#pro cassian

I already felt a headache forming as I watched eleven children scream and run in every possible direction like tiny feral creatures.

I let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of my nose.

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

I straightened, forcing a warm, welcoming smile onto my face as I turned toward the entrance.

The High Lord and Lady of the Night Court stood there, looking far too put together and cheerful for this early in the morning.

I waved them inside and walked over.

“Good morning, Nyx,” I said, bending down to his height. His eyes sparkled like starlight, full of excitement. “Go put your things away, sweetheart. We’ve got some exciting things planned today.”

He smiled up at me before quickly joining the group of kids gathered around the bookshelf. As soon as he joined them, the noise increased: laughter, squeals, and tiny feet running across the floor.

Rhys chuckled under his breath.

“Has it been a long morning already?” he asked, his hand resting gently on Feyre’s back.

I nodded and glanced back at the children.

“On days like this, I have to remind myself that I do, in fact, love my job,” I whispered, earning two sympathetic looks.

“Nyx talks about you nonstop,” Feyre said, her expression soft as she watched her son. “You’re the only teacher he actually likes.”

I smiled at them, and pride swelled in my chest. “Nyx is amazing. I’m thankful to be part of his life.”

Rhys smiled and said, “We wanted to inform you that we will be away for a few weeks. Nyx’s uncle will come to pick him up.”

Rhys glanced at Feyre, who rolled her eyes with a soft laugh.

“Cassian. He’s about seven feet tall, and when he speaks…” Feyre sighed, leaning into Rhys. “You’ll see what I mean.”

I let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Rhys suddenly glanced over my shoulder, eyes widening. “Um…”

I turned and found three children happily emptying the entire bookshelf onto the floor.

I gave Rhys and Feyre a tired smile and a wave. “I’ll see you both when you get back.”

I clapped my hands twice, loud and sharp. The kids instantly clapped back, wide-eyed and waiting for whatever I was about to say next.

By the afternoon, I was exhausted. A whole day of screaming, crying, and keeping small children alive. 

On top of that, Nyx’s uncle was late. 

Nyx, bless him, spent the last hour helping me clean the classroom and set up tomorrow’s activities, humming happily as if this were the world’s best after-school club.

I opened my mouth to ask him to put the papers on my desk when the door opened, and a man walked in.

His shoulders almost touched the doorframe, with his wings tucked tightly behind him.

Cassian.

It had to be.

God, Feyre really hadn’t been exaggerating about the size of him.

Our eyes met. His lips parted slightly, his eyes went wide, and his hand shot out to the doorframe, as if to brace himself.

Nyx screamed, “Uncle Cass!”

He dropped his stack of papers and launched himself across the room. Cassian caught him with one arm, his eyes still locked on mine.

“You’re late,” I said, crouching to gather the papers scattered across the floor.

“Let me help,” Cassian said immediately, bending down, still holding Nyx in his arms.

“I’ve got it,” I snapped, snatching the papers out of his hands. 

Cassian gathered the last few sheets, holding them out to me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes flicking over my face. “Training ran long—”

“I expect parents and caretakers to be punctual,” I cut in, holding the papers against my chest. “Since this is your first time picking him up, I’ll let it slide this time. But, if it happens again, I will have to charge a late pickup fee to Rhys and Feyre’s account.”

Cassian let out a rough laugh that sent tingles down my spine. “You can’t be serious; I was only a few minutes late!”

I turned, narrowing my eyes and crossing my arms over my chest.

“You were more than an hour late, Cassian. Do you think I don’t have a life outside of this classroom?”

The humour in his eyes had disappeared. He shook his head. “No, your time is important. I didn’t mean—”

“We’re done here,” I said, cutting him off. “Drop off and pickup need to be on time. If that’s too much, there are other relatives listed on Nyx’s file. Maybe they can manage to get here on time.”

He shook his head again. “I’ll be on time.”

I ignored him and smiled down at Nyx instead.

“I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart,” I said.

Nyx looked between us with wide, confused eyes, then smiled and nodded.

“Bye, Miss.”

Cassian turned to leave. At the door, he glanced back, our eyes met for a moment, unreadable and tense, before he stepped out into the hallway.

I spent another few hours organising and finishing my work before starting the journey home. 

My apartment was on the river and wasn’t far from the school, but far enough to give me the separation I desperately needed.

I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders as I stepped into the streets. A shiver ran down my spine as the breeze came off the Sidra. 

As I walked past the restaurants that lined the streets, my stomach growled at the scent of warm spices drifting through the air.

It had been a long day, too long, my mind tangled with work and thoughts of my family back home.

Sometimes, I still find it hard to believe everything I left behind.

I had been a scholar, an academic at the top of my field, and now I was teaching high-ranking Night Court children.

It felt bittersweet.

I truly loved my job; the kids were far more entertaining than the fae I used to debate endlessly back home. I was an advisor to a high lord who pretended to listen but never actually did.

My thoughts were interrupted by laughter echoing across the street.

I scanned the crowd, and of course, there he was.

Cassian.

His massive form was impossible to miss. He sat with a group of fae, a glass of whiskey in hand, and his wings were tucked neatly behind him. Nyx sat on the knee of the blonde next to him.

Nyx’s voice echoed through the air.

“Miss is teaching us about Starfall!”

“Is she? Are you having fun?” the blonde asked, smiling down at him.

“She’s the best!” Nyx said, bouncing on her knee.

My heart twisted, warm and aching at the same time.

I looked back at Cassian. His eyes were already on me, his glass paused midway to his lips, his body completely still. He looked like he was about to speak, maybe even call me over.

I lifted the hood of my cloak and turned away, continuing down the street before he could say a word.

By the time I reached my apartment, my head hurt, and my feet ached. 

I pushed open the door and stepped into my tiny space, filled with more books and scrolls than actual furniture. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch. The fire crackled to life, and I lay there thinking about my day.

The chaos the kids always brought, especially sweet Nyx with his endless energy, and his painfully irritating uncle.

Cassian. 

The handsome man who somehow managed to get under my skin faster than anyone I had ever met. 

I groaned and buried my face in a pillow, questioning what I was doing with my life.

By morning, after a long and overflowing bubble bath with the expensive bath salts my new coworker had gifted me, I found myself running late.

