassian replied with a pompous air.

“Well, it didn’t seem like you wanted to.”

“Well I would probably do a better job than you.”

Baffling. You looked at him funny, but he only shrugged. It was clear he was arguing just for the sake of arguing. Unfortunately, you were not more mature than he was.

Just as your mouth opened to retort, a fancy bell chimed. The front door.

Cassian turned to you like a deer in headlights, until his expression narrowed. He broke into a run, sprinting straight for the pantry to find the candy. You would not let him win this one.

You didn’t have the stamina of an Illyrian Warrior General, but you were considerably smaller than him. You dodged pulled out chairs and couch cushions, leaping past discarded toddler toys to get to that pantry.

Losing sight of Cassian was a mistake though. The door was in front of you, its brass handle calling your name. Shiny and distracting, you didn’t notice the pillow Cass had lobbed directly at your face until you were sprawled on the floor.

He held the bag triumphantly. “Ha! Nice try, babe. Maybe next time.”

You lifted your hand, giving him your very favorite finger. “There’s a child at the door, ‘babe.’ Quit gloating and go give them candy.”

Cassian tsked, now taking his time to approach the front entrance. You followed after, rubbing a now-bruised hip. When he finally answered it, a tiny fae child with bat-like wings and pointed ears far too big for her head looked up.

“Trick or treat!” she called, holding open a bag shaped like a spooky suriel.

You didn’t know exactly what to expect. The image in your mind was the hulking beast of a man chucking candy into the bag and slamming the door after. But that wasn’t what he did.

Cassian knelt down, shrinking his broad shoulders and even broader wings to a less imposing size. “Well hello there little one! Looks like you’ve had good luck tonight,” he said, observing her almost full bag of candy. “Do you like chocolate? Or we have some fruity candy too.”

The little fae shyly plucked a peanut butter cup from the bowl in Cassian’s outstretched hands before toddling away to join her parents.

“You’re just a natural aren’t you?” you teased, poking fun at the broad smile curving his lips. “A secret softie.”

“Am not,” he huffed, but the smile didn’t go away fast enough. “She was just particularly cute.” Cassian stood to his full height, stepping closer. He coiled a lock of your hair around his finger, tugging. “She had hair just like yours.”

The gesture made your heart tighten, and your cheeks turn pink. You tried to come up with some sort of clever retort, but you had none.

“In fact,” Cassian continued, his body almost touching you now, “she had hair like yours, and wings like mine. Bet we’d have some pretty cute kids…”

Heat rushed to your face again, as well as… other areas. You turned away from him abruptly, not wanting him to see. “Shut up, Cassian.”

“Why should I?” He leaned in until his lips brushed your ear, hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. “You can’t run from this conversation forever.”

“I have so far.”

“Why?” Cassian whispered. “Why are you running?”

“I- I don’t know I just don’t like it…”

“Me? You don’t like me?”

“No, Cass, I just don’t like the bond.”

His brows furrowed like a confused hound, as if he couldn’t fathom why anyone would dislike it. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t expect you to. It just feels like- like one more thing added to the list of things I can’t control in my life. It was a choice I should have had, and now I have no choice.” Your shoulders turned inward, unconsciously afraid of his response.

And he could have laughed in your face. After all, the bond was one of those fae things they grew up knowing in their bones. But he didn’t.

“I don’t think of it that way, I guess. It’s more like, I choose you now, but I was always going to choose you. From the moment we were written in the steam of the Cauldron, It knew I would choose you above all else.”

“Cass…” You squeezed your eyes shut. No crying no crying no crying-

The rough pads of his fingers, each flecked with scars from years of battle and staying alive, caressed the red on your cheeks. “Look at me.”

You did. You forced your eyes open to face his.

“When tonight is over, once the last little fae leaves, I’m gonna make you mine.”

It stole the breath straight from your lungs.

As if afraid he said the wrong thing, Cassian put his hands up. “If you want me to, that is.”

