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isnotwhatyourethinking · 1 month

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Mi Historia Entre Tus Dedos

AU Athlete!Cassian x Fem!Art History Reader

a/n: not proof read, not sure if the quote at the end is historically accurate, and English isn’t my first language. If you see any typos, you didn't 😌

based off this drabble by @yiiyiiwrites!

Cassian’s chest ached. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected you. Yet here you were, sitting across from him in the quiet corner of the library, flipping through a heavy art history book with the utmost focus. The soft glow of the lamp cast a halo around your head, and for a moment, Cassian couldn’t breathe. How did this happen? How had he ended up falling for someone who had once looked at him like he was little more than a brute?

His thoughts drifted to that first meeting, back when the professor had paired you together for the Art Nouveau project, while he mindlessly flipped through his Alphonse Mucha book.

He had sat at the back of the lecture hall, his large frame crammed into the small seat as he lazily twirled a pen between his fingers. History was a subject that ignited something within him, a passion that few knew about. To everyone else, he was the university’s rugby star. The flirt. The Cass-You’re-Incorrigible musclehead with a penchant for tackles and scrums. They all assumed that his scholarship was a reward for his athletic prowess, but in reality, it was his brain that had earned him a place here. His love for history, spanning across three different eras, had driven him to maintain the grades necessary to secure a scholarship that had nothing to do with rugby.

But that was something he kept to himself. The only people who knew were Rhys and Azriel, his best friends, and once rivals. They had all met through rugby, their competitive spirits clashing on the field in high school. Rhys, the rich boy who always threw the best parties, had a knack for getting under Cassian’s skin with his effortless charm and privilege. Azriel, on the other hand, was a mystery, always competitive in the field, though reserved in his own way, spending hours buried in the shadows of the library, studying something Cassian could never quite figure out. Over time, their rivalry had blossomed into a deep friendship, one that had seen them through the highs and lows of university life.

That day, Cassian was restless. The Uni’s Scheduling Office had merged his advanced history class with an art history course due to low enrollment numbers. Art history wasn’t something that had ever piqued his interest, but he needed the credits, and the prospect of working with new people wasn’t entirely unappealing.

As the lecture hall filled, Cassian’s gaze drifted toward the front where the professor was setting up, and then he saw her. You. You walked in with an air of quiet confidence, your gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He’d heard about you, of course, everyone had. You were the girl who came from old money, the one whose life had taken a nosedive after your father’s bitcoin scandalous fall from grace. The same girl who, despite everything, managed to carry herself with a poise that was enviable.

He also knew that you weren’t particularly fond of him. The looks you shot his way whenever you crossed paths on campus made that abundantly clear. To you, Cassian was just another bruiser, a brawler with little substance. He’d seen the way your nose wrinkled slightly at the sight of his latest black eye, a souvenir from last week’s match. And he’d heard about your on-again, off-again rich boyfriend who attended Autumn Uni. He didn’t like Eris Vanserra, not that it mattered, Cassian wasn’t exactly in your orbit.

Except now, he was.

Professor Enalius began pairing students for the semester-long project, and Cassian felt a sinking lead ball in his stomach when he heard his name called out alongside yours. You stiffened slightly, glancing back at him with an expression that wasn’t hard to read—displeasure, annoyance, maybe even a hint of dread. He suppressed a sigh, knowing this was going to be a long semester.

You both sat in silence at first, the awkwardness palpable as the rest of the class buzzed with chatter. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice as cool and detached as your expression.

“Well, it looks like we're stuck together," you stated, your lack of enthusiasm evident, though you struggled to not stare at the hot, famed fuck boy, rugby player sitting just a few inches away from you. God, he’s cute. And what is he wearing? His scent was so intoxicat—

“Fine by me,” Cassian shrugged, leaning back in his chair, his toned arms crossed behind his head, “let’s meet at the library after your shift tonight, Az will be there. We can go over the basics of the project.”

You hesitated, mostly surprised that he even knew about your job at the museum. Azriel had mentioned it in passing, and Cassian had pieced together that you were friends, though it still baffled him how Azriel, of all people, had gotten so close to you.

“Alright,” you finally agreed, though you still looked as though you’d rather be anywhere else. “See you then.”

The rest of the academic day passed in a blur, and Cassian found himself walking toward the library with a sense of resignation. He didn’t have anything against you personally, but your assumptions about him, and the way you dismissed him rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t looking forward to spending the next few months working with someone who clearly thought so little of him.