I shoved my feet into my boots, grabbed my satchel, and slammed the door behind me. 

The weather had turned; the sky was a dull grey, and the wind bit. It was going to rain, of course, but I had forgotten everything.

No umbrella. 

No coat. 

My skirt got tangled around my legs as I hurried down the cobblestone street.

By the time I arrived at the school, I was out of breath, clutching my skirt in one hand while trying to push my wind-tossed hair from my face with the other.

I had just placed my bag down when there was a knock at the door.

My head snapped up.

Cassian stood silently. Nyx held his hand while he carried a paper bag in his other hand.

“Good morning,” Cassian said.

Nyx bounced into the classroom, waved at me, put away his things and immediately sat at the art table.

“Running late?” Cassian asked, stepping further into the room, a smirk forming on his lips.

“It was only a few minutes, and you’re the first one here,” I said defensively, leaning against my desk as I tried to tame my hair with my fingers.

“Oh?” he hummed. “So does that mean I get to charge you a late fee?”

I rolled my eyes and said, “That’s funny.”

His smirk widened as he stepped closer, close enough for me to smell pine and a hint of cinnamon.

He set the paper bag down on my desk.

“Here’s an apology,” Cassian said, gesturing toward it. “I’m sorry for being late yesterday.”

I looked down, crossing my arms as a breeze seeped in from the hallway.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, glancing back at him.

God, he was handsome. His hazel eyes softened as they met mine.

“Nyx told us staying after school yesterday was the best part of his day,” he said, a slow smile forming.

I hummed in response. “I’m glad he had a good day.”

I glanced over his shoulder at the clock by the door.

“Thank you once again for the treats,” I said. “The other parents will arrive soon.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window, wind-tangled hair, goosebumps along my arms. 

I looked like a disaster.

“Well, I’ll see you this afternoon,” Cassian said as he stepped back.

His eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer before he turned and called to Nyx.

Nyx waved at him with a wide grin.

The door closed behind them, and I exhaled, bracing myself against my desk.

“Uncle Cassian asked about you last night,” Nyx said suddenly.

My spine straightened as I looked at him, but before I could say a word, another pair of parents knocked on the door.

I smiled, greeting them warmly. Despite my thoughts, however, they were absolutely not where they should’ve been.

Cassian.

The paper bag of treats still sitting on my desk.

That look in his eyes.

By the time the day ended, my mind felt like it had been twisted into knots.

“Please place your artwork on my desk before you leave,” I instructed the class. “I’ll hang them up tonight. Tomorrow, we will learn about constellations.”

The children packed their things while their parents waited at the door. All I could think about was Cassian and that stupid face of his.

My back was turned to the door as one by one the children and parents left.

“How was your day?” a voice asked behind me.

I jumped, clutching my chest as I spun around. Without thinking, I shoved at the person, or at least I tried to. My hands met a solid, unyielding chest.

Cassian.

“God, you scared me.” My heart was pounding as I looked up at him, his eyes far too amused.

I narrowed my gaze, glaring as his eyes flicked from mine to my lips, then down to where my hands were still pressed against him.

“My apologies,” he said, a smirk growing on his face. “I thought you heard me come in.”

I immediately stepped back, turning away and pretending to organise the stack of papers on my desk.

“Nyx,” I called, my voice tight, “get your things, please.”

“You don’t like cinnamon?” Cassian asked.

I glanced over my shoulder. He was still behind me, his eyes focused on the paper bag I had left untouched.

“No, I do,” I said quickly. “I just haven’t had time to sit.”

“I heard you say that you still needed to hang the solstice drawings,” he said. “I can drop Nyx off with his aunties and come back to help.”

I shook my head and said, “It’s fine.”

He said nothing. Nyx was already by his side, waiting.

“I’ll see you soon,” Cassian said as he tossed Nyx over his shoulder.

The boy shrieked with laughter as Cassian strode out.

“No, Cassian, please don’t—”

The door shut with a loud bang.

I groaned at the chaos of the room, the dozens of drawings still needing to be hung, and the stupid paper bag waiting on my desk.

As I sank into my chair, I reached for it. 

I hadn’t even looked inside.

I slid the bag open.

A cinnamon scroll.

Perfectly glazed.

Exactly the kind I loved.

My mouth watered.

God, I hated him.

I hated that I warmed the pastry with my magic.

I hated that when I took a bite, it was sweet, soft, melt-on-the-tongue perfect.

I hated that I groaned, slumping in my chair.

I hated that I was excited about him coming back.

I brushed crumbs off my dress as the door slowly opened, and a voice called out.

Mira was leaning against the doorframe, holding an armful of papers.

“How’s the larger class going?”

“It’s… fine,” I said, straightening in my seat.

“I keep telling the director that just because families request you doesn’t mean you can take them all,” she sighed.

“I’m honoured they like me so much, but… It’s a lot. Managing the kids and the parents.”

That wasn’t a lie: the kids were lovely. The parents, who had more money than I could ever dream of, were the ones who were exhausting.

“We really need to get drinks sometime,” she said with a smile. “You need a life outside of work.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine, really—”

“You stay late every day, come in early most mornings, work through weekends, or spend your time advising some diplomat. Come on! Join me for a night out. I even have a friend you’d like.” Mira said, rolling her eyes.

I groaned. “I’m not looking to date. I’ve had enough bad relationships to last a lifetime.”

“Come on,” Mira whined. “He’s great. Smart, just like you.”

My lips parted to argue, but then Cassian’s broad frame appeared behind her.

My mouth snapped shut.

Mira turned, following my gaze, just in time to see him smile.

He murmured a polite “excuse me” and stepped around her, placing a coat on my desk, as he belonged here.

Her eyes widened as Cassian looked between us.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” she whispered.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I growled, glaring at Cassian, whose smile only widened as he winked at me.

He didn’t say a word, just settled on the edge of my desk, crossing his arms as a smug, infuriating smirk tugged at his lips.

My face turned red, and Mira’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Well,” she said cheerfully, “I’ll leave you and not-your-boyfriend alone.”

She pointed directly at Cassian, smiling widely and mouthing, He’s hot, before slipping out the door.

“Did she just call me hot?” Cassian said, glancing at the door before looking back at me.

