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Cassian likes to say: “With a camera in your hand, you’ve got the power to never let a moment pass.”
It will be yours forever.
For Nesta, it’s never been quite as deep as that.
Who cares if her smile is mysterious enough or if her hair looks just the perfect amount of messy?
Well, apparently people friggin’ care. And her face?
It sells.
It sells perfumes and jewelry and designer clothes. And the better the picture, the more it sells, and the more it sells, the bigger her paycheck.
So she calmly sits through hours of make-up, drinks those ridiculously awful kale smoothies that are supposed to make her skin all nice and worst of all - goes to gym every other day.
It’s a job and Nesta prides herself on being excellent at it. She knows which colours bring out her eyes best and what pose makes her look alluring. During a photo shoot, she’s able to control her face expression at all times.
Well...she used to be able to do it, anyway.
First time she sees him, she’s naked from waist up, her brown hair carefully arranged in waves to cover her nipples.
(people are so sensitive about seeing those, after all)
“You’re late.” She levels him with her deadliest glare, one that usually gets photographers to do her bidding.
Except it doesn’t work this time.
He gives her a once-over, his gaze calculating with no hints of interest apart from a professional one. With his fingers absentmindedly tracing the the edge of lens, he circles her slowly, every inch of her under his scrutiny.
Nesta - as used to being the sole focus of someone’s attention as she is - struggles not to squirm. There’s just something...in his gaze and that knowing smirk curving his annoyingly kissable lips that puts her off her usual game.
“May I?” A soft gasp gets past her throat when she realizes he’s now standing in front of her, waiting for her permission to touch her.
A short nod, and then his hand tilts up her chin, making her look at him.
His interest doesn’t seem quite as professional as it was some minutes ago. His finger slides down her neck and hovers over her collarbone for two excruciating seconds, making Nesta hold her breath, before it swipes a few strands of her hair an inch to the left.
“On the contrary, Ms Archeron. I’m perfectly on time.” His mouth are a breath away from her ear and it’s the sheer stubbornness that keeps looking forward, instead of focusing on those lips.
But then he goes back to the tripod to set his camera in and when he’s done, he looks up and winks at her.
“I’m Cassian, by the way.”
Why is he introducing himself to her?
It’s not like they’re going to see each other again.
It’s not like she cares.
She should be happy that the photo shoot turned out to be such a success.
She should be - but she’s not.
Suddenly Cassian is everywhere.
Paolo Sebastian photo shoot in Cyprus, Vogue cover, preparatory photos for Max Factor commercial - he’s the one behind the lens and Nesta’s never felt more exposed.
He takes photos of her hair, her boots, her smile and then puts it together in a pretty picture for a world to see.
His camera catches her laughing or napping during a break or sucking on a lollipop that she managed to snatch from a gift basket before project assistant took it away.
He leaves them in her changing room and as Nesta spends more time than she’d like to admit studying them, she recognizes they all say the same thing.
This is what I see.
I see you.
Only you.
Her hotel room is filled with balloons and lit with candles and there’s an arm snaking around her waist.
A strap of her dress falls down her shoulder, quickly replaced with softness of Cassian’s lips. Nesta tilts her head and he follows the hint, leaving a path of kisses straight to her neck.
His whisper falls warm on her skin. “I’ve been thinking about this all. Day. Long.” He accentuates each word with another nip along her neck.
“Me too,” she admits. There’s no point in playing coy when she’s been undressing him with her eyes since he walked in on set this morning, adorably dishevelled from the night before. She could see the scratch marks she left on his chest peaking from his half-opened shirt. “Now stop talking and get to work. Get me off.”
His gaze is heavy with lust when he bends forward, his mouth settling against hers. “I like it when you’re bossy.”
“I’m always bossy.”
“And I always like you.”
She snatches his camera from the nightstand.
“Why do you take so many pictures of me?”
Sheet falls to his waist as he stretches, hooking his hands under his head as he meets her eyes. “Well see, sweetheart, for some years now, I’ve been doing this thing, it’s called a job, and -, “ he stops, laughing when she smacks him with a pillow.
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“You love my smart ass.”
Snap.
Settling over his hips, Nesta aims camera at the right angle and takes a photo.
With a lazy smile and a spark that seems to light up his eyes when he looks at her, Cassian makes a pretty picture himself.
Her breath gets caught in her throat as she realizes that she might just love more than his ass.
She’s lying on the couch with her head on Cassian’s lap. He’s peering at her through the lens of his camera until she finally manages to wrest it out of his hand and direct it right back at him.
“You know, sweetheart, you’ve started taking an awful lot of pictures of me too.”
Nesta lets out a huff, deciding not to dignify his words with response. Instead, she holds the camera against her eye and looks up at him, her other hand drawing circles on his stomach.
Cassian stares at her through the lens and it’s like he can see all the way through.
I see you.
His lips are moving and it takes a moment for Nesta to realize he’s mouthing something.
Not something.
“I love you.”
“You’re unbearable.”
Snap.
“And you love me too,” he says it out loud, a hint of vulnerability clouding his eyes.
Snap.
Slowly, Nesta draws herself up and nestles herself against his side.
Snap.
She takes a photo of them together, her cheek buried in the crook of his arm.
“I do.”