The library was quiet when he arrived, the usual bustle of students dwindling as the evening wore on. He spotted Azriel in the far left corner, hunched over his laptop with an intensity that made Cassian wonder which coding language was now giving him a hard time. Az looked up as he approached, giving him a nod.

“Ready for you night shift?” Cassian asked, dropping into the chair across from him.

Azriel smirked slightly. “As ready as I’ll ever be. You? Looking forward to working with her?”

Cassian grimaced. “Not particularly. She thinks I’m some kind of thug.”

Azriel’s expression softened, a rare occurrence for the brooding figure. “Give her a chance, she’s been through a lot. She’s not as bad as she seems.”

Before Cassian could respond, the door to the library opened with a creak, and you walked in, your gaze immediately finding him. You still looked as composed as ever, though there was a weariness in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Starting the party without me?” you asked, the question directed to Azriel but keeping your voice low as you approached the table.

Cassian noticed your attempt to ignore him, and mirrored your disdain with a shrug, hiding the sting behind his usual bravado, though he gestured for you to sit, attempting a friendly start. “Just prepping for the night.”

Azriel gave you a warm hug from his chair, one that reminded you why you cherished so much his friendship.

“If it isn’t my two favorite people in this world, who would’ve thought?” a greeting laced with a hint of sarcasm that made both you and Cassian roll your eyes.

Az left after a few minutes of small talk, and awkwardly enough for you both, the next hour was spent in strained conversation, though you both managed to stay civil. As the minutes ticked by, Cassian found himself getting more frustrated with the walls you kept up, the distance you insisted on maintaining between the two of you. It wasn't until you both started discussing the political impact of the Arts and Crafts movement that the energy slightly shifted.

You were passionate about art history, that much was clear. As you talked about Emile Galle, Muller Freres and Delphin Massier, your eyes lit up with a spark that caught Cassian off guard. He hadn’t seen you like this before, so animated, so… alive. It was a stark contrast to the icy demeanor you usually presented.

“That’s why I think this period is so fascinating,” you concluded, your gaze dropping back to your notes, cheeks blushed with embarrassment as you were suddenly aware that you’d let your guard down. “There’s so much depth to French Art, so much history embedded in each piece.”

Cassian found himself nodding, his earlier frustrations forgotten. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve managed to change my perspective on art history. It’s… different from what I’m used to, but it’s interesting.”

You looked up, surprised. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” he said, actually meaning it. “I’m more into military history, battles, and strategy, but there’s a lot of overlap with what you’re talking about. Art from that time often reflects what was happening in the world, right? Politics, war, society.”

You stared at him, as if you just noticed him.

Who knew the gym rat you’d dismissed as a royal jacked-up-pain-in-the-ass was gone, and replaced by someone with a genuine interest in what you were saying? It was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way,” you admitted, your voice softer than before.

Cassian gave you a generous grin, one that you found yourself returning.

“Alright,” he straightened up, his palms tapping his knees, “let’s split the main topics, that way we can cover more ground together.”

And before you realized the night just slipped away, as the conversation flowed much better than before. By the time you both packed up to leave, there was a tentative truce between you, palpable as you walked out into the now deserted parking lot, when you glanced at him, your rushed judgments beginning to shift.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N,” Cassian said as he waved you goodnight.

You shuddered at the sound of your name on his lips and nodded, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Yeah… see you.”

Cassian watched as you walked away, a smirk crossed his face.

Maybe this project wouldn’t be so bad after all.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

As the days turned into weeks, your interactions with Cassian became more frequent and less tense. You learned that he wasn’t the guy you had initially thought. Yes, he was tough and took his athletic career seriously, but he also had a sharp mind, especially when it came to his war lectures. He had an impressive depth of knowledge, and you’d surprised yourself drawn into conversations with him that ranged from the intricacies of ancient military strategies to the symbolism in Renaissance art.

Cassian, in turn, discovered that there was more to you than the cold exterior you presented to the world. You were kind, intelligent, and passionate about your studies, despite the hardships you had endured. Your friendship with Azriel made more sense now—he was the only one who had seen through your walls, just as he had seen through Cassian’s.

One evening, as you were both leaving the library to grab a post late-night study sesh cup of coffee, you had mindlessly shared a bit about your past, something you rarely did.