“She’s single and definitely your type,” I snapped, jealousy flaring deep within me.

I grabbed the stack of drawings from my desk and walked toward the empty wall.

“And what is my type?” Cassian asked, his voice low as he followed.

“I’m going to guess a petite, skinny High Fae,” I said sharply, not looking at him. “Like the blonde you were with last night or one of the golden-haired girls who had to be Feyre’s sisters.”

My hands trembled as I picked up the next artwork, fury burning under my skin.

I rose onto my toes, struggling to reach the top of the wall.

“Mira is incredible,” I continued, my voice strained. “She’s funny, loud, and bright.”

“You sound jealous,” Cassian said calmly.

His warmth pressed against my back as he reached over me, taking the paper from my hand. Pinning it easily to the highest spot.

“I am not jealous,” I snapped, spinning to face him, only to be pressed against the wall as Cassian caged me in.

“No?” he murmured, bracing his hands on either side of my head, leaning down until he filled every inch of my vision. “Then why do you sound jealous?”

“Because you’re a self-obsessed bat, that’s why.”

I glared up at him.

He stepped back just enough to grab another drawing.

“Keep talking, sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping. “You look good when you’re jealous.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

“You’re such an ass,” I hissed, planting my hands on his chest to push him, but he didn’t budge. 

He just chuckled, reaching easily above me to hang the next drawing.

“What else am I?” Cassian teased, glancing down at me with that stupid grin of his.

“Infuriating,” I muttered.

“Mhm.” His eyes dropped to my mouth again. “What else?”

“Overconfident.”

He took a half-step closer. 

I let out a sharp exhale and turned away to grab the next drawing, but Cassian reached for it first. His fingers brushed against mine as he took the paper, and sparks shot up my arm when I pulled away, as if he had burned me.

“You know,” he said, pinning another drawing onto the wall. “For someone who insists she doesn’t care, you have a lot of opinions about who I’m with.”

“I don’t care,” I said flatly.

He made a low sound in his throat, disbelief, amusement, something warm.

“Sure you don’t.”

I glared at him. “I don’t.”

“Then look me in the eye and say it.”

I opened my mouth and froze because he wasn’t smirking anymore.

He was just looking at me, hazel eyes softened in a way that made my chest ache.

The air shifted between us, thickening, pulling tight.

I forced my gaze away, heat crawling up my neck.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

“I’m not jealous. I just know your type.”

Cassian let out a warm, deep chuckle.

“My type,” he said, his wings rustling as he stepped even closer, my back pressed against the wall, “is not some tiny, little High Fae.”

He kept going, voice dropping.

“And it’s definitely not someone who giggles and bats her eyelashes because she thinks it looks cute.”

He was so close I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

“My type,” he said softly, “is you.”

My breath caught.

“A woman,” he went on, his gaze sweeping down my body slowly, deliberately. “With curves. Soft skin. Hips made to grab and hold.”

My face burned.

“And a mouth,” he added, eyes flicking to mine, “as sharp as her mind.”

My heart pounded so hard my body began to tremble.

“A smartass,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t melt when I walk into a room. Someone who’ll argue with me, push me, challenge me…”

He leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek.

“…someone who isn’t afraid to put me in my place.”

My stomach twisted. 

Hard.

“And you,” he murmured, “are exactly my type.”

I opened my lips, but nothing came out.

He smiled, slow and triumphant. 

“That’s the first time all day you haven’t had something snarky to say.”

“Shut up,” I managed, shoving at his chest.

He stumbled back, only because he let me.

His grin widened, bright and devastating.

“See? Sharp tongue.”

I turned towards the wall, my back to him, but Cassian’s voice dropped to a purr behind me.

“Want me to tell you what else I like?” 

“No.”

He chuckled. “You’re cute when you lie.”

“I’m going to drown you in the Sidra,” I muttered.

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

He leaned in, his mouth warm against my ear, and my pulse stuttered.

“And sweetheart?” he whispered. “You’ve been staring at my mouth for the last two minutes.”

A soft huff escaped me, my skin prickling. His coat brushed against my back as I drew a sharp breath.

My eyes fluttered shut as I felt his hand slide toward my waist. Just as his fingers brushed the fabric of my dress, I slipped out from beneath his arms.

I moved to my desk, grabbed my satchel, left the coat he had brought, which was clearly meant for me, and walked out.

“Wait,” I heard him call as I pushed open the doors.

I didn’t.

I moved fast, his voice echoing after me, but the moment my feet hit the street, I disappeared into the afternoon light.

Leaving him alone.

Part 1 | Masterlist | Part 2

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You were shelving the last stack of books when you felt it—that unmistakable shift in the air, like a ripple of starlight brushing across your skin.

Rhysand.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. His presence always arrived like a hush before thunder—smooth, soft, but laced with power.

“I thought I told you to stop working so late,” he said from behind you, voice all silk and shadows.

Your fingers tightened around the spine of a worn volume. “And I thought I told you that I like the quiet.”

His laugh curled through the high-arched rows of the library, deep and warm. You hated how much it affected you—how your heart tripped and your skin prickled just from the sound.

He stepped closer, unhurried. “Cassian says you’ve barely eaten today. Azriel threatened to drag you out by your ankles.”

You smiled despite yourself, gaze still focused on the shelves. “I’ll be sure to add that to the list of times he’s threatened me this month.”

Rhys didn’t respond right away. You could feel his eyes on you—studying, searching.

“Are you okay?” he asked at last, softer now.

You swallowed. That question always felt heavy, even from him. Maybe especially from him. Because somehow, Rhys saw through everything—the quiet smiles, the polite distance, the armor you'd spent years forging after your rescue.

Azriel had found you barely conscious in a slaver's den outside the Illyrian border, and Cassian had been the one to hold you upright during your first days in Velaris when you couldn’t sleep, eat, or speak without trembling. They never pushed. Never pried. They just stayed—and eventually, so did you.

Rhys, though… Rhys was different.

He didn’t just see you. He noticed things. The way your hands shook when someone got too close. The way you flinched at sudden movement, even now. The way you sometimes looked at the sky like it might fall on you again.

But he never treated you like you were fragile. Never tiptoed.

And that terrified you more than anything.