No words came forth, so you settled for a nod.

~~~

Your shifts lasted only until 9:00 when Feyre and Rhysand returned. Nyx had a bundle of candy so wide it was a miracle he could carry it himself, which he insisted upon.

Rhys took over handing candy to the neighbourhood stragglers, the kids who were supposed to be entering their years of training rather than spending the night causing trouble. Cassian had ensured Devlon would allow it for tonight.

The thought made your heart flutter as you snuck away to the comfortable suites of the Townhouse. You didn’t know what you’d find, but it certainly wasn’t the General of the Illyrian army forming a giant blockade through the hall to your room.

“Archeron. We have business.”

You crouched just a bit, intending to sneak beneath the archway of his wings, but he recognized the stance. Without hesitation, Cassian grabbed you. He hauled you over a shoulder and carried you straight into his own quarters, delighting in the fact that you didn't even bother squirming.

He dumped you rather unceremoniously on the bed, but it was impossible to care when his body was covering yours, crawling over you like some scene out of one of Nesta’s filthy bodice-rippers.

“Cassian-”

He hummed, ducking down to steal your lips. “I like when you say my name like that. Less annoyed and more… needy.”

You turned your face away, trying to hide your flustered expression even in the dark.

Cassian laughed. He could smell your need, the heady mix of arousal, shy nerves, and desperation. “Don’t be shy. You knew this was coming.”

“Quit teasing,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around his torso, legs following soon after.

“Sweetheart I’m always a tease.” Cassian carefully pulled your legs off of him, laying you back down so he could peel your fall pajamas off of you. “I forgot to tell you how cute these are. Thought I’d let you know before they’re in a heap on my floor.”

His grin was wicked as he heard the little moan that escaped you. “Please.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” He stripped you down in hurried motions, baring you- and himself- before returning to his place atop you.

His body was hot, burning through the chill breezing in from the open windows. The warmth swallowed you as the hard flesh of his cock nestled between your pillowy thighs.

Cassian’s lips migrated from your mouth to the space behind your ear, then down to the curve of your throat. He kissed every inch he could reach, one hand fisted in your hair to keep you positioned how he liked. Between your legs, you felt his free hand snake down to feel you.

He groaned as his fingers came away slick. “I knew you wanted me. And you called me the tease.”

“You are,” you murmured insistantly, but the words trailed off as two long fingers stretched you open. Cassian curled them in search of your sweet spot. It took him only a moment before he was pressing up into that soft space, watching your face to see what movement made you gasp.

“Cass, more please-”

He removed his fingers, pausing to dig blindly through the drawer in his nightstand.

“Wha-?”

“Condom,” he answered, snatching up a little pouch.

“Don’t bother, I wanna feel everything.”

His brows raised and he searched your face for any doubts. He didn’t find any, but still asked, “are you sure, babe?”

You returned your legs to his middle, hooking them around his waist to pull him closer. Cassian growled as his tip caught on your entrance. “Yes, I’m sure.”

He was inside you so quickly, you had no time to process the stretch. A dull, warm ache wracked your nerves as he slid home. The ridges of his cock molded to every wall until there was no part of you that felt empty. Then, only then, he moved.

The first thrusts were slow, as if he was making an attempt to draw out the experience, but it didn’t last.

“Can I fuck you?” he panted through clenched teeth, struggling to stay gentle.

“More.”

He nodded. Two broad hands gripped your thighs, pulling your legs up and over his shoulders. If you weren’t loose enough before, you were now. He managed to push deeper as the new angle exposed you completely to his now rough pounding. “Ah- you feel so good, sweetheart.”

The way he positioned you had his sweat-slick body rubbing up against your clit with each stroke, pushing you further and further to the edge until your thighs quaked. “I’m close-”

The sound was like a warrior’s chant to his ears, sending him into a frenzy. The head of his cock bludgeoned deeper, hit harder, until you were crying out in ecstasy. It wasn’t long before he had joined you in the fall, grunting in your ear and laying himself across your tired body.

His wings flared out protectively, encasing you in their dark, leathery warmth.

“Looks like I tricked my own little treat tonight,” Cassian mumbled, waggling his eyebrows.