“It wasn’t easy, y’know,” you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the path ahead, tree leaves softly murmuring as the fall wind blew strands of your loosely tied hair. “Growing up, surrounded by whom you thought were your friends, and then losing them after having it all taken away. People look at me and think I’m still that spoiled rich girl, but I’m not,” you chuckled, just realizing how much you’ve changed since your father’s fiasco. “Not anymore, at least.”

Cassian listened, his usual teasing tone absent as he replied, “I get it. People think they know me too. They see the scrumhalf, the rowdy guy, and they make their assumptions. But that’s not all there is.”

You stopped walking at the sadness of his voice, turning to look him in the eyes, to see the caring man beneath the tough exterior, acknowledging the words that mirrored your own struggles.

“I uh, was wrong about you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you shyly looked down at your neatly tied Adidas. “I’m sorry, Cass.”

He smiled, a genuine one that reached his hazel eyes. “And I was wrong about you. Shocking, huh?” he winked at you, “we’re not so different after all.”

“I still don’t get your rugby plays, though.” Your lips pursed, a smile barely tugging at them.

From that moment on, your relationship with Cassian changed. The ice between you had begun to melt, slowly at first, in the dim light of late-night study sessions that often ended in Clotho, the librarian, threatening to kick you out for laughing too loud; and a true friendship formed. You started looking forward to your study sessions, the banter between you becoming more and more playful, as you also started talking, really talking. Not just about the project, but about life, your plans for the future after college, passions and fears. Each conversation chipped away at the boundaries between you until Cassian also found himself craving your company, the sound of your voice, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about the difference between art movements.

To you, he was no longer just the popular star with the bruises and black eyes—he was someone you could trust, a friend who understood what it was like to be judged unfairly.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

In the blink of an eye, the semester drew to a close. You knew you weren’t ready to give up the little innocent excuses you both had been making to spend more time together: black coffee–no sugar–and iced salted caramel macchiato after studying together for hours, meeting at the museum for in-depth analyses of Art Nouveau, and even hanging out before his games, which often led to you staying to support him, cheering from the sidelines.

Tonight, you sat together in the library, finishing the last of your project, glancing at Cassian, who was focused on his notes. There was a comfortable silence between you that felt just right, like you belonged. Not to the high society world you had left behind, but to this one, where you were valued for who you were instead of what you had.

He looked up, catching your eye, and smiled back.

You felt it then—something had shifted between the two of you.

And then there were the touches—oh, those fleeting touches. The brush of your hand against his when you passed him a book, the accidental bump of your shoulder against his as you walked side by side. Every graze set his skin on fire, leaving you both aching for more, but too afraid to reach out and take it.

It was driving him mad.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting day on campus, Cassian offered to walk you to your car—a kind gesture you had grown accustomed to and were very much grateful for. The night air was crisp, and your breath puffed out in little clouds as you talked about a new exhibition at the museum.

“I could get us tickets,” you offered, glancing up at him with a shy smile. “If you’re interested in seeing it.”

Cassian’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The two of you fell into your usual comfortable silence, the only sound was the crunch of gravel beneath your feet and the car keys dangling from your fingers. Cassian’s mind raced, trying to think of something to say, something that would keep you by his side just a little longer.

You broke the silence after a while, only because you missed the sound of his raspy voice.

“I still think it’s pretty funny,” he looked at you like whatever you were saying was the only thing that mattered, “when Mr. E said we’d be working together, I never would have thought we’d actually get along.”

Cassian chuckled, his voice tinged with something softer, giving you butterflies. “Yeah, you weren’t exactly thrilled to be stuck with me.”

You mocked an exaggerated shock, putting one hand on your chest, your shoulders hunching slightly as you playfully bumped his arm.

“Listen, smartass, I already apologized! I just… I sometimes regret being too harsh with you before I got to know you.”

The sincerity in your voice made Cassian’s chest tighten. He wanted to tell you that it was okay, that he didn’t blame you. But words somehow failed him. Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours. He wanted to take your hand, to feel your warmth, but he hesitated, unsure if you’d pull away.

You looked down at his hand, your breath catching in your throat. And for split second you just stood there, your attention narrowed down to that small space between your fingers and his. Then, slowly, you closed the gap, your fingers brushing against his. The touch was so light, so tentative, that it sent a jolt of electricity through Cassian’s entire body.

He laced his fingers through yours, his grip firm but gentle, and the world seemed to stop. He looked down at you and saw the same longing reflected back at him.

“Cassian,” you whispered, your voice trembling with something he couldn’t quite name.

“Yeah?” the word came out rough, almost ragged.