“I’m fine,” you said eventually. “Just tired.”

Rhys was quiet again. You turned toward him, and gods—he was unfair. All midnight hair, violet eyes, and impossible grace wrapped in that damned smirk.

“You shouldn’t lie to your High Lord,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. It always did.

He stepped close enough that the scent of him wrapped around you, warm spice and crisp night air, calming and intoxicating at once.

“You know,” he said, head tilting just slightly, “you blush every time I get near you. It’s adorable.”

“Rhys-”

“I’m just saying.” That grin deepened. “You make it very difficult to behave.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to scold him, maybe to tell him to leave, maybe to confess that the idea of him not behaving was the only thing you’d thought about for weeks—but the words didn’t come.

Instead, his hand lifted. He didn’t touch you, not yet. Just hovered, waiting. Always waiting for you to close the space.

“I would never hurt you,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “You know that, don’t you?”

You did.

You weren’t sure when you started trusting him—not just liking him, or admiring him from afar, but trusting him with the mess of you. Maybe it was the way he never pushed you. Maybe it was the way he always asked. Maybe it was the way he let you be small, scared, quiet, and still looked at you like you were powerful.

Maybe it was just him.

You leaned forward, just enough to let your forehead rest against his chest. His hand finally touched you—curling around the back of your neck, steady and warm.

He let out a slow breath, as though your touch had undone something in him.

“You make me want to be gentle,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes.

“And I didn’t know I still had that in me.”

His thumb brushed the side of your neck, slow and reverent, as if he knew exactly how fast your heart was racing beneath his hand.

“You’re sure?” he murmured, his voice low and velvet-rich, his mouth near your temple but not quite touching.

You hesitated—but only for a breath. Then you leaned into him just a little more, allowed his scent wrapped around you, spice and cedarwood and something darker, like storm clouds after the heat.

“I trust you,” you whispered, and meant it.

Those three words were small, but they unraveled something in him.

Rhys let out a long, shaky breath and wrapped his arms around you, holding you to his chest. One large hand cradled the back of your head, fingers sinking into your hair, the other flattening over your spine. He held you like he’d waited centuries for you to offer him this closeness—this chance.

“I’ll go slow,” he said quietly, like a promise. “You lead, okay?”

You nodded, cheek still pressed against him.

Rhys pulled back enough to meet your eyes. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone. His gaze searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was a slow-burning need—years of loneliness and restraint finally breaking open.

He kissed you.

This time it wasn’t teasing or smug—it was devotional. His mouth was warm and patient, tongue coaxing, exploring—never taking, only asking. You parted for him easily, melting into the kiss as his fingers tilted your chin just right. The feeling of him was overwhelming—his scent, his magic, the soft weight of his body as he guided you backward, deeper into the shadowed stacks of the library where no one would find you.

The world slowed.

Books, stone, distant wind against the windows—it all faded as Rhys pressed you gently against a wall lined with ancient tomes. He kissed you again, slower this time, hands braced beside your head. His magic curled around your ankles like a cat, purring in delight.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered.

You swallowed hard, shivering at the heat pooling between your legs. “I just want… you.”

A growl rumbled in his chest. “Then you’ll have me, darling.”

His hands slid down your sides, fingers skimming your ribs, your waist, the soft dip of your hips. He gripped the hem of your tunic and paused, giving you another silent chance to stop him.

When you didn’t, he pulled it up, slow and careful, and you lifted your arms to help. The cool air kissed your skin as your top slipped away, and Rhys inhaled sharply as his star-filled eyes drank you in.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You’re unreal.”

Your arms twitched, instinctively trying to cover your chest—but he caught your wrists and pressed them gently to the wall behind you.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured. “You’re perfect.”

He dipped his head to kiss along your collarbone, each press of his mouth slow and worshipful. He trailed lower, his tongue tracing the swell of your breast before closing around a nipple, sucking lightly, then licking over the sensitive peak until you arched into him.

“Rhys—”

“Shh, darling,” he said, switching to the other. “Let me take care of you.”

You were already trembling when he dropped to his knees.

“You’re so responsive,” he said, voice husky. “So good for me.”

His hands slid beneath your skirts, slowly drawing them up until the fabric pooled around your waist. You felt the heat of his breath against your bare thighs, his palms smoothing up the backs of your legs until he hooked a single finger into the band of your underwear.

He looked up at you again. “Still okay?”

You nodded, already dizzy with need. “Yes. Please.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh first—then again, higher this time, until his mouth pressed just beside the place you needed him most. He breathed you in with a soft growl that made your stomach flip.

“Look at this pretty little pussy,” he murmured, dragging your underwear down and off. “You’re already soaked for me.”

You whimpered and leaned back against the wall, your legs trembling as he spread your thighs apart. The sight of him—on his knees, eyes dark with hunger, shoulders bracketed between your legs—was almost too much to bear.

And then he touched you.

His tongue slid between your folds, slow and luxurious, tasting you like he was savoring the richest dessert in existence. He groaned against you, hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he licked and sucked, circling your clit with maddening patience.

You cried out, fingers flying to tangle in his hair.

He moaned again, like your sounds drove him wild. “That’s it, darling. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

Your hips bucked involuntarily, and he held you down, tongue flicking faster now, lips sucking until you were gasping, whimpering, falling apart in his hands.

“Rhys—gods—I’m—”

“Come for me,” he growled against your cunt. “Let me taste it. Let go.”

You shattered.

Your climax crashed through you in waves—hot, intense, shivering—and Rhys didn’t stop. He licked you through every flutter, every desperate moan, drawing out every second until your legs nearly gave out.

Only then did he rise, catching you as you sagged into him, your whole body flushed and trembling.

He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “You’re divine,” he whispered. “I could worship you for hours.”

You reached between you, fingers fumbling at the laces of his pants. “Then do it. Let me feel you.”

Rhys groaned low in his chest, and with another whispered spell, you felt the echo of magic sink into your belly—gentle and warm, preparing your body for what came next.

He lined himself up and pressed in slowly, his jaw tight with restraint.

“Gods, you’re tight,” he rasped. “So warm. So fucking perfect.”

You whimpered, your head falling back against the wall as he filled you—inch by inch—until he was fully seated, his body flush against yours, every inch of him trembling.

“Look at me,” he said, voice hoarse.

You met his gaze.

And that’s when he started to move.

Each stroke was deep and unhurried, the grind of his hips against yours sending sparks up your spine. He kissed you through it, whispering praises between every thrust—how good you felt, how proud he was, how long he’d wanted this.

How safe you were with him.

And when your second climax built, it wasn’t from teasing or magic or even pleasure—it was from the way he held you, like you were precious. The way he moaned your name like a vow. The way he made you feel cherished.

Your release hit hard and sweet, your walls fluttering around him as he groaned your name and spilled into you with a final, desperate thrust.

You stayed there like that for a long time, wrapped in his arms, hearts pounding in time.

And deep in your chest… something clicked.

A glowing warmth bloomed behind your ribs, spreading through your veins like starlight.

Your eyes met his—and you both knew.

The bond had snapped into place.

The world felt like it had gone quiet.

Not silent—just still. Like the whole library, the entire House of Wind, had taken a deep breath and was holding it.

You were wrapped in Rhys’s arms, chest against his, face tucked beneath his jaw. His scent surrounded you—smoke and midnight and that subtle sweetness he always carried when he let his guard down. His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, slow and steady. Anchoring.

Neither of you had spoken yet.

Because there was something else now. Something new.

That tug—that golden-threaded, star-kissed pull in your chest. It hummed just beneath your skin, like music in your bones.

You knew what it was. You knew what it meant.

And the realization hit you like a crash of cold water.

You jerked back—just slightly, but enough that Rhys’s brow furrowed.

“Darling?” he asked softly, still breathless, hands instantly gentle on your waist. “What is it?”

You tried to breathe.

Tried to speak.

But the pressure in your chest swelled too fast—like you were going to burst.

“I—” Your voice cracked. “Rhys, I think something’s wrong. I feel—too much, I feel everything, and it’s—it’s too much—”

He sat up quickly, still holding you, easing you to sit in his lap. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, voice soothing but focused. “Look at me. Just breathe.”

You tried. Gods, you tried. But your vision was already swimming, and your throat was tight, and all you could feel was him—his heartbeat, his breath, his worry. His love. Pouring into you through that tether in your chest like sunlight you weren’t ready to hold.

“I—I didn’t mean for this,” you choked out. “The bond—it's the bond, isn't it? I can feel you and it's—I didn't think—I’m not—how is this happening?”

Rhys’s hands framed your face.

“Because it's real,” he said quietly, reverently. “Because it's us.”

Your lip trembled.

“I’m not ready,” you whispered.

“Then we won’t do anything,” he said instantly. “Not until you are.”

You blinked at him, breath still shaky. “But it’s already there.”

“I know,” he murmured, stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “And it’ll wait. I’ll wait.”

You stared at him—at the man who had just wrecked you so gently you barely knew where you ended and he began. The man who could take cities with his power but only looked at you like you were something fragile and miraculous.

“You’re not angry?” you asked, voice small.

He smiled, just a little, and pressed his forehead to yours. “I just made love to the woman I’ve been falling for since the moment she told Cassian to fuck off in the training ring.”

You blinked, startled. “You were there?”

“Of course I was there. He came flying into my office to tell me a terrified little librarian threatened to set his wings on fire with a candle stub.” His smile softened further. “You’ve had my attention ever since.”

A shaky laugh escaped you. And something in your chest—where the bond pulsed, steady and glowing—eased.

“I don’t want to lose myself,” you said quietly. “I’ve fought so hard to become someone again.”

Rhys kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose.

“Then I’ll help you stay exactly who you are,” he said. “I don’t want to own you. I want to walk beside you.”

You leaned into him.

Not because you were ready to finish the bond. Not yet.

But because it didn’t feel so scary anymore.

Because you weren’t alone.

And for the first time in a long, long time… you didn’t want to run.

A few days later, you were shelving returned texts when a familiar flutter of shadows curled across the back of your neck—followed almost immediately by a soft kiss to your cheek.

You startled, nearly dropping the heavy tome in your hands.

“Rhys,” you hissed, glaring at him over your shoulder.

He was already grinning, perfectly unrepentant. “Sorry, darling. Couldn’t resist.”

You turned fully, swatting his arm with the corner of your book. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m the High Lord,” he said, far too smug for your liking. “I’m allowed anywhere. Especially if I’m here to check on my favorite librarian.”

You tried not to smile. Really, you did. But the sparkle in his eyes, the softness in the corners of his grin… it made something flutter low in your belly.

“Favorite, hmm?” you asked, trying to keep your voice cool.

“Well, you are the only one who’s ever let me make out with her in the back room.”

Your face flamed instantly. “Rhys!”

He just chuckled, that rich, starry sound echoing off the ancient stone and high, book-lined walls. You turned back to your cart, muttering under your breath, but your cheeks were still on fire and he knew it.

Of course, he knew it.

“You’re glowing,” he said, voice low as he stepped behind you again—closer this time. “Blushing just for me. It’s very distracting.”

You were about to snap back with something vaguely threatening—maybe involving throwing him off the balcony—when the air shifted.

You felt it before you heard them: two male figures approaching from the main archway, steps familiar, the magic they carried unmistakable.

Azriel. Cassian.

Shit.

You stepped back from Rhys instantly, your hands smoothing your tunic, your pulse spiking hard enough that Rhys’s eyes flicked to yours.

“Hey,” he said softly, steadying you with a hand on your arm. “It’s okay. Nothing to hide.”

You gave him a tight look. “Maybe you don’t think so.”

Before he could respond, the footsteps rounded the nearest corner—and there they were.

Cassian and Azriel both halted mid-step.

They looked between you and Rhys, eyes scanning the too-small space between your bodies, the slight flush in your cheeks, the way Rhys’s hand lingered on your wrist.

Azriel’s brows lowered in that quiet, assessing way that always made you feel like he was seeing far more than you wanted him to.

Cassian’s gaze shot to your face, then Rhys’s, then back again.

No one spoke for three full seconds.

Then: “Rhys,” Cassian said slowly, smile polite—but tight.

“Cass,” Rhys drawled, completely relaxed. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “You’re awfully far from your office.”