“I… I like spending time with you,” you admitted, your eyes searching his. Cassian watched as you bit your lip, a nervous habit he had come to recognize, and he had to resist the urge to lean down and kiss you. Instead, he squeezed your hand, trying to convey all the things he couldn’t say out loud.

“I like it too, smartass.”

His eyes lowered briefly to your lips, you noticed, as you stood there for yet another stolen moment, hands still intertwined in the chill of the night, until you finally pulled away, breaking the spell.

Cassian immediately missed the warmth of your touch, that connection that seemed to tie you together so effortlessly.

“Goodnight, Cass,” you said, your voice a little stronger now, though still tinged with something vulnerable.

“Goodnight,” he replied, watching as you got into your car and drove away.

The ache in his chest intensified, knowing that he’d spend the rest of the night replaying this moment in his mind, wishing he’d had the courage to do more.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

The following weeks were torture. Each time Cassian saw you, his heart stumped painfully in his chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about you—your smile, your laugh, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. And it seemed like every time he caught you staring, he saw that conflict in your eyes, the same struggle that he felt.

The feeling became almost unbearable, but neither of you seemed willing to take that final step. You’d linger in each other’s presence, always just close enough to touch, but never quite closing the distance. It was a dance of celestial bodies, the way you always gravitated around each other: one that left Cassian breathless and aching, but also terrified. What if he was reading it wrong? What if you didn’t feel the same way, you were just being friendly?

But then, there were the moments that made him hope. Like the time you had absentmindedly reached out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering just a little too long. Or the time you had laughed for hours at his endless teasing towards Azriel, the sound so pure and genuine that it had sent warmth flooding through him.

It wasn’t until the eve of the project presentation that betraying words came out of your mouth like water breaking down a dam, before you could even stop them.

“I don’t want this to end,” you said all the sudden, your voice cutting through the silence.

Cassian stopped, turning to look at you. “What?”

“This,” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us. I know the project’s almost done, and I’m just… I don’t want it to end.”

Cassian’s heart pounded in his chest. He took a step closer, closing the distance between you. He would not make the same mistake twice.

“It doesn’t have to.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shone with a feeling he had been too afraid to hope for.

“Cassian, I—” You hesitated, biting your lip again, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Just say it,” he urged, his voice low and desperate. “Please, just say it.”

“I’m falling for you,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it scares me, because I don’t want to lose our friendship. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Y/N…” Cassian’s breath caught in his throat. The relief that flooded through him was so intense that he thought he might collapse under the weight of it. “You don’t know how long I’ve hoped to hear those words coming from you.

He reached out, cupping your face in his hands, and you stared at each other as the world narrowed down to just the two of you. Then, slowly, he leaned in, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was as soft as it was desperate. It was everything he had dreamed of and more, the taste of you, the feel of you against him. It was a release, a culmination of all the longing that had been building up between you for weeks.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead resting against his, both of you breathless, the tension between you had melted away, replaced by something warmer—an almost tangible sensation, enveloped in his snow-chilled wind scent.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it,” you whispered, your hands still clutching his lightly disheveled flannel shirt.

Cassian shook his head, dismissing your apology, a small smile playing on his lips. “Worth the wait.”

You laughed, the sound filling the quiet night air, and Cassian’s heart swelled with a warmth he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling.

From that night on, the two of you spent every moment you could together, and each time you had to part, it was with a promise of when you’d see each other again. One evening, you gave him a playful, curious look as you lay in his arms, delaying his departure for the night with your distracting fingers tracing patterns on his tattooed chest.

“Do you ever think about how different things would have been if we hadn’t been paired together?”

Cassian tightened his hold on you, one hand softly brushing your hair as you rested your head back against his chest, “I’m not sure… but I know this for certain,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his eyes fixed on you, full of devotion, “when I’m away from you, the world is a desert in which I am all alone, without even the solace of expressing my feelings.”

You chuckled at the reply, suddenly getting up again to look him in the hazel-brown eyes that made your stomach flutter with affection.

“Did you just quote Napoleon?”

He grinned as he pinched your nose, making you giggle like a schoolgirl.

“Can’t blame the guy, he knows a thing or two.”

♦♦♦♦♦♦

thank u @yiiyiiwrites for the wonderful idea, I hope you like it too 🥺

#acotar #cassian #acotar fanfic #cassian x reader #acotar fanfiction #cassian being a lil vulnerable cutie patootie is my fav cassian #also loosely inspired by gianluca grignani

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