“I needed a break,” Rhys replied easily. “And a certain someone,” he added with a glance your way, “is very good at helping me relax.”

You made a strangled sound that might’ve been a cough.

Cassian blinked. “What.”

“Oh my gods,” you whispered under your breath, covering your face with your hands.

“I’m joking,” Rhys said quickly—though the smirk he aimed at his brothers said otherwise. “Mostly.”

Azriel tilted his head. “How long?”

You froze.

Rhys didn’t.

“A few days,” he said, quiet now. “But it’s been coming for a while.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened—not angry, but visibly processing. He glanced at you again, gaze softer now. “Are you okay?”

That was what undid you.

Not the shock on their faces, not Rhys’s amused teasing, not even the underlying panic still fluttering in your chest.

It was that question.

That they still asked it.

You nodded slowly. “I am. I really am.”

Azriel stepped forward first. His eyes, always sharp, lingered on yours. “You don’t owe anyone anything, you know.”

“I know.”

“And if this changes anything—if you feel it changing anything—you can tell us.”

You smiled, just barely. “I think it’s changing everything. But not in a bad way.”

Cassian was still watching Rhys like he was trying to decide if he should shake his hand or punch him. Possibly both.

Finally, he let out a long breath, muttered, “Shit,” and crossed the space to pull you into a hug so fierce it lifted you off your feet.

“You better treat her like she’s sacred,” he told Rhys over your shoulder.

“I already do,” Rhys said simply.

Azriel was quieter, but when you stepped toward him, he met you halfway. His arms came around you with familiar care, one hand on the back of your head like he always did when you were overwhelmed. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his cheek to your temple and held you there.

You felt tears sting the backs of your eyes. Not from sadness. Just… from being seen. Still held. Still safe.

Rhys’s hand found yours as you stepped back, lacing your fingers gently. He didn’t pull, didn’t take. He just stood there, tethered beside you.

Azriel glanced between the two of you once more, then said, with the barest flicker of a smile, “We’re going to talk later.”

“Looking forward to it,” Rhys said, somehow managing not to sound smug.

Cassian groaned. “This is going to be worse than that time you stole my boots and blamed it on Mor, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely worse,” Rhys agreed.

You just groaned into your hands again.

It was late. Late enough that the sun had long dipped below the cliffs, but you were still tucked into your favorite corner of the library, curled up on a chaise with a blanket draped over your legs and a cup of tea cooling in your hands.

You weren’t reading. Not really.

Your mind was too full—spinning with soft kisses, Rhys’s voice in your ear, the weight of his hand on your wrist when Cassian and Azriel had walked in.

And the bond—still quietly glowing beneath your skin, like a candle that never fully went out.

You heard the door before you saw him. The gentle click of it closing behind him, then the shift of shadows as he approached—quiet, but not hiding.

You didn’t look up right away.

“Az.”

He stopped beside the chaise. “You left before dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

A pause.

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

You looked at him then.

Azriel’s expression was unreadable to anyone else—but you knew better. You’d studied those careful lines, those layered silences. You’d been wrapped in his shadows when you couldn’t stand sunlight. He’d held your shaking hands after nightmares, said nothing when you cried on the floor, and never once asked you to be stronger than you were.

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

Az’s brows drew together, and he crouched beside you, one knee on the carpet.

“I don’t.”

You searched his face—his dark, steady eyes, the faint crease between his brows, the way he tilted his head slightly when something mattered.

“You looked… surprised.”

“I was,” he admitted. “Not because I don’t trust him. But because you’ve been through so much. And I know how long it took you to even let me sit this close.”

He was right. The first time Azriel touched you—truly touched you—it was weeks after your arrival in Velaris. You’d had a panic attack in the library, shaking and gasping behind a stack of encyclopedias. He hadn’t said a word. Just knelt beside you and offered his hand. Nothing more.

You’d gripped it like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” you whispered. “The bond. The… way I feel around him. But he’s been so patient, Az. He never pushes. He just… waits.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his eyes scanning your face, like he was reading each tremble and pause in your voice.

“Does he make you feel safe?”

You nodded.

“Wanted?”

You flushed, but nodded again. “More than I know what to do with.”

A flicker of something moved through his expression—maybe grief, maybe relief, maybe both. Then he reached forward, his gloved fingers brushing lightly against your wrist.

“You don’t have to be afraid of what’s good,” he said softly. “You deserve good. You always did.”

Your breath caught.

And before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Az froze for half a second—then sank into the hug, arms strong around you, chin resting lightly atop your head.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Even if he’s in your life now. You don’t lose me.”

You buried your face against his chest, overwhelmed by the simplicity of it.

“You promise?”

Azriel’s voice rumbled low. “On my shadows.”

You pulled back enough to look at him—eyes rimmed with tears, but smiling now.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, and rose, smoothing your blanket over your legs like you hadn’t just shaken his heart open with those few words.

At the door, he paused. “You know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “he’s probably pacing the hallway waiting for me to give him permission to see you.”

You groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow and launching it at him. He caught it with one hand, smirking faintly.

“Tell him if he makes you cry, I’ll shove a siphon somewhere very anatomically inconvenient.”

And with that, he vanished into shadow.

A few seconds later, a knock at the door.

“Azriel?” came Rhys’s muffled, hopeful voice. “Is it safe?”

You sighed. Loudly, but your heart was already fluttering again. “Yes.”

The door cracked open a sliver, then fully—revealing Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, ruler of Velaris, and your current biggest problem. He poked his head in with an exaggerated wince, as if he expected a second pillow to come flying at him.

His grin deepened when you didn’t.

“Still in one piece,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “That’s a good sign.”

You raised a brow. “Is it?”

“Considering Azriel most likely looked like he was mentally composing my obituary on his way out? Yes.”

You tried not to smile. You really did.

But something about him—his voice, his ease, that stupid smirk—it tugged at the corners of your mouth until you were shaking your head.

Rhys’s eyes softened when he saw it. He crossed the room in two long strides and sat beside you on the chaise, one arm stretched behind you, not touching—just there.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You hesitated. “Better. Azriel’s just… he’s always been there.”

“I know.”

You peeked at him. “What did they say to you?”

Rhys sighed dramatically and tilted his head back against the cushion. “Azriel spent a full minute staring at me without blinking. I think he was debating whether to gut me or drag me into a shadow dimension for questioning.”

You laughed, muffled behind your hands.

“Cassian,” Rhys went on, “paced. A lot. Then he asked me what my intentions were like this was a chaperoned courtship in the Autumn Court. Then he said if I broke your heart he’d snap my wings and feed them to Amren.”

Your eyes widened. “He did not.”

“Oh, he did,” Rhys said, completely deadpan. “Azriel even nodded in agreement. Which is frankly terrifying, because when he agrees with Cassian, it’s always about murder.”

You giggled into your hands, face burning. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Rhys turned toward you now, his hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “They love you. Fiercely. And I’d be worried if they weren’t protective.”

You looked at him—really looked.

He wasn’t teasing anymore. Not fully.

And just like that, your pulse stuttered again.

“You’re still okay with this?” you asked softly. “With waiting?”

Rhys cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye. “There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t wait for if it meant you were ready.”

Gods.

You tried to look away, but he leaned in just enough that your noses brushed.

“And besides,” he added, voice low and wicked, “I’m very good at entertaining myself in the meantime.”

Your breath hitched. “Rhys—”

“Really, darling, you should’ve seen Cassian’s face when I told him how gorgeous you sound when you come.”

You choked. “Rhysand!”

“Worth it,” he murmured, clearly delighted, even as you buried your face in your hands and made a noise halfway between a squeak and a groan.

“I hate you.”

“You adore me.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, which only made him laugh.

And then, quieter, he said, “You really are glowing, you know.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Is that your subtle way of calling me flushed and panicked?”

“No,” he said, softer now. “It’s my not-so-subtle way of saying you look happy.”

You blinked.

And the truth was… you were.

You still didn’t know exactly what this was becoming. Or where it would go. But right now, curled beside him in the quiet hush of the library, after Azriel’s quiet approval and Cassian’s half-threatened one, it didn’t feel scary anymore.

It just felt right.

You leaned your head on Rhys’s shoulder, and he immediately tucked his arm around you, pulling you closer.

After a long moment, you said, “So what did you say to them?”

Rhys smirked, gaze fixed lazily on the far wall. “I told them I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“And?”

“And that I’m completely, irreversibly, stupidly in love with you.”

Your heart skipped.

“…Oh.”

Rhys turned toward you then, his violet eyes bright and open and sure. “Just thought I’d get that out of the way.”

You stared at him, warmth blooming behind your ribs like starlight, “I think I might be stupid about you, too.”

His grin was slow and devastating. “See? I knew I was your favorite.”

You groaned again—but this time, you were laughing.

And when he kissed you, slow and smiling, thumb brushing your cheek, you didn’t feel nervous or unsure or afraid.

You felt home.

"It's an introductory pottery class for kids. I made the mistake of mentioning I know you once and, well, they've been asking when you'll show up," Feyre said lightly in passing during dinner one night. It wasn't flashy or pleading, just a simple request.

Cassian chuckled and nodded, half glass of wine set back down. “Sure, I'll stop by to see the little squirts. Plus, I haven't stopped by the studio in a while,” he added lightly, with a grin.

Now, a few days later, he landed on the cobblestone street across from the studio. A few passing faces gave him smiles and greetings. The facade was clean and bright, with two tall windows flanking the propped-open front door and flooding the interior with spring air and sunlight. The afternoon air was warm yet breezy, stirring the paper stack in the far corner of the studio. The faint smell of paint and clay was grounding, carried on the breeze on its way out. Laughter paired with little voices and smaller feet shuffled in.

Cassian followed a father and young girl, tucking his wings tight.

“You made it!” Feyre greeted, wiping hands on an apron that had certainly seen better days.

“Wouldn't miss it." He grinned.

“Good,” Feyre chuckled and began walking deeper into the studio. Cassian fell in step behind her, giving small waves and bigger grins to the kids settling in their seats. Tables and canvas easels were moved aside to accommodate a semicircle of pottery wheels and one in front and center. Most stools were filled with a small bodies, either chatting with a neighbor or curiously investigating the machine without actually touching it.

“Today’s an introductory pottery class like i mentioned at dinner and if you want we can—oh! You’re here!” Cassian dragged his gaze away from a pair of boys he waved at and followed Feyre.

There, across the room, tying one of the studio-stained aprons around your waist, was you. For a breath, time slowed for Cassian, and the sunlight pouring through the windows glowed brighter, like it was holding its breath to shine a little brighter for you.

Feyre moved in his periphery, and Cassian blinked, the sun breathing and time moving again.

“Hey,” you greeted Feyre with a smile. “My plans didn't go through, so I thought I'd come help today instead. I hope that's alright,” you added almost apologetically.

Feyre waved dismissively. “Of course it is. Besides, you’re our best ceramicist, and the kids love you. I also asked this one to come in today, since the kids have been asking for a few weeks.” She glanced up at him briefly and gestured to you both. Cassian realized he was the “this one” in question. “Cassian, Y/N. Y/N, Cassian.”

Cassian was frozen for a heartbeat. He made an effort not to stare or gawk. He'd seen beauty of all kinds, colors, shapes, and sizes. He was an avid appreciator of it in the form of a body, but you were a kind he hadn’t come across often.

You, with your hair tied back, save for a few stubbornly loose pieces around your face. Your eyes were bright in a way that put the stars this court was known for to shame. Your smile was otherworldly. Your voice was calm and smooth like honey-coated marble, wrapping around his spine and melting into the gaps between.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” you replied, offering a hand.

Cassian’s larger hand engulfed your smaller, albeit colder, one. “Likewise,” he breathed.

He watched your gaze meet Feyre’s again with a soft smile. “I'll finish setting up, and then we can start?”

Feyre nodded and watched you go prepare your station at the front. “Why don’t we get set up? You can take any of the empty spots with the kids.”

Cassian tore his gaze away from you where you gathered supplies in the corner, and found an empty spot between two girls. They blinked at him owlishly. Cassian tucked his wings tighter as he greeted them both, trying to make himself appear friendly and nonthreatening.

He was in the middle of answering one of there questions about what clouds felt like when he watched you take your spot at the center pottery wheel. “Can everyone please put a bubble in their mouth for me?” you asked the class, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and a finger to your lips and cheeks puffed up. Cassian watched the kids settle down and mimic your bubble in their mouths. he was half tempted to copy for his own amusement (and maybe yours), the other half because of how your teacher voice subconsciously compelled him to for a moment.

You slipped into your teacher's role so easily, Cassian found, with your voice loud and clear, and your tone was adjusted to keep the students engaged. It was so different from your introduction. “Thank you, everyone. Today we’re going to be trying pottery. But before we start, we have a special guest,” you added, your gaze finally landing on Cassian with a small smile and an encouraging nod. “Guest, would you please introduce yourself?”

Cassian grinned, feeling ten pairs of eyes suddenly on him. He waved gently as he looked aroundthe class. “Hello, everyone. I'm Cassian. I'm going to learn pottery with you all.”

Soft, excited gasps and wide eyes flit through the little crowd, some whispering to their friends. A little boy with blueish skin and even big, blue eyes and a missing tooth raised his hand so fast he nearly fell off the stool. He was precariously kneeling to get a better look at the general, to which you gently chided him to sit correctly before he fell.

"Um, do you—when—when you uh, fight bad guys, how uh…how do you not get hurt?”

He huffed a laugh before glancing at you for permission.

“Well, I trained really hard for a long, long time. I still train with my brother’s but sometimes i still get hurt. I wish i could never not get hurt. That would make things a whole lot easier, now wouldn’t it?” he added lightly, earning scattered giggles.

He couldn't help but glance at you briefly as if he wanted your approval too. It was strange feeling; he’d only just met you. You allowed three more questions from other students before bringing their attention back to the class.

Cassian watched you just as intently as the students. He could tell they respected you and were excited about the class to learn. You asked them questions; they’d answer with excited raised hands and stars in their eyes. They followed your instructions with rapt attention and excitement. It was hard for him not to get sucked in either. From how to wedge the clay to centering and pulling. He felt that familiar tug of attraction. Of course, he found you physically attractive, but this was different; your skill was attractive. You have a talent, the way wet clay coats your hands as you pinch and pull with such even pressure. The careful balance of delicacy and strength was mesmerizing.

Cassian’s hands had so seldom been used for care and precision unless there was a bloodied blade and a dead body or two involved. His size was used for brute strength and even brutal techniques meant to end, not create. Pottery was out of his depth, but he told Feyre he’d come for today’s class. And watching you practice your craft, teaching simultaneously was enthralling.

And then your ring and middle fingers slowly curled down the center of your clay, and Cassian’s mind went very filthy very quickly.

Blood rushed to his ears and neck. His gaze tore away as he tried to follow your demonstration on his own.

He really shouldn’t feel so hot. You were teaching a technique—welling, he thinks, but the blood rushing in his head made it hard to remember. All he could focus on was your fingers curling, murky water displacing from the hole and spilling over the slick clay walls.

It took several deep breaths and morbid thoughts to focus on his own clay before his blood flooded elsewhere. There were children around, for Cauldron’s sake! Every so often he’d peek up through thick lashes as he caught you helping other students, your demonstration paused.

For better or for worse, Cassian was not used to walking such a fine line of delicacy and strength. Usually it was just one side of the fence—the brute strength. It was familiar. What he’d been trained for. So the focus it took to pull a simple cylinder was a challenge but one he didn’t mind. It was a little frustrating and more mentally demanding than he assumed, but it was better than thinking about what other wet, squelching area your two fingers could curl into—

"Cauldron boil me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Trouble?”

His head snapped up to where you stood across from him. Your sudden presence took him off guard, and as if the Mother were punishing him for such lewd thoughts about you, his wet clay caved in from the uneven pressure and detached from the center until it landed inside the pan.

"Oh dear,” you muttered, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Cassian huffed a laugh, a slip-coated hand gently waving dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Guess I was just really focused.”

Your smile softened, the worried curve of your brow smoothing again. "You were doing really well. Well…at least before it went flying.”

Cassian grinned at you, charming yet mischievous. “Had a real good teacher.”

You huffed a laugh, raising your brow. “I’d hope so. Otherwise, I’d have to reevaluate a few things about myself. Namely, how I still have my job,” you mused.

Cassian chuckled, letting you get pulled away by another student.

— • —

It was late afternoon when the class was wrapping up. Although he truly tried his best, the cylinder he managed to make was short and thick-walled, he was proud of it anyway.

He gave high-fives or fist bumps to the kids as they left, and before long it was just him, you and Feyre. He didn't know his way around the studio like you both, but he helped clean up.

“I'll lock up,” you reassured Feyre before she winnowed away. That left just you both.

Now, Cassian had considered his options. He could a) give polite goodbyes and leave or b) find some excuse to hang around a bit longer to talk to you more, to learn a little more about you, but he also didn't want to impose. He did meet you today.

“Thank you again for coming. The students were really happy,” you said gently as you put away the last of the tools in labeled buckets.

Cassian blinked out of his thoughts, grinning. “It’s nothing. Besides, I couldn’t disappoint them.”

Your smile grew as you dried your hands and finally exchanged the stained studio apron for your things. He followed you out, watching you lock up the studio and how the sun settled on you. Your eyes finally met his, bright and sparkling. A mix of peach and rose prickled under your skin at the sudden eye contact. Cassian’s smile grows, cataloging how your face holds the blush and already wondering how he can get you to do it again.

“Should I expect you for the next class?” you found yourself asking as you adjusted your bag to your shoulder.

“I’ll come to any class you want me to sweetheart.”

Your blush deepens, traveling up your ears and down your neck. “Oh,” you mutter, suddenly too warm up for the spring sun. Cassian relishes it and that smug smile lets you know full well.

“In that case,” you begin, steeling your flustered nerves and holding his gaze. A smirk tugs at your lips this time, voice dipping low and smooth. “I also offer private lessons, in case you're interested,” you add.

Now it was his turn to feel a little flustered and yours to smile in satisfaction. You don’t give him the chance to respond, only a brief goodbye as you turn heel and around the corner to the gods know where.

“Well, fuck me,” Cassian huffs out with a grin.

A/N: lowkey cheeks. Thank you for all the love and support!! I appreciate every single one of you!